Paying the Virgin's Price Page 12

  He might have known a dozen Wills and Williams. It was not specific enough to connect with certainty to William Wardale, the Earl of Leybourne. Nor did it explain what might constitute reckless behaviour. She continued to read.

  The situation grows worse with each day. Hebden's Gypsy brat now playing with my boys. Kit encourages the association. Seems to find it amusing to see the dark lad and treats him as though nothing is odd. I cannot believe that his wife, Amanda, turns a blind eye to it all. But she is raising the boy as her own.

  She struggled to remember what she had heard of the scandal. Kit must mean Christopher Hebden. There was something about a lost child, after the father's death. A bastard son, who was sent away. And Amanda Hebden, prostrate with grief over the whole affair. Diana flipped through more pages.

  A shocking discovery. No wonder Amanda does not clean her house of the Gypsy filth. She is too busy with Leybourne to care. How can Will dine with us at the club, and then go off to tup Hebden's wife? And Kit is too busy with his whores to care. They laugh and talk together, then go off to their sinful beds as though it means nothing.

  They were the friends of my youth. But now I feel unclean by the association.

  The book shook in her trembling hand, as she tried to imagine the frail man upstairs penning the angry words. Although he was most particular with his own reputation and that of his children, she had never seen him cross with anyone in all the time she had lived with the family. But perhaps he had been a different man twenty years ago. She paged eagerly on.

  Another shouting match with Kit over the cipher business. Too much whisky on all sides and not enough sense. He called me a traitor. I called him out, told him to solve the damn cipher if he is so eager to find the spy in our midst. But he cannot. The thing is unbreakable.

  Without Will there, we'd have come to blows. Very embarrassing. But nerves frayed all round. This cannot go on much longer.

  Traitor? She had never thought of Lord Narborough as less than an honest man and proud defender of his country. But he did not deny the accusation. And then, another note, coming almost as a postscript to the last.

  Hebden says he has cracked the cipher. Now the truth will out. There is no stopping it.

  And all that was left of the next page was a ragged tatter. Someone had seized the thing and ripped it from the book. She ran her fingers along the place where the pages should be stitched, and counted the little bits of paper: one, two, three pages missing. And at the top of the next page, a single line, hanging as though forgotten.

  Dear God, forgive me.

  Her pulse quickened. It proved nothing. But whatever had happened was worse than she suspected. Accusations of infidelity and treason on both sides. The missing pages, as though someone did not wish the truth to be known.

  And that last statement, which could mean anything, but appeared damning when taken with all the rest. What was she to do with the information? It appeared that Nathan might be right. And it left her with a difficult choice to make. She'd lived in ignorance of any problems in this family and known Lord Narborough to be nothing more than a fond old man, caring deeply for his wife and children. But his health had worsened after the appearance of Nell and then the Gypsy. Was this because he feared the truth being revealed?

  Had she found this information even a week ago, she'd have been tempted to turn her back on it. Better to let the matter rest and put the book back upon the shelf, instead of stirring up old troubles that could hurt more people than they helped. But now?

  She took the book and set it in the bottom of her valise, and then covered it with a pile of folded stockings. She would pray that no one noticed its absence during the visit, and then she would take it back to London to show Nathan Dale. If he felt a pressing need to know the identity of the Hebden murderer, she would help him. It did not matter whether it was to avenge a lost love or free himself from the harassment of the same man that haunted her own past. She would do it, because in only a few weeks, she had grown to love and trust him beyond any loyalty she might feel to her old friends.

  Because her objective opinion on past events, based on the contents of the little book, was that the truth could be every bit as bad as he assumed.

  Chapter Twelve

  During the week that Diana was away, Nathan could think of little else but her return. Although it was unlikely that he'd have seen her until the next Tuesday, even had she remained in London, he had not realized the comfort he felt in knowing that a chance meeting was possible. Now that she was gone, each mile between them was a hardship.

  He went to the tables each night, just as he always had. But he played listlessly, paying little attention to the desires of men and women across the baize. Where once he would have watched without emotion as his opponents bankrupted themselves, now when games got out of hand he could no longer contain his disgust, with them or himself.

  As yet another broken fool began rooting in his pockets for some treasured heirloom to cast away, Nate stood up from the table, hours earlier than normal, proclaiming loud enough for all to hear that he would rather play cards with the kitchen cat than to watch another soul publicly shame themselves at his expense.

  As he pushed his way through the crowd, he heard the ladies muttering amongst themselves that, while they still found Mr Dale was quite attractive, of late he had not been nearly as diverting as they had hoped.

  He smiled to himself at this. Her absence had convinced him that there was only one woman in London that he wished to entertain. But was it better to initiate contact, or to wait until she was returned and was ready to see him? Surely scrawling a line or two to welcome her back to London would not be seen as forward. But had she even returned from Stanegate? He did not know. When they had parted, she had been able to give him no firm date of return. As always, her schedule was at the mercy of the Carlow family.

