She glanced down the long table to where her father sat, noticing that the footman was filling his wineglass yet again. The duke would bear watching. Drink had always made him irascible. She signaled the footman with a shake of her head, and he left the glass only half full, bowing slightly in her direction that he understood.
Courses were removed and courses were set, conversation swirled around Diana, and she did her best to follow along, especially on the prince’s discourses. At least no one would go away hungry. It was proper protocol to stop eating when the prince laid aside his fork, but he didn’t, putting away a prodigious amount of food, while Diana pushed hers around her plate. Would this dinner never end?
A jovial holiday atmosphere hung over the party. Eventually Diana shepherded the ladies across the hall into the drawing room for tea and gossip, while Evan stayed behind with the prince and the rest of the gentlemen for port and gossip.
As she paused in the doorway, she looked back. Percival and Fitzroy had their heads together, whispering. Her father looked longingly at the decanters the footmen carried in, and Marcus listened to something the prince was saying.
But Evan looked at her. An intense, private, we’ll-be-alone-soon-to-sort-things-out look that sent a frisson up her spine and made her heart thud against her stays.
As she turned away, Fitzroy caught her eye. His sneer was insolent, yes, but something else lurked there. Something dangerous, malicious. His threats echoed in her ears. Threats to not only divulge his conquest of Catherine but to claim the same of her.
She rubbed her upper arms, though the house was warm enough. She vowed to tell Evan everything, promises to her dead sister or not. Cian’s safety and hers must come first.
After an age, Evan mounted the stairs to the master suite. As an early riser, the social timetable of the ton was exhausting. It was well past midnight, and the guests were finally in their rooms. Shand took care of seeing that everything was secure, putting up the fire screens, and blowing out candles and lamps. Louisa loitered in the foyer, as if checking up that the steward was doing his job properly. Evan sighed as he climbed the steps. At least all their jibes and jabs kept the pair on their toes and ensured everything was done properly. He’d seen such competitiveness in the army, but he hadn’t imagined it taking place in his own home.
He only hoped Diana, who had retired more than an hour ago, wasn’t fast asleep. He’d been anticipating their private conversation all night and had even caught himself losing track of what his guests were saying as he stared at her across the drawing room or the dining table.
He needn’t have worried about her being asleep. She wasn’t in her room. And when he checked, she wasn’t in his either. Disappointment poked him.
There was one place to try before he roused the house looking for her, and he went silently down the lushly carpeted hall to the south wing. He opened the nursery door and discovered his wife. She nestled in the corner of a settee before the low fire, Cian asleep against her shoulder. His head lay just under her chin, and his pink bow of a mouth pursed and relaxed. One fist rested against her collarbone, like a small seashell.
The smile she sent him over the baby’s head made his insides warm. Without a word, she patted the upholstery next to her.
“Is he sick again?” Evan whispered as he sat.
“No, just fussy. I came to check on him before I went to bed, and he was grousing a bit. Beth was exhausted. I told her I’d take him for a while, and he finally fell asleep. You don’t need to whisper. He’s hard to get to sleep, but once he’s succumbed, your entire regiment could march through the room with fife and drum and he wouldn’t notice.” She spoke indulgently, lovingly. In nightgown and wrapper, with her hair lying in a braid on her shoulder, she looked cuddly and ready for sleep herself. She’d kicked off her slippers and drawn her feet up, tucking them under her hem for warmth.
“Can you put him in his cot now?”
“I can, but … can we talk here? I don’t want to let him go just yet.”
Evan didn’t let his disappointment show. He’d like to sweep her up into his arms and carry her back to his room and settle all their differences there, but if she wanted to talk here, he could be patient. For now.
“All right, but you’re too far away over there. Come here.” He held out his arm, inviting her to snuggle against his side. When they were situated, she in his embrace and Cian in hers, he sighed. “I’m proud of you, you know that?”
She leaned back to see his face. “Why?”
The temptation was too great. Though he’d promised himself they would talk first, he couldn’t resist brushing a kiss on her lips. “So many reasons. I don’t know another woman who could have taken on the task of fixing this house to meet royal standards in just three months the way you have, especially with a crew of former soldiers and squatters as her staff. You’ve accepted and trained them and showed that you care about them, a group of people that society often overlooks. You’ve won their loyalty and their respect.
“You’ve utterly charmed the Prince Regent, and Marcus claims that an invitation to White Haven or our house in London next Season will be the most coveted of the social calendar. But …” He squeezed her gently, reaching across her and Cian to envelop them further. “I’m most proud of you for how you love this child and would do anything to protect him.” He swallowed his vanity and said what he should have a long time ago. “I understand why you didn’t tell me the truth about Cian belonging to your sister. And why you stole him out of your father’s house. I was wrong to be angry with you or to treat you so shabbily ever since I found out. That wasn’t very noble of me.”
Diana reached up and caressed his face. “If I had known you then as I do now, I would’ve had no reservations in telling you. I would’ve begged for your help instead of trying to conceal the truth. I should have told you long before I did.”
He swallowed another chunk of his pride. “The thing is, I blamed you and treated you shamefully for keeping a secret from me, when all the time I’ve been keeping one from you.”
She sat up, holding Cian to her shoulder. “What?” Firelight reflected in her brown eyes, and her hand cupped the baby’s head.
This was his Rubicon. Once he crossed it, he was committed. He would give her knowledge she could use against him if she so chose. He would be vulnerable. All his military training said if you ever gave someone the opportunity to best you, you gave them a weapon to use against you.
This was what love did to you. Made you vulnerable because the person you loved had enough of your heart to break it. He’d never trusted someone like that before, but now he needed to. Wanted to, even.
Because he loved her. It was as simple as that. Love was more than regard, more than trust, more than companionship. It was giving everything without reservation, without secrets.
“It’s about my injuries.” Evan wasn’t sure how to begin. “And the lasting effects.”
“What’s wrong? Is it serious? Why didn’t you tell me?” She patted his arms, his chest, his leg.
He wanted to laugh at her show of care, but he stilled her hands.
“Are you in pain anywhere?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Well, nearly so. It’s the wound to my head.” He raised her fingers to touch the scar that ran just over his right ear, now well covered with hair. “The doctor says it was a bullet or a piece of shrapnel, and that I was very lucky. I don’t think it was luck. God saved my life on that battlefield, though there were times when I wished He hadn’t.”