She fussed with her serviette, avoiding his gaze. He doubted that would last long. Lady Diana was not one to remain submissive and silent. When he’d entered the bedchamber last night and found her asleep in the truckle bed, with the blanket sliding off onto the floor, he saw how uncomfortable she was. She slept deeply after consuming three glasses of wine with dinner. More than she was used to, he’d hazard a guess. He had fought his desire to get close, to enjoy every delightful inch of her should she waken and hold out her arms to him. What sort of man would he be to take advantage of an inebriated woman? And lord, what a mess it would cause. As he didn’t trust himself, he would sleep in the parlor. Lady Diana only needed to look at him in a certain way to send blood sizzling through his veins, and if she gave him any encouragement, it would be too hard toresist her. But he couldn’t leave her like this. The night was cool, and she might become chilled.
Fortunately, she hadn’t stirred when he’d pulled off the covers and scooped her up, or he would have been in for an argument. One he might have lost. How enticing she had been, so soft and warm in his arms as he’d held her against his chest, still deeply asleep, her thick, golden-brown plait dangling down. The flowery scent of her hair, and her soft, unfettered breasts he longed to touch, to kiss, had bewitched him. But in repose, he had to admit she’d looked positively angelic.
He suspected Lady Diana didn’t fully understand the consequences of them flaunting society’s rules. With a regretful sigh, he’d laid her on the bed. Her nightgown had ridden up, and for a moment, he’d stood transfixed by her milky-skinned, smooth thighs barely hiding her sex, then, murmuring, “Satan get behind me,” and considering himself all kinds of a fool, he’d pulled her nightgown down over her long, slim legs.
Nestling her pert bottom into the mattress, she had uttered a soft snore.
Grinning, Damian had covered her with the blanket, grabbed his luggage, the pillow and quilt from the truckle bed, and left the room before he could find an excuse to remain.
“I was wrong. Ballantine,” Lady Diana said, her blue eyes troubled over the rim of her teacup. “I realize it now.”
“Wrong? How?” He disliked seeing her upset, and even more that he might have been the cause of it.
She shrugged her slim shoulders in the dainty, yellow gown. “I should not have placed you in such a position. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
His mouth quirked up. “Not in the way you might think. This attraction goes both ways. But one of us has to keep their head. And as I am older, it must be me.”
She raised her chin, her eyes widening at his confession.Hell.It was hardly a secret. He could barely keep his hands off her. It was a joy just to look at her.Dash it all.The pleasing vision of her at his breakfast table every morning swept unwelcome into his mind. But he would not be there, he reminded himself. He’d be off on some mission, and she would be alone.
“Coming on this journey, I meant,” she said, flushing.
“I am not one to bow to pressure.” He picked up his coffee cup. “If I hadn’t wanted to come, I would have refused.”
“Why did you, then?”
“Why? I thought your cause was a valid one.” He admitted to himself there was more to it that he had avoided examining too closely. But it was doubtful they’d discover anything of importance in one day. Although someone should look into it. “I could have a Bow Street Runner continue the search?”
“That’s wasting precious time.” She frowned. “Bow Street already looked, and they gave up too easily. You don’t believe we’ll find Anne, either.”
“There’s always that chance.” He smiled. “Perhaps we can discuss this further once we are in the carriage,” he said, aware that they shouldn’t delve too deep into their feelings. Another warning note sounded loudly in his mind. He took little heed of it. “It has troubled me to see you so worried about your friend.”
“You are kind,” she said, reaching for the jam.
Kindwas not a word he’d apply to himself. But it would do. Impatient to be on the road again, he sawed his bacon.
Mr. Barrow, the gentleman with whom Damian had played cards the previous evening, stopped by their table with a cheery smile, apparently undeterred by Damian soundly beating him. His main purpose of befriending the fellow had been to have it put about that he’d slept on the sofa in their private parlor, as his cousin, Miss Ridley, the name Lady Diana had chosen for herself, had taken the last bedchamber to be had.
Barrow, a portly fellow with an important air, introduced himself to Miss Ridley and commiserated with Damian in his loud baritone about him having to doss down on a sofa. “And you, such a large gentleman.”
“My cousin is extremely gallant,” Lady Diana said with a smile. “He hasn’t complained, although I suspect he has a crick in his neck this morning.”
Barrow chuckled and, with a slight bow, went to join his party.
Damian drank the last of his coffee, put down the cup, and pushed back his chair. “I’ll pay the bill and see to the bags. When you are ready, wait in the vestibule. I’ll question the kitchen staff.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No sense in that,” he said. “I’ll have more success on my own.”
“Well, with the cook and the maids, no doubt,” she said with a huff. “What about the rest of the staff?”
“I spoke to the others, earlier, with little result.”
“Oh, that is disappointing. But we do have a something we can follow up on today. Who knows where that will take us?”
“Back to Bath by the end of the day,” Damian said, causing her to glower at him.
Lady Diana was akin to handling a hot coal.
