Two minutes later, they had wrestled Harrington out of the carriage and carried him into the house through back corridors and stairs to an empty sitting room on the ground floor.
Diana was pacing there, demanding, “Is he dead?”
“Not him,” Bill replied. “He’s got a crack on his head and a lantern-shaped bruise on his jaw. Otherwise, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, hurrying into the room and closing the door. “But you should know, I will not send for the Watch as Di asked until you tell me what in God’s name is going on?”
She glanced toward Egeus, who looked disappointed when his mistress sent him back to his station without any explanation.
Between them, Diana and Bill explained what had happened. While they spoke, Harrington’s eyes fluttered open and closed and finally remained open. By the time they had finished, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s posture was rigid with displeasure.
She beckoned them to the other side of the room where Harrington could not overhear them. “You are perfectly right. The man is a dangerous scoundrel, which is why I blackballed him from the Den. What on earth made you bring him here?”
“You have some skill with injuries, as we have both seen,” Bill said. “I don’t want Di to be troubled in spirit if he… er—croaks.”
“The last time I looked, this was a gaming house,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon snapped, “not a hospital.”
“You must see,” Bill said impatiently, “that Diana’s name must not be dragged into this.”
“And it would be, through you?”
“Exactly.”
Her lips twitched beneath the veil. “My money was always on you. Why do you think I picked such an unsuitable replacement? However, I was not contracted to save her name from every folly for the rest of her life. I do not want the Watch crawling all over my house. Dump him at Bow Street or some other magistrate’s house and be done. I have nothing to gain by letting the Watch take him here.”
“I thought he owed you money,” Bill said.
The widow regarded him in silence. Her hand shot out, palm upward.
Bill strolled toward the now semi-sitting figure of Harrington, who suddenly sprang to his feet as if to bolt. Ungently, Bill pushed him back onto the sofa, where he landed with a furious snarl.
“Do you want the lantern?” Diana offered.
“Thank you, that won’t be necessary,” Bill replied. Holding Harrington’s gaze, he simply put his hand in the man’s pocket and produced the roll of bills he’d felt there earlier with the dagger. It had, presumably, escaped the thieving coachman’s attention before that.
Harrington made a half-hearted swipe at the money, but Bill merely took the notes to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“Does that cover his debt?” he inquired.
She weighed it in one hand, took a few notes off the top, which she returned to him. “That will cover it.”
Bill walked back to the sofa and dropped the remaining notes on Harrington’s chest.
Harrington raised his arm and pointed furiously at Diana. “I know who she is! Never think I don’t! The boy you shot me for that night is Campbell’s poor whore of a bride!”
Bill didn’t hesitate. Hauling Harington upward by his coat lapels, he struck him in the mouth before dropping him again.
“My belief is,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said from the door, “that no one would believe such an unlikely tale, certainly not from him, and certainly not once you are married.” Through the veil, she fixed him with her stare. “You do mean to be married, do you not?”
Bill glanced at Diana, for they had still not managed to have that clear and honest discussion.
Diana smiled so radiantly, it deprived him of breath. “Yes, we do,” she said.
Chapter Ten
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sent for the Watch and shooed Diana and Bill out of the room, leaving her own people to guard Harrington. They would, she said, be glad to take credit for knocking him down.
They found themselves on the private staircase, in darkness save for a dim light on the floor below. Bill’s hand found hers, staying her when she would have descended.
Her heartbeat quickening, she glanced at him uncertainly.
“Suddenly,” he said softly, “we have privacy. Sit and talk to me a moment.”
Without hesitation, she sat on the step. Butterflies scampered as he lowered himself close beside her, his shoulder against hers.
“I was right, was I not?” she blurted, suddenly anxious once more. “You do want to marry me?”
“Of course I do,” he replied at once. “If you wish to marry me.”
She nodded. There was an odd relief in truth, in hiding nothing. “I always did. But I did not see how you could really wish to marry me.”
He hesitated, then. “When I first asked, perhaps you were partially right. It was the right thing to do, and I rather liked the idea, But I didn’t delve too deeply into my own reasons or my own feelings. I didn’t consider love until you forced me to by refusing.”
“So, I did the right thing to refuse you, then?” she said, trying not to crow.
He shrugged, and the movement against her sent a thrill through her body. “I don’t know. Is there a right or wrong way to come together, so long as we do in the end? But I have to say it has been fun courting you.”
“Under the nose of my betrothed,” she observed. “I hope Mr. Campbell does not take it badly.”
“I believe Mrs. Dove-Lyon always had a different partner in mind for him. Miss Archer, whom you saw with him this evening. His betrothal to you helped him seem more attractive to the lady in question. The Black Widow is nothing if not devious.”
Diana frowned. “Isn’t that odd? Some people only want what, or who, someone else has.” She met his gaze in the dim light, and her heart gave a little skip. “Do you have someone else, Bill? A…a mistress, perhaps?”
He shook his head, and her breath rushed out in a sigh of relief.
