She fought to breathe as she rushed into the room, closed the door behind her, and flung herself ungracefully onto her bed. She gathered her pillow and buried her face in it as she screamed over and over again.
She’d ruined everything.
Frank had been kind and had given her the most tender of looks. He’d spoken to her about tea and fishing at ponds. Why did she kiss him? What was wrong with her? Had the monster turned her into a strumpet?
No. No. No. She wasn’t that. She hadn’t wanted the other man’s touch. She’d wanted Frank, but she’d ruined everything.
Or maybe she hadn’t.
He had. He’d ruined everything with his silly questions about blooming flowers. Everything had gone so well until he’d started to ask those questions. She’d been so content. She’d imagined spending every day with him, eating with him at meals, and walking with him through the forest, alone and safe from the rest of the world.
She cried, screamed, and prayed no one would hear her, prayed someone would. She wanted someone to care, even while she knew there to be people who did. What was wrong with her?
She jumped when she felt a depression on her bed, and fought as Frank gathered her into his arms. She tried to get away but only half-heartedly.
His arms locked, and his mouth pressed against her ear. “Diana, why can’t you dance?”
Her struggles renewed. “I hope you burn in hell!”
“Why can’t you dance!”
She stopped moving, stopped breathing, and turned to stare at him, stunned that he’d shouted.
He’d never shouted at her before. Was he mad? What had she done?
He glared at her, even as he didn’t allow her to leave his lap.
She pulled in a breath and settled her head on his shoulder. “Frank, I’m going mad.” And it scared her. What if she never found herself again?
“No goddess is perfect.” His voice was gentle again, such a change from his shout.
She turned to look up at him. She hadn’t turned on the lamp in her room. The storm still went on outside, turning everything light gray with shadows. A fire blazed in the hearth, which meant the maid had seen to it earlier. She wrapped her fingers in his shirt. They were both still wet. His shirt was cold, but heat poured from him. “Are you mad at me?”
His lips twitched, “No, Diana, I’m not.”
She closed her eyes. “Are you going to leave me?” Her heart would break if he did. She barely knew him, and yet, he was so important to her. She’d weep endlessly if he did. She’d never stop crying.
His hand caressed her cheek and pushed the hair from her face. “I think I should.”
She opened her eyes. “Don’t. Please.” She tightened her hold on his shirt. “I won’t kiss you again. I swear it. Frank— ”
“I won’t leave you.” He smiled, then. How did he find the strength to smile after the day they’d had? Diana felt completely drained. She closed her eyes and settled into his hold more firmly. She’d nearly fallen asleep when his voice interrupted her.
“Do you know why I won’t leave?”
She opened her eyes and found the room to be darker than when she’d closed them. How long had they been this way? She was still in his arms, but felt warmer. Her clothes had been changed as had his, yet he’d returned to her. Had he also changed her? She didn’t care if he had. A blanket rested over her. She snuggled closer to him.
“What?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. She stared up at him and fought to make his face out in the shadows.
“Do you know why I won’t leave you?” He was holding her as though she were a child. She felt cradled, cherished. “I care greatly for you, Diana.”
He did? She liked that. She smiled.
“I want to see you well.”
She turned away then but nodded.
He pulled her closer. “And it doesn’t matter what he did to you or what you had to do to survive, those who care for you will never judge.”
He wouldn’t judge her?
“Tell me, Diana.” His voice was softer now. She could hear the cracking of the fire now and the rain had stopped. “Why won’t you dance?”
“Because.” She didn’t even know if he could hear her but was sure he could, when he stiffened at her confession. “He made me dance.”
“He made you dance?”
She nodded. “Every day. Over and over again.”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes. “He kept saying that I was pretty. I said I wasn’t bad. He said I was good.”
“He thought you a good dancer?”
She sighed and fixed her gaze on him again. “No. I mean… yes, he thought me a good dancer, but that wasn’t what he meant. He thought me morally good. He watched my dancing and thought me… not bad.” She recalled him standing close to her while he forced her to dance, following her in that tight little cellar, never giving her enough room to actually move. Her legs had cramped. Her toes had bled, the flesh ripping on the rough floor.
“You mean, he thought your dancing was not erotic. He meant your dancing wasn’t sensual.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps…” He turned away to think.
She sat up further against him. “What?”
He turned to her. “Perhaps, that’s why he didn’t… end your life.”
She nodded readily. “I knew he’d killed other women. He said I wasn’t like the others, but still I wanted to die.”
“Why? Because he…?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t touch me that way.” There was a lie buried within those words, as much as it was the truth. “But he… cut me as I danced. He had a blade and would just…” Even now she flinched, jerking as though she could get away from it.
