Mary Jo Putney (26 page)

It didn't bear thinking of. Gervase found he was holding the cut-glass goblet so tightly it left grooves in his hand. Now he understood in a visceral way why Diana had wished to keep her life in separate compartments. She had played flawlessly the role of the perfect mistress, with no past or conflicting loyalties, and he had accepted and enjoyed her on those uncomplicated terms.

Now that was no longer possible. As she stared into the glowing coals, her beautiful profile sad and remote in the firelight, she defied the labels of "mistress," or "whore," or anything else that could be casually described and dismissed. She was simply Diana, who pleased him more than any other woman he had ever known.

Her anger and hostility this evening were curiously endearing. She was no longer the perfect illusion, but a real woman, one who grieved for the child she loved and who must have gone through hellishly difficult times before achieving the gentle tranquility that characterized her now.

Sitting half a dozen feet away, Gervase felt closer to her than he had earlier, when their bodies had been so intimately entwined. Impulsively he said, "Come to Aubynwood for Christmas."

Her head came up in surprise and she turned to face him. In the shadows, he could no longer see her expression. "You would have me stay in your own house?"

"Why not? It would cause comment in London, but gentlemen can be as indiscreet as they wish on their own estates."

A smile hovered around her lips at his cynical words, but she shook her head. "It's a tempting offer, but I can't accept."

"Of course." Finishing his brandy, he set his goblet down on the side table with a little more force than necessary. "I had forgotten that your other customers would be unwilling to forgo your services for a fortnight." Gervase was surprised to hear just how caustic his words sounded.

"That isn't the reason," she said. His irritation seemed to increase her calmness. "Much of the fashionable world will be away from London at the same time, so I could leave without being missed. But I am hardly going to leave my son alone for Christmas. He and Edith and Madeline are my family."

"Bring him along," Gervase said recklessly. "Bring Madeline. Bring Edith. Bring the French cook if you want. Aubynwood is large enough to absorb your whole household."

"Are you serious?"

He felt absurdly pleased at the startled note in her voice. "I am always serious," he stated. "It's my besetting sin."

With the warm, intimate laughter he loved, she rose and came to sit on the arm of his chair, brushing a feather-soft hand over his hair. "I will have to discuss it with Madeline and Edith, but if they agree, I would be very happy to come."

"Does Geoffrey get a vote?" He raised his hand and laid his palm on her cheek, feeling the flex of bone and tendon under her satiny skin as she spoke.

"I know he'll be delighted to be in the country again."

So they had lived in the country. He added the fact to his slender file on Diana even as he drew her head down for a kiss. Her lips were soft and yielding, all trace of her earlier anger gone, but after a leisurely interval she lifted her head, doing her best to suppress a yawn. "It's too late to be starting that again, my lord. While I am properly impressed by your stamina, I am so exhausted that I could fall asleep sitting up."

He slid his hand under her velvet sleeve to caress her smooth arm, not wanting to go. "I have an ulterior motive for inviting you to Aubynwood. Maybe there we can spend the whole night together." When she hesitated, he added, "I assume that you won't do that here because of Geoffrey."

Diana nodded. "Exactly. Geoffrey may have accepted that faradiddle about you happening by at two in the morning for a snack, but it would be impossible to explain having you in my bed." After a moment she added with a questioning note, "You said that you preferred to sleep alone."

"I lied," he admitted, "and the colder it gets, the less appealing I find the ten-minute walk home in the middle of the night." He stood and enfolded her in his arms. "I understand that you can't do it here, but a full night should be possible at Aubynwood. The house is so large that if Geoffrey decided to come visit you, it would be lunchtime before he could make his way from the nurseries to the master's bedroom."

Her soft laughter tickled his ears as he lifted her from her feet and tucked her into the bed, velvet robe and all. Looking not much older than her son, she smiled up at him, her eyes barely open. "You really are a nice man, Gervase."

He gave her a wry half-smile and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "You needn't sound so surprised when you say that."

The sound of her sleepy laughter followed him from the room.

* * *

Lord St. Aubyn's invitation to his country estate was the subject of a lively breakfast discussion the next morning. Edith demurred at first, saying that a plain Yorkshire woman staying with a lord was like a pig pretending to be a guest at Sunday dinner rather than the main course. Under the scoffing, Diana could see Edith's curiosity about what a great house was like, and it was not hard to persuade her that she could spend all her time with Geoffrey in the nurseries if she chose.

Geoffrey was delighted by the prospect, talking about it with such enthusiasm and stamina that his loving keepers could only be grateful when he was well enough to go to school again. Madeline, after her initial astonishment, agreed readily, but the odd glances she gave Diana indicated that she would have a number of questions to ask on some future occasion.

That occasion arose several days later, when the two women were at a draper's choosing fabrics and trimmings. Diana had decided that her Christmas gift to Edith would be a new dress in something brighter than the older woman's usual brown and navy blue. She studied the bolts of fabric that reached to the ceiling of the Bond Street shop. "Maddy, what do you think of that red wool for Edith?"

Madeline eyed it appraisingly. "It's not quite the right shade. Look for something more scarlet and less crimson."

Since Madeline's color sense was infallible, Diana dutifully continued her search. It was a quiet afternoon and the shopkeeper left them alone to ponder the choices slowly. Soon they were surrounded by bolts and ribbons, choosing cloth not just for Edith but also for themselves.

