Page 40 of To Love and to Loathe
Diana decided that, under the circumstances, her only option was to ignore that particular bit of commentary. “In any case, I think that you need a lesson inpaying attention. There is a world of difference between a lady who is in the throes of passion and one who is merely pretending, and it’s past time you learned to spot it. Ladies also often offer subtle cues—you missed me raising my hips to attempt to direct you earlier, and that was a fatal mistake. Next time I’ll expect you to pay closer attention.”
“Ah, so I am to be granted another chance?” Diana was irritated to note that his voice still held a trace of amusement.
“You are,” she said briskly, lowering her knees and stretching her feet out so that they peeked beneath the underside of the curtains that hid them. “But if you don’t learn to take your time and notice when I am clearly not enjoying myself, I don’t think it will end any better than this interlude.” She could feel herself growing agitated again as she spoke, and inhaled deeply. “In any case, now is hardly the moment tocontinue. We’ve been tucked away here for quite a while—surely we must be on the verge of being discovered.”
As though her words had summoned them, the sounds of voices in animated discussion suddenly became audible—Diana wondered if she and Jeremy had simply been so wrapped up in their conversation that neither of them had noticed. She detected Rothsmere’s voice, of course, but also distinctly heard those of her brother, Emily, and Belfry as well.
She hastily shuffled as far to the right as space would allow, hugging herself into the curve of the window and pulling the curtains around her, leaving Jeremy exposed just a moment before the group rounded a corner and entered the room.
“Not much of a hiding spot if you’re in plain sight, Jeremy,” Penvale said amiably, to the sound of collective laughter.
“And yet I still remained hidden longer than you did,” Jeremy replied. Diana heard him stand and join the group. Exchanging barbs with his friends, he left the room without revealing Diana’s hiding spot, which she thought quite decent of him—she might be a widow and therefore granted more leniency by the rigid rules of society, but being found tucked cozily in a window seat with a gentleman would still be taking things a bit far.
She waited for the sounds of their voices to fade a bit before getting up—she would follow them down the hallway and then hail them, pretending that they had overlooked her in some alcove or another, professing her boredom with the game. Which was true enough, she supposed—she found parlor games a trifle tiresome at times. But nothing about the past half hour had been tiresome. It had been maddening and passionate and, unexpectedly, enlightening—she felt as though she had learned something about Jeremy that he wouldrather she hadn’t, and she felt a bit giddy with the power. But beyond that she also felt sad—for this man who was torn between his fear of becoming his father and his own expectations that he would never manage to do much else. For his determination to live down to those expectations, in the wake of his brother’s death. For the complicated mixture of emotions he still held for his brother, and the circumstances of his death—grief, yes, and yet also something sharper-edged, angry and raw.
Something within Diana told her that Jeremy would need to come to terms with this on his own. And yet, equally strong was another feeling within her—one that made her want to turn toward him, take his hand, and walk with him down that path. And it was this feeling that gave her the first signal that she might be in trouble.
Sixteen
Diana retired to her bedroomsoon after dinner, pleading exhaustion, but sleep did not come easily to her that evening. Jeremy had given her an inquisitive look as she’d taken her leave of the group, but she’d merely shaken her head at him and given him a smile that did nothing to erase the worried crease between his eyebrows. She’d passed a solitary evening in her room, reading and sketching by the fire, but found herself unable to focus much on either book or sketch pad, so occupied was her mind with its worries.
Or, rather, a single worry: the undeniable fact that she was growing dangerously attached to the Marquess of Willingham.
Later, as she lay in bed, she could not stop her mind returning to him—she had known the man for a decade, and yet somehow he had become endlessly novel and fascinating in the past few days. It was not just that she found herself drawn to him physically—that had been the case for years, loath though she’d always been to admit it. It was something much more alarming: the fact that each time they had a lengthy, serious conversation about themselves, she was left eager for more. He had become fascinating to her, and that was the undeniable signal that this had gone too far.
Not that she intended to give up their affair, of course; it hadn’teven properly gotten started, and she was still eager to gain some practical experience that might serve her well in the future. But her decision to encourage his grandmother’s matchmaking, which she’d initially done in the interest of winning her wager with Willingham and nothing more, had suddenly become of the utmost importance. If Willingham was courting someone else, then Diana never need worry that things between them would progress beyond the physical. Which was, of course, the only sort of relationship she wanted.