Keep spinning, she’d told herself.
She would try to get away from the blade. “I don’t think he wanted to kill me, but he felt as though he must, and might have if you hadn’t come.”
He held her silently then and rocked slightly. She stared up at his profile and knew he was thinking. She wanted to stay awake, but before she knew it, she was sleep once again.
* * *
12
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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For all his absence, he might as well have left. Two days had passed since the night Frank had held her in his arms while she’d fallen asleep. She’d later found out that it had been the maid who’d changed her out of her wet things, not that the details had been important.
She’d spent a few hours with Hit yesterday. The bodyguard’s nose was broken, but he didn’t seem greatly troubled by it, since it had been broken before. Instead, he was impressed that Frank had been able to get to him at all.
Frank had not appeared at breakfast or luncheon, and had taken dinner in his room as well. His only form of communication with her had come through notes, little reassuring letters that were to do nothing more than tell her he’d not abandoned her.
Yet.
On the second day, she’d approached him in his room. It was only fair, she’d told herself, since he’d been in hers.
She found him at his desk, writing furiously, but when he’d looked up, he’d smiled, before telling her he was very busy.
“Are you married?” she asked, instead of leaving like he’d expected.
He frowned. “I kissed you, only the other day.”
She shrugged. “Some men kiss whomever they choose to, married or not.”
“I’m not one of those men.” And he seemed more than a little offended by her implication.
“So, you’re not engaged?”
“No.” He turned back to his writing.
“Good, because your wife would loathe being ignored this way.”
He’d momentarily paused, but then dipped his pen in the inkwell before continuing on.
Her marble man.<
br />
She hadn’t been able to look at him, and not remember the way he and Hit had fought in the forest. Diana may have her own apprehensions where dance was concerned, but she couldn’t help but think there was a grace to the way that Frank had moved. He’d obviously been trained by a man who knew what he was doing, but as she’d stood there drenched in rain and despair, she’d gone into a trance and was completely captivated by him. His hair and skin had been wet, his clothes so sodden that they showed muscle, and she’d enjoyed watching him move in the rain, the water that lifted and flew with his every swing. She’d never been adverse to violence until a few months ago. Men had fought all around her as a child, each trying to defend themselves, or the place they thought their territory.
But never had she seen anything so stunning in motion.
She glanced over at the vase of flowers that sat on the table. Bluebells. Michael had brought them to her from Frank. Were they in apology? If they were, they weren’t enough.
She thought to seek him out again, but was stopped when she heard a distinctive noise. It was the voice of a young girl.
Diana stood in the drawing room and turned when Michael opened the door to allow a young woman inside.
The girl was beautiful, with dark hair and largest brown eyes Diana had ever seen. They were surrounded by long lashes. Her cheeks were plump, her mouth small. She stared up at Diana with an enchanting smile, as though she knew the effect she had on the world, as though she was used to the admiration of others.
“Hello.” The girl crossed to her, the skirts of her pale blue dress flowing around her. Her smile widened. “I’m Miss Lily Gates.”
Diana blinked. “I’m…” She didn’t know if she were allowed to tell a stranger who she was. How had this child come to this house, and who had allowed her into Diana’s sitting room?
“You’re a ballerina,” Lily said in an all-knowing way. “My uncle told me that was what you were. Is it true?”
Well, Diana thought that a very hard answer to give. “I’m not sure.”
Lily frowned and took a step back before looking Diana over, as though her body would give her the answers she sought. Diana had never felt the need to don a cloak to avoid the girl’s scrutiny.
Disappointment settled on Lily’s face. She’d obviously found Diana lacking in some way. “He lied.”
Diana thought those very strong words. “This ‘he’ you speak of, would it be Dr. Lockwood?”
Lily wrinkled her nose. “Uncle Frank said you were a ballerina, but you’re not, are you?” Those big brown eyes glared an answer out of Diana.
“I… was.”
Lily nodded, coming to some understanding. “I suppose I should have known. When my governess, Miss Stapleton, grew enfeebled, she was no longer able to follow me down the stairs, much less dance.” She giggled at her own joke.
Diana did not.
“Pardon me?” Enfeebled? Had this child just called her old?
Lily turned to go, but then her eyes caught sight of the bluebells and she gasped. “Oh, those are pretty.” She went over and Diana had to reach out a hand to stop the child from taking one.
She frowned down at Lily. Had no one taught the girl any manners whatsoever? “Those are not yours.”
“You move quite quickly for a decrepit woman.”
“Decrepit? I’m only five and twenty.”
Lily brightened, and pulled her hand from Diana’s. “Miss Diana Banns is only five and twenty. She still dances.”
