Shakespeare and the Three Kings Page 7

  He cupped her breasts in his hands and the exquisite sensations rushing through her overwhelmed any rational thoughts of what was still unsaid between them. Here and now she was in his arms and nothing else mattered.

  He swept her off her feet, carried her to the bed and lay down beside her. “I should warn you.” His voice was a growl deep in his throat. “I am not at all well trained.”

  She gathered him close against her, reveling in his heat and the promise of what was to come. “That’s quite all right,” she breathed. “I have a pamphlet.”

  She was hot and tight and he wondered how long it had been since her husband died and he vowed to make her forget Lawrence. He slid into her with a care born of love, and she cried out once but clutched him tighter and within moments matched her thrusts to his own. She was all he’d dreamed, all he’d imagined, all he’d ever wanted. He cursed the lost years and swore this would be the start of a new lifetime with the one woman he’d always loved.

  She brought him to heights he’d never known and he did all in his power to bring her there as well until she jerked beneath him and called out his name with a joy that gripped his heart. His release matched hers and his spirit soared with ecstasy and the certain knowledge that it was love that had brought him here.

  They made love again and again through the long night and traded promises of forever and pledges of tomorrow until at last exhaustion claimed them both.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she nestled her back against his chest. Peace and contentment filled him and he marveled that after so long without her his world was so right with her. He buried his face in the sweet smell of her hair and smiled to himself at her murmured words heard in the last hazy moments before sleep.

  “A well-trained dog makes a delightful company.”

  Chapter Nine

  The first feeble rays of dawn drifted in through the window. Oliver propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at Diana. She lay on her side, turned away from him, sleeping peacefully.

  Lord, had he ever been so happy? He hadn’t even remembered how much she’d meant to him, suspected how much she still meant to him, until she came back into his life. Thank God for Aunt Ellie. He chuckled softly. If she only knew how well her scheme had worked.

  He pushed away Diana’s dark hair and kissed the nape of her neck. “Good morning, my love.”

  She sighed sleepily. “Ummmm...”

  He kissed the top of her shoulder.

  “That’s nice,” she murmured.

  He smiled, the unmistakable urge to make love to her again rising within him. “You are so beautiful.”

  “I love you, Oliver.”

  “And I love you.” He trailed his fingers down her spine and marveled at the silken feel of her skin. A faint crosshatch of faded, white scars marked the small of her back as if... He stared for a long moment. A heavy weight settled in his stomach.

  “Diana.” His voice was soft. “Did Lawrence do this to you? Did your husband do this to you?”

  Her muscles tensed beneath his touch. His breath caught. The minutes stretched by.

  Diana drew a ragged breath. “I’ve never been married. Lawrence was my mother’s name.”

  Of course. He should have realized she’d never been with a man before. “Then who—” At once the answer was clear. The violence of Ketterson’s response to Oliver’s suit slammed into him and he knew Diana’s father would have taken his anger out on her. “Your father?”

  “Ketterson.” She rolled over, her dark gaze met his, direct and calm. “But he wasn’t my father at all. I didn’t learn the truth until after his death. My real father was an Englishman my mother fell in love with.” She laughed softly, a resigned, mirthless sound. “Odd, the tricks life plays on us. He hated you simply because you’re a countryman to the man my mother loved.”

  Dear God! This was his fault! All of it! He’d been so consumed by his own pain all those years ago he failed to consider what her fate might be. Of course, he had believed she was marrying someone of her father’s choosing and had never dreamed the man was lying, but that was no excuse. He should have followed her to America. He should have forced her father’s acceptance or, failing that, taken her far away. He should have fought for her. His jaw clenched.

  He rose from the bed and shrugged into his dressing gown.

  “Oliver?” She sat up and clutched the coverlet to her naked breasts.

  “Yes?” His voice was hard.

  Concern flickered in her deep brown eyes and her voice was soft. “It was a very long time ago. It scarcely matters now.”

  “I find it matters a great deal.”

  “Oliver.” She smiled and reached out her hand. “Come back to bed.”

  “I think not.” He steeled himself against the hurt and confusion that flickered across her lovely features. He turned and stalked toward the door. “We will talk later. I should return to my own rooms now, before the servants notice my absence.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” Pain sounded in her voice but he couldn't face her. “Oliver?” He pulled the door open and closed it sharply behind him, her words echoing after him.

  He strode down the hall, his mind numb with the understanding of what she had endured for him. He should have been her rescuer, her salvation, her hope. Instead he had failed her. Forsaken her to face her fate alone. And she had suffered horribly for his abandonment. The only woman he’d ever cared for had paid for loving him. How much more had she endured through the years? What scars had she that didn’t show on her flesh but on her soul?

  She said it didn’t matter and perhaps she had come to terms with his negligence years ago. But the revelation of his failure to protect her struck him with an almost physical force and sickened him to a point where he couldn't bear to be in her presence one minute more. How could she possibly have forgiven him? How could he forgive himself? She’d paid an awful price for loving him once.

  How high would the price be for loving him now?