  He quietly damned them all for their hold over her life, and damned himself for placing her in the situation. A week without seeing her had seemed like an eternity. It had given him too much time to relive the previous meetings and imagine possibilities for the next. Assuming that there would be a next meeting. What if she had decided not to follow through on their plan, and realized that it would be better to remove herself from him? It was no less than he deserved. Perhaps she had found some other gentleman whose company she preferred. Or maybe the next meeting was assumed, and he would find her waiting in the park on Tuesday.

  There were so many possibilities that he could not choose and was driving himself mad with trying. At last, he decided there could be no harm in going to the park for a walk on the normal Tuesday, and went so far as to forgo his Monday evening at the tables so that he might be rested and waiting for her in Hyde Park on the following morning.

  He arrived on the usual footpath by the Serpentine promptly at ten, to find Diana Price pacing the ground ahead of him in obvious agitation. Not only had she come, but it thrilled him to think she had arrived early, as though she were afraid she would miss him. He frowned. Unless there were some other reason for her anxiety.

  When she saw him, she looked up with a relieved smile, and he hurried to her side. He clasped her hand, to assure himself that she was safely returned and not just a vision of what he wished to see. 'I was not sure you would come. Perhaps you were still travelling, or had decided that my last request was too forward? But I decided to wait here each Tuesday until you returned.'

  'I hoped you would.' She gave a relieved sigh. 'But if you did not come, then at least you would not see me waiting for you.'

  He grinned. 'I thought the same.' So she had been eager to see him. All of his previous concerns for her safety, and worse, her constancy, evaporated. 'Come, let us walk.' He offered her his arm.

  'That would be delightful.' She took the offered arm, her fingers giving it a light squeeze that warmed his heart. 'And could it be somewhere secluded, if possible? For I have something to show you.'

  He gave her a vague nod and set off with
her, down the path and away from the other early walkers, laughing at his own foolishness. For a moment, he had quite forgotten the real reason for their meeting and had heard only what he longed to hear. It had sounded quite like she wished to be alone with him for no other reason than that they might share a moment of intimacy. But then he remembered the journal and the need to keep it a secret.

  Devil take the thing. He still wanted to see it, of course. But he had not realized just how much he had wished to see its bearer, until he had spied her on the path before him. When he was sure they were out of sight of prying eyes, he pulled her into the shade of a nearby outbuilding and drew to a stop.

  Then, she slipped the small leather volume from her pocket. 'I think this will be of interest to you. Read it, starting from where I have marked. And notice the missing pages? I fear that a lack of evidence may be as damning as an excess of truth. For what reason would he have had to remove the page, other than that he regretted what he had written about the night in question?'

  Nathan was turning quickly through the book, scanning the pages eagerly, shocked at the vitriol of some of the posts. George Carlow had been no true friend of his father's, to be sure. The entries sounded as though any bond between them had been severed in the months before Hebden's death.

  Then he came to the missing pages, fingering the ripped paper scraps at the binding. The full story should reside here. Had it been torn out in anger? Shame? Guilt? It could be any reason. But it seemed plain that Carlow had not wanted the full truth known, so had disposed of the evidence.

  He looked up at her, excitement on his face. 'There is a secret of some kind. It supports my suspicions, does it not?'

  'I fear it does.'

  'And now, I must decide what I will do with the information.' He frowned in distaste as a possibility occurred to him.

  Lord Keddinton had risen far since the days when he was humble Robert Veryan and eager for a chance to dine with the Wardales. His help with the prosecution of the Earl of Leybourne had earned him his own title, just as it had taken Nate's away. 'There is a man who might help, if he had a mind to. He is an old acquaintance of my family.' He smiled bitterly. 'And I believe he owes me a favour. I will take it to him and see what he makes of it.'

  But Lord Narborough would surely hear of an investigation and would punish anyone he thought disloyal. Nate gave Diana a worried look. 'But before I do anything, I must help you to get away.'

  'Away?' She almost laughed. 'Away from what, sir?'

  'From the Carlows, of course.'

  'I am safe in London with Verity and Honoria. I have nothing to fear from them.'

  'But I think you will, if the information in this book becomes public and they understand how I came by it.' He reached out and took her by the hand. 'And I would not, for all the world, have anything happen to you, my darling Diana.' The endearment slipped easily from his lips, and he saw the sweet look of surprise as it registered on her.

  And then, he was drawing her further into the shadows, and cupping her face in his hands. His hands strayed to the ribbon that held her bonnet, and she batted them away. 'What are you doing?'

  'Being very impertinent, I think.' He returned to his task and untied the bow that held it in place, then reached up to lift it gently off her hair. He leaned closer to smell the soft scent of her, and whispered, 'I have been dreaming of seeing the sunlight on your hair. Would the lights in it be gold, I wondered? But I was wrong. They are the deep red of Spanish wine.'

  'Oh.' Her voice was breathless, and her hands still rested lightly on his wrists as though unsure whether or not to stop him.

  He traced the curves of her ear with his tongue, and his teeth caught the lobe, sucking it gently into his mouth. She was soft and sweet and wonderful. And she had no idea how the simplest mysteries of her body would affect a man. She had kept them all hidden, even such small treats as this. And the way she sighed in response to the slightest nip on her ear boded well for the future.

