Page 66 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

James’s bloodied knuckles tightened. “I do not care what he thinks.”

“Forget about Solomon, James. Doyoufeel you have failed as a man?”

James got up and shot his friend a baleful look. “Perhaps I hit you too hard. Go to your wife, Seymour.”

Then, he turned his back and left.

He stepped out into the cool night air, rolling back his shoulders and exhaling sharply. The fight should have left him satisfied. The brandy should have drowned the unease in his chest. But neither had. His mind was still too full, too loud, caught between desire and rage.

Without conscious thought, he made a decision about what to focus on. He would see her soon. Diana.

CHAPTER 18

Bizarre Inquiries

Diana was going through her morning mail. Invitations to balls, musicales, and charity functions. She almost missed it. The envelope was different—heavier, thicker, and more luxurious than generic printed invitations. Then, she caught it. The Pemberton crest.

She hesitated. Her heart fluttered, and she bit her lip. Could that be a letter from James?

Had he decided to find another way to torture her other than his voice, his words, his laughter, his body, his touch, his mouth?

No. Of course not. He would never do something this formal. That meant that…

Impatiently, she broke the seal and scanned the elegant handwriting before concentrating on the words.

Lady Diana,

I trust this letter finds you well.

I would be honored to extend an invitation for tea at Pemberton House.

I have been informed that you are acquainted with my son. I find myself rather curious about your person, and I would like for us to meet.

If you would do me the kindness of accepting, my carriage will collect you at three o’clock.

I trust you will find our conversation enlightening.

Solomon Bolton, Duke of Pemberton.

Diana read the letter. Again. And one more time. She wasn’t sure how many times it was appropriate to read a letter from the father of the man who knew intimately how she tasted.

Surely once was enough. Twice, for good measure. Three times? Indulgent. But five times? That bordered on madness. And yet there she was, reading it again as if the words might change. As if they might offer her an answer she did not have.

I have been informed that you are acquainted with my son.

Diana nearly snorted. Acquainted? She was acquainted with his mouth on her neck, with his hands on her body, with the wicked sound of his voice when he whispered things no gentleman should say to a lady.

Oh, acquainted alright.

Panic then entered the scene.

Did he know?

Did James’s father know about their… agreement?

I trust you will find our conversation enlightening.

Diana struggled to read between the lines. Was he going to expose her? Accuse her of trying to ruin his son’s reputation to perhaps force him into marriage?

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