The tranquility was interrupted when a small body thumped onto the bed. Gervase came instantly alert, and she was reminded that he had been a soldier. He relaxed as the tabby cat stomped her way up the mattress, each footfall a small quake.
Diana tried to sit up but Gervase held her tight. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "I don't know how the cat got in here."
"She came in when you did." He scratched the furry head, getting a delighted purr for his efforts. "I don't mind if you don't. I rather like cats. They're contrary beasts. That's probably why she isn't sleeping with Geoffrey."
Tiger had rolled over on her back and was letting Gervase scratch her stomach, a sign of rare favor.
"Usually she does," Diana said, "but I've been encouraging her to sleep with me since we got back from Aubynwood. It's been lonely here."
Smiling with satisfaction, Gervase transferred his stroking from Tiger's stomach to Diana's. She could see why the cat enjoyed it so much. If she'd been equipped to purr, she would have done so.
"What kind of a mother lures her son's pet away?" he teased.
Diana felt the muscles in her midriff tighten. "Please don't say that, even in jest. I wonder all the time if I am doing the right things for him."
"I'm sorry. It's hard to joke about what is most important to us." He propped himself on one elbow as he lengthened his caresses. "From what I've seen, you're doing a wonderful job. Geoffrey is intelligent and happy and confident." After a moment's thought he added, "He's not afraid of you."
It was an odd remark. She set it aside to ponder it later. "I try so hard to do what is best for him. I fear that I try too hard. It was easier when he was small, but as he gets older he needs so much more than I can give him. That was one of the main reasons I came to London."
"And the other reasons?"
She looked deep into the clear gray eyes that could be both ice and fire. "Why, to find you," she said slowly, "although I didn't realize it at the time." It was the exact truth, more so than Gervase could possibly know.
Suffering from neglect, Tiger hopped up and stood on Diana's chest, mittened forepaws firm. She stroked the sleek feline body. "Have you ever studied a cat hair, Gervase?"
"I can't say that I have." While he liked cats, he wasn't keen on having one come between him and his mistress.
She held up two long hairs that had come off in her hand. "Look at the alternating bands of color."
Curiously he examined the hairs she held in her fingertips. One had five distinct color changes between the pale shank and the dark tip; the other was mostly dark except for a white dot below the tip. "In order to create these tabby stripes, every single hair on that cat's body is different," she mused. "Have you ever wondered how God keeps it all straight?"
He laughed. "I've never thought of it in those terms."
She looked at him, serious now. "Do you believe in fate, that there is an underlying pattern to our lives?"
He drew himself up until his head was level with hers. "You're raising all sorts of questions I've never considered."
Her intense blue gaze caught his. "But think of it. I had never been to one of Harriette Wilson's evenings, nor had you. Don't you believe there must have been a reason, something drawing us both to that point in time and place?"
He hesitated, remembering the irresistible pull he had felt when he first saw her, the absolute desire. But that was, after all, simply desire. "No. It was only chance."
She laid one hand lightly over his heart. "I think it was meant to be."
Her touch aroused him but he still disagreed with her words. "If we hadn't met, I would have found another mistress, you would have found another protector. That would have been my loss, but perhaps your gain."
Her lapis eyes were deep with ancient feminine mystery. "No other man would have been right. It had to be you." As he watched her uneasily, she smiled. "Poor love, I'm making you uncomfortable again. Never mind. Perhaps someday you will think differently. Tonight is not for philosophy."
With gentle firmness she pushed the indignant cat over the edge of the bed, then bent down and feathered kisses down Gervase's torso. He leaned back on the pillows, his breath quickening as her soft lips moved slowly down his abdomen. He believed in chance, not destiny, but he would not deny that meeting Diana was one of the luckiest chances of his life.
* * *
On the surface, nothing had changed. Since Parliament was in session and Gervase sat in the House of Lords, he was busier than ever, but he still visited Diana often. He would leave before dawn and she would ache at the loss, but neither of them ever suggested that he stay. The barriers that had lowered briefly at Aubynwood were now firmly back in place.
