Diana waited for him to disagree. He didn’t.Lud, he was an annoying man.“Why are you so determined not to marry?” she asked, determined to make this conversation more about him.
“My work prevents it. I am often out of the country.”
“So are many in the government or in business. They still marry and have children.”
“That arrangement doesn’t suit everyone.”
No, not a passionate man like Ballantine. A man who fed on excitement. Not to mention this work he did for the crown, which was vital to the country and must have been very dangerous. She would be a good wife for him because she would let him go off without complaint. She didn’t believe marriage would give her the right to make unreasonable demands. But would he be unfaithful? That was one thing she couldn’t accept after seeing how much it had hurt her mother. She’d even travel with him. Women followed the drum, after all. But not spies, she supposed. Their lives would be very different. Surely, even spies wished for hearth and home when they returned to England?
She kept these thoughts to herself while she packed the remaining crockery in the hamper. Once she’d closed the lid, he stood and gathered up the blanket, tucking it under his arm. She offered her his hand. He pulled her to her feet with her hat in her hand and their gazes locked. Her heart began that annoying hammering again. The breeze strengthened, stirring the leaves overhead and playing havoc with her hair before she could don her hat, unraveling a lock and sending it flying across her face. Shetskedand put her hand up to order it.
“Allow me. Stand still.” He dropped the blanket and tucked the errant lock behind her ear. Then stood regarding it. “You have pretty hair.”
“It’s just brown. Blondes were more in demand during the Season.”And those with large bosoms, she imagined, recalling her father’s paintings.
“The sunlight brings out the gold in your hair.” He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her on the uneven grass. “Wait, there’s another curl about to escape the pins.”
Terribly pleased he liked her hair, she couldn’t help wondering how experienced he was with women’s tresses. As he angled the pin back into what she feared was like an untidy owl’s nest, she availed herself of the opportunity to study him at close quarters, his sharp cheekbones, his smooth skin, and his long, black eyelashes. He stood so close that his breath, scented with lemons and raisins, warmed her cheek. She began leaning toward him.
“It shan’t blow in your eyes now,” he said hoarsely.
Without thinking, she traced her finger over his smooth jaw. He’d shaved this morning. His troubled, brown eyes locked with her own gaze, and after a strained moment, he took her hand and kissed the palm. “Shall we go?”
The touch of his lips on her skin lingered after he drew away and picked up the rug and the basket.
Why had she done that? The need to touch him, to be close, perplexed her as she pulled on her gloves, donned her bonnet and tied the ribbons.
He offered her his free hand to help her over the rough meadow grass, and they made their way silently back to the carriage.
She welcomed the clasp of his long fingers. Even if he didn’t love her, he cared about her. It warmed her through to her core. As if she had gained a chivalrous knight who would slaydragons for her. To be fair, Papa had done his best to raise her after her mother had died, but he had his art, and as a parent, must release her into another man’s hands. She’d never felt so protected. Not since her mother had wrapped her up in her love.Don’t get used to it! This will all end within a few hours.Endeavoring to keep up with Ballantine’s long stride, she wished things were different. But what good did wishing ever do?
Diana pushed these thoughts away, already keen to go on. Within a few hours, they might learn the truth, but she went cold with fear at what that might be.
*
Damian’s stubborn brainkept telling him Diana was his. That no other woman could come close to the way he felt about her. But it didn’t matter, even if she felt the same. And he suspected she might. She liked to tease him, to touch him. Resisting her almost drove him mad. Remembering the way she’d responded to his kiss, pressing herself against him, her soft hands moving over his back. He hadn’t suffered this level of frustration without acting on it since a callow youth. His body ached with wanting her. Even touching her, threading his fingers through hers as they walked back to the carriage, made him want her. Want much more time with her. To discover everything about her: her funny quirks and endearing foibles.
He sensed himself edging recklessly closer to something he couldn’t control. Odd, when he’d faced far worse trouble with the confidence he’d always handle it. But this intense feeling, as if, once they parted, he’d go back to a life he now recognized as empty, despite all the successes he’d had on his missions, left him oddly defenseless. Within days, he could leave England and must keep reminding himself of the fact. Undertaking dangerous work for Scovell needed his full attention. With Dianaon his mind, he could slip up and endanger himself, and perhaps others. He tightened his jaw. Once they were comfortably seated and the carriage had gotten underway, he took control, as he probably should have done days ago. “We must return to Bath after visiting the Smythes’ cottage. I intend to leave you at the Howards’ home before day’s end. Then return to London.”
Diana’s dark-blue eyes met his. “Yes, I understand, Ballantine.”
The determination to pursue this quest to the bitter end had faded from her eyes. Had she come to believe as he did, they would not find Lady Anne alive? It was his fault if so, and he was sorry for it. He’d humored Diana on this quest, while remaining skeptical, but he wanted to find the answer to this mystery as much as she did.
Chapter Fifteen
Diana fought bitterdisappointment at Ballantine’s emphatic statement. He didn’t want to risk spending another night with her, and she had too much pride to show that he’d hurt her. In spite of knowing he had never been hers nor ever would be. But must she soon have to give up her search for Anne, too? Not wishing him to read her thoughts, she sat forward on the seat and stared out the window, searching for a sign of the cottage.
After traveling several miles, a building appeared on a narrow strip of fenced land. Diana’s chest tightened, and she turned back to Ballantine. “Do you think that’s the Smythes’ house?”
“Might be.” Ballantine ordered the coachman to stop.
A weedy path led up to a shabby cottage where white paint peeled from the window frames and the front door. “It looks deserted,” she said, turning to him.
“Shall we find out?”
Opening the carriage door, Ballantine leaped to the ground. With his hands warm and strong at her waist, he swung her down. They made their way along a muddy path that led to the front door. Her heart sank. Surely, the villain could not keep Anne a prisoner here? As Ballantine knocked, she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
Diana gripped her hands together. She appreciated Ballantine’s calm touch on her back as they waited.
