The Letter (7 page)

If he told her he was still at his estate, delayed from returning to Town, he wouldn’t put it past her to surprise him with a visit. He shuddered at the mere thought of Diana coming face to face with Lady Hartwell. Serena would devour her.

Of course, he wouldn’t be at Draven Park to greet Serena, which would cause a whole other set of difficulties. He settled for telling her that although he was thinking of her and missed her, another problem had arisen at one of his lesser estates, and he could not avoid dealing with this new difficulty.

He read over his note to Serena. It occurred to him that he was lying to her again. He had not once thought of her since leaving London. A disturbing notion, that.

A knock sounded at his door and he bade the footman enter.

“Roger, I need you to deliver this letter to my secretary at my London townhouse.”

“Yes, my lord. Will I be coming directly back?”

“Yes, as soon as you put my message in Mr. Johnston’s hands. And, Roger, no other hands than his, you understand?” It wouldn’t do to have his ever curious butler wondering about the earl’s need of a lady’s maid and a child’s tutor.

After Roger left, Michael went upstairs to dress for dinner. His room was next to Diana’s, and he stared at the connecting door. What she was doing? The picture in his mind was that of a young, laughing girl, not the woman afraid of his touch.

Frowning, he looked around his room. The night he found Leo in her chamber, he had fled his estate and come here. It was where they were to spend their wedding trip and he had never understood why this was where he came to lick his wounds. Everything had been a reminder of her betrayal.

He had instructed his cook to have an intimate dinner waiting for them in this room. In a fit of rage, he had swiped his arm over the table, scattering food and broken china across the floor. The bed had been turned down and a red rose lay on what would have been her pillow. The sheets, pillows, and rose had joined the china on the floor.

The only thing he hadn’t broken or thrown away was the champagne. That he had finished off, drinking it straight from the bottle. From there he had stumbled downstairs in search of the brandy and had continued drinking until he passed out. He stayed foxed for the next three days, blind drunk until Mrs. Bartlett dared to enter his study and, putting her hands on her hips, had scolded him as if he were still in short pants.

Since then, he had completely redecorated his chamber, not wanting any reminders of what he had lost. The room next door, the room that would have belonged to his countess, he had not touched. The maids kept it clean and dusted, but he had not once set foot inside.

Staring at the door that separated them, he asked the question he only now realized he wanted an answer to. “How is this going to play out for us this time, Diana?”

****

Diana hadn’t had the extravagance of a full bath for over a year and though the water had cooled, she didn’t want to get out. The array of perfumes she found lined up on the vanity delighted her. It had been hard to choose, so, she decided to start with the first one and then, if she was allowed a bath tomorrow, she would try the next one.

She splashed the water with her hand and inhaled. This one smelled like roses, and the scent brought the memory of her maid waking her up one morning and hurrying her downstairs.

Mary’s excitement had been contagious. Something was afoot and Diana had hurriedly dressed. When she arrived in the front hallway, she stopped and stared, unable to believe her eyes. There were roses everywhere. Mary pulled her into the parlor where more roses covered the tops of every table. Even as she stood in amazement, her father’s butler had opened the door for another delivery. Laughter had bubbled up and out of her. Michael.

Abruptly standing and stepping out of the bath, she forced her mind away from the past and him. She would not allow memories of him to invade her mind. He had failed her in a way she didn’t think she could forgive.

It was time to dress for dinner. She considered pleading a headache, but wouldn’t put it past Daventry to come to her room and retrieve her. After slipping on her chemise, she picked up one of the new day dresses and wondered how she was going to button it. Jamie had done that chore for her this morning at the inn, but he had been spirited away upon arrival here and she had not seen her son since. She pulled the pale green gown over her head and was trying to reach the buttons when a knock sounded at her door. Thinking it must be Jamie, she hurried to let him in.

The air left her lungs. “Oh, it’s you.” She reached back to try to hold the dress together.

The lines near his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Yes, it is me.”