They rode early in the mornings when weather permitted, Geoffrey joining them if it was not a school day. They might almost have been a family. Diana was delighted at how well they got along, even though she feared future consequences to Geoffrey if Gervase disappeared from both of their lives.
On the surface all was tranquility, but Diana felt the tensions building beneath the calm. When he thought she was unaware of it, Gervase would stare at her, his expression dense and unreadable. The thread of emotion that connected them drew tighter, and she sensed a dark, deep mood in him. His lovemaking was urgent and demanding, and he would raise her to such heights of passion that she would almost lose her sense of who she was.
Almost, but not quite. A deep, primitive part of her being wanted to let go, to melt and let him shape her to his will, but self-preservation was stronger. She dared not trust him unless he loved her, and he dared not admit to love.
Diana drifted, taking each day as it came, treasuring each moment with her son and her lover and her friends. She knew it was cowardly of her not to force the crisis that must come, but she had a fatalistic belief that matters would resolve in their own time. She could only pray that when the hidden tensions exploded, in the aftermath she and Gervase could be free of their dark pasts. Free to love one another.
Chapter 15
In the spring of 1808 the first faint cracks in Napoleon's empire appeared on the Iberian Peninsula. The emperor forced the popular Spanish king, Ferdinand VII, to abdicate and placed his own brother Joseph on the throne. Infuriated, Spain burst into flames of insurrection. Gervase, in his small office in Whitehall, gathered and evaluated information and rejoiced.
In April, Sir Arthur Wellesley had been promoted to lieutenant-general and assigned troops to aid a Venezuelan revolutionary. But then Spain and Portugal sent delegations to Britain asking for aid against Napoleon, and Wellesley's destination was changed to the Peninsula. Gervase had used what influence he had on his former commander's behalf, and had no doubt that the general would justify the faith of his supporters.
Wellesley was in London now, and tonight he had requested a private meeting to discuss a matter that concerned them both. For privacy's sake, the general came to St. Aubyn House. Gervase received his visitor in the library and poured them glasses of port. After a nominal sip, Wellesley went straight to the point of his visit. "You know about the Marquess de la Romana?"
Gervase nodded. "One of Spain's most respected generals. He's in Denmark now, doing garrison duty for Napoleon."
Leaning forward for emphasis, Wellesley said, "Romana is a Spanish patriot. If he knew the situation in Spain, he would no longer serve the emperor, nor would most of his men." The general was by nature reserved, but his light blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of military action, and he looked years younger than he had in Dublin. "If someone can reach Romana and tell him Napoleon has removed the King of Spain, the Royal Navy will carry the marquess and his army home to fight the French."
Gervase made a frustrated gesture. "I know. We've been doing our damnedest to get a message through to Romana."
"Should have guessed you were already involved." Wellesley gave a short bark of laughter. "And the results?"
"Four good men have died trying," Gervase's voice was clipped. He'd known all of the
agents, and their deaths weighed on him, even though they had known the risks and gone willingly.
"I'm sorry." Wellesley paused a moment, his expression grave. "But we must try again. The force I'm commanding isn't large enough to defeat the French troops on the Peninsula without help. Romana has nine thousand trained soldiers. If they return home, together we might break the French army in Spain. And after that..."
The sentence did not need completing. If the French were pushed out of the Peninsula, the long stalemate would be over. The war could be carried into France, to Napoleon himself. There would be peace in Europe only when the emperor was defeated.
"I know what's at stake," Gervase said shortly. He settled back in his chair, sipping his port while his thoughts went around in a familiar circle. In the last weeks, he had thought of only two things: of the situation in Europe and what Britain could do to exploit it, and of Diana.
