Mary Jo Putney (18 page)

The last report in the pile was from the Deciphering Branch, an odd little group that had been founded by an Oxford don over a hundred years earlier and which was still run as a family business. Frowning, he studied the decoded translation of a secret dispatch to a French agent in London, then gave a sigh of irritation. He had been excited when it was intercepted, but nothing in the message to the mysterious "Phoenix" gave a clue as to who the recipient might be. The blasted spy had been a dangerous nuisance for years, and this dispatch brought him no closer to knowing the man's identity.

Idly Gervase jotted down the names of half a dozen men who might be the Phoenix, each of them prominent and impossible to challenge without ironclad proof of treachery. He had had them all watched for months, but was no nearer to an answer than when he had begun.

Unfortunately, when he looked at the sheet of foolscap he saw not spies but Diana Lindsay in all her sensual allure. Tomorrow night at this time his curiosity would be satisfied, and he would no longer have to guess at what lay hidden beneath her elegant clothing. Tonight, regrettably, he could think of nothing else. Just the thought of her aroused him to the point where his brain became useless. How ridiculous and inappropriate that a high-class doxy should come between him and the work that gave his life meaning!

He crumpled the sheet of names and tossed it into the fire, since he was making no progress toward the Phoenix. Better to spend the time deciding what kind of gift to take to Diana tomorrow night as payment for her favors. He stared at the flames without seeing them, one corner of his mouth quirked up in exasperation. The sooner he took the witch to bed, the sooner his life could get back to normal.

* * *

Late that night, Diana was wakened by the nursery maid with the announcement that Geoffrey was having another seizure. By the time she had pulled on her green robe and raced up the stairs, the fit was over and Geoffrey was lying still on his bed, a sheen of perspiration on his face.

Edith sat with him. Besides being the housekeeper, she had appointed herself Geoffrey's chief guardian and she slept in the adjoining chamber, ever alert for sounds that might signal an attack. While nothing could be done to stop a seizure, Geoffrey's real and surrogate mothers would watch over him to make sure that he did not injure himself in his convulsions.

Geoffrey's face was pale, but he struggled upright in bed at the sight of his mother. "There was no need for you to get up, Mama," he said matter-of-factly. "It was just another fit."

Diana smiled and climbed up next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard and circling her son with one arm. For all his protests, he snuggled up to her quickly, burrowing against her side. "I was having trouble sleeping anyway, and now we have an excuse for hot cocoa."

"A good idea," Edith said in her deep northern voice. "I'll make some." She left to go down to the kitchen.

Diana felt Geoffrey's forehead. As she expected, it was too warm. The seizures usually came when he was feverish. Now that he was seven, the epileptic fits were less common, but were usually more violent when they occurred. "Perhaps you'd better stay home from school tomorrow."

"Mama," he said, sitting up with an indignant expression. "I like school. I don't
want
to stay home."

"I'm glad you like school, but surely they can manage without you for one day," she said, attempting not to sound too concerned. "Besides, if you have a fever you might have another seizure at school, and that could be a nuisance."

He shrugged his small shoulders with elaborate casualness. "Oh, I had one at school. During Latin. Mr. Hardy made me lie down afterward, but then I went back to class."

"Oh?" Diana's eyebrows lifted, a little irritated that the schoolmaster hadn't informed her of the attack.

Sensing what she wouldn't ask, Geoffrey grinned, mischief wreathing his small face. "The other boys in my class are very impressed. They wanted to know if they can learn how to do it."

After a moment of shock, Diana had to laugh. Now and then she needed to be reminded of how resilient small boys were. "What did you tell them?"

"I said they were out of luck. One has to be born epileptic to do it right," he said loftily.

Diana smiled and brushed her fingers through his silky dark brown hair. She was biased, but anyone would admit that he was a beautiful child. Though small for his age, he had a sturdy, growing body, a sunny disposition, and an outstanding intelligence as well. Surely so many blessings would outweigh his disability in the eyes of those he would meet as he grew up.

Her confidence faltered as she saw the way his dark blue eyes, so much like hers, slipped out of focus for a moment. The "staring spells" came more frequently after he had had a
grand mal
seizure. For a second or two he would lose awareness of his surroundings and not know it, if he was talking, after a silent pause he would continue as if nothing had happened.

It was fortunate that they had found Mr. Hardy's small school, where children could learn in an atmosphere of greater freedom and understanding than was usual. The schoolmaster accepted Geoffrey's problem with patience and understanding.
 
As a result, her son loved school.

Edith returned carrying a tray with a steaming pottery jug and four mugs. Madeline trailed behind her, still tying the sash of her dressing gown. Maddy yawned, then said with a faint air of accusation, "You're having a party and didn't invite me."

Geoffrey giggled and Diana joined in as Edith poured the cocoa. For the next half-hour it was indeed a party, albeit a quiet one. Diana kept a careful eye on Geoffrey's mug since he might spill it if he had a long staring spell, but he managed very well. Sometimes she dared hope that he might outgrow the seizures, but she would be grateful if they got no worse.

By the time the cocoa was gone Geoffrey was almost asleep, so Diana tucked him under the covers and prepared to withdraw. His right hand curled under his chin and his lashes lay dark against his cheek as she kissed him. At moments like this she loved him so much that it hurt her heart. She stood and glanced at her friends. "Good night, Edith. Thank you."

Edith gave her rare warm smile, then returned to her own room. Downstairs, Diana asked Madeline hesitantly, "If you aren't too sleepy, do you have a moment to come in?"

Madeline's shrewd eyes assessed her. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

"Not really." Inside her sitting room, Diana lit several candles from the candlestick she had carried downstairs, then wandered across the room to a window. Pulling back the drapery, she looked down into Charles Street. "I've invited St. Aubyn to come tomorrow night. Or I guess it's tonight now."

