Dearly Beloved

  After her son had gone, she went to her chambers and found Gervase beginning to stir. When she ventured close to see if he was awake, he seized her and pulled her into the bed for a morning greeting that left them both flushed and laughing breathlessly. Afterward they lay face-to-face, his hand cradling her head as he drifted toward sleep again. Then, abruptly, his gray eyes snapped open. "What time is it?"

  "About ten o'clock."

  "Good Lord, half the day is gone." He sat up and ran one hand through his dark hair, which was in dire need of a cut. Then he slid out of bed and located his clothing, which had been cleaned, pressed, and left neatly folded on a chair.

  Diana sighed and got up also. She should have known it wouldn't last. She put her rumpled dress into some semblance of order, then pulled the bell twice as a signal for breakfast to be brought up. She enjoyed watching Gervase dress. Even his shabby clothes couldn't hide the beauty of his lean body. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, long muscular limbs, and that lovely masculine grace of movement.... She gave a sigh of pleasure.

  "What are you smirking about?" he asked with a quick smile as he buttoned his shirt.

  "I do not smirk," she said with dignity. "I was merely admiring your body."

  He rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked."

  She chuckled, delighted to see him in such a light-hearted mood. He pulled on his worn jacket, looking every inch a man of distinction. She supposed that when he was skulking around Europe he changed his manner, but now he was unmistakably on his home ground. Breakfast arrived and the smell of hot country sausages persuaded him to stay long enough to eat. In fact, he ate ravenously, having been too tired—or busy—to eat the night before. Having breakfasted with her son, Diana wasn't hungry, but she had tea to keep Gervase company.

  When he finished eating, he scooped her up in a playful hug, lifting her off her feet in sheer exuberance. "I'm sorry I have to leave, but as you can imagine, I've a thousand things to do after being away so long."

  "Are you sorry you lingered here?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't say yes.

  He grinned. "I should be, but I'm not."

  "Will you come tonight?"

  "Yes. Late, but I'll be here." He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him for a quick kiss that momentarily threatened to get out of hand. Then he was gone.

  Diana had her own day's tasks ahead of her, but for a few minutes she curled up in one of the wing chairs with a contented smile on her face. No matter what Gervase said or didn't say, this morning she felt like a well-loved woman.

  * * *

  Gervase's feeling of well-being was short-lived. He had intended to go directly to Whitehall to find the foreign minister, but his eye fell on the apothecary shop whose owner had watched Diana's house. After the warmth of her welcome, it seemed absurd that he had set a spy on her; time to pay the fellow off.

  The shop was empty at the moment, and the apothecary, a dusty little man, greeted the viscount without surprise. "Good morning, my lord. I trust you enjoy good health." Then, with a knowing look, he added, "Yon ladybird is a popular wench."

  The words were like a solid blow, puncturing Gervase's warm glow. Schooling his face to blankness, he said coolly, "Indeed?"

  "Aye. Mind, I can't vouch for the nights, after I've gone home. During the day, things were quiet at first, but the last few weeks, she's had a fair number of visitors." Malice glinted in his colorless eyes. "Gentlemen visitors."

  Gervase reminded himself that it was the apothecary's gossipy interest in his neighbors and his knowledge of prominent Londoners that made him so well-suited to spying; that and his location. And a caller was not necessarily a lover. "Did you recognize any of them?"

  "Oh, aye. There was a gentleman we don't see much in London nowadays, Lord Farnsworth. He scarcely left the house for a week or more. And there's a young fellow, comes by in the afternoon. Saw them kissing in the window myself, bold as brass."

  Gervase felt ill. Had she taken other lovers from boredom, or because she had reason to believe that he wasn't coming back? It hardly mattered. "Do you know who the young fellow was?"

