He was staring at the door, in likely the same fashion she’d been, but then those hazel eyes turned to her. They were a delightful concoction of golds and green, but as he moved closer, the green stood out.
She held his gaze as she came forward, lacing her fingers in front of herself, all the while realizing just how nervous she was about seeing him. She thought that odd. She’d been dancing professionally since she was sixteen; and had learned just as quickly how to charm the crowds. The life of a dancer was one in which she never ceased to entertain, no matter where she went. Men and women turned to her, expecting cleverness, and usually, Diana could deliver.
But not today.
Dr. Lockwood’s gaze told her nothing about his thoughts of her, and she prepared herself for the usual questions or a comment on her weight, or the lack of it. Instead, he said, “Hello.”
She blinked. Was that all? Perhaps, he’d get to the harder questions later. “Hello.”
“The tea.” He looked over at the serving tray before turning to her once more. “It’s an exceptional blend. I’ve never had it before.”
She frowned, wondering at the direction of their conversation. “My brother imports it from India.”
“Ah.” Frank’s brow lifted, and she couldn’t help but think how very highborn his features were. She suspected that no matter his expression, he would always look perfect. His hair, the thick blond locks were in their place, and his jaw looked smooth and she could sense the strength in it.
“Please.” She offered him a chair, taking her own at the table, again trying to hide herself from his eyes, as best she could. Since he’d already poured himself a cup of tea, she poured her own concentrating on the dark liquid and its rising steam, before lifting her eyes to meet his, once more.
He was staring at her and seemed to catch himself. “There is a tea shop in London where I watch a tea merchant hand-roll her own leaves. She says that how the oils are released from the plant.” He lifted a brow, and Diana realized now she was the one who was staring.
She couldn’t believe they were speaking about tea. “Did… this shopkeeper give the tea to you then?”
“No, then she allowed the leaves to breathe.” He moved forward, as if the conversation were one he truly enjoyed.
She sipped tentatively, though her own excitement grew. “The leaves can breathe?”
He smiled, showing perfect teeth, one side of his lips lifting slightly more than the other.
She inhaled sharply. He was more magnificent than she recalled.
“They do, in their own way.” He turned to the tray of treats. “Biscuit?”
Was he simply being kind, or did he offer because she looked like she needed it?
“Please.” She wasn’t really hungry, though she didn’t think it a good idea to refuse in front of him. Why was she so nervous?
He finished his biscuit in a single bite, and she was dazzled by the way his jaw worked on his food. “The leaves take in air, and slowly, which is actually how you get your varying teas. The longer they breathe, the darker their appearance.”
“The shorter the brighter,” she guessed.
He smiled again. “Exactly.”
She returned his smile, unable to do anything else. “Why did you tell me about the tea?”
His smile wavered. “I… truly like your brother’s tea.” He picked it up and inhaled from his cup before sipping again. “I taste cinnamon and…”
“Turmeric and ginger,” she told him.
He moaned softly with pleasure. “To good tea.”
She smiled again and lifted her glass.
He finished his cup and began to pour another. “Do you drink this tea often?”
“Yes, it always helped me go to sleep after a long night.”
He settled back into his chair, his steaming cup in hand. “You mean, after a performance?”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. They were venturing toward a conversation she didn’t wish to have.
“Have you gone outside?” he asked abruptly. “This is a charming location to build a home.”
She thought so as well, but… “Why are you here?”
He glanced over at her and paused. “You requested me to come.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“No?” he asked. “You didn’t request for me to come? Your brother said you did.”
“I don’t think so.” Then she looked away and thought. She couldn’t remember doing so and felt as though she would have remembered if she had. Requesting anyone to come seemed like something she would recall.
“You don’t think so?” He leaned back in his chair and resumed drinking his tea. “So, it’s possible that you did.”
She put down her cup and sighed, staring into her lap. Tears gathered in her eyes. “I can’t recall doing so.” She looked up at him and found his expression to be intense.
He put down his cup and seemed to reach for her, but at the last second, his hands fell to the chair arms.
She was saddened by that. He’d seen her nude; and was obviously disgusted by her. He’d seen some evidence of what that monster had done to her, but he’d never see everything. No one would. She wouldn’t let him.
“Miss Banns, there’s no wrong answer to anything I ask,” he told her. “I just want the truth.”
She stood. “I don’t want you here.” She didn’t want him to see her like this. “I’m sorry. I…” Her voice shook, and she pulled in a deep breath. “I didn’t ask for you to come.” She had wanted to see him, but not like this. Perhaps in passing, one day, when she was strong enough to venture in the same city as her torturer, but not this way.
