“You want to use yourself as bait.”
He smiled. “That was what Stalwood said, as well. You really do have the mind of a spy in some ways.”
He expected her to smile back, but instead she stepped toward him with eyes flashing. “So you’re going to make it obvious where you are. You’re going to all but tempt him to you, open your doors to him, allow him into your home to threaten—”
“Diana,” he interrupted. “I would not let you be in danger.”
She cupped his cheeks. “I’m not talking about me, you fool! I’m talking about you. This man already nearly killed you! How can you consider putting yourself in his path? Teasing him with your presence? What if he comes after you again?”
He tilted his head. She was truly only concerned for his well-being. His heart throbbed at that fact. It was not one many people in his life had shared. No one on any deep level since he’d pushed his friends away after entering the service of the War Department.
And yet here she was, fearful not for herself, but for him.
He turned his face and kissed one of her palms. “Stalwood will arrange protection. For us both.”
“Both?” she repeated.
“Yes. I want you to come with me. To continue helping me there as you have here.”
She drew back, her hands dropping away. “You want me to come to your home in London. Your ducal home. As what? Your servant? Your physician? Your—your lover?”
He sighed. “That is part of what we must determine. If you came to my estate here in the city, it wouldn’t be like it is here on the edge of the city. People would see. They would know, Diana. I could protect you from many things, but not gossip. Stalwood could arrange for some kind of chaperone, of course. Someone to make it look less untoward, but—”
“I don’t want a governess,” she said. “That would make my work harder.” She got up, pushing past him to pace across the room. She paused at the window where she looked down at the garden.
“Then what do you suggest?” he asked.
“My being there would help you,” she whispered.
He pulled himself into the chair she had vacated and nodded. “Yes. I am much recovered in the time we’ve spent together. And to be honest, I would feel more comfortable having you close. I have no idea who this person is. I have no idea what he knows about your father. About you. But I don’t like the idea of your being alone until he’s in custody or dead.”
She flinched, as if she hadn’t thought through the possibilities of what would happen to the man responsible for all this pain that had come into their lives.
“Your mistress,” she said softly.
He jolted as he looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
She faced him. “The way I will have most access to you, Lucas, is if we call me what I am. That is, your mistress.”
“You are not my mistress!” he burst out, moving toward her so quickly that he nearly fell over from the sudden movement and the pain that followed.
“You are bedding me,” she said, keeping her gaze even. “That is what a man of your stature does with a mistress.”
“That kind of suggestion would utterly ruin your future,” he snapped.
She tilted her head back and laughed, though there was no hint of pleasure in the sound. “Dear man, what future do you assume I have? I am the daughter of a man of no title, no fortune, hardly anything to recommend him. I am no virgin. I bring nothing to the table for marriage to a man of rank or privilege. Even if I did, I have no such desire for that kind of match. Or any type of match, really. I was spoiled to that sort of thing long ago.”
Lucas stared at her. She was talking about that man, that spy who had taken her innocence. He was the one who had spoiled her to the thought of love or family or a future that was more than a lonely existence where she helped everyone but herself. That the loss of that person had inspired such bitterness had to mean she had loved him.
And a spike of jealous pain and rage jolted through Lucas with that thought. He straightened and speared her with a glare that he hoped kept his true heart hidden.
“It’s unfair to you, Diana,” he insisted.
She shrugged. “Life is unfair, Lucas. I would think you know that better than most. It is decided. I will play the role of your mistress and I will go with you on this move so that I may continue to help you.”
He set his jaw. He did not like this, but she was not wrong. The easiest way to make this work was for her play that role. Play it? Hell, it wasn’t far off from how he treated her. The only difference between a lover and a mistress was the financial support a mistress got.
Perhaps he owed her that as much as he owed her anything. But now was not the time to think about those things. She would be safe in his house, she would no longer have to fuss over cooking or cleaning or anything but her work. And since he was getting better by the day, even that wouldn’t be as taxing for her as it had been upon his arrival nearly two weeks before.
This was for the best. Yes. The niggling feeling in his stomach that it wasn’t was only excitement over being allowed to continue his work.
“Well, I may not agree, but I suppose it is settled,” he said. “I’ll send word to my servants here in Town that we will be arriving in twenty-four hours. Does that give you enough time to prepare?”
She swallowed, and then her face transformed. No longer was she his lover—there was a sense of distance there. That wall she had tried to put up in the morning, but higher now. More formidable. “Certainly, Your Grace. Though it will likely mean that I will be quite busy until we depart tomorrow.”
She nodded in his direction and then turned to go. At the door, she turned. He held his breath as she struggled with whatever she was going to say.
“I want to help you, Lucas. I will in any way you see fit. But please, don’t lie to me again or hide what you’re doing. Please.”
The second please lilted out, shaky and more emotional than he thought she might have wanted. It spoke volumes about her. Revealed more than she had even when she made love to him.