  "Aye. Lad called Francis Brandelin." The apothecary's gaze was voracious as he looked for a reaction; he was a man who fed on the griefs of others. Though Gervase had never identified himself by name, he didn't doubt that Soames knew who he was, and that Francis was his cousin. He'd be damned if he gave the old vulture the satisfaction of a response. "Was there anyone else?"

  Soames scratched his head. "Well, in a manner of speaking."

  "What does that mean?"

  "There's a fellow I've seen hanging about when I've left for the night, a Frenchman."

  "Why is he only 'in a manner of speaking'?" Gervase asked, unable to stop twisting the knife in his gut.

  "Never actually saw him go in. I expect he was waiting till he was sure she was alone. He'd want her to himself." Soames gave a lewd chuckle. "He's a lord, the Count de Veseul."

  Gervase had thought nothing could be worse than hearing that his best friend was one of Diana's lovers, but he had been wrong. The Count de Veseul was his own best guess for the French spy known as the Phoenix, a man of power and depravity. So he too visited Diana. Had he come as a lover, or as a French agent buying information about Gervase? Or both? If she had told Veseul that Gervase was heading to the Continent, she might very well have been shocked by his return.

  Blindly Gervase reached into his wallet and took out his last gold pieces and set them on the counter. He was grateful that a customer came in, for it spared the necessity of comment.

  As he turned toward Whitehall, he wondered what in all the holy hells he was going to do about Diana.

  * * *

  Gervase had said it would be late when he came, and the rest of the household was already in bed as Diana waited in the drawing room. She felt a nagging sense that something was wrong, even though he would surely have sent a message if he was unable to visit her. When the knock finally came, she set down her book and flew eagerly to the door. But her welcoming smile chilled at the sight of him. Checking her usual greeting, she looked at him searchingly, trying to decide what was wrong. The exhaustion of last night was gone, and so was the lighthearted openness of the morning. Instead, Gervase was remote, with the cool distance he maintained when matters between them were strained.

  "May I come in?"

  She had been staring rudely, she realized. "Of course."

  She stepped aside and he walked past her. He was in his normal well-tailored attire, a London gentleman again.

  "Have you eaten?" She faltered, trying to reestablish the pattern that had been between them for so long.

  "Thank you, but I am not hungry." He walked into the drawing room and she followed.

  "Then... do you want to go to my room?" she asked uncertainly. Over the months they had been together, food was optional, but the bed was constant.

  "Again, no, thank you. I wish to talk to you, and a bed might interfere with that." He stayed on his feet, prowling, as if using one of her chairs would be a commitment.

  "Gervase, what is wrong? Is it something I've done?" With growing dread Diana wondered if the crisis she had been anticipating was at hand.

  "Perhaps." He leaned against a heavy mahogany table, his hands resting on the edge and one knee bent with a casualness at odds with the tension that radiated from him.

  Under her defensive fear, Diana felt a stir of irritation. Choosing a chair, she sat and said crisply, "It's late. If you wish to pick a quarrel, please begin before it gets any later."

  "It's not really a quarrel I'm after. It's just that..." He paused, searching for words. "Matters cannot continue as they have been. Whenever I have asked that you accept my protection, you have always refused, so I really have no right to complain that you have been seeing other men. I could live with the idea of... sharing you, as long as it was just a possibility. Now that I know it for a fact, I find it quite unacceptable.

  "In the past you have laid down t
he ultimatums, and after due consideration I always accepted them. But this time the ultimatum is mine: if you will not promise me fidelity, I will have to end our arrangement."

  Such cold words for what had been so warm. It was only when she looked deep into his ice-gray eyes that she saw the passion and the pain under the surface calm. Linking her trembling fingers together, she said carefully, "Why are you so sure that I have been seeing other men?"

  He shrugged. "You were being watched in my absence."

  "What!" Her hurt and confusion were burned away by pure outrage. "You set spies on me?"

