Chapter 21
Max forced himself to cool his ardor for his wife.
His wife.
He hadn’t been a callow youth in a very long time. And yet, she made him feel as if the world was green again.
Somehow, in a very short period of time, he’d lost all sense which was a damned odd thing because he was the man who almost always knew exactly what was transpiring. But that’s what Diana had done. She’d held out her hand to him and led him down a path he’d thought long forbidden to him.
She was entirely unexpected in every way. And he, to his horror, found he adored it.
As he led her up the stairs into one of the most important theaters in London, immediately, as he’d known they would, the stares began.
The ton adored gossip. It was the food they thrived upon. They likely wouldn’t survive without it and there was always a general din whenever in their company. But with the sudden appearance of the new Duchess of Raventon, the buzz of the matrons’ gossip was as loud as a full orchestra.
The ladies waved their fans rapidly, their eyes darting as they no doubt expressed their dismay over Diana’s beauty and poise. It would have been so lovely to decry their claims that the marriage must have, indeed, been one of necessity.
But only one look at Diana would bespeak her desirability. Any man would be lucky to have her. And have her, he did.
For all the to-do, Diana seemed hardly to notice.
Of course, he realized, it was only because she was enjoying the experience of attending the theater so thoroughly.
After depositing their cloaks, he led her up the grand stairs leading to his private box.
He pulled back the velvet curtain and gestured for her to take one of the delicate, golden chairs which overlooked the stage and crowd below.
She did so eagerly, her gaze flitting first to the chandelier which dominated the space over the ground audience and then to the stage where the red curtain was currently closed.
Just as in the entry, the sound of lords, ladies, and the very best of the city buzzed at their arrival. Several sets of quizzing glasses made an appearance as the ton did their best to look their fill upon the new duchess.
He studied his young wife again. “Diana?”
“Mmm?" she asked absently as shook in their surroundings.
“What did your aunt look like?"
“My aunt?" she queried. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Beautiful but interesting. I think she carried so many hidden stories inside her. I can only imagine what she had seen in Paris. Ye ken, we called her The Dove. Can you imagine?”
He stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“Isn't it odd?”
“Do you know what La Purcelle means in French?” Max asked softly, his heart all but slamming against his ribs.
She shook her head.
“The Dove.” The possibility thundered through him and he felt a moment of such glorious relief. Could Angeline have escaped? If anyone could, it would have been her. Had she lived her life out in the Highlands at peace? If so, he knew why she'd never contacted him. She would not have wished to be found or to endanger her family.
Diana blinked. “Och! You think my aunt could have been-"
"We will never know," he said quietly. “But I hope. . . I hope it is true. I'd like think of Angeline in the Highlands."
“Despite whatever past haunted her, she was happy," Diana replied kindly.
He sucked in a sharp breath and they both turned to face the orchestra as if they both knew nothing more should be said. They would let The Dove rest.
Max glanced at the boxes. Several of the other dukes of Number 79 were in attendance.
He spotted the Dukes of Harley and Blackstone in their own boxes. Royland sat with a stunning woman who very well might be his new mistress. For the duke had an appetite for life that would leave even the most athletic haggard. Ardore certainly wouldn’t be in attendance. He’d gone down to his estate to see to his sister.
Which left only Drake.
That wily duke was nowhere to be seen. Max breathed a silent sigh of relief. For the only one who saw through him with the same skills of Yvette was Drake. Drake was a born masker, who’d long ago learned how to hide his true feelings about the world and everyone in it.
Max wasn’t quite prepared to be examined by Drake in the presence of Diana.
Leaning back ever so slightly, Max prepared to pour a glass of wine for his wife, eager to shower her with all the fine things his life could bestow, when the curtain to his box opened and in entered the very devil he’d hoped would not make an appearance.
“Raventon,” boomed Drake. “How pleased you look to see me!”
Raventon fought a groan. “Of course, old man. What better bliss than your good company?”
Drake strode into the small, yet lavish box and, without waiting for invitation, sat in the chair behind Diana.
“Now, where the deuce have you been, dear girl, since your oh so romantic marriage?” Drake asked conspiratorially. “Has he kept you away lock and key to himself?”
Diana turned slightly in her chair and, completely unperplexed, faced the Duke of Drake. “Och, no. I have been most busy, Yer Grace. London needs a good deal of sorting, ye ken.”
Drake clasped a hand to his heart. “Indeed it does, Duchess. And how lucky it is to have you to do it.”