Always and everlastingly, Diana. Because of her, he had been reluctant to reach a conclusion that had been inescapable from the beginning. Briefly he hesitated, knowing that once the words were spoken there would be no turning back. "I'll go to Romana myself."
Wellesley's brows rose in sharp surprise. "Think you have a better chance of success than one of your regular agents?"
"Perhaps. I can hardly be less successful."
"An officer has to accept that men serving under him will be killed," Wellesley said obliquely.
"Yes, and I did that in India." Gervase's gaze rested on his glass of port, whose blood-red depths reminded him of things he had seen in the army, things he would rather forget. "But I am no longer an officer. I will not ask anyone else to undertake a task that has already killed four men."
Wellesley looked at him measuringly. "As you wish. Do you have a plan?" He was too practical a soldier to argue with a man whose mind was made up, particularly when success might make all the difference in the upcoming battle for the Iberian Peninsula.
"A fishing boat can take me to the Netherlands. After that, I'll travel overland to Denmark. I've done this sort of thing before, though not when the issues were so critical." He shrugged. "I speak French well enough to pass as a Frenchman, and I have the necessary identification papers."
"You make it sound simple," Wellesley observed. "But I imagine the other agents were also well-qualified."
"They were, but it takes luck as well as skill. Perhaps I'll be luckier."
"Let us hope so." Wellesley lifted his glass in an informal salute. "Do your damnedest to come back alive."
Gervase's mouth twisted. "Believe me, I am even more interested in that outcome than you are."
After Wellesley left, he sat in his library thinking of what he must do before he could leave for the Continent. Since he kept his affairs in good order, little needed to be done. He could leave for the coast by tomorrow evening.
So tonight would be his last with Diana. A year ago, he had been fatalistic about the occasional dangerous mission his work required, hoping for success but not overconcerned by the prospect of failure.
His life was much richer now, and he cared about whether he survived. The thought of leaving Diana was acutely painful, and he wasn't sure which aspect was worse: the separation itself, or the gut-twisting fear that she would find someone else in his absence. It had been bad enough when he went to Ireland in January, but this journey would be longer and infinitely more hazardous.
It was ludicrous to be so concerned about a mistress. Before he met Diana, he had felt a contemptuous superiority to men who let women lead them around like lapdogs. Now he better understood how that was possible. He would ever let his mistress make a fool of him; if she tried, he would sever the ties between them instantly. But part of Diana's charm was that she never threatened or demanded. The perfect woman, and at the same time, an utter mystery.
He sighed. At the moment, the time was better spent in visiting Diana than in speculation about what she would do in his absence. There would be time enough for brooding on his journey.
* * *
Gervase arrived earlier than usual, and the deviation from normal worried Diana. Her anxiety was increased by the remote expression on his face when she went down to greet him in the drawing room. She had learned that even when he was at his most withdrawn, affection from her would soften his sternness, so she lightly crossed the room and embraced him, lifting her face for a kiss.
He held her tightly, his mouth demanding, and she sensed that his tension was not because of her, but for some other reason. Leaning back in his arms, she asked, "Is something wrong?"
His clear gray eyes were searching, as if trying to memorize every line and curve of her face. "Would you like to go out somewhere this evening? It's early yet."
It was an unprecedented suggestion since they valued their time alone together for both the passion and the peace. Wondering what lay behind his words, she replied, "That would be lovely. What did you have in mind?"
He considered. "How about Vauxhall? The gardens opened for the season a fortnight ago and there is always something amusing going on. Have you ever been there?"
"No. Would I need to change into a different dress?"
He surveyed the soft rose-colored muslin gown she wore. It was simple, but the lines were elegant. "Just a shawl. The evening is a little cool."
One of his carriages waited outside and within minutes they were on their way. Gervase said little, but he held her hand firmly, the length of his forearm hard against hers, their fingers intertwined. Something was clearly amiss, but Diana preferred to let him speak in his own time.
