Forgotten Fiancee Page 3

  One month ago, at the bequest of Charlotte, Gavin had sent out a few men to try to find out what had happened to the missing earl once and for all, but they all returned empty handed. It was as though the man had simply vanished into thin air… leaving poor Dianna in limbo and all of his affairs unfinished.

  “Do you want me to go look for her?” he offered. Even though he would have much rather tossed Charlotte over his shoulder and made haste for the nearest bedroom, he knew how much Dianna meant to his wife. The two women were thick as thieves, more sisters than friends, and besides himself there was no one Charlotte trusted more.

  “No,” his wife said with great reluctance. “No, she most likely retired early and is fast asleep. There would be no use waking her up now. I can find her in the morning and see how she is doing then.”

  “And we will be spending the remainder of the week here,” Gavin reminded her, less she’d forgotten. While the majority of the guests would be leaving on the morrow, a small handful, including Gavin and Charlotte, had been invited to stay. It was going to be a welcome respite from their busy lives in London, one he was thoroughly looking forward to. “You can spend as much time with her as you like.”

  “Can I now?” Amusement glittered in Charlotte’s eyes as she stepped towards him and trailed a single fingertip down the front of his waistcoat. Her nail caught on a brass button. “And what will you do without me?”

  Gavin’s breath hitched. Nearly one year married, and his wife could still make him hard with a single promising glance. Feeling as he did now, it was nearly impossible to imagine there had once been a time when they’d been closer to enemies than lovers. “Spend the days with your friend if you like...” He captured her wrist, drawing her close. Dipping his head he nuzzled her ear, teeth nibbling suggestively on the sensitive lobe before he whispered, “But your nights belong to me.”

  Her entire body trembled. “Do they?”

  “They do.”

  “Unless I am mistaken, I believe it is night right now.”

  His hand grazed the curve of her spine, dipping far lower than the rules of propriety allowed. “I believe you are correct.”

  They exchanged a knowing glance, one filled with heat and passion and wicked promise. Arm in arm, Mr. and Mrs. Graystone walked swiftly out of the ballroom, all thoughts of broken engagements and broken hearts temporarily forgotten.

  If Miles could forget the past as easily, he would have done so in a second. If he could give his younger self a fist upside the head he would have done that as well, but as he was quickly discovering there was no power on earth that could make one forget their past, nor do anything to change it. What was done was done. There would be no going back and, he thought with a grimace, no going forward if Dianna had her way.

  Watching her slender silhouette grow smaller and smaller until she crested the top of the front lawn and disappeared on the other side of it, swallowed up by bright lights and a foggy mist rolling in from the east, Miles released a pent up breath and cupped his hands behind his neck, short nails digging hard into tense muscle.

  “Fool,” he said aloud. “You are a bloody fool, Miles Radnor. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  One of the horses from the stables snorted as though in full agreement, its head bobbing restlessly in the shadows. Having always possessed a natural affinity for the shaggy beasts, Miles went to the horse’s stall and extended his hand, palm facing up. “Hello there old fellow,” he murmured. “Hear all of that, did you?”

  The horse, a handsome bay with dark, inquisitive eyes, peeled back its thick rubbery top lip, revealing a row of yellow incisors spotted with bits of hay.

  “I shall take that as a yes.” Fishing around in his pocket for a treat, Miles drew out a piece of peppermint. Nickering with delight the horse quickly lipped up the sugary snack and promptly nudged Miles’ chest looking for another. Scratching the bay beneath his well groomed forelock, Miles shook his head. “Greedy, aren’t you? Well I am afraid that is all you’ll be getting. If I give you my last treat Vesper will have my head on a platter.”

  It wasn’t an exaggeration. Given to him by his late father, Vesper had been a sweet, rather dowdy looking brown filly when he’d left England four years ago. Upon his return he’d been pleased to discover she had blossomed into a stunning - albeit temperamental - chestnut mare with a fondness for peppermints and biting groom’s backsides. Given her unruly nature she’d gone largely untrained during his absence, something Miles planned on personally rectifying as soon as possible.

  If only repairing his relationship with Dianna could be as simple.

  She hated him. He’d suspected she would. Truly, how could she not? But to see the hate in her eyes… to hear it in her voice… Miles rubbed a hand down his face, fingers catching on the rough patch of whiskers he’d allowed to grow untrimmed across his chin and jawline. He supposed some part of him had assumed she would be angry, but then she would smile her sweet, shy little smile and all would be forgiven. That is how it would have happened with the Dianna he had left behind. But like Vesper, she’d changed during his absence. She’d grown up. Grown older. The pretty, gentle girl he’d known had transformed into a beautiful, independent woman.

  A woman who couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  Which was rather unfortunate, especially given that he was captivated by the sight of her. One glance across the ballroom was all it had taken. One glance… and a thousand memories.

  Rolling around their blankets as toddlers. Running through the fields as children. Holding hands as young adults, starry eyed over the sight of one another. She more than him, Miles remembered. Always more than him.

