A Question of Impropriety (13 page)

‘I…I am pleased you feel that way.'

‘Sit. Please sit.'

‘I would prefer to remain standing.'

‘The sofa will be more comfortable than your dance-worn feet, but if it is your pleasure…'

Diana concentrated on the room rather than on his mouth or his hands. The furniture had changed very little since the Biddlestones' occupancy, but Diana noted the other changes. Silver cups from various horse races now lined the tables and, instead of the long line of Biddlestone family portraits, the drawing room was full of portraits
of horses, each labelled with the rider and winning races. A few simple changes but enough to exude a masculine rather than feminine touch. Diana waited for him to begin speaking.

‘Why did you summon me here? I have a right to know,' she asked in a small voice when she could bear the silence no longer.

‘Are you interested in another commission?'

‘Commission?' Diana tilted her head to see if she could detect a hint of laughter in his eyes, but he appeared serious. ‘What sort of commission?'

‘I need your help, your painterly eye, and it struck me that given today's beautiful autumn weather, why wait? A man can achieve much if he acts. We are friends after all.'

Friends? Eyes? He was about to say his goodbyes. A great lump rose in Diana's throat. She did not want to say goodbye. With the greatest effort, she kept her face as neutral as she could.

‘I do value your friend ship, Brett,' Diana said quickly before she had a chance to regret it. ‘I shall be disappointed of course to see you quit the neighbourhood. Your being here has added a certain colour to my life.'

Diana found she had no desire to think about what might happen when this friend ship came to an end. That was all it was, she told herself firmly—an unlikely pairing that must inevitably come to an end and one that she would treasure.

What had happened in the summer house was solely her fault. It had been a light kiss that had meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He must have bestowed a thousand such kisses in his lifetime. She would not let him know what it had meant to her. What dancing in his arms
last night had meant. And how the hours in front of her seemed to stretch out unceasingly.

‘Diana, are you attending me? You have a faraway expression in your eyes.'

Dimly she realised that he had been speaking, gesturing with his hands, an excited expression on his face. ‘Yes, yes, I agree. It will be the best thing.'

‘You miss the point entirely, Diana. Are you quite the thing?'

She put a hand to her head and sank down on the sofa. ‘I fear last night's unaccustomed festivities made my head throb this morning.'

‘Too much of Lady Bolt's punch?' He stopped and reached for the bell. ‘I can remedy that. Lightly browned toast and copious amounts of tea. I was hoping for a stroll in the gardens, but your health is far more important. We shall have to do this the next fine day.'

‘You were explaining about your commission. What do you want me to do? I will pay attention now, I promise.'

‘There is a folly—a grotto—on the estate. It is rather plain and un adorned.' He leant forward, his eyes shone silver grey. ‘I think it could be more. It should be more.'

‘I know the one you mean.' Diana glanced at the wall behind him, which boasted a stain from a leaking roof. The grotto. Of course the grotto. He had seen her work and knew she had done the painting for the Bolts' summer house. It had nothing to do with his imminent departure. She placed her reticule care fully in her lap and berated her mind for leaping to in appropriate conclusions.

‘How long has the grotto been there? Do you know?'

‘The late Sir John Biddlestone, Sir Cuthbert's grandfather, had it put in.' Diana breathed easier. It was a topic they could discuss and the strain would become easier. She wanted to get back to their easy friend ship, the one they
had had before the kiss, before her mind became filled with him. ‘He wanted pleasure gardens to ramble in and for his wife to paint, as she was a keen water colourist. Unfortunately she died a few years later and not much more was done. I suspect it has not been cleaned out properly for years. Sir Cuthbert was not overly fond of the estate, but neither did he want to let it out.'

‘I intend to change that. This estate is to be my principal seat. It must have a garden worthy of an earl.'

Diana stared at him. How was she going to go on facing him, meeting up with him when their liaison had ended? She was like an addict, craving more. ‘Why is it to be your principal seat? Surely you must have more estates down in Warwickshire.'

‘My father and brother did not manage their affairs correctly and neglected to ensure a settlement. All the historic Coltonby lands were sold to pay my brother's debts.' Brett's face became shadowed. ‘It has fallen to me to restore the family fortune. And luckily, I proved adept at making money. I want a new beginning. The shadows of the past can be long and in harmonious.'

