"Shut up. Lyon! It is not any of your affair!"
"It certainly is," he said. Then, to his own immense chagrin and surprise, he added, "I shall be accompanying you. And you will stay in bed for as long as Dr. McComber tells you to. I don't want to have to nurse you aboard some idiot ship."
Lucia said not a word. Diana stared at him as if he'd gained three extra kings in his deck of cards.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," he said, throwing up his hands, "I might as well accede to Oliver Mendenhall's wishes. I will go there, see to my inherited plantation, and then come home. That is all there is to it."
"Of course," said Lucia in her blandest voice.
"I also find that London doesn't much amuse me at present. A brief change of scene will be beneficial. You know, Lucia. New experiences, new knowledge."
"What about your little amour?" Diana said, her voice laced with mockery. "She no longer amuses you?"
"Not a single new experience," said Lyon.
"How very tedious, for both of you."
"Really, Diana, a lady doesn't know about such things!"
"Aunt, what you mean is I should be willing to accept such awful behavior from gentlemen and keep my mouth closed? Pretend even that gentlemen don't indulge in such behavior?"
"Exactly," said Lyon. "But I am beginning to despair of your behavior. Now, look at yourself. You're flushed again. For heaven's sake, stop getting so excited." His inadvertent words immediately brought images of Diana, naked, moaning in his arms, those endless beautiful legs of hers again slightly parted, and he flushed. He said, furious at himself, "As for this so-called awful behavior from gentlemen, I would suggest that ladies indulge their lust just as feely."
"Well, I haven't!"
"Doubtless you will. As soon as you manage to trap an unsuspecting gentleman, you ---" He broke off, took a deep breath, but before he could continue more calmly, Diana said, her color high, "Trap a gentleman! Why would a self-respecting female want to trap one of you fools? If the gentlemen I have met thus far are a fair example --- and that includes you, my lord --- I should rather become fish bait."
He managed now to find that calm voice, once so much a part of him and sadly in absence since Diana's arrival. He even managed to look amused. "Fish bait? But of course you are right. Do forgive me for ranting at you. Get the chit well, Lucia. I will accompany her back to her father."
As he strode from the bedchamber, he heard her mutter to Lucia, "Good heavens, Aunt, I don't even know what lust is."
He smiled, he couldn't help himself. He toyed with the idea of teaching Diana all about lust. "I am not yet completely lost," he said to himself.
Lyonel spent the next several days getting his affairs in order. His stay in the West Indies would probably keep him from England for a good three or four months. He wanted nothing to go wrong in his absence. Perhaps he would be gone longer; better to plan for all contingencies.
As for Diana, after three days she was allowed to receive visitors in the drawing room with Lucia her watchdog. To each gentleman who came to see her, she sweetly informed him that she was returning home. Not another posie came from Brackenridge upon that announcement.
When the ladies visited, they seemed most interested in her symptoms and subsequent diagnosis. Unlike Lucia, she wondered why they should be so downcast that she should have suffered such a nasty illness.
"I tell you, Mabel," said Lady Doncaster as they took their leave, "there is something between the girl and Lord Saint Leven. One has but to look at them when they are together. Did you not hear that he will accompany her back to the West Indies?"
"She'll be in the family way soon enough, I wager," said Mabel. "I would also wager that when she and Lord Saint Leven return to England, doubtless as husband and wife, she will be carrying a child on her shoulder."
Meanwhile at White's, the Earl of March was saying gently to a furious Lyon, "You see, Lyon, the tabbies really would rather believe Charlotte, her rendition is far more titillating than the truth. Surely you know this, old fellow. Why am I wasting my valuable insights?"
"It is most unfair to Miss Savarol," said Lyon, mouthing the sentiment, but deep down thinking it was more unfair to him.
"Look at the caliber of gentlemen pursuing her. Unfortunately, many gentlemen are also tabbies."
"I told her in no uncertain terms that none of them would do. She is not stupid, you know, Julian. Indeed, she felt not a whit of anything for any of them."
"Why are you returning with her?"
