Diana, page 11
“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured close to her ear, the first words he’d spoken since the music began.
“You are a superb dancer, my lord. Any woman would enjoy dancing with you.”
“I don’t want any woman. I want you, Diana.”
She shuddered with the words and he tightened his hold on her, drawing her closer than what she deemed appropriate as her breasts grazed his chest. When she tried to pull back some, he held her in place as he continued sweeping her across the dance floor.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, so softly she almost thought she heard him wrong. Then he said, “There’s nothing to be afraid of when it comes to passion. You are a passionate woman, Diana, with a sensual nature. One that should be explored.”
She stiffened. “You shouldn’t speak to a lady in such a manner, Lord Merrifield.”
He smiled, obliterating all her defenses. “You aren’t any lady, Diana. I wouldn’t speak to any woman like I do you.”
Hurt filled her. She realized he’d already heard the rumors and thought her to be wanton. All that talk of meeting with her brother had been a ruse. This man wanted her—as much as she wanted him—but there would be no offer forthcoming. He would try to use her. Just as Stephen had.
Diana would never let him.
Merrifield’s head drew close, his lips grazing her earlobe. “I would only talk like this to my wife.”
He pulled away and she saw the fire and desire blazing in those crystal blue eyes.
“I’m going to marry you, Diana de Wolfe. As soon as you’ll let me.”
Chapter Twelve
Diana’s feet stopped moving but Merrifield somehow moved her along the dance floor until she had enough sense to match his steps again. The music came to an end and she didn’t think she could breathe, much less move. Couples around them passed by, eagerly heading to the sumptuous supper she’d heard about all evening long.
“Lord Merrifield, I—”
“Oliver,” he prompted.
She looked at him blankly.
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Oliver?”
“I . . . I didn’t know your given name.”
He placed her hand on his forearm and led her to where the others went. “Now you do. I expect to hear it often. When you’re happy with me. When you’re exasperated. When you want something.” He paused. “When you want me.”
Her fingers tightened on his sleeve and he chuckled. “Especially when you want me.” He stopped them and glanced around. Seeing no one near, he added, “I plan to touch you everywhere, Diana, once you have my name and you’re in my bed. Our bed. You’ll sigh my name. Pant it. Cry it in pleasure. I hope you’ll agree it should be a short engagement. A very short engagement.”
Before she could tell him there would be no engagement, he moved her along again and she found herself in a crowded room with guests surrounding them. It wouldn’t be fair to tell him around all of these people. She would do so once supper ended and then find Derek and leave the ball. It was enough knowing he’d offered for her. That—and the memory of his kiss—would be what helped her through the lonely nights to come.
He led her across the room and she found herself at none other than the Duke of Everton’s large table, set apart from the others in the room. It included not only his wife but his siblings and their mates, as well as Lord and Lady Alford, whom she knew was sister to the duchess. Everyone greeted them warmly and then Merrifield said, “We have good news to share.”
Diana hadn’t a clue that he would announce their engagement so soon, else she would have asked him to wait. She gripped his wrist and pulled, trying to get his attention, but he ignored her.
“Lady Diana and I are to be married.”
She went hot all over, as if her entire body blushed with all the sudden attention. The sea of faces swam in front of her and she heard words of congratulations without comprehending what was being said. She smiled but felt ill. Panicked, she looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed what was happening.
Rachel placed an arm about her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Evan and I are so happy for you and Merrifield. You were meant to be together.”
Diana merely nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything. She remained in that state of confusion throughout supper, especially when Merrifield took her hand under the table. His fingers entwined with hers, causing a flood of warmth to rush through her. The place between her legs began pulsating with the thought of him touching her there. She closed her eyes, the ache within her fierce.
“Would you like to get some fresh air?”
She opened her eyes and nodded. He rose and helped her from her seat, escorting her through a set of nearby French doors to the terrace. Unfortunately, the night had turned chilly. She shivered the moment they set foot outside.
“It’s too cool for you to be here,” he said and quickly led her indoors and back to the ballroom.
They danced again since he’d signed her programme and claimed the after-supper spot. She went through the motions, savoring his nearness and yet preparing herself for his rejection. Diana hoped only those at their table had heard his announcement. They seemed to be his closest friends and would rally about him once her secrets became public knowledge.
The dance ended and he took her to stand where Rachel and Lady Alford conversed.
“I’ll be back for the final dance of the evening,” he promised. “I want to check on Amelia again.”
Diana realized it was his sister’s first ball and nodded encouragingly. A friend of Derek’s claimed her and as they danced, she tried to collect her thoughts. Unfortunately, between her woolgathering and her partner’s lack of skills, they moved awkwardly across the ballroom. She was about to ask him if he wished to stop when his feet somehow landed on the hem of her dress. As she moved her own feet away, his stayed—and tore the hem of her gown.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Diana. I’m bollocks at dancing. Oh, I’m sorry again. I shouldn’t say things such as that. I’m just so bloody clumsy.”
