But she had avoided being alone with him. There had been one tricky moment, it was true, before she had learned to hide herself in her room. She had been sitting in the rose garden reading a letter from her papa when the marquess had seatedhimselfon the bench beside her. But since Ernest had seated himself on her other side no more than three minutes later, she had been able to feel a certain amusement.
They had spent the following twenty minutes, the three of them, extolling the superior virtues of the rose over any other flower. All of them had mouthed the merest commonplaces and had been in total agreement with one another. Diana would have been vastly pleased with herself had she not looked once at the marquess and known by the gleam in his eye and the set of his lips that he was enjoying himself a great deal more. Poor Ernest had had beads of sweat on his brow.
She thumbed through the pile of sheet music, looking for a song that she both knew and felt capable of singing in company."The Cuckoo"?It was very pretty and within her range, but she had a shuddering mental image of the Marquess of Kenwood's face as it would look as she sang the line, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, he sings with might and main." She would feel foolish.
What a thoroughly obnoxious man he was.A rake, no less.A libertine.He had almost fought a duel over another man's wife. And had not even denied his guilt, Ernest had said. He was doubtless proud of his notoriety. Women were nothing to him but creatures to be seduced. She could never respect such a man. And he wished to add her to the list of his conquests. She knew he did. He had actually told her that he would like to make love to her. He had actually said—with no shame whatsoever—
Thathe wished there were more memories from that night at the inn.
It would have been very sweet, he had said in that bedroom voice he was so perfect at. No, it had not been a bedroom voice when he had said "Very sweet, Diana." It had been a right-between-the-sheets voice. It really ought not to be allowed. A man like that should not be allowed to roam around free.
"All Who Sing, and Wish to Please"? She read through the words of the song to remind herself of what they were. Oh no, she did not think so. "All who sing and wish to please, Must sing in tune ..." What if she sang out of tune? "Keep the time, take breath with ease.'' What if she should lose the timing and pant in her nervousness?No, not that song.His lips would quite curl with the irony of it all.
He was a dangerous man. Very dangerous, and she quite hated him. She had been going to slap him there at the castle. She really had. But she had wanted to time it well so that she did not make an utter cake of herself.
She had waited for him to commit himself. And men would havecomethe very satisfying crack across the face. She would not have cared if her hand had stung for an hour afterward.
She would have hit him. If Ernest had not called out when he had, she would have hit him.
But he did not believe so. When she had told him afterward, he had looked at her in that infuriating way he had, as if she were a child to be humored, and told her in so many words that he did not believe her. He had thought, then, that she would have submitted to the ignominy of his kiss.
He had thought that she would so lower herself, knowing what she did about him.
She had been submitting to only a moment's curiosity to know what he would feel like when she knew he was no fantasy and when sensations were not clouded by the laudanum. That was all she had been doing.
She would have slapped him one moment later.
How could she possibly ever have thought him a fantasy?
He had been all real, live, large man. His mouth had been opening over hers.
She shook another sheet of music open quite vengefully. "Haste Thee, Nymph"? She knew the words—they were John Milton's. But the music was unfamiliar. She hummed a little of it to herself and grimaced in distaste.
"You are singing it in a minor key," an all too familiar voice said from behind her. "It sounds prettier in the major key it was written in."
"Oh," she said, turning on the bench. "I am trying to select a song for Mr. Turner's birthday. I shall take the pile up to my room with me and choose something there."
''Mm.'' Lord Kenwood pulled at his lower lip and looked at her consideringly. "I think not, Diana. Someone's sensibilities might be outraged if I were seen following you into your bedchamber. Though it is an invitation that I must confess myself reluctant to refuse, it will probably be more respectable for us to stay here."
"I shall not keep you, my lord," she said, getting decisively to her feet. "Doubtless you wish to practice something for the concert."
"Doubtless," he said with a sigh. "I did suggest to her ladyship that I turn the pages of someone's music as my contribution. I am quite good at that, provided the music is lively enough that my attention does not wander. But alas, my offer was rejected."
"A pity," Diana said, clasping the pile of music to her bosom."If you will excuse me, my lord."
"The countess is ever helpful, though," he said. "She has suggested a solution to my problem."
"Good," Diana said.
"You and I are to sing a duet," he said."The countess's orders.You know it is impossibltto disobey those, Diana. I would as soon attempt to walk through a stone wall. She has sent me here now to practice with you, though I had intended to join Ernie and Miss Wickenham. You should not let your jaw drop so, my dear. It makes you look not quite in control of a situation."
"We are to sing a duet?" Diana said. "Do you sing?"
He raised one eyebrow again. It was beginning to annoy her to no small degree. He doubtless knew quite well what the gesture was capable of doing to a feminine heartbeat. "Certainly I do," he said. "Do you?"
"And the countess says we are to sing together." There was no possible way out then and no possible point in phrasing her words as a question.
"I would start selecting the music," he said, "but if I were to take a sheet from the pile at this very moment, I would probably be slapped for my pains, since my hand would doubtless come into contact with a part of your body that it has no business being in contact with.Not in broad daylight and in a public music room, anyway."
