The Dangerous Viscount (30 page)

“Don’t you think the richest man in England could afford a carpet or two by now?”

“Assuredly. But while I can’t speak for his
predecessor, I can only tell you that my great-uncle, who held the title of Viscount Iverley for sixty years, never cared for such things. In later years he only left the library for the occasional meeting of the Literary and Philosophical Society. Most days he didn’t trouble to get dressed.”

And this man, Diana thought, had been responsible for Sebastian’s upbringing. “Why are there no female servants in the house?” she asked.

“There has never been a woman at Saxton for as long as I recall. You and your maid may be the first to set foot in the house for fifty years or more.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Uncle Iverley didn’t hold with women,” Sebastian said stiffly. “He didn’t trust the female sex.”

“I’ve heard the same thing said about you. Did he teach you to think as he did?”

“I draw my own conclusions based on experience.”

Diana winced. Not only had Sebastian been inexperienced with women, he’d lacked all knowledge of the sex save the prejudices of a crazy old man. Little wonder his reaction to her bet with Blakeney had been disproportionate to the offense. She slid off the bed and went over to him. “You are an intelligent man, Sebastian,” she said, crouching down beside him and placing a hand on his arm. “You must know there is little truth in generalities when applied to the human condition. I fear your uncle may have been affected by some unfortunate experience of his own.”

“He was a man of reason. Do you know, before I came to live with him, I had a reputation for
clumsiness. I would often break things and make my mother cry.” “Your mother?”

He ignored her soft interruption. “The first time it happened here, my uncle took me to Newcastle and had a glassmaker grind me a pair of lenses. I do not believe I have walked into anything since.”

Diana had the feeling he had confided something important. “Why did a young boy live with an elderly great-uncle instead of with his mother? You must have missed her dreadfully.”

Abruptly he rose to his feet, shaking off her touch and almost causing her to lose balance. “Here,” he said, stretching down to help her up. Once she was standing he dropped her hand and stepped back, putting a few feet’s distance between them in a manner that had to be deliberate. “It’s late and you should go to bed. I’ll send your maid to you.”

She opened her mouth to argue then changed her mind. Sebastian might be a grown man, but temperamentally he was skittish as a colt. To bring him to her side would require subtlety, patience, and a metaphorical handful of sugar.

T
he three most respected mining engineers in the Tyne—Sebastian had refused to take the word of one alone—pronounced the colliery safe. The dead men were buried and their widows compensated, financially at least. Sebastian bathed and dressed without bothering with a neck cloth or coat, looking forward to dining with a good book and a measure of serenity.

Not that true peace of mind was possible when
she
remained under the same roof. Last time they’d been in the same room it had taken a supreme effort of self-control not to leap on his wife like a wild beast. The swinging of the axe and the wanton destruction of furniture had aroused something primitive and savage. Sebastian regarded himself as a man of reason and restraint, the product of an advanced level of civilization, not at all the sort of person who would fling a woman over his shoulder and ravish her in a cave. Yet the very thought of having Diana alone in a cave drove him to a painful level of arousal.

It might, he considered, be worth the regression to the condition of his feral ancestors if the little woman would, sated by the attentions of her virile
mate, relapse exhausted onto a pile of furs and
not say a word.

But their last conversation had made him profoundly uneasy. He hadn’t forgotten Tarquin’s half joking reference to a woman’s desire to see into a man’s soul. He had the sense that Diana wanted to do just that, to understand him, to make him talk about subjects that were far better left alone.

The memoirs of the bookseller James Lackington was an old favorite and a reliably soothing companion. He collected the book from the library and made his way to the small dining room where he and his uncle had always taken their meals. The table was bare. What on earth …?

Hedley, hard on his heels, explained.

“She wants me to dine in her rooms?” Sebastian almost shouted. “Why?”

“Her Ladyship cannit wey abide the smell in the dining room.”

That wasn’t the question Sebastian wanted Hedley to answer. But even in this household of men, asking why a woman would wish to dine with her husband might seem unnecessary. Perhaps especially in a household of men. For the first time in his life he wondered what his servants thought about the domestic arrangements at Saxton. And how they catered to their baser urges.

