Page 9 of An Earl Unmasked
He rushed to her side. “Lady Diana?”
Eyes fluttering open, Diana said, “I told you I wouldn’t break my neck.” She lifted her head and attempted to lean up on her elbows.
“Aye, you were right.” The lump lodged in his chest remained as he gently slid his arm under her to assist her to a sitting position.
She clenched her skirts in her hands, raising the hem. Her foot rested in an odd angle. “It appears my ankle might not have fared as well as I’d hoped.”
He placed an arm under her knees and picked her up. “I’ll send for a physician.”
“Oh, no need to go to the trouble.” She smoothed out her skirts as he settled her upon the settee. “If you could send word to Malbury Manor, I’m certain Minerva will make the necessary arrangements for my transportation home.”
He fetched a pillow from the wingback chair and gently placed it under her injured ankle. What the bloody hell was he doing fussing over her like a besotted fool. He should simply do as she asked and allow her family to tend to her wounds. Hovering over Lady Diana, he asked, “Is your sister trained to assess your injuries?”
“Don’t be silly, women are not allowed to attend university, let alone the Royal College of Physicians.” Lady Diana leaned back and calmly clasped her hands in her lap. “However, my brother Gregory is completing his final year at Oxford. He’s due to arrive tomorrow or the day after at the very latest. He will be able to tend to my injury.”
Lady Diana’s tranquil demeanor only rankled his. “In that case, you shall remain here until your brother arrives.” Randal forced himself to relax but kept his hands firmly clutched behind him. The urge to pick her up, settle her upon his lap, and hold her close had his mind and body at odds with each other.
Lady Diana was nothing like the tittering young debutantes or the mind-numbing ladies he recalled having been subjected to the last time he was in London for a Season. The woman was not unsettled by silence; she spoke with a purpose and was blessed with wit and humor that he understood. A jolt to his heart had his pulse racing. He wanted Lady Diana to stay.
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Have you lost your wits? I can’t stay here unchaperoned.”
She had a valid argument, but he wasn’t about to change his mind. He turned about, tearing his gaze from her pretty, upturned face and pretended to look about the room with interest. With one eyebrow arched, he asked, “You are currently sans a companion, are you not?”
“Aye, but that’s because I had planned to sneak back into Malbury Manor during supper.” Her cheeks flushed a light pink color. “Is there any possibility you would agree to send a discrete message to my sister instead of alerting my mama?”
Tempted to say yes simply to make her happy, Randal shook his head decisively. The minx was clever, but she needed to learn that there were consequences for such risky schemes. “Not a chance.”
“Have you considered that my papa will demand marriage if it is discovered that I’ve spent more than the socially acceptable quarter-hour?”
The consequences of him allowing her to remain under his roof had flittered through his thoughts hours ago. Marriage to Lady Diana seemed rather intriguing rather than disturbing. It was expected he would be on the hunt for a bride this upcoming Season. Mayhap he could avoid another disastrous Season and wed over the summer. “We are in the Manchester countryside, not on Governors Square. There are no prying eyes on the hunt for scandal.” He walked over to the writing desk in the corner and retrieved a piece of parchment from the drawer. Searching for a writing instrument, he pulled the side compartment open.
From behind, Lady Diana asked, “Are you searching for this?”
He turned in time to view Lady Diana retrieving a wooden pencil from her hair. Long brown tresses fell about her shoulders. His hand twitched. What would it be like to thread his fingers through that hair? To have those locks fall over his naked body. Randal wasn’t one to indulge in fantasies. He prided himself on being well grounded; however, his imagination was proving to be hard to overcome. He cleared his throat and rubbed his temples.
“Lord Chestwick, is your head aching?”
It wasn’t his head upon his shoulders that was throbbing. “Nay.” He shifted to ensure she wouldn’t spy the bulge in his pants. He opened a second compartment and released a breath. His papa’s quill and ink remained neatly stored away. Randal’s hand paused as he reached for the writing instrument. Had his papa purposefully challenged Lady Diana, knowing he would be captivated by her temperament? Bah. His papa was no interfering matron.
The rustle of material behind him spurred him into action. Refocused on the task at hand, he dipped the quill in the dark liquid. Would Lady Diana’s parents insist upon a union?
He proceeded to pen a long and detailed message informing Countess Wallace of her daughter’s misadventures. After reading over the missive, Randal picked up the parchment and crumpled it into a ball. A mutually agreed upon marriage of convenience was what he sought, not a forced union due to some arbitrary etiquette rule.
Randal dipped the quill once more. Poised to attempt to draft another note, he stared at the blank page and waited for the appropriate words to form in his mind. Instead of prose, images of Diana’s long tresses strewn across his pillows invaded his thoughts. Mayhap marriage to Diana would be the best solution.
Chapter Six
Seated upon thesettee, Diana idly rolled the pencil between her thumb and forefinger. What did the beast intend to say in his missive? Her mama would leap at any plausible excuse to marry her off. Diana inhaled and, as she exhaled, she relaxed each of her fingers that were tightly gripped around the writing instrument she often used as a hair pin. If only there were some way she could ensure Minerva would intercept the note. Her sister would know exactly how to sneak Diana back into her parents’ home. Absently, Diana tapped the end of the pencil against her chin. There was naught she could do about the content the man was drafting.
The material of Lord Chestwick’s jacket stretched taut across his back. The man’s impressive build brought images of the Elgin Marbles Diana had viewed while in London. There was no time for daydreaming. She placed the rejected writing instrument between her teeth and rubbed the back of her head over the spot that throbbed. It was a good thing she hadn’t injured more than her ankle, which radiated with pain. Diana raised her hands to twist her hair back into a makeshift chignon and stabbed the pencil back through her hair. What was the man crafting, a novel? Arms crossed, she waited for her host to finish.
Diana focused on calculating the odds of Minerva intercepting the missive. If her sister failed to do so, Diana was certain Lord Chestwick would find himself leg shackled quicker than either of them could blink. She would be forced to marry the man whose eyes haunted her days and her nights. All Season, she had carried the sealed missive and the image of eyes with green and gold flecks with her. She wasn’t a believer in fate or destiny. The Malburys were believers in science. Her papa and her eldest brother Benedict were botanists, which aided them in managing the estate.
Her mama and Minerva, talented strategists. Gregory was to be a physician. Isadora was a talented mathematician, and Paul, the only sibling younger than she, was an avid astronomer. Her family was a methodical lot and often approached life with precision that left Diana baffled.
Her lips thinned into a straight line. Her sisters evaded the rules of etiquette with complex schemes. However, would Minerva be able to conceive an elaborate ruse that would prevent Diana’s presence alone with Lord Chestwick from becoming the latest on-dit? Etiquette would dictate Diana was already embroiled in a scandal—a lady should never find herself alone with a gentleman in a room, let alone an entire estate. The thought of being bound to the man that dwarfed the chair he was seated in sent a warm swath of contentment throughout her, rather than the ice-cold fear that had tricked down her spine upon being introduced to each eligible gentleman during her first Season out.
She swung her legs over the edge of the settee and gingerly placed her feet upon the floor. “After contemplation, I believe I’m well enough…” The searing pain that shot up her leg cut off the rest of her thoughts. She inhaled sharply and began to count down from fifty in the hope the pain would subside.
