Page 18 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
Unsure why this realisation was affecting her so much, Diana breathed a tiny, exhausted sigh, then politely joined in the cheers that accompanied the end of Uncle James’ oration.I still do not trust that Colin Mullens,she thought.But I suppose there is no reason for me to make his life any harder than I must. Whatever else he may be, he deserves better treatment than that.
* * *
The night was dark, overcast, and surprisingly chilly for the time of year. Still, Colin reflected, the chill felt good on his skin, as did the cool glass of wine he rolled between his fingers from his vantage point on the balcony. He spent most of his life in a state of over-warmth, in fact, a condition only heightened by crowds, large meals, and drink—not that that compelled him to avoid any of those things, of course. But late evenings would usually see him alone in the out of doors, the cold air serving to sober him up even as it cooled his fiery blood.
Unfortunately, this habit also tended to coincide with the moments when Colin felt himself pulled into a morass of melancholy. These quiet, reverent hours beneath the starless sky were peaceful, without a doubt, but if he were not careful, he would begin questioning the nature of his existence, and his inability to produce any answers worth mentioning turned his mood darker still. Worse still, whenever he had imbibed more than a bottle of wine—as he had tonight—he found himself feeling terribly, achingly lonely.
It is good to be back here, after all,Colin thought to himself in most deliberate terms, trying to pull himself back from the brink of that maudlin condition.Travel has its charms, but there is nothing quite like the pleasures of treasured friends in a familiar setting.He smiled and sipped his claret, forcing himself to recall some of Adam’s witticisms and clever jokes made by some of his other acquaintances, whom Sir James had generously invited for Colin’s benefit.
But tonight, his thoughts were undisciplined, slipping away from him like fish in a stream. Each time Colin thought on some pleasurable moment, his mind turned inexorably to Diana Hann—to her voice, raised in anger or dripping with sarcasm, and to her face, filled with electric life.
I can scarcely remember the time anyone could keep up with my jibes,thought Colin as he rubbed his chin in thought.Least of all, a woman.
Indeed, even at the most fashionable salons of London or elsewhere in Europe, after a certain point, Colin’s scathing wit tended to be met by dumb laughter or unsmiling disapproval. He had begun to think of himself as a swordsman without a worthy adversary, outmatching and embarrassing other would-be verbal duellists. Now, after all his years of idle conversation and worthless social obligations, it seemed he was confronted at last by someone who could parry his every blow and land a few of her own.
He had not even noticed until Adam Radcliffe had kicked his shin under the table and waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. That was when it finally occurred to Colin that he had been acting like a child fascinated by a rare animal or magic trick, and he had avoided looking in Diana’s direction again for the rest of the evening.
Though even seeing her only out of the corner of his eye, he could not help listening in on her conversation with her friend by her side. A smile came to Colin’s face once more, recalling her happy words and frequent laughter.She sounded so very different from the last few days—happier, lighter. All the heaviness that usually hangs from her seemed to evaporate, leaving her as carefree and radiant as a cloud. It would be good if I could hear her in such a mood more frequently …
He stopped, shook his head, suddenly feeling filled with embarrassment for a reason he could not identify.“A most amusing novelty, a clever woman like that,” Colin said aloud, draining the last of his wine and setting his empty glass down on the stone balustrade.“Nothing more.”
Colin muttered empty statements of this sort as he went back into the house, leaving the balcony empty in the night air.
“That’s enough of that,” he muttered to himself.
And, “A most thrilling duel, as such things go.”
“Not a bad evening indeed, I suppose.”
“Can’t say I mind.”
The quiet words echoed from the dark halls as Colin made his way to his room, where he shut the door behind him and proceeded to undress before collapsing into his bed.
… But the blissful visitation of sleep did not come for him. Nor was he truly alone, at least in his mind. The moment Colin closed his eyes, he was not enrobed in oblivious darkness but presented with an image of Diana Hann. Colin was so surprised by what ran through his mind that he did not attempt to leash his thoughts, instead letting his imagination free to frolic.
He saw Diana as he had seen her earlier in the evening—her eyes flashing in that singularly attractive way they had, her red-gold curls bouncing and shaking with each harsh word she snapped in his direction. Colin smiled at the remembrance, feeling himself flush with admiration and something altogether more compelling.
Then the image changed, and he fancied he saw Diana as he never had in his waking life. She was no longer clad in the fashionable if plain gown she had worn at dinner that night but instead wore the garb of a Spanish princess of yore—an elaborate gown of rich, royal red, cut so tight and low that her womanly form seemed ripe to burst from its seams.
Diana was standing close to him, her lips pink and swollen, her eyes glistening with some powerful emotion. All the stars that had been absent in the sky appeared above the two of them, dancing and swirling in the shadows. Colin extended his arms, and then Diana was in them—she felt good in his embrace, fitting perfectly into the empty complement of his silhouette like a hand in a glove.
Ridiculous,thought Colin, though the voice of his waking mind had grown quiet, dim.What a preposterous idea, especially behaviour such as this from as wild a woman as Diana. I had better forget this whole thing, or I will burst into laughter when I see her in the morning.
Sleep prickled at the edge of his consciousness now, but Colin swatted it away impatiently even as he began to yawn. The shade of Diana held him tightly, her eyes looking up to him reverently. He shifted in bed—he could feel the heat from her body, somehow, feel the tension in her muscles and the desire knotted still deeper within her pulsing in time with his own. Her perfect red lips parted, and Colin could not tell if she meant to say something … but instead her long pale eyelashes fluttered closed, and their bodies grew closer still.
Just as their lips collided in a glorious burst of light and sensation, sleep cruelly fell upon Colin Mullens, blotting out the continuation of the dream in the oblivion of slumber.
Chapter 9
The Ancient Sentinel
It was only her second time traipsing through the empty halls of the Leeson house in the early morning, but already Diana had begun to think of it as a kind of ritual. The place looked positively transformed from its usual gloomy appearance, painted in radiant shades of gold and amber by the sunlight flooding through the ground floor corridor’s many windows.
Today, Diana resolved, there would be no sneaking, no hiding or meekly trying to steal basic necessities like a mouse scurrying out from the shadows in pursuit of a forgotten crumb of bread. No, this morning, she walked with her head held high down the hallway, striking a leisurely pace and pausing to examine the ornaments and decorations that festooned its walls.
About halfway between the grand staircase and the end of the corridor, she came across an enormous portrait of who else but the master of the house, Sir James Leeson. Diana had always kept her eyes averted from the monstrous painting, fearful on some half-serious level that her guardian might be concealed in a secret room behind the oily representation of himself. But today was already a day unlike other days, and instead, Diana found herself standing with her back against the opposing wall, considering the portrait for the first time.
Nearly twelve feet tall and half as wide, the painting showed Uncle James in what Diana hoped was not meant to be fashionable modern dress. He was standing in a reasonable facsimile of his study, surrounded by books and ink pens and all manner of clutter. The great man was towering imperiously over the viewer, one hand in his jacket and the other resting on the desk.
