Sandra Owens

by The Letter

  He chuckled. “Mother has more gowns than she can wear in her lifetime. It makes her happy to fuss over you.”

  Fuss was an understatement. Diana removed her hand from his arm and stopped walking. When he had asked her to take a stroll after dinner, she had almost declined. Being alone with him wasn’t a good idea. She had trouble keeping her wits about her when she was near him.

  Lady Suzanne’s sly questions about Jamie’s birth hadn’t escaped her notice, and Diana didn’t think she would probe for answers without Michael’s approval. Was that why he’d asked her to walk out with him? Was he leading up to asking about Jamie? She turned to go back to the house.

  He moved in front of her, stopping her. His brow lifted and a laugh escaped her at how easily such an arrogant gesture came to him. They stared at each other, and even in the dying light, she could see his midnight blue eyes turn to black. Silly, silly heart, stop your fluttering.

  The brow moved higher and for some reason it struck her as funny, although she feared there was nothing humorous and it was nerves making an appearance.

  “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice low and silky.

  She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  Up the brow went. Surely, the thing was at its height limit. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together, but she was past controlling her emotions. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Dare I ask what I have done to amuse you so?”

  “It’s nothing, truly,” she gasped.

  “It is assuredly something, and you will tell me.” The twitch of his lips belied the serious tone of his question.

  She shook her head.

  He took a step toward her.

  She moved back.

  His mouth curled into a slow, sensuous smile, and his eyes glittered. His gaze was hungry, that of a predatory beast.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, though not from fear. Another step back.

  He eased a foot forward.

  She backed into a tree.

  “I have you now,” the beast said and circled her.

  With her hands behind her, she dug her fingers into the bark. As he slowly prowled around her, she craned her neck, trying to follow his movements. He stopped in front of her and braced his hands on the tree, caging her in.

  “Myana,” he whispered and lowered his head.

  His lips brushed over the right corner of her mouth and then the left. A soft touch to each of her eyes, a return to her mouth. His tongue stroked along the seam of her lips and she parted them. Slipping inside, he explored her, tasted her, he was going to devour her and she would let him. Her legs grew weak and somehow he knew. He pressed against her, pinning her to the tree. His arousal pulsed against her belly. Letting go of her grip on the bark, she wound her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers through his hair.

  A hum sounded from his throat, then a low growl. His mouth left hers, moving to her ear where he swirled his tongue around the shell, then sucked on the lobe, sending shivers down her spine. She was so lost in the sensations he caused that at first she didn’t notice his hand slide inside the silk of her gown. A finger slid over puckered skin, paused there. The sensuous haze that had made her forget instantly cleared.

  Oh, God. What was she doing? “Stop!”

  She pushed on his chest, but he didn’t budge. She grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand away from her breast. He lifted his head and stared at her, his eyes probing hers as if trying to see into her mind.

  “I can’t do this.” She slipped under his arm and moved away.

  “Give me a minute.” He stayed braced against the tree, breathing hard, his head lowered.

  She backed away.

  “What did I feel, Diana? What did he do to you?”

  She couldn’t speak of it. While he still had his back to her, she fled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael feigned sleep, but watched Diana from under his lashes. Their second day in the carriage, and still, she ignored him. Yesterday, her nose had been buried in a book, one she had seldom turned the pages of. Last night at the inn, she had put herself between his mother and Jamie at dinner, never once looking at him.

  Today, a different book held her interest, or so she pretended. But she was restless, fidgeting on her seat, sneaking peeks at him. He estimated they had a little over two hours before arriving in London and he wanted to talk to her about the days to come.

  Also, he wanted an explanation for what he had felt under his fingertip when he’d caressed her breast. The skin had been furrowed and it had seemed as if a chunk of flesh was missing. It was one reason he had remained quiet, fearing the question would escape.

  He would find out in due time, but only when he was sure she trusted him enough to show him. It was finally dawning on him that she was ashamed of her body, thought she was undesirable. Somehow, if his plan was to succeed, he had to find a way to put that mistaken belief to rest.

  How could he make her understand that to him, she was as arousing today as she had been the first time he touched her? But what the bloody hell had Leo done to her? He bared his teeth at the thought of his cousin’s hands on her flesh.

  “What?”

  Michael jerked his eyes open to see her looking at him in alarm. He pushed away the ever-present rage that came when thinking of her life with his cousin. A yawn and a stretch, and he lazily pushed up in his seat. “Sorry, did you say something?”

  “You sounded as if you were snarling. Why?”

  He made a show of stretching the cricks out of his neck. “I must have been dreaming of when I was a wolf.”

  She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Didn’t I ever tell you? I’m certain I must have.” He grinned like he thought a wolf might. “Listen. In my other life, the one before this, I was a ferocious, furry beast. In my dreams, I sometimes relive those days when I was king of the woods. I think the thing I miss most is having a tail.” He looked off into the distance, considering. “Well, that and howling at the moon. When there is a full one, I must lock myself in my room, else I risk being caught and put on display at the Tower’s menagerie.”

  “You’ve gone mad,” she said, but her lips twitched.