“That’s all right. There’s a maid in the ladies’ retiring room. She can help mend it. If you’ll excuse me.”
Diana lifted her dress and wove her wave through the crowd, happy to have any excuse to leave the dance floor. She arrived at the retiring room and ducked inside, seeing the maid she’d spotted on an earlier visit.
“I’ve had a bit of an accident,” she began.
The woman chuckled. “Another lord with two left feet and a ruined gown. Don’t worry, my lady. Come with me.”
The servant led her to a corner and turned the chair to where it faced the wall.
“Have a seat.”
Diana did so and the maid perched on a stool, quickly threading a needle, and said, “This way you’re facing away from those who enter. It will allow me to hike up your skirts a bit and allow you your privacy while I fix things up for you.”
“Thank you. What is your name?”
“I’m Abbie, my lady.”
“And I am Lady Diana. Thank you for helping me.”
“It happens all the time. These men might have lofty titles and wealth but too many of them don’t know how to dance properly.” Abbie took the ripped hem in hand. “I don’t have quite the lilac thread to match your gown but this is close. As it is, it’s a quick repair job, just enough to get you through the next hour before you leave. I doubt anyone’ll be looking at your feet.”
As Abbie held the gown steady and her hand bobbed up and down with its needle, Diana could hear people coming and going, bit and pieces of their conversation floating in her direction.
“I can’t believe she thought to even come tonight.”
She cringed at the familiar voice.
Linda.
“Why do you say so, Lady Ashmore? I met her earlier. She seemed perfectly lovely,” a second voice replied.
“I met her brother. Reston, I believe. But not her. What do you know that we don’t?”
A long pause caused Diana to grip her hands tightly in her lap. Abbie looked up with sympathetic eyes and then lowered them, focusing on the gown.
“She’s already been ruined,” Linda said.
Her two companions gasped.
“I was an acquaintance of hers as a girl, before my father’s death and Mama remarried and we moved away. Mama never liked me being around Diana. She thought her too forward.”
Diana bit her lip. The total opposite was true. Linda was forever getting them in trouble. It had been Diana’s mother who’d warned her to keep her distance from Linda.
“Then how do you know she’s ruined?” one woman demanded.
Linda snorted. “Everyone in Northumberland knows the tale, Lady Maria. Some man—which she refused to name—ruined her. And got her with child.”
“No!”
“Oh, yes. Lord Reston tossed her from his household because she refused to name the man and wouldn’t give up the child. I heard she moved to some nearby village. No one of quality speaks to her. Who would after they learned something so sordid?”
Abbie’s hand slipped to Diana’s and held fast.
“Lord Merrifield must not know. He’s danced with her twice, you know. They even supped together at Everton’s table. I even heard he signed her dance card three times!”
“Then someone must tell him,” Linda declared. “His own sister is making her come-out. It will ruin her chances of a good match if her brother’s name is coupled with such a trollop.”
“Maybe he already knows. Merrifield could charm the chemise off a Patroness from Almack’s. He might have heard and merely wishes to have his way with her.”
“True,” Linda agreed. “But if he doesn’t know, I must inform him. I will do so when he claims her for another dance. Better he know than face humiliation.”
The three women tittered and left, the room now empty. Tears cascaded down Diana’s cheeks.
“That Lady Ashmore is a wicked one,” Abbie said. “She’s always interfering in others’ lives.”
Diana pulled her hands from the maid’s and wiped her cheeks. “What she said about me is truth. And Lord Merrifield does not know. I’ve tried to tell him . . .” Her voice trailed off and she stood. “Thank you, Abbie. I’m grateful for your service tonight.”
With that, Diana left the retiring room and went to the immense foyer. She didn’t want to see anyone. She’d lost her chance to tell Oliver the truth and try to cushion the blow. Linda Ashmore would ruin her even more than she already was.
Diana hurried to the door and a footman opened it, concern on his face. She ignored him and rushed into the cold night air. Lines of carriages were everywhere. All she wanted to do was find theirs and hide from the world.
Oliver watched with satisfaction as Amelia whirled by him. She partnered with a baron of a good family who knew quite a bit about horses, much more acceptable than the last scoundrel who’d claimed a dance from her. That man was known for his frequent visits to various gaming hells. He would make sure to tell his sister not to have anything to do with this particular viscount in the future.
He glanced over the dance floor and still didn’t spy Diana. He’d seen when the poor oaf’s feet tangled and tore the hem of her gown. She’d headed toward the retiring room, where he knew she would find someone to help repair the ripped material. Still, she’d been gone through three dances now, standing up her partners. He decided to go check on her.
Approaching the room, he tapped on the door. A servant opened it with an inquiring look.
“I’m looking for Lady Diana de Wolfe,” he said. “I think she might be in here. I wanted to see if she’s all right.”
The woman glanced over her shoulder and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
“She’s not good. Are you Lord Merrifield?”
He started. “I am. Did she mention me?”
The maid shook her head. “No. But Lady Ashmore did, so intent on spreading her gossip that she never saw Lady Diana in the corner of the room.”