  From the moment they learned of their engagement she’d accepted it without question while he… he had struggled, not with his affection for the lovely, blue-eyed beauty he was to marry but with the archaic rules that made it possible for parents to decide the entire future of their children before they were ten years of age.

  He’d thought he would come around. But as the date of the wedding loomed closer, his doubts only grew deeper.

  As an only son Miles had always borne the weight of knowing the Radnor line depended on him to continue it. ‘Marry and produce an heir’ was something that had been drummed into his head from the very moment he was able to comprehend what it meant. He’d been groomed since birth to inherit the Earldom of Winfield, and marrying Dianna was but the final piece in a puzzle that had been constructed long before he was ever born..

  Miles was not an ignorant man, nor a presumptuous one. He knew most men in his situation would have been elated to be engaged to such a comely girl as Dianna, but as he grew older and the shackles on his freedom grew tighter he came to see her as something else entirely.

  So he’d done the unspeakable. The unmentionable. The unforgivable.

  He left.

  He left everyone and everything behind. His mother. His father. The bloody title they’d hung around his neck like a noose. His inheritance. His future.

  Dianna.

  Of it all, she was the one thing he regretted the most. But what other choice did he have? Marry her, and be miserable? Take her with him, and make her miserable? She was sixteen when he left, little more than a child. She deserved to marry a man without doubts. A man without uncertainty. A better man than the one he was shaping up to be.

  So he left, and for four years he explored the world. He saw things he’d never imagined. Did things he’d never thought he would be able to do. He lived as he’d always dreamed: without order, without rules, without consequence. And yet… and yet a pretty girl with golden hair and cornflower blue eyes had never been far from his mind.

  He returned quietly to England five days ago, going first to London and then to his family’s estate in the country. Along the way he’d heard of the unexpected and much talked about wedding between Reginald Browning, Duke of Ashburn, and Abigail Mannish, Aunt of Dianna. It had been buzzing on the tips of everyone’s tongues; a fairytale
story of loss and redemption come to life.

  Even knowing Winfield was but a few short miles from Ashburn, he’d never planned on attending the reception ball. Never planned to look for Dianna. Certainly never planned to actively seek her out. Yet that was precisely what he found himself doing, and all it took was one look - one long, heated stare - and he was helpless not to follow her out the door and down to the stables, drawn to her like a moth to the proverbial flame.

  A flame that now burned cold instead of hot.

  She’d stood before him like an ice queen, Miles thought now, her eyes flashing blue fire and her red lips curled in derision. Her golden curls, shortened to chin length since he last saw her and pinned away from her temple with two diamond combs, had emphasized her heart shaped countenance, long lashes, and sweeping eyebrows. Her body had filled out and changed as well. Gone was the gangly, frizzy haired girl he remembered. A woman of breathtaking beauty had taken her place. A woman who made him weak in the knees… and in the heart.

  He had taken Dianna’s love for granted. He knew that now. In all of his travels he’d never come across another woman as pure of heart and sweet of spirit as the one he left behind.

  When they were children she had followed him around like a second shadow, dogging his footsteps wherever he went while he, stubborn, arrogant boy that he’d been, did his best to be rid of her. Now the shoe was on the other foot, as the saying went, and he found he didn’t like the fit of it.

  Not one little bit.

  Giving the bay a last absent pat, Miles turned from the stables and cut through a narrow path that led to the carriage and driver he’d kept waiting on the outskirts of Ashburn’s vast estate. Both driver and horse looked up as he approached, eyes squinting into the inky darkness when a twig snapped loudly beneath his boot heel.

  “It is only I,” Miles said quietly, not wanting to startle either man or equine. Opening the door to the sleek black chaise he leaned against it, gaze flicking through the trees to where light still shimmered in the windows of Ashburn Manor. Was Dianna once again dancing, or had she gone to bed? Was she thinking of him, as he was most certainly thinking of her? His mouth tightened into a rueful smile. If she was thinking of him, he imagined there were quite a few curses involved, although it was difficult to think of sweet, mild-mannered Dianna swearing. Even as a young girl she had always been the epitome of a gently spoken lady, flawless in both her etiquette and behavior.

  “Were ye wanting to return home now, my lord?” the driver inquired uncertainly. “Lady Radnor will likely be looking for ye.”

  Miles’ sigh was a resigned one. Since his sudden return his mother had been loathe to leave his side. The rest of Winfield’s staff had embraced him with similar enthusiasm. His old nanny had even cried. Only his sister Harper, now seventeen and a woman nearly grown, had greeted him coldly.

  I do not see why you had to come back, she’d said, her green eyes, the same mossy shade as his own, shooting sparks of hostility. We have been getting along perfectly fine without you.

  Unfortunately, the falsity of her claim quickly revealed itself. With his father dead and gone for nearly as long as Miles had been away, Winfield had sunken into a state that bordered on disrepair. His mother, while able to run a household with an iron fist, had never possessed much of a head for business. That had always been her husband’s domain, and while she had clearly attempted to follow in his footsteps, Winfield bore evidence of many a financial shortcoming.

