“Or a few decades,” Miles said dryly.
“Aye. Although I cannot-”
A woman’s scream, high and shrill, sliced through the night air. Miles’ head whipped around, hands bracing on the terrace railing as every muscle in his body tensed.
“Do you know,” Hemsworth said thoughtfully, “that almost sounded like-”
“Dianna.” Vaulting over the table in one easy leap, Miles bolted for the door.
Chapter Sixteen
“You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are like a lazy summer sky after a drenching rainfall.”
Dianna looked up at the man with whom she was dancing and blinked in confusion. “You think I have a lazy eye?”
“No,” he said hastily. His own eyes - the color of which most closely resembled mud, Dianna thought, although she would never so rude as to state her opinion out loud - widened in alarm. “No, not at all, Miss Foxcroft.”
“But you said-”
“What I meant to say is that your eyes are a lovely shade of blue.”
“Oh. Well.” Her nose wrinkled. “Why not simply say as much?”
“I was trying to sound poetic,” he admitted, and for the first time since she’d step foot onto the ballroom floor, Dianna found her lips curving in a genuine smile.
“That is very sweet of you, but perhaps it is best if you avoid poetry at all costs.”
“Not very good at it, am I?”
“Horrible, really.”
As the last strains of the waltz faded away and the couples surrounding them stepped apart from one another and clapped politely, Dianna’s dance partner retained his position, one hand gently supporting the small of her back while the other held her gloved fingers in a soft but steady grip. “You are refreshingly honest.”
“And you, Lord…. Ah…”
“Mr. Thomas Readington,” he said kindly.
Dianna’s cheeks flushed with color. “Mr. Readington, I apologize-”
“There is no need.” Releasing her, Readington took a step back and dipped into a formal bow. “I rather thought you were distracted through the entirety of our waltz. This only confirms my worst fears.”
“Which are?” Dianna asked hesitantly.
“That I am completely and utterly forgettable,” he said with a rueful shake of his head.
“Oh no,” she protested, feeling a pang of guilt as she realized her growing indifference to the evening’s festivities had finally begun to reveal itself.
Within two hours of arriving, Dianna’s excitement over attending the first ball of the Season began to wane, replaced by a growing sense of melancholy she couldn’t quite seem to get rid of. For no matter how many men asked her to dance - and her card had not lacked for signatures - none of them had piercing green eyes or a wolfish grin that caused her to go weak in the knees. None of them made her laugh. None of them made her cheeks flush with annoyance… and desire. In short, none of them were Miles Radnor - for which she was both vastly grateful and frustratingly disappointed.
“I do not find you forgettable at all, Mr. Readington. Quite the contrary.” It was true. While she may have at first overlooked Thomas Readington for nothing about his brown hair, brown eyes, medium build, and polite manner made him any more memorable than the other men she’d danced with, she found his self-deprecation rather charming. “Would you care to step outside for a breath of fresh air?” she asked impulsively. “It seems to be getting quite warm in here.”
Surprise registered on Readington’s countenance, followed quickly by an eager smile that brought to mind an obedient puppy wagging its tail. “I would indeed, Miss Foxcroft. I hear Lady Farcott’s gardens are quite a sight to behold. Perhaps you might enjoy seeing them by moonlight?”
“That sounds lovely.” And precisely what was needed to salvage the night from being a complete and utter disaster. Searching for her mother’s face amidst a gathering of older women who were watching their young charges with hawk like attention, Dianna caught her gaze and nodded ever-so-slightly towards the French doors leading out of the ballroom. After giving Readington a thorough once over, Martha inclined her chin in silent permission. Readington may not have been titled, but it was clear by the well-tailored cut of his jacket and the fashionable styling of his hair - not too long, nor too short - that he was a man of wealth and substance. In short, the sort of man Martha saw her daughter marrying.
