Paying the Virgin's Price (9 page)

          The pause now was a long one, until he was sure that she understood. 'I am not at all the sort of man you might think me, Miss Price. Not in behaviour. Not even in name.'

          Perhaps she did not know him as well as she thought. Yet, when she looked into his eyes, and felt his hand on hers, she was sure she did. 'It does not matter.' She reached out with her other hand, and laid it upon his sleeve, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze that seemed to startle him.

          He put his other hand on her shoulder. 'I did not wish for my story to sound like a morbid attempt to garner your sympathy.'

          'I did not think you did. But it is a tragic story, all the same. It is all right. Your life has been difficult. You have done the best you could with it. I understand.'

          He pulled free of her grasp and slipped his arm around her waist. 'You do not know how much your words mean to me, Miss Price. They are like a balm upon the old wounds. And I had never thought to hear them from your lips.' And with that, he pulled her close and kissed her.

          The moment seemed to go on forever. But perhaps it was because she closed her eyes and held her breath, as if she could keep very still and hold time in place. She had spent much of the recent years interrupting such attempts by Honoria's suitors and thwarting their few successes. But at some point, years ago, she had quite given up the dream that a moment like this would ever come to her. And now that it had, she felt quite remorseful for depriving Honoria of the joy of it. For to feel the rough of his cheek brushing against hers, and the firm warmth of his hand, his breath upon her face, the softness of his mouth and the barest touch of his tongue against her lips was pure heaven.

          And then he pulled his head away from hers, and looked hurriedly around to make sure that they were alone on the path and that none had seen what they had done. He took his hand from her waist, laid a finger under her chin, and said, with a nervous smile, 'I am sorry. I did not intend to take that liberty. But your absolution moved me more than I could resist. Thank you.' He squeezed her hand again, and then released it and stepped back.

          She was quite at a loss. For what was she to say in a moment like this? Pretending outrage was quite impossible, but asking him to repeat the action was very wrong as well. And she was sure that her cheeks must be flaming scarlet.

          He smiled down at her. 'Miss Price?'

          'Mr Dale.' She touched her hand to her bosom, as though she were trying to catch her breath after strenuous exercise.

          He tipped his head, waiting for her to clarify her feelings. 'Are you all right, then? Can you forgive me that as well?'

          And she struggled again, taking in a huge breath and letting it out in a sigh. Then she smiled at him. 'That was the most miraculous thing, was it not?'

          He grinned back at her. 'For you as well?'

          'Perhaps it was only because I have no knowledge of such things. I did not know what to expect. It was my first kiss, you see.'

          He was still smiling quite broadly at her. 'I would be lying if I said any such thing about myself. But if it gives you comfort to know, that was quite different from an ordinary kiss. I wonder, have I gained skill since the last time, or do you have undeveloped talents? Or was that an unusual occurrence?' He looked around again, making absolutely sure they were alone. 'Let us try an experiment.' And without further warning, he pulled her off the path, behind a nearby oak. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

          This time, his lips were still as gentle but he placed his hands on her shoulders in such a businesslike way that it felt rather like a scientific study of the kiss. He took the time to adjust his position to an angle that was most pleasurable. Then he pulled away, looked speculatively at her, as though he meant to catalogue her response, and held the pose until it made her laugh.

          Then he laughed as well, and kissed her again, more quickly and less expertly, and she sighed and wrapped her arms about his neck, hugging him to herself.

          When they parted this time, his piercing green eyes were less focused, and the smile on his lips was of a man well satisfied. He gave a sensible straightening of his coat and smoothed a few loose hairs from around her face, making sure that her bonnet sat squarely upon her head and showed no signs of disturbance. Then he tucked her arm tightly into the crook of his, peeked around the corner of the tree to make sure that they were still unobserved, and led her back out onto the path, so that they might walk together, side by side, as though nothing had happened.

          He looked out over the park, as though making small talk, and said, 'This has been a most interesting morning, Miss Price. And most unexpected. I think that further experimentation will be necessary.'

          'And I think, with things as they are between us, Nathan, that you should call me Diana.'

          He stopped dead in the path, and pulled his arm from hers, the smug smile disappearing from his face. 'How did you know my name?'

          'Your name?'

          'My given name. Because I am sure that I never used it in your presence.'

          She took a step back, even more confused by this than she had been from the kisses. If his behaviour toward her this morning did not render them close enough for first names, then she truly did not know him as well as she ought. 'It was written upon the note you left for Lord Stanegate. You did not seal it. I suppose it is horrible of me to admit the fact, but I read the contents. I was only trying to assure myself that the matter was not serious.' She coloured in embarrassment. For she had all but forgotten the note and her indiscretion in reading it.

