The Scoundrel Who Loved Me

by Laura Landon

That’s when she realized she wasn’t in her own bedchamber. This one was neat and tidy, with a topper hat on the round table in the corner and clothes strewn over the woven rug in a crooked line that led toward the bed.

  A gentleman’s clothes.

  She leaned forward as panic gripped her. The bedcovers fell away, revealing the gown she’d worn the evening before. Only the crimson silk was rumpled and part of her left sleeve hung dangling by a few loose threads from her bare shoulder.

  “What have I done?” she whispered, struggling to remember the events of the night before. She tried to pull up her sleeve, but the sound of threads tearing told her she’d only made it worse.

  She let go of the fabric as a low moan escaped from her parched throat. She was alone in Thorne’s room, and it was his clothes on the floor. She recognized the dark jacket, and blue silk cravat, along with a pair of fawn-colored breeches. The same clothes he’d worn to dinner the night before.

  She closed her eyes, fighting to recall what had happened. Pain held her skull in a vise-like grip, but she could recall sneaking off to Lady Marwick’s private sitting room. The window seat and the gray cat.

  Her eyelids flew open. She’d found the box and the stolen vase inside! And then…nothing.

  Diana tossed aside the bedclothes and rose to her feet, swaying violently as a wave of dizziness hit her until she had to sit back down on the feather mattress.

  She was not ill—she was certain of that. She had been drugged or otherwise incapacitated. But by whom—and why?

  And how had she ended up in Thorne's bed?

  The answer seemed obvious but the truth behind it was so horrible another cry escaped her. She reached out to the bed post and stood up slowly this time. At this moment, the only thing she could think about was leaving Thorne's room before someone discovered her there.

  Her silk shoes lay on the floor near the bed. She slid them on her feet, then walked gingerly toward the door, reaching out to the bed along the way to keep her balance.

  Then she caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Her long, black hair hung in a wild, tangled mass over her shoulders and her face was so pale she barely recognized herself.

  She tried to comb her fingers through her wild hair. She couldn’t emerge from the room looking like this. With her hair in such disarray and her rumpled, torn gown, she looked like a woman in dishabille—a woman who had spent the night in Thorne's bed.

  Even if she had no memory of doing so.

  She turned away from the mirror, eager to escape this nightmare, and walked the last few steps to the door. But when she turned the handle, it didn’t move.

  Someone had locked her inside.

  A gasp of surprise escaped her mouth as she tried to turn the handle again, wrenching it as hard as she could. But it was no use—she was trapped.

  Leaning against the door, another wave of dizziness overcame her as she tried desperately to think of some other means of escape.

  After taking a few moments to regain her equilibrium, Diana moved across the room to the nearest window and lifted the sash. A cool breeze wafted over her, helping to clear her fuzzy head for a moment.

  She peered out the open window, but saw only a narrow ledge a few feet below that ran the length of the house. And it was an unsurvivable drop from the third floor.

  She might be able to maneuver it, Diana thought to herself—if she dared to try such a thing.

  A knock on the door made her whirl around.

  "Thorne, open this door!" It was Bertie’s voice—and he sounded furious.

  She glanced over to the wardrobe as she heard the sound of keys jingling, then one turning in the lock. It was too late to hide—too late to avoid the inevitable.

  The door swung open with such force that it banged against the wall. Bertie stood on the other side, his face twisted with anger and then surprise, as his gaze moved from her to Thorne’s clothes on the floor.

  Next to him was the Earl of Marwick, whose eyes widened in shock when he saw Diana standing there. She knew all too well the vision she presented and what they must think.

  A moment later, she heard Haverly's familiar voice from the hallway. “I say, Bertie, what's going on here?" And then he appeared in the doorway too, along with Captain Barrett, whose mouth gaped open when he saw her.

  They all stared at her, not saying a word. But their expressions communicated the ugly truth.

  Another wave of dizziness washed over her and this time Diana didn't fight it as blessed darkness filled her vision. And she sank to the floor.