He nodded. “I may not be able to tell you everything I’m doing. I won’t, in fact, but I won’t lie to you about that. I won’t hide it.”
That seemed to satisfy her, for she left the room. And left him feeling that nothing between them would ever be the same.
Chapter Twelve
Lucas stared across the fine carriage that had been sent to retrieve him. Diana was looking straight ahead, her gaze inscrutable and her hands clenched in her lap. She looked as though she were being led to the gallows, not to his fine home a mere hour’s drive across the city from her own.
Of course, that was how he felt about this shift, too. He had no interest in returning to the ducal home and the ducal life. That was what he’d been avoiding for years. Almost a decade, actually. A decade since the moment that had blown his life apart and exposed the lies beneath.
“Are they accustomed to you bringing home a mistress from time to time?” Diana asked, her soft voice cutting into his thoughts.
He jerked his head up. “I…” He hesitated. To tell her the truth was to reveal some of that exposed nerve that was his family and his past. But he had promised not to lie anymore. “In truth, I do not go here often,” he admitted.
She tilted her head in surprise. “Even when you are in Town?”
“I have a townhouse near Piccadilly,” he said. “I prefer to spend my time there.”
“But you are coming here because it is—”
“More public,” he said. “It will make it look to our traitor as though I have given up my life as a spy and shifted to the life duty dictates.”
“After the extent of your injuries, I suppose that makes sense,” Diana said. “Have you ever thought of doing it in truth?”
“I have no interest in being Duke of Willowby,” he said, his tone far harsher than he had intended.
She did not recoil from it, though. I
nstead, she leaned in, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “But you are Duke of Willowby.”
He almost laughed. Almost let the whole story fall from his lips as she massaged his hands. Luckily, the carriage turned into his drive and then pulled up to a stop. It silenced any foolish confession that might have fallen from his lips.
He straightened and tugged his hands away. “And now we play our roles.”
She was slower to sit up, and her expression was troubled as the door to the carriage opened and revealed a footman. She went out first, smiling at the servant in thanks before she turned back and helped the man as Lucas eased his way down the short stairs. He saw the servants who were lined up outside to greet him exchange looks, and his cheeks flared.
Whether they were wondering at why the prodigal son had returned or marveling at his fall from physical prowess, either option was difficult. He didn’t like their whispers and their judgment.
Diana slid her arm through his and whispered, “Steady on.”
He glanced down at her, surprised that those two little words had cut through the anxiety and emotion. Suddenly he cared a little less about the others. There was her and that was enough.
She guided them up the stairs, careful to make it appear that he was bearing all of his own weight rather than leaning slightly on her as he quietly greeted the servants. When they reached the top step, his father’s butler, Jones, awaited them. Lucas pressed his lips together. He and Jones had never seen eye to eye.
But to his surprise, the butler actually seemed pleased to see him. “Your Grace,” he said. “How good to have you home, sir.”
Lucas stepped into the foyer and looked around with a sigh. Home. This place had never been home. Nor had any of his father’s estates. He had never spent a moment of his life feeling wanted there. Feeling loved. He’d hardened himself to the reactions those facts created, but he recalled them well. Recalled the pain of being so young and knowing he was despised by a man who was supposed to care for him.
“Jones,” he forced himself to say. “May I present Miss Oakford.”
The butler’s gaze slid to her, and Lucas felt her shift under the scrutiny. Of course she would. Being labeled a mistress was something she claimed to be able to handle, but that did not mean she would enjoy the exercise.
Still, Jones managed admirably. He bobbed his head in welcome. “Miss Oakford,” he said. “We shall endeavor to do all we can to ensure your comfort during your stay.”
“Thank you,” Diana said, her voice very small and even meek.
Lucas didn’t like it, but he pressed on. “I do apologize for deciding to come so suddenly. I hope it did not create too much work for the staff.”
“No, Your Grace,” Jones said as he took gloves and hats from them. “Since your mother was already staying here, it really required nothing.”
Lucas stiffened. “Ah, yes. The duchess. Is she still in residence?”
Now the butler looked uncomfortable. “Er, yes, Your Grace. She is packing up for a move to the dower house, but she is still here. She wanted to see you when you—”
“I see her. You may go, Jones.”
Lucas glanced across the foyer as the butler left and found his mother standing there. He buckled just a fraction at the sight of her. The last time he saw her, it had been at his father’s funeral. When she’d stood at his casket, snow and rain swirling around her furs, her dark gaze narrowed on him. He’d never felt so lost in his life.
And he’d run.
“Mother,” he said, pulling from the warmth of Diana’s presence and toward the coldness of hers.
She flinched at that one word. Turned her face away a moment before she refocused on him. “Back to do your worst, are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He stopped moving. “To do my duty,” he answered, for that was not untrue. It just wasn’t the one she would think of when that word was said.
“Duty,” she hissed. “What would you know about duty? You’ll drag this title and all it stands for to the ground before you’re finished.”