  “Never say so!” He put his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Diana. I have just shared my most secret of secrets and you doubt me?”

  She burst into laughter.

  The sound of it was a melodious symphony to his ears. “You dare laugh at the beast?” He growled and attacked. Moving to the seat next to her, he wrapped his arms around her and nipped at her neck with his teeth. Her body shook with hilarity as she tried to swat him away.

  God in heaven, he hadn’t played like this since…since her. He put his mouth next to her ear and rumbled into it. “Beware. The wolf has you now and you are mighty tasty. I fear he is going to gobble you up.”

  She laughed so hard, she gasped for breath. “Michael, stop it.”

  He lifted away to see if he was scaring her. No, though she was biting on her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to control her merriment, her eyes danced with amusement. Not wanting to take the fun too far and have it turn sour, he slipped back to his seat.

  Her gaze lifted to his, her lips still quivering. “I’m trying to picture you with a tail.”

  Michael quirked a brow at the woman who was starting to seem like the girl he once knew. “It was a very lovely, bushy tail, I’ll have you know.”

  Off she went again.

  He put aside his intention of discussing his plan with her. This was the happiest she had been since he’d found her again, and he couldn’t bring himself to take that away.

  ****

  Diana looked around, eyeing the connecting door. She turned to the housekeeper. “There must be a mistake. This room is meant for Lord Daventry’s countess.”

  Mrs. Trample shook her head. “No, my lady, his lordship sent ahead a letter to Smedley with instructions. You are to have this chamb
er. The young baron is right across the hall.”

  That explained why everyone had looked at her with such interest on arrival. What did Michael mean by putting her in here? She moved aside as two footmen entered carrying trunks filled with gowns that didn’t belong to her. She wore his mother’s clothes, was assigned a room that would one day be occupied by Michael’s wife, and in a town where she had no wish to be.

  Fanny walked in behind the footmen and set about giving instructions.

  “Don’t unpack yet, Fanny.” Diana turned to Mrs. Trample. “Is Lord Daventry available?”

  “I’ll go ask, my lady.”

  Left alone with her maid, Diana went to a chair and sat down to wait.

  Fanny looked around. “It is a beautiful room, my lady. If it were me, I would want to keep it.”

  It was. The walls were painted a soft rose, and the curtains were a deep burgundy. The bed was oversized and inviting with its pile of pillows, some in a gold print and some the same burgundy as the curtains. The canopy was white, as was the counterpane.

  The chair she sat on and the one next to it were of a floral print, picking up the colors on the wall and curtains. Three crystal vases housing deep red roses were placed strategically.

  She turned her attention to the fireplace in front of her chair. She could stand upright in it if she so chose. The landscape painting above the mantel was a Gainsborough, the smaller one over the lady’s desk a Rembrandt. Yes, everything about this chamber appealed to her, and she wanted to keep it.

  “I am not his countess, Fanny.”

  “Not yet.”

  Diana jerked her gaze to her maid, but the woman had turned her back, giving her consideration to the contents of the trunks.

  “What did you say?”

  Fanny turned a too innocent look on her. “I didn’t say anything, my lady.”

  Mrs. Trample returned. “If you will follow me, my lady.”

  Diana was led to Michael’s study. He faced her with his hands behind his back, his stance very much the lord of the manor. She darted a quick look around the room, comparing it to his study at Wyburne. Two of those rooms could fit into this one. Her gaze caught on the rows of books bound in rich leather.

  “Feel free to borrow any you wish.”

  Had he seen the longing in her eyes? There had been no books at Brantley Hall and assuredly none at the cottage. Suddenly, she felt like a country bumpkin with her mouth agape upon seeing a wealthy peer’s home for the first time. This had been her life once. She was the daughter of a marquess and knew how to behave like one.

  She curtseyed. “You are too kind, my lord.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What nonsense are you about, Diana?”

  Good, she was annoying him. She walked to the large globe on a floor stand. Trailing her fingers over it, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. “La, how amusing you are to put me in a room meant for your countess.”

  “I don’t have a countess.”

  She thought he might be grinding his teeth. “How sad for you, but I want another room.”

  “No.”

  Her temper flared. She marched to him and poked him in the chest. “You are no gentleman, sir, if you expect to have access to my room.”

  Merciful heavens, she was poking a man. It was astonishing! She grinned.

  The look on his face was one of a man asea, his bearings lost in a whirlpool of churning waves. She was confounding him, poking him, and not once fearing retribution. If she were alone, she would sink to the floor and spend an hour—no, two—kicking her feet in the air in jubilation.

  “Would you be kind enough to enlighten me, my lady, as to why you accuse me one moment of being a dastardly devil and in the next you are grinning like an idiot?”

  In a thousand years, he could never understand. “I don’t think so. Now, about my room.”

  He went to his desk, a dark, massive thing of what she thought to be mahogany. He gestured, sweeping out his hand. “Have a seat, please.”

  She looked at the hard-back chair he indicated, then at the width of the desk. A lush, leather seat awaited him, and there seemed to be miles between his chair and hers. Instead, she went to the overstuffed one in front of the fireplace. He came and stood in front of her, put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. Her line of sight was now at his lower regions, such a fascinating view.