  . . .

  When Diana opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at an intricate, white-tiled ceiling and inhaled the light scent of lavender. She heard the soft murmur of feminine voices from the other side of the room. It was lit with several candelabra and the view through the parted window drapery revealed a crescent moon surrounded by a canopy of stars in the night sky.

  She’d slept all day. And once again, she’d awakened in a bed that was not her own. Taking a deep breath, she sat up, relieved that her headache was gone and she felt much more like herself.

  But a heaviness lingered in her heart and she knew that her life had changed forever.

  Aunt Sterling hurried over to her. “You’re awake! Oh, my dear, Diana, we’ve been so worried. We’ve been unable to rouse you all day and you’ve tossed and turned and cried out, as if you were plagued by nightmares.”

  “I am fine now,” Diana murmured, finding it difficult to speak. She was fortunate that Aunt Sterling was still speaking to her, given where she’d been discovered.

  But the truth was she wasn’t fine—and never would be again. She could see it in the eyes of her sisters, sitting near the fireplace with Bertie’s mother.

  Lady Marwick gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. “You poor dear.”

  Then Fanny and Louisa rose from their chairs, glanced at each other, and warily approached her bed. Tears shimmered in their red-rimmed eyes and she sensed they’d been weeping all day.

  “Oh, Diana,” Louisa cried, dropping to her knees by the bedside. “How my heart breaks for you.”

  Fanny moved to the opposite side of the bed and reached for Diana’s free hand. “I shall stand by you always,” she said softly. Then her face darkened. “He is a cad! The worst kind of….”

  “Enough of that,” Aunt Sterling gently chided, giving Fanny a warning glance. “We’ll not speak about that now. All that matters is Diana getting well again.”

  Diana resisted the urge to bury herself beneath the bedcovers. She’d expected anger and recriminations, but the reaction of her aunt and sisters was even worse—pity and condolence.

  They believed she’d made a fool of herself over Thorne and had lost her innocence and reputation as a result. She was ruined, no doubt, for too many people had witnessed her disgrace and word would get out. Her dear family would suffer for it, too.

  A muted thump, thump, thump sounded on the rug and she looked up to see Lady Marwick slowly walking toward her, using her cane for support.

  Aunt Sterling and Louisa stepped away from her bedside so Lady Marwick could speak to her.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor, my dear?” she asked, in a voice more gentle and compassionate than Diana deserved.

  She could now see the sitting room through the open door of the bedchamber and realized she’d been taken to Lady Marwick’s own private suite to recover.

  “No, thank you, I am quite well now.” She struggled to find the right words. “I apologize for my behavior….”

  “None of that,” Lady Marwick interjected, patting Diana’s shoulder. “You are not to blame for this unfortunate situation. Lord Thorne never should have trifled with the affections of a girl like you.”

  A girl like you.

  Diana closed her eyes, with perfect understanding of what Lady Marwick meant. Although the gracious lady had no idea of the pain those words carried.

  “We shall leave you alone and let you sleep,” Lad
y Marwick declared.

  Diana opened her eyes to see Lady Marwick ushering the other three women toward the open doorway. Then she turned her kind gaze back to Diana. “It’s better for you to have some privacy at a time like this.”

  Diana didn’t argue, not certain how long she could hold back the hot tears that burned in her eyes. When the door closed behind them, she blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She wasn’t crying for her ruined reputation or the fact that her future plans for travel and adventure were now in tatters.

  She wept for the dream she had dared to believe—that a man like Lord Thorne could ever desire her or think she was special.

  Such a fool she had been.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Diana awoke once more, the room dark and the scent of Lady Marwick’s lavender perfume still lingering in the air. She felt fully rested, but sensed it was still the middle of the night.

  Then she heard a plaintive meow on the other side of the door, followed by a feline screech and a sharp hiss as something thudded against the wall.