She eyed him carefully, clearly amused.
Raventon kept silent, watching the exchange. Some people felt immediately cowed in Drake’s presence. The man made a marvelous show of charm, but he could be bloody terrifying with the coldest eyes in all of Europe.
The cold glance was his actual person, the jovial chap? A complete sham.
Still, only those that crossed him saw it or those who knew the depth of the pain he’d endured over the years.
“And ye?” Diana asked brightly. “Ye have no’ come to call upon me in the last weeks. So, either ye found me very dull, indeed, or ye have been most occupied.”
“Dearest Duchess Diana, only a fool could find you dull,” Drake drawled, making good play of his alliteration.
“And ye are no’ a fool?” she queried easily, completely unintimidated. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the banter. “Or perhaps, ye think it is I who is the fool. I think ye are a good deal more serious than ye pretend.”
Drake laughed, a booming sound before his mischievous mask fell away, replaced by his more genuine, sardonic self. “No, dear lady. Neither of us are fools. Shall I be myself then?”
“’Tis the best person ye could be,” she informed him simply.
Drake’s glance angled to Max as he asked quietly, “Is it? Not everyone would agree.”
She quirked an elfish smile. “No’ everyone has any sense to speak of.”
Drake laughed dryly. “Ah. Honest. Whatever shall you do in society?”
“Ignore it for the most part.” She looked out to the sea of the ton. They glittered with thousands of jewels and shone with their silks and brocades. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by them. “Or give it little thought.”
“But you are a duchess. You are inherently a part of society,” Drake said factually.
“And so I shall set the fashion,” she countered, not perturbed. “Is that no’ the point of power?”
Drake leaned back, seemingly surprised by Diana’s bluntness and rather sharp analysis of the ton. “Perhaps you shall, dear girl. Perhaps you shall. Society could use your guidance. Obviously, you’re not a Puritan.”
She grinned. “Because I’m at the theater?”
“Exactly so.” Drake shuddered. “I’m only here tonight as a favor to the Duchess of Devonshire. Lowest form of entertainment, don’t you know.”
“Drake prefers the opera,” Max whispered sotto voce.
“Och, I’ve never been to the opera,” Diana replied, apparently taking no offense at Drake’s comments. Instead, she leaned towards Drake and arched a brow. “Tell me, is it true that live sheep do bound about the stage during the choral passages?”
Drake’s lips twitched. “On occasion, I do admit.”
“Ye like a good spectacle then?” she asked, clearly amused and not at all flummoxed that her tastes apparently ran to the lowest form of entertainment.
Drake’s eyes widened, both clearly surprised and pleased that she stood up to him so easily. “What could be better than the opera, spectacle and all?”
Diana’s eyes positively glowed before she announced, “Poetry divine. The bard!”
“You mean this drivel?” Drake asked, gesturing towards the stage.
She scowled. “Shakespeare? Drivel?”
“The most overrated author of any time,” Drake intoned, peering at her from the corner of his eyes.
Max bit down on his tongue. Drake was having too much fun baiting her. He could, of course, sweep in and rescue her, but he had a feeling that his wife could hold her own.
Her cheeks flamed red and she opened her mouth, clearly ready to give him a set down before she suddenly stopped. “Ye, sir, are terrible.”
“So they tell me,” Drake confessed in dramatic tones.
“I wager,” she began knowingly, “ye’ve read every play and sonnet. Which is yer favorite play?”
Drake shook his head. “They’re all sop.”
She arched a brow, daring him.
“Hamlet,” Drake finally said.
“Truly?” she asked, seeming genuinely surprised by the selection. “Why?”
“Because they all die in the end,” Drake drawled. Then he turned to Raventon. “Old boy, I need a quick word. Could you spare a moment before curtain’s up?”
Raventon smiled at Diana, playing his part of leisurely duke as he stood. “Of course.”
Drake gave Diana a decidedly deep bow with an extra flourish. “A surprising pleasure. Expect me for tea.”
“I suppose it’s possible that I could be at home,” she teased. “Even for someone who calls Shakespeare drivel.”
Drake threw his head back and laughed before he exited the box.
“One moment, my dear,” he assured his wife. He didn’t wish her to think he was running off for a considerable time. After all, this was their first night out together.
Diana nodded absently, her gaze already fixed again on taking in the elaborate theater.
Max followed Drake out into the dark, now quieter hall. The performance was about to begin and most had taken their seats. They paused in one of the darker shadows.