Lucas did not respond, for what she accused was often exactly what he’d wanted to do over the years. Burn it all down. Leave nothing behind of the name or the title or the prestige that was part of it.
Now it was different. Somehow it had changed. He might not want to be Willowby, but he had no desire to destroy what Willowby represented.
“I assure you—”
“You’re bringing your whore to the ducal estate.”
Behind him, Diana gasped, and he glared at his mother. “You might want to be very careful who you call a whore, madam.”
She swung on him. He could have dodged it, but he didn’t. He let her hand crack against his cheek, felt the heat of it, the sting, and did not move or turn away.
“Lucas!” Diana cried out.
He lifted a hand so she would not come to him or interfere. If this was what his mother needed, he would not deny her.
“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” the duchess whispered, her tone harsh though there were tears in her eyes.
He held that teary gaze and saw everything she’d been through in her life. Everything she’d put him through, as well. He inclined his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly but firmly.
Her lips parted, almost in surprise. Her expression relaxed just a fraction and she whispered, “I suppose we all are. Now I’m going to the dower house. Goodbye.”
She strode past him then. Past Diana, without even looking at her. Out the front door to the carriage that had just been emptied. She shouted an order in a trembling tone and it took off.
For a moment, all was silent. The only sound was the ticking of the large clock in the foyer, counting out the unending seconds since his mother struck him.
Finally, Diana stepped forward. “Oh, Lucas,” she whispered as she gently took his hand.
He looked down at her. There was no pity on her face, not like many would have shown, or the gossipy interest that the aristocrats of his acquaintance would have expressed. There was only understanding, much deeper than before they came here.
There was only empathy.
Part of him wanted to lean into that. To let her wrap herself around him, bleed out the anguish like so many less talented healers had tried to bleed out his injury and pain. He wanted her to fill up the holes in his heart and his soul.
But he couldn’t. He extracted his hand from hers and said, “I have some letters to write. Jones!” The butler appeared before Diana could reply. “Take Miss Oakford to the chamber I requested in my letter. Thank you.”
Then he turned and left before either of them could comment or see how deeply he had been affected. And how much he had to regret.
Diana paced the room she had been given, but it did not help her burn off any of the nervous energy she felt. There were too many things going on in her mind to feel calm or rational.
First off, the chamber was a palace. It was almost the same size as her entire cottage. She felt as though she had shrunk down and now there would be no escape. It was also too fine, even for the mistress she was pretending to be. Everything was sterling silver and gold flake and fine muslin and silk. She was so accustomed to plain and serviceable that anything more felt almost foreign to her.
What was also foreign to her was the fact that Lucas’s room was connected to hers through an antechamber. She’d discovered that fact the moment she’d been left alone in this museum of a house. When she’d opened the door, she’d found two maids putting away his things. The way they’d stopped talking the moment she entered the room made it clear what they’d been gossiping about.
She sank into the closest chair and covered her eyes. She’d told him she could handle all this, but now she questioned that statement made with all the bravado of a woman who didn’t know what she was getting into.
But could she tell him that? No, of course not. Firstly, because she would have to admit he’d been right
. Secondly, because he had much larger issues to deal with.
She shuddered as she thought of the scene with his mother in the foyer. She had few memories of her own mother, but they were all warm and soft and gentle. Watching as the Duchess of Willowby swung at full force at her son, that Lucas had let her do so, had hurt her heart in a deep and powerful way. The woman hadn’t even asked about his limp, as if she didn’t care that her only son was injured, had almost died.
Diana’s hands shook with empathy and anger on his behalf. There was so much about the man she didn’t know, couldn’t understand because he locked her out of his life and his secrets. His body? Oh, that was hers. She had no doubt she could have his body any time she crooked her finger.
But his mind? His soul? His heart? His secrets?
Those were off limits.
“I suppose a mistress is the best way I could be described,” she muttered. “Or what his mother called me: a whore.”
The idea stung, for when Lucas touched her she felt so much more than that between them. But she pushed that aside. She was here to help him. Right now he had to be hunched over a desk, his muscles getting tight and painful.
So she had to go to him. That was all there was to it. Not to ask him to share with her. She knew better than to do that. But just to…help. She just wanted to help.
She left the chamber and wove her way through the estate. Somehow she found the stairs, but she was soon lost in the twisting and turning hallways and doorways that seemed to lead to nowhere.
How in the world could anyone get accustomed to this life?
She had no answer to that, but didn’t need one, for as she turned yet another corner she discovered an open door ahead. She saw the flicker of firelight reflecting on the wood and sighed as she moved toward it.
What she found was a study. As she entered the room, she was hit with the scent of old cigars and long-burned fires. The room was pompous and stuffy and nothing like the man who sat behind the huge mahogany desk in the back. Lucas was hunched over, scribbling a note with a massive feather pen that he dashed in and out of the ink beside him with little care to drips he dragged across the page.
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