“Of course,” Readington agreed at once. “Of course. But I must ask…”
“Yes?” Dianna said, fighting to keep a smile in place when he hesitated. Her mother had accepted the fabricated story at once, even though she suspected Martha knew there was far more to it than what she’d been told.
“You seemed as though you knew the other man. The one who shot the robber. Did you? Know him, that is.”
As a hysterical laugh threatened, Dianna bit her lip and turned her face to the side. Did she know the other man? Yes. Yes she did. She knew the taste of his lips. The sound of his whisper. The touch of his arousal. She knew everything about him… and nothing at all. Grasping her skirt, she crushed a handful of the yellow fabric into a tiny ball and gave a small, nearly imperceptible shake of her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, I did not know him.”
Oblivious to the tension vibrating through her body, Readington sighed in relief. “I did not think you did. He seemed a rather nefarious sort, didn’t he? Especially considering how he fled the scene of the crime. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he and the robber knew one another.”
Dianna gave a quietly evasive hum before she asked, “Was the robber… killed?”
“No, only wounded. A runner from Bow Street came and arrested him. He will be hauled off to Newgate to stand trial, I imagine. Horrific set of events. Simply horrific.” Readington rubbed a hand across his temple. “Once again, I am so very sorry you had to witness all of that. I suppose the only silver lining is that neither one of us were hurt, and all of my belongings were retrieved.”
Relief that Miles had not committed murder - however valid his reason would have been - swept through Dianna. “Indeed.”
“I say, you are looking rather pale,” Readington observed suddenly. “I should have waited until tomorrow to call.” He shot to his feet, hands diving into the pockets of his trousers. “Please forgive me.”
“Thomas you have done nothing wrong,” Dianna protested as she, too, stood up. It wasn’t Readington’s fault her thoughts were elsewhere, and she refused to let him blame himself for her absent mindedness. Automatically smoothing out the wrinkles she’d made in her skirt, she summoned a gentle smile and said, “It was very thoughtful of you to come see me. I appreciate your attentions.”
Readington blinked. “You - you do?”
“I do,” she said sincerely. “If it seems otherwise it is because, well, I am still overwrought.” Just not about the robbery, but what was one tiny white lie when she’d already told him so many others?
Dianna was not accustomed to telling untruths, but where Miles was concerned it seemed that was all she had been doing. Lying to herself. Lying to him. Lying about him. When would it all end? She felt as though she was stacking cards on top of cards, and one tremble of her hand would send the entire deck crashing down.
“In that case,” Readington said, “I hope you will not think me too forward if I invite you to attend a play with me tomorrow evening at the Garden Theatre. A comedy of errors with Miss Jane Buxton playing the lead role alongside Mr. Grant O’Hennessy. I hear it is receiving quite good reviews.”
While the names sounded vaguely familiar to Dianna, she automatically balked at the idea of another public outing so soon after the Farcott Ball. She still needed time to recover from the last one, and before she considered beginning an open courtship with Readington she needed to decide - once and for all - what she wanted to do about Miles.
No matter what he had said in the carriage, the last thing they could ever be was friends.
A friend did not keep you up at night with thoughts of them.
A friend did not make you want to laugh one moment and burst into tears the next.
A friend did not kiss you as though their very life depended on it.
No, they could not be friends. For them there could never be half measures, nor a relationship of in-betweens. She had to decide whether she wanted to exclude him from her life completely… or take a chance on love and risk losing her heart all over again.
The very idea caused Dianna’s throat to tighten and her stomach to twist.
Could she actually do it? Could she give Miles a second chance?
Heaven help her, but she thought she could. First, however, she needed to deal with the matter at hand. It would not be fair to Readington to raise up his hopes, only to dash them in a few days’ time. He was a good man and did not deserve to begin a courtship with a woman whose heart was not completely free. A lady of more questionable morals may have very well kept him on the line, but knowing full well what the sting of rejection felt like Dianna did not want to deliver the same wound to another.
“The play sounds absolutely delightful, but perhaps another-”
“Your mother would be welcome as well,” Readington said hurriedly. “I would not presume to accompany you somewhere without a proper chaperone, and I am quite certain Mrs. Foxcroft would be well entertained.”
“It is very kind of you to think of her, although-”
“Did someone say my name? My ears are burning.” Without invitation Martha sailed into the room and stopped beside Readington. Sliding her arm through his, she patted his hand with vigorous enthusiasm and beamed up at him. “A play sounds positively delightful, my dear boy. Why, I have not been to one in ages!”
“You went just last month,” Dianna began, but her mother brushed off the reminder with an airy flick of her wrist.
“I could do with a good comedy. We both could,” she said, her meaningful enunciation not going unnoticed. Gritting her teeth in silent frustration, Dianna attempted to interrupt her mother as she’d been interrupted, but Martha was far too wily and experienced in the art of social manipulation to succumb to such tactics. “What time should we anticipate your arrival tomorrow, Mr. Readington?”
