With much on his mind, Evan entered the master bedroom. His valet, a former batman in a Northumberland regiment, had hung a freshly ironed shirt and Evan’s dinner clothes in the dressing room, but the man wasn’t to be found. Probably fetching hot shaving water.
The door connecting his dressing room to Diana’s stood open an inch or two, and he could hear rustling. She was probably dressing for dinner too. He heaved a sigh. He should knock and go in, make a clean breast of it, tell her what he needed to, and ask her forgiveness.
But knowing what he should do and doing it were two different things. He hated being wrong. And he really hated being wrong in front of someone he cared about, whose opinion he valued.
A thump sounded from her dressing room, and a gasp.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you abandoned me, nor how you stole my money. You’ll give me some funds or else.” The Duke of Seaton.
“Or else what?” Diana’s voice, and he could hear both defiance, which made him proud, and fear, which made him mad. No one should strike fear into her heart.
Evan went to the door, his hand on the knob ready to wrench it open and protect his wife.
“Or else I’ll tell the Prince Regent about you stealing that baseborn brat of your sister’s out of my house. I’ve bided my time, but I won’t wait much longer. You’ll regret trying to cut a sham with me.”
“If you do, I’ll tell him of your threat to put Cian into a foundling home. You saw the prince today. Whom do you believe he will side with?”
She had spirit, he’d give her that. But it was time Evan intervened.
Pulling the door open, he saw the duke raise his hand. Quick as a hawk, Evan intercepted the blow, the duke’s fist smacking Evan’s palm.
He gripped it, forcing the man back, interposing his body in front of Diana. “You’ve made a serious misjudgment here, Seaton. For years Diana had no one of her own to stand up to your bullying ways, but that is no longer the case.” He squeezed the fist, and the duke’s red eyes watered. “I realize you are here as part of the prince’s retinue, and as such I must suffer your presence in my house for a few more days. However, if you come anywhere near my family, and that includes Cian, I will throw you out of this house with a maximum of fanfare and attention, the Prince of Wales notwithstanding. You will keep to yourself, you will cease your threats, and you will walk small when you are around me. If I find out you’re working some devious plan in the background, I’ll expose you for the rotter you are. Am I making myself understood?”
The older man’s knees shook, and he sank a few inches under the pressure of Evan’s grip.
“I asked you a question.”
“I understand.”
“Then get out of here.”
He released his grip, and Seaton almost fell. He gave them both a black look, cradling his bruised hand against his middle as he escaped.
When the bedroom door crashed shut, Evan turned to Diana, cupping her shoulders. “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head, brown eyes blinking fast.
Then he was kissing her. Her lips, her eyelids, her hair, her temples. He really should stop and apologize, say all the things that needed saying between them, but he couldn’t seem to make himself. Especially when her arms went around his neck, her fingers tunneled into his hair, and she kissed him back as if she, too, had missed this.
“Ahem.” A discreet tap at the connecting door. His valet. “My lord, your shaving water is ready.”
I must not yell at this interruption. I must not yell at this interruption. Evan loosened his hold on his wife and turned to the nearly closed door.
“I’ll be there in a moment. Shut the door.”
With a snick, they were alone again.
“Diana, there’s a lot I need to say to you and a few things I need to hear, and there’s no time. We’re hosting the Prince of Wales for dinner.” He shook his head, wishing he could lock all the doors and take her into his bedroom, where they could settle things in a grand making up.
Her eyes were bright as candle flames and her lips rosy and slightly swollen from his kisses. Unable to resist, he kissed her again. “Tonight. We’ll talk tonight.”
Bemused, she smiled and nodded.
Evan went to dress, his heart lighter than it had been in months.
How Diana performed her hostess duties, she would never know. Every time she caught Evan’s eye, she found herself smiling, her imagination wrapped in a world of two, where no one else could intrude. How she longed for the evening’s end, when they could be alone to say what was on their hearts and heal the breach between them.
The way he had fronted her father on her behalf made her want to soar right up with the birds. Not only had he thrown a ring of protection around her, but he’d included Cian.
A true gentleman in every sense of the word.
“I know it’s the wrong time of year, but how is the shooting here at White Haven?” the prince asked Evan.
Evan thought for a moment. “From the little I’ve ridden over the property, there is plenty of game. I have a new gamekeeper who would know more than I. Deer, waterfowl, doves. I’m told there are foxes too.”
“Too bad it’s early spring. Otherwise we could organize a hunting party.” The prince waited expectantly.
Diana held her breath.
“Perhaps you would be able to return in the fall?” Evan asked.
She exhaled. Though neither of them really wanted another Royal Visit, not to offer would’ve been the height of bad manners.
“An excellent idea. Ratcliffe, make a note.” The prince motioned to one of his courtiers. “We’ll have to make plans. I’ve a very busy schedule, as you know, but a hunting weekend in Sussex? Excellent.”
Several guests smirked, and Diana couldn’t decide if they were being derisive because the prince would never again ride to hounds or take a strenuous walk through the fields with a fowling piece, or that they were smugly anticipating another vacation in the country come autumn.
“I understand,” Viscount Fitzroy said suavely, “that Whitelock here was a crack shot in the Ninety-Fifth Rifles. Perhaps we can organize some target shooting on the morrow for a bit of amusement? I’m not a bad shot myself. Perhaps a contest?”
The prince nodded. “That sounds like an excellent amusement. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a flutter.” He rubbed his pudgy hands together. “How much should I wager, and on whom?”
“I’ll join in.” Percival leaned forward from midway down the table. “The shooting and the wagering. We can bet on ourselves, can we not?”
There were fourteen men at the table, and twelve of them put their names in for the contest. Diana mentally organized hampers of food, tables, chairs, and how to make the prince comfortable out of doors for an afternoon. She needed pen and paper to make a list. And what to do with the ladies? She’d planned a trip to a nearby abbey to study the architecture and beautiful stained glass. Perhaps they could postpone that until the following day and join the men in the field.
Diana caught Evan’s eye and knew right away that something was bothering him. Did he not want to shoot? Marcus wore a less-than-thrilled expression too. Was something amiss?