Nicole Jordan (36 page)

An instant later the girl burst into the room, her gaze searching wildly, her body stiffening when she spied Diana. “How could you!” she exclaimed in a hoarse voice. “How could you betray me that way?”

Diana’s brows drew together in bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”

A flustered John Yates limped into the studio directly behind Amy, looking red-faced and out of breath, as if he had rushed to keep up with her. “Miss Lunsford, you should not hold your cousin to blame.”

Thorne stepped forward, frowning. “Hold her to blame for what?”

“Yes, for what?” Diana echoed. “Perhaps you had best sit down, Amy, and explain.”

“I don’t wish to sit down!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears. “You have ruined my life!”

Diana carefully put down her brush and palette. “If I have, then I am sorry, but truly, my dear, I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about. How did I betray you?”

“You hired that doxy to turn Reggie against me. You dare not deny it!”

Diana felt her face flush with guilt. They had indeed hired Venus’s employee to seduce Reginald Kneighly away from Amy. But evidently Amy had somehow just learned of their conspiracy.

“Do sit down, Miss Lunsford,” Yates implored. Taking the girl’s elbow, he tried to guide her toward the sitting area near the hearth. But Amy pulled her arm from his grasp and stared at Diana, her lower lip trembling, her tears spilling over. “I cannot believe you capable of such treachery.”

Thorne’s jaw tightened. “You’ll keep a civil tongue when you address your cousin, brat. Diana was not responsible for your suitor’s defection.”

But Amy was too distraught to heed anyone but herself. “Why do you hate me so much, Diana?
Why?
Is it that you want me to be as miserable as you are?”

Dismayed, Diana moved toward her young cousin. “Dearest, you know I don’t hate you, and I certainly don’t want you to be miserable. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Fiercely Amy drew a gloved hand across her damp eyes. “I was shopping this afternoon on Bond Street—Mr. Yates was kind enough to escort me—when what do I see? Reggie embracing a lightskirt right there on the street! My suitor who vowed to love me forever! I would have challenged him at once, but he drove away in his curricle before I could. So I confronted that…Kitty person. I threatened to report her to Bow Street and have her thrown in prison for thievery if she didn’t keep away from Reggie, but she said she had been legitimately employed, paid a generous sum to divert Reggie’s attention from me! It had to be you, Diana.”

“No, it didn’t,” Thorne interrupted. “In fact, I hired Kitty. As your guardian, I felt it my responsibility to protect you from a libertine who was only after your fortune.”

“It was
you
?” Amy gave Thorne a furious glare. “Then you are a horrid, horrid devil. You have ruined my life!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Thorne returned mildly. “And if you could manage to contain your overwrought sensibilities for a moment, you would see that if Kneighly truly loved you, he could never have been seduced away from you.”

Amy recoiled as if Thorne had struck her. For a moment she stared at him, obviously grappling with the truth of his blunt pronouncement. Unable to maintain the eye contact any longer, she glanced blindly beyond him, her gaze coming to rest on his portrait that was leaning against the wall.

Then suddenly covering her face with her hands, Amy burst into tears and turned to run from the studio.

John Yates gave Diana an apologetic, pleading glance. “It is only her pride that is wounded. She doesn’t love that rackety fellow. I will try to console her, Miss Sheridan, to make her see that you and Thorne only wanted what was best for her. She might listen once she is a bit calmer.”

Giving Diana a swift bow, he turned and hurried after Amy.

Diana took a step forward instinctively, as if she, too, might follow her cousin, but Thorne put a hand up to stop her.

“I suggest we allow the tempest to die down for a few days. Yates is right. Amy needs time to come to her senses.”

“I trust you are right,” Diana said dubiously, raising a hand to her throbbing temple. “But it would have been less painful for Amy if she’d never learned about Kitty. I wish I could have spared her that.”

Hearing her own words, Diana felt another stab of guilt. Since moving into her studio house three weeks ago, she’d barely even seen her cousin. She’d neglected Amy purposely, believing the girl would be better off without her presence. But perhaps her strategy had been a mistake. If she’d been with Amy this morning, she could have prevented her from confronting Kitty.

Crossing the studio, Thorne took both Diana’s hands and firmly kissed her on the lips. “Stop fretting. Amy will recover eventually. And Yates will make her see reason once she calms down.”

Diana shook her head, not reassured. It was a moment longer before she registered Thorne’s last comment.

She cast him a puzzled frown. “Since when did John Yates rank so high in Amy’s opinion? She has always treated him so wretchedly.”

“Since she decided to use him to salve her wounded pride at her suitor’s desertion. Yates has called on her frequently the past several weeks. I suspect he sees it as an opportunity to court her.”

“To
court
her?” Diana asked, her tone one of amazement.

Thorne sent her a wry grin. “I know. The course of young love is frequently incomprehensible. But whatever Yates sees in Amy is
beyond
baffling.”

Seventeen

T
he very
next evening Diana was given another illustration of the incomprehensible course of love when she attended Drury Lane Theatre with Thorne. Seated in the box directly across from theirs was none other than her former intended, Francis, Lord Ackland, along with his plump, stiff-necked baroness, Lady Ackland.

For an emotional moment, the sight of Francis’s handsome features and gleaming fair hair gave Diana a pang of bitter memory, but she managed to shrug it off and focus her attention on the other nobles and gentry in the glittering crowd. Since encountering Francis at Amy’s comeout ball, Diana had heard bits and pieces of gossip about his marriage to the wealthy baroness, most notably that he had sired four children and that his wife kept him on a tight leash. And clearly Lady Ackland did not approve of Diana.