‘And you want me to paint the grotto?' Diana bit her lip. Painting the grotto would be fun. She could already see the shells and pictures that she wanted to put on the walls. She knew she could do an excellent job. It would give her an outlet for her passion. ‘My painting is…well…floral and I think the grotto would need shells, something in keeping with the water.'

‘I agree.' A sardonic smile twisted his lips. ‘Stop throwing up obstacles where there are none. Let me judge your work on its merits. Indulge me.'

‘I indulged you with the waltz lessons and I know where that led.' Diana kept her voice steady. She had said the
unmentionable. She had brought it out in the open, but it had needed saying. ‘We are both adults, Lord Coltonby.'

‘Nothing happened that you didn't desire.' His grey eyes seemed to pierce her soul. ‘Or do you seek to deny what happened when you were in my arms? Do you need reminding?'

Diana tightened her grip on the letter as images danced in front of her. Her lips ached at the merest thought, the faintest look. She wiped a hand across her mouth and concentrated on the various pictures of horses and their jockeys.

‘What happened in the summer house is best forgotten and never spoken of again. Ever.' Her voice sounded high and strained to her ears. She prayed he'd understand. ‘I trust you will heed my wishes on that. It is the most sensible course of action.'

He snapped his fingers. ‘Consider it in the past as it is the most sensible course of action. Far be it from me to ever suggest that you act in a reckless manner.'

‘You are laughing at me now.'

‘Not at all. I am very serious. I do want you to see the grotto, Diana.' His fingers reached out and took hold of her elbow, caressed her there. A warmth seared through her. She moved her arm and he let her go. She put her hand over where his fingers had been.

She took a deep breath, plunged onwards. He had to understand what she was saying, why she could not allow such a thing to happen again. ‘What could have happened doesn't bear thinking about. And it would have been entirely my fault, I asked you to kiss me.'

‘Are you quite through with being noble?' His cold voice cut through her, chilling her to the bone.

‘Yes,' she said steadily. ‘Although I consider it to be practical, rather than noble.'

‘Nobody will ever force me into marriage.'

‘Nor I. I promise you that.' She lifted her chin and ignored the knots in her stomach.

‘You?' His eyes widened at her words. ‘Whatever are you speaking of, Miss Clare? Why would you be against marriage?'

‘I plan never to marry.' She kept her head up and refused to flinch despite his incredulous expression. ‘I made that vow after Algernon Finch died. Nothing has ever happened to make me change my mind.'

‘Was that because you buried your heart with him?' His voice was barely a breath, so low that Diana wondered if he had even spoken.

‘Nothing so melodramatic. He was after my money.' She waved a hand and tried to make her voice sound calm and reasoned. How could she begin to explain about the perfidy of the man? Of the letters she had discovered, mocking her? Of that last horrible night when he had ensured that she could never break the engagement? Of the hours she had spent scrubbing his touch from her skin? ‘I realised how close I came to losing every thing. A woman's property is only her own if she is unmarried.'

‘If she is a widow, she has control of her property. You are not a widow unless the Northumbrian definition is different from the rest of England's,' Brett corrected after a long silence. ‘Your brother or your guardian must control your estate as you have never married.'

‘I trust my brother. He has looked after my money well. The colliery and the other businesses thrive. He has built on the solid foundation that my father left.'

‘Yes, no one could ever accuse your brother of not being devoted to his business interests.'

Diana released a breath and resisted the temptation to crumple Coltonby's note further. Simon had sent the papers
to Brett. They were much alike, her brother and this earl, possibly too much alike. Both were determined. ‘Simon does keep his word. At the moment, the colliery consumes the vast proportion of his time. He worries about it failing to keep pace with the other Grand Allies, particularly now that Mr Hedley has developed a travelling engine for Wylam Colliery.'

‘Mr Hedley guards his secrets well, and it is unlikely that your brother will be able to get one for the Ladywell.'

‘My brother can be very resourceful when the occasion demands. He searches for more investors.'

‘I saw an example of his resourcefulness last evening.' Brett's level gaze met hers. ‘Does he often do business at balls?'

Diana regarded her hands. ‘My brother swears the age of the travelling engine will arrive sooner than people expect. He wants to convince people his ideas are right.'

‘If it does, I shall make a proper assessment of the risk. But enough of this talk about Loco Motion and collieries.' He inclined his head and reached out to take the paper from her hands. ‘The grotto awaits if you feel capable of walking. I am most anxious to hear your thoughts on its possibilities.'

