It was perhaps for the best that the terriers were resistant to her commands. It meant that teaching them to do anything at all would take time. And time in Oliver’s home, in Oliver’s life, was exactly what she needed.
The Yorkies sat three abreast, the lines of their bodies alert and at attention. The small dog, the chubby dog and the silver dog all cocked their heads to one side as if listening to something, or someone, with rapt attention. The Great Dane swiveled his large head from side to side and growled. Then, his ears perked and he too appeared to hear something beyond the range of mortal man.
One by one, each terrier sat upright, tiny paws flailing in the air. One by one, each small dog dropped back down and rolled over, scrambling to its feet and wagging its stubby tail.
Miles stepped back deeper into the shadows of the hall to watch the animals unobserved. He’d had his doubts as to this plan of Lady Eleanor’s. Miss Lawrence hadn’t the least experience with dog training or with dogs at all for that matter. In point of fact, Lady Eleanor’s kings were already quite well behaved and remarkably intelligent. Of course, Sir Oliver had no knowledge of that. No, indeed, the Yorkies seemed to delight in annoying him whenever he visited. Obviously, they had no intention of displaying their knowledge or skills to Sir Oliver or to Miss Lawrence. Why, that would doom Lady Eleanor’s scheme before it had a chance to succeed.
The dear woman only wanted the best for her nephew, as did Miles and the rest of the staff. The entire household was aware of the Lady’s wish to bring happiness to the man she’d raised as her own child. And no one, from the cook to the stableboys, ever doubted the matriarch's belief that, if given enough time, Miss Lawrence would be the instrument of his happiness.
All four dogs stared with rapt attention in the general direction of the fireplace. Miles smiled to himself. He should have known Lady Eleanor would not be content to leave her plot in the hands of mere living creatures, be they human or canine. Lady Eleanor was never one to allow a task she’d started to remain undone.
Even in death.
Chapter Four
Oliver dropped his fork with a clatter and glared at the plate before him. Whatever was wrong with Cook? His aunt’s cook had always created the most delightful meals. But his beef had no flavor, his potatoes no taste. Even his wine lacked sparkle. He shoved the tray aside with disgust. What he needed was brandy. He rose to his feet and strode across his bedchamber to the waiting decanter conveniently placed on a table by the chair facing the fireplace. The silver flask had appeared the very day that woman had arrived. Miles always knew what he needed.
He poured a glass and downed it in a single swallow. He was drinking far too much these days. Had been ever since he set eyes on D. K. Lawrence. But liquor made no difference. Nothing seemed to dull the ache that he’d thought he’d rid himself of years ago.
In the three days since Diana had invaded his home he’d managed to avoid her except in passing. It was easy during the day, when his legitimate concerns about the state of Aunt Ellie’s properties kept him away from the manor in spite of the dreary winter rains that did nothing to dispel his foul mood. Evenings were more difficult. Oliver was forced to retire to his own chambers, taking his evening meals there. Alone. With only his brandy and his thoughts and his anger.
He refilled his glass. In these last few days of self-imposed exile, his mind had wandered back through his life. He couldn’t avoid recalling the magic of the days they’d been together. Magic she destroyed without so much as a backward glance. The remembered pain of her betrayal triggered hard memories of another loss. Until now, he had put the misery he’d known as a small boy well in the past. He rarely thought about his parents. They were probably decent enough in their own way, he supposed. Oh, he’d had excellent governesses and suitable care as a child but there had never been even the slightest inkling of affection from his own parents. They were far too busy in their world of society and travel to remember they had offspring. He’d always wondered what exactly was wrong with him. What had he done to fail them so? When they died, on a trip abroad, his foolish dreams of being a cherished son died with them. Aunt Ellie was the only one in his life who’d ever truly loved him. And the only one he’d ever cared for. Until Diana.
Why was she here?
The question rang over and over and over again in his mind. She’d been the only love of his life and she’d crushed his heart with devastating ease. She’d never responded to his letters and apparently married that Lawrence person. What did she want from him now?
He pulled a long swallow of the liquor. She had him hiding in his bedchamber like a chastised child. What was he afraid of?
Nothing. He clenched his jaw. Oliver Thornton Stanhope was no coward. And enough was enough. He was the epitome of success, respected in society and in government, and he would not be cowed by any man. Or any woman.
This was his home, blast it all, and he would not allow her the run of it simply because he was too caught up in emotions that should have died long ago. First thing in the morning, he would go on with his well-ordered life. He would no longer go out of his way to avoid her. He would not take another bloody meal in his room. He would ignore the past and treat her as exactly what she was: an employee.
Nothing more.
***
“The beef is quite good. In fact, everything from the soup to the wine is excellent tonight. Miles.” Diana smiled at the ever-present butler. “Please give my compliments to Cook.”
“Thank you, miss. Cook will appreciate it. Although she will question why you did not partake of it.”
Diana looked down at her plate. Miles was right. Her meal was barely touched. She shook her head. “I don’t seem to have much of an appetite tonight.”
Miles sniffed. “Your appetite has been sadly lacking ever since your arrival.”