If it had been Leo, she would have gone as still and quiet as stone, but something made her want to test Daventry. She needed to know how easily he could be provoked to anger.

“Well, I’m not ready.” She tried to close the door.

“I see that,” he said with laughter in his voice. He pushed the door back open. “Turn around and I will button your gown.”

She didn’t know if she could bear to have him touch her, but she couldn’t manage it herself. Reluctantly, she turned her back to him. When she felt the light touch of his fingers on her back, she stilled and tried not to shudder.

Yet, there was only the gentlest of pressure as he buttoned her gown. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. She would not allow into her heart the memory of how tenderly those hands had once caressed her, would not recall his words of love or his promises.

“There, you are now presentable.”

His voice was clipped, edged with anger. Turning to face him, she took a step back in fear. She knew how to read rage in a man’s eyes. How had she displeased him?

****

Michael forced a smile. She had a burn mark on her back like that a cigar or cheroot would make. When he was sure he had his fury under control, he held out his arm.

“I came to escort you to dinner as you are not familiar with Wyburne.”

“Where is Jamie, Lord Daventry?”

“The young baron is waiting for us downstairs. Before we go, there is one thing I would ask of you.”

She clutched her hands together, her expression wary. “What would that be, my lord?”

He was truly tired of this fearful woman. He lowered his arm. “I would ask that you call me Michael.”

She gave a vigorous shake of her head. Leo had trained her to be obedient, and though Michael regretted it, he wasn’t above using that knowledge against her. He wanted her to feel as if she were on equal footing with him. The use of his Christian name might help achieve that.

He shrugged and tried for a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid I must insist, Diana. I intend to give Jamie leave to address me as Michael, also.” And, perhaps someday, Papa.

“What do you want from us?”

He was certain that question had been preying on her mind. They would discuss the future after she read Leo’s letter. “For now, to be addressed as Michael. Say my name, please.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled his name in a whisper. Well, it was a weak attempt, but it was a start. “Thank you.” He held out his arm again. “Come, let’s go find your son.”

That seemed to be enough motivation for her to place her hand on his arm. He wasn’t sure, but he thought her fingers rested easier than before. Or perhaps it was only his imagination. As he led her down the hall to the stairs, he inhaled and smelled roses. He leaned his head closer and inhaled again. Yes, she smelled of roses.

She stayed quiet through dinner, leaving him and Jamie to carry the conversation. Her appetite had improved, however, and he was pleased to see she drank her wine. He observed her throughout dinner. Would she ever be able to put her demons to rest?

He noticed her glass was empty and touched her arm as delicately as he could manage it. She startled, her gaze falling to his hand.

“Would you like more wine, Diana?”

She glanced at her glass, then at him as she obviously tried to determine what answer he wanted. He kept his face bland and waited. Patience had never been one of his virtues, but he was going to have to dig deep and find it if he was to have this kind of response from her every time he asked a question.

“No, thank you, my lord,” she finally said.

“Michael.”

Her lashes lowered. “No thank you, Michael.”

After a gentle squeeze of her hand, he let go. She immediately moved it to her lap. He pretended not to notice and turned to Jamie.

“I have asked your mother to address me as Michael, and I would ask the same of you.”

Jamie looked at him in astonishment. “Truly, sir?”

“We are cousins. Family. It is appropriate and not at all improper.”
We may well be father and son
. No son of his would be required to address him as my lord.

“Thank you, Michael. Does this mean we are friends?”

His shy smile went straight to Michael’s heart. The boy was slaying him. A barely discernable noise much like a sniffle sounded to his right. He turned in time to see Diana her press trembling lips together.

Chapter Five

How had she never thought of how lonely Jamie must have been? Her son was everything to her and somehow she had thought she could be everything to him. When Leo was away, which was often, thank you God, she had dedicated her days to Jamie. She taught him to read, taught him how to use his imagination so that the toys Leo denied him wouldn’t be missed, and she had loved him with all that she was. When Leo was home, she did her best to keep his attention on her so he wouldn’t turn his cruelties onto their child.