  My fault, Miles reminded himself ruthlessly as he climbed into the carriage and nodded to the driver. In his haste to free himself from the oppressive weight of an earldom he did not want, he’d damned those who did.

  Dianna was right to hate him.

  Harper as well.

  But he would make it right. He would make it better. Come hell or high water, Miles was determined to right the wrongs he’d committed… and win back the heart of the woman he loved.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Dianna woke the next morning she stared intently up at the white plaster ceiling and wondered if it had all been a very bad dream.

  After all, she’d often dreamed of Miles over the past four years, although never in such excruciating detail. She also always dreamed of the boy he’d been, not the man he’d become. Except for that one time, when he had been covered in warts and wearing an eyepatch...

  No, Dianna decided with a regretful sigh, last night was no dream.

  It was a nightmare. A nightmare of such epic proportions she’d cried herself into a stupor before stumbling up to her guest bedroom in the Ashburn’s vast east wing and collapsing into bed. It had all been very melodramatic and far better suited to the likes of her best friend Charlotte, whose flair for the sensational could not be overstated.

  Sound, sensible Dianna. That is who she was and who she had always been. Except how could she be expected to remain sound or sensible when unexpectedly cornered by a fiancee she’d given up for dead two years ago?

  This is not over…

  Miles’ parting words still echoed in her mind, and whether they had been spoken in threat or promise or something else entirely she did not even want to begin to contemplate. Not if she wanted to keep whatever small shred of nerves she still possessed.

  Grabbing a pillow, Dianna held it over her head and, for the span of five seconds, seriously considered smothering herself in feather down before she tossed it aside with a hiss of annoyance and sat up, floundering a bit on the overstuffed mattress.

  “Ladies,” she grumbled under her breath, “do not smother themselves with pillows before breakfast.”

  A quick peek out the window beside her bed revealed it was only a few moments past dawn. Splashes of orange and gold painted the sky and the sprawling side lawn sparkled with fresh dew. Letting the lace curtain fall into place Dianna flopped back on the mattress and resumed staring at the ceiling. At least she would have a few hours to compose herself before-

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The knock on the door was quiet, albeit insistent.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  For one wild, heart-stopping moment Dianna imagined Miles waiting out in the hall. She dragged the top quilt to her chin and sat up with a tiny gasp of alarm, gaze flicking every which way as she attempted to find someplace suitable to hide. The armoire? No, there wouldn’t be enough room. The closet? It could work, although with her luck she’d manage to lock herself inside and be stuck for the entire day with nothing but her dresses for company.

  She was on the verge of diving beneath a chaise lounge when the bedroom door abruptly opened… and Charlotte Graystone stepped through.

  “Are you awake? I have been knocking and knocking and - Dianna, are you quite all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Brow knitting in concern, Charlotte walked briskly across the room and sat without invitation - not that one was needed - in a chair beside the bed. Given the early hour she was still wearing a high necked nightgown in the palest shade of yellow, although her red hair looked suspiciously rumpled and there was what appeared to be a whisker burn on the right side of her neck.

  Dianna wasn’t envious of her dearest friend - truly she wasn’t - but sometimes it was very hard indeed, especially at moments like these, not to be the tiniest bit jealous that Charlotte had found the love of her life while she… well, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d found, to be honest. Letting go of the quilt, she sat up a little straighter and released the breath she’d been holding in a loud whoosh of air. “I thought you might be someone else.”

  “Someone else?” One russet eyebrow shot up in bewilderment. “Who else, pray tell, would be knocking on your bedroom door before breakfast?”

  Were Charlotte anyone but who she was, Dianna would have told a tiny white lie and changed the subject to fashion or weather or a hundred other topics that did not involve the return of her long lost betrothed. But Charlotte was her closest friend - in truth, besides her beloved Aunt Abigail, one of her only friends - and with a little sigh
she closed her eyes and murmured, “Miles Radnor.”

  “Bloody hell in a box!”

  Dianna’s eyes flew open. “Charlotte.”

  “I am sorry,” the redhead said automatically. “Actually, no.” The sun glinted off her plain gold wedding band as she held up her left hand. “I most certainly am not sorry. In fact, I believe I shall curse again. Bloody hell. In a box.”

  “That does not even make sense,” Dianna pointed out.

  “I know. That is why I like saying it.”

  “Ladies should not curse.” Even as she said it, Dianna knew the reminder would fall on deaf ears. Charlotte had always been stubbornly independent, and while her bloodline was one of the bluest in all of England she identified more with the working class than the peerage which was no doubt why, all things considered, she’d ended up married to a commoner.

  “Ladies should not do a lot of things. That, however, is a discussion for another time.”

  But Dianna’s temporary surge of courage was failing, and she latched onto the potential topic like a sailor clinging to a life raft. “Really? Because I rather think we should talk about it now in great detail-”

  “Miles Radnor,” Charlotte interrupted. “Tell me why you thought Miles Radnor, of all people, would be knocking on your bedroom door at the crack of dawn.”

  Dianna let her skull fall back against the ornate mahogany headboard with a heavy thunk. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it too early to have a glass of wine?”