Love? He called me love!
“It is just …” She bit her lip and looked up at him again. “You told me a secret the other day; I think it high time I told you another one.” He appeared intrigued with his eyebrows lifting. “I used to write many stories when I was little. When I told my mother one day about a hope that maybe I could someday be published, she was excited by the idea, but my father, on the other hand … was not.”
“Ah, what did he say?” Owen asked.
“He said that people want to read books by men. Not women,” she acknowledged, gesturing to the library around them. “I’d wager you could read the spines of all these books, and most of them, if not all, would bear a man’s name, not a woman’s. Since then, I have only ever written for my own enjoyment. I never considered anyone would read the stories but me.”
Owen was deep in thought, with his brow furrowed as he stood straight and folded his arms.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What an odd idea that we read books by men and not women,” he said, shaking his head. “If the publishing world really works like that, then it is foolish indeed. Think of all the good tales it is missing out on!”
“My father says it is the way.”
“Yet you do notknowit is the way.” Owen rounded the desk and lifted the papers again, holding them up like they were a trophy rather than pages with scrawled notes. “If you truly want this, if it is a hope that you have had since you were a child, then what is the harm in attempting it?”
“What do you mean?” she asked as he pressed the pages back into her hands.
“Work on it. Make it as good as you wish it to be, then send it off to a publisher and see what they say. After all, until they write back, you can never really be certain they will say no, can you?”
She blinked a few times, staring at him, unsure what to say in reply.
“Is it possible, do you think?”
“You’ll have to write to them to find out.”
Chapter 14
“Please like it,” Diana said, wrapping up the gift in pale blue paper. She tied it with a ribbon, a little worried when it was lopsided, but it was the best she could do. She placed the parcel on the pedestal desk and hurried back to the fireplace, pulling on the bell pull as she always did this time of the evening.
Unable to stand still with anticipation, shifting her weight between her feet, she kept her eyes on the door, waiting for Owen. It had been some days now that the duke had been away in London, and that fortunately meant Diana could pursue her affair with Owen without fear of being discovered.
They had the evenings to themselves, where the staff’s time was not so much under demand, and at night, no one could see Owen sneaking into rooms he shouldn’t be.
“You called, Your Grace?” he said formally as he stepped into the room.
“I did,” she said, hurrying towards him. The door was closed behind him, and they reached towards one another simultaneously, entering into a sweet kiss that lingered, with lips pressed together and fingers entwining. There was no hesitancy between them anymore, no conversation of them being a butler and a duchess.
We are just Diana and Owen now.
“Are we playing cards tonight?” he asked. “Or … did you have something else in mind?” The suggestiveness of it made her giggle.
“Something else on my mind.” She reached up and placed a kiss to the crook of his neck, making him moan, but before he could press their lips together again, she stepped away and pulled him with her, urging him to follow. “Come, I have something for you.”
“Pardon?” he asked, following her all the same. She pointed at the desk where she had wrapped up the parcel. “What is that?” he asked.
“They’re called gifts. You know, where someone wraps something up to surprise you with what is inside.” Her mischief made him laugh and reach down towards it, but he didn’t quite touch it. He placed his palms either side of the desk instead.
“Diana, you didn’t have to buy me anything.”
“I know I didn’t,” she said hurriedly, “but I wanted to. Consider it my way of thanking you for encouraging me to write again.”
“You have already thanked me for that!”
“Not enough. Now, open it before I open it for you.” She slid the gift along the desk, closer to him. She had purposefully made the trip to buy the gift earlier that day, with her lady’s maid and a footman accompanying her, so she could keep the present a secret from Owen. She explained the purchase to her lady’s maid by saying it was a hobby she had as a child and wanted to take up again.
Owen appeared bemused, his hands hovering over the parcel, still uncertain whether to take it.
