Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Page 17

  And that, Dianna told herself firmly, is all that matters.

  “Do tell me about yourself Mr. Readington,” she said as they continued further into the gardens. Muffled voices off to their left revealed they were not completely alone in the labyrinth of flora and fauna, but there were enough stone walls and other natural barriers to prevent those who wanted to be hidden to remain so.

  “My father was a baker,” Readington began, “and my mother a seamstress. I have one brother and one sister, both younger than I. Do you have any siblings, Miss Foxcroft?”

  Dianna gave a regretful shake of her head. “No, I am afraid not.”

  “That is unfortunate. I have always thought a large family is a happy one. Not to imply your family is unhappy.” He grimaced and passed his hand down over his face, cupping his chin. “My apologies, Miss Foxcroft. I am usually not so gauche.”

  “I do not find you gauche at all,” Dianna protested. “Quite the opposite. Truly,” she insisted when he lifted a skeptical brow. “I am enjoying your company immensely, Mr. Readington. Furthermore, my family is a rather unhappy one.”

  Readington’s second brow rose to join the first. “I find that hard to believe, Miss Foxcroft. Admittedly we have only known each other for a very short while, but I must say you are the very opposite of unhappy. A bit sad, perhaps.” Coming to a halt, he pivoted so they faced one another. His fingers gently entwined with hers, filling the space between them. “But I think that has little to do with your family and much to do with a past love.”

  “You are very intuitive, Mr. Readington,” Dianna said softly.

  “Please.” He took a step forward, causing their linked hands to bump against the buttons lining the front of his waistcoat. “Call me Thomas.”

  Perhaps it was the late hour, or the moonlight, or the glass of wine she had drank earlier in the evening, but suddenly Dianna wanted very much to know what it felt like to kiss Thomas Readington.

  “Only if you call me Dianna,” she whispered.

  His gaze fell to her mouth, and she felt the muscles in his stomach quiver and tighten beneath the many layers of his formal attire. “Miss Foxcroft…”

  “Dianna.”

  “Dianna… I…” He cleared his throat, the sound of it harsher than normal in the magnified silence. “Would you think me terribly bold to ask your permission for a kiss?”

  Miles never would have asked for permission. He would have taken what he wanted without apology, and - and Thomas is not Miles! Dianna reminded herself fiercely. Forcing any remaining thoughts of Miles far to the back of her mind, she smiled up at Readington and said, “I would not think you bold at all.”

  When he closed his eyes, Dianna sucked in a quiet breath of anticipation and did the same. Their noses touched first, a soft fumbling nudge of acknowledgement that allowed their mouths to find one another. Readington’s lips were cool and papery thin. He kept them pressed tightly together, and before the kiss had even begun it was over.

  “Thank you,” Readington said solemnly, giving her fingers a faint squeeze before he stepped back and turned to the side, offering his arm once again. They resumed walking, Dianna with her head bent slightly away, not wanting Readington to see her disappointment.

  The kiss had been… lackluster. There was really no other word she could think of to describe it. Readington might have been kissing his own sister for all the passion he exuded while she… she had felt nothing at all.

  No spark of desire. No thrill of excitement. No tingling all the way down to her toes. No flames of lust threatening to burn her from the inside out. Biting her lip, Dianna consoled herself with the fact that Readington had acted like a proper gentleman, and that was precisely what she needed.

  Just not what she wanted.

  “We should start back.” Procuring a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat, Readington held it above his head, using the light of the moon to read the tiny hands. “It is nearly one in the morning. I would never want to endanger your reputation by keeping you out too late without a proper chaperone.”

  No, Dianna thought with the tiniest hint of bitterness, we certainly wouldn’t want that.

  Miles never would have thought of her reputation. If he wanted to walk with her in the gardens until dawn he would have done so, and woven a story to cover their disappearance after the fact.