Drake casually tugged at his cuff as he asked, “Have you heard any whispers about an angry young Scotsman?”
Max stilled, his heartbeat increasing. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected Drake to say. After all, O’Malley’s reports had all been good. Further, Max’s reach stretched far and wide, into almost every tavern, every workhouse, every gin shop, salon, and ball room.
“I have not,” he admitted warily.
Drake’s face grew serious, his eyes dark and hard as they had been when they’d first met. “Perhaps it was odd luck,” Drake observed. “But. . . I think you need to put Hamish Argyle on a boat. Soon. Or kill him.”
“You saw him?” Max demanded.
Drake leveled him with a warning stare. “He fancied having his palm read, of course. That sort of fellow.”
Max nodded patiently, knowing exactly what Drake meant. Drake, when the darkness of his life encroached, took to the fields and could be found, only by a very knowledgeable few, in the camps of Irish Travelers which had somehow roamed over into England, unwelcome, but determined to survive.
And somehow, Drake had seen Hamish enter a Traveler camp as so many fool English did to have his future foretold.
Dread pooled in Max’s gut.
Quietly, Max asked, “Did he ask anything in particular?”
Drake arched a brow and said flatly, “He inquired if there would be a death in his family.”
That dread formed a rock in his abdomen. He’d hoped Hamish would cease to be a problem. He’d hoped mistakenly it seemed.
Max drew in a long breath, knowing the answer wouldn’t be pleasant. “Did the palm reader oblige him with an answer?”
“She convinced him that only a reading of the cards would suffice.”
“Of course.” Max snorted with disgust. “And she discovered?”
“It seemed. . .” Drake’s shoulders stiffened. “He was looking for confirmation that a certain course of action would be successful. He was not asking about a natural death, if you understand my meaning.”
“I see. Will he go back to her, do you think?”
“That one?” Drake’s jaw clenched. “His wits have left him. He is being governed solely by emotion, Raventon. He’s dangerous. A cornered animal, I think.”
There was nothing left to say, so Max said the only thing he could. “Thank you.”
“Do you need assistance?” Drake asked, clearly ready to take Duncross in hand.
Max ground his teeth together. Duncross was Diana’s brother and he still hoped to make him see reason. Living with the man’s blood on his hands while married to Diana might be a very difficult thing and if she ever found out. . .
No. For now, he would follow the rule of law and not the rule of power. He would ensure that Hamish hied off to new lands. Tonight.
“Not yet, Drake.” Max narrowed his eyes. “But when I do, I’ll send word.”
“Good.” Drake started to turn, eager to be away.
Max reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “And we need to watch Ardore. He is. . .”
“Also dangerous just now,” Drake finished.
“Righteous,” Max corrected, wishing to think the best of his friend, even if what Drake said was true. “But I don’t want him dancing the Tyburn jig.”
Drake nodded his agreement then clapped Max in return on the back. “We shall ensure he doesn’t go to the place from whence he came.”
Wordlessly, Drake turned and strode into the darkness.
Years of masking should have made returning to Diana with a smile simple. But it seemed with Diana, nothing was simple.
And he knew why.
He winced. It was hard to admit to himself. A man who was always so carefully in control.
He cared.
Bloody hell, he cared about her. He cared about the way she never backed down. He cared about the way she held her head high and faced the world with a wry smile. How she took action. Diana didn’t sit about waiting to be rescued. No, she made things happen.
Even their kiss.
An unbidden smile came to his lips then. But it seemed she had that power over him, to make him smile, even when there was trouble on the horizon.
She was remarkable.
For she had not come to London to immediately be swept up by the ascertaining of jewels, clothes, and social invitations. No, she had gone to work where she saw work was necessary.
Like he had done all those years ago.
He loved helping her with it, offering her suggestions and simply helping her to achieve her wishes.
She could not rest while she saw injustice being done.
And like him, her nature had put her in danger.
For she did not choose the easy way or the path of least resistance. She had fought her brother and refused to be intimidated by him.
Yes, Diana was a magnificent woman. Just as he’d thought the night he’d met her.
But now. . . now, he longed to hold her close. To reveal all of himself to her.
But what if. . . what if he lost her?
He paused before the closed curtains of his box. He’d never let that happen. Not while there was breath in his body. Diana was his to protect, and protect her he would because. . .
Without a doubt, something he’d imagined impossible was occurring. He was falling in love with her.