Games of Desire for Lady Hellion: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia Bennet

  “There is no time limit on love,” she said.

  “Perhaps not,” he replied, his tone calm, but she could hear the threat of an eruption beneath the surface. “But honestly, Diana, it is like you are not even trying.”

  “Not trying?” she said, the pitch of her voice increasing with her annoyance. “How can you say such a thing? I have attended every ball and every soiree you have asked of me, and—”

  “And you have made a special effort to talk to people? To present yourself as amiable and pleasant? Have you really? Have you really worked through all those gentlemen and found not a single one of them up to your standards?”

  She caught her breath, shocked at her father’s words. He was angry at her, she could tell, and he seemed to be under the impression she simply hid herself away.

  Well, he’s not wrong, she suddenly realized, and pushed her lips together.

  “Perhaps, Father,” she said, “you would know about my behavior if you cared to join us occasionally at one of these events.”

  Her voice was harsher than she intended but it was how she felt. She had long given up on his attendance, but she still dreamed of it. She glared at him, her jaw set, and she saw his eyes widen, his lips quiver, and he seemed all of sudden to be terribly old.

  I have gone too far.

  “Diana, you know I can’t, you know—”

  “I know,” she said, “and I am sorry. I spoke out of turn and unfairly. But really Father, you must believe me when I say, I do try. I want love as much as you want me to have it.”

  “Yes, I want you to have love,” he said. He uncrossed his legs, shuffled in his seat, then caught her eye. “But if you cannot have love, I want you to have a happy, friendly marriage.”

  “What is marriage for if not for love?” she cried, exasperated.

  “Family, companionship, someone to talk with after a long day. There is much more to marriage than love.” His eyes softened and she wondered if he thought of her mother, the gentle relationship they had. She wondered if their relationship had begun with love or with an agreement that grew into something more.

  “I want all that,” she said, softer now. “But I want it with love, not without. It is possible to have it all. I just know it is.”

  “You know, Diana,” Henry said with a sigh. “Love is not always the grand affair you read about in your books.”

  “I know, Father, but—”

  “The best loves start off simple, with a willingness to be together. The very best loves are ones that have grown from years together, from experiencing things side-by-side and being there for each other.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” she said. “But what if that doesn’t happen? What if you pick the wrong person in the first place and instead of growing that perfect love you speak of, you grow hatred and resentment, too?”

  “You are too pessimistic, Diana.” Henry looked away with a scowl and she could see that she had annoyed him. But her fear was true—if the wrong match was made, her life would be over, and she would much rather be alone than with someone in misery.

  “No, Father, I am not. I only want to get it right. This is something I can only do once in my life. I must ensure I do not make a mistake.”

  “You are being altogether too choosy.”

  “And you are being altogether too unfair,” she snapped back. “Why can you not see how important this is to me?”

  “And why,” he snapped back, “can you not see how important it is to me? Diana, you are one-and-twenty years now. This nonsense has been going on for far too long—”

  “Nonsense? I—”

  “I cannot—I will not—keep you forever, Young Lady, and if you do not find someone suitable soon, I will find someone for you.”

  He glared at her and she glared back. She didn’t think he would dare, but did she want to risk it?

  “I—” He had rendered her speechless. He so rarely spoke in such a tone, only when he was truly angry, and this time it had been directed at her. She didn’t know what to say, but as she blinked, a tear ran down her cheek. That he could even think of forcing her into a match without her consent terrified her.

  “You are dismissed,” he said finally, all the anger vanished from his voice, and he turned to face the fire, not wanting to watch her walk away.

  She ran from his study, her heart in her throat. She flew up the second set of stairs to the bedrooms on the upper floor, pushing past maids who milled around in the hallway. She didn’t breath for fear that if she did, she would burst into explosive tears.

  She didn’t even notice Celine as she barged past her.

  “Diana?” Celine asked. She stood just outside her sister’s chamber, looking at her aghast, and Diana flashed her the briefest of smiles. “I was looking for you, I…are you all right?”

  “No, I am not all right,” she said, then let out a loud sob.

  Celine quickly pushed open the door and ushered Diana in.

  “Come, we’ll talk in here.”

  Diana scuttled in behind Celine and ran to the pale blue sofa under the window. She curled her legs under her then put her head in her hands as she cried.

  It was a large and airy room with a sofa and a few chairs. Against the left wall was a writing desk, along with some parchment, ink and quill. It was simple but elegant, much like Diana herself, and a door at the far end led to her bedroom and dressing room. Summer rain danced on the window pane, pattering noisily as gray clouds gathered.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Celine said, her voice soft and careful. She sat tentatively next to Diana, her hands in her lap and her face tilted forward to better see Diana’s face.