  “I am sure no one will miss us if we take another turn around the gardens,” she said, peeking up at Readington. He kept staring straight ahead but her suggestion his mouth flattened and a line appeared high on his forehead, leaving little doubt as to what he was going to say.

  “Be that as it may, I could never live with myself if your reputation was brought into question due to my selfish actions.”

  “Of course,” Dianna murmured. Her head bowed, gaze flitting to the moonlit walkway. “How thoughtful of you, Thomas.”

  He was also right, in the technical sense if not the adventurous one. Which was perfectly fine and good, for when had she ever been adventurous? Under the influence of Charlotte, perhaps, and the man whose name she was trying - and miserably failing - not to think about, but not on her own. Never on her own.

  For she was staid and sensible Dianna. The kind of woman a gentleman like Readington would want for a wife. The kind of woman he would want to mother his children. The kind of woman who would never dare endanger her reputation by doing something so foolish as taking another stroll around the gardens.

  A lady is always respectable, even when she does not want to be.

  They were within sight of the French Doors and the guests waltzing inside the ballroom when it happened. A man, dressed entirely in black with a hat pushed low over his brow and a pistol held clenched in his right hand, leapt from the bushes. Dianna screamed and he pointed the barrel of the pistol directly at her forehead, his movements jerky, his dark eyes darting and unfocused.

  “Shut yer mouth if ye know what’s good for ye,” he snarled, his cockney drawl unmistakable. Spittle flew from between his thin lips. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of dirt behind. “And give me all the pretty baubles ye have on yer person.”

  “Do as he says, Dianna,” Readington said tersely. Dropping her arm, he stepped to the side and began emptying his pockets, pulling out a variety of valuables including the watch he had used just a moment ago to gauge the time.

  Her eyes moving between the robber and Readington, Dianna remained rooted to the spot, her arms frozen at her sides.

  “Miss Foxcroft!” Readington hissed.

  “I…” Her lips parted, but it was as though her vocal cords were frozen too, for no words would come out. The only thing she could think was how trivial the problems she’d been worrying about mere seconds ago seemed now. What did it matter if she acted like a lady or not? No one would have a care for her reputation if she were dead.

  “Put everything ye have in here.” The robber shoved a burlap sack at Readington. “And be quick about it.”

  Feeling as though she were observing the proceedings from far above, Dianna watched in wide-eyed silence as Readington quickly shoved all of his personal belongings into the sack.

  “Tell yer pretty lady love to do the same.” Silvery light reflected off the barrel of the robber’s pistol as he waved it in the air before pointing the circular barrel straight at Readington’s chest. “Now!” he whined, his voice rising an octave after a nervous glance in the direction of the ballroom. Blissfully oblivious to the crime being committed beneath their very noses, guests continued to dance and mingle, too self-absorbed to look up and see what was happening in plain sight of the window. “Tell ‘er to do it now.”

  “Dianna, please. Do as he asks,” Readington implored, his brown eyes pleading.

  A hard shudder ran through Dianna’s body, effectively breaking the chains of her temporary paralysis. “I - I left my reticule inside,” she said helplessly. “I do not know what else-”

  “Yer necklace,” the robber demanded. “Give m
e yer necklace.”

  Dianna’s hands went to her throat, fingers curling protectively around the delicate pearl strands. “No,” she blurted out, surprising herself with the denial as much as the robber.

  “What did ye say?” he growled.

  Beside her, Readington face drained of all color. “Dianna-”

  “I said n-no,” she repeated, and even though her voice quivered, her will remained strong. “This necklace belonged to my aunt and you m-may not have it.”

  The robber took a menacing step towards her. “I wasn’t askin’ for yer permission, dovie.”

  “That’s good, because she wasn’t giving it,” a deep masculine voice drawled from the shadows.

  The robber spun, pistol trembling ever-so-slightly as he readjusted his grip. Eyes squinting, he glared into the shifting darkness at the thinly distinguished silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the path. “Who goes there? Show yerself. Come out with ye hands up above yer head!”