"I don't know. I opened my mouth and said the words. I really don't know."
Julian could have ventured a fairly accurate guess, but he held his peace, saying only, "When do you intend to depart?"
"If Diana continues her recovery at such an impressive clip, I should say we can leave next week. Lucia is busily lining up a family to chaperone on the voyage." He grinned at Julian. "Perhaps upon my return I shall find you no longer a bachelor."
"I doubt that most sincerely," said the Earl of March. He rather thought Miss Diana Savarol a most delightful female. He guessed his friend's bachelor days were numbered. As for himself, there was no shining star on his horizon.
Diana looked through the carriage window at the bustle of Plymouth. She had landed at Southampton at her arrival in England. Plymouth, on the other hand, was more exciting, more alive, more earthy, she supposed, like Road Town harbor. There was constant noise and movement. Sweaty, vigorous human smells, and the salty air filled her nostrils.
"We are to meet Lord and Lady Tomlinson here at the Drake," said Lyon, opening the carriage door when they halted.
"Yes, I know."
He helped her down, thinking she still looked just a bit peaked. "You need to gain flesh," he said, his eyes roving over her. Unfortunately they stopped their brief journey at her bosom.
"Not there," she said, her voice acid. "I never lose flesh there."
He grinned. "Thank heaven for something." Her eyes lost their greenness and became a stark gray. He raised his hand in surrender, forestalling a comment undoubtedly destined to burn his ears.
"Come along, let's see if your chaperones have arrived."
Odd, Diana thought as she trailed him into the century-old inn, but she was already missing Lucia. Even the dour Grumber she missed. She pictured Didier, looking so very leonine as he sat at the piano pounding out a waltz, his long, narrow foot tapping to the beat. The old monk --- he was a rock.
"I beg your pardon?"
She came closer when she heard Lyon's incredulous words to the innkeeper.
"I said, milord, that Milord Tomlinson sent a message that they would be late."
"How late?"
"Hopeful the message said, milord, to be here late Wednesday night."
"The boat sails on Thursday," said Lyon. "First tide in the morning."
The innkeeper spread his hands.
"Perhaps they will arrive tomorrow, Lyon," said Diana.
He was frowning, wondering what the devil to do.
"Come, now, surely you don't think we should simply give up and return to London?"
"Do you and your wife still wish a room, milord?"
"She is not my wife," said Lyon.
"Ah," said the innkeeper. He eyed the young lady and began to draw some most interesting conclusions.
"Look here," Lyon began, growing angry.
"No, 'tis not important," said Diana, touching his forearm.
He was still frowning as he turned away from the innkeeper. "I suppose we will simply wait," he said finally. "It would be ridiculous to return to London when they might arrive in time. Also, I don't wish to give rise to any more gossip."
"I am your cousin, of sorts. As a relative, surely you can escort me places without tongues wagging."
"Your navet never ceases to amaze me." He turned back to the innkeeper before Diana could retort. "Very well. Two bedchambers and a private dining room."
"My regrets, milord. But we haven't one available."
&nb
sp; "I understood that you would," Lyon said at his most imperious.
"My apologies, milord. But a Captain Rafael Carstairs requested the private parlor."
Lyon turned to Diana. "Are you willing to dine in your room, alone?"
She shrugged.
"Very well. See that a maid is sent to Miss Savarol's bedchamber."
It wasn't until ten minutes later that Diana discovered their bedchambers were adjoining. She was uncertain what to do. Obviously the innkeeper believed them to be closer than they were. Ha! That was a ludicrous thought! Lyon, drat him, had left the inn, doubtless to go exploring and enjoy himself.
She was tired, she admitted. She dismissed the young maid and lay on the bed. She was asleep within five minutes.
Lyon stood in the now open doorway between their bedchambers. The room was shadowy in the late-afternoon light, but he could clearly see Diana's outline on her bed. Damn the innkeeper, he thought. He saw no hope for it, and quietly walked to her bed.
"Diana."