Flustered, Readington looked at Martha, then Dianna, and back again, as though he couldn’t quite choose who he should listen to. “If Miss Dianna would rather go another day-”
“Do not be silly,” Martha said with a tittering laugh. “Dianna loves the theater, don’t you darling?”
No.
The word hovered on the tip of her tongue, and it took all the self-control Dianna possessed not to speak it aloud. Young ladies, she reminded herself, do not disagree with their mother’s, especially in front of company.
“Dianna?” Martha’s voice may have been sweet, but the warning in her narrowed eyes was unmistakably clear: do not fight with me on this. Mind your manners and do as I tell you. “Did you hear me?”
“I…” Chafing against the restraints that had been set upon her for as long as she could remember, Dianna struggled to give her mother the answer she wanted. No, she coaxed herself. Simply tell her no! But there was nothing simple about doing the one thing she’d always been unable to do: stand up for herself. “Yes,” she said finally, shoulders hunching beneath the weight of her own self-loathing. “I love the theater and I look forward to attending it tomorrow.”
“Excellent!” Martha declared. “Now we need only a time, Mr. Readington.”
Though his brow creased as though he could sense something was not quite right, Readington said, “Would six o’clock be too early? The play will not start until half past seven, but I like to get ahead of the crowd.”
“Six is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Don’t you agree, Dianna?”
Dianna looked at her mother and not for the first time wished she had Charlotte’s backbone. Her friend never would have said something she did not mean merely to placate someone else, even if that someone else was her own mother (which most likely explained why Charlotte and her mother were not on speaking terms). But different upbringings yielded different results, and having been raised to respect and honor her parents above all else Dianna was loathe to do anything that would upset either one of them.
In her own convoluted way Martha wanted only the best for her daughter. Dianna knew that. The problem was what her mother thought was best and what was actua
lly best were two very different things. Once Martha had thought that something best was Miles, and now apparently she thought it was Readington.
As if Dianna did not have enough to worry about.
Still, she was nothing if not polite. Forcing the corners of her mouth to stretch into a smile, she turned to Readington and said, “Six o’clock sounds perfectly reasonable. I, too, like to arrive well before the crowds.”
They engaged in a few more minutes of idle chit chat before Readington left. Citing a luncheon with her sewing circle Martha was quick to follow him out the door, leaving Dianna by herself.
Left without a mode of transportation until her mother returned with their carriage and not wanting to go walking out in the rain, Dianna contented herself with reading a book in front of the crackling fire. As she methodically turned the pages, gaze skimming across the neatly typed words, she found her thoughts wandering back to Miles time and time again. Left to dwell with only her own mind for company, she could not help but wonder if, at this very moment, he was thinking of her as she was thinking of him.
Chapter Twenty
“What the devil do you mean you are leaving?” Tumbling out of the chair she’d used as a bed after returning to their townhouse at dawn from the Farcott Ball, Harper landed with a grunt in a tangled pool of silk and muslin. Yanking at her skirts until they fell into place, she sprang to her feet with surprising dexterity given the crick in her neck and pointed an accusing finger at her brother’s chest. “You cannot leave. You bloody well promised!”
“Do not curse,” Miles said wearily. Running a hand through his hair, he pulled the ends taut before letting them slide through his fingertips as he walked across the library and fixed himself a drink. Under normal circumstances he never would have touched brandy before noon, but these were not normal circumstances and if there was ever a time to indulge in a bit of spirits it was most certainly now.
He downed two shots of the amber liquid in quick succession before carrying a third over to a sitting area in the far corner of the library where the curtains were drawn and the shadows plentiful. On the other side of the thick velvet curtains rain pattered against the windows, the stormy skies a perfect complement to Miles’ dour mood. Sinking into a vacant chair he set the brandy aside and braced his forearms atop his thighs before letting his head sink down, exhaustion and guilt proving too heavy a burden for his neck to bear.
After a long sleepless night filled with regret and self-doubt, he had at long last reached a decision. If he could not be with Dianna, then he could not remain in England.
It was abundantly clear - more so now than ever before - that, no matter how much he wished otherwise, Dianna did not want him and he could not trust himself around her. Not anymore. Not after how he had acted last night in the carriage. Not after he had nearly taken her on a cold leather seat, his mind lost to any and all reason.
The pain of unrequited love had turned him into someone he did not recognize. Someone he did not like. Someone wholly undeserving of Dianna’s trust and affections. She needed a man who was kind. A man who was gentle. A better man than he could ever hope to be.
So he was leaving. Now. Today. For he feared if he lingered, his resolve would crumble… and he would continue to hurt her again. And again. And again.
The truth of it was he never should have returned. Miles saw that now. He’d accomplished nothing by coming back to England but opening old wounds. Wounds that were now red and festering when before they’d been nearly healed. Wounds that would only be able to begin healing once more when he was gone.
Harper’s skirts swished angrily as she stormed across the library. She was still wearing her ball gown, albeit a more wrinkled version, and half of her hair remained pinned up in a coiffure while the rest dangled down her back in a spill of messy curls. Going first to the large windows that overlooked the street she flung the curtains wide, letting in a slew of cringe worthy light dulled only by the stormy skies. “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do,” she snapped, green eyes flashing bright with temper as she whirled to face him. “And do not tell me you are leaving! What happened last night?”
