The Regency Season: Forbidden Pleasures: The Rake to Rescue Her / The Rake to Reveal Her

Very well, she thought, nodding to herself in the mirror. She would accompany her son to the park, and if Alastair did appear, she would approach him. He might well give her the cut direct, or slap her face, but if he allowed her to speak, she would fulfil her vow and tell him the story.

At the thought of seeing him again, a tiny flicker of anticipation bubbled up from deep within. Holding her breath and squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she stifled it.

* * *

Having awakened before dawn to pace his room until daylight, Alastair chose to avoid breakfast, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hide his agitation from his eagle-eyed sister. When mid-morning finally came, Alastair set out from the Crescent, his exuberant nephew in tow.

Much as he’d tried to tell himself this was just another day, a trip to the park with Robbie like any other, he failed miserably at keeping his mind from drifting always back, like a lodestone to the north, to the possibility of seeing Diana again—a possibility that flooded him with contradictory emotions.

The defiant need to confront her and force a reaction, and curiosity over what that reaction might be, warred with the desire to cut her completely. Overlaying all was a smouldering anger that she had the power to so effectively penetrate his defences that he’d been required to employ every bit of his self-control to keep the memories at bay—a task he’d not fared so well at while half-conscious. He’d slept poorly, waking time and again to scattered bits of images he’d hastily blotted out before trying to sleep again.

Fatigued and irritable, he tried to focus on Robbie’s eager chatter, which alternated between enthusiastic praise of the horse his uncle had ridden to Bath, a wheedling plea to be allowed to sit on said horse, and anticipation at meeting his new friend again.

‘The boy may not be able to come today,’ Alastair said, the warning as much for his own benefit as for Robbie’s. ‘You may have to settle for just the company of your dull old uncle.’

‘Uncle Alastair, you’re never dull! And you will let me ride Fury when we get back home, won’t you? We can still stop for cakes, can’t we? And I’m sure James will come again. His nurse promised!’

‘Did she, now?’ Alastair raised a sceptical eyebrow, amused out of his agitation by the ease with which his nephew turned a possibility into a certainty, simply because he wished it. How wonderful to possess such innocence!

But then, maybe it wasn’t. He’d had his innocence torched out of him by one splendid fireball of humiliation.

Whatever reply Robbie made faded in his ears as they entered Sidney Gardens—and Alastair saw her. Shock pulsated from his toes to his ears, and once again, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Dressed modestly all in black—at least her critics couldn’t fault her there—Diana sat on a bench, as her son tossed his ball to the nursemaid on a nearby verge of grass. While Alastair worked to slow his pulse and settle his breathing, Robbie, with a delighted shout, ran ahead to meet his friend.

Now was the moment, and with a sense of panic, Alastair realised he still wasn’t sure what he wanted. If Diana turned to him, should he speak with her? Ignore her? If she did not acknowledge him, should he go right up to her and force his presence on her?

Before he could settle on a course of action, with a grace that sent a shudder of memory and longing through him, Diana rose from the bench—and approached him.

‘Mr Ransleigh,’ she said as she dipped a curtsy to his stiff bow. ‘Might I claim a moment of your time?’

A reply sprang without thought to his lips. ‘Do you think you deserve that?’

‘I am sure I do not,’ she replied, the serenity of her countenance untroubled by his hostile words. ‘However, I vowed if I were ever given a chance, I would explain to you what happened eight years ago.’

The violet scent she’d always worn invaded his senses. Unconsciously, he looked down, into eyes as arrestingly blue as he remembered from the day they first captivated him. No lines marred the softness of her skin, and the few dark curls escaping from under her bonnet made him recall how he’d loved combing his fingers through those thick, sable locks. Desire—powerful, potent, unstoppable—rose up to choke him.

He had to get away. ‘Do you really think, after all this time, that I care what happened?’ he spat out. ‘Good day, Duchess.’ Pivoting on one boot, he paced away from her down the gravelled path.

He heard the crunch of her footsteps following behind him. Torn between a surge of triumph that this time, she was pursuing him, and a need to escape before he lost what little control he had left, he could barely make sense of her words.

‘Although I may not deserve to be heard, since you are a gentleman, Mr Ransleigh, I know you will allow me to speak. Infamous as I am, it’s best that I do so here, now, out of sight and earshot of any gossips.’

‘I have never paid any attention to gossips,’ Alastair flung back, turning to face her. She halted a step away, and he couldn’t help noticing the flush in her cheeks, the rapid breathing that caused her bosom to rise and fall beneath the modest pelisse—as if she were recovering from a round of passion.

Desire flared again, thick in his blood, pounding in his ears. Curse it, why must the Almighty be so cruel as to leave him still so strongly attracted to this woman?

But what she said was true—if she was determined to speak with him, it was far better here than at some ball or musicale or—worse yet—a social function at which Jane was also present. ‘Very well, say what you must.’

‘Walk with me, then.’

In truth, some tiny honest particle of his brain admitted, he wasn’t sure he could have turned away. Curiosity and lust pulled him to her, stronger than reason, common sense, or his normal highly developed sense of self-preservation.