“But I am no saint,” he warned. “There are women in my past, some of whom I still count as friends. But in my future, in my present, there is only you. I can’t imagine even wanting anyone else.”
A smile trembled on her lips. “Is that because you love me?”
He reached up and took her chin between his fingers. “Yes. It’s because I love you.”
Her stomach dived as he kissed her. But his kisses were far too disturbing, and she had other things she needed to say now.
“I’m not fickle,” she declared against his lips.
They smiled against hers, then drew back enough to speak. “I never said you were.”
“I said I was. Because of Simon. But I never loved him at all. I had no idea what love was until I met you. Simon flattered me, and he was very handsome and a good match my family was proud of, so I convinced myself I loved him. Indeed, I would have tried very hard to love him if he’d become my husband, but I have to say I’m glad he didn’t.”
“So am I,” Bill murmured.
“But that’s why I wondered when I felt so much for you so quickly, if I was fooling myself again.”
There was a pause. “And are you?” he asked with a rather deliberate lightness.
“No, for this feeling for you is so totally different. Like an explosion in my heart. It wraps around everything I do, everything I think, as though it were part of me. I only feel alive with you, only contented when you are near. And I found I could not bear the thought of living without y—”
His mouth seized hers much more urgently now, and she flung her arms around his neck, happy to be pressed so close to him that she could hardly breathe.
At last, he drew back. “Then, Miss Wade, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“I will, my lord,” she replied, and he smiled as he kissed her, and then kissed her again.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his. “I don’t want to go home, and yet it must be so late, and I have left the area door unlocked, and
—”
“When will you marry me?” he interrupted.
“Whenever you wish,” she said at once.
“Tomorrow?”
She blinked. “Yes, though I doubt it can be managed so quickly.”
“You trust me that much?”
“Implicitly. I don’t think I would love you, otherwise.”
He stared at her a moment longer, his eyes gleaming. “Then wait there one moment.” He stood and strode back through the door they had just left by.
Alone, Diana smiled into the gloom. She had never been so happy in her life. She wondered if he had gone to pluck a clergyman from the Den’s gaming tables, or to make yet more demands of Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Her limbs felt heavy. She didn’t want to part from him, and yet she thought she could sleep now, knowing she was loved, that she would be Bill’s wife.
How quickly life changed and changed again…
The door opened, and Bill emerged alone to sit back down beside her on the step. He put a comforting arm around her shoulder, and she rested her head against him.
“Is it time to go?” she asked.
“If you wish. But we can be married here tomorrow as soon as we have the special license.”
Diana lifted her head. “My parents would never consent to a wedding here!”
“I wasn’t planning to invite them. We can be married again later for them if they wish it. But I want to have you safe now before some other obstacle gets in the way.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb rushing the corner of her mouth. “Or I can take you home now, and we can discuss the wedding whenever you like.”
Her heart beat and beat. “You mean…we could stay here at the Den tonight and be married tomorrow before we leave?”
“We could,” he said steadily.
“But…but there would be a commotion! They would find I was gone from my bed at home and—”
“That could be taken care of. By Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who will send round a note to your mother. If you would like to stay here tonight.” His thumb caressed again. “With me.”
She had some inkling of his meaning, which seemed somehow huge and exciting, and yet comfortably right. The conflict tied her tongue, and he must have seen something of it in her face, or at least in her silence, for his arm fell away, and he rose to his feet, clasping her hand to help her rise.
“Come. I’ll take you home.”
She clung to his fingers and rose, though she dug in her heels, refusing to descend with him. For a moment, they gazed at each other. A wave of certainty washed over her, bringing with it both mischief and desire. She tugged his hand in the other direction, to the stairs leading upward.
“Come,” she said softly.
The opulence of the chamber he escorted her to, surprised her. It smelled fresh and clean and yet was overlaid with some heady, exotic scent that tugged at her senses. Someone had already lit a lamp, illuminating the heavy, velvet curtains at the windows and the eastern carpets that all but covered the polished floor. The large, four-poster bed was hung with delicate gauze and covered with embroidered silk, which matched the cushions on the elegant chaise longue.
Bill lit another lamp and gazed around appreciatively.
“This isn’t where I slept before,” she said in wonder.
“I don’t imagine it was. This is a private chamber for guests to…rest.”
Her eyes widened. “Lord Garvie, have you brought me to a bordello?”
He grinned. “Miss Wade, how do you even know such a word? And of course, I have not. Mrs. Dove-Lyon would throw you out for even suggesting such a thing. All the same, it’s probably not the sort of chamber an innocent young lady should usually find herself in.” He began to walk toward her, slow and just a little predatory. “Especially not alone with a man.”
She swallowed. “Not even a gentleman?”
“Well, gentlemanly behavior only goes so far.” He reached up and twitched Arthur’s cap off her head. Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders, and he smiled. “May I remove your coat?” His hands hovered over the buttons.
“Why?” she asked nervously.
“So that I can hold you closer in my arms.”
Heat flooded into her face. “You would have to take off your own, too,”
“I’m prepared to make that sacrifice,” he assured her.
