Nicole Jordan (10 page)

“No, they won’t,” Diana agreed.

“I also think a measure of secrecy is in order where Amy is concerned. When we tell her of our betrothal, we need only say it’s a temporary arrangement to improve the odds of your being admitted to the Academy. I don’t want her knowing anything of our suspicions regarding her brother’s murder.”

“That indeed would be wise.” Diana hesitated, searching Thorne’s face. “What do you intend to do about Nathaniel’s murder?”

“I am devising a plan, I promise you.”

“I want his killer found and punished.”

“So do I, sweeting.”

“I also wish I could help obtain justice for him. I would be pleased to contribute in any way I can.”

Thorne shook his head. He didn’t want Diana involved in the slightest. He didn’t want her learning about the Guardians, and if his investigation turned dangerous, he didn’t want to put her at risk. Nor did he want the distraction of her interference, no matter how courageous or well intentioned. “I applaud your convictions, but I believe I can handle it.”

She gave him a penetrating look. “Do
you
work for the Foreign Office?”

If he lied, Thorne decided, he not only wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity, but would open himself up to further questions later.

“Yes,” he replied honestly. “I do. As does John Yates.” He met her gaze levelly. “Discretion prevents me from revealing more. I’m afraid I must ask you to trust me on this, Diana.”

Her brows drawing together in a frown, she studied him for a long moment. “I think you must be less of a rogue than you appear.”

“Didn’t I try to tell you so?” he replied lightly.

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you.”

“What must I do to persuade you, my lovely lady?” he murmured.

Reaching for her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips and brushed her knuckles in a provocative kiss.

Abruptly Diana snatched her hand away, as if she’d been seared by the contact. “I promise you, seducing me is not the way.”

Thorne bit back a self-deprecating laugh. He, too, had felt the scorching heat between them, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had needed to touch her, and kissing her hand was the only acceptable means if he intended to remain a gentleman.

“I thought we agreed that I must be seen to fawn over you if we’re to make our pretense of a love match seem believable.”

“Not in private, we don’t,” Diana replied firmly.

“I beg to differ. We will have to diligently practice small intimacies if we’re to make our ruse second nature.”

He took a step toward her, expecting her to retreat, but she froze, staring up at him as if unable to act on her own powers of reasoning.

Thorne likewise went still. Her sweet scent rose to wreathe his senses; her womanly warmth teased him. He found himself staring at Diana’s tempting lips…and silently cursing under his breath.

He couldn’t fathom the unreasonable attraction he felt for her. Nor could he fathom her determined resistance. Few women had proved so impervious to his charm.

Admittedly he was piqued. Which was amusing in itself. How often had he politely discarded a woman for becoming overly amorous and making him feel like prey?

But perhaps Diana was only feigning disinterest?

He raised his hand to her mouth, gliding his thumb slowly over her lower lip, and was gratified when she gave a breathy little gasp.

“Do you realize,” he murmured, “that indifference is irresistible to most men? It only makes them yearn to prove your interest can be aroused.”

She drew in a shaky breath and stepped back, putting a safer distance between them. “Loath as I am to spoil your conceit, sir rogue,” she said sweetly, “my indifference is not intended to challenge your virility. And I should warn you, if you wish me to continue this fraudulent betrothal, it will behoove you to attempt to control your lustful urges.”

Thorne’s mouth curved in a rueful smile. “If I must…Very well, then, if you won’t permit me to kiss you, my love”—he offered his arm—“may I escort you in to dinner?”

Four

T
o Diana’s
dismay, their charade proved difficult from the very start, since Thorne insisted on playing her affianced husband to the hilt, even in private.

When together they entertained callers who came to meet her and offer well-wishes on their sudden betrothal, she found maintaining the deception a greater strain than she’d ever expected. Worse, Thorne spent the better part of each day and evening in her company, even offering advice when she and Amy pored over fashion plates and decided on styles and fabrics for their new wardrobes.

The enforced proximity was unnerving.

Diana was extremely glad for the respite when, three afternoons later, Thorne chose to show them some of the island.

It
was
glorious to be out of doors on such a day, in such enchanting surroundings, Diana reflected as they rode up a sun-splashed mountain slope wooded with Allepo pine and holm oak. She was still too aware of the charismatic man riding beside her, but at least Amy and John Yates had accompanied them.

Up ahead, Amy was barely speaking to the former cavalry lieutenant. Confidentially Yates had agreed to help divert the girl from her thwarted romance, but they’d taken an instant and dismaying dislike to each other.

“Your plan to have Mr. Yates entertain Amy doesn’t seem to be working,” Diana observed to Thorne, wondering if she should perhaps intervene.

“He is distracting her, isn’t he?” Thorne said with apparent unconcern.

“I suppose so,” Diana conceded. “But they have spent most of their time together squabbling. They seem to have little in common but a mutual respect for each other’s horsemanship.”

“Fortunately they needn’t have anything in common for our purposes. We only want to give Amy something to fret about other than her fortune-hunter.”

That we have surely done,
Diana thought wryly. The news of their betrothal had surprised but delighted Amy, since it improved the odds that Thorne’s aunt could be persuaded to sponsor her. She’d also sweetly expressed relief that Diana would have the protection of Thorne’s name for her return to London.