He didn’t stop her as she ran from the room.
* * *
Frank watched Diana leave and then rose to his feet. He made it a habit to try and ignore his own feelings, for they had the tendency to cloud his judgement. As a young gentleman, he’d learned to control them, but as a man, he’d come to understand how dangerous they could be, when it came to understanding others.
So, when he found Bancroft in the downstairs office, moments later, he kept all of this in mind. “She didn’t request my presence.”
Bancroft looked up from the papers he’d been holding, and didn’t bother putting them down. “Well, she didn’t in so many words, but you should be here, nonetheless.”
Frank felt his brows begin to descend; and cleared the tension from his face. “She doesn’t want me here.” And above all things, Frank didn’t want to force himself upon her. He had a sickening suspicion that the Earl of Dahl had likely done just that. Repeatedly. And her brother, in his own way, with his concern.
He censored that last thought from his mind. It was unfair to judge the man.
“But she needs you.” Her brother looked at his papers again. “Her friend said so. Miss Kingsman said the very thought of you brought a smile to her face.”
Frank took a step back. “It’s because I rescued her. Nothing more. Tell her that’s it. It’s not me. It could have been anyone. Mr. Hit. Mr. Miff.”
“But it wasn’t Miff or Hit.” Bancroft put whatever he was looking at down; and sighed. He placed his hands on the table. “Dr. Lockwood, I don’t want you here. I don’t want you here, because I wish I could help her myself, but my attempts at doing so, have failed.”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” Frank said slowly.
“Well, sitting around doing nothing for months, never made anyone feel better.” Bancroft’s eyes were hard. “Now, I’ve commissioned a well-known writer to create a ballet, and I think it’s very good. I want you to show it to her. It might get her on her onstage once more.”
Frank didn’t have to ask how Bancroft had found a writer. If he’d hired the man in the same fashion that Frank had been hired, it was likely he’d been given no choice.
But on this, Frank would not be moved. “No. I’m not doing this.” This was not what Diana needed. He could sense it. “She doesn’t want me here. I’m leaving.” And he�
��d fight whoever it took, to get away. He glanced over at Mr. Miff, in the corner. The man’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. Did he find Frank amusing?
“Then go.” Bancroft’s words caught his attention. “You’re easily replaced. I’ll just find another doctor.” One who would do everything Bancroft asked of him.
That would be far worse.
Frank didn’t move. His eyes challenged the underworld lord, as he thought. There was no point in asking the man to give Diana time. Likely, in Bancroft’s world, time was everything, as was evident in the two clocks in the room.
But he was clearly taking time away from his empire to help his sister. He cared. Frank just had to show him he cared, as well.
Just as much as any doctor would care for a patient. Nothing more.
“I’ll stay.” He knew immediately he’d be missing more than a few parties this Season, if he made it back to London for the Season, at all. But he didn’t do this begrudgingly. He did it for her. “But if I stay, I do this my own way, and in my own time.”
Bancroft hesitated and then nodded. “Done.”
“And I need to know where I am.” It had taken them two days to get here. A night in an inn he’d not recognized, had told him nothing about the area.
Bancroft stood, his white brows furrowed. “Why? If you need things brought here, my servants can see to it.”
“I might need help.” He was a fool, if he thought he could do this alone. In the past, he’d either always had his brother, or the men of the Brotherhood he’d been a part of at Eton. The group was made of some of the most powerful men in London, and in Frank’s own opinion, the bravest. “But I swear to you, anyone I bring here can be trusted. So, there is no need to bother with throwing any more masks over heads.”
Bancroft nodded. “Very well, but the day I find you can no longer be trusted, is the last one you draw breath.”
Frank readily agreed. He would not put Diana in trouble.
“Wembley,” Bancroft said.
Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “Wembley? You mean we’re still in London? Then why did it take us two days to get here? Why did we stay in an inn last night?”
“To throw you off,” Bancroft said. “I work in London. I didn’t want to own property that was too far away.”
Frank looked out the window and was surprised at the lengths Bancroft had gone to, confused.
And yet, he wasn’t surprised at all. This man loved his sister, and would do anything, even waste an entire day, to see her protected.
“I’ll want progress reports,” Bancroft said. “Weekly.”
“Very well, but I won’t guarantee you much information in any of them.” Frank looked at him. “And it won’t include anything we discuss. If I’m to help her, she must trust me. If she chooses to speak to you about what happened at a later time, that will be her choice, but it’s time she learns to make choices for herself again.”