‘We could discuss it here.' Diana met his level gaze with hers.

‘But the possibilities are there, out in the grounds. How can you begin to advise if you have not actually seen what needs to be done?'

She picked at the button of her glove. ‘I will call Rose. She can accompany us.'

‘You hardly need a maid to go walking with you. I am sure she is quite safe in the kitchen conversing with staff. Allow her to have a good long gossip and a chance to rest her feet. I asked the cook to prepare a picnic for beside the
grotto.' His eyes became hooded. ‘I thought after walking out there, we might need a little light refreshment while we discussed my requirements.'

‘Surely it will not take that long.' Diana looked at her reticule as her insides trembled and a flood of warmth went through her. Out there. Alone. This time, she would not behave irresponsibly.

‘I wish to go over my scheme in depth. We are friends, Diana. I value your opinion. You may think of possibilities.' His voice was smooth. Diana glanced up, but his expression was bland. However, she could not rid herself of the feeling of being caught up in a current that was heading for some where unknown. ‘And remember, Diana, you are free to return to the house whenever you wish.'

‘I know that.' She took a deep breath, concentrated. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to be with him. ‘Shall we go?'

B
rett resisted the impulse to support Diana's arm or guide her hand as they walked along the over grown path towards the grotto. The red pelisse with white lace at the collar complimented her bonnet as the skirt of her dress billowed out, slightly revealing her slim ankles. The colour suited her far more than the browns and greens he had seen her in before. But she was the very picture of demure femininity. It belied the woman who had danced with him last evening and who had once again invaded his dreams. He tightened his jaw and kept his steps moving towards the grotto.

Patience and careful planning were the keys to success. Her words about never marrying had been an unexpected blow. It had not occurred to Brett that Diana might not be seeking marriage, but it bothered him that she had rejected the notion out of hand.

Was it her polite way of rejecting him? Or just the institution?

His fingers curled around his cane. He would discover her reason in due course, but today's plans revolved around other pursuits. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him
and to begin to understand that she and he were intimate friends. That her head was not to be turned by the red-coated officers who had pursued her at the ball.

‘What are you planning for this area?' she asked, stopping suddenly and gesturing towards a heavily wooded area where scrub and brambles vied with a few good specimens of trees. Brett forced his thoughts back to the garden and away from his plans for the afternoon.

‘It will have to be cleared. The cedar of Lebanon will be happier standing on its own. The pleasure gardens will be restored to their former glory.'

‘That will take a long time.' Diana's head was turned resolutely away from him. Her shoulders were set. ‘It takes years to make a garden. It is not a harum-scarum thing accomplished in a few weeks and then off to London.'

‘Time I have. I intend to live here once the new house is built. There is an aspect overlooking the Tyne that I particularly favour.' He touched her elbow, supporting her over a rough patch of ground. ‘It will be done properly. I want your advice about the grotto and which motifs should be painted on the inner walls.'

She gently moved her arm and her body away. He fought his instinct and allowed her to go. ‘I think you will need to do more than slap paint on the rock to restore this garden. That is all.'

A small gasp came from Diana's throat as she scram bled over the last few remaining boulders to reveal the grotto. A small weed-choked stream emerged from the mouth of a substantial cave. Nettles and brambles formed a curtain over the entrance.

‘It has possibilities. Surely you must see that.' Brett mentally cringed. He hated the pleading note that had escaped from his throat.

‘Possibilities, hmmm.' She walked away from him,
tilting her head from one side to the other. ‘Certainly it does want love and attention. The whole estate is crying out for it.'

Brett regarded the tumbled stones and muddy stream. He wanted her to see it as he saw it—the possibilities, rather than the depressing reality. A test of sorts. Could she look beyond the practicalities? Could she taste the dream? Her blue-green eyes became even deeper pools that Brett wanted to drown in. He shook himself and forced his voice to remain bland.

‘You have a talent and an artistic eye. I merely seek to use them for my own ends.'

‘And I merely do it for the pleasure of it. I claim no expertise.'

She tiptoed closer to the edge and peered into the cave. The thin material of her dress clearly outlined her bottom—round, tight. Appetising. Brett allowed his eyes to wander over it, to linger as she peered first this way and that. ‘You do yourself a disservice. What I have seen is entirely satisfactory.'