Diana shook herself, determined to forget her temporary betrothal for the moment and simply enjoy the scenery. Thorne was taking them to view the ruins that had once been a Roman bath, which centuries later was still fed by the same hot spring.

Eventually the forest trail opened onto a clearing and a vista that made Diana suddenly halt her horse and stare transfixed. The scenic splendor took her breath away.

On her right, dramatic cliffs plunged precipitously to the rocky coves below, the drop protected only by a crumbling stone wall and ending in a swirl of emerald and sapphire water.

In front of her stood an ancient, once-majestic edifice, now chiefly collapsed into piles of rubble. The half dozen rectangular pools terraced into the hillside must have been the heated baths, but growing in every crevice was a treasure of delicate flora—orchids and ferns, rock roses and cyclamen and honeysuckle.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured in awe.

Thorne had stopped beside her, letting her drink in the sight. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

Diana merely nodded in mute appreciation.
Spectacular
was too tame a word. From this vantage, it seemed as if the whole Isle of Cyrene sat like a glowing jewel in the vast Mediterranean, remote yet imbued with a beguiling power.

Her throat tightened with an unaccustomed ache. She suddenly felt a sense of profound elation. Of pure, unadulterated freedom.

“You claimed,” she said, “that Apollo cast a spell over this island, and just now I could almost believe it.”

Thorne’s voice held a similar reverence when he replied. “Cyrene does have an uncanny beauty.”

Yet he was watching
her,
Diana realized, not the setting.

When she looked away uncomfortably, he asked, “Would you like to explore?”

“Yes, very much.”

They rode closer, coming to a halt at the base of the ruins, before an arched portal.

Above, Amy was already scrambling up the wide steps of the baths. Directly behind her, John Yates managed to climb the terrace on his wooden leg with surprising alacrity. Yet he stopped and stared in disapproval when Amy bent to pluck a pale pink orchid and tuck it in her blond curls.

“I should have known you would desecrate an ancient site of the gods, Miss Lunsford,” Yates muttered.

“Oh, pooh! Pray don’t be a spoilsport,” Amy retorted. “There are hundreds of flowers here. The gods won’t miss one little orchid.”

Ignoring their bickering, Thorne dismounted and, before Diana could protest, reached up to lift her down from her horse.

The press of his fingers at her waist stirred a now-familiar warmth in her, and when she met his gaze, she felt her heartbeat falter.

Suddenly breathless, her pulse far too unsteady, Diana stepped away from his too-intimate nearness. Cyrene might truly be a paradise with an uncanny beauty, yet there was danger here, too—in the person of Lord Thorne.

She followed the ascending path her cousin had already taken, and for the next half hour, explored the ruins and the sea cliffs. Yet deplorably, her mind kept focusing on Thorne’s image. His golden hair, his beautiful, masculine features, his sensual mouth, his incredibly virile body…Adonis in the flesh. And instead of pure landscapes, she kept imagining which views of Thorne she would paint if she had her oils and canvas with her.

When eventually they had to leave the ruins to return home, Diana tore herself away with relief. As they rode down through the wooded mountain slopes, however, she was still making mental paintings of Thorne.

They had just reached a meadow blazing with wildflowers when she became aware that he was speaking beside her.

“Sweeting, as soon as we return, I plan to lock you in my bedchamber and make mad, passionate love to you.”

Turning her head, Diana gave him a startled look. “
What
did you say?”

“At least that gained your attention.” His smile was amused. “I’m not accustomed to being ignored so blatantly, you know. I asked you a question three different times, but you never heard a word.”

He was mistaken, Diana knew. She couldn’t possibly ignore this man.

“I was thinking about the ruins,” she lied, “trying to determine the composition of the scenes I might paint.”

“As you were doing when you first saw me nude.”

She averted her gaze from his provocative one. “I think we should forget that unfortunate encounter.”

“Impossible,” Thorne said emphatically.

Diana agreed entirely, but she was grateful when an exclamation from up ahead precluded her thinking of a reply. Her cousin, it seemed, had just challenged Mr. Yates to a horse race.

“First one across the meadow wins!” Amy cried, spurring her mount into a gallop.

John Yates muttered an oath about irritating hoydens, but he, too, dug in his heels and urged his horse after her.

Diana immediately gathered her reins, delighted to participate, knowing a race would provide a much-needed distraction from the all-too-distracting man riding beside her.

Thorne woke suddenly, his heart racing, his erection throbbing. When he recognized his darkened bedchamber, a low curse spilled from his lips, breaking the silence of the night.

He had been dreaming of Diana Sheridan again. Vivid, erotic images that left him burning with a fierce ache. He was still feverish, a sheen of sweat covering his nude body.

Irritated, Thorne threw off the bedcovers and strode to the window to open it. Ever since Diana’s arrival, he’d had difficulty sleeping, knowing she was in his house, in a bed he owned. Even though he had purposely moved to another wing so he wouldn’t be tempted.

She was forbidden fruit for him.

He doubted she was still a virgin, for most likely her fortune-hunter had seduced her. And a woman that beautiful was bound to have taken lovers over the years, albeit discreetly. Yet he would be a cad to take advantage of her while she was living under his roof. And as her betrothed, he was responsible for her now.