“Were you ever wed, Hedley?”

“There, Master Sebastian, you know His Lordship divint allow married men in the house.” The butler, who must have been eighty if he was a day, grinned to reveal a respectable set of teeth.

“Did you ever wish to?”

“Wishes bain’t horses. You’re a lucky man. Her Ladyship’s a bonny lass.”

She was indeed. Much too bonny for Sebastian’s peace of mind. He should, however, find out what she wanted. And he needed to eat. And he was quite capable of resisting any discussion he found distasteful. There was always the possibility that her plans would demand more action than talk on his part.

He’d never have recognized my lady’s bedchamber. It might as well have been in a different house. Nothing like it had ever been seen at Saxton Iverley.

For a start, the atmosphere was blissfully warm and redolent of burning wood. And unlike every other part of the house, nothing was gray and there was almost no stone visible. Instead Sebastian walked into a treasure house of color and opulence that would have impressed an oriental potentate. Once the initial bedazzlement faded, he began to take in the details: the walls covered ceiling to floor with fabric hangings depicting exotic scenes of life in Persia or India; the dilapidated bed curtains replaced with silk of deepest ocean blue, figured with a riot of flowers in reds, pinks, and greens; matching curtains drawn against the windows, excluding the dreary evidence of Saxton’s site and season and enhancing the illusion that he had walked into a far-off country of eternal summer and magnificent luxury.

As he ventured into the room his feet encountered the muffled softness of thick carpets. Disoriented, he sought the denizen of this magnificent cave—his lips twitched at the unconscious phrasing of his
thought—and found her on the floor, next to the fireplace, seated on a large pillow of pale yellow silk embroidered all over with giant red poppies.

“Come and join me,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I thought we’d have a picnic.”

“Does that mean we have to eat on the floor?” A table, covered with a gaudy cloth, had been set up near the fire and bore a number of covered dishes.

“We could sit on those hard chairs but I don’t recommend it. Besides, it’s more fun this way.”

More pillows were scattered on the carpet and it didn’t escape his notice that accepting Diana’s invitation would bring him close to her, within easy touching distance. He settled himself into a comfortable position, half lying on his side, propped up on one elbow like a nobleman of the Roman empire. Her perfume mingled with the fragrance of the fire and the subtle scent of top quality wax candles. She wore a full-length robe buttoned from knee level all the way to the chin, and he enjoyed thinking about what the garment concealed. Her hair was pinned up but he fancied the arrangement was looser, less ornate than her usual style.

“Wine?” She filled him a glass from a decanter.

He took a sip. “Very nice.”

“Hedley has a few treasures hidden away in the cellar. This claret is fifty years old.”

“Either you have managed to find unsuspected riches in the Newcastle shops, or the wine isn’t the only treasure you discovered.” He gestured around the room with his glass. “How did you manage it?”

“I’ll tell you while we eat. You must be very hungry.
George, would you bring us the food? You may lay out the dishes in front of us but leave the sweets on the table.”

The footman, whose presence Sebastian hadn’t noticed, did as he was asked, then Diana dismissed him.

Sebastian began to feel a low hum of excitement about the outcome of the evening, especially once he noticed Diana’s healthy appetite. Not a hint of nausea. The dinner, consisting of a variety of foods that could be eaten with the fingers, was excellent.

“If picnics are always this good,” he said, biting into a tiny meat pie and savoring the flaky pastry and spiced filling, “I think I like them.”

“Haven’t you ever had one before?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Indoor picnics are my favorite kind. Outdoors can be lovely but inside one is seldom bothered by high winds, insects, or passing showers.”

Something caught at his memory. “I think I did have a picnic once, when I was very young. I scarcely recall.”

“Where?”

“It must have been in one of the London parks. That’s where I lived before I came to Saxton.”

“Did your mother take you?”

“My nurse,” he said curtly, awaiting the inevitable interrogation.

