Page 91 of Enslaved
“She’s convinced she’s been right here in Bath, or Aquae Sulis as it was called in Roman times.”
“Good God, man, did she try to fob you off with that ridiculous tale?”
“Mark, I know how utterly implausible it sounds, but to her it is very real. Perhaps it was her way of escaping from a situation she found intolerable. Let her talk. Encourage her to get it all out, every detail. It’s the only way she’ll rid herself of this obsession. Having someone listen to her without poo-pooing her will be therapeutic, cathartic even. Once her mind unloads itself of the burden she’s carrying, perhaps she will begin to recall what really happened to her and where she’s really been for the last nine months.”
“If this is the mumbo-jumbo of medicine, I’m glad my consuming passion is archaeology. I wouldn’t have the bloody patience to be a doctor!”
“Well, patience is exactly what you’re going to have to exercise with Lady Diana, Mark. None of your bullying, autocratic tactics.”
“Me? Bully? I am the epitome of a gentle man.” Charles rolled his eyes ceilingward. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
As Mark strode back to the stairs, he encountered his cook with a tray of food in her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me the young lady was awake? She’s had nothing to eat since yesterday, Your Lordship. Why are men so thoughtless?”
“No lectures, Nora, I beg you. I’ve just had one from Dr. Wentworth. I’ll take the tray up. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
When the earl reentered the chamber, he caught a look of infinite sadness on Diana’s face, as if she longed for a love, lost forever.
The pain of losing Marcus was so sharp, Diana thought she might die of it. In fact, she mourned him so deeply, she wished she had died. And then the chamber door opened and he walked in. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart started to hammer erratically.
Why couldn’t Mark Hardwick remember that once upon a time he had been Marcus Magnus? Once upon a time—it sounded like a fairy tale. Surely it was more than that? Diana cast away all doubts. Marcus was Mark. He simply didn’t remember. It would be up to her to make him remember. The question was, did she want to?
She loved Marcus Magnus with all her heart and soul. She did not love Mark Hardwick. She wasn’t sure she even liked him! Seventeen hundred years of civilization under his belt had masked his good qualities and magnified his flaws.
“You must be hungry,” he said, putting the tray down beside her.
“I’m thirsty. My throat is very dry. Thank you.” He took a chair beside the bed and stretched his long legs before him.
Diana fingered the high neck of the nightgown she wore. She looked into his black eyes and asked directly, “Did you undress me?”
The Earl of Bath licked lips gone suddenly dry. Her words and the vision they provoked made him shift in the chair to accommodate his arousal.
“Nora undressed you.” He cleared his throat. “Most of the servants at Hardwick Hall are male; Nora is my cook.”
She began to sip the broth he had brought her. His eyes followed the spoon to her lips. “Did she make this? It’s delicious.”
“She’s a Frenchwoman. I’m lucky to have her.” As he watched her eat, his mind went back to last night when he found her unconscious. When he lifted her into his arms, an icy finger of fear had touched his heart. An overwhelming protectiveness arose within him that still lingered. He had thought it stemmed from her vulnerability and helplessness, but now he wasn’t so sure.
His mind drifted back to the first time he ever saw her, dressed as a goddess. He had been instantly attracted to the beautiful young girl, which was odd, because he preferred older women of experience. Perhaps it was because she was dressed in the Roman style. He had always had an inexplicable passion for anything Roman.
Whatever it was, he had known instantly that he wanted her. When he propositioned her, she had thrown champagne in his face. Mark Hardwick’s mouth curved with wry amusement as he remembered mistaking her for a cyprian. How the hell he could have done that was beyond his comprehension. She had had such an air of innocence about her, a man of his experience should have known better.
Wishful thinking on his part had blinded him to her unmistakable air of breeding. If he was being honest, it was a hell of a lot more than wishful thinking, it was hot lust! When he had offered her carte blanche, he remembered her words exactly:You are too arrogant, too cocksure, and far, far too old for me, Lord Bath.
Also remembered vividly was the feeling of rage that swept over him when he had walked into his bedchamber and found her in Peter’s arms. When his brother told him they were engaged, he experienced such a sharp sense of loss, he realized he had been on the brink of falling for her. In that moment he hated his brother and coveted her shamefully.
The problem was he still coveted her. When he had found her unconscious in that antique shop, he had resented bringing her to Hardwick Hall and Peter. He secretly hoped that Peter would reject a fiancée who had been missing for months, but his brother had been overjoyed that Diana was found, and had rushed off to London at dawn to inform her aunt and uncle.
What no one knew, save himself and Nora, was that in the middle of the night the earl had come to this chamber and told Nora he would stay with Lady Diana as she lay unconscious in hopes of being there when she awoke.
As he watched her, lying so still and pale, her beauty overwhelmed him. Just thinking of her had been a strong enough lure to bring him to her bedside. Once he was in the same room with her, desire gripped him by the throat. He was drawn close to her by some compelling force that played havoc with his willpower. His hand reached out to touch her of its own volition. He brushed the golden tendrils back from her brow and was instantly lost.
Desire flared in him, flooding his brain, his heart, his loins. A longing to make her his consumed him. He took his hand from her as if it had been burned, then moved his chair back from the bed. Yet it had not diminished his desire. He was fully aroused and his body remained in that blatant condition all night.
He felt extremely possessive about her, as if she had belonged to him and he had lost her. Throughout the long, quiet night he had received fleeting glimpses of … what? Another time, another place? The sensations were similar to déjà vu, yet were so ephemeral and fleeting, he could not hold on to them. He had had these feelings before, whenever he held a Roman artifact in his hands.
Where the hellfire had she been for nine months? Jealousy consumed him. Yet he knew he had no right to be jealous. Lady Davenport was engaged to his brother, Peter. Had she run away because she did not wish to marry Peter? He found himself wishing it were so.