  "Not seriously, the way I would have done if I thought you were a foreign agent." He was so impossibly calm. "Just a casual surveillance that noted several men, though I suppose there could be a good number more, since you were not watched at night. Considering the length of my absence, it's hardly surprising that a woman of your passionate nature felt the need for... diversion. Perhaps I should be glad that you were sleeping with several men rather than becoming deeply involved with one, but I find myself curiously ungrateful."

  As edge of pain sounded in his voice. "But you were quite straightforward about wanting what I couldn't give you, so I can hardly blame you for pursuing your goals. Since Lord Farnsworth's wife died recently, and newly widowed men are often very persuadable, you might well become Lady Farnsworth. That would have the advantage of being immediate, but the disadvantage that he already has heirs, so a child of yours would be unlikely to inherit."

  A china shepherdess sat in the center of the table and he lifted it, studying the detail as if fascinated. "In most ways, my cousin Francis is a much better choice. He is young and attractive, of an age to be romantically in love, far more personable than I, and he is my heir. But you might have to wait thirty or forty years to become Lady St. Aubyn, and you will never be that if he dies before I do."

  He set the shepherdess back on the table. "Actually, I've never quite understood what you see in me. There's the money, of course, but you've never seemed over concerned with that, especially not for a woman of your calling.

  "Then there's the sex. You certainly seem to enjoy it, and I don't think it would be possible to counterfeit such responsiveness. But any number of men would be delighted to give you as much sex as you want. Of course, you know that already."

  "Stop it!" Aghast, Diana stood abruptly. "Gervase, have you gone mad? You are talking rubbish about so many things that I have no idea how to reply."

  His eyebrows arched eloquently. "Oh? I thought that I was being perfectly reasonable."

  She felt like swearing, but lacked an adequate vocabulary. "That is exactly the problem! You are talking about matters that are inherently emotional with all the passion of... of a watchman calling the hours. More than that, you are wrong about almost everything you are saying."

  "Am I? I stand willing to be corrected."

  Her hands balled into fists of sheer frustration. "To begin with, neither Lord Farnsworth nor Francis is my lover, Farnsworth was with Madeline."

  "Really?" After a moment's surprise, he said consideringly, "I suppose that is possible. She's an attractive woman."

  "Possible has nothing to do with it," she snapped. "It's the truth. They have loved each other for many years. They had to separate, but now that his wife is dead, I don't think anything short of death will ever part them again."

  He smiled faintly. "I suppose that pleases your romanticism."

  "Yes, damn you, it does!"

  "Why are you so angry?" he asked, genuinely curious.

  She shook her head and turned away, pacing nervously across the drawing room. How could she properly convey how much his every word and attitude mocked what was most important to her? How much his spying violated her cherished privacy? How his cool, detached reasoning infuriated her emotional nature?

  She stopped and pressed her hands to her temples. Gervase could no more help being rational and detached than she could help being emotional and intuitive. And, God help her, she loved him, though at the moment she had trouble remembering why.

  Turning to face him across the length of the room, she tried to match his calm. "We have joked about being opposites, my lord, but it is sober truth. We speak different languages, even when we say the same words, and I don't think I can explain my anger. At least, not without thinking about the reasons for a few weeks, then translating my thoughts into words you might understand. Since you seem to prefer facts, we will confine ourselves to them. Lord Farnsworth is not my lover, nor is your cousin Francis. We are friends, no more."

  He looked so skeptical that her anger rose again. "Do you assume that no man could possibly have any interest in me when I'm not on my back? Don't judge everyone by yourself."

  His lips thinned. "Oh, I don't doubt there are men willing to talk with you and no more. But since you and Francis are given to embracing each other in windows in broad daylight, I may be forgiven for thinking your 'friendship' an unusually warm one."

  His words jolted her. So someone had seen that embrace, that innocent gift of comfort. A simple thing, yet not easily explained, given Francis' circumstances.

  "Is my information wrong?" he inquired gently.

  "It is not wrong, but it is... misleading. If you don't believe me, ask your cousin. No doubt you will believe him sooner than me."