Oliver tensed. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
The servant shook her head. “No, my lord. I can’t. I won’t hurt Lady Diana that way.”
“Did Lady Ashmore talk of Lady Diana being ruined?” he asked evenly, trying to harness the anger that threatened to spill out.
The maid’s eyes widened. “You know? I . . . I don’t think Lady Diana believes you do.”
“I already knew—and I offered for her anyway. Where could she have gone? She’s not in the ballroom.”
“That I can’t say, my lord. She hurried away, very upset. Lady Ashmore said she was going to approach you when you danced again with Lady Diana and tell you the truth.”
Oliver knew at once that Diana would feel defeated.
“Thank you,” he murmured and turned away.
As he moved toward the ballroom again, he wondered if she’d found Reston and asked him to leave. If so, they could still be here. Their carriage would be buried among many others, with no way out. Oliver hurried toward the door and spied a footman.
“You. Did you see a lady in a lilac gown leave anytime during the last quarter-hour?”
“I did, my lord. She looked most distressed.”
“Thank you.”
He threw open the door and went outside. As expected, a sea of carriages awaited him. Striding to a man in livery, he asked, “Might you know where the Earl of Reston’s carriage is located?”
The man scratched his head. “Again?” He pointed to his left. “It’s over that way.”
“Did a woman in lilac ask the same thing?” he persisted.
“Yes, my lord. I showed her to it.”
“Take me,” Oliver ordered. “Now.” His tone brokered no nonsense.
“Follow me.”
The man led him down one row and they cut between coaches to another row.
“There. That’s the one, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
He pressed a coin into the servant’s hand and then took a few deep breaths. He needed to curb his rage before he entered the vehicle. Diana had done nothing to deserve his wrath. That would be reserved for Lady Ashmore.
Oliver placed his hand on the handle and quietly opened the door. Immediately, he heard sobbing and his heart ached at the hurt he heard in those shed tears. He climbed into the carriage and the weeping abruptly stopped.
“What are you doing here?” Diana asked, her voice trembling.
He could only see her silhouette from the dim light that came from the open door. He closed it behind him and sat next to her, darkness now surrounding them. Oliver sensed her trying to move away and he caught her shoulders.
“Stay,” he urged soothingly, as if he tried to calm a wild animal. “Please.”
A sob escaped from her and he moved his hands to cradle her face, damp with tears.
“I’m here, love. I’m here.”
She placed her hands against his chest and pushed at him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Diana,” he warned. “You’re stuck with me.”
“No,” she wailed. “I’m ruined. I’ll ruin you and your sister, too. You must get away from me, Oliver.”
His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “No. We are a team now. You and I against the world.”
“But—”
“No buts, Diana.” He paused. “I know.” Oliver slid his hands along her throat and down her slender arms, capturing her hands.
She stilled. He heard her ragged breathing in the dark. “You know what I did? How? I haven’t told you. Oh, that bloody Linda Ashmore already found you,” she said bitterly. “The entire ballroom will have heard by now.”
“No.” He squeezed her hands. “I’ve met Finn and Mena. I know they are yours.”
Diana gasped. “But . . . how . . .”
“I don’t know the particulars. I don’t care what happened, love. You can tell me if you wish. Or not. It won’t matter. I still want to marry you. I want to have a family with you. I feel lucky already, knowing I’ll get to help raise your twins. Our twins.”
“Oliver, I don’t know what to say.” He heard the wonder in her voice.
“You don’t have to say a word, Diana. I leave the choice in your hands. If you kiss me, I’ll stay by your side. I’ll marry you and call Finn and Mena my own.” He paused. “If you do nothing, I’ll leave the coach and you’ll be released from our engagement. I’ll never trouble you again.
“The choice . . . is yours.”
Chapter Thirteen
Diana froze in indecision.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kiss Oliver and destroy his life. His standing with the ton. His sister’s chance at making a good match.
Because she loved him.
Slowly, she pulled her hands from his and swallowed painfully. “I’m sorry.”
There’d be no husband in her future. No father for Finn and Mena. They would return to Northumberland, back to their old way of life. Derek would be disappointed in her and probably never wish to see her or the twins again. Misery filled her, thinking of the empty years that lay ahead. It was the right thing to do, though. To let him go.
A long moment passed, the air charged between them. She sensed his hesitation in leaving the carriage with so much still left unsaid between them.
And then it hit her. Oliver gave her the choice. He hadn’t demanded anything from her. He wanted her to have control over her future. Their future. He was willing to suffer whatever gossip was slung at them. All to be with her.
He started to rise and she cried, “Wait!”
Reaching for him in the dark, she caught his arm and pulled him back. Her hands found his face and she pulled it toward her. Their lips met and a spark ignited within her. Oliver lifted her into his lap and Diana wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with everything she had, trying to show him what he meant to her.
In between kisses, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you go.”
He kissed her hard. “I was so afraid you would.”
“I didn’t want to.” She kissed him again. “I love you.”
