Page 22 of A Lady's Past
“Whose home is this?”
“It belongs to Middleton, but it is rarely in use. He bought it for his mother, but she spends most of her time in the country. Stay here a moment. I will light a candle and see if there is wood for a fire.” Managing to light three tapers on the candelabra in the parlor, he returned to the foyer.
“Do you not have a home in London?”
“If I brought you to a gentleman’s home in a popular neighborhood, your reputation would be compromised.”
She followed him. “I have no reputation to damage. Is there no staff here?”
“Since Her Grace will not return for several months, Middleton employs only a housekeeper and butler here. I will go down and inform them we are not to be disturbed.” Not wanting to leave her in the dark, he lit several more candles and knelt down at the hearth.
“And then what, Jacques? You have me alone. You will tell the servants to mind their own business. I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?” Only the hint of a tremor shook her voice.
He’d never met anyone like her. Calm despite her fears and her predicament. Staying on his knees, he sat back and watched her sit on the divan. “I would think that if I was going to take liberties beyond what you allow, I would have done so the night at the inn. You will have to trust me.”
“You have given me little choice.”
He stacked the wood and lit some kindling underneath. “There are always choices, Diana. You might have exposed yourself in the temple and seen what Caron wanted with you. You could have run away at the garden gate and perhaps made your way back to Lady Chervil before I found you. You might have even tried asking me to take you directly back to Everton House. You chose none of those things, and you hardly strike me as a woman who does many things she doesn’t want.”
In the firelight, her eyes glowed with passion. Perhaps it was anger, but it was not mild by any means.
He longed to put that look into her eyes but without any question as to the reasons.
“I am a woman who has done what was necessary to stay alive. You do not want me, Mr. Laurent. I am not who you think I am.”
Leaning against the doorjamb, he almost laughed. “I honestly have no idea who you are, Diana. I know I desire you and, in a strange twist, I like you. I am going to inform the butler we are here, so he does not take a fire iron to us in the night. If you wish to leave, no one will stop you. I hope you will stay. But if you do, I must warn you, I have a great many questions I want answers to.”
Not waiting to see if she reacted, he turned and went below stairs to the servants’ level.
ChapterSix
Diana studied his back as he left the parlor. Strong and sure of himself, he was everything a young man of wealth should be. Her only contribution to his life would be disaster. She should walk out the front door and never look back.
The fire illuminated the simple but elegant room. Part of her wished he’d been scandalous and taken her to his home in London. She longed to know his tastes, where he lived and how he lived. Perhaps his parlor was done in the French style or maybe he was austere and kept things simple. She guessed it was the latter. Nothing about Jacques Laurent was fussy or pretentious.
The dowager duchess of Middleton had lovely taste. Dark woods, light fabrics and just a hint of lace. It reminded her of her mother’s parlor before they were taken. It had been comfortable, unfussy, and filled with warmth.
Pushing back her tears as she had for over a year, Diana straightened her back and waited. Let him hear her story. It would send him running, and she would not have to make that choice, at least.
Sitting back, she kicked off her slippers and pulled her feet up under her. A fluffy blue pillow lay beside her, and she hugged it to her chest. If she could just find a place to hide until this nonsense with the French was over, perhaps she would be safe. Though, the things she knew… There were people who wouldn’t want her to talk about the things she’d seen.
His sharp steps sounded on the hallway floor. “The butler is out, and the housekeeper insists on bringing us tea. It seemed useless to try to talk her out of it.”
“It’s rather a waste to have this town house unused.” The fire began to warm the room, but nothing ever warmed her. The only time she’d been warm in years had been sleeping in Jacques’s arms. It made her foolishness difficult to regret.
“Preston can afford the house, and it came in handy tonight.” He sat at the other end of the divan.
His staring made her uncomfortable. “Ask your questions if you must.”
On the arm of the divan, he lounged as if he’d not a care in the world. If he were English, he would sit straight and never stare. Everything about him screamed confidence, honor and directness. “Where were you born?”
Surprise pulled a laugh from her. “That is what you want to know?”
He leaned toward her. “I want to know everything, Diana. I thought we might start with where you came from and your real name.”
Needing to steady her heartbeat, she took a deep breath. “What makes you think Diana is not my name?”
It was maddening the way his half smile transformed him into someone dangerous and irresistible. “I believe Diana is your real name. It is St. Cloud that I doubt, as I’m sure you already know.”