Vauxhall had flourished for almost a hundred and fifty years, a pleasure garden south of the river where people from all ranks of society went to enjoy music, entertainments, dancing, fireworks, and most of all, to watch other people.
Rather than take a boat across the river, Gervase had his coachman drive them over London Bridge. After he had paid seven shillings for admittance, they strolled the lantern-lit walks, Diana holding his arm and enjoying herself immensely.
Music from the concert filtered through the cool night air, and the atmosphere was festive. Young couples held hands, aspiring dandies eyed the crowds through quizzing glasses, wide-eyed shop girls in their best gowns brushed elbows with jewel-spangled ladies, and some who were not ladies, like her.
Eventually they took a small round table and two chairs in a quiet alcove formed by tall shrubbery. While Gervase went in search of a footman to order refreshments, Diana enjoyed the passing parade. It was all quite amusing, until she noticed a still figure, unusual in a place of constant motion.
She turned her head, and found herself staring at the Count de Veseul. He less than twenty feet away and his dark face regarded her from the edge of the flowing crowd. With insulting deliberation, he stared at the soft, curving flesh exposed by her low-cut gown, then raised his cane in a mocking salute.
Diana was too far away to see the cane clearly, but she had a vivid memory of the serpent head, and how he had used it that night at the theater. It had been months since she had seen Veseul, and she'd almost forgotten his existence. Now the menacing glitter in his eyes brought back the terror she'd felt then. Even though she was safe with so many people around, she felt alone and helpless without Gervase at her side, and the terror would not abate. She shivered and pulled her shawl around her shoulders against a sudden chill.
Time hung suspended as she stared at Veseul, willing him to go away. Then suddenly Gervase was walking toward her, and she was able to wrench her eyes away from the Frenchman. She grasped his hand and pulled him down next to her, feeling safer for touching him. "That man there, do you know him?"
Surprised, he followed her glance. Veseul bowed his head ironically, touching his hat in acknowledgment of the viscount. He was joined by a woman, a glorious golden creature dressed in the height of fashion, who stared at Gervase and Diana, but especially Diana, with cold pale eyes. Then the pair turned and walked away, disappearing swiftly in the crowd.
> "He's the Count de Veseul, a French royalist who escaped to England during the Reign of Terror," Gervase answered in an edged voice. "He sometimes acts as a liaison between the British government and the Bourbon court-in-exile. Does he take your fancy?"
Shuddering, Diana said, "No! He frightens me. The way he was staring..." She shook her head, unwilling to explain further. With Gervase beside her, her fears seemed petty and unreasonable.
His momentary jealousy assuaged by her words, Gervase covered her cold hand with his. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you. Any woman alone here will attract unwelcome attention, especially a woman as beautiful as you."
A footman arrived with their food and drink. After the servant left, Diana asked, "Did you recognize the woman with Veseul?"
"She's Lady Haycroft, a widow," he said briefly.
Surprised at what sounded like embarrassment, Diana asked, "Do you know her well?"
Shrugging, he said, "I've met her occasionally at those government social functions that I can't avoid. She's looking for a rich husband. I suppose that is why she is here with Veseul. There are few eligible men of wealth that she hasn't attempted to... further her acquaintance with."
It didn't take a genius to read between the lines. Since no one seemed to know if Gervase was married, his wealth and virile good looks would certainly attract predatory females. Diana found her brows drawing together in a definite frown.
Seeing the expression, Gervase grinned. "Yes, she has cast out lures, and no, I haven't taken them. Lady Haycroft is all ice and hard edges, not what I look for in a mistress."
Clearly the connection that helped Diana sense his feelings ran both ways. He seemed gratified at her reaction, so perhaps it was not a bad thing. Blushing a little, she applied herself to her plate, washing the thin sliced ham down with a sip of burnt wine, then wrinkling her nose. The drink was a Vauxhall specialty, but perhaps it was a taste that needed to be acquired. Outside, someone announced that fireworks were about to start, and she heard the sound of people moving to find vantage spots.
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