  “Father and I…we had an argument.” She spoke into her hands, her words muffled, but through the gaps in her hands she could see her sister’s caring, concerned face.

  “Oh,” Celine said, sitting up straighter. She rubbed a hand against Diana’s back, sighing, and Diana was grateful for her sister’s friendly touch. It made her feel, at least for the moment, not quite so alone.

  “I’m sure you know what about,” Diana said, finally looking up. Her sobs subsided into hiccoughs and shaking breaths, and Celine nodded sadly.

  “I can guess.”

  “He thinks I am not even trying. He says, if I do not find a suitor soon, he will find one for me. Would he do that, Celine?” Diana looked at her sister, pleading in her eyes, urging her to give her the answer she so desired, even if it wasn’t the one that was true.

  “You know he can,” Celine said, and Diana’s heart sank. Celine’s voice was so soft, but so full of sadness for her sister. “But I do not think he will,” she said. “Not lightly, anyhow. He will only do it if he feels there is no other way.”

  “He can’t,” Diana said urgently. “He mustn’t. If he does—”

  “If he does,” Celine said, taking Diana’s hand and squeezing it in her own, “he will pick someone suitable, I am certain of it. He does not wish to see you unhappy, but imagine how terrible it would be if I was to marry before you?”

  “But what if he does not pick the right one?” she urged. She heard the panic in her own voice and she knew where it came from.

  He needs to give me a chance with Isaac.

  “Is there a right one, Diana?” Celine asked. “What if you never find him? He is not wrong when he says you have taken too much time. I worry for you, too, Dear Sister.”

  Diana pushed her lips together and looked away, then she stood and stalked to the fireplace. She leaned an arm on the mantlepiece and stared at the clean grate, furious but with her mind racing. She had taken too much time, perhaps, but now there was a glimmer of hope with someone, and she didn’t know whether she could say anything.

  “What is it?” Celine asked from her spot on the sofa. “Diana?”

  “I did not want to tell you, or anyone. Not yet,” she replied, still staring into the fireless grate.

  “Heavens, Diana,” Celine said, and Diana could sense her rising from the sofa in pan
ic. “What has happened? Are you sick? Is everything all right?”

  Diana turned and looked at Celine incredulously, a chuckle on her lips despite her pulsating fear and the sadness she felt deep inside. That Celine panicked in such a way was amusing.

  “Sick? Goodness me, Celine, you do assume the worst.”

  “What is it then?” Celine urged, moving around to face Diana and force her to look at her.

  Diana looked away again, feeling her cheeks flush and she knew she couldn’t stop the smile from growing on her face, just as it did every time she thought of Isaac.

  “Diana? Please, do not keep me waiting.”

  She looked back at Celine’s pleading.

  “I think I’ve met someone.”

  “Oh my goodness, Diana, that’s wonderful.” Celine screeched with delight and Diana shushed her, a laugh on her lips, fearful that one of the servants would hear and listen to the rest.

  “Hush, I don’t want the whole house to know about it.”

  “Why haven’t you told Father?” Celine asked, wide-eyed. “This would solve all your problems. And he would be truly delighted.”

  “It’s too soon, Celine.”

  Celine grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the sofa.

  “All right,” Celine said. “I will keep your secret from Father, but you must tell me everything.”

  Diana’s cheeks blushed again, deeper this time, and she lowered her face in coy embarrassment. She so dearly wanted to talk about Isaac, but also, he was a secret she wanted only for herself.

  “There is not a lot to tell, to be honest,” she said. “Not yet, anyhow. It’s very early days. I have only met him once, after all.”

  “Nonsense,” Celine said, waving her away, “Lord Percy and I have only met once, and he has written to me already. I just know it will turn out exactly as I expect.”

  “He’s written to you?” Diana asked, intrigued and surprised. That was quick, indeed. Diana was impressed by his keenness—and perhaps a touch jealous that she had not heard anything from Isaac.

  “Yes,” Celine said firmly. “And I will tell you all about it, but not now. We are talking about you so don’t try to change the subject. I know what you are like, Diana! Now, who is he?”

  “No one,” Diana said, altogether too quickly, and she looked down at her lap, a slight smile on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with knowing and longing. Celine narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s the Duke of Gallonon, isn’t it?” she said.

  “It is no—”

  She was interrupted by a knock at the door and she looked at Celine, surprised. Celine shrugged.

  “Come in.”

  “A letter has arrived for you, My Lady,” Miller said once he had entered. A silver tray balanced on his left hand, a fold of thick cream paper on top.

  Diana glanced at Celine again, her eyes wide.

  Could it be?

  “Take it then,” Celine whispered, nudging Diana in the side. “I could be from—”

  “It could be from anyone,” Diana said, shooting Celine a warning look. Then she leapt from her seat. “Thank you, Miller.”