Madeline sat down on the sofa and pulled her legs up, tucking her robe under her feet. "Are you sure you are ready for this? You don't look very happy about it."

Diana turned away from the window, letting the drapery fail behind her. "I'm not unhappy. Just nervous."

Madeline eyed her closely. "You don't have to do it, you know, if the idea frightens you. You really haven't had the time to become well-acquainted with St. Aubyn."

Diana shrugged and spread her hands. "I know him as well as many girls know their husbands on their wedding nights, and I have the advantage of not being an ignorant virgin. My experience is very limited, but at least I'm not terrified by the unknown."

"Then what is bothering you?"

Diana sat in one of the chairs, pulling her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I'm not sure, really. I guess it's..." She hesitated, searching for the right word. "...a kind of melancholy. This seems so... so cold-blooded. Such a very long way from the romantic dreams of Prince Charming and love everlasting. The sort of thing every little girl is raised to expect, and almost none of us ever get."

"You're a romantic, Diana," the older woman said in a kindly voice. "You would like to be in love with St. Aubyn and you're not. But if you feel that way, why are you going to bed with him? You're under no financial compulsion."

Diana hugged her knees with a mischievous smile. "While I'm not in love with him, I find him attractive.
Very
attractive."

"Well, if you are determined to go ahead with this, that is not a bad place to begin," Madeline admitted. "He has the look of a man who knows his way around a mattress."

Diana colored.
 
Despite her maturity, the girl was relatively innocent. Well, that would change, and very soon now. Madeline rose and stretched sleepily. "I'm ready for bed myself, and it's a sign of my age that I'm glad it's an empty one."

As Diana chuckled, Madeline crossed the room, but with her hand on the knob of the door she found herself turning to ask once more, "Are you truly sure this is the right thing to do?"

In the candlelight it was impossible to read Diana's expression, but there was no mistaking the determination in her soft voice as she said, "That is one thing I am very sure of. For all my doubts and dallying, taking Gervase Brandelin as a lover is most definitely the right thing to do."

* * *

Diana forced herself not to stand at the window like an anxious schoolchild. It was five minutes before nine o'clock, and if there was one thing she had learned about Lord St. Aubyn, it was that he was prompt. When he arrived, the footman would escort him to her chambers, and then, and then...

Her hands clenched tight.
 
She was as nervous as any seventeen-year-old virgin on her wedding night. She'd inserted the vinegar-soaked sponge that Madeline said was the best available protection against pregnancy, and she wore a discreetly provocative gown and robe of translucent silk in a shimmering blue-fire shade that echoed her eyes.

Her hair was twisted into a simple style that would fall about her shoulders with the removal of just two pins, and she had set the stage in a manner that was richly seductive without being vulgar. The night was cool, and coal burned merrily in the grates of the sitting room and the adjoining bedroom, where the massive shape of the canopied bed could be dimly seen. Madeline had helped her prepare, then withdrawn, satisfied that her protégée was ready.

Diana had been able to convince Maddy that her anxieties were no more than normal, but now that she was alone she admitted to herself that she was terrified. No matter that intuition urged her forward, that St. Aubyn had treated her with kindness, that she was fiercely attracted to him.
 
Even so, the thought of trusting herself to him chilled her hands and made her heart beat with the rapid pulse of panic.

Her thoughts returned to the night on the moor when she had decided to try the courtesan's life. Truly, if she had known that the future held Gervase Brandelin, she would never have left Yorkshire. But it was too late to turn back; the tie that bound them was stronger than her individual will.

Just as her mind started to spiral once more into dark fears from her past, a knock on the front door sounded through the quiet house. Her nerves taut as newly tuned piano wire, Diana flinched, then glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Two minutes before nine o'clock. Either the timepiece was slow or his lordship was impatient.

In less than a minute the knock sounded at her own door. Now that the moment had arrived, a fatalistic calm descended and she opened the door. For a moment they just gazed at each other, the air thrumming with tension between them. Gervase was dressed in the dark blue coat and buff pantaloons that were almost a uniform for men of his class, but expert tailoring, a beautifully fit body, and his forceful personality gave him the air of distinction that he wore so casually. His taut, fine-drawn face had the fierce and lonely beauty of a proud hawk, and he was frightening in his masculinity.

Then he smiled and extended one hand to her, and it was suddenly easy to grasp it and draw him inside. She closed the door, and before she had fully turned to face him, Gervase was embracing her, his mouth hungrily pressed to hers and his arms pulling her tight against him. From the feel of his hard body, he had no need for preliminaries.

Panic flared again.
 
In most ways he was still a stranger, and though his fire warmed her, she needed more time; Diana knew that if they proceeded too quickly she would be too stiff and fearful to convince him that she was experienced.

She broke away, laying one finger over his mouth. "There is no need to hurry, my lord," she said softly.

He smiled, the clear gray eyes wry. "I'm sorry. I know I'm too impatient, but I have been thinking of you all day. And all last night, too." He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading the muscles, and she could feel some of her nervousness depart, to be replaced by a different kind of tension.

"In fact, I've hardly thought of anything else since I met you." His hands slid up her neck into her hair, expertly finding the hairpins and removing them. The thick chestnut masses tumbled down past her shoulders in wanton abandon.

"This is how I have been imagining you." He stepped close again and leaned over, kissing her throat through the silken strands of hair. For a moment Diana reveled in the sensation, amazed that so many distant parts of her body would resonate to that gossamer touch.

It was time to put her plan into effect. Stroking the dark head that lay so close to hers, she whispered, "Gervase, there is something I would ask of you."