Diantha saw him and drew her hand away from Kitty’s. “I would like to speak privately with you, Mr. Yale.”
He bowed. “At your command.”
“I am eager to taste Mrs. Polley’s biscuits,” Kitty said, looking swiftly between them, assessing. “I will leave you two to chat.” She glided away.
“Kitty said that you sent for her more than a sennight ago.” Diantha’s voice was tight, her stance rigid in the dappled shadow of the great oak bowing over the yard.
“I posted a message to London the morning we left Knighton.”
“Knighton?” Her lashes beat. “All right. I understand.”
“Probably not entirely.”
“I know that Mr. Eads was truly following us. But it was no accident that we came here in particular, was it?”
“I needed to take you to someplace from which you would be unlikely to seek to escape and where we would not be recognized by other travelers. This seemed best.”
“You were never lost.”
“Five years ago before her death, my great-aunt bequeathed this estate to me. The abbey is mine.”
“Yours?” Her gaze seemed to seek purchase. “When Kitty and Lord Blackwood arrived, I guessed that you were familiar with this place. But . . .” She took a quick, hard breath, turning away from him upon the balls of her feet. “The villagers we encountered, they must know you.”
“Some, you might say, raised me. This house was my home for four months each summer from the time I was seven years old.”
“But they were all—”
“Instructed not to reveal to you the truth.”
The lapis pools swam. “Then everything I—” Her pale brow crinkled up. “The library . . . All those books I thought a lady wouldn’t read. And the Gentlemen’s Rules . . . ?”
“Dictated by my great-aunt and scribed by my boyish hand, for my benefit when I should someday grow to be a man. So, you see, my great-aunt was not as successful as she had hoped. I choose to apply them rather at whim.”
“Stop! You are twisting it.”
“Diantha, I told you I am not a good man.”
“Do you know what I think?” Her eyes flashed, sparkling. “I think you like to pretend the rules mean a lot to you so that you can justify living with dishonesty and secrets. But that is simply duplicitous. Those rules are about kindness and decency, but you don’t want to live with any rules—no more than I do—so you throw everything they mean to the wind and then feel justified calling yourself a bad man.” She shook her head. “My mother used to do that to my sisters and my brother, Tracy, and to me, taking good things and manipulating them until they were wrong.”
“Then why are you trying to rescue her?”
For an instant her face went blank. “Because she is in trouble.” Behind her blue eyes glimmered something Wyn had not seen before when she’d spoken to him, only to others. Dishonesty.
His thoughts came jerkily. She hid something from him. That this struck him only now proved his insanity with her. He had watched her invent stories to carefully dictate the actions of others, yet in his arrogance and desire for her he had not imagined she would do the same with him, not after that first day.
She hid something from him.
“Diantha, you—”
“I feel like such a fool.” She backed away. “All this time you knew I was a fool.”
“No. I did not think that.”
“To where were you going to take me today? Devon?”
Calais. “London.” Calais. He had lost all sense, all reason with her. Despite everything he knew about finding lost persons, he’d been about to take her to Calais to search for her mother upon her claim of evidence in an old letter. To Calais, because all he truly wished now was to be lost with her, to leave behind the life he’d led and begin afresh. Only the arrival of a carriage from London had jarred him back into reality, to the responsibility that had weighed upon him forever it seemed. “Your stepsister and Lord Savege are in town already, awaiting your arrival from Brennon Manor. Your stepfather as well.”
“How do you know that?”
“I sent a messenger to Devon.”
Her face paled entirely. “When?”
“Just after Mrs. Polley joined us.”
She seemed to struggle for breath. “And the fool just keeps feeling more foolish. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When I told you I intended to escort you home, you ran away from me and stranded yourself upon the road with none but a dog to protect you. I could not allow that to happen again. But I came to suspect that you would not allow your family to suffer from your absence.”
“I understand.” Then her voice dipped to a whisper. “You should have told me when—” She looked away. “Days ago.”
He should have. He’d no clear idea why he hadn’t, except that perhaps he had feared to lose her when he was not well enough to pursue her. But it could not be undone now. She felt betrayed, and justifiably so.
“I have been absent from the abbey for some time and must see to several matters. I will follow you to London and call upon you as soon as I have spoken with your stepfather.”
“I suppose you haven’t any choice in the matter now,” she said with quiet firmness. “A gentleman would never renege on such a thing, no matter what the circumstances. You are rather more bound by your great-aunt’s rules than you seem to believe.”
“Rules have little to do with it now. On your part as well.”
“My part?” Her eyes flared. “Well, yes. If lust were all there was to marriage I would be glad to wed you because I do have that for you. But after years of watching both my fathers with my mother I learned that marriage is a travesty without honesty and consideration.” Her voice broke. “How could you have lied to me for so many days? After—” She pivoted toward the house. Then she halted. “Why did you make love to me last night, after putting me off for so long?”
Because he wished to hold her and to breathe in her fresh beauty every day. “You know.”
She sucked in a hard breath. “Do you wish to know where I hid your pistol and bullets? In the drawer of the writing table in your bedchamber. You see? I trusted you more than you trusted yourself.” Shoulders back, she went quickly to the house.
Chapter 22
My dearest Lady Justice,
My admiration for you has grown such that I cannot hide the news: I have lost another member of the Falcon Club. Since you have become so adept at hounding down my fellow club members, I wonder if I could prevail upon you to search out this one and bring her back into the fold. She is difficult to miss: walks with a stoop, carries a cane, suffers from myopia. I haven’t an idea as to where she has gone. Perhaps your sleuthing skills will save the day.
With all my gratitude and
ever increasing affection,
Peregrine
Secretary, The Falcon Club
To Peregrine, at large:
You are a cabbage head. I hadn’t any idea that one of your members was a lady. I am not a nitwit, Mr. Bird
