Her next words cut deeper than anything else she could have said. “Because I do not know you, sir. And I am not accustomed to allowing men I do not know into my home, no matter what promises they or my brother make.”
That hurt. Never—not even when they were teenagers—had she spoken to anyone with that imperious tone. It clogged his throat with surprising pain, but he still got his words out.
“You do know me,” he said.
She sucked in a breath. “No—”
“You know that I failed you once, Diana. Which is why I will not fail you again. I swear it.”
She shook her head, and her eyes shone brightly. “I put no faith in the promises of men.”
Simpson straightened in shock. “My lady!”
“Diana, you are being illogical—”
“Enough!” she snapped as she slashed her hand through the air. He watched her gather her dignity in the way she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She looked at Simpson first, and his cheeks burned red at her hard regard.
“My lady—” he began, pain in his tone.
“You want him here?” she asked.
He swallowed and nodded. “I think it best.”
She did not look at Lucas. “Then you will be sure that I never cross paths with him inside this house. Fill my home to the rafters with his large men, but I will not set eyes on Mr. Lucifer again.” She coated his name with disdain. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Then she swept between them, her skirts nearly trapping his ankles as she moved through, only to release him with the force of a whip letting go. She had every right to hate him. Twelve years ago, he had failed her. But in all his daydreams of how they might meet again, never had he expected this. That the very sight of him would fill her with fury.
Except it hadn’t at first. Her eyes had softened and… And she had tried to boot him from her home. And while he was thinking about that, Simpson blew out a slow breath.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to keep you two apart. If your men—”
“I’m afraid I’m about to disappoint her ladyship again.”
“What?”
“I have no intention of staying apart from her.” He hadn’t even realized he meant the words until he’d spoken them. So much had changed for them both in twelve years. And yet, the drive to be by her side hadn’t lessened one jot. He’d suppressed it for twelve long years, but now, after seeing her again, he could not abandon her again. Not even if she brought in the royal guard to throw him into the street.
“I have promised to protect her, Simpson. That means I will be at her side every minute of every day until that blighter is gone from England.”
Simpson was quiet for a long moment, then he pursed his lips. “She won’t like that, my lord. And though she might not look like much, she can fight in unexpected ways.”
In that respect, they were well and truly matched.
Chapter Four
Damn, damn, damn!The words sounded in Diana’s thoughts with every step she took away from her downstairs desk. Twelve years—twelve years!—she had worked night and day to gain respect from the people around her. She’d been a child when she’d taken over the reins of the household, and the staff had run roughshod over her. Her husband had been oblivious to the sleights handed her by everyone from the lowest maid and up through every single one of Oscar’s older and crueler children.
She hadn’t known how to manage anything, but by God, she’d learned. It had been the mother of her dearest school friend who had taught her that respect came from two things: money and a cool head. She had to gain control of the household finances and wield that money with calm, level-headed authority. No histrionics, no whining. Simple, implacable rules.
It sounded so easy, but learning to do it had been the most exacting lesson of her life. Her mother had taught her to wheedle and simper her way into what she wanted. But that only worked on society men. She’d stood firm against her husband when he complained that she’d upset the house by sacking the insolent housekeeper. She’d used the very same words with him that she had a few moments ago. “I am the mistress, am I not?” and “I control who comes and goes in my own household, do I not?”
Since she had not simpered or been tearful, he had bowed to her logic. He’d had no excuse to send her to her room for being too emotional. And in such a way, she’d gained control of her staff. They were obedient to her wishes, or they were fired, whether they were new hires or lifelong retainers pensioned off without a tear of regret.
That had been the first step, and it had taken two years for her to root out those servants who gave their allegiance to her stepdaughter Penelope, Lady Beddoe. The woman was a vicious shrew with nothing better to do than to make sure Diana felt small as all her plans turned to ash.
It had taken several more years of strict, unemotional management before her husband sought her advice on how to handle his increasingly wild heir, Geoffrey. Even then, he’d asked her advice out of desperation. If he’d listened to her then, she wouldn’t be in her current situation, but—ironically—her husband had been too tenderhearted in his dealings with Geoffrey to ever get him under control. Then just last year, her coup de grace.
