He’d almost caught an ague from all the eyelash fluttering, and if he had to hear just one more young lady exclaim over how talented she was on the pianoforte, water colors, embroidery, and selecting just the perfect shade of ribbon to match a dress, he would abandon the idea of marriage and name his brother, Driscoll, as his heir.
“Of course, my lady. I would love a dance.” He pulled himself from his ruminations and responded to Diana’s question.
She smirked as he took her arm and led her to the dance floor. “You don’t lie very well, Hunt. The look on your face tells me you would rather chew nails than dance with me.”
Maybe not chew nails, but he would certainly prefer banging his head against the wall a few times.
He took her in his arms and experienced a shiver he’d oftentimes felt when this close to Diana. Like an electric jolt. The softness of her body, the musky, mysterious scent that was only her, and the way her blue eyes sparkled with merriment, as if she knew what sort of an effect she was having on him, all added to his discomfort. He refused to question it, preferred not to think about it, and pushed whatever it could mean to the back of his mind.
The very last thing he needed in his life was an attraction to Diana. Or, God forbid, a lifelong commitment.
“I had hoped you would call on me after I returned from Italy.” She viewed him with mirth as he led them through an intricate turn. No pouting or sulking for Lady Diana. Everything was always straightforward with her. Instead of frowning, she regarded him with laughter. Most likely because she knew why he’d been avoiding her.
Despite the music and various conversations in the room, her familiar, melodious voice carried easily to him, sliding over him like warm honey. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was how her mouth would taste. Then he mentally shook himself. ‘Twas always best to be alert when dealing with Diana, not distracted by her appeal.
Before he could respond with something believable, she chose to discontinue that stream of conversation and said, “Will you call at my townhouse tomorrow afternoon? Say about two o’clock?”
Ah, he knew this was coming. “What have you done now, dear girl?”
She had the nerve to huff at him and raise her chin. “I have no idea what you mean.”
If he wasn’t so terrified at what her newest entanglement meant for him, he would have laughed at her righteous indignation. Surely, her memory was not that addled.
Her guileless look was greeted by his own aristocratic raised brows. “Given your history, my lady, my question is, unfortunately, appropriate.”
She sighed as he pulled her close into another turn to avoid Lord and Lady Hanson. Once past the couple, he was reluctant to release her. She stared at him, but the slight pink tint to her cheeks told him she was aware of how their closeness had felt. “Will you come or not?”
There was no point in dithering since Diana with a request was like a dog with a bone. She never gave up. “Of course. I will be honored to call upon you and be of service.”
Liar. I would rather shave my face with a blunt, rusty razor.
She grinned, which immediately raised alarm bells. Perhaps it was the year’s absence, but in the short time they’d spoken, this newly-returned-to-Town Diana had evoked more conflict within him than all the years he’d known her. And that was certainly a frightening thought.
“Thank you.” She smiled and dipped her head.
They finished the rest of the dance in typical useless chatter. Once he escorted her to her chaperone, he bowed. “Have a pleasant evening, my lady.”
She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. “Have a pleasant evening as well, my lord. I look forward to your visit.” She sashayed away as if she knew his eyes followed every move her delectable hips made.
Which they did.
Bloody hell. What was he getting himself into this time?
2
Diana breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way through the crowd and headed to the front door. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for her carriage to be brought around and she could leave this blasted place. She grew more and more weary of these events as the Season wore on. Her feet hurt, the room was far too warm, and the beginnings of a megrim teased the back of her head.
She’d finally been able to take a deep breath when she spotted Hunt across the ballroom. For someone who was rumored to be searching for a bride this Season, he’d not been easy to run down. It seemed every event she’d attended, he was somewhere else.
“The carriage is ready.” Her companion and chaperone, Mrs. Rachel Strickland, waved to her from the front door. Someday, she really must take the woman in hand and instruct her on proper behavior. One did not wave and shout across the entrance hall like some sort of fishmonger touting her wares. Diana’s grandmama, Lady Priscilla Abbottt, had been exacting about good manners and would have been appalled.
She smiled every time she remembered her grandmother. Grandmama had been notorious in her time, which led Diana to believe she’d inherited some of the woman’s infamous traits. Lady Priscilla Abbottt had been well-known throughout Polite Society for her shocking beliefs in equality for women and had held meetings on a regular basis espousing such outrageous ideas based on the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft and the scandalous Lady Caroline Lamb.
Lady Abbottt had indulged in scandalous affairs and, over the years, she’d broken several hearts. There had been quite a bit of grieving from the men of the ton at her passing.
And relief by their wives.
Diana held onto the footman’s arm as she descended the slippery steps from the Billingsley townhouse and entered her carriage. A light drizzle had turned the pathway dangerous, and her dance slippers held no more purchase than stockinged feet. However, the coach was warm and dry, and she settled comfortably across from Mrs. Strickland.
She thanked God every day for the substantial fortune she’d inherited from her grandmama so that marriage was not something with which she needed to concern herself to maintain her comfortable lifestyle. Diana had not espoused Grandmama’s ideas about no marriage and taking lovers instead, since she would like a family one day, but so far no man had tempted her enough to give up the freedom she enjoyed as a wealthy, unmarried woman.
Diana leaned back on the squab and closed her eyes to rest her head. At least the first part of her plan had worked. Despite his reluctance, Hunt had agreed to call upon her the next afternoon. Not that she’d expected him to decline her request. He’d always helped her in the past.
In fact, when she’d departed for Italy the year before—running from another potential scandal—he’d helped make the arrangements and had seen her off with his blessing. She tried not to be annoyed by his elation at her departure.
Lord knew she could not afford another opprobrium. Papa had already washed his hands of her and one more mishap would likely encourage him to send her to one of his far-flung estates near the Scottish border. It annoyed her to no end that even at four and twenty, he maintained control over her person. Thank God, not her money, though.
The following afternoon, Diana dipped her fingers into the blue-tinted powder box holding her Pear’s Almond Bloom, the little bit of makeup she allowed herself. She rarely used it, but with the dark circles under her eyes giving testimony to her many sleepless nights since the problem had arisen, it kept her from answering countless questions from nosy matrons about the state of her health.