  Dianna felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, fingers pressing hard into her flesh. “We should make a run for it,” Readington said, his voice breathless with fear. His hold on her shoulder tightened to the point of pain, which she ignored. In truth, she barely even felt it. For she’d recognized the voice from the shadows. And she knew who lurked in the dark.

  “Dianna… Miss Foxcroft… We must go!” Readington insisted. “Now is our only chance!”

  “No,” she whispered, her gaze trained unblinkingly on the path where the man stood motionless, seemingly uncaring about the pistol aimed straight at his heart. “Go find help, Thomas. I must remain here.”

  “You are in shock,” Readington decided before he gallantly attempted to pull her towards the mansion. With a soft cry Dianna shook him off, twisting evasively to the side. Her gown ripped, the delicate stitching torn asunder, leaving one sleeve to flap uselessly at her elbow. Throwing his hands in the air Readington stumbled back a step. He began to speak, but with a hard shake of his head he turned and ran for the terrace.

  “I am afraid you chose the wrong woman to rob from, my friend.” Hands raised as requested, Miles stepped forward into a shaft of revealing moonlight. Seeing him so exposed Dianna could not help but gasp and his gaze flashed to hers, the easy smile he wore tightening imperceptibly. “Take what you’ve collected in that sack of yours,” he continued, giving an obliging nod towards the burlap crumpled at the desperate criminal’s feet, “and be on your way.”

  Turning his head, the robber spat a thin watery stream of chewing tobacco onto the ground. “I want that necklace.”

  “Unfortunately, that particular piece is not available.” Although Miles’ voice was calm, his eyes were flat and hard as flint, and even though the robber was the one holding the pistol, Dianna could not help but feel a quick stirring of the pity for the man.

  Cagily shifting his weight from side to side the robber actually seemed to consider Miles’ suggestion before he spun in a half circle and, moving with a quickness Dianna could neither foresee nor defend, had her pinned in front of him, one arm looped tight around her throat. Squirming, she managed to throw a pointed elbow into his side before he restrained her, the hard forearm pressed against her neck squeezing until she gasped for breath.

  “Stop where ye are!” he snapped suddenly, and through the blur of tears in her eyes brought on by fear and the horrifying threat of suffocation Dianna saw Miles halt dead in his tracks.

  “If you hurt a single hair on her head-” he began, but the robber cut him off with an ugly laugh that sent shivers coursing down Dianna’s spine.

  “You’ll do what?” he taunted. “Shoot me? How about I shoot her, take what I want, and then shoot you.” Without waiting for a response he pressed the muzzle of the pistol against Dianna’s temple. Feeling the hard jut of metal pressing into her skull just above her left ear she whimpered; an animalistic sound of distress torn straight from her very soul. “What do ye think about that?”

  “I think you are a dead man.”

  The explosive sound of a firearm going off ripped a scream from Dianna’s throat. Feeling the criminal’s grip on her abruptly loosen she fell forward onto her knees and crawled blindly off the path, not knowing where she was going, only knowing that she needed to get away. Feeling a pair of restraining hands close around her waist she screamed again and kicked out behind her, limbs flailing wildly in a mad attempt to escape.

  “Dianna, stop. It’s me. Dianna, it’s me. Miles.”

  She heard his voice as though from a great distance, but when she registered who was speaking she collapsed onto the cool grass, slender arms trembling in exhaustion. “Miles,” she repeated in a ragged whisper.

  “Yes.” He picked her up with ease, cradling her against his chest as he’d done in the rain beneath the willow tree. She curled into him now as she had then, burrowing her face in the crook of his shoulder as belated sobs began to wrack her entire body. “Shhhh,” Miles soothed, rubbing her back in long, gentle strokes. “It is over now. It is all over.”

  Dimly she realized they were walking quickly away from the gardens. Glancing back she saw the robber sprawled on the ground, a pistol still held in one outstretched hand. “Did you-”

  “Shoot him? Yes,” Miles answered grimly. “Kill him? No.”