          Instead of aggravated, he looked strangely relieved. 'That is all, then? But of course. It makes perfect sense.'

          'Then you forgive me for prying?' For his anger was gone as quickly as it had come. 'If it is any assurance to you, Marc already knows the fact you wished to relay.'

          'Marc, is it? You call him by his first name as well?'

          She had expected him to question her further about the note. But she could see by the blazing look in his eyes that he was much more concerned with the reason for such familiarity with another man.

          Who had ever noticed or cared about such a thing in regards to her? She could not think of a time when she had been the sole focus of a man's attention, and the thought sent a small thrill through her. 'I call him by name because I have known him for years. He is deeply concerned for the welfare of his sisters. And since his father is unwell, he has taken it upon himself to act as their guardian.'

          He seemed to relax a little. 'Then you two are not--'

          'Certainly not. He is my employer. And a happily married man. He would never...nor would I,' she added quickly, straightening her dress as though there were some way to retrace the last few minutes to prove to him that she was of better character.

          'I am a jealous fool.' He said it softly as though it were some great personal revelation. Then he looked up at her again. 'Please forgive me. I am not usually prone to strange suspicions, baseless jealousy nor sudden rudeness.' He paused. 'Of course, until today, I was not prone to kissing young ladies in the park.'

          'If you did not wish...'

          He held up a hand. 'Let us start again. Or at least go back to the moment where you meant to call me Nathan and I was to call you Diana. Things were really going quite well, before that moment.' And then he smiled at her, full of mischief and shared secrets.

          He held out his arm to her again, and they walked together, side by side down the path. And it occurred to her that their companionable silence was almost as good as the kissing had been, for it made her feel close to him, as though they were so much alike that words were no longer necessary. The little fillip of jealousy at the end of their encounter and his speedy apology for it stood as a proof that he was engaged deeply enough to want her all for himself. As did the lingering way he released her hand when they reached the end of the path and it was time for her to return to the Carlows--as though he had no wish to let her go.

          And she realized that she had no idea what to say upon parting. Was it rude to seem eager for another meeting? And where could it be? She certainly could not go to his rooms, nor could she give him leave to call upon her, since she had no place of her own.

          But he understood. For he said, 'I suppose I must leave you now, Miss Price.
Au revoir?'

          She gave him an embarrassed smile, and nodded.

          'Perhaps we can meet again in the park. Next week at this time?'

          'I would like that. Very much.'

          'Very good. I shall write to you on the day, to remind you of our appointment.'

          As if it would be possible for her to forget.

          'And this time, I shall sign my name, so you shall know that it is really me.' His smile was teasing. He reached for her hand, bowed and brought the fingers to his lips, kissing the air above them in the most proper way imaginable.

          As she turned to cross the street towards home, she could feel him behind her, watching her progress.

Chapter Nine

         
W
hen Nate returned to his house, the rooms seemed brighter than he remembered. Perhaps it was because he usually slept so late that he did not often see them in full daylight. Or perhaps the sun was higher in the sky, now that winter was passing.

          Or perhaps it was because he could not seem to stop smiling.

          As he had watched Diana go back toward the Carlow house, he felt his lungs tighten. He had the most foolish desire that she should remove her bonnet as she walked, so that he might see the sunlight shine on her dark hair, or catch one more glimpse of her departing face as she went around the corner. Even the thought of that made him smile all the more. What a miracle she was. And what an impossible idea that she would walk bare-headed down the street, with her hair blowing in the wind.

          Of course, all his thoughts involving Diana Price were impossible ones, and his position had just become more difficult than he could possibly imagine. He had avoided her for so long, thinking a meeting to be somewhere between ill advised and disastrous. And now?

          He had discovered his soulmate. Her sympathy towards him, the gentle touch of her hands, was like nothing he'd known. And he'd never suspected that she would be so beautiful, so graceful and so easy to converse with. After his confession to her, he'd limited his talk to the most innocent of topics, and she had hung on every word, as though he were profoundly interesting. He had meant to tell her the rest and make a clean breast of it. But with such a woman at his side the past was easily forgotten. And soon, it would become impossible to imagine a future without her. There was only one small thing standing between them and happiness.

          Nathan Wardale.

          What good had that man ever done for either of them? Diana most assuredly would not want to see the fellow. And he'd been more trouble to Nate than he was worth. It was Wardale that had explaining to do, should the Navy ever come calling. And Wardale was the one living with the taint of his father's disgrace.

          Wardale had lost his sisters and mother as well, damn him. If there was some way to find the women in his family, then it might be time to reclaim the name. If he thought that his sisters would see the news and come to him? Then it might be worth having Nathan Wardale risk arrest and appear in public.

