* * *
As the door closed, Diana sank back into her chair, her shaking body huddled in the circle of her arms as the scene with Gervase replayed in her head.You were watched in my absence. . . . Did you sell the information to a French spy, or casually mention it to one of your other lovers?Did he really think that she could betray him? Or give herself to another man when there was such intimacy between them?
I have a wife . . . she’s simple. . . . She was scarcely more than a child, and I raped her.Diana had known that some crisis was imminent, that long-buried secrets would erupt from the depths like lava, but still his words astonished her. She had never anticipated such a confession, nor had she expected the shattering fury that had possessed her.
Because I love you . . . because I love you.The words she had longed for with hope and uncertainty echoed in her mind, and she let the tears she had been fighting flow unchecked. The crisis was far from over, there was still much to be resolved—but he loved her, as she loved him, and surely that would be enough to carry them through what lay ahead.
Exhausted though she was by emotional storms, when Diana returned to her rooms she began to pack.
* * *
Gervase made no attempt to sleep that night, knowing that his feelings were strung too tightly to permit rest, and that he had much to do before he headed north. He wrote a short note to his lawyer, asking for his wife’s current direction, and no more; it would be better to learn everything else himself.
Through the rest of the night and into the day, he swiftly dealt with the most urgent of his business. Though all of it was important, nothing unexpected appeared until late in the afternoon, when he received a dispatch from one of his agents. Enclosed were documents taken from an enemy courier captured in Kent just before embarkation to France. Under the seal of the Phoenix, Gervase found a neatly coded summary of the information that he himself had just brought back from the Continent.
He stared at the tiny, cribbed notations on the thin sheets of paper as a wave of nausea broke over him. He had been back in England for less than three days and already the Phoenix had learned what he had discovered and was alerting his masters. Perhaps the information had been sold by a spy at Whitehall, but with cruel clarity Gervase recalled leaving his pack in Diana’s drawing room. He had slept late the next morning, and when he woke his cleaned clothes and pack had been waiting by her bed.
There had been ample time for her to search his belongings, to copy the terse notes he had made.There’s a fellow hanging about, a French lord, the Count de Veseul.He had asked her about Farnsworth and Francis, but they had not discussed Veseul. She had denied selling information or taking any new lovers in his absence, but perhaps Veseul was an old lover. Or perhaps she was simply a liar, beginning to end, and he was a gullible, passion-poisoned fool.
Sitting at his desk, Gervase buried his head in his hands. He’d had only one good night’s sleep in weeks, had not slept at all the night before. He was in no condition to judge Diana’s truth or falsity. All he could do was face his problems one at a time.
First the trip north to locate his wife and make what provisions seemed necessary. Diana’s outrage had shown him that this was a task that must be accomplished for its own sake, as well as to demonstrate his remorse and good faith to Diana. He must assure himself that Mary Hamilton was alive and well treated, and as comfortable as possible.
He must also talk to the mad vicar. Though he had not mentioned the possibility to Diana, it was conceivable that he could buy off Hamilton and purchase his freedom, though he would not do it at the price of the girl’s welfare. Not again. While technically the marriage was not eligible for annulment, it would be a simple lie to say that it had not been consummated.
He would continue to support Mary Hamilton so she would not be injured by an annulment. A lie that hurt no one was a small price to pay to have Diana as his wife, always by his side, always in his arms . . . Always assuming she was the woman he thought she was, rather than the traitorous bitch that the evidence pointed to....
He rubbed his eyes and sat up, battling his fatigue. The work he did for his country was more significant than his tangled personal affairs. The endless wars with France were entering a new phase now that Britain had troops on the Iberian Peninsula. If Veseul was the Phoenix, he needed to be stopped once and for all.
Gervase thought for a while, then gave a smile of bleak, humorless satisfaction. There was a way to bring the pieces together. It was time for an Aubynwood house party. Once a year he would invite a number of government ministers and other prominent folk to his estate to relax and discuss politics and make policy without the distractions of London. This year the list would include the Count de Veseul. He would also invite Diana.
He began jotting down names of persons for his secretary to write. If Diana were innocent and loving, he would have her with him, and could begin to introduce her to society. And if she were a traitor, perhaps she would betray herself with Veseul.
At the thought, he halted, a drop of ink poised on the tip of his quill until it fell on the paper in a black, spreading stain. If Diana were not what she seemed, it would be, quite literally, unbearable.
* * *
Traveling only with his servant Bonner, who could act as both valet and groom, Gervase headed north early the next morning. The location his lawyer had given him was a surprise, but of course the Hamiltons would not have been staying at an inn if their home had been on Mull. At least the journey would be shorter than he had expected. They traveled fast and long, changing horses at every posting stop, taking turns at the reins. In the silences, there was ample time to think of Diana, to wonder what the future held.
The farther north they went, the more optimistic Gervase became. Quite simply, he could not believe his mistress to be dishonest; he had seen her with her son and her friends as well as himself, and no actress could counterfeit such warmth over so many months.
There was no proof that she was anything other than what she appeared to be. Veseul had not been observed entering her house. Perhaps the sly apothecary had been incorrect in his identification. The stolen information could have been copied at Whitehall by an underpaid clerk who was looking for extra income. It had been foolish to think otherwise.
He even permitted himself to imagine what life would be like if he bought himself free of his marriage. Though technically a courtesan, Diana had never lived the public and flamboyant life of a Harriette Wilson and she should be accepted in most social circles. For Gervase that was not an important consideration, but he wanted Diana to receive all the respect due his wife.
They could have children together. He was genuinely fond of Geoffrey and would see that the boy was well established. But he also wondered, with increasing urgency, what it would be like to have children of his own, sons and daughters like Diana, to whom he could give the constant love and guidance he had never had.
The bright dreams grew through three days of travel.
His wife’s residence was not in the village proper, and Gervase was directed out a narrow, rutted track that wound ever higher, ending at an isolated cottage. Wondering what the devil had led Hamilton to bring his daughter to such a remote spot, he left the reins to Bonner and knocked on the heavy oak door.
As he waited for a response, he listened to the wind whispering through the gorse and heather. It seemed a peaceful place, well tended, with masses of cheerful flowers planted.
If Mary Hamilton was happy here, he wouldn’t take her away, merely assure himself that she was well cared for. Would she recognize him? If so, he hoped she wouldn’t recoil in terror. This meeting would be difficult enough as it was.
The young woman who opened the door was a pretty country lass with dark hair and a face that looked ready to smile, though now she studied the visitor gravely. When he asked for Mary Hamilton, the young woman nodded, then directed him through a door on the left.
His quick glance showed that the room was furnished in a simple country style of plain wood and colorful fabrics, cozy and unpretentious, but most of his attention was drawn to the woman standing in front of the window, her back to him. The light was bright outside, obscuring detail, showing only erect posture and a slim figure.