She didn’t press for details but talked about alfresco meals of her own childhood. He always enjoyed hearing about life among the Montroses.

“The greatest drawback to a Montrose picnic is the dogs. A good deal of vigilance is required if you
are to have anything to eat at all. Tobias didn’t like eating outside unless he had a fully appointed table, chairs, and half a dozen footmen. Not truly a picnic to my mind, but after losing your luncheon to a pack of foxhounds you begin to see the attraction.”

“I like eating on the floor.” Sebastian didn’t want to be anything like Diana’s first husband. Moreover his head was less than two feet away from Diana’s lap and he enjoyed watching her slip morsels of food between her lips.

“Tell me how you obtained the wherewithal to create a lair worthy of a Turkish pasha.”

“Not Turkish. Most of these cloths are Indian. I found them in the attics, or rather Hedley directed me to them. Great bales and crates full. There’s plenty more up there, enough to furnish much of the house.”

“I had no idea. I wonder how long it’s been there.”

“Didn’t you ever go up to the attics?”

“Not that I can recall.”

Diana shook her head. “This huge house and you never explored it all. It’s the most fascinating place. I’ve scarcely begun.”

“Are you well enough to climb up all those stairs? It must be cold.”

She waved aside his concern. “I’m well as long as I keep out of any room with an open coal fire. In fact I feel better than I have since I realized I was with child.” Placing her hand on her stomach she sighed happily. “I’ve eaten a huge dinner. I think I’ll lie down.”

She took her time about it, moving dishes out of
the way and adjusting several cushions until they were positioned to her liking. She ended up in a pose similar to his own, facing him, less than two feet of carpet between them.

He couldn’t mistake her intentions, could he? Yet she was still very thoroughly dressed. He kept his eyes glued to her face, trying to read her expression.

“The one problem with a midwinter picnic,” she said, “is the lack of the right fruits. I would so love some strawberries or raspberries now.”

Sebastian’s mouth watered at the notion of red berry juice staining Diana’s lips. He got to his feet. “Let me see what we have in the way of sweets.”

“I haven’t visited the kitchen yet but I understand the cook is a man. He’s very good.”

“Northumbrian born and bred. He doesn’t cook anything foreign.” He returned to his place with a small bowl. “I cannot offer you fresh berries, but perhaps a cherry preserved in honey and brandy would do.”

He selected one, swollen with the sweet liquor and of a red so dark it was almost black. Taking it delicately between finger and thumb he brought it to her mouth. He rubbed the plump fruit to and fro across her lips then pushed it in as they parted.

“Cook always removes the stones,” he whispered.

Her mouth closed over the sweetmeat and, for a moment before he pulled them out, his finger and thumb. He sensed her bite into the cherry, savor the taste, swallow. Then she licked her lips.

Right then Sebastian made up his mind. He wasn’t going to wait for Diana to lead the way or even to
signal her willingness. He was sick of waiting. This time he would be the seducer and he would use every scrap of knowledge lent him by limited experience, reading, and his own imagination to make sure Diana enjoyed it. Last time he’d wanted to please her so she would regret it when the act wasn’t repeated. This time he must make sure she wished for frequent, constant, and lifelong repetition.

“Would you like another?”

From the way she closed her eyes and offered him her parted lips he gathered the answer was yes. He fed her a couple more cherries. She made little appreciative “mmm” sounds as she ate them so he decided to offer her a different taste. As soon as his mouth touched hers, she placed her arms around his neck and took him with her as she relaxed on her back among the silken poppies.

They kissed for a long time. He bent over her, holding her face between his hands, saluting her forehead, her nose, the pulses at her temples, the clean soft line of her jaw. But mostly her mouth. Honey, brandy, fruit, and her unique essence mingled to madden and enchant him and impelled him to drive her to the same insanity. He’d learned enough about kissing now to know that the more you did it, the better you did it and the more you wanted it.

That rule, he guessed, didn’t just apply to kissing. The fact that Diana’s robe covered every inch of her flesh save hands and face began to frustrate him. Without releasing her mouth he groped for the buttons and found them to be both small and numerous.