‘You are right. It could do with painting, or maybe an actual shell border. I have heard of several houses with shell-patterned borders. Little shells, care fully placed.'

‘It sounds time consuming.' Brett forced his mind from pondering the exact shape of her bottom and how it would feel in his hands. He had to remain casual. She seemed more nervous than ever today as her hand straightened and re-straightened her bonnet, an over blown confection of silk flowers and ribbons and straw. Fashionable, he supposed, but it hid her glorious dark hair.

‘Time consuming? Yes, but it does have the most marvellous effect—a sort of jewel-like quality with the water and the light.' Diana waved a hand towards the grotto. ‘Shells would make this spot very romantic.'

‘Would you be placing the shells?' Brett kept his voice steady. Willed her to answer yes. Willed her to agree to having reasons to visit him.

She regarded the cave walls for a long time, her finger tapping against her mouth. He could almost see the pictures painting them selves in her mind. Waited with bated breath for her verdict.

‘I could do it, but it would take some time,' she said finally, breaking the silence. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you employed someone, someone who knew what they were doing.'

‘I have faith in you. You can do anything you set your mind to. You waltzed beautifully last night.'

‘Easy words.' Her laugh spilled from her throat.

‘Perhaps you don't have faith in yourself.' His fingers closed around her upper arm and he breathed in her scent of lavender and soap. A far more intoxicating combination than other women's perfume. He willed her to remain there, close by his side. ‘Trust your instincts.'

‘I am not sure I can.' Diana's words were no more than a breath. ‘Brett, help me, please.'

Diana felt his hand rest lightly upon her shoulder, the merest whisper of a caress, but she knew it was there. He stood inches from her. Waiting. The urge to turn around became a compulsion.

All her admonitions of last night and this morning, all her promises and resolutions faded like mere wisps of morning cloud. She needed this. She was born for this—out here next to this grotto with its impossibly choked stream and hidden romance. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame despite the certainty of being singed. It only mattered that he was here and he wanted to kiss her. She wondered if she dared to take a risk. She knew she wanted to, knew
that she could not live with the thought that it only might have been.

Abruptly and without warning, his hands turned her. She met his mouth full on. Warm, soft and seeking. His lips roamed over her face, pressing small kisses against her mouth and her eyes. Each touch sent a tremor along her body, stoking a fire within her.

Finally, his mouth returned to hers and his tongue traced the outline of her lips. First around the outside, delicately, and then along the crease, demanding entrance. A slow but thorough exploration. Her lips opened under the onslaught and she drank from his mouth, lifting her hand to curl around the back of his head to bring his lips and tongue closer. She needed them closer.

Cool, sweet languor filled her as his tongue penetrated her mouth. Slow and lazy, but then with an in creased urgency. There was a difference from the last time. In the summer house, the kiss had a finite quality, but today, it promised secret glades along pathways of pleasure. Paths that beckoned and urged her forward. Unhurried and leisurely exploration.

Her body arched towards his, moulding itself against the hard muscles. His hand fastened on to her waist, crushed her to him. He pressed small kisses along the corners of her mouth, her eyes and her temple, small nibbles that sent little pulses leaping through out her body, warming her, making her yearn for something more. His mouth recaptured hers, devoured her. This was what it was like to be thoroughly and utterly kissed.

Diana shifted as he fitted their bodies together. Pressed against her and ignited a fiery hail of sparks that leapt and danced. Her world had come down to this—his mouth touching hers, his hand, his body. Him. Only a few thin layers of material separated them. She shifted again and
his hand slid over her backside, held it there. Firmly. The point of her meeting him.

She gasped and clung on to the one straw of sanity she had left, wrenching her mouth away from his.

‘You see what you do to me,' he growled in her ear.

She drew back slightly and looked up into his hooded eyes. Slate grey, now alight with a fire burning deep within. And she could feel an answering fire build within her. ‘We are friends. Friends.'

‘We went past friend ship days ago.' Brett's voice was ragged and his breath came fast. But he stepped away from her. ‘I'd be lying if I said differently. You would be lying if you denied it. You knew what would happen if you came out here. You wanted this as much as I did.'

‘And what do you want?' She brushed a hand across her mouth, tried to ignore the aching points of her breasts. Tried to ignore the burning inside and found the task too hard.

His hands reached for her again, pulled her against him, the apex of her thigh meeting him. ‘You.'