          But he was not even sure that they lived, or that they would wish a meeting with him, after the way he had abandoned them. When he'd returned, his inquiries after them had gotten no response. A louder, more obvious appearance, after all this time, was just as likely to upset the lives of his sisters than to benefit them.

          And it would upset Diana as well. If she thought of him at all, she must wish Wardale were dead. If they lived, his sisters must think him dead as well. They had probably finished grieving for him long ago. It would hardly be a fresh loss to them, should Nate Dale put a permanent end to him.

          There was the problem of his profession, of course. Diana had no tolerance for gambling, and he could hardly blame her. But he need not continue in it, if he did not wish. He had lived with the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that his gambling was somehow the fault of the Gypsy woman and that he could not stop. But he had never really tried, had he?

          Beshaley had said the success of the curse was a result of his faith in it, and nothing more. So from this moment on, Nate would choose not to believe. He would put aside the gaming. He glanced around him. He would have to give up the house as well. He would put the town house up for sale and remove to his home in the country, where no one knew the source of his income. Everything about his life would be new and different.

          With the last trace of his old life erased, he would be free to marry.

          It would be difficult for the current servants, of course. Perhaps he could arrange for the new owner to take them on. Many of them had known this place as their home for much longer than he had. He would make it easy on them if he could. But it could not be helped. He could not bring Diana back to her own home, with the butler knowing its master's full history, and expect the facts to remain concealed from her.

          And that same butler appeared before him now, in a state of agitation. 'Sir. The drawing room,' he said breathlessly. 'A gentleman. I could not prevent him...'

          The tone of the last made it clear that in the opinion of the butler, the
gentleman
was no gentleman at all. Perhaps it was an acquaintance from the Fourth Circle. Dante Jones had never visited him, and few others would have the gall to follow him and learn his residence. But if someone had, it was all the more reason for him to leave this place behind and start a fresh life with Diana somewhere else. 'Do not concern yourself. I will deal with him,' he said, putting the poor man at ease. It was not the first time he had needed to clear the riff-raff from his doorstep, but he was certain it would be the last. He strode with confidence down the hall towards the drawing room door, flexing the muscles under his coat.

          And when he entered, there was Stephano Beshaley, drinking by the fire as though he owned the house himself. He was arrayed in a tatty green coat with tarnished brass buttons, striped trousers, and had a bright scarf tied about his dark hair, and a huge gold ring gleaming from his left ear. Quite out of character for the neighbourhood. And for Beshaley as well, he suspected. It seemed that he had gone out of his way to dress as a comic-opera Gypsy before forcing his way in through the front door.

          Beshaley smiled at him as he entered, but did not bother to rise. 'Nathan. Old friend.' The bastard had the nerve to salute him with a glass of his own brandy.

          'What are you doing here? You should know you are not welcome in my house.'

          'Your house?' The Gypsy seemed to find this amusing.

          'My house,' Nathan affirmed, giving him the same blank expression he used when at the gaming tables.

          'Considering how long we have known each other, I did not think that your door would ever be closed to me.'

          'Since you come here to threaten, you can assume that the door is closed. What do you want with me now?'

          'Merely to congratulate you. I observed you in the park with Miss Price. Young love. Touching, Nathan. Truly touching.' The Gypsy gave a mocking sigh and put his hand over his heart. 'It did my soul good to see it.'

          'You saw?' Nate's composure faltered. He had seen no one on the path after his spectacular lapse in judgment. It had given him the false sense of security that had caused him to kiss her again.

          'Did I see? Every moment of your time together. And heard your sad story as well.'

          He had been a fool to promise her safety, while opening the door to public disgrace. Especially as he remembered the reason for the meeting. 'You arranged it all, didn't you?' Nate pointed an accusing finger at the man sitting before him.

          'And how would I have done that?' Beshaley gave an innocent shrug that in no way matched his evil grin.

          'You saw to it that I was delayed at the tables, gaming until past sunrise so that I would be late coming home. And then you sent Diana the note. You brought her to the park under false pretences. You led her to believe that I was interested in her.'

          'If you are not, you have a strange way of demonstrating the fact. What gives her reason to hope has nothing to do with some silly note I sent her. You kissed an innocent chaperone in broad daylight, in a public park where anyone might see. The poor girl would lose her position if someone told that old prig Narborough about it.' There was the barest hint of threat in his tone, although his expression had become benign.

          'Do not dare.' Nate made no effort to hide the returned threat. 'If any harm comes to her because of your desire to meddle in my life, I swear by all that is holy, I will send you to the devil to answer for it.'

          Stephano laughed. 'Do not think you can frighten me with the devil, Nathan. You are the one who needs to fear him. I mean no harm to the girl at all. I am only trying to protect her from you.'

          'From me?'