Comparing an emerald silk lustring with a light moss-green wool, Madeline said casually, "I must admit you were right about St. Aubyn. I thought he was a hopeless cold fish, but the man must be besotted, or he wouldn't have invited you bag, baggage, and family to his country seat."

"He has estate business to take care of, so perhaps he just wanted a bit of company over the holidays since he had to go there anyhow."

Madeline gave her companion an exasperated glance; Diana was getting that deliberately obtuse look in her slanting blue eyes. "More likely St. Aubyn decided he couldn't make it through two weeks without you. He sees you five days out of seven, and if he didn't work such long hours at Whitehall he would be camped on our doorstep."

"What do you think of this wool for a morning dress for me, Maddy?" her companion asked, holding a smoky fabric by her face.

"You should never wear that shade of gray, and don't try to change the subject."

"But it feels so wonderful and soft that I don't want to put it down." Diana smiled mischievously. "And why shouldn't I change the subject? It's your subject, not mine, and it isn't one I wish to discuss."

"You are making that abundantly clear," Madeline said acerbically. She looked at the gray wool and shook her head. "You are the only woman I know who buys fabric by feel rather than by color." Narrowly watching Diana's expression, she said in an offhand way, as if the thought had just occurred to her, "I wouldn't be surprised if St. Aubyn asks you to marry him."

Blandly ignoring the latter statement, the younger woman said, "Why shouldn't I choose cloth by feel? It goes against my skin, and if I must choose between being comfortable and looking stunning, I will choose comfort every time."

"The secret of good dressing is to keep looking until you find something that looks as wonderful as it feels, and that gray wool is
not
it." Madeline took the fabric from Diana and rolled it up again, then pulled a bolt of rich teal-blue wool from the bottom of the pile and held a length up by her friend's cheek. "There. That's just as soft and it makes your skin glow like cream and your eyes shine like sapphires."

Diana fingered the material, delighting in its softness. "You're right. This feels just as lovely and the color is marvelous." She laid the bolt on their "buy" pile.

Madeline said hesitantly, "I don't wish to nag you, but you really must think about the future. You seem to like St. Aubyn a great deal. He treats you very generously and you've been purring ever since you started sleeping with him." She looked across to see a faint flush coloring Diana's elegant cheekbones. "If he does ask you to marry him, would you accept?"

Her voice sharp, Diana finally met her gaze. "Very well, if you insist, I will tell you what I think. While he finds my body pleasing, he is far too much the aristocrat to marry a whore, even one with pretensions to gentility. Yes, he has been good to me, but he is pride right to the marrow and I would never suit his notions of consequence. He might like to keep me as a mistress indefinitely, because it saves him the effort of finding another, but that is a very long way from an offer of marriage."

Madeline noted Diana's vehemence with interest. "Even the most prideful of men can behave in unexpected ways when their hearts are engaged."

Diana gave an unladylike snort. "The part of Lord St. Aubyn that is most engaged is
not
his heart."

Madeline grinned. Listening to Diana trying to be vulgar was like watching Geoffrey's cat trying to be a tiger. "Don't count on it. The piece of anatomy you refer to often does have a mysterious connection to the heart."

As she rolled a length of red velvet with careful precision, Diana said flatly, "You seem to forget the mad wife in Scotland."

"I haven't forgotten, but I'm not convinced any such person exists." Madeline lifted a spool of Belgian lace and stretched a piece against the velvet. "I've made more inquiries. While there is a vague rumor about a wife, no one knows anything definite. I wouldn't be surprised if St. Aubyn spread the rumor himself to keep from being pursued. Has he ever mentioned a wife?"

"I made a reference to the subject once," Diana admitted.

"And...?"

"He didn't answer me."

Madeline suppressed a smile. It was poetic justice for Diana if St. Aubyn also evaded topics he didn't wish to discuss. "Interesting that he didn't confirm the rumor. If there was a wife, one would think that he would have informed you, in case you were getting ideas of marriage."

"Talk about making bricks without straw!" Diana said with exasperation. "When the man can fit me into his busy schedule of government service and his lordly responsibilities, he stops by for a few hours. He probably likes the efficiency of being fed and serviced under the same roof, and that is all there is to it. Remember? He and I have a purely business relationship."

Diana's voice broke on the last sentence and her hand on the edge on the counter was trembling. Madeline laid her own hand over it, saying softly, "Are you in love with him?"

Her voice unsteady, Diana looked down at the counter, not meeting Madeline's eyes. "Do you think I would make such a mistake after you so carefully explained why a courtesan should never fall in love with her protector?"

"That's not an answer."

"What do I know about love?" Diana said in a frail attempt at humor. "I've only just discovered lust."

Madeline squeezed the slim fingers that lay under her own. "The two are related, you know. Sex bonds two people together, and since you are seeing no one else, I'm sure that you must be at least halfway in love with him, if not more. If he loves you enough to ask you to marry him, would you accept?"

There was a long, long silence before Diana answered in a voice husky with unshed tears, "Perhaps matters will work out. I truly hope so." She shook her head with weary regret. "But I don't see how."

Chapter 11

The December weather was unusually dry and the trip to Warwickshire passed with smooth speed. Lord St. Aubyn had provided his own luxurious coach, complete with hot bricks and a hamper of delicacies to stave off starvation. He'd ridden up to Aubynwood three days earlier, ostensibly to take care of some business, though Diana suspected that was merely an excuse to avoid making the trip with three women and a child.