It startled her, therefore, when during the first intermission Francis sought her out. Thorne had left the box to speak to friends and to bring her some refreshment, and Francis entered immediately afterward, as if he had been waiting to catch her alone.

He bowed over her hand, and when Diana did not invite him to be seated, stood staring down at her wistfully.

Diana forced a polite smile, aware of the countless pairs of eyes that were trained on her, knowing the crowd anticipated a spectacle.

“Lord Ackland,” she said, finally finding her voice. “What brings you here?”

“I wished to congratulate you on your success, Diana. I saw your work at the British Academy exhibit. It is quite superb. But then I always knew you would go far. You must be pleased to have the career you always dreamed of.”

“I have been extremely fortunate,” she replied agreeably.

“I no longer paint.” Francis gave her a sad grimace. “My wife considers artistic endeavors beneath a gentleman of birth and breeding. That is the prime disadvantage of wedding out of necessity—whoever controls the purse strings has the final say.”

Diana frowned, wondering if he had come here seeking her sympathy. “I am sorry,” she said, attempting to sound sincere. “Your art meant a great deal to you, I know.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I also wished to say…to tell you how much I regret hurting you, Diana. If I had had any choice—”

“You did have a choice, Francis,” Diana reminded him quietly.

Yet his anguished expression was so full of regret that she took pity on him.

“But all that is long past,” she added brightly. “Truly, I no longer think of it at all.”

“Think of what, darling?” Thorne’s cool voice interrupted. He had returned to the box, carrying two cups of punch, one of which he handed to Diana. A hard smile touched his lips as he eyed the baron. “Ackland, I believe your wife is glaring daggers at you. You had best return to her side before she calls the Watch to bring you to heel.”

With a glower and a curt bow, Francis took his leave, and Thorne resumed his seat beside Diana.

Holding her gaze, he took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips in a loverlike gesture—for the benefit of the watching audience, she suspected. His hazel eyes were sparking with anger, though, despite his tender display.

Diana felt her cheeks flush as she firmly withdrew her hand and sipped her punch. “There was no need for such rudeness. Francis was merely congratulating me on my recent success.”

“When he jilted you, that bastard renounced any right even to speak to you,” Thorne retorted in a silken tone. “And if he dares accost you again, I will call him out.”

Diana refrained from replying and was glad when the play eventually resumed with the second act, but her thoughts remained distracted.

It soothed her pride that Thorne seemed jealous of her former suitor, yet he had no reason to be. She’d spoken the truth when she told Francis she never thought of the past between them anymore.

He was still as stunningly handsome as ever, but his visage no longer had any power to move her. She felt no attraction at all any longer—not even a heart flutter—and not one ounce of envy for his wealthy wife.

Indeed, Diana realized, the only emotion Francis roused in her now was disdain. She was profoundly glad she had escaped marriage to him, even if it meant enduring the scandal of their aborted elopement all these years. She never would have been happy wed to a man of so weak a character.

The unexpected realization left Diana aware of an unmistakable feeling of liberation. There was nothing left of the green, naïve girl who had given her heart so joyously and so recklessly. Now she could finally write
finis
to a painful chapter of her life that she should have been done with long ago.

What future chapters would hold, however, was another question entirely.

She glanced at Thorne, admiring his striking profile, his golden hair gleaming in the light of the theater’s massive chandelier.

It struck her that this man was just as beautiful as Francis, perhaps more so. But there the similarities ended. Thorne had a great deal more depth to him than her first betrothed, and far more character. Rather than jilting her for the promise of greater wealth, Thorne had championed her and protected her at every turn, defending her against the world, putting her interests even above his own.

He was also, Diana readily admitted, the most exciting, sensual, fascinating, provocative man she had ever met. Unquestionably he had changed her life. He had drawn her out of her colorless existence, making her feel alive again, letting her experience joy and hope and exhilaration once more.

Thorne filled her life with pleasure. Not merely carnal bliss, but something more profound: an unburdening of the spirit that allowed her to soar unfettered.

She owed him so much. And yet the tenderness she’d begun to feel for him was more than simple gratitude—

Diana drew a sharp breath, aware of the shocking sentiment she’d just acknowledged. The grave mistake she had made. For the past several weeks she had purposely—indeed, stubbornly—ignored the danger signs. She had forgotten all her ardent vows and self-warnings not to allow herself to become too vulnerable to him.

Diana bit her lower lip hard, a troubled frown darkening her brow. Was that what Thorne had intended all along? To dismantle her defenses, bit by bit?

But no matter his intentions, she couldn’t afford to let their affair continue. She needed to draw back now, before she became too addicted to Thorne’s searing passion. Before she became too dependent on his support and protection.

Regrettably, she couldn’t break their betrothal just yet. At some point, she would be able to end their sham engagement, but for now, Nathaniel’s death was still a gaping ambiguity, and Amy’s future was yet to be settled.

Even so, Diana reminded herself sternly as she forced her attention back to the play, she needed to quell the perilous feelings of tenderness she’d so unwisely allowed Thorne to awaken in her.

And for that she would have to wean herself away from him and the passionate intimacies they had shared.

Much to Diana’s dismay, her new resolve lasted barely a few hours. For the remainder of the play, she treated Thorne with a distant coolness, but he evidently was so attuned to her moods, he sensed the change in her at once.

She had no difficulty perceiving his darkening temper, either, even though he waited to comment until they were settled in his town coach and driving through the dark streets of Mayfair.

“You are very quiet tonight, sweeting. Are you by chance musing about that bastard?”