Despite the volatile mix of anger, confusion, pain and desire coursing through him, he also noted that, though she asked him to walk with her, she did not offer him her arm.

Not that it mattered. So intensely conscious was he of her body a foot from his, he could almost hear her breaths and feel the pulse in her veins.

‘I met the Duke of Graveston at one of the first balls of my debut Season,’ she began. ‘He asked me to dance and accorded me polite interest, but I thought nothing of it. He was older, married, and I had eyes for only one man.’

Her words struck him to the core, despite the fact that she said them simply, unemotionally, as if stating a fact of mild interest. Swallowing hard, he forced his attention back to her narrative, the next few words of which he’d already missed.

‘...began seeing him at home, visiting Papa. They had similar scientific interests, Papa said when I asked him. It wasn’t until some months later that I learned just what those “interests” truly were. By that time, the Duke’s wife had died. To my astonishment, he proposed to me. I politely refused, telling him that my heart and hand had already been pledged to another. He...laughed. And told me that he was certain I would change my mind after I carefully measured the advantages of becoming his Duchess against marrying a young man of no title who was still dependent upon his father.’

Though they walked side by side, Alastair noticed Diana seemed increasingly detached, as if, transported to some other place and time, she was no longer even conscious of his presence. ‘He returned a week later, asked me again, and received the same answer. In fact, I urged him to look elsewhere for a bride, as, though I was fully aware of the honour of his offer, it did not and would never interest me. He said that was regrettable, but he had chosen me for his wife, and marry him I would.’

Alastair had to laugh at that fantastic statement. ‘Are you truly trying to persuade me that he “gave you no choice”? That horse won’t run! This isn’t the Middle Ages—a girl can’t be forced into marriage.’

She nodded, still not looking at him. ‘So I thought. But I was wrong. You see, those “visits” to Papa hadn’t just been spent in scientific discourse. They’d also been gaming together—a pleasant match among friends, Papa later called it when I taxed him about it. But the Duke was a very skilful player, and Papa was not. When I refused again to marry him, he produced vouchers Papa had signed—vouchers worth thousands of pounds. Unless I married him, he said, he would call them in. Of course, there was no possible way Papa could have repaid such a sum. He would be sent to debtors’ prison, the Duke said. How long did I think, with his delicate health, he would last in Newgate? At first, I was certain the Duke was joking. He soon convinced me he was not. He warned that if I said a word about this to my father, he would have him clapped in prison, regardless of what I did. I didn’t dare call his bluff.’

Scarcely about to credit anyone capable of perpetrating such a Byzantine scheme, Alastair retorted, ‘Why did you not come to me, then? True, I’d not yet inherited, but I could have persuaded my father to advance me a sum, and borrowed more on my expectations.’

‘He threatened to ruin you, too, if I gave you even a hint of what he intended.’

‘Ruin me? How?’ Alastair replied derisively. ‘I was never a gamester, and though I was certainly no saint at university, I’d done nothing serious enough to dishonour my name, no matter how the facts might be distorted.’

She paused a moment, as if to say more, then shook her head. ‘This would have.’

‘No, it’s all preposterous!’ Alastair burst out. ‘Graveston did have a sinister presence about him, but I can’t believe he convinced you he would do what he threatened.’

She turned to give him a sad smile. ‘Do you remember my little spaniel, Ribbons?’

‘The black-and-white one with the ears that trailed in the wind?’

‘Like ribbons, yes. After the Duke revealed his intentions, he gave me a day to think it over. When he returned the next day, he asked me how my dog was. I’d not seen Ribbons that morning, and when I looked, I found him—dead. The Duke merely smiled, and told me as his Duchess, I could have as many dogs as I liked.’

Despite himself, Alastair felt the implication of those words like a blow to the stomach.

She continued, ‘As you know, we were a small household—just Cook and two maids and a man-of-all-work, all of whom had been with us for years. I questioned each one, and they all swore they’d seen—or done—nothing unusual. I realised then, if the Duke could bribe one of my own household to harm an innocent dog, or infiltrate someone who would, he was perfectly capable of forcing Papa into prison and ruining you. That the only thing to prevent him extracting retribution upon the people I loved would be for me to marry him. His final requirement in leaving you both unharmed was to never tell either of you the truth. You must both believe I married him of my own free will.’

Struggling to decide whether to accept the story she’d just told, Alastair shook his head. ‘It’s...it’s unthinkable that someone would act in such a fashion.’

‘Very true. Another reason why the Duke didn’t worry about my confiding in anyone but you or Papa. Who would believe such a story?’

‘Well, I don’t,’ Alastair retorted, making up his mind. Feeling both betrayed and disgusted that she would try to fob off on him such a Banbury tale, he said, ‘Besides, do you really think your apology now makes any difference to me? Frankly, I would respect you more if you just admitted the truth—that the lure of a duchess’s coronet outweighed whatever I could offer you.’

She turned to him, for a long moment silently studying his face. ‘I have told you the truth. I cannot make you believe it, of course. But I did want you to know that it was not for any lack in you that I wed another man.’

‘I never thought it was.’