Jamie’s pleasure in having a friend in Michael made her realize how much he needed the regard of a man. She would not fight against this new step Michael had taken, but said a prayer that he would not end up disappointing her son.

“Diana?”

She pressed her lips together and willed down her tears. My God, she had come closer to crying these past two days than in all her miserable years with Leo. A large hand rested on her shoulder for a brief moment, its touch oddly comforting.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, Michael.”

How easily her mind had slipped into thinking of him as Michael. His attention returned to Jamie, giving her the opportunity to observe him. In the three days they had been together, she had not seen the coldness or cunning in his eyes that she had grown used to seeing in Leo’s. Or, the watchfulness that had been so unnerving. Leo had always watched her, waiting for the slightest mistake on her part.

Michael claimed he didn’t care if she spilled her wine, or even if she threw her bread at the wall. She didn’t believe him. She eyed the bread and had the urge to test his words. If he didn’t beat her for her daring, then she might, only might, start to trust him. There was a scratch in the paint on the wall behind Jamie’s head, something to aim for. Her hand crept toward the basket of bread.

“Did you want some, Diana?”

She snatched her hand back and shook her head at the man intently watching her. He glanced at the wall, then tilted his head and studied her. A slow, far too amused grin formed on his face.

“Hmm.” He picked up a piece of bread. “Now, Jamie, this is not going to be a common occurrence at the dinner table, mind you, but did you know tonight is special?”

“No, sir.”

“Michael, please. It is the one night of the year when we throw our bread at the wall.” With that, he threw his over Jamie’s head, then handed Jamie one. “Now you.”

Jamie laughed. The seldom heard sound was music to her ears. He turned in his chair and threw his bread. He looked back at Michael with such adoration in his eyes that she marked the exact moment Michael became her son’s hero. Michael picked up another slice and handed it to her. She stared at the bread in her hand, her heart beating furiously in her chest.

“Go on,” Michael said.

“Do it, Mama,” Jamie urged.

She looked at Michael once more to make sure she didn’t see any trickery in his eyes and then threw her bread. A tiny burst of laughter escaped and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Jamie giggled and Michael gave her a smile of approval. A sliver of the fear that had held her captive for eleven long years fell away.

Michael turned to the footman. “John, would you please pick up the bread that seems to have escaped our plates.”

Oh, lord, she had forgotten the footman. This story would be spread throughout the household. But Michael didn’t seem to be concerned, so she put it out of her mind.

“Now, I believe it’s time for a game of marbles before bedtime,” Michael said and led them to the parlor.

****

Stretched out on the floor with Jamie, Michael showed him the game of Taw. It had been years since he shot marbles, but he had once been very good at it. He formed a ring with some of the marbles and explained the game.

“Your objective is to shoot the marbles out of the ring.” He handed one to Jamie. “I’ll go first to show you, and then you take a few practice shots before we start the game.”

Michael watched Diana from the corner of his eye. The tension that had been a part of her for the past two days seemed to have lessened. He didn’t know what made him understand what she was about when he saw her sliding her hand toward the bread. Perhaps it was the furtive way she was going about it that made him realize what she was thinking. He had repeatedly promised her with words that she was safe with him, but how could he have guessed that all he needed to do to prove it was to give her a piece of bread to throw?

When she had given a rusty little burst of laughter, he had wanted to stand up, applaud and yell encore. How long had it been since she had laughed? He thought the answer to that might break his heart.

Jamie knocked his first marble out of the ring and Michael tousled his hair. “Good show, my boy. Now, let’s see if you can best me.”

He played with Jamie for an hour amidst laughter and challenges with some good-natured wrestling thrown in. And though Diana sat as still as a statue while watching, several times he caught sight of the beginnings of a smile on her face. The answer to helping her came to him. Small steps. A little nudge here and there, gently guiding her back to the living. If he pushed too hard, she would shut down and withdraw back into herself.