She glanced around the huge dining room with its high-beamed ceiling and leaded glass windows. A massive sideboard filled most of one wall. A crystal chandelier sparkled overhead. Candles burned in silver candelabra on the table that could easily seat twenty. Tonight, and last night and the night before, it seated only one.
Diana sighed. “I just hadn’t expected to be dining alone every evening. It’s rather odd, actually. I am very used to eating by myself.”
“Sir Oliver is in his chambers, miss.”
“I suspected as much.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “My presence is rather a waste of time if I can’t get him out of his room.”
“Your presence is at the request of Lady Eleanor.”
“It would all be so much easier if she were here.”
“Lady Eleanor would say there is little value in anything achieved too easily.”
“I have waited ten long years,” she said sharply. “I would scarcely call any of this easy.”
Miles raised a brow.
“Forgive me. Miles. I do apologize. I did not mean to snap. I simply...” She spread her hands out in front of her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Perhaps, miss”—Miles removed her plate and headed toward the kitchen—”you first need to get Sir Oliver’s attention.” He pushed open the swinging door and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Get his attention?” Diana drew her brows together thoughtfully. She pushed her chair back from the table and crossed her arms over her chest. Excellent idea. What a shame Miles hadn’t been a bit more specific on exactly what getting Oliver’s attention would entail.
A short bark sounded from the floor. All three Yorkies and Shakespeare sat expectantly, alert for any possible table scraps.
“And what do you think, gentlemen?”
The dogs stared at her intently as if they were about to respond.
Diana smiled her encouragement. “Now then, don’t be shy. I am entertaining any and all suggestions, recommendations or ideas no matter how far-fetched they might be.
“So, what do you think? How on earth does one attract the attention of a man who refuses to l
eave his room?”
***
The night was long and restless and this morning Diana was no closer to determining how to attract Oliver’s attention than she had been when she’d slipped into bed. Her thoughts churned endlessly in her mind as she walked down the upstairs hall, the Great Dane by her side. There had to be a way to reach Oliver. Why, they had scarcely even spoken since her arrival. She certainly was not ready to give up. Not yet anyway.
A roar resounded from behind a closed door. Diana pulled up short. Shakespeare growled softly. The door on the left side of the hall flew open with such force it banged against the wall.
“Miles!” Oliver strode out of the room, knotting the tie of his dressing gown. “Miles! Where in the bloody hell are you?”
Diana widened her eyes. Oliver was a quivering tower of rage. “Is there something I can do to help?”
Oliver’s gaze jerked to hers and surprise flittered across his face. “You? What are you doing here?”
“I was simply on my way to breakfast.” She squared her shoulders and glared. “There is no need to use that tone with me.”
“I—” He shook his head and ran his hand through his already tousled hair. “You’re right, of course. I do apologize. Although”—his jaw clenched—“this is to some extent your fault.”
“What is my fault?”
“This.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his room.
“What are you doing?”
“Look.” He released her and gestured at the massive four-poster bed that dominated the spacious room. “Well?”
“Well what?” She shrugged helplessly. He narrowed his eyes, grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to the bed. Panic fluttered in her stomach. “What on earth are you—”
“There.” He stopped at the edge of the mattress. “Now do you see?”
The Yorkies lolled in the middle of the bed, half covered with blankets, looking for all the world as if they had found a home. And looking, as well, as if they had no intention of leaving.
Diana bit back a smile. “Indeed I do. It appears you have made a few friends.”
“Hah! You call these friends? That's the last thing I would call them.” His voice lowered in a menacing manner. “One of the little buggers actually bit me.”
“Come now. I find that difficult to believe.” She waved at the bed. “If you paid the tiniest bit of notice to them you’d find they’re all very sweet and quite well behaved.”
“Apparently, one is not as well behaved as the rest.”
“I'm certain you’re mistaken.”
“I assure you, madam, I am quite capable of knowing when I have been tasted!” Indignation rang in his voice. “And if you doubt my word, I have the teeth marks to prove it.”
Diana struggled against laughter threatening to burst free. “Really? And might I ask precisely where these teeth marks are?”
He glared at the animals on the bed and they glared right back. “My toe.”
She choked out the words. “The big toe?”
“No.” He narrowed his eyes in an unmistakable threat. The kings didn’t so much as flinch, but Diana could have sworn Melchoir’s black eyes also narrowed. Did Oliver realize his challenge may well have been met and possibly matched? “The smallest toe. Right foot.”
“I see.” Her eyes watered with the effort of stifling her laughter. He did not think this was even the slightest bit amusing and would, no doubt, not take her reaction at all well.
He slanted her an accusing glance. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m certain dog bites can be extremely painful.”
“Indeed.” He appeared a bit mollified.
“Especially when a dog is as ferocious as these.” “Well, I daresay I wouldn’t—”
“Oh, but I think you should.” She leaned forward and scooped up Gaspar. The tiny animal just barely filled her hands. “My goodness, these beasts are positively dangerous—”
“Mrs. Lawrence!” Oliver fairly growled the words.
“—a hazard to society—”
“I am not suggesting—”
“—and should no doubt be kept caged.”
Oliver’s brows pulled together in irritation, but deep within his dark blue eyes, she could see the faintest glimmer of amusement. “I do not appreciate being made sport of.”