Miles massaged his pounding temple. A better question, he thought with a grimace, would be what hadn’t happened last night. Between shooting a man and ravishing Dianna, everything else was a blur of sound and color.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” he muttered.
“Nothing I need concern myself with? Nothing I need concern myself with? Miles, you left me!”
Startled by the accusation, Miles lifted his head, a rebuttal already forming on his tongue before he realized that he had, in fact, left her. After departing Dianna’s residence he had ordered his driver to take him straight home, his mind completely consumed with what had occurred between them in the carriage. Nary had a spare thought been given to his sister, and for that unforgivable transgression he could think of no explanation to give nor excuse to make.
“Harper, I am so terribly sorry. I…”
“Forgot me?” she said icily.
Unbidden, his gaze cut to the tumbler of brandy sitting beside him on the table. He’d drowned his miseries in alcohol once before and the temptation to do so again was stronger than it had ever been. He reached for the glass, but before he could close his hand around it Harper lunged forward and slapped the brandy away. Amber liquid spilled across the table as the glass rolled off the edge and bounced harmlessly onto the thick Aubusson carpet.
“No.” Chest heaving, cheeks stained with twin slashes of red, Harper pinned her hands to her hips and stared him down. “I will not allow you to take the easy way out. Not again.”
Feeling the first sharp jab of temper beginning to stir, Miles shoved out of his chair and went to a window, hands bracing against the painted ledge as he stared blindly out at the gloomy street beyond. If his sister thought leaving England was the easy way out, then she was a fool. There were would be nothing easy about never seeing Dianna’s face again. Nothing easy about never hearing her voice. Never easy about never touching her soft skin.
Easy? No. It was the hardest bloody decision he’d ever made in his life.
“What would you know of it?” he asked roughly. “You’re still a child.”
“You may think me a child all you want, but I’ve eyes and ears that I use more than you!” Harper retorted. “So I know the reason you are leaving now is the same reason you left before. Except this time Dianna will not forgive you. And neither will I.”
“How do you know she” - he couldn’t bring himself to speak Dianna’s name - “has forgiven me?”
“Why would you be leaving if she hadn’t? I think she did. I think she did, and it terrifies you because for once you don’t know what to do.”
You were just a boy. A boy who had his entire future planned out for him before his tenth birthday. A boy who wanted to see the world and all it had to offer. A boy who wanted to make his own decisions so badly he did the only thing he could think of. He left. So I forgive you…
Unable to answer for the swell of emotion that was burning in his throat like a ball of fire, Miles shook his head from side to side, fingers biting into the window ledge with enough force to leave a scattering row of crescent moons pressed deep within the wood.
“So you are leaving because you are afraid she will not love you,” Harper continued softly, “and she cannot love you because she is afraid you will leave.”
A lone carriage pulled by a dark bay, its head bent against the rain, wandered slowly down the middle of the street. Tracking its progress, Miles waited until the horse and carriage had moved beyond his line of vision before he said, “She will be better off without me. As will you.” In time they will see, he thought painfully. In time they will come to understand. Eventually Dianna and Harper would realize their lives were easier without him in it. Eventually, when enough years had gone by, they would come to forget him… and be the happier for it.
“Because we were so much better whe
n you were gone?”
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding to the point of pain. “I do not want to keep disappointing you and yet that is all I have done since I returned. I cannot be the brother you need, or the husband Dianna deserves.”
“Perhaps not,” Harper acknowledged. “But you’re the only brother I have, and the only husband Dianna has ever wanted.”
“How do you know she wants me?” he demanded as he whirled to face her. “How do you know?”
“Oh Miles.” Harper’s laugh was soft, and impossibly sad. “How do you not?”
Dianna had only attended the theater once before. Ironically enough, it had been with Miles and his family. She’d been a wide-eyed, impressionable young girl of fifteen. He a bored, restless young man of twenty.
For the life of her she could not remember what the play had been about, but it remained notable for other reasons, none of which had anything to do with the actors.
Finding herself back in the same theater some five years later, tightly wedged between her mother and Thomas Readington, Dianna struggled now, as she had then, to keep her mind on the stage.
As promised the play was really quite amusing, or at least the parts that she managed to concentrate on enough to hear. Sitting upright in the uncomfortable theater chair that smelled vaguely of onions and sweat - a rather horrible combination - Dianna was careful to keep her eyes trained on the brightly lit stage although there was nothing she could do to prevent her thoughts from wandering.
Her gloved fingers fidgeted anxiously in her lap, the same as they had done five years past when it had been Miles sitting beside her instead of Readington. He’d been slouched low in his chair, she recalled, the brim of his hat pulled so low over his eyes she’d suspected he was sleeping, a suspicion that had been confirmed when she poked him in the ribs during the second act and he’d jumped awake.
Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Page 20