  'We mustn't,' she managed, after a few more delicious moments. But the tone hinted that, while she was sure she mustn't, she wished for much more.

  'Do not worry,' he whispered. 'We won't. Not yet, at any rate. But do not blame me too much for doing this.' He pulled her close to kiss the side of her throat, turning her so that he could reach the nape of her neck, and he felt her ribs moving under his fingers, for the kisses to her throat made her breath release in shallow gasps. 'And do not fault me for wanting to take down your hair, so that I might run my fingers through it. To see it free as it lies on the pillow, and tousled as it is when first you wake.' He touched her very gently, so as not to disturb her coiffure. The silken smoothness of it made his fingers itch for more. 'Maybe I could take a single pin. It could be a curl blown loose by the wind, or caught in a ribbon and disarranged. An accident. Nothing more. But no. Once I start, I will not be able to stop.'

  For he was sure it would not be enough to take down her hair. Next he would be laying her down in the new grass, and begging to make love to her where they could smell the first scents of spring. It would be sweet disaster, but it would bind her to him in ways that would make her rejection impossible, should she learn the truth of his character.

  He made to release her, for her good and the sake of his own sanity. But she reached up and took him by the chin, squirming against him until she could force his lips to meet hers. She rewarded him with the kiss he longed to give her: open mouthed and passionate, innocent and inexperienced. Utterly delightful.

  And so, he gave himself up to the pleasure and did not release her until he had marked every bit of her mouth as his. He heard the distant thump of her bonnet dropping to the ground and let his empty hands move over her, from shoulders to back to bottom, moulding her body to his, feeling the pressure building within him.

  She should struggle, or argue or give some sign that she wished him to stop. If she did not, he did not know if he would be able to save them both from this madness. But instead, she wrapped her arms about his waist, clinging to him, letting him support her as he took all he wanted.

  It was her total surrender to him that gave him the strength to break the kiss and push her gently away. He shook his head as he smiled to reassure her, then gave a quick look about them, to be sure that they were still alone. 'Oh, my sweet, I am foolish to risk you in this way. What will you think of me, when your head clears enough to realize how we have carried on?' He reached down and picked up her bonnet, which was looking rather scuffed after being crushed between them and then cast upon the ground.

  She took it, and concentrated on straightening the flowers and fluffing the lone feather, and he wondered what had hurt her, his forwardness or the suddenness of his rejection? 'It is perfectly all right, Mr Dale. I was well aware of what I was doing.'

  He scoffed. 'Throwing yourself away on a wastrel, without care for your reputation. And the only defence I can offer is that you have bewitched me with your beauty, Miss Price. One disapproving quirk of those very proper lips and I am lost to all propriety. I must have them. I must have you. I swear, the frown on your face right now is more delightful than a hundred smiles from another woman.'

  There was the slightest smile on her lips as she finished with the bonnet, which he feared would never be quite the same, and placed it back on her head, tying it in a firm bow. 'Your praise would be more convincing, Nathan, if it were not so fulsome.'

  He leaned back against the building, eyes closed and hands behind his head, and laughed, waiting for the beat of his heart to slow and his reason to return. 'Thank you, dear Lord, she is calling me Nathan again.' He opened an eye and peered at her. 'And smiling. The blush on that cheek is more perfect than any rose.' Then he said, softly and slowly, so that she might believe him, 'Forgive me my excessive praise. I have never been in love before, and I am rather at a loss as to how to go on.'

  Love. He had said the word aloud to her, and now he would see what she made of it. Suddenly afraid, he went on talking, leaving her no
time to respond. 'Give me time. I will grow into it, I am sure. And I will find a manner of praising you that suits your practical and modest nature. If you prefer, I will compliment you on your generous heart and your excellent manners, and remain silent with my suspicions that you are Venus herself, hiding behind a prim facade.' He patted the pocket that held the journal. 'When this is taken care of, we will have no need to sneak about in the woods, stealing kisses and tempting fate. I will take you away with me. And when I do, I mean to keep you safe and make you happy. I will make it right again, you shall see.'

  She looked puzzled at his last words. And he realized that they made no sense. For why would Nathan Dale wish to make amends for her past, if he'd had no part in it? He waited to see if she understood. If she questioned him, he would tell her the truth and go where it led.

  Instead, she said, 'I would like that very much.'

  He was still free of the past, if there was freedom in hiding. But what did it matter, as long as she wanted him? And while she had not offered love in words, he had heard the truth in the response of her body to his. It would be all right between them, somehow. He smiled at her. 'I have much work to do. To secure our future.' He reached out for her, kissing her fingertips before linking her arm with his. 'Will you allow me to escort you home, Miss Price?'

  'Gladly, sir.'

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nathan came back to the Fourth Circle that afternoon, flushed with the success of his walk with Diana. He had escorted her to the very door of the Carlow town house, and bid her a proper farewell. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world, and not an endeavour fraught with risk. He had pushed aside the hundred worries in his mind about his mending his tattered reputation and her preserving her spotless one, and enjoyed the little time they'd had as he should have done. Caution was all well and good, when kept in its place. But if he wished for a future that was a tenth as happy as this morning had been, it was time to act, even at the risk of failure.