  "I really would like to believe you," he said bleakly, the yearning in his voice unmistakable.

  She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Have I ever done anything to make you doubt my word?"

  "Not that I know of." The qualification was an insult, yet Gervase's voice was matter-of-fact. "That is what has stopped me every time I considered leaving you. I knew I wanted you more than was sane or wise, but you have always been so sweet, so undemanding, asking only for love. And moderate remuneration, of course. Whenever I pulled back, I would remember that you had given me no cause to doubt your honesty, and would return to become more besotted than ever."

  Settling his weight on the table, he crossed his legs in front of him. "But there is another matter that raises a few questions in my mind. You guessed I was going to the Continent. Did you sell the information to a French spy, or merely mention it to another of your lovers without knowing he was a spy?"

  Diana gasped, stunned by his words. "What on earth are you talking about?" she gasped. "Although I have reserved the right to take other lovers, I did not do so in your absence. And I don't know any French spies. I told no one where you were going, though I think Madeline and Edith might have guessed."

  He cocked his head to one side and appeared to consider. "I suppose that one of them casually mentioned something to someone else. I am constantly amazed at how far and fast information travels."

  His gray eyes met hers again, as clear and cold as a winter sky. "I would much rather think the information got out by accident than that you sent me off with that touching farewell to what you knew would be certain death. If I had not been very lucky, I would not have returned. In that case, cultivating Francis could have made you Lady St. Aubyn very soon."

  He paused to let the import of his words sink in before continuing. "Perhaps it was my imagination, but you seemed quite surprised to see me alive last night, though afterward you managed to allay suspicion most effectively."

  Diana felt caught in a nightmare, unable to assimilate the sheer, cold-blooded cynicism of his words. Her voice shaking, she asked, "Do you honestly think I could make love with you, then sell your life? That after arranging your death, I could set out to seduce your heir in hopes of achieving a title?"

  He lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. "I hope not, but that may be just my wishful thinking. I really do not know."

  It was incomprehensible that he could stand there and coolly say such wounding words. Diana's knees would no longer support her and she sank into a deep chair, gripping the arms with numb fingers. "If you think me capable of such vileness, how can you sit there and talk so calmly? How can you bear to be under the sam
e roof with me?"

  "I don't know what I believe. That is why I am here. So, Diana, what is the truth?"

  She buried her face in her hands. "What is the point of saying anything? If I could deliberately betray you, my protests of honesty are worthless. If I did not, you have only my word on it, and you appear to value that very little."

  "Actually, I would rather give you the benefit of the doubt."

  "How generous of you, my lord," she said without raising her head. She wished he would go, but even worse than the pain of his presence and his accusations was the fear that if he left, he would never come back.

  She did not hear his soft footsteps, and it was a surprise to feel his warm hands take her shivering ones as he knelt before her. "Diana, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It has not been my intent to hurt you, simply to learn the truth. Whether or not you have had other lovers in the past, the way the French learned of my journey—those things are less important to me than whether you will promise not to see other men in the future."

  She raised her head and looked at him wearily. His face was a scant foot away, the sculpted lines and planes more familiar than her own features. In some ways she knew him better than she knew herself; in others, he was alien and incomprehensible. "Why does it matter so? Is it because you are so possessive that you can't bear to think of another man playing with your toys?"

  His hands tightened on hers, but he didn't look away. "It matters because..." He drew a steadying breath, his gaze locked to hers, "...because I love you."

  She had wanted desperately to hear those words, and now she was so drained that she wasn't sure what they meant. Trying to suppress her tears, she whispered, "How can you love me if you don't trust me?"

  She was so close that the anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. After a long pause he said, "I didn't know that love and trust had anything to do with each other."

  "They do to me." Gently disengaging her hands, she sat up straight. "Do you really mean what you said, or are you just saying that you love me so I'll do what you want me to?"