Page 17 of An Earl Unmasked
“Aye.” His valet chuckled and nodded his head. “Ye’ve yet to win Lady Diana’s hand in marriage.”
Randal glared up at his valet. “Win?”
Brows wrinkled into a frown, Cartwright responded, “Blimey, Lady Diana was right. Ye be needing more rest. Yer not acting like yerself. Did someone sneak up on ye and knock ye senseless, or were ye takin’ one of yer long naps?”
Randal had pondered over that exact question for the brief moments Diana hadn’t preoccupied his thoughts. He didn’t have a definitive response for his valet, which was extremely unsettling for someone who was expected to have all the answers. Randal summoned every last ounce of patience he had in order to remain seated and silent. A few more strokes of the blade, and Cartwright would be done.
His valet ran a clean washcloth over his cheek, removing all traces of soap. “Nothing hiding that scar of yers now. I’ll warn ye, me lord, yer competition is mighty steep.” Cartwright tilted Randal’s head to the left then to the right. “Ye clean up well enough, but Lord Drake and Lord Cunningham turn a fine coat. Especially that Lord Drake. I hear the gels’ hearts flutter for a gentleman with blue eyes.”
Done with Cartwright’s blathering, Randal stood to take his leave. “I’m not competing for Lady Diana’s hand.”
“Why not? I reckon Lady Diana would make a fine Countess of Chestwick.” The man who had never dared to question Randal on the battlefield was frowning at him as if Randal was addled. “Yer not considering her sister—Lady Minerva, are ye?”
He knew the answer to this question at least—it was a definite no.
Randal replied, “Lady Minerva is the eldest. Why should I not?”
Returning to the wash basin to clean Randal’s shaving instruments, Cartwright huffed, “Coz’ she ain’t Lady Diana.”
His valet was correct; the two sisters were nothing alike. Lady Minerva would be an excellent choice for a wife, but it was Diana about whom he couldn’t stop thinking.
Sliding his arms into the jacket Cartwright held out for him, Randal asked, “Where is the war being waged?”
“In the library.”
Of course. He should have known. With a nod, he left his chambers and headed over to the west wing. The idea Lord Drake and Lord Cunningham were under his roof attempting to woo Diana had him lengthening his stride and doubling his usual pace.
*
Diana slid onemore longing glance at the door before returning her attention back to Lord Drake, who had staked a claim in the chair opposite her. Lowering her voice to a harsh whisper, she asked, “What the devil did you say to Minerva upon your arrival that has her glaring at you?”
“Ahh…that explains why it feels like I was jabbed with a red-hot poker between my shoulder blades.” Drake rolled his shoulders back and forth as if to shake off the feeling.
Frowning at the man that was like another brother to her, Diana said, “There was a time when the two of you were practically in each other’s pockets. Since Minerva’s debut, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve witnessed you close enough to even speak to my sister. And this past Season, whenever one of you entered a room, the other fled. Why is that?”
“That is not true.”
“Which of my observations are you claiming to be a lie?”
Drake grinned. “I never flee a room.”
The man was a terrible liar. He tugged at his cravat and then proceeded to knead the back of his neck three times, as he did every time he attempted to fib. Drake wasn’t fooling Diana. In the months leading up to Minerva’s debut Season, Diana had been certain she’d seen the frequent glimmers of interest in Drake’s eyes as Minerva transformed right before everyone, from country girl to an elegant lady of theton. Diana had hoped Drake would finally come to his senses and take up Minerva’s challenge. Not that she believed Drake capable of defeating her sister; however, Diana suspected Minerva would gracefully lose to a gentleman that would be caring and loyal.
It was obvious to Diana that they held an affection for one another, yet as each Season passed, Minerva became more and more determined not to marry, and Drake purposefully distanced himself further from her. Diana’s efforts to devise a covert plan in which the two would come to their senses had failed miserably. Minerva was adept at anticipating her every move. An image of the Beast of Chestwick flashed before her—mayhap she could recruit the aid of the brilliant strategist.
The drawing room door swung open, and the Beast himself appeared. All thoughts of her sister and Drake vanished as a clean-shaven Lord Chestwick approached. A fine, white scar slashed down his cheek and along his jawline. Diana swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. The marring of his features didn’t detract from the man’s impressive looks. All Diana saw were his unique dual-color eyes that were bright in contrast to this dark-colored jacket.
Diana’s gaze remained locked on his as he marched across the room to stand before her. He acknowledged the greetings of her family with the barest of nods. Her heart raced. Why, out of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance, did Randal garner such visceral reactions from her?
Drake rose, and Diana said, “Lord Chestwick, may I introduce you to our neighbor, Lord Drake.”
Lord Chestwick again acknowledged his guest with a minimalist nod. “Since I don’t recall having met you previously, I’ll assume you attended Eton rather than Harrow.”
Drake, easily the most congenial of their set, stiffened and replied, “You are correct. I attended Eton along with Kent and Cunningham.”
Diana searched the room for Minerva, hoping she might interject and ease the tension in the room. Rather than locating Minerva, Diana’s gaze fell upon Isadora—who sadly shook her head and jutted her chin toward the door. Diana’s heart sank. Minerva had fled again. Without the aid of her eldest sister, Diana sought out Isadora’s assistance. Her sister acknowledged Diana’s plea with a smile, squared her shoulders, and linked her arm with Lord Cunningham to steer him over to their small group.
Diana clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She was aware Lord Chestwick’s gaze was trained back on her. He had made it abundantly clear yesterday that he did not care for guests, and yet she was about to make more introductions.
