C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 11

“Ilike when you call me ‘Diana,’” she said. “’Miss Diana’ makes me feel like someone I’m not supposed to be.”

He didn’t respond, and just as she had before, she sensed him fighting something inside himself.

“Do you have a name other than the Marquess of Greystone? Don’t tell me that as a baby, you were called ‘Lord Greystone.’ You cannot always have been ‘my lord,’” Diana prodded, fluttering her lashes at him.

Flirting with him.

“No one calls me by my name.”

“Have you forgotten it?”

She rather enjoyed the challenge of summoning a smile, if only a hint of one, from this irksomely somber gentleman.

Did he enjoy it as much as she did?

“Is it Harry? Richard? Peregrine?” He was shaking his head again, and the corner of his mouth twitched. But it was the spark of laughter lurking in the back of his eyes that encouraged her.

“Bartholomew?”

“You’ll be sorry if I tell you.”

He was going to make her work for it, but he would tell her his name even if it took her all afternoon to drag it out of him.

“I am Diana Winifred Jones. But I’ll tell you a secret. I would be devastated if I truly believed I belonged to such a dull name as ‘Jones,’ but it isn’t my mother’s, really. Her mother made it up! But Jones? What on earth was she thinking? And Diana isn’t much better. If I had the chance to name myself, I’d come up with something far more interesting. Like… ‘Consuela Bernadette Whitehope’… or ‘Valentina Rose Newhaven.’”

“You sound as though you’ve given this a good deal of thought.”

“Oh, but I have. Collette was given the most exciting name of the three of us. And Sarah’s isn’t much better than Diana, but at least it suits her. She is younger than us, but almost of another world—in addition to being soft-spoken and accepting. My father declared she and I opposites.”

“Diana suits you perfectly,” he said.

She glanced over, surprised to hear an almost gravelly tone in his normally well-modulated voice.

“I don’t see how.”

“Must I remind you of the proper way to accept a compliment?” He eyed her with that teasing glint.

She lowered her lashes. “Why, thank you, my lord,” she parroted what he’d told her that afternoon in the ballroom. “But I don’t see how that is a compliment.”

“In Greek, the name Diana means Divine. She was known to be a Roman goddess of the moon and the forest. She was related to the greatest of all the gods, Zeus.”

Diana contemplated the description as he turned both of them to climb the gentle slope up the arching bridge. Divine? Goddess of the moon?

“Diana suits you perfectly.”

Did that mean he thought some aspect of her was divine?

“Diana is an elegant name,” he continued. “A very proper and noble one.” He turned both of them to stare down from the railing, resting his arms on it. And then he pointed. “You can see the fish better from here.”

Lord Greystone was not the cold and uncaring aristocrat she’d once believed him to be. He was a person, just like her. Did he realize that?

“I’m grateful to my brother for bringing us out to the ton,” she pondered her thoughts out loud. “And I realize that a good deal of them look down on me. Of course, they’ve been taught to look down on me, so I don’t really blame them. But I’m not sure I have any desire to become one of them.”

The fact that he wasn’t reprimanding her for her opinion convinced her that he wasn’t offended by it. And so she continued.

“I don’t want to feel that my every step is being watched and judged. Is that how you feel?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned her back to the railing, needing to see his expression. But once she’d twisted around, she found herself closer to him than she’d realized. He kept one hand on the handrail and stepped sideways so she was caught in the bracket of his arms, reminding her of how she’d been pinned against the tree the night before.

He wasn’t even touching her, but her heart raced as though he was.

“Sometimes,” he finally answered.

Diana pinched her lips together and waited.

“But it is more than that,” he added. “Society is watching, yes, but so is history. I am not only responsible for upholding the legacy of the past. I must also forge an honorable legacy for the future.”

“How?” It sounded so complicated. “How does one do all of that?” No wonder the smiles he showed the world were cynical ones. He was too busy mapping out his life, trying to please a bunch of ghosts and people who hadn’t even been born yet.

His personal happiness fell low on his list of priorities—if it fell on the list at all.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and then a wrinkle formed between his eyes. “One does…” He cleared his throat. “One does what is expected of him.”

“For whom?” Diana parted her mouth and then licked her lips.

“For…” He almost looked lost.

“Not me,” Diana whispered. I don’t expect anything from you.”

He studied her face and then closed the distance between them, barely touching his mouth to hers.

And then, that fleeting touch deepened.

Oh, God.

OhGodohGodohGod.

Diana’s heart swelled, and she came to life in his arms. He needs this.

He needs me.

She was exactly who she was supposed to be, at the right time, at the right place, for all the right reasons.

Most incredible of all—his body trembled beneath her hands—which was nearly as overwhelming as the kiss itself.

He felt this too.

Seconds later—or was it minutes? He dragged himself away, breaking the kiss. “I shouldn’t do this,” he rasped, cradling her face in his hands.

“You aren’t doing this,” Diana returned. “We are.” She gripped the lace around his wrists to keep him from letting go. “Kiss me again, you idiot.”

And there it was.