  ***

  “Oliver.” She stared at the door. Shock gripped her. His eyes had been as dark and blue as a winter night and just as cold.

  Dear Lord, he hated her!

  Oh, not for the scars themselves. She knew him well enough to know he was not so shallow as to allow a physical imperfection to turn him away. But for what they said, more than words could ever say, about who she was. Who she had been. How could she have ever expected a man as strong as he to accept someone as weak as she once was?

  Shame and self-loathing coursed through her. She disgusted him and she could scarcely blame him. She disgusted herself. She should have stood up to Ketterson. She should have fought for Oliver. For love. Instead she’d cowered beneath the wrath of the man she’d called father for years until she was freed only by his death.

  It made no difference that strength had grown out of those horrible days. No difference that she was not the same insipid coward she once was. The girl Oliver had loved in his youth was not someone he could love as a man. And her scars were a vivid reminder of all she had been.

  Tears scalded her eyes and she brushed them angrily away. This was the end, then. So be it. She jerked her chin up. She knew all along coming here was a gamble. She'd always known it could fail. She simply hadn’t realized how very much it would hurt.

  Pain mixed with resolve. She didn’t want to see him again. She couldn’t. It would be far too easy to throw herself into his arms and beg for his forgiveness and his love. She had to leave Thornton. Today. At once. She had no home to return to. Perhaps she’d travel Europe. Wander the continent alone. And someday the grief of losing the only man she’d ever loved, not once but twice in a single lifetime, would surely fade. Diana had survived before and would survive this as well.

  Of course, she had Shakespeare now and his affection was unconditional. And she had last night and memories that would linger in her heart always.

  And what more could a survivor expect?

  ***

  “I would
not wish to presume, my lady, but if you are planning to do something, now would perhaps be an excellent time,” Miles said under his breath. He stared at the portrait of Lady Eleanor in the front hall. “All is not working quite as we had anticipated this morning.”

  Miles had no idea what could have gone wrong. He, together with the rest of the staff, was well aware Sir Oliver had spent the night in Miss Lawrence's room. In fact, once that was ascertained, he and Cook and Mrs. Collins had shared a celebratory brandy in the kitchen. But something had obviously happened. Sir Oliver was heard slamming things about in his rooms and Miss Lawrence was packing to leave. This would not do. Not at all. Why, it was Christmas Eve and it was Lady Eleanor’s desire to leave Sir Oliver one last gift.

  The three kings trotted into the hall followed by the Great Dane. Miles stepped closer to the wall and watched the massive front door swing open as if by an invisible hand. The dogs ambled out into the winter morning and the door closed gently shut behind them.

  Miles drew his brows together thoughtfully, then allowed a slight smile to play across his lips.

  “My apologies, my lady, I shouldn’t have doubted you for a moment.”

  “Miles!” Oliver walked slowly down the front stairway. In the hours since dawn he’d tried to come to grips with the emotions that raged through him. He had resolved nothing. His body and his soul felt as if he’d been trampled by a team of horses.

  The butler appeared in the front hall. “Sir?”

  “What are those doing here?” Oliver pointed at the valises stacked by the front door. “Who’s are they?”

  “They belong to Miss Lawrence, sir. She is leaving this morning.”

  “Leaving? What do you mean leaving?” Panic flickered through him.

  Miles raised a brow.

  “Never mind.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair. How could he let her leave? How could he expect her to stay? She obviously didn’t blame him for the past, but he blamed himself. How could he live with that? In a spilt second he knew: he’d have to learn to do just that. He couldn’t live without her. Not again. Not now. Not ever. “Where is she?”

  “It appears the dogs are missing, sir.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them.” Miles nodded. “Miss Lawrence couldn’t leave without her animal so she has gone to find them.”

  “Blasted beasts. Miles, fetch my—” Miles held out Oliver’s coat. “—coat. Thank you.” He threw on the greatcoat. “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, sir. I suspect you can—”

  Oliver was out the door before the words were out of Miles’ mouth. He didn’t know what he would say to her, how to reconcile the past. He only knew he couldn’t let her go.

  He spotted her up ahead on the lane. Her head was bowed; she was obviously following the paw prints of the dogs in the new-fallen snow.

  “Diana!” He called to her and she stopped but didn’t turn around. He sprinted toward her. “Diana, I—”

  “The dogs are missing, Oliver,” she said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. “It is far too cold for the Yorkies to be out of doors for any length of time. We need to find them as quickly as possible.”

  “Of course.” He fell into step beside her. Good God, what could he say?

  They walked silently for a few long moments.

  “I want you to know”—she lifted her chin in that defiant little way she had and his heart tripped—“I quite understand.”

  “You understand what?”

  She pulled a deep breath. “I realize why this will not work between us. Why you detest me so. I cannot say I—”

  “Detest you?” He pulled up short, grabbed her arm and swung her to face him. Sorrow and regret filled her brown eyes. “Why on earth would you think I detest you?”

  “It’s very obvious to me, Oliver.” She shrugged and tore her gaze from his. “A man such as yourself couldn’t possibly care for some one who was as... helpless as I was.” A note of disgust underlaid her words.