Dianna and Readington walked side by side out onto the terrace. A wave of cool air greeted them. Goosebumps broke on Dianna’s exposed arms, but she didn’t mind. After dancing in the ballroom for what felt like hours the slight chill was a welcome respite. Their breaths formed tiny plumes of smoke in the air as they exhaled. The night was clear. The stars bright.
“Are you cold?” Readington asked, eyebrows jutting together in concern. “Would you like me to fetch your cloak?”
“I am fine,” Dianna said, dismissing his solicitude with an errant wave of her hand. “Would you care to start off by going to the left or the right?”
Directly in front of them were two curving walkways divided by a stone fountain. Potted plants encircled its base, dark green leaves shining in the moonlight.
Readington extended his arm. “I defer to you, Miss Foxcroft.”
After only the tiniest of hesitations Dianna rested her fingers on the black sleeve of his waistcoat. How odd it felt to walk beside another man… odd, and yet somehow right all at the same time. Though she had only known Readington for a matter of minutes, she instinctively knew he was a gentleman through and through. He would never argue with her. Never make her want to pull out her hair. Never touch her without permission. Never leave her on the day of their wedding.
How boring, part of her thought, while the other part promptly replied, how safe.
“Let’s go to the left,” she said, looking up at Readington with a smile. He readily agreed and they began a leisurely stroll through the meticulously tended gardens, their path lit intermittently by hanging glass lanterns.
“How is it I have not seen you at a ball before?” Readington queried as they stepped to the side to admire a sprawling display of vibrant aspers. A flower that thrived well into the evening hours, the aspers were still in full bloom and Dianna blushed prettily when Readington plucked one of the larger buds and held it out to her. “For you,” he said quietly, his brown eyes searching her face.
Accepting the flower, she twirled it absently between her thumb and pointer finger, gaze cutting away from Readington’s steady stare as she struggled to come up with an answer to his question. “Well,” she hedged, “I suppose I have not had a reason to attend one until now.”
“I am glad you choose the Farcott ball to be your first.”
“I am as well,” Dianna said. With a vague sense of bewilderment she realized it was the truth. Strolling with Readington through the gardens was… enjoyable. More than that, it was pleasant. He was pleasant, and while Readington may not have ignited the same burst of desire inside of her that Miles always did, the slow, steadily growing flicker of attraction she felt for him was far more comfortable and easily managed.
Tucking the asper into the bodice of her ball gown - the blue with the pearls, just as her mother had wanted - she boldly wrapped both hands around Readington’s forearm. Seemingly unable to stop herself from comparing him to the only other man she had touched in such an intimate manner, however, Dianna could not help but note the muscles beneath her fingertips were considerably less defined than Miles’ and immediately felt a surge of guilt.
It was a good thing Readington did not compare to Miles. What need did she have for another suitor like the one she’d had? Another man with more arrogance than kindness. One capable of hurting her as she never wanted to be hurt again. One who brought out the worst in her instead of the best. Readington made her want to act like a lady, while Miles… well, around Miles she found herself acting in a distinctly unladylike fashion.
One glance at Readington’s kindly face
told her he would never do what Miles had done and even though she might never feel the depth of passion for a man like Readington as she had for Miles, she would also never feel the despondency of complete and utter despair.
And that, Dianna told herself firmly, is all that matters.
“Do tell me about yourself Mr. Readington,” she said as they continued further into the gardens. Muffled voices off to their left revealed they were not completely alone in the labyrinth of flora and fauna, but there were enough stone walls and other natural barriers to prevent those who wanted to be hidden to remain so.
“My father was a baker,” Readington began, “and my mother a seamstress. I have one brother and one sister, both younger than I. Do you have any siblings, Miss Foxcroft?”
Dianna gave a regretful shake of her head. “No, I am afraid not.”
“That is unfortunate. I have always thought a large family is a happy one. Not to imply your family is unhappy.” He grimaced and passed his hand down over his face, cupping his chin. “My apologies, Miss Foxcroft. I am usually not so gauche.”