That light of laughter he liked to hide. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward and claimed her mouth a second time. “Minx,” he murmured, tasting her.

“Your lordliness,” she countered.

His hands moved from her jaw to her neck, over her shoulder blades, and down the curve of her spine.

Diana tilted her head back.

“Walk away from me.” His mouth was on her neck now. “Damnit.”

“I can’t.” Diana clung to him to keep her knees from giving out, but then in order to keep him from becoming too serious, added, “You drove me here.”

“That’s not what I meant—” he cut himself off and Diana laughed.

And then she tightened her hold around his neck and leaped into his arms. She would have successfully wrapped her legs around his waist if not for her skirts.

“What—?” But his hands caught the backs of her thighs and he sat her on the bridge’s wooden railing. When he dove to claim her mouth again, however, she teased him by arching backward, trusting that he would keep her from falling into the water rushing below.

“Diana!” He held her gaze, his eyes looking exasperated but also frustrated—because she’d eluded him.

He wanted her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do more than kiss her.

Hanging backward and laughing, she hovered over the water. Then, with some shuffling, she kicked her skirts out of the way enough that she could wrap her legs around him.

His hands gripped her, keeping her safe, keeping her from falling.

With Lord Greystone holding her, Diana watched one of her hairpins drop, hover on the surface, and then sink into the water.

She didn’t care. It was only a hairpin.

How could she care when a sensation of weightlessness as exciting as dancing lightened the air in her chest?

“Have you always been such a terror?” He asked. But he wasn’t admonishing her. His voice instead sounded…

Adoring?

He allowed her to hang for a moment before gathering her to sit upright again. As the blood rushed out of her face, Diana instinctively tightened her legs, drawing him closer.

He rocked his hips forward, his gaze pinned on hers.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

She closed her eyes and welcomed the scrape of his teeth as he dragged his mouth from her collar bone to her jaw, nipping and tasting her skin. Was that moaning sound coming from her or him?

“I can’t do this,” he said. But his hands were sliding up her legs, not at all haltingly. Once he reached her backside, his fingers dug into her, pulling her closer. He buried his face in her neck. “This can’t be real.”

She locked her ankles at his back.

“Why not?” But she knew why not. It could not be real because he was determined to please all those ghosts and people who hadn’t been born yet.

“Because once this,” He nipped at the sensitive skin along her jaw. “Has faded away, all the things that are wrong between us will come to light. You will resent me for bringing you into my world, and I’ll resent you for not fitting into mine.”

Was he right? He belonged in a world in which even her own father had denied her entry.

“Tell me your name.” She wanted something of him. She wanted to know she wasn’t completely locked out.

He paused his exploration of the skin around her jaw and neck and exhaled slowly.

“Ezekiel Winston Leonard Faraday the fourth,” He spoke the list of names against her skin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.” And then she recited it back. “Ezekiel.” She pressed her lips high on his cheek. “Winston.” She dragged her lips lower. “Leonard,” She found his chin. “Faraday the fourth.” She ended with a lingering kiss on his mouth.

When she drew back, he sighed.

“But you do not have leave to address me as such.” He straightened to lift her off the railing, lowering her feet to the bridge but keeping her in the circle of his arms.

“What about Zeke?”

He shook his head, and then, as though closing a door, dropped his arms and stepped away from her.

The trouble was, although maddening, Diana knew that all his reasons were legitimate.

How many times had she overheard similar conversations between her mother and father? It wasn’t that her father hadn’t loved her mother. He had. He must have. But the only way he could share his heart with her was by keeping every other part of him completely separate.

He kept his name separate, his son, his home, anything to do with his title—anything to do with that other part of his life.

Women born under similar circumstances as her and her sisters lived under looser moral constraints than proper ladies. Diana ought to have been able to pursue a career as a dancer or contemplate becoming a lofty gentleman’s mistress.

At one time, neither of those would have been considered outrageous possibilities for her to pursue.

But her brother had risked his reputation to present her and Collette to society in hopes that they could live respectable lives. Turning her back on that opportunity would be a betrayal to Chase and Bethany. And she could not do that to her brother. After their father’s death, when he’d discovered his father’s second family, he could easily have put them out of their home.

But he had not.

He’d done quite the opposite. He’d loved them, not because he’d had to, but simply because they were his… sisters.

Diana exhaled. Matters with Lord Greystone had run their course.

She was going to have to become serious in her pursuit of Captain Edgeworth again. And if that didn’t pan out, perhaps even Mr. Timmons.

“We should return to the horses.” Lord Greystone had once again retreated into his very proper and dignified self. He did not even extend his arm for her to take.

The fact that he wished to re-establish a distance between them summoned mixed feelings. He wasn’t acting this way because he didn’t want to touch her, quite the opposite. Of that, she had zero doubts.

He was as attracted to her as she was to him, and the knowledge ought to be a consolation.

But it wasn’t really. Because it seemed that both of them were to fall victim to standards established long before either of them had been born--standards that would likely endure long after they were gone.

Diana flipped her hair and marched back the way they’d come.

