He shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ll be gone longer, and . . . there’s a chance I won’t come back.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. In a hushed voice she asked, “Are you going over to the Continent on some secret business?”
In the red flash of a skyrocket she saw an approving nod for the shrewdness of her guess, but he said only, “I can’t discuss it, Diana. If all goes well, I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“And if all doesn’t go well?” Her fingers were clenched hard over his, as if that could prevent him from leaving.
“You needn’t worry. I’m going to send a note to my lawyer in the morning. If I don’t come back, you’ll be provided for.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said fiercely, fighting tears. “You can’t go and get yourself killed! There is too much unsettled between us.”
An unearthly flash of violet light lit up the alcove, and in its coruscating brilliance she could see a subtle shift in the muscles of his face before he said softly, “Then you’ll be waiting for me to return?”
“Of course.” Three rockets boomed outside, one after the other, as she swallowed hard, trying to dispel the lump in her throat. “Why did you bring me to Vauxhall?”
His eyes slanted sideways as he thought. “Perhaps I thought that if tonight was different, you might remember me better.”
“Does that mean you are leaving tomorrow?” He nodded, and she stood abruptly. It was difficult to breathe. He was not a man to mention a trivial danger, and if he was warning her that he might not return, the hazards must be great indeed. “Then why are we wasting time here? Please take me home now. I know a better way to create memories.”
He stood also. The leafy alcove was nearly private, and in the unsteady light he studied her, his face shadowed, before he pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Oh, God, Diana, you are so beautiful, and I want you so much. . . .” he whispered before he lowered his head to claim her lips, rendering words impossible.
A whole series of fireworks exploded above, shattering the air like cannon fire while the alcove filled with flaring sheets of light in scarlet and green and icy white. As hot and furious as the sky over their heads, desire blazed between them. Outside, people cheered and applauded the fireworks show, while Diana strained against Gervase, her mouth and tongue and hands as demanding as his, her body driving into his, as if the barriers of fabric that separated them could be overcome.
Finally he pulled away, his breath coming hard, and took out a handkerchief to gently blot the tears on her cheeks. His voice husky with passion, he said, “Come, it’s time to go home. I want to make love to you with every minute that is left.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she nodded, then raised her hand and brushed her hair back as she schooled her features. His fingers lightly touching the back of her waist, Gervase guided her out, seeking the quickest route to his carriage.
Behind the alcove, hidden from view by the shrubbery but able to hear every word that had been spoken, the Count de Veseul stood quite still, his hands lightly laced on the gold head of his cane, his face impassive except for the trace of satisfaction revealed by the bursting fireworks.
So St. Aubyn was going to the Continent on some nefarious business. Doubtless he would cross the Channel with smugglers, landing in northern France or the Low Countries. A little thought would reveal which European affairs might require the personal attention of the British spymaster. Then it would be a simple matter to issue descriptions to the guards and patrols that kept Bonaparte’s empire secure.
St. Aubyn was clever, but he would have to be a good deal more than clever to escape the net he would run into. Removing him would simplify Veseul’s own work, with the added benefit of making that beautiful, wanton mistress of St. Aubyn’s amenable to others who might wish to sample her charms.
Negligently lifting his cane to push back the brim of his hat, the Frenchman strolled back toward the main rotunda. Amenable or not, he would have her. He was a patient man, but he had waited long enough and grew weary of it.
He had found no other woman in Britain that he wanted half so much as Diana Lindsay. A pity that flawless beauty was wasted on an Englishman. The French agent in the Lindsay household reported that the whore was quite amazingly faithful to her lover, but such fidelity would hardly outlast his demise.
As the final pyrotechnics exploded above his head, Veseul stopped and glanced up into the light-slashed darkness. His breath quickened as he watched the fading streaks of fire and thought of Diana Lindsay, of her perfect beauty, and of her disdain.
With sudden savagery he stabbed the golden serpent’s head viciously into his left hand.
* * *
It was dawn when Gervase left Diana’s, and she had been right: Vauxhall was already half-forgotten, but he would remember the night just past whether his life lasted a week or a century. She came downstairs to say good-bye, her soft arms clinging, her chestnut hair a lilac-scented tangle against his unshaven cheek.
Then she had resolutely stepped back, her eyes stark but her chin high, refusing to say a word to stop his departure. He admired her for that. If she had begged him to stay, it would have been almost impossible to resist her.
Since he had had no sleep at all, it was fortunate that his preparations to leave were simple. He gave instructions to his personal secretary and to his assistant at Whitehall. He wrote a note to his lawyer directing him to make a settlement on Diana if he should fail to return. He wasn’t sure why he bothered; if something happened to him, she could find another protector in an hour, perhaps even a man who could marry her. Diana wouldn’t need the money, but the bequest would be a sign of what she had meant to him, even if he had never been able to say the words she wanted to hear.
He had an hour free in the afternoon and thought briefly of going to her again, but he couldn’t subject either of them to another farewell. Instead, almost against his will and hating himself for what he was doing, he put into effect an idea he had been considering for months.
Across the street from Diana’s house was a small, genteel apothecary’s shop, the only business on that block of Charles Street. Gervase had had the owner investigated and knew the man was discreet and knowledgeable, willing to do many things if the price was right. The apothecary put in long hours at his job, and he recognized the viscount as a regular visitor to the house across the street. He never even raised an eyebrow at being paid such a large sum of money to keep note of what gentlemen called on the beautiful Mrs. Lindsay.
Chapter Sixteen
Gervase had been gone nearly three weeks and Diana’s days were a test of quiet endurance. It didn’t help that half of Geoffrey’s conversation revolved around Lord St. Aubyn, and riding, and questions about when the viscount would return. At night she would hold the small brass statue of Lakshmi he had given her, rubbing it for luck as she prayed to any god that would listen to bring Gervase back to her.
Fortunately it was early summer, for it made the loneliness and uncertainty easier to bear. She turned twenty-five on Midsummer Day and her household gave her a party, with melt-in-the-mouth pastries made by Edith and a sweetly singing music box shaped like a nightingale from Madeline. Geoffrey gave her a scarf that was so perfect that it must have been selected by Maddy, and an irregular bouquet of flowers that were clearly chosen by him. She hugged all three of them, not knowing what she would do without her friends and her son.