  She picked up the letter and, as soon as Miller had left, scuttled back to her position on the sofa. The paper was soft to the touch, cream in color and lightly textured. The black handwriting was large and ornate, the y in lady looping and the final a in Diana curled around on itself.

  A man who writes many letters, then.

  “Turn it over,” Celine squealed, unable to contain her excitement, and when Diana did as she was asked, Celine gasped. “It must be the crest of Gallonon!”

  Chapter 14

  Diana shuffled Celine out the door, letter still in hand, much to Celine’s protest.

  “No, no, no,” Diana said a she pushed her sister out of her rooms. “This is for my eyes only.”

  “But…” Celine said, half-out of the door, “I am your Sister, we share everything.”

  “And we will share this, also, but only once I have read it and that, I wish to do alone. Now hurry along, leave me be. You are being a nuisance.”

  “A nuisance? I—” Celine’s voice was high-pitched in defense, but Diana closed the door on her with a final chuckle.

  She wanted to be alone when she read it. She had suspected—of course she had suspected—that it would be from Isaac when Miller had first entered with the letter, but the crest pressed into the red wax seal confirmed it, and now her heart thumped with the possibilities of what was to come.

  It seems it is not only Lord Percival who is eager.

  She ran back to the sofa like a giggling child, her footsteps small but quick, and she settled herself, spreading her skirts out around her then clearing her throat, preparing herself. She took a deep breath, and then she ran a finger under the seal, the snap sounding through the silence of her room.

  Isaac.

  The thought of him sent a shiver through her, of pleasure and anticipation and excitement. He was the most handsome gentleman she had ever met, and she remembered his strong arms as they had wrapped around her, his soft lips as they had brushed against hers. She remembered the taste of him—brandy and rich delight. The smell of him, the sound of him, the things he said and the things he did.

  Isaac, she thought again, unable to form sensible thoughts other than his name, his being. He consumed her, was inside her and part of her. He was everything to her. But then she laughed at herself and her silly reaction. She barely knew him, after all.

  You have built him up to be rather more than he is.

  Except she hadn’t, and the letter proved that to her. With the letter, he proved himself to be everything she remembered, and more. As she unfolded the soft paper, she saw her name so perfectly written at the top, his name matching in its majesty and beauty at the bottom.

  And in between—in between there were words that made her heart sing.

  To My Lady Diana,

  It seems a hundred years since I last saw your face, and though your beauty is imprinted in my mind, it is a mere interpretation that holds no candle to the real thing.

  I cannot deny that walking into people is a rather unorthodox method of introduction but, in this case, my beautiful Lady Diana, I am happy to have nearly knocked you from your feet. Had I not, I may never have become acquainted with your exquisite soul, with those eyes so deep. Had I not, Lady Diana, I would never have known of your wit, of a lady with such intelligence.

  You are different, Lady Diana. Special. Like no other lady I have known or wish to know. We have only met once, and perhaps I speak too soon, but I have missed you so much already. You are a summer breeze on a hot day, you are cold drink upon a dire thirst. Already, My Lady, I yearn to know more of you, and I dearly hope we have the opportunity to meet again very soon.

  Will you be attending the ball of Lady Emmeline Arnold? If so, wait for me. I shall find you there.

  Yours,

  Isaac, the Duke of Gallonon

  She let the note fall onto the sofa next to her as she looked up, grinning at his words.

  “It was indeed delightful,” she whispered to the room, her heart exploding with pleasure. “Oh Isaac, you are even more charming than I remembered.”

  She read the letter again, and again after that. She read it, absorbing every detail, committing each line to memory. She read it softly, slowly, then she read it quickly, urgently. She read it with passion and with love, then with the careful eye of a critic. But each time she read it, her heart swelled at the thought of the gentleman who had written it.

  Finally, she let out a laugh, loud and sudden and joyful. She felt as though she was a victor, as though she glowed and yet he was the only one who had seen it. Her face ached with a grin too big.

  She hated to admit it, but until Celine’s ball, even she had begun to worry she had missed her chance with love. Now though, now she swooned with the thought of this handsome man, this funny, interesting man, this man who seemed as equally taken with her.

  “Oh, Is
aac,” she said.

  She picked up the letter again, read it again, then used it to fan her flushed cheeks, the warmth that developed on her chest, the heat that prickled over her body and snaked excitedly over her. She swallowed, blinked, thought of all ways he had touched her and all the ways he could touch her in the future, and her whole body was engulfed in heat.

  She stood and turned to the window, the rain slowing as the sun forced its way out. A rainbow shone overhead, bright and colorful, and Diana held the letter to her heart as she watched. For a day that had begun so terribly, it was turning into one of happiness and joy.