  “Are you not pleased with the room?”

  What room?

  “Diana?”

  “Would you sit down!”

  “You are behaving strangely,” he offered pleasantly as he took a seat. “Are you having your menses, per chance?”

  Heat crept up her neck. Dear God, he was impossible. “You should not speak of such things.”

  He chuckled “My apologies.”

  He didn’t sound at all sorry. Somewhere in the last few minutes, she had lost control of the conversation. If he ever learned how much he amused her, there would be no tolerating him. She strived for a stern expression. “You cannot put me in the chamber adjoining yours, Michael. What will everyone think?”

  “Actually, I can and I did. As to the last part of your concern, I pay my servants very well not to think.”

  Why was he being so obstinate about this? It shouldn’t matter to him where she slept. He hadn’t been this inflexible when she knew him before, but she was learning that this older Michael, when he made up his mind to something, he was as unmovable as Buckingham Palace.

  “Why have you brought me to London, Michael?” He had evaded her question at Wyburne, but she was determined to get an answer before leaving his study.

  “Yes, about that.” He stood and went to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantel. “I have a plan.”

  The sound of that announcement didn’t please her. “It would be what, exactly?”

  “It is a good one, I assure you.”

  “You are stalling and that makes me nervous.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “There is no need for you to be nervous. I only have your best interest at heart.”

  “Blast it, Michael. Just tell me the damned plan.”

  “There are two parts to it.”

  Diana glared at him. “You are sorely trying my patience.” Why was he grinning?

  “Do you realize you just swore at me and then followed it up with a glare? And only a few minutes ago, you jabbed at my chest.”

  She huffed out an exasperated breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just this.” He came and sat on the stool, taking her hands in his. “Even a week ago, you would not have dared such a thing. Don’t you see? Already you are stronger, more sure of yourself. Each day, I’ve watched your confidence grow and it is like witnessing the birth of a butterfly. It is time for you to find your wings again, Diana.”

  “That is your plan? I’m a butterfly and I’m to find my wings?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I see.” Actually, she didn’t. Perhaps he truly had gone mad. “Just how am I to find these lost wings?” His expression turned wary, alerting her that she wasn’t going to like whatever was coming.

  “We are going to restore your standing in the ton.”

  She yanked her hands away, vigorously shaking her head. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Michael hid in his chamber until Hansen assured him the ladies had left. He was tired of being glared at by chocolate brown eyes. What had he been thinking to encourage it? His plan was a good one. Why couldn’t the maddening woman understand it was necessary? Fortunately, his mother agreed with him and had worn Diana down to the point where she grudgingly agreed to the appointment with the modiste.

  Believing part of her resistance was due to her disfigurement, he had pulled Fanny aside for a brief strategy session. Initially, the maid had been tight-lipped, but once she realized Michael was aware of Diana’s scars, she had enthusiastically thrown herself into the project, assuring him she knew just how to proceed.


  He had refused to explain the second part of his plan to Diana or his mother, both of whom had tried to needle it out of him.

  “There, my lord, you are ready to go,” Hansen said, brushing a final piece of lint from the back of Michael’s bottle-green coat of superfine.

  “I have been ready to go for an hour. It is you who have prevented it. One would think I’m to make my bow to the queen the way you have fussed over me.”

  “As you are off to put your plan into motion, you must be dressed to perfection. One cannot be taken seriously if one’s neckcloth is askew.”

  He turned and focused on his valet. “Just how do you know of my plan?”

  Hansen rolled his eyes. “Surely, you jest, my lord.”

  Michael brushed away a non-existent speck of lint from his sleeve. “Have I mentioned that I am thinking of dismissing you, Hansen?”

  “Yes, my lord, quite often.”

  Michael descended the steps of his townhouse. “To White’s, Jaspers,” he said and entered his carriage. Johnston had told him Aubrey and Derebourne were in town with their wives for the Little Season and he hoped to find them there.

  Upon entering his club, Lord Manchester caught his attention. Rather, Lord Manchester’s chartreuse and purple waistcoat caught it. Michael thought the puce was not so bad, after all. He nodded to the fool, but pretended not to see Manchester’s gesture to join him.

  Spotting his quarries in a far corner, he headed their way. He approached and sketched a bow. “Your Grace, Derebourne, what a pleasant surprise. May I join you?”

  The duke turned cold eyes on something beyond Michael. “You may, Daventry, but do send the buffoon coming up behind you away.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Michael saw Manchester hard on his heels. He turned, blocking the viscount’s view of His Grace. “I say, Manchester, was that your mother outside these very doors attempting to enter?”

  The young dandy paled. “Not again, she wouldn’t dare,” he stammered.

  “My pardon then, I must be mistaken, but if it was not her, does she have a twin?”

  The latest on dit had it Manchester’s dear mum had tried to barrel her way into White’s, a Bible in her hand and proclaiming she was there to save her dear boy. Michael grinned at Manchester’s retreating back. Sometimes, gossip did have its uses.