Laughter caught in her throat, unsure yet excited. Daringly, she reached up and began to unbutton his coat and, taking that as permission, he worked on hers. Politely, he helped her shrug out of the coat, then surprised her by dropping it on the floor with his own. When she would have bent to pick them up, he took her in his arms and kissed her, and all thought flew out of her head.
These were deeper, more sensual kisses than ever before, and they utterly overwhelmed her, especially as every inch of his body seemed almost glued to hers.
“Does that seem closer now?” she asked shakily, when she could speak at all.
“Closer,” he agreed, his voice husky as she had never heard it. His hand slid up and over her breast, making her gasp. “But not close enough.”
Her cravat was quickly thrown on top of the coats, and then, in one quick, shocking movement, he pulled the shirt up and over her head. He stood still, gazing at her, and instead of shame, she felt a surge of heat and pride and a strange new power.
“Oh, my dear,” he muttered at last. “You are so…”
She stepped back into his arms, stopping his mouth with hers. His hands on her naked skin spread fire through her veins. He lifted her, and suddenly there was cool silk under her back and hot, smooth flesh on hers. The gauze curtains fell around them, shrouding them in delicious intimacy. She arched into him from instinct, and his weight pressed her down into the mattress. His hands and lips were everywhere. She tasted his skin, stroked it greedily, giving herself up to his deep, sensual kisses until her whole body trembled. She welcomed his touch everywhere with wonder and joy until the spark of pleasure she had never dared explore before grew so intense that she gasped and gasped again.
And then he was inside her, stunning and yet smooth, moving within her so slowly and sweetly that she almost wept at the closeness. Now, at last, as the joy rocked her to her core, she was his.
There was not much of the night left by the time she fell asleep in his arms. Even so, she woke once to the strange feeling of sharing her bed. This was nothing like the few occasions she and her little sisters had squashed into the same bed at some inn while traveling. His arm and his thigh lay heavily across her, his naked body fitted around hers in sleep. It was a wondrous new pleasure.
Then he moved, turning over, so that they lay back to back, no longer even touching. After a moment, greatly daring, she also turned, shifting closer to him and laid her arm across him. He gave a sleepy sigh of contentment, pushing back against her, and she smiled as she drifted back into sleep.
The next time she woke, she was, disappointingly, alone in the bed. But she could hear the murmur of voices, slightly muffled as though behind a door. The bed curtains were largely transparent, and the heavier ones at the window had been opened a crack to let in daylight. She saw that her clothes—Arthur’s clothes—had been picked up from the floor and laid on the bed.
She sat up and reached for the shirt. As she pulled it over her head, a knock sounded at the door.
She hesitated. The rules of this strange establishment were beyond her, and she had no idea who might wander in with permission. On the other hand, there were things she needed to know.
“Come in,” she said doubtfully.
The door opened, heralding brisk footsteps, and then Mrs. Dove-Lyon walked into view, a cup and saucer in one hand and a valise in the other. She laid the valise on the bed and offered the cup and saucer to Diana.
“It’s coffee, if you want it.”
“Thank you.” Diana took it gratefully. “Where is…?”
“Lord Garvie? Out. Your mother is here.” She waved a hand at the valise. “She brought you these things, as I requested. If I wer
e you, I would put them on as quickly as possible and come down to my office to talk to her.”
“Is she going to cast me off?”
“And risk another scandal?” Mrs. Dove Lyon said sardonically.
Diana regarded her. “You don’t like my mother much, do you?”
“On the contrary,” was the unexpected reply. “I once liked her very much. Get dressed, Miss Wade, and join us at your earliest convenience. I’ll send a maid to help you.”
Bill, pleased with his morning’s work so far, strode up to the Lyon’s Den and was admitted as soon as he knocked. As arranged, he went straight to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. Since no one troubled to escort him, he could only assume she had left instruction with her people.
He knocked only briefly, for he was in a hurry to see Diana. Part of him wished her to be in the office already, waiting for him. The other part wished to return to their chamber and help her to dress.
Leaving her untouched this morning had been a matter of extreme will-power. If he hadn’t promised her, he would have wakened her in the sweetest way he knew and left his errands until later. Too much later.
Walking into the room and pushing the door shut, he was brought up short.
There was only one occupant, a lady who was clearly not the Black Widow of Whitehall. For one thing, she wore dark blue with touches of pink. For another, she sat at the visitor’s side of the desk. That she was discreetly veiled told him she was one of the widow’s well-born and wealthy clients.
“Forgive the intrusion, ma’am,” he said with a bow. “I believed Mrs. Dove-Lyon was here.”
To his surprise, the woman rose and faced him.
“Lord Garvie,” she said coldly and lifted her veil to reveal the face of Lady Wade. “Fresh, I can only assume, from debauching my daughter.”
She was, he supposed, accurate enough in one sense. But he would not let it stand. He had much to say to her now that the gloves were off.
“Your ladyship’s expectations are not high, are they?” he remarked, strolling further into the room.
“If you mean my expectations of you, they were higher than this!”
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