“You certainly were not considering me for marriage.”
“Who put these ideas into your mind?” he demanded in anger, nearly taking her aback.
For a moment she considered that perhaps she’d been wrong, but the fact that his response was a counter question convinced Diana that she’d been no more than a distraction for the Season and his courtship, kisses and caresses meant nothing more to him than a casual dalliance.
“You did.”
“Me?” he cried in outrage.
“Have you or have you not claimed that ‘if Noah could become a father at the age of five hundred, then I can surely wait to begin producing offspring until age forty’.”
At least he had the good sense to grimace. “It’s true. I’ve said as much.”
“Then I see no further need for any association between us to continue.” She turned and walked away. “Enjoy your next thirteen years as a bachelor, Lord Somerton. Though it will soon be twelve.”
Chapter 4
“Blast it all.”James sank back down on the well. More bricks crumbled and he jumped away before he fell again. Diana wasn’t there to save him and even if she were, he doubted that she’d lend him a hand a second time.
Who had spoken out of turn to Diana?
It didn’t really matter, he supposed. At least now he understood her hatred for him. Further, he couldn’t blame Diana, given what they’d shared in Vauxhall. All he could assume was that she’d been told at the Hearne ball because Vauxhall had only been the night before.
Though, she could have at least asked if those were his intentions before she slapped him.
Perhaps what angered him most was that she so quickly believed what she’d been told, even if it were the truth. But she should have trusted him. Shouldn’t he have earned her trust after the weeks he’d spent courting her? Further, it hurt that she so quickly dismissed him. As if she’d never really cared at all. Perhaps she was the one who had been toying with his affections.
A cold hand swiped across his face leaving behind an icy sting as Lady Isolda materialized before him, hand raised and looking quite irate.
“Did you really utter such rubbish?”
“Aye,” he admitted.
Worse, he’d said those words so many times that he’d lost count, but they’d always been said in the company of gentlemen in places like Whites. And, until Miss Diana Vail walked into the Bentley ball last March, he’d been adamant that nothing would change.
She’d been breathtaking with her golden hair, wayward curls caressing her neck and temples, the pale green, nearly white gown, hugging her form, emphasizing her full breasts. Breasts he’d longed to caress and feel the weight of in his hands and he’d finally gotten the opportunity that night in Vauxhall.
James was amazed that she’d not gained his notice before. Had he been bloody blind during the previous four years?
In their moments of passion, James had known that the plans he’d set were no longer. He wanted Diana and the only way he could have more was if they married. He’d also faced a truth he’d done his damnedest to deny—he was in love. It had come as such a shock that he could barely speak.
After he’d returned home from Vauxhall, James had argued with himself that what he was experiencing was no more than lust and desire. Certainlynotlove. But no matter how much he had denied the emotion or how much brandy he’d drunk to numb his heart, James had to face the fact that he did not have another thirteen years of freedom. And as he became used to the idea, accepted the inevitable, he fell asleep, happy with his lot in life as he’d be sharing it with Diana.
He remembered the day of the Hearne ball and that evening as if it had happened yesterday. He’d been nervous as he was about to do something, he never thought he’d do—confess all that was in his heart. But before he could utter a word, she first insulted, then dismissed him. Had he known then what he knew now, he’d have insisted that she listen to him. He would have explained that she, and only she, had altered those blasted plans, but Diana hadn’t given him the opportunity.
Until now, he’d lied to himself that it was for the best and he wasn’t meant to marry until he was nine and thirty, when in truth, her rejection had not only stunned but hurt him deeply.
“Well, then.” Lady Isolda brushed her hands together. “We’ll just see what can be done to fix the pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Pickle?” James asked.
“Yes, pickle. Men, for the most part, often blunder of matters of the heart.” She brought a hand to his cheek and James tried not to shiver at the icy touch.
“It is not only my quest, but an honor to help you achieve the greatest of what we all crave—true love.”
A sense of foreboding filled him. “I am certain that I do not need your assistance.” Besides, if Diana had so little faith in him, why should he bother to pursue her? Hearts heal, after all.
“Oh, Lord Somerton, I’m afraid you do,” Lady Isolda insisted as she disappeared, leaving only the sting of cold against his cheek as evidence that she’d been there.