“Why, Sir Oliver,” she forced a note of innocence into her voice. “I would never dare make fun of a wounded man. Would you, Gaspar?” She held the dog up before her and gazed into his eyes. “I didn’t think so. But perhaps an apology is in order.” She thrust the dog close to Oliver’s face. “I do believe he is extremely sorry.”
“I am not at all certain he is the culprit.” The corners of Oliver’s mouth quirked upward ever so slightly.
“Even so, he no doubt was encouraging of the deed and therefore must be the one to ask your pardon.” She nodded firmly.
Oliver stared at the dog, his manner skeptical. “He does not seem the least bit repentant.”
“Are you sure?” She turned Gaspar toward her, perused him for a moment, then held him back before Oliver. “I think you’re mistaken. I think he’s quite contrite.”
Gaspar leaned toward Oliver, flashed his tiny pink tongue and flicked it across the man's nose. Oliver jerked backward. “Ugh! Contrite? I call it disgusting. Extremely disgusting.”
“Not at all. He likes you.” Diana winked at the dog and set him back on the bed.
“No doubt.” His voice was dry but Diana suspected even Oliver could see the humor in the situation. Excellent. Shared laughter was the beginning of friendship. And friendship was surely the first step to recapturing love.
“I shall, however, remove them from your rooms for now. Come, gentlemen.” Diana snapped her fingers and the Yorkies bounced to the edge of the bed, leapt lightly, one by one, to the floor and trotted out the door. Diana grinned with relief. She preferred Oliver not know how little his dogs really listened to her. Shakespeare glanced from the kings to Diana and back to the small pack, then he too padded out the door. She turned to Oliver. “There we are. Now, then…”
Had he stepped closer while she was preoccupied with the dogs? It seemed only a bare inch or two separated them now. She gazed up into the deep blue of his eyes and her breath caught. He was exactly as she remembered. His hair was a dark, rich blond, nearly gold. His jaw was strong, his nose straight, his lips full. His features seemed to have sharpened through the years, maturity bringing a greater definition to the planes of his face. Anyone else in the world would term him attractive, perhaps handsome, but not overly so. Diana thought him magnificent.
The cozy warmth and sleepy scent of a man just roused from his bed surrounded her. She wanted to lift her hand to his face and caress his rough, unshaven cheek. To run her fingers through his ruffled hair and smooth the silken strands into place. To throw herself into his arms and beg him to love her again as he once had.
He stood perhaps six inches taller than she and his gaze searched hers with an intensity that pierced her very soul. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything beyond lose herself in the depths of his smoldering eyes.
“Why are you here?” Was it anger that echoed in his voice? Or pain? Or hope?
“Why?” Because I love you. Because I’ve always loved you. Because we should have already had a life together.
“I...” She wanted to tell him everything. How Ketterson’s bitter nature and vile lies had separated them and kept them apart. How she’d learned the truth. But Lady Eleanor had warned her against confessing all. She'd said Oliver had erected too many barriers against his own emotions, and against Diana, to accept her story at once. No, his aunt knew him far better than Diana did and she would follow the older woman’s counsel, no matter how difficult it might prove to be.
“The dogs.” She waved at the door. “I’m here because of the dogs, of course.”
“Of course.” His voi
ce was quiet, cool and considering. He stared for a moment longer and then nodded toward the hall. “You had best see to your charges then. I should expect improvement in their behavior soon. And try to keep them out of... my bed.”
“I shall,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat, “do my best.”
Diana wrenched her gaze from his and hurried out of the room. She imagined she could feel the heat of his stare boring into her back—appraising her presence, evaluating her answers and, perhaps, reaching a decision.
Was the resentment and the misery of a lifetime ago too much too overcome? Lady Eleanor hadn’t thought so. Diana wasn’t as convinced. But this morning, perhaps, there was a difference in Oliver. Slight but encouraging. His tone was no longer as hard as it had been, the look in his eye not as cold as when she first arrived. Why, the man had nearly smiled at her.
Her lips curved upward at the thought. There was definite progress here. The kings had started it all. They had indeed attracted his attention.
Now, it was her turn.
Chapter Five
She had changed.
Oliver stared at the financial statements before him on the library desk without seeing even one of the figures laid out on the ledger pages with pristine precision.
Diana had definitely changed. He knew it the moment he had stormed out of his bedroom. The shy, reticent girl he’d once known would have shrunk away in fright at the sight of any man in such a raging temper. Especially a man in his nightclothes.
He smiled to himself. No, this Diana had chastised him for the sharpness of his voice. This Diana had accompanied him into the sanctity of his bedchamber without protest. This Diana had almost made him laugh.
His smile faded. Who was she and what was she doing here? As much as he hated to admit it, he’d probably known somewhere in the back of his mind from the second he saw her again that he would not be able to resist her company for long. Oh, certainly, he had made a good show of avoiding her, but his solitude had only served to concentrate his every waking thought on what they had once shared. More and more since her arrival he’d relived the days they’d spent together: glorious days of innocent love and blossoming passion and fervent vows of forever.
Shakespeare and the Three Kings Page 3