* * *

Being pulledin two different directions was not something familiar to Greys. Furthermore, he hated that this tug of war was forcing him to acknowledge that certain grey areas existed in his life.

Most notably, the place where Miss Diana Jones had taken up residence.

When they arrived at his vehicle, Greys stepped back, prepared to assist her up and onto the bench, but she ignored his outstretched hands and climbed up independently.

Where she promptly smoothed her skirt, sat up straight, clasped her hands primly in her lap, and refused to look at him.

Greys tugged the lace at his wrist and strolled around to the opposite side.

She was an anomaly—a contradiction—as were his urges toward her. He wasn’t prepared to analyze the notion that he had actual feelings for her.

How in the world were Chaswick and his baroness going to marry Diana off successfully? Any prospective groom would have to be largely open-minded. The man would be inviting difficulties if he cared for society’s opinions.

And yet, having Diana Jones for a wife might very well be worth it—for some other man.

Not Edgeworth—Greys didn’t like the way the fellow looked at her—but some other faceless person.

Greys pulled himself onto the curricle, searching his mind trying to come up with any gentleman who might make for a suitable prospect but could think of none.

“Hiya,” he drew the horses around in a circle, noting that she clung to the outer edge of the bench, ensuring as much space remained between the two of them as possible.

He wasn’t accustomed to her keeping her thoughts to herself. On the contrary, he far preferred her chattiness to this heavy silence.

Would he feel the same if he was driving Lady Isabella? Most likely not.

Furthermore, he would not have this damned inexplicable urge to take her hand in his—to comfort her.

He turned off the narrow trail and then rolled his shoulders.

“A good long stretch of road borders the farm a few miles up ahead.” He kept his gaze focused on his horses, and endured her silence.

“It is straight and mostly untraveled,” Greys added.

For the first time since they’d left the bridge, she was looking at him.

“I don’t understand…?”

“It’s also mostly free of rocks and ruts.” The road was barely wide enough for two vehicles, but it was one of the runs where he and her brother had raced, with Greys emerging the victor on almost every occasion, of course.

“You are going to spring the horses?” She asked.

Her mood turned easier than the most nimble of vehicles. Not for the first time, Greys sensed that she was barely keeping herself from bouncing beside him.

How did she manage to express seemingly ancient words of wisdom one moment and then turn enchantingly naïve the next?

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. But, of course, she hadn’t. He pinched his mouth together to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“No.” She sat quietly again, but not because she was angry or hurt.

“Are you nervous?’ Greys asked.

“No.”

“Excited?”

She answered him with a nod.

He turned the last corner, a familiar one as it was the starting point, and drew them to a halt.

“What do I do?” She was gripping the edge of the bench.

“Your hands will slide off the wood,” he told her. “Put an arm around me.” It was the safest way for her to ride on this particular vehicle. Again, not that he’d ever allowed his team free reign with a woman beside him, but this way, he’d know immediately if she felt endangered.

She slid her arm behind him, and Greys found that the odd combination of her courage and fragility impressed him. She ought to seem younger than her age, but in her eagerness to embrace life’s simple joys, she exhibited an insight beyond her years. The thought poked at his cynicism and damn near brought him to tears. Grimacing, he silently mocked himself for such sentimental ideas.

“Like this?” she asked.

Greys took hold of her hand. “No, like this.” He pulled it around him tightly.

He inhaled, and her tantalizing fragrance vanquished the subtle but familiar odors one encountered in the country. “Holler if you want me to slow down or stop—for any reason.”

Sitting at the place where he’d raced on numerous occasions elicited a familiar thrill he hadn’t felt in far too long. When was the last time he’d done something so lacking in purpose as a race? What with damn near every gentleman of his acquaintance marrying so early this season, his usual crew of cohorts had been too caught up in their personal affairs to have time for their usual exploits.

“I’m ready,” she announced, sounding breathy.

“Hiya!” greys lifted the reins with a jerk. Although he would give the horses their head, he wouldn’t let them fly nearly as fast as if he had been driving alone. Just fast enough, he determined, so that the wind would tug at her bonnet and whip strands of gold and brown hair around her face.

“Faster,” she urged, tightening her arms around him. Her laughter floated over the meadow like bells swaying in a breeze.

Miss Diana Jones might very well miss out on many of her imagined adventures, but she would not miss out on this one.

Greys flicked the leather straps while loosening them, signaling his permission for the horses to go all out.

Conscious of his precious cargo, Greys carefully watched the road ahead while enjoying her uninhibited pleasure. And when they reached the end of the road, he was decidedly disappointed when Diana relaxed her hold on him.

“That was fun!” she announced.

Any other woman would have feigned ennui. Any other woman would not have wanted to race. A true lady of the Ton would have insisted upon a slow drive through the park, halting every ten or so feet to make conversation with those she deemed worthy.

“Was it all that you imagined?” Such a simple adventure, really.

Diana nodded. “Can we go again?”

“Of course,” he answered. But this would be the last outing he would have alone with her. Because, he mused as he felt himself grinning like an idiot, it was becoming increasingly evident that she was driving him insane.