The word sent a delicious shiver down her back. Diana discovered she could not think beyond the shape of his mouth or the pressure of his hand on her waist. Her limbs appeared incapable of moving. Her tongue flicked over her suddenly dry lips wetting them, anticipating another onslaught of his mouth. He lifted an eyebrow and blew a cool stream of air across her lips. The coolness contrasted with the fevered heat of her skin and made her yearn all the more.

She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on something other than the growing tide of heat that built within her. She had to be sensible and consider what could happen. She forced her feet to move.

‘And I have no say in this? You are simply going to take?
To plunder like a pirate?' She barely recognised her voice. Husky, breath less.

He placed his finger under her chin and raised her head so she was staring into his deep grey gaze. ‘We stop when you say stop. I wish to bring you pleasure. No force. Never force. But be warned, once you say stop, it ends. All this ends.'

He withdrew his hands from her. Her body howled in protest. A great longing grew within her. She needed to have his lips against hers again. She wanted him to kiss her with that hunger.

‘I understand.' She forced her gaze to meet his. A peace settled over her. She could do this. She trusted him to keep his word. They would kiss and that would be all.

‘We go at your pace, Diana. But once we stop, we stop. I do not play the tease.'

‘But the servants…what if we are discovered?' Diana tried to step away but his fingers twisted around hers and held her still. Gently, but firmly. A hot molten surge coursed through her, far more potent than anything that had gone before. She willed him to understand. It was not simple for her.

‘We won't be. I gave orders that we were not to be disturbed.' His voice was low and slid over her like velvet. She tried to tell herself that he was a master seducer, but her body paid no heed. His look was for her and her alone. It had to be.

‘Rose will pay no attention to your orders.' She pulled her hand away and kept her head high. ‘She will come soon, worried.'

‘She will not trouble herself. She will be drinking and sitting with her feet up.' His hand caught hers, his thumb circling on her wrist, distracting her. ‘If she disapproved,
she would have never told me you were in the summer house that day. She has done her best to foster this.'

‘She had no call to be so brazen.' Diana felt her cheeks begin to burn. ‘I never asked her to be. You must believe that.'

‘I thanked her for it.' His words stroked like silk over her skin. ‘And I will thank her again if she remains tucked up in the kitchen.' He paused, tilting his head to one side. ‘Or we could go back and ring for a cup of tea. My cook won't thank you for interrupting their gossip, though. After all the trouble she went to, to prepare the food. You could at least take a glimpse.'

‘I…' Diana's voice trailed away. One by one he had demolished her arguments. The first time she had truly put her resolutions and rules to a test, and they had failed her. Maybe she hadn't wanted to try very hard. Maybe she was wicked and wanton and all those things that people had called her five years ago. But she worried that if she went back, she might never sample his lips again. ‘I could stay for a while longer. Explore the cave. Measurements should be taken. I will have to know the approximate number of shells that will be needed and the types you might prefer.'

Brett waved a hand. ‘The picnic is here and the servants set it up. They brought the table from storage and the under-house maid raided the garden for the last of the Michaelmas daisies. I was most particular. Come and take a look and see if it does not whet your appetite.'

‘You seem awfully certain that I would come out here.'

‘Hopeful. There is a difference.'

Diana bit her lip. Reason warred with desire. She wanted to be with him.

‘It would be a shame to waste it. The servants will talk
if we don't eat. You should try the seed cake. One little taste.'

Diana at tempted to think of a coherent answer, but his fingers had recaptured her wrist. They swept tantalizingly along her skin, caressing the under side of her wrist. Soft, silky, sultry, but entirely innocent. The fire that his kisses had stoked seemed to leap up, but she knew if she said anything that he'd simply lift one eyebrow. She pulled her hand away, covered it with her other one. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Diana held back the words asking what precisely he hoped to gain from this. She knew he wouldn't lie. What he offered held no strings. As long as there were no consequences, no one would question. She under stood how society rules operated in these cases.

She drew a deep breath, stood poised on the brink for a moment longer and then plunged. ‘I should like to see the picnic.'

‘You will not be disappointed. I asked Cook to prepare all of the delicacies—pork pies, potted cheese, salmagundi salad and even a rich seed cake.' Brett rubbed his hands together. ‘And I must say Cook's seed cakes are delicious. I have become quite partial to them.'