Florette appeared several moments after she rang for her, chattering happily about returning to her native land. Diantha let the words flow past her as she prepared for bed. Her mood sank further when the maid revealed that his lordship told his valet not to wait up for him. She also hinted that Diantha should consider admitting him to her bed. Diantha set her jaw and dismissed the older woman.
* **
Hours later, Kieran cracked the door of her bedroom. He absently pulled off his gloves as he peered inside, aware of a pang of disappointment. Delightful as it had been to look in on his acquaintances at the Grand Café, he intended his absence to teach his wife a lesson. This jealous fit of hers had to end.
He had chosen not to pick a quarrel with her under the curious eyes of their fellow passengers during their voyage. In the privacy of a town house, however, he planned to put his foot down. Much as her response to his lovemaking fascinated him, a man did not allow his wife to dictate those he did or did not speak to.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, he could make out the pale blur of her face and the hand flung palm up on the pillow. Drawn by the memory of her soft skin, he entered the room. A fold of his cloak caught the edge of a small table, and knocked a figurine onto the carpeted floor. The thump awakened Diantha.
“Who’s there?” She started awake, staring wildly in his direction. He realized she could not see his face.
“It’s only me.” He approached slowly. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
She fumbled around the surface of her bedside table. The rasp of a match sounded, followed by a small flame that resolved into a larger one as she lit a candle. “What are you doing in here?”
He frowned, taken aback by her hostile question. “I’m your husband, Diantha. I belong here.”
“That is a matter of opinion.” She stifled a yawnand sat up a little straighter. “I have had a long day and I wish to sleep, sir.” The sheets fell to her waist.
Kieran swallowed. Her lawn nightgown covered her to the chin, but the rosy tips of her breasts remained visible through the thin material. “I have had a long week of your missish behavior, madam. Most husbands would not show such patience to a wife who banned them from her bed.”
“Most husbands would not have spent their honeymoons flirting with another woman under their wife’s nose.” For someone who had just woken up, she struck him as remarkably quarrelsome.
“You have got to stop carrying on like a jealous shrew every time I engage in a little harmless flirtation!” He crossed his arms. “For heaven’s sake, I only talked to her.”
“Where everyone on the ship could see you!” Her eyes flashed in the candlelight. “And for your information, I was not remotely jealous. The embarrassment was bad enough.”
“I am not the one who caused a scene in the middle of the saloon.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh. “May I remind you that you are now expected to act like a lady, not a vulgar merchant’s daughter?”
“For your information, the two are not mutually exclusive. Although I would probably find better manners in a tugboat captain.” Shooting him a single glare, she blew out the candle. “Good night, your high and mighty lordship!”
The sheets rustled as she rolled herself up in them. As his eyes readjusted, Kieran saw her curledup in a ball, her braid trailing down her back outside the bedclothes. Its heavy length tempted his fingers to stroke it.
He brought himself up short. If he caressed her, it might lead her to think she was getting the better of him.
“Good night.” On those curt words, he stalked out of the room.
Chapter 6
By clever management, Diantha did not meet her husband the following day until luncheon. She took a tray of croissants and chocolate in her room, and spent much of the morning composing notes to acquaintances living in Paris.
Only when Florette brought word that his lordship had left the house did she emerge. Dispatching her correspondence to its intended recipients, she sent word for the chef and majordomo to meet with her in the morning room. Although she had never been permitted to speak up during her mother’s consultations with staff, she had learned a great deal by observing them.
The meetings with both servants passed more easily than she expected. After they ended, a footman appeared with several invitations and notes that had arrived that morning. This did not surprise Diantha; news of their arrival had appeared inLe Mondeand other newspapers. She divided the mail from people she knew into three piles. As abride on her honeymoon, she decided to answer them in the order she pleased.
The smallest and most important notes contained greetings from her friends. The second consisted of notes and name cards from friends of her parents, and the third, of friends of her parents that she liked.
The second pile she placed on the back of her writing table for moments of extreme boredom. She regarded it with a smile of triumph. Until today, Mama had supervised the order in which she responded to letters and notes.
A number of envelopes bore names and addresses she did not recognize. She identified a few of the unknown writers as opportunists trying to pretend an acquaintance on the strength of the newspaper articles. Those she tossed into the wastepaper basket. The rest she set aside to ask Kieran about.
While exploring the town house, she found a copy ofLe Mondein the library, doubtless abandoned by her husband. Closing the door to the room, she spent a pleasurable hour catching up on Parisian news until a footman summoned her for lunch.
She looked about the dining room with pleasure as she permitted herself to be seated. Like the rest of the house, it created an atmosphere of airiness. Instead of the carved wooden panels her mother favored, silk moiré covered the walls of this room in a cheery shade of pale yellow. The damask tablecloth almost gleamed in the sunlight entering through two large windows opposite the door. It formed a simple background for the low bouquetof fragrant spring flowers arranged in a porcelain epergne on its top.
Her heart jumped nervously when her husband’s big frame filled the doorway. Nor did he appear pleased, stopping short on the threshold at the sight of her.
Mindful of the servants waiting on them, she gave him a civil greeting. He returned one equally unenthusiastic. Except for that exchange, only the clink of silverware on porcelain or quiet requests to the servants filled the silence between them.
