Damian had opened the door and stood aside for the Frenchman to pass through. “A sensible decision.”
It had been an excellent shot, he’d considered as he had climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. If he hadn’t ducked under that branch, he’d have been lying dead beneath it. He would take his chance again in daylight. While Lady Diana had been correct in her interpretation of what she’d heard, he wasn’t about to tell her so. She hardly needed encouragement. He’d shaken his head. If only he were free to pursue the lady. But he was forced to forget about it for several reasons, one of which was the need to stay above ground.
By the time he’d come downstairs that morning, only two women still remained in the breakfast room. Damian stirred a lump of sugar into his tea to give him energy. He could sleep anywhere, even a haystack if it came to that, but last night in his chamber, he’d lain wide awake. He’d dwelt on the identity of the shooter, looking for something important he might have overlooked. But nothing had come to mind.
Instead, Lady Diana’s soft mouth beneath his, her breasts pressing against his chest, had filled his mind. Her eager response to his kiss and the sight of rumpled bedsheets smelling of warm woman almost tipped him over the edge. Would he see her during the day?Dash it all!It was far too perilous for them both. Lady Diana was not about to become mixed up in this. He could imagine her father’s wrath, and he wouldn’t blame him. He turned his mind to the more vital question of what to do next.
If he alerted Scovell to the attempt to kill him, his spymaster might pull him from the mission. Damian had no intention of leaving, not without achieving what his spymaster had sent him here to do. In addition to outing the Englishman who had infiltrated the war office, it was imperative for them to find the documents before they left these shores. He was running out of time. Wellesley and the lives of his men on the Continent depended on him succeeding. And whether he left here alivedepended on discovering who that shooter was before he made another attempt.
Leaving the breakfast room, he passed the drawing room, where guests gathered to listen to the archeologist. Damian opened the door and looked in. Lady Diana was there with her grandmother. She nodded, her eyes anxious when she saw him. He was careful not to do anything to encourage her, his gaze roaming the rest of the room until he spied the Frenchman Moreau, who had appeared last night right after the gunshot. Was the man he’d seen entering the house earlier the one who’d tried to kill him? Or could it have been Moreau? The Frenchman’s tightly fitted topcoat couldn’t have concealed a gun, but he might have stowed it somewhere, although he didn’t smell of gunpowder. Inclined to dismiss him, Damian closed the drawing room door and headed for the stairs. He would pay a visit to the Frenchman’s chamber while this opportunity presented itself.
Chapter Eight
Must women beso sheltered from life? As if they lacked the ability to think for themselves, and the courage to deal with problems? Some women liked that, but Diana found it frustrating.
She watched the gray-haired, whiskered Professor Summer put on his spectacles and take his place at the podium. He shuffled his papers, and having organized his books and drawings, cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen.”
The decorative sculptures taken from the Parthenon, the ancient Doric temple on the Acropolis in Athens, proved a fascinating subject. Despite the other thoughts crowding her head, Diana found herself enthralled. When the professor’s lecture, and the half hour of questions from the guests that followed, concluded, she and Grandmama went to the library, where her father waited with the gentleman he wished to introduce to her.
To her surprise, when they entered the book-filled room, which smelled of old tomes and cigar smoke, it was not Lord Lowther, the thin gentleman with a stern mouth who had made her miserable when she’d seen him earlier, but the handsome Lord Montgomery, who sat seemingly at ease beside her father on the sofa. Lord Montgomery rose as they came in and assisted her grandmother into an armchair.Papa had listened to her!Her relief and gratitude was followed swiftly by guilt she hastily tamped down. Diana hurried forward with a smile.
After the introductions and a polite conversation about their time spent at Holland House, her father rose to excuse himself, leaving Grandmama as chaperone.
Lord Montgomery’s fair, good looks were undeniably pleasing, but Diana found his pale, blue-gray eyes oddly opaque, as if, like a submerged iceberg, he hid much of himself from her. And as she suspected him of being a murderous spy, this did not surprise her. While he attempted to charm her grandmother, Diana formed the questions she planned to ask him should she get a chance during the evening. Not gaining the warm reception from her grandmother that he might usually expect from older ladies, Lord Montgomery turned back to Diana. “Do you like to dabble in oils, Lady Diana?”
“No, my lord, I prefer to be outdoors.”
“My dear wife, Mary, who sadly passed away five years ago, was a keen gardener. She loved her roses.”
Diana wondered if he would be surprised to learn about her hobby of shooting pumpkins with a dueling pistol. She might have offered the information to deter him at another time, sure it would be most effective, but regrettably, that would not fit with her plan. “I love to dig the soil. But mostly, I putter around about the conservatory, repotting begonias and orchids.”
He smiled approvingly.
Grandmama’s eyebrows rose, but she refrained from pointing out that Diana only went to the conservatory in order to leave the house and walk to the stables.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had once knocked a pot onto the marble floor and had been obliged to repot it. Their conversation became so polite that it was almost stilted when Grandmama offered nothing. Lord Montgomery cleared his throat and rose. Fearing she had not shown enough enthusiasm, Diana stood and offered him her hand. “I do hope we can talk again,Lord Montgomery,” she gushed, batting her eyelashes. “There is dancing tonight in the ballroom. Shall we see you there?”
She offered him her hand. He kissed it, lingering for a moment, those disturbing pale eyes searching hers as if judging her sincerity. It made her curl up with horror inside. “Indeed. Please save a dance for me, Lady Diana.” Apparently satisfied, he bowed over her grandmother’s hand and, at her cool reception, hastily departed.
Grandmama glanced at Diana as she assisted her from the chair. “Potting houseplants? Flirting as if your life depended on it? I would have refused to believe it if I hadn’t witnessed it.”
“You must admit Lord Montgomery is quite handsome,” Diana murmured, avoiding her gaze.
Her grandmother uttered an inelegant snort. “Yes. If you like the sort. But I would not have thought you would.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are up to something,” she confirmed with a firm nod, then she took Diana’s arm to leave the library. “I only hope it is not dangerous.”
“Heavens, no,” Diana said breezily. “What a thought.”
“You exhaust me, Diana,” Grandmama said as they walked toward the stairs. “I will rest for an hour before luncheon.”
“I’ll assist you up the stairs to your chamber,” Diana said, deeply guilt-ridden.
Grandmama patted her arm. “I can manage. I’ll come find you.” A foot on the step, she glanced back at Diana. “What will you do while I’m resting?”
“I spied some interesting tomes in the library,” Diana said. “I’ll spend the hour there.”
“It appears a harmless means of passing your time, but with you, one never knows.” Her worried frown made Diana catch her breath. “Take care, child. There are some here you would not associate with at a London ball.”
Diana watched her slowly climb the staircase, disliking causing her grandmother to worry about her. Her warning about the people here had been effective, sending an icy shiver through her. If Lord Montgomery had been the Englishman she’d heard speaking in French near the monument, might she have embarked on something infinitely dangerous? What would Ballantine make of her attention to the viscount? She hoped he’d be jealous.
