He laughed. “You think me ungrateful. I assure you I am grateful, for waking me so nicely and sending the highwaymen riding for their lives before I had to a chance to even gather my wits about me.”
He was making fun of her, but she couldn’t help a grin.
The music began, and a large, warm hand spanned the back of her waist as the dance commenced. Her heart thumped with the rising tempo of Mozart’s waltz music. She breathed in hisfresh scent, starch and a musky soap, and something essentially male. Very much aware of their closeness, she darted a glance at his face, until he turned her. Spinning and coming together left her breathless to do anything but mind her steps. He was an excellent dancer, moving her gracefully around the dance floor as other couples twirled by. She glanced up at the hard line of his jaw. Did he really mean to refuse to help her? She hadn’t given up on Lord Ballantine yet. He was right. It wasn’t in her nature, not until she absolutely had to admit defeat.
*
“Your cheeks aredelightfully pink, Lady Diana,” Damian said. “Shall I slow the pace?”
Lady Diana’s expression gently mocked him. “You make me sound like a dowager. I love to dance. And to gallop my horse over the meadows at home.”
Damian swept her over the floor, turning her, then reversing. He enjoyed making her gasp. Dancing was akin to bedding a woman in his estimation, although only the first step in a seduction. Such thoughts led to how delicious it would be to have her moaning with pleasure beneath him. A pleasure he would never have, sadly.
Their steps slowed with the music, and she laughed, clutching his shoulder. It pleased him to see her so happy, if only for a moment. The horror of losing her friend had obviously affected her a good deal. It must have been hard for her to accept her friend was dead, but from his experience of such crimes, they almost always ended badly.
The music rose again, sending them twirling, then having reached its crescendo, slowed and then the dance ended.
A loud murmur rose as the dancers caught their breaths.
With a gasp, Lady Diana held on to his arm. “You are an accomplished dancer, my lord.”
His gaze roamed appreciatively over her graceful body and back to her delicately featured face, her firmly rounded chin, her heavy mane of gold-brown hair that invited a man’s hands. Oh, to see it down around her bare shoulders. She was enchanting. He must see her again. “Might I find you riding in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
“You might. I usually ride at nine o’clock before the rush.”
“So early? You shall not be abed until dawn,” he observed.
“I can never sleep late in the city. The mornings here are so noisy.”
Or she’s too troubled by her friend’s disappearance to sleep well, perhaps.“Then I hope to see you in Rotten Row on Saturday morning.”
It wasn’t his inclination to ride often while in London—it was inferior to the country—but for her, he certainly would. He offered her his arm to escort her from the floor.
“I shall look forward to seeing you should you be there, my lord.”
After leaving her with the dowager duchess, who looked him up and down with sharp-eyed interest, Damian walked away, questioning his sanity. This young woman was not available to him for a liaison. His usual choice of married women or widows who asked little of him beyond satisfying their mutual desires was by far the most sensible. Never an innocent. And despite her bluster, he believed Lady Diana to be that. She’d attended the Season to find a husband, no matter what she had told Sir Charles. Dallying with her, with no intention of marrying her, was not only morally wrong, it risked him finding himself facing the parson’s mousetrap. But he expected to be back in Lisbon before the month was out, well before the temptation to discovermore of Lady Diana’s charms threatened to overcome his good sense.
Trying to come to terms with how out of sorts he’d felt of late, he supposed that now that death so often danced at his heels, he sought something more vital and alive in his life. And Lady Diana had seemed happy for a fleeting moment during the dance. Could he make her happy like that again? He’d like to try. Or was it too soon after the loss of her friend? A ride in the park, and perhaps a stolen kiss, should the opportunity arise, wouldn’t hurt, would it? He shook his head, bemused by the direction of his thoughts.
A friend, Garth Camberwell, laughed as he joined him, slapping him on the back. “I’ve never seen you stunned by a woman, Damian. Tread carefully, or you’ll be married before you know it.”
Was his interest in Lady Diana so obvious to everyone? He must get control of himself. “Not I, Garth. Let’s find a waiter.” He grimaced, looking for a footman, with little confidence of securing a whiskey.
“Scovell wishes to speak to you. He’s in the library.”
“Very well. Lead the way.”
In the imposing, book-filled library, the smell of leather bindings and beeswax fought with the aromatic smoke from Scovell’s cigar. Two men Damian knew from Horse Guards sat opposite him.
Scovell looked up at their entrance. “Ah, Ballantine, Camberwell. Pour yourselves a drink and join us.”
Garth declined and took a chair.
Arranged on a silver tray, a variety of bottles and crystal decanters caught Damian’s attention as he went to the sideboard. Returning with a whiskey, he took the comfortable, upholstered chair beside Garth’s. A deep sip of the alcohol warmed its way down his throat as Scovell spoke.
“We arrested a Frenchman who has confirmed a nest of spies here in London.” He stroked his moustache, his eyes grim. “Unfortunately, the information he gave us concerning their hiding place has proved useless. They keep on the move, which makes it difficult to round them up. We are looking into the most prominent British supporters of Bonaparte. The Whigs who oppose the government’s determination to see the Bourbons restored to power. Baron and Baroness Holland, are known to be followers of Bonaparte, and recently entertained Frenchmen at their home in Kensington. Their naivete and admiration of Bonaparte would make them useful to the French.” Exhaling cigar smoke, he nodded to Damian. “Ballantine, I believe you would be in the best position to investigate them. Find out if the Holland’s affection for our enemy has turned treasonable, and if there are dangerous people we should know about among their friends.” He clamped on his jaw. “Is it too much to hope that we might find the spies in their company? That they have yet to smuggle the documents over to Bonaparte? It might not be too late to retrieve them before that happens.”
“What if they already suspect me?” Damian asked. “They could have been behind the attempt to hold up my coach.”