  “Diana, that’s absurd.” He gripped her shoulders. “You were a girl. Scarcely more than a child. No one in their right mind would expect you to challenge your father. I certainly wouldn’t have.” He cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “You were young and sweet and lovely and what happened to you was out of your hands There was nothing you could do.”

  “Then why do you hate me so?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I don’t hate you.” He drew his brows together in surprise. “I've never hated you.”

  “Then what—”

  “Tell me this, Diana. The scars on your back,” he swallowed hard, “they were just the beginning of Ketterson’s ill treatment, weren’t they?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. “It does matter! Tell me. Was there more?”

  “Yes,” she snapped and wrenched out of his grasp. “Through the years, there was more. The wrong look on my face, the wrong word, even the wrong dish at dinner—yes! There was much more. But it’s over and done with and best forgotten!”

  “How can you forget?” He shook his head and dropped his hands. “How can you forgive me for that?”

  “Forgive you?” Her eyes widened with confusion. “You had nothing to do with it.”

  “Didn’t I?” He clenched his fists and turned away. His gaze wandered over the snow-covered scenery but he saw none of it. “I should have protected you, Diana. I should never have let you go. You have lived through hell on earth and it’s my fault.”

  “Your fault?” Anger rang in her voice “How dare you think that? It had nothing to do with you.”

  He swiveled toward her. “It had everything to do with me. It started with me. I should have known Ketterson was lying.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I should have trusted you. Trusted in the love we shared. I should have saved you.”

  “No, Oliver.” Her eyes flashed. “I should have saved myself.”

  “You? You were a mere girl. What could you do?” Bitterness colored his voice. “I was the one who should have acted. I didn’t. I failed you. And you paid for my failure.”

  “No, it wasn’t—”

  “Bloody hell, Diana!” The words exploded from him with all the regret and despair and guilt that had overwhelmed him from the moment he realized the truth. “I should have fought for you! Moved mountains for you! By God, I should have rescued in you!”

  The words froze between them in the still winter morning. He held his breath. Silence stretched endlessly.

  “Then rescue me now, Oliver.” Her voice was even and intense. Tears misted her eyes. “Rescue my heart. My soul.”

  “Diana.” Her name caught in his throat.

  “You said you failed me once before. Don’t fail me now. Don’t fail...” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Us.”

  “Diana.” His voice broke and he stepped toward her and at once she was in his arms. “Dear Lord, Diana, I swear to you I will make it up to you. I will spend the rest of my life doing all in my power to make you happy.”

  She wept against him, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

  A wave of helplessness swept through him. “Diana—”

  “I’m crying, Oliver.” She raised her tear-stained face to meet his gaze. “I vowed I’d never cry again. And I haven’t. Not until now.”

  “I’m so sorry, my love.” He pulled her tighter against him. “I promise I’ll never make you sad again.”

  “No.” She sobbed. “I’m not sad. Not at all. I’m happy. I’m really very happy.”

  His heart soared and he grinned in spite of himself. “Then I suspect we are in for a great deal of tears. I plan on making you very, very happy.”

  She sniffed and smiled up at him. “You already have, Oliver, you already have.”

  He bent his lips to hers in a kiss long and loving and full of promises, and marveled at the miracle that had brought her back t
o him. And sent, as well, silent thanks to Aunt Ellie for ensuring, before she left this life, he found the happiness she'd always wished for him.

  Without warning, Diana pulled back. “Oliver, we still have to find the dogs.”

  Oliver glanced over her shoulder. “The beasts are fine. Look.”

  There, on the end of the drive, lined up like an audience, sat the Great Dane and the Yorkshire terriers. Each and every one of them appeared to sport a smug smile.

  “Oliver,” Diana said thoughtfully, “do you think...”

  Ridiculous notion, of course. Still...

  Oliver wrapped his arm around her and started toward the manor. “I think they have earned a place in our lives.”

  “Of course. A well-trained dog—”

  “Is a delightful companion.” He raised a brow. “And what of a well-trained man?”

  She tilted her head and considered him. “I suspect he too would be a delightful companion.”

  He laughed and she joined him and arm in arm they headed up the drive toward the manor and their future. Life would indeed be delightful with Diana by his side. He had no doubt that every day, every year that lay before them would be full of love and laughter. And every Christmas would be filled with joy and wonder and one day, he hoped, children, and always, always miracles.

  And yes, God help them all, even dogs.

  Starting this very moment, this very Christmas, with these very beasts: Shakespeare and the three kings.

  Chapter Ten

  Miles gazed up at the portraits in the front hall. He could well be mistaken but it seemed the smile on Lady Eleanor’s lips was a touch more satisfied. And in the twinkle in the eye of her husband, a shade more pronounced.

  And why not? It was Christmas Day. The joy of the season filled the manor. And love lingered in the air.

  Miles wasn’t quite certain precisely what had transpired but it didn’t matter. Sir Oliver and Miss Lawrence were together and would be together for the rest of their days. In spite of the holiday, they had already summoned the minister to determine how soon they could be wed.