But therein lay her dilemma: her conversation with Lady Helen the day before had confirmed that the lady was, unfortunately, just as odious as she appeared upon initial conversation. Jeremy was a trifle foolish, but he wasn’t a complete imbecile, and Diana knew he could never be persuaded to marry someone so dreadful. But then, who remained? This house party was hardly overflowing with eligible ladies, and it was deeply unfortunate that the one currently flinging herself at Willingham was more likely to send him fleeing into someone else’s arms than into her own.
But wait.
That was it, she realized all of a sudden. That was the solution. Lady Helen must behave so dreadfully that any other eligible lady looked appealing by comparison. But who? Not Diana, obviously—that was rather the entire point. Not Emily, either—she seemed to be more than occupied with Belfry at the moment. Not Sophie, of course—she’d only recently finished her liaison with Jeremy, and hardly seemed to be collapsing in despair at this outcome.
But then, whynotSophie? The affair had clearly ended amicably, if her presence at this house party was any indication. She was beautiful, intelligent, and all-around good company; Diana had little doubt that the affair had ended more because Willingham was allergic to anysort of commitment lasting much longer than a fortnight than for any other reason. And clever, lovely Sophie would seem extra appealing by comparison to Lady Helen Courtenay, of course.
Therewasthe matter of Sophie’s long-standing attachment to Audley’s brother, but Diana had seen no indication from either Sophie or West that they intended to rekindle any flames between them. Well, unless one counted the occasional longing look from each party.
No, Sophie would be the perfect bride for Jeremy—and, of course, there were advantages for Sophie as well. She clearly found Jeremy attractive, and it would undoubtedly be more pleasant for her to share Jeremy’s spacious London town house than to live all alone in the home she’d once shared with her late husband.
Youlive alone, inyourlate husband’s house, the irritating little voice at the back of her mind that she usually did her best to ignore reminded her.
But that was different.Shewas different. She had no wish to remarry—not Jeremy, not anyone. She valued her freedom too greatly. Other ladies likely did not feel the same; surely Sophie would be different. Surely she would be receptive to Jeremy’s renewing his affections.
The trick now was just making him realize he wanted to do so.
The following day dawned rainy once more, again scuttling plans for the hunt. While yesterday’s parlor games had proved amusing enough, the general mood of the party seemed to be listlessness at the prospect of another day trapped indoors. Everyone rose rather late, appearing at the breakfast table in a slow trickle and then disappearing once more for largely solitary pursuits. They reconvened for a simple luncheon ofcold meats and cheeses in the early afternoon, looking hopefully out the windows at the sky, which seemed to be a lighter shade of gray, even as the rain continued to fall. After the meal, several of the gentlemen retreated to the library with plans for a game of vingt-et-un and, most likely, several bottles of brandy. Sophie and West professed an intention to admire Jeremy’s portrait gallery and set off arm in arm, watched with avid interest by Violet and Audley, and with an odd, frustrated expression by Diana. Violet, Diana, and Lady Emily retreated to a corner of the drawing room, their chairs drawn close together, heads bent in consultation.
“I wouldn’t try to interrupt them,” Audley advised from just behind Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy turned; Audley’s gaze was on his wife, an expression on his face that was a strange mixture of fondness and exasperation. It softened his sometimes stern features, and his mouth curved up slightly at one corner in a smile that Jeremy didn’t understand, and was sure he wasn’t meant to. Across the room, Violet looked up and met her husband’s gaze; she quirked her mouth slightly and raised her eyebrows inquisitively. Something she read in Audley’s expression caused her smile to broaden, and she turned her attention back to her friends with a faint smile still playing about her lips.
“I wasn’t planning to,” Jeremy said, in response to Audley’s original warning. “Do I need to adviseyouto stop mooning?”
Audley, unruffled, gave his wife one last lingering look before turning his gaze fully on Jeremy. “If you think I’m mooning, then I’d be interested to hear what you consider whatyou’redoing to be.”
Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t,” Audley said amiably, lifting a glass of claret in a mocking salute. “You know, for someone who has blunt on the line,you don’t seem to be doing a very good job of avoiding the parson’s mousetrap.”
“You must be joking,” Jeremy said, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling vaguely like a petulant child. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been keeping a healthy distance between Rothsmere’s sister and myself all day.”
