Mrs. Quinn gasped at his hostile tone.
Diantha gave him a brittle smile. “Would you be so good as to assist my grandmother, dear? I shall escort the others inside.”
He stared after them as Mr. and Mrs. Quinn entered the house without an embrace or an affectionate word for their only daughter.
Mrs. Helford did not display her usual vigor asshe climbed the steps with the aid of a footman and a silver-headed cane. Going to her side, Kieran dismissed the servant and offered his arm.
The twinkle in her eyes remained undimmed. “I never refuse the chance to walk with a handsome young man.”
He chuckled. Here was one in-law he sincerely welcomed. “We shall do everything in our power to make you comfortable, ma’am.”
In the drawing room, Kieran introduced the elderly woman and helped her to a comfortable chair. His father-in-law had already buried himself in a periodical, while Mrs. Quinn and Iona had already locked horns.
“Here is your tea, Kieran.” Iona handed him a porcelain cup and saucer. “You’re just in time to hear our guest expound upon several unusual theories of interior decoration.”
Amalthea nibbled on a watercress sandwich. “Having lived in a backwater for several years, one can hardly expect Lady William to beau courantwith the most fashionable styles.”
“Fortunately, persons of quality have no need to follow the whims of the lower classes.” She offered a small plate to her newfound adversary. “Scone?”
Seated on a sofa nearby, Diantha focused her gaze on the floor, just as she had during their betrothal. His heart sank. Hoping to ease her discomfort, Kieran took the seat next to her. She said nothing, but edged infinitesimally closer to him.
Strolling toward the gallery before dinner, Diantha gave thanks that no one else would arrivebefore the following afternoon. Kieran’s refusal to accept anything but physical intimacy in their marriage devastated her, and she had thrown herself into the house party preparations as a way to numb her aching heart.
Her anger at her husband had dissipated. The tortured expression on his face when he had apologized for not wanting an emotional attachment between them still haunted her. She wished that she knew how to reach him.
He had relaxed in her company since then, even asking to join her in bed one night. Horrified by the realization that she craved his touch like an opium-eater’s desire for his drug, she had tried to detach her feelings from their coupling. Although her climax left her limp and breathless, the experience ultimately lacked the intensity she yearned for.
Now, with nothing more to plan and in the face of her family’s usual indifference, she needed a respite to gain control over her jumbled emotions.
She found everyone else already gathered in the long room. Abashed at her tardiness, she stammered an apology.
Kieran, with the rest of the men, had risen to his feet as she entered. Now he came toward her. “Your regrets are unfounded, my dear. We have several minutes before dinner. Your family has asked what activities are devised for their visit. As the one who took charge, you are entitled to their thanks.”
Some of the tension across her shoulders eased at the approval in his voice. He had shown no rancor since their harrowing conversation ten daysago. Just the opposite, he treated her with a cordiality that their relationship had previously lacked.
He just couldn’t—or didn’t want to—give her what she wanted most.
Meanwhile her mother regarded her with a furrowed brow. “That gown isn’t from your trousseau.”
Diantha groaned inwardly. She had selected the ensemble of bright blue sarcenet and taffeta because the color cheered her up. Trimmed with black lace instead of the predictable white or pink, it also helped her feel pretty and elegant.
“I purchased it from Monsieur Worth during our stay in Paris.” As things stood with Kieran, she could not bring herself to utter the wordhoneymoon.
Mama sniffed. “Blue is so insipid.”
“Monsieur Worth selected it for me.” Diantha’s bland comment spiked her mother’s guns until dinner was underway. Mrs. Quinn eventually rallied, however, and addressed Kieran over the entrees.
“Mr. Quinn and I were surprised, to say the least, when we arrived in London only to find you had left weeks before the Season ended.” She accepted a portion of the chicken offered to her, then peered at it suspiciously. “Er, what might this be?”
“Chicken stovie.” Diantha and MacAdam had included at least one traditional Scottish dish in each dinner menu. She took a bite of parsley-covered potato.
At her right, her father sampled some from his plate. “Very nice. I wouldn’t mind having this at home.”
“Mr. Quinn, it contains entire slices of onions.” Her mother ate a morsel of chicken after examiningit for any trace of the dreaded vegetable. Then she returned her attention to Kieran.
“I fear my digression interrupted you, dear Lord Rossburn. I suppose you have an explanation for leaving the gaieties of the Season before it ended.”
“No.” He regarded her with half-closed eyes. “Why would I need one?”