“I do not find you gauche at all,” Dianna protested. “Quite the opposite. Truly,” she insisted when he lifted a skeptical brow. “I am enjoying your company immensely, Mr. Readington. Furthermore, my family is a rather unhappy one.”
Readington’s second brow rose to join the first. “I find that hard to believe, Miss Foxcroft. Admittedly we have only known each other for a very short while, but I must say you are the very opposite of unhappy. A bit sad, perhaps.” Coming to a halt, he pivoted so they faced one another. His fingers gently entwined with hers, filling the space between them. “But I think that has little to do with your family and much to do with a past love.”
“You are very intuitive, Mr. Readington,” Dianna said softly.
“Please.” He took a step forward, causing their linked hands to bump against the buttons lining the front of his waistcoat. “Call me Thomas.”
Perhaps it was the late hour, or the moonlight, or the glass of wine she had drank earlier in the evening, but suddenly Dianna wanted very much to know what it felt like to kiss Thomas Readington.
“Only if you call me Dianna,” she whispered.
His gaze fell to her mouth, and she felt the muscles in his stomach quiver and tighten beneath the many layers of his formal attire. “Miss Foxcroft…”
“Dianna.”
“Dianna… I…” He cleared his throat, the sound of it harsher than normal in the magnified silence. “Would you think me terribly bold to ask your permission for a kiss?”
Miles never would have asked for permission. He would have taken what he wanted without apology, and - and Thomas is not Miles! Dianna reminded herself fiercely. Forcing any remaining thoughts of Miles far to the back of her mind, she smiled up at Readington and said, “I would not think you bold at all.”
When he closed his eyes, Dianna sucked in a quiet breath of anticipation and did the same. Their noses touched first, a soft fumbling nudge of acknowledgement that allowed their mouths to find one another. Readington’s lips were cool and papery thin. He kept them pressed tightly together, and before the kiss had even begun it was over.
“Thank you,” Readington said solemnly, giving her fingers a faint squeeze before he stepped back and turned to the side, offering his arm once again. They resumed walking, Dianna with her head bent slightly away, not wanting Readington to see her disappointment.
The kiss had been… lackluster. There was really no other word she could think of to describe it. Readington might have been kissing his own sister for all the passion he exuded while she… she had felt nothing at all.
No spark of desire. No thrill of excitement. No tingling all the way down to her toes. No flames of lust threatening to burn her from the inside out. Biting her lip, Dianna consoled herself with the fact that Readington had acted like a proper gentleman, and that was precisely what she needed.
Just not what she wanted.
“We should start back.” Procuring a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat, Readington held it above his head, using the light of the moon to read the tiny hands. “It is nearly one in the morning. I would never want to endanger your reputation by keeping you out too late without a proper chaperone.”
No, Dianna thought with the tiniest hint of bitterness, we certainly wouldn’t want that.
Miles never would have thought of her reputation. If he wanted to walk with her in the gardens until dawn he would have done so, and woven a story to cover their disappearance after the fact.
“I am sure no one will miss us if we take another turn around the gardens,” she said, peeking up at Readington. He kept staring straight ahead but her suggestion his mouth flattened and a line appeared high on his forehead, leaving little doubt as to what he was going to say.
“Be that as it may, I could never live with myself if your reputation was brought into question due to my selfish actions.”
“Of course,” Dianna murmured. Her head bowed, gaze flitting to the moonlit walkway. “How thoughtful of you, Thomas.”
He was also right, in the technical sense if not the adventurous one. Which was perfectly fine and good, for when had she ever been adventurous? Under the influence of Charlotte, perhaps, and the man whose name she was trying - and miserably failing - not to think about, but not on her own. Never on her own.
For she was staid and sensible Dianna. The kind of woman a gentleman like Readington would want for a wife. The kind of woman he would want to mother his children. The kind of woman who would never dare endanger her reputation by doing something so foolish as taking another stroll around the gardens.
A lady is always respectable, even when she does not want to be.
