Greystones hurried to their table, bottle in hand, and filled her glass before Damian questioned the wisdom of it.
When the innkeeper stepped away, she leaned across the table, displaying a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. “And what if we come across another, even more vital lead, which keeps us away for another night? We can hardly ignore it,” she whispered.
“We’ll face that problem if it arises,” he said, unable to resist smiling. He was confident that the next day would bring an end to this unwise enterprise, when they ran out of people to question. He enjoyed being with her too much and would like it to continue for days.Reckless. He thought he’d known his limitations, but she was fascinating and irrepressible, and now he wasn’t sure.
Chapter Thirteen
Diana settled nervouslyonto the truckle bed and pulled the bedcovers up to her chin. Ballantine had accepted the offer from a gentleman guest for another hand of cards, even though the hour had grown late. Annoyed, she stared at the comfortable, empty bed. He might at least make use of it. She would lie awake until he arrived.
When she opened her eyes again, dawn light crept through the gaps in the curtains, and somewhere, a cockerel crowed. She’d been so tired, and after drinking more wine than she was used to, she’d fallen asleep. Blinking, she sat up, surprised at being in the big bed, the truckle bed empty.
She put her hands to her cheeks and gasped, then bent to examine her nightgown, still buttoned up to the neck. He might at least have had the decency to wake her. And where was he?
Thoroughly unsettled, she threw back the covers and put her feet to the floor, snatching up the silk dressing gown she’d fortunately crammed into her bag. Shrugging into it, she tied the belt and went to the door of the private parlor. She placed her ear against the wooden panel. A soft snore came from within.
Diana pushed up the latch and opened the door a crack, wide enough to see Ballantine, his tousled, dark head resting on a pillow. She slipped inside and moved closer. Partly covered by a blanket, he stretched out the length of the sofa, his legs, with a dusting of dark hair, and his big feet protruding from theend. One bare, muscular arm rested above the blanket. Her eyes widened. Was he naked beneath it?
What had he seen when he’d moved her over to the bed? She pushed that thought hurriedly away. He’d been gentle, as she hadn’t wakened. The wine must have affected her. She remembered how she’d missed her footing on the stairs when Ballantine had escorted her up to bed and how she’d had to rely on him to steady her. Andhehad ordered a second bottle of wine at dinner!
She glowered at him, sleeping so peacefully, while longing to poke him awake. Then he moved, and the blanket fell away to his waist. She stood, captivated by his wonderful physique. His skin looked so smooth, she wanted to touch him, to sweep her hands over the hollows and valleys of his sculptured chest. To touch the dark “V” of hair arrowing down… With a gasp, her gaze flew to his lean face, his level, dark brows, the sensual curve of his mouth. And she wanted so much more. He defined masculine in a way she’d never thought of. She could imagine him staring down a villain with a sword in his hand or a gun. He would be lethal.
She fought to control her rapid breathing. What if she startled him and he woke and caught her staring at him? Like some crazed woman desperate for his body? She turned away as she tried not to giggle.
“I trust I didn’t disturb you last night,” came the husky voice from the sofa.
“Oh!” She spun around. “You had no need to move me into the bed. I was perfectly comfortable.”
“Were you?” He propped his head up on his elbow and gazed complacently at her. “I thought it better to change the sleeping arrangements, for propriety’s sake.”
She pressed a hand against her forehead, aware of a nasty throbbing. The wine. “I hope you had a horrible night.”
“That’s not very kind of you. Slept like a baby.” He took hold of the blanket. “Unless you wish to see more of me in my natural state, I advise you to turn away.”
Diana whirled around. “I do not,” she lied, listening to the rustling behind her.
His hands rested on her shoulders as he turned her around. He had pulled on his pantaloons, but the sight of him was still overwhelming. “I do not intend to take liberties with your reputation, Lady Diana.IfI can help it.”
Or risk being forced to marry me, she thought. He didn’t want her. Perhaps didn’t desire her enough to… “I appreciate your…”
Before she could complete the sentence, his mouth was on hers. His hands molded around her waist, then moved down to cup her bottom and pull her closer so that her breasts pressed against his bare chest through the thin silk, and lower down… Was that…? She breathed in his musky scent as his lips explored hers and clutched his bare shoulder, satiny beneath her fingers. His beard rasped against her cheek. Murmuring his name against his lips, her hands boldly strayed over his back, feeling the powerful muscles at play.
Then he broke the kiss, apparently far less willing to continue than she, and turned away to pick up his shirt from the chair.
Diana felt unsure of her footing. She dragged in a breath and stared at him.
“That’s not to say I don’t want to continue this to its ultimate conclusion,” he said in a gruff voice. “Men have a lower boiling point. So stop tempting me. Return to your chamber and dress. Ask the maid to bring me coffee and hot water. I shall see you at breakfast. And after I speak to the staff, we will leave.”
She glared at him, struggling with outrage, although he had a point. A flush rose to her face. “I’ll be ready.” She left the parlor.
Now very embarrassed, she directed the maid to take Ballantine’s coffee into the parlor next door, while she drank her tea and faced the truth. She had wanted Ballantine for her lover and had seized the opportunity to share the bedchamber with him. Intent on keeping her safe, he’d resisted, remaining firm in his intention to return her to Bath before nightfall, untouched. She sagged in the chair. How could he understand what lay behind this hunger that drove her? If not love, then affection, companionship, and intimacy with a man she liked and desired? A man of her choice, not her father’s. How would she face him after this? Would it be better to admit this trip had been unwise from the outset and return to Bath?No.She must not lose sight of why she’d come. They were close to finding Anne. She could feel it.
Diana finished her tea and went to take down her spare primrose muslin from the peg where she’d hung it. Putting it on a chair, she poured hot water the maid had brought into the basin and washed. How wonderful it was to have his arms around her, his mouth on hers, and his large, warm body pressing against hers. She had wanted to lie down with him. To feel the weight of him lying over her. While her longing for him to touch her shocked her, this was how she had always imagined it should be between a man and a woman. They seemed to fit so perfectly together. Or would if they became lovers. Her breath hitched. Would she find such bliss with someone else? Certainly none of those she’d met in the past, or the gentlemen her father had introduced to her.Papa!She’d given little thought to home since she’d left. On her return, would she have to deal with yet another suitor? Might it be Montgomery? Surely, he hadn’t come to persuade her father to agree to their marriage? The thought made her stomach roil, and she quickly dismissed it as nonsense. Her father had turned him down once; surely, he would again.
But Papa was determined to see her married, and soon. He firmly believed she’d be happier with her own establishment and bemoaned the absence of her mother to advise her. Knowing he grew tired of her evasions, she rubbed the goose flesh on her arms. Not old, and still attractive to women, it was possible Papa could remarry and have more children, and she would be demoted to secondary importance in the house in which she’d grown up. A spinster, helping to raise them while clashing with her new stepmother. Even with that last dreadful thought, marrying Lord Montgomery or someone like him appalled her.
*
In the breakfastroom, most of the tables were occupied, and the warm aromas of coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast filled the air. Damian and Lady Diana took a seat by the window, the sky beyond it an arch of blue with nary a cloud. No sign of rain, thankfully, as they had many miles to cover if he wanted to have her back in Bath by the end of the day.