  She rose quietly from the bed and slipped on the white dressing gown that hung nearby. It was too short for her, hitting her just below the knees, but it would have to do.

  Diana padded over to the door in her bare feet and slowly turned the handle, relieved that it didn’t squeak as she cracked the door open and peered out.

  She didn’t see the cat, but a man was stooped over the window seat and tossing the pillows out of the hollow space underneath.

  As she watched him, she recognized Mr. Haverly. When he lifted the familiar wooden box out of the window seat she swallowed her gasp of surprise.

  If it was still there, she thought to herself, that meant Thorne had not taken it with him when he’d left. And how did Mr. Haverly know where to find it?

  Unless he’d left it there himself—and had come to fetch it last evening. That’s when he must have her seen her standing there—ready to carry away his bounty.

  The scenario she’d imagined before, with Thorne betraying her and taking the wooden box—to either return to the owners or keep the vase for himself—suddenly shattered.

  She knew it was still possible that Haverly and Thorne might be working together. But Diana finally had something that she’d thought she’d lost forever: Hope.

  As she followed Haverly, she was relieved to see that he seemed completely unaware of her presence. He went quickly toward the back staircase used by the servants. Diana knew none of them would be up at this hour of the night.

  The entire house was quiet, save for the quick, furtive steps of Haverly's boots. He was dressed for travel and she assumed he planned to make a quick getaway.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Once he started descending the back stairwell with the box in his arms, she quickened her step so that by the time he reached the first floor she was only a few yards behind him.

  “Stop,” she shouted, loud enough to wake the household.

  He whirled around, then sneered as he looked her up and down. “Still chasing after men, are you? How sad.”

  Then she watched him duck into the nearest room. She followed him through the doorway, determined not to let him get away.

  She inhaled the lingering scent of tobacco smoke and saw a painted mural depicting a fox hunt spanning one wall. Haverly set the box carefully on an inlaid table in the center of the room, then slowly turned around and faced her.

  “You deserved it, you know,” he said as he slipped on the riding gloves he’d retrieved from the table. In that moment, Diana saw how it was going to play out, and knew that collecting his gloves would be Haverly’s fatal mistake. “You ruined any chance I had with Louisa. She is cursedly devoted to you, but she won’t be now that you’ve brought disgrace to your family.”

  Even as she listened to his words, her mind calculated her next move. He was about two inches shorter than her, but Haverly was a burly man and built like a bull. He’d have no trouble overpowering her if he wished.

  “So you’re the one who locked me in Thorne’s room,” she said, slowly circling him as she moved toward the large stone hearth. A stuffed stag’s head with its stately antlers loomed in the darkness above it.

  “With the help of a little chloroform,” he said with a cold smile. “Maybe more than a little.”

  “And what about Thorne? Where is he?”

  “Gone.” His smile turned vicious. “Did you truly expect him to stay here? For someone like you?”

  He now had a clear path for the door and seemed to suddenly realize it.

  “Good night, Miss Harwood,” he said, turning toward the box on the table.

  That’s when she grabbed the fire poker and ran up to swing it at his knees as hard as she could, stopping him in his tracks. When the poker made contact, Diana heard a sickly, cracking sound.

  Haverly’s deafening scream of pain and surprise tore through the room. Then he stumbled and fell to the floor, rolling over onto his back to clasp his left knee with both hands.

  Almost without thinking, Diana pounced, holding the steely tip of the poker against his neck with just enough pressure that his eyes bulged with panic.

  “Diana?” said a voice from the doorway.

  She looked up to see Thorne step inside the room. His face was haggard and a swollen, purple bruise covered one eye. When she saw the dirty, torn clothes he wore—clothes she’d never seen before—she knew he hadn’t left Marwick Manor voluntarily.

  Then she saw Haverly trying to wiggle away from her and pinned him down by planting one bare foot on top of his chest. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  . . .

  Thorne stared at Diana, who stood straight and tall above the man she’d trapped on the floor.

  She was magnificent.