  “But how-”

  “Save your questions, love, and your strength.” In a more ominous tone he said, “You are going to need it when you explain why the hell you didn’t run when you had the chance.” He started to say more, then seemed to think better of it.

  Carrying her through a back gate in tight lipped silence, Miles climbed inside a waiting carriage without relinquishing his hold.

  Struggling into a sitting position on top of his lap, Dianna self-consciously held up her ripped sleeve when it slipped further down her arm, threatening to reveal her breasts. In the dark interior of the carriage she was fiercely aware of Miles, from his familiar scent - sandalwood and pine - to the possessive way he was staring at her to the hardness of his thighs pressing intimately against her derriere. “Where are we-”

  “I am taking you to your parent’s townhouse.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “Are you ever going to let me-”

  “Finish a sentence?” One dark brow lifted. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  The motion of the carriage began to rock them gently from side to side. With a quiet grunt Miles lifted her by the waist and set her beside him on the long bench seat, his expression shuttered.

  Crossing her arms over her chest Dianna turned her head away from him and looked out the window. It was too dark to make out the homes they were passing although she pretended to study them nevertheless, needing a few moments of silence to compose her thoughts and reflect on everything that had just occurred.

  Miles had risked his life to save her. More than that, she’s risked her own by refusing to leave him. What did it mean? Pressing her fingers into the window ledge she drew a deep, trembling breath. If things had ended differently… If Miles had been the one shot instead of the robber…

  “You are shaking. Here, use this.”

  Dianna held perfectly still while Miles shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Easily three sizes too large it draped over her body like a quilt, enveloping her arms and reaching all the way down to her grass stained dancing slippers. Gripping the edges she drew the coat closed and sank back into the leather seat, her thoughts a twisted jumble as she directed her gaze to the floor.

  If Miles meant nothing to her as she herself had said, then why hadn’t she left with Readington? It would have been the safe choice. The intelligent choice. The potentially life-saving choice. So why hadn’t she made it?

  As though he could read her mind, Miles turned to face her. “You were a fool not to run when you had the chance. What the bloody hell were you thinking?” If the hard line of his jaw and his white knuckled grip on the edge of the seat were any indication he was positively furious; the angriest
she had ever seen him.

  “I - I do not know.” Unable to meet his burning gaze Dianna looked down at her hands instead. One long satin glove was missing, she noted absently, and dirt had collected under her nails, no doubt from when she’d crawled across the lawn. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she recalled the overwhelming fear she’d felt; not for herself, but for the man sitting beside her now. If something had happened to Miles… If something had happened to Miles she didn’t know what she would have done. And didn’t that tell her everything she needed to know? Everything she needed to know… and was terrified to admit.

  “You’re crying.” His voice gruff, Miles reached between them and awkwardly patted her knee. “I… Stop crying. It is over now.”

  But the tears wouldn’t stop. If anything they intensified, running down her cheeks as though someone had turned on a leaky faucet inside her head. “I can’t,” she managed, wiping uselessly at her face with the cuff of her palm. “I - I - I…”

  “There now.” Draping one arm around her trembling shoulders, Miles drew her against his chest. She went willingly, too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to protest the intimate embrace. Resting his chin atop her soft curls, Miles began to rhythmically stroke her knee in small, soothing circles. “There now,” he murmured. “It’s over. It’s done. There is no need to cry.”

  But for Dianna there was every need.

  Because she knew it wasn’t over, and it wasn’t done, and she feared it never would be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sitting in the gently swaying carriage with Dianna nestled against his chest, Miles could think of no other place on earth he would rather be. Everything he’d seen in the past four years, everything he’d learned, everything he’d experienced, paled in comparison to this one single moment.

  As Dianna’s sobs grew muffled and her breaths grew deeper he nodded through the glass divider for the driver to take them around the block of stately brick and stucco town homes one more time. It was selfish of him, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish his hold on the woman he loved… at least not yet.