Hearing her name spoken as though she didn’t stand before the young girl was unsettling. “What do you know about Diana Banns?”
“I love her!” The girl brightened. “My father took me once as a little girl, but it was Russian, and beautiful. Then Uncle Aaron took me to see her last year when Miss Banns performed. I like the French style and she was so pretty in her white gown, and I cried when her love died. Uncle Frank was supposed to take me to see her perform a few months ago, but then the theatre ruined everything! They wouldn’t let us in. Our tickets were no good after that.” She seemed distraught, and looked around the room as if waiting for someone to comfort her, but finding only Diana, she sighed and settled once more.
Diana fought back a smile, finding it hilarious how simple the girl made the situation seem. The tickets were no good. If only that were the case. She’d obviously not been told the rumors of a mysterious baby, or the truth about the kidnapping.
“How old are you?”
Lily straightened and smiled. “I just turned seven.” She stared up at Diana as if waiting for something, expecting something.
“Oh, my,” Diana said dramatically, believing she knew what the girl wanted, having been seven once upon a time, herself. “You’re quite the young lady.”
Lily smiled.
The maid came in with tea and cakes and then left.
Lily sat on the couch and then turned to Diana. Again, there was expectancy in her eyes.
Diana pulled in a breath and crossed to her. “Tea?” she asked, as she settled into the chair not far from Lily.
“Please.”
“Milk?”
“A dash or two.”
Diana poured. A heavy dash.
Lily smiled.
“Sugar?”
“Only one or two.” The girl leaned forward.
Diana dropped in three.
Lily brightened and took the cup. “Uncle Aaron took me to the ballet last week.”
“How was it?” Diana actually wished to know the girl’s opinion.
Lily’s nose wrinkled again. “It was… well done, but the new woman doesn’t have Miss Banns’ flair.”
Diana smiled behind her tea. When people thought of ballet, they often just thought of the movement, but it was so much more. The dancers performed a story, usually for some political power, and their faces were to reflect anguish, pain, or extreme gladness and joy. Then those emotions were to flow throughout their bodies and take them away from themselves.
She closed her eyes, remembering how good it had felt. She’d never quite believed she’d get to where she’d been. She’d been little more than nothing as a child, and now…
She opened her eyes, expecting for find Lily watching her, but instead, the girl was eating the sweets. A fresh one rested between her fingers, the evidence of the first around her lips, before she licked them.
Diana smiled. Lily was obviously more concerned for herself than anyone else in the world, and though it was a horrible and selfish attitude to have, Diana was glad to not be the focus of the conversation.
“I’m going to be a dancer,” Lily announced before sipping her tea.
“Are you?” Diana asked her first guest, in days. She was enjoying herself.
Lily nodded. “Uncle Aaron says I can do whatever I want.”
Diana imagined this Uncle Aaron had told Lily that, more often than what was good for the girl. “Uncle Aaron?”
“The Earl of Jeanshire,” Lily said without a care.
Diana stilled. “The Earl of Jeanshire is your uncle?” She recalled Frank saying he thought quite a few men and women family, but she hadn’t known he’d meant people like the Earl of Jeanshire.
Those bright brown eyes turned to her again just as she ate a third cake. Should Diana be monitoring the child’s intake? “Oh, yes, I live with Uncle Aaron.”
Diana hesitated. “And your parents?”
“Died.” The child slowed her chewing, but then readily sipped her tea again.
Dead. No wonder Uncle Aaron… the Earl of Jeanshire… spoiled her. Lily was a ward of a very powerful man.
“Your uncle said you could become a dancer? Surely, he would rather you marry and have children?” That was the course for girls of her station, thought Diana did have to admit that one of the very first French ballerinas, Marie Sallé, had later become Queen of France.
“Oh, but I’m a very good dancer,” Lily said. Then she set her tea down and stood. “I’ll show you.” She was quite confident and held
herself in such a way that dared anyone to defy her. Diana was envious of the girl.
“Please do.” Anything to get her to stop eating.
Lily moved to the center of the room since it was clear of furniture. Diana was forced to turn her chair and settled just in time for Lily to strike a pose. Her arms were out, balanced by her sides, and she stood turned, with one foot poised in front of the other. Then she tapped the ground before she began to move, sliding and gliding across the room, and Diana was forced to admit that the girl was very good. She held her face without any expression but seemed to be surveying her surroundings before something off in the distance caught her eyes. She stilled, like a deer caught in the line of a hunter’s bow. Then she was running, like a mad woman, but her feet skirted the floor as though she barely wished to touch it. She was enchanting. She used the furniture to hide and move, dashing across the room to remain uncaught by her attacker.
Diana Sensational Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 8