Bancroft had opened and closed his mouth repeatedly during Frank’s speech, but in the end, he nodded.
And Frank knew that while he’d likely have many patients in his lifetime, Diana would be the one who would either make him a great doctor, or prove him wrong.
* * *
7
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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At first, Diana had loved the quiet, but now she hated it.
The dining table was set for one, and she moved to her chair. The sound of the material of her skirts and her light footsteps on the floor was the only sound in the room. The table hadn’t seemed as long when her brother and Mr. Harris had been present the previous evening, though she’d admit that the conversation had been far from ideal. Her brother had mentioned a script he wished for her to read, and while she’d promise to get to it eventually, the simple words hadn’t seemed good enough for her brother.
She understood what drove him, why he was so demanding of her, but he didn’t understand. No one did, it seemed.
Except for her friend Kate, who’d been willing to speak of anything but dance.
And then there’d been Dr. Lockwood, who instead of asking after her health, had started a discussion about tea, of all things.
She’d found herself appreciating the cup the maid poured the next morning, sipping and savoring the flavor. She preferred the leaves that breathed for quite some time, she realized with a smile.
A glass of wine was brought out to her and Diana took it. She’d rarely drank as a dancer. When the need came to entertain, it was best a dancer remained lucid, unless she wanted herself…She let that thought trail off.
Putting the glass down, she turned to her soup, wondering what Hit was up to. The ruffian had been with her for five years, paid for by her brother, and assigned to her care. She’d known her kidnapping had left him distraught. That night…
She pushed the soup away and gave the footman a smile when he placed fish in front of her. Before the… incident, she’d enjoyed company. She loved to be surrounded by people, and even now, she wished she had a dinner guest. Usually Hit enjoyed reading during his meals, so she left him alone, but she couldn’t help but ask after him, when Michael, the footman, turned to leave.
“He’s in the kitchen.” Michael straightened. He was young and tall with dark hair and gray eyes. Mr. Harris, Bancroft’s secretary, was his uncle. The eyes were in the family line, though she had no clue where Michael had gained his height.
Bancroft operated a family business, which he thought made his employees more loyal.
“Could you ask Mr. Harris if he wouldn’t terribly mind putting down the paper to come keep me company?”
Michael frowned. “He’s not reading. He’d speaking with the doctor.”
Diana pulled in a breath. “Doctor? But I thought Dr. Handford left with my brother?”
“Not Dr. Handford, miss. Dr. Lockwood.” The footman waited and his brows furrowed further. “Miss, are you all right?”
Dr. Lockwood was here?
“What is he doing in the kitchen?” she asked.
Michael shrugged. “Eating. I suppose he thinks himself a servant, miss.”
Diana thought and then said, “Tell him to come in here.” Her pulse quickened. How had an entire day gone by without her knowing he was still here? Her brother hadn’t mentioned that he’d be staying.
Michael had left when she’d spoken, and she watched as he returned with another plate of fish. A maid followed, setting the table with silverware and a cup of wine.
Dr. Lockwood strolled in and took the chair that his plate had been placed at, two away from her. He looked over at her and smiled. “The fish is excellent. Do you know Mr. Lemon, your gardener, retrieved it this morning from the pond? Apparently, there is one not far from here.”
Diana’s smile widened. First tea. Now fish. “Dr. Lockwood, have you been here this entire time?”
He leaned back and sighed, in a way that said his next words were heavy. Her smile fell with his shoulders. “I’m afraid I have. I confess, I’m not sure how to go about helping you.”
“What if I can’t be helped?” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “What is it that you want, Miss Bann?”
She wanted him to leave. At least, she had. Now, she was glad he was here. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about dancing.”
He nodded. “Very well, then we won’t talk about dancing.” His eyes were ever so patient. She always felt ready to defend herself whenever she spoke to anyone else, but not with him. Her brother had told her all he’d done. He’d figured out the poem and saved her life, and now he wished to save her mind.
“Thank you. I haven’t told you that yet, have I?” She couldn’t recall much about that night, only that she'd not seen him again until yesterday. Then she’d sent him away.
He smiled again, genuinely. She envied how easily it came for him. �
�You’re welcome.”
She turned back to her meal and asked, “How long will you be here?”
“I’m not sure.” And he seemed unbothered by that statement. But surely a man as beautiful and confident as he, had people who waited for his return? Someone who missed him?
“Do you have family?” She was once again fascinated by the way he chewed, fixated on his jaw muscles.
He wiped his mouth before picking up his glass. “Yes, a brother and a father. My mother died years ago, but truthfully, I count many more than that my kin.”
Diana Sensational Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 5