The Regency Season: Forbidden Pleasures. Julia JustissЧитать онлайн книгу.
the face reflected back to her was creased with anxiety, the eyes feral.
With a trembling hand, she smoothed away the lines and began the ritual breathing. Long slow inhale, hold, hold, exhale. Applying every bit of mind and will, she forced back the anxiety and buried the panic, until finally the countenance staring back at her was expressionless and calm.
Only then did she turn to Alastair. He was still looking at her with concern—no wonder, after witnessing that performance! Better distract him quickly, before he could begin questioning.
‘I’m so sorry!’ She managed a smile. ‘I can’t recall when I last slept so deeply, I awoke with no idea where I was.’
Though his eyes still looked troubled, mercifully, he did not press her. ‘Passion satisfied can do that.’
She smiled in earnest. ‘What a wondrous gift! I had no idea such feelings existed. Thank you.’
‘I should point out, the gift was mutual. Thank you, too.’
Suddenly she noticed that, though the candles had guttered out, a dim light illuminated the chamber. Her relief at recalling that Graveston was gone and she was in Bath abruptly dissipated.
‘Goodness, what hour is it?’
‘Just past dawn.’
Shocked that she’d slept so long, Diana hopped off the bench and began gathering up her garments. ‘I must get back at once, before the servants begin to stir.’
‘I’ll summon you a chair.’
‘No, I’ll walk—it’s light enough now, someone might notice the chair.’
‘I appreciate your efforts at discretion, but it’s not yet full daylight and you shouldn’t be out on the streets alone,’ he countered. ‘I’ll escort you.’
‘What kind of discretion would that be? No, you mustn’t be seen by anyone in the house. The servants can’t be trusted not to gossip.’
With a sigh, he came over to help her. ‘I’m much better at removing these than putting them back on,’ he said as he fitted the gown over her chemise and began pinning. ‘Why so worried about gossip? I thought you’d brought with you only a few trusted retainers.’
She leaned back against him as he secured the garment. ‘All were hired here but Minnie, James’s nursemaid, and she’s loyal only to him. The servants at Graveston Court obeyed their master and no one else. Not that I blame them. Had any of them shown sympathy or allegiance to me, they would have been turned out at once without a character.’
‘So you truly had no one.’
Deciding, after a moment’s hesitation, to ignore the question, she sat to roll on her stockings and slip her feet into her slippers, then stood and twirled before him. ‘All put to rights, am I?’
‘Sadly, yes. I prefer you in the natural state.’
‘Wouldn’t give one much chance of slipping through the streets unnoticed, you must allow.’ Feeling somehow shyer now in her garments than she had while naked before him in the languid aftermath of loving, she glanced up as she tied on her cloak. ‘Will you...want me again tonight?’
The smouldering look he returned sent a little thrill through her. ‘You know I will.’
‘Then I shall be here.’ Stepping towards the door, she paused to look back over her shoulder. ‘Alastair, I—I really do thank you. Last night was...magnificent.’
A twinkle in his eyes, he walked over to capture her chin and give her a kiss, long and slow and full of promise. ‘Just wait until tonight.’
Warmth bubbled up, and this time, she didn’t try to stop it. ‘Tonight,’ she whispered, parting his lips to delve into his mouth and deliver her promise in return.
* * *
Maintaining her vigilance as she slipped through the empty streets, her only fellow travellers a few returning revellers and the last of the night-soil men rattling off with their carts, Diana arrived home to find the kitchen still dark but for the banked embers in the fireplace.
Grateful not to have to manufacture an excuse for appearing downstairs at so odd an hour, she padded softly up to the privacy of her chamber.
As long as she came and went alone, she didn’t worry too much about any gossip the staff might exchange about her movements. The servants had already been instructed that she planned to go out most evenings and would let herself back in, so except for the maid who assisted her with dressing, they need not wait up for her. Though she supposed that directive might be unusual, the permission to end their long day when they chose, without having their rest depend upon the vagaries of their employer’s social schedule, was attractive enough, none had questioned it.
Once safely within her chamber, Diana seated herself in the chair before her own banked chamber fire. In a moment, she’d strip off the cloak and lie down on her bed, telling the maid when she came later in that she’d been so weary after returning, she hadn’t bothered to ring for her. Now, for the next few moments, she could let down her guard and recall the events of the night.
How wonderful it had been to no longer fight against Alastair’s insidious attraction! How exciting to respond freely to his touch, to let passion sweep her away to a satisfaction more powerful and complete than she’d imagined possible. She’d suspected loving Alastair would be magical, but words couldn’t begin to describe the all-encompassing power and grandeur of it.
The warmth she’d felt earlier bubbled up again, expanding until it filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced since long ago, in that other life.
Home, safe, content, she slept, to awake later feeling energised. The well-being stayed with her through the morning and well into the afternoon. Until, returning from a walk to the park with James and Minnie, the maid informed her as she entered the house that a solicitor was waiting in the parlour to see her.
Dread struck her like a fist to the gut. Surely Blankford couldn’t be moving against her this quickly! She’d expected it to take at least a fortnight for him to pack up and decamp to Graveston Court after the news of his father’s demise reached him, and some time after that for him to trace where she’d fled.
But she couldn’t imagine any other reason a solicitor would be asking for her, here in Bath, barely a week after her arrival.
Whoever it was, she must meet him now. With no more time to prepare, she didn’t have the luxury of panic. Pummelling down the fear, she told the maid to announce her.
The man who rose to greet her as she entered the parlour was the image of what one would expect of a peer’s solicitor: old, sober of demeanour, garbed in expensive, well-tailored but not ostentatious garments.
‘Good afternoon, Your Grace. I’m Feral, solicitor to Lord Blankford—the new Duke of Graveston, that is,’ he said, confirming her fears. ‘I’ve brought a letter from his Grace, vouching for my identity and authorising me to collect the boy.’
Though she knew exactly what he meant, she repeated blankly, ‘Collect the boy?’
‘Lord James Mannington, the late Duke’s son by his second marriage to you. The new Duke wishes the boy brought back to Graveston Court—where he can be reared as befits his station,’ he added, with a disparaging glance around the modest room.
Anger overlay the fear, sharpening every sense. Delay, expostulate, distract. She widened her eyes, gave him an incredulous look. ‘You’ve come to take away my son?’
The solicitor had the grace to look discomfited. ‘He’ll be well cared for, I assure—’
‘My husband dead barely a fortnight, and you want to strip me of my son?!’ she interrupted,