He kept his name separate, his son, his home, anything to do with his title—anything to do with that other part of his life.
Women born under similar circumstances as her and her sisters lived under looser moral constraints than proper ladies. Diana ought to have been able to pursue a career as a dancer or contemplate becoming a lofty gentleman’s mistress.
At one time, neither of those would have been considered outrageous possibilities for her to pursue.
But her brother had risked his reputation to present her and Collette to society in hopes that they could live respectable lives. Turning her back on that opportunity would be a betrayal to Chase and Bethany. And she could not do that to her brother. After their father’s death, when he’d discovered his father’s second family, he could easily have put them out of their home.
But he had not.
He’d done quite the opposite. He’d loved them, not because he’d had to, but simply because they were his… sisters.
Diana exhaled. Matters with Lord Greystone had run their course.
She was going to have to become serious in her pursuit of Captain Edgeworth again. And if that didn’t pan out, perhaps even Mr. Timmons.
“We should return to the horses.” Lord Greystone had once again retreated into his very proper and dignified self. He did not even extend his arm for her to take.
The fact that he wished to re-establish a distance between them summoned mixed feelings. He wasn’t acting this way because he didn’t want to touch her, quite the opposite. Of that, she had zero doubts.
He was as attracted to her as she was to him, and the knowledge ought to be a consolation.
But it wasn’t really. Because it seemed that both of them were to fall victim to standards established long before either of them had been born--standards that would likely endure long after they were gone.
Diana flipped her hair and marched back the way they’d come.
* * *
Being pulledin two different directions was not something familiar to Greys. Furthermore, he hated that this tug of war was forcing him to acknowledge that certain grey areas existed in his life.
Most notably, the place where Miss Diana Jones had taken up residence.
When they arrived at his vehicle, Greys stepped back, prepared to assist her up and onto the bench, but she ignored his outstretched hands and climbed up independently.
Where she promptly smoothed her skirt, sat up straight, clasped her hands primly in her lap, and refused to look at him.
Greys tugged the lace at his wrist and strolled around to the opposite side.
She was an anomaly—a contradiction—as were his urges toward her. He wasn’t prepared to analyze the notion that he had actualfeelingsfor her.
How in the world were Chaswick and his baroness going to marry Diana off successfully? Any prospective groom would have to be largely open-minded. The man would be inviting difficulties if he cared for society’s opinions.
And yet, having Diana Jones for a wife might very well be worth it—for some other man.
Not Edgeworth—Greys didn’t like the way the fellow looked at her—but some other faceless person.
Greys pulled himself onto the curricle, searching his mind trying to come up with any gentleman who might make for a suitable prospect but could think of none.
“Hiya,” he drew the horses around in a circle, noting that she clung to the outer edge of the bench, ensuring as much space remained between the two of them as possible.
He wasn’t accustomed to her keeping her thoughts to herself. On the contrary, he far preferred her chattiness to this heavy silence.
Would he feel the same if he was driving Lady Isabella? Most likely not.
Furthermore, he would not have this damned inexplicable urge to take her hand in his—to comfort her.
He turned off the narrow trail and then rolled his shoulders.
“A good long stretch of road borders the farm a few miles up ahead.” He kept his gaze focused on his horses, and endured her silence.