She was lying on her back, her head turned away from him on the pillow, one arm raised above her head. She didn't stir.
He gently shook her shoulder. "Diana. Time to wake up. Come on, my girl."
She heard his voice, low and gentle, and sighed softly. "Lyon," she said.
He jerked his hand off her shoulder and straightened. What the devil was she reaming about? He said more loudly, "Diana, it's time to wake up."
She opened her eyes, blinked several times, and stretched with luxuriant thoroughness. Lyon's eyes went to her breasts, and he gulped and stepped back.
"What time is it?"
"Late afternoon. About six o'clock. I have found a snug little place to eat dinner on Crammer Street, just a couple of minutes from here. If you would like, we can eat there and you won't have to remain imprisoned in your room."
She gave him a dazzling smile. "That is very nice of you. Give me five minutes to rearrange myself."
"I am not at all nice," he said. "Just hungry, and you are my responsibility until I hand you over to the Tomlinsons. I will await you downstairs."
He had effectively wiped out the gentle voice she had heard. He was back to being himself. She wished she understood him but decided quickly that it wasn't worth her effort.
Lyon was a man of few words that evening, even withdrawn, and after a while, Diana gave up her attempts at civil conversation. She was one of very few females present in the small eatery, but Lyonel's forbidding expression kept any interested men at their distance.
They weren't, many of them, gentlemen. Seamen, sailors, merchants for the most part. But she didn't care. She ate her stewed beef with great enthusiasm and successfully chased her green peas about her plate with a fork.
Lyonel knew he'd made a mistake. The devil, he'd known it the minute the damned words had popped out of his mouth. He never should have agreed to take her back. He eyed her from across the small dining table, watching her make a game of catching the damned peas.
She's utterly guileless, he thought, then immediately drew himself up. No, no woman was guileless. He had learned his lesson; he just had to keep repeating that lesson to himself, evidently.
He walked quickly back to the Drake, forcing Diana to skip to keep up with him. He heard her mutter something, imagined accurately that it was an insult on his antecedents, and kept walking. He left her at her bedchamber door.
"You were exceedingly tedious company," Diana said as he turned to leave her without a word.
"Keep your door locked," he said over his shoulder.
"Which door?"
"Both, though you haven't a fear of me."
"I would be a faintheart if I feared you," she said, walked into her bedchamber, and slammed the door behind her.
Damned twit.
Diana, more weary than she'd believed, awoke very late the next morning. Indeed, she soon realized, it was nearly noon. She looked toward the adjoining door. She pulled on her dressing gown and knocked on the door. No answer. She turned the knob and found that the door was unlocked. She peered in. The room was empty. She returned to her room, wondering what to do. To her relief a maid soon arrived with a covered tray.
"Lord Saint Leven asked that you remain in your room," the girl recited.
Oh, he did, did he? Well, she would see about that!
"He also asked that I give you this book. For your enjoyment, his lordship said."
Diana took the book and found it a lurid novel. Her eyes lit up. Well, the afternoon should pass quickly enough.
She bathed, ate, then settled herself into the one chair to indulge in fantasies. She was giggling with delight when the heroine fainted in the second chapter.
There was a knock on the adjoining door at precisely five o'clock.
"Come," she called.
"Hello, Diana," said Lyon, coming into her room. "You are well amused, I trust?"
"It is most engrossing. The heroine has just succumbed again to the vapors."
"I selected it because it is one of Lucia's favorite authors. She doesn't want anyone to know, but she much enjoys this stuff."
Diana had nothing to say about that. She knew Lucia would be aghast that Lyon knew about her reading.
She sighed. "I miss her."
"I as well. I have loved her since the day when I was four years old and she pulled me out of a tree, kissed the scrape on my elbow, and didn't tell my father of my escapade."
"I cannot imagine you being four years old."
"I was a remarkable child."
"How have you amused yourself today, my lord?"
"My lord? Well, my lord has explored Plymouth, visited ships, and spent time praying in church that the Tomlinsons would arrive in time. Now, if you like, we can have dinner again at the Waving Flag. Unfortunately I did not discover a more refined restaurant."