  And she looked like the goddess he knew her to be. Her short white robe resembled a toga and one slender, pretty foot kept Haverly from moving a muscle. As did the fire poker she held so deftly at his throat.

  But the look in her eyes as she stared at Thorne made him uneasy. He had no idea what had happened since Haverly had lured him from the house and knocked him out, but he sensed it wasn’t good.

  The thought of Diana in pain of any kind enraged him. He was tempted to kill Haverly himself. But before he could act on it, Bertie and the butler, both only half-dressed, appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s all this, then?” Bertie asked, perplexed by the tableau before him. “I heard someone scream.”

  “It was Haverly,” Diana said, her voice soft and her gaze now avoiding Thorne. “I believe I might have injured his knee.”

  “Injured?” Haverly bit out, his face tense with pain. “You broke it. And you tried to kill me. Bertie, get her off of me. The lady is mad!”

  Bertie stepped forward, but Thorne put one hand out to stop him, now eyeing the wooden box on the table. “I am sure you have many questions, Bertie, but it’s a long story and one that your father will want to hear.” He looked at the butler. “Can you gather a few of your strongest footmen, Burton, and secure Mr. Haverly? He’s proven himself quite dangerous.”

  “Yes, sir,” Burton replied, looking unflappable as he left the room.

  Then Thorne patted Bertie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, old chap, I’m fairly certain she’s not going to kill him.”

  An hour later, Diana entered the main drawing room and saw that everyone else had already arrived.

  Aunt Sterling, Fanny, and Louisa sat together on the sofa, looking at her with worried faces. No doubt they’d already heard what had happened in the hunting room and shared the opinion that she might be mad.

  The Earl and Lady Marwick were there too, along with Andrew and Captain Barrett. Haverly lay reclined on a fainting couch that had been moved to the center of the room, his knee propped on a pillow. A thick rope tightly circled both his wrists. The rope seemed unnecessary to her, since the ugly swelling of Haverly’s knee made his chance of walking, much less running, highly unl
ikely.

  As Diana took a chair near her family, she glanced at Thorne. He was looking back at her, and from the expression on his handsome face, she knew someone had told him about the night she’d spent in his room.

  She looked away, fearing his anger would soon be replaced by pity.

  A maid entered the room carrying a large tray. She passed around coffee and muffins to everyone but Mr. Haverly.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Lord Marwick began, his gaze fixed on Thorne, “what is this all about?”

  She watched Thorne stand up, but avoided his gaze. Diana had never considered herself a coward, but she was afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Even knowing he hadn’t left the manor voluntarily didn’t assuage her fear that she’d read too much into his advances.

  “There is something I’d like you to read,” Thorne said, walking over to the earl and handing him a letter.

  The earl narrowed his gaze, then quickly scanned the letter. “A stolen vase? Like the one in that box?” He pointed to the wooden box which lay open on the table near the sofa.

  “Exactly that vase,” Thorne said. “It’s actually quite a valuable antiquity from China. Lord Varney purchased it shortly before his masquerade party and was quite proud of it.”

  The earl nodded as he lowered the letter. “Yes, I remember now. I thought it rather strange a man would be interested in pottery.” Then he handed the letter back to Thorne. “But it appears he was interested enough to charge you with finding his stolen property.”

  “Yes,” Thorne said, glancing at Diana.

  She took a sip of her coffee, wondering how the earl and Lady Marwick would react when they learned she and Thorne had been sneaking around their house, searching for a stolen treasure.

  But the earl sat stone-faced as Thorne began telling the story. He did not leave out any part, except for the two kisses they’d shared. And the fact that she’d spent time in his bedchamber with him.

  “I believe Haverly stole the vase at the masquerade party, having heard his uncle talk about its great value.”

  “But why hide it here?” Lord Marwick asked.

  That was the question Diana had been asking herself as well. There was a chance Lady Marwick or one of the maids could find it in her window seat. It seemed like a great risk.