          'It is you who seem intent on harming her. You were the one who ruined her father. You were the one who kissed her today. And you are the one who is hiding your identity from her, lying about your proclivities, pretending to be more innocent than you are in all things.'

          'I will tell her everything, when the time is right.' He said it without flinching, for it was almost the truth. Since there could never be a right time, the facts would die with him.

          The Gypsy shook his head. 'Do not try to fool me with lies, Nathan. You have told her nothing. You mean to tell her nothing. I saw the smile on your face when she parted from you. You think you can escape what you did in the past by courting her like a gentleman now and lifting her from her circumstances. And that there will be no penance to be paid for any of it.'

          'I have paid enough.' He said it softly, hoping that he could move his old friend and that there would be some way to avoid what he expected was coming.

          'I will tell you when enough is enough. Perhaps it will be when Diana Price knows the whole truth.'

          He would not allow it. For a moment, Nate's mind clouded with violent fantasies, the satisfaction of feeling Beshaley's words stopped by his own hands on the man's throat. He took a slow breath and fought for control. It would take icy calm to outmanoeuvre a man so adept at using the emotions of others to get his way. When he had convinced himself that this conversation mattered no more to him than any other game, Nate knew it was safe to speak. 'I will not beg for mercy, if that is what you seek. My own father went to the gallows without breaking. I can withstand a few idle threats. If you want reparation for old wrongs? I will give you anything you wish.'

          'Give me?'

          'How much do you want?'

          'You think you can buy me off, do you? Because I am a Gypsy. Cross my palm with silver, and I will leave you in peace? I have money, Nathan. More than you. All I want is justice. For my family. For myself.'

          'Then we want the same thing. My family was treated as unjustly as yours.'

          'If your father was innocent.'

          'It is always harder to find the guilty than it is to persecute the innocent, as you do.'

          The faintest shadow of doubt passed over Beshaley's face. Then he smirked, and the moment was lost. 'If I treat everyone involved equally, than I am reasonably sure that the guilty parties are punished.'

          'It is not fair.'

          'But very efficient. First, I will finish with you. Miss Price as well, if you claim her for yourself. And then, I will find the rest of your clan. You are not the only living Wardale, you know.'

          At the thought of his sisters, alive but in danger, Nate's calm evaporated. 'I do not know if you are mad or merely cold-blooded. But it does not matter. As you value your life, stay away from the women.' He reached for the letter opener on a nearby desk. 'Just now, I was thinking of using this on you, you bastard. But murder is messy and you are not worth the cost of a new carpet. If you are so eager to avenge your father, then do it. But let my blood be enough.' He pushed the knife into the Gypsy's hand. 'Cut out my heart and be done with it, you coward.'

          The sudden change in him must have caught Stephano off guard. For he lost control as well, lunging forward, weapon in hand. But before he could strike, his body tightened and he jerked back as suddenly as a dog might when it reached the end of its leash. His arm went wide in a convulsive movement, flinging the letter opener aside. And then he reached up with both hands to cradle his own head. He dropped back into the chair, gasping for breath, and looked up at Nate, through pain-clouded eyes. 'I would if I could, Nathan Wardale. Long ago, I'd have finished you all. But it is not allowed.'

          Nathan stood over him, arms folded in satisfaction. The attempt at violence had left his opponent helpless. 'Allowed?' He smiled, for the man in front of him was in such agony that he had not been able to hide the truth. 'I take it, it is not an English law that binds you?'

          The Gypsy shook his head gently, as though to move it hurt him. 'You have heard the expression,
This hurts me more than it hurts you?
Not more, perhaps. While I might laugh as you ruin yourself, to kill you would hurt my poor head more than I can bear.' He lifted his face to stare into the eyes of his old friend. 'Here is your chance to strike, Nathan. I cannot stop you. If you wish, I will move to the flagstones in the hall, to spare your carpet.' Then he laughed. Nate had heard that laugh often. It was the ghastly, hollow sound a man made when he knew he was beaten.

          And it made him feel as he did at the game table, when another poor sod had overplayed his hand and left himself open to ruin. He could not manage sympathy, or even mercy. But it filled him with regret at having to play a part in the downfall of another, no matter how deserved that end might be. Nate stared at the suffering man before him, and shook his head. 'I cannot kill you either. I am no more a murderer than my father was. If I can prove that to you, will you leave me and my family in peace?'

          'After so many years, what can you prove?'

          He did not know. But what harm could it do to try? He had always suspected that Narborough had lied about the crime. But he'd convinced himself that the man was untouchable. If a confrontation now was the only way he might have Diana? Then what choice did he have but to hope? 'I do not know if I will find anything. But I intend to try. After so much time, you can wait a little longer for justice. I request a truce. You may leave here unhindered today, if you promise me two weeks without interference. If I can find evidence to clear my father, then you must go.'