If Diana entertained hopes that this evening would be more enlivening than the previous, she was doomed to disappointment. Lyon drank more than he should, said very little, and all in all, acted like a man destined for the gallows. Either that, or a brother bound to take his sister to a convent.
She was so furious with him that she didn't try to keep pace with him on the way back to the Drake. Lyon, a bit tipsy, didn't at first notice that she wasn't beside him until he heard her yell.
He whirled about to see her in the grip of a rough-looking man, two other ruffians laughing and guffawing as they moved in for the kill.
She was struggling with all her might, yelling at the man who was holding her. He saw her elbow punch hard into the man's stomach. He raced back growling with fury when he heard the man shout, "Hold the little trollop, lads! Now, little gal, we're all payers, we are. Stop yer infernal struggling. My Gawd, I want to see me these titties! Lordie!"
"Lyon! Help me!"
10
Record in words one battle of this glorious struggle.
—VENANTIUS FORTUNATUS
He had no weapon, but it didn't matter. He leapt into the fray, dragging two of the men off her. He slammed his fist into one man's face, heard the crack of bone, and smiled grimly. He felt an arm grab him about the throat and he was yanked backward. He smelled sweat, foul breath, and cheap ale, and heard growled curses so vile even he was surprised. He sent his elbow back, low, into a man's groin. The curses stopped in a cry of pain.
The man who held Diana was distracted by his partners and loosed his hold. She whirled about and slammed her fist into his throat. He made a disgusting gurgling sound and stumbled backward.
"Kill the damned bloke!"
"Come on, you scum," Lyon yelled, his eyes on the man whose nose he'd broken.
Diana saw one bloody-faced man rush at Lyon, but it was the other one who was coming up behind him, a length of pipe raised in his hand, that made her go cold.
"Lyon! Behind you!"
But Lyon was too late. He spun about, but the pipe struck him solidly on the side of his head. He collapsed where he stood.
"Now, ladies," croaked the
man Diana had hit in the throat, "let's show this here little tart a lesson."
"What's going on here? Hold!"
Diana yelled at the top of her lungs when she saw two men coming toward her.
Rafael Carstairs said briefly to Rollo Culpepper, "A damned brawl. There's no hope for it, let's bash some heads."
"Aye, Capt'n," Rollo Culpepper said, his smile wide.
Rafael enjoyed a good fight and he fought dirty. Within moments, two of the men were dragging themselves away, the third was in a moaning heap at his feet, his hands clutching his groin.
He turned to see the young lady on her knees beside the fallen man.
He quickly joined her. He saw soon enough that she was indeed a lady, despite her dishabille. "Are you all right?" he said briefly.
Her eyes were wide and frantic. "Yes, but LyonOh, God!"
Rafael dropped to his knees and gingerly felt the growing lump on the gentleman's head. "He took quite a blow. His heart is steady. Where are the two of you staying?"
"At the Drake," she said, her eyes never leaving Lyon's pale face. "Oh, no, I can't believe this."
"Come, now, it's over. He will be fine." With those words, Rafael pulled Lyon up and hauled him over his shoulder. "Rollo, see to the lady. Damn, the gentleman's a load."
"He has a very hard head," Diana said to Rollo Culpepper.
Rollo, no stranger to a fight and its aftermath, recognized shock when he saw it, and quickly said in his most soothing voice, "He put up a good fight, but with the three of those bullies, well, he will have a mighty headache. Who is he?"
"Lyonel Ashton, the Earl of Saint Leven."
Rollo whistled between his teeth. A bloody earl! "Ah, well, my lady, you're not to worry now. Captain Carstairs will see that he's well taken care of."
When they reached the Drake, Rafael shouted at the innkeeper, "Crispin, fetch a sawbones, quickly, there's a good fellow. I'll take his lordship upstairs."
Diana followed in their wake, automatically opening the door to Lyonel's bedchamber. She watched Captain Carstairs gently ease him onto the bed. "Now, let's have a bit of water."