“I have no reason to suppose that I’m breeding. Whenever I am near you, I take precautions.” She gazed through her long eyelashes flirtatiously. “I have learned from experience that anything might happen, at any time, and I had best be prepared.”
He relaxed at her teasing words. Then, because she was very interested in the answer, Diana returned to her earlier question. “Have you never wished for children of your own? At the very least, most men in your position want an heir to carry on the name; some men even want children for their own sakes.”
His face shuttered instantly. “There is no place in my life for children.” Briefly she saw a flicker of expression that she couldn’t interpret—anger perhaps, or regret?—but his voice was flat when he said, “My line is flawed and deserves extinction. There are other heirs, more worthy ones.”
His harsh words chilled her. What could cause him to repudiate the very thought of children? Was there madness in his family, or some other affliction that had skipped him, but which might reappear in his offspring?
Quietly she said, “As you told me two days ago, there are risks to all living. Is your blood so tainted that you would forgo the chance to discover what a child of yours would be like? Have you never wished to share your experience, or to rediscover the world through young eyes?”
A spasm of uncontrollable emotion crossed his face. “I do not choose to discuss this with you,” he said brusquely. “Now or ever.”
His words could not have been clearer, and it was a line she dared not cross. But though he might try to withdraw into his practiced detachment, she sensed some of his feelings through the invisible bond that connected them. That connection thrummed with tension, like a tether drawn too tightly. Diana felt his pain, both the hurt of their conflict and an older, deeper wound she could not begin to understand.
There was nothing to be gained, and much to be lost, by pursuing the point, so she bowed her head in submission. The desk she sat on had been carved by generations of bored students, and she skimmed her hand over the corner, where the wordsSt. Aubynappeared in precise letters that slanted downward. Carved by Gervase, or a more distant Brandelin? What had Gervase been like as a child? Grave, certainly, and conscientious.
She said musingly, “Did you know that bees in their hives are said to hum the Hundredth Psalm on Christmas Eve? And they say farm beasts speak of the glorious coming among themselves, but woe betide the human who tries to overhear them.”
Gervase was no more fond of discord between them than she was, and he grasped at the change of subject. “I never heard about the bees. I always thought that during the winter they hibernated or some such.”
He strolled to the window set low under the eaves, glancing out at the sunless morning. The grayness of the light gave his face the cool tones of a marble statue. “Here in Warwickshire, the story is that on Christmas Eve the farm animals turn east at midnight and bow in homage to the newborn king.”
Diana gave a ripple of laughter. “What wonderful things to have happen on the night of your birth.”
He glanced back with pleased surprise. “You remembered.”
“Of course.” Then, tentatively, “I have birthday presents for you. I was going to wait until tonight, but it will be late when we retire, and it won’t be your birthday anymore.”
Gervase looked startled, as if far more used to giving than receiving. “Perhaps now would be best.”
“Very well,” Diana said, glad to have those moments of strain so easily set aside. “Shall we go down to my room?”
Downstairs, she checked to be sure that the corridor was clear before beckoning her host into her bedchamber. He had always entered by the secret door before, and this seemed rather daring. Once inside, she went to her wardrobe and brought out a man’s dressing gown, a richly luxurious one in dark blue velvet, nearly floor-length to protect against drafts.
As he accepted it, she said, “I made it from this fabric because it’s marvelously soft. I expect that you never pamper yourself much, so I wanted to.”
He smiled and thanked her as he stroked the velvet, feeling its sensuousness on the sensitive skin of his palm. Diana was right; he would never have chosen this fabric himself, but it had a welcoming warmth, much like Diana herself. And he was deeply pleased that she had made the robe with her own hands.
She continued shyly. “I thought . . . it might be convenient for you to keep it at my house. Since you are there so often.”
It was a backhanded confirmation that he had a regular place in her life, and it made the gift even better. He thanked her with a kiss, the folds of robe crushing between them. Her mouth welcomed him, but before he could get too involved she pulled away. “There is something else.”
She went to the wardrobe again and brought out a flat rectangle about two feet square, wrapped in silver paper. Gervase undid it carefully, then caught his breath when he saw what lay within. He held a framed map of the Kingdom of Prester John, beautifully detailed with fanciful beasts and tiny drawings of imagined wonders.
The map was very old, exquisitely drawn and colored, and must be valuable, but it meant much more than that, and for a moment he was too touched to speak. That she should have remembered that conversation about boyish dreams . . .
He glanced up to see her regarding him anxiously, hoping that she had pleased him. “It’s beautiful, Diana. More than that . . .” He stopped, then said slowly, “These are the two most personal gifts anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”
Her smile was as lovely as the dawn. “I’m so glad. I wanted to give you something that would be special.”
Laying the map on the table, he drew her to him for another kiss, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other firm on her lower back as he felt the delicacy and strength of her. After a long, languorous interval, he said in the intimate voice he used only in the bedroom, “There is another present you can give me, which will be very special indeed and could only be given by you. We have almost an hour until luncheon is served.”
Her rich laughter filled the room. “Lock the door, my love, and I shall rejoice in giving it to you.”
* * *
That evening was a family Christmas unlike any Gervase had ever known. Diana and her entourage could have been a closed circle, excluding him even in his own home; instead, in subtle ways he was drawn in and made welcome.
The women had decorated the morning room with greens, male mistletoe and female ivy, prickly holly with bright scarlet berries. A Yule log burned in the wide fireplace and Diana had made a kissing bough, the traditional centerpiece of the Christmas festivities. It hung from the ceiling, its twined double hoops covered with greenery and adorned with candles and tiny ornaments cut from gold foil.