They were within sight of the French Doors and the guests waltzing inside the ballroom when it happened. A man, dressed entirely in black with a hat pushed low over his brow and a pistol held clenched in his right hand, leapt from the bushes. Dianna screamed and he pointed the barrel of the pistol directly at her forehead, his movements jerky, his dark eyes darting and unfocused.
“Shut yer mouth if ye know what’s good for ye,” he snarled, his cockney drawl unmistakable. Spittle flew from between his thin lips. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of dirt behind. “And give me all the pretty baubles ye have on yer person.”
“Do as he says, Dianna,” Readington said tersely. Dropping her arm, he stepped to the side and began emptying his pockets, pulling out a variety of valuables including the watch he had used just a moment ago to gauge the time.
Her eyes moving between the robber and Readington, Dianna remained rooted to the spot, her arms frozen at her sides.
“Miss Foxcroft!” Readington hissed.
“I…” Her lips parted, but it was as though her vocal cords were frozen too, for no words would come out. The only thing she could think was how trivial the problems she’d been worrying about mere seconds ago seemed now. What did it matter if she acted like a lady or not? No one would have a care for her reputation if she were dead.
“Put everything ye have in here.” The robber shoved a burlap sack at Readington. “And be quick about it.”
Feeling as though she were observing the proceedings from far above, Dianna watched in wide-eyed silence as Readington quickly shoved all of his personal belongings into the sack.
“Tell yer pretty lady love to do the same.” Silvery light reflected off the barrel of the robber’s pistol as he waved it in the air before pointing the circular barrel straight at Readington’s chest. “Now!” he whined, his voice rising an octave after a nervous glance in the direction of the ballroom. Blissfully oblivious to the crime being committed beneath their very noses, guests continued to dance and mingle, too self-absorbed to look up and see what was happening in plain sight of the window. “Tell ‘er to do it now.”
“Dianna, please. Do as he asks,” Readington implored, his brown eyes pleading.
A hard shudder ran through Dianna’
s body, effectively breaking the chains of her temporary paralysis. “I - I left my reticule inside,” she said helplessly. “I do not know what else-”
“Yer necklace,” the robber demanded. “Give me yer necklace.”
Dianna’s hands went to her throat, fingers curling protectively around the delicate pearl strands. “No,” she blurted out, surprising herself with the denial as much as the robber.
“What did ye say?” he growled.
Beside her, Readington face drained of all color. “Dianna-”
“I said n-no,” she repeated, and even though her voice quivered, her will remained strong. “This necklace belonged to my aunt and you m-may not have it.”
The robber took a menacing step towards her. “I wasn’t askin’ for yer permission, dovie.”
“That’s good, because she wasn’t giving it,” a deep masculine voice drawled from the shadows.
The robber spun, pistol trembling ever-so-slightly as he readjusted his grip. Eyes squinting, he glared into the shifting darkness at the thinly distinguished silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the path. “Who goes there? Show yerself. Come out with ye hands up above yer head!”
Dianna felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, fingers pressing hard into her flesh. “We should make a run for it,” Readington said, his voice breathless with fear. His hold on her shoulder tightened to the point of pain, which she ignored. In truth, she barely even felt it. For she’d recognized the voice from the shadows. And she knew who lurked in the dark.
“Dianna… Miss Foxcroft… We must go!” Readington insisted. “Now is our only chance!”
“No,” she whispered, her gaze trained unblinkingly on the path where the man stood motionless, seemingly uncaring about the pistol aimed straight at his heart. “Go find help, Thomas. I must remain here.”
“You are in shock,” Readington decided before he gallantly attempted to pull her towards the mansion. With a soft cry Dianna shook him off, twisting evasively to the side. Her gown ripped, the delicate stitching torn asunder, leaving one sleeve to flap uselessly at her elbow. Throwing his hands in the air Readington stumbled back a step. He began to speak, but with a hard shake of his head he turned and ran for the terrace.
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 49