Page 26 of To Love and to Loathe
“I say,” Willingham objected mildly, “I hardly thinkmauledis the appropriate word to use here.”
“Particularly not when the activities you witnessed were entirely consensual,” Diana added.
Penvale grimaced. “Please don’t make me reflect upon it further. Iam already terrified that the images will be imprinted upon my mind for the rest of my life.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “Penvale, you are making a nuisance of yourself. I’m not an unwed girl whose virtue you need to protect, you know. I can take care of myself.”
Even when shehadbeen an unwed girl, she had taken care of herself. A childhood spent in a house where she was aware every day that she was a burden, even if it had never been said in so many words, had created a powerful independent streak within her. She had arranged the details of her London Season; she had created her list of acceptable potential husbands; she had planned her own wedding. Penvale was not a bad brother, but even a good brother is no substitute for a mother, and he had been very young at the time—he had kept an eye on her, but the attention of a twenty-three-year-old is easily distracted by a pretty face, or a bottle of brandy, or a high-stakes game of cards.
For this reason, it was incredibly irritating to have him playing the role of her protector now, when she had no need of him.
“You are an unmarried lady,” he said.
“A widow,” she countered. “An entirely different creature.”
“But a lady without the protection of a husband nonetheless,” he insisted. “Easy prey for every lecher in theton.”
“Should I be offended?” Willingham asked pleasantly. His tone was calm, but Diana could detect an edge of anger beneath it, and thought that Penvale should choose his next words very carefully indeed.
“You know your reputation, Willingham,” Penvale said curtly. For Penvale to use Willingham’s title was indication that he was very irritated indeed.
“I do,” Willingham agreed. “And so I think that we can both agree that, compared to my usual activities, a few kisses in the woods are nothing much to speak of.”
Diana felt a surge of irritation at hearing their recent activities described as such—a few kisses in the woods? Technically accurate, yes, but a bit dismissive of the kisses in question, which Diana had thought were rather spectacular. Though, considering their audience was her very irate brother, she supposed this might be for the best.
“They are plenty to speak of when it’smy sister,” Penvale said indignantly. Diana refrained from rolling her eyes with great difficulty. “Besides,” Penvale added, trying a new tack, “what areyoudoing, Diana? You were flinging Lady Helen at him at dinner last night—have you changed your mind about that?” He paused. “Are you trying to marry himyourself? You two can’t get through a conversation without arguing! Has this been some sort of lengthy mating ritual all this time?” He appeared disturbed by the thought, though still less disturbed than she was by this suggestion.
“I have no plans to marry Willingham, thank you very much,” she said in as quelling a tone as she could manage. “And none of this has anything to do with the scene you so irritatingly interrupted.”
Penvale gave her an assessing look. “As your brother, I really should call him out.”
Diana was appalled. “For heaven’s sake, Penvale, I am awidow. Have you taken leave of your senses? Now kindly go away.”
Penvale split a dark look between her and Willingham. “I want the record to show that I approve of this not one whit. And, Jeremy, we will be discussing it later.”
“A discussion I will look forward to with great anticipation,” Willingham said in a bored tone. Diana simultaneously wished to laughand to smack him across the face. These were not unusual sentiments where he was concerned, come to think of it.
Fortunately for her temper, her brother departed as quickly as he had arrived, with a parting shot of, “Do try to look less ravished before you rejoin us.” Gazing at Willingham’s tousled hair and askew collar, Diana wasn’t entirely certain whom her brother had been addressing.
A long silence fell in the wake of Penvale’s departure. Diana was torn between smoothing down her skirts and departing in the most dignified fashion she could manage and pressing Willingham back against a tree and picking up where they had left off.
Judging by the gleam in his eye as he gave her a thorough once-over, he was having similar thoughts.
Tempting as the prospect was, however, having an interlude disrupted by one’s brother did tend to put a bit of a damper on things, so Diana gave an internal sigh and reached up to try to repair some of the damage to her hair. Without a lady’s maid, or even a mirror, this was a difficult task, and she shuddered to think what the others would say when she returned in such a state.
“Here,” Willingham said, moving quickly to her side, “allow me.”
“An expert in women’s coiffures, are you?” Diana asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I have some experience with them, yes,” he said smugly.
And why, ohwhy, instead of feeling amused, did she suddenly feel ever so slightly… jealous?
“I wouldn’t look so pleased with myself, Willingham,” she said, seeking as ever to regain the upper hand. “You’ve yet to prove if your hands are similarly adept with other portions of the female anatomy.”
He leaned closer, an errant lock of golden hair falling across his brow. “Let’s find out this evening then, shall we?”
The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and Diana could not have said with any degree of certainty what she said to a single person. She knew that she and Willingham had rejoined the group, and had been the subject of several looks from their friends—ranging from curious (Emily) to suspicious (Audley)—but had been saved further questioning or ribbing by the general hustle and bustle of loading up their picnic, remounting their horses, and riding back to Elderwild. Diana had taken great care to ride nowhere near Willingham—or near her brother or Violet, either, as she had little doubt that both of them had plenty of things they wished to say to her.
