Chapter 4

Oliver

Arriving back at his home, Oliver jumped from the carriage and hurried inside, heading straight for Diana's rooms. She'd practically fled from him at the Society the moment he'd finished pleasuring her. And he'd been too damn slow to stop her.

Partly because he'd been so shocked she'd run and partly because his knees were not what they used to be, especially after so many months abed. Though he'd worked hard to get his body back into shape after his injury, there was still work to be done. He'd made a mental note to add more stretching and calisthenics to his daily routine as he hurried through the Marquess of Hartford's halls, reaching the front door in time to see Diana getting into a carriage.

It pulled away too fast for him to stop.

There had been panic in her eyes. Not because she did not want him—but because she did.

Right now, she was technically still his nurse. A situation he resolved to remedy as soon as possible, as he had a feeling that aspect of their relationship contained the majority of her rejection of him.

At least, he hoped.

He hadn't thought to ever find love again after Marianne, but…

Diana made him want again. She had from the moment she'd walked into his life.

He just had not thought he could have.

Not until tonight. And he was not willing to let that go without a fight.

When he flung open the door to her room, he was both unsurprised yet disappointed to see that she had several of her trunks already there and his maids helping her pack. Absolutely not. The door hit the wall with a bang, making everyone in the room jump. Diana jumped the highest, whirling around, her eyes widening in disbelief. She was no longer wearing her mask, and he could see every expression on her face.

Her shock.

Her surprise.

Her admiration. Or was he just imagining that one?

He could not be certain.

Had she really thought she would be able to leave in the middle of the night with no one the wiser? He was the former spymaster to the Crown of England, for God's sake. Even if she had been able to escape him in the night, he would find her eventually.

It galled him that she'd called upon his own staff to help her pack.

"Everyone out," he roared with all the pent-up frustration he'd been holding back. He stepped to the side as everyone except Diana scampered. Then he reached behind him and slammed the door firmly shut, propriety be damned.

She'd been in his room without a chaperone often enough. That Society would not conflate the two did not matter. If there was a scandal, he'd happily marry her, make her his marchioness, and spend the rest of his life being happily bossed around by her when he wasn't pleasuring her until she screamed. Even before he'd consciously made the decision, his mind had already mapped out all the possible routes and chosen this as the one that pleased him best.

Rather than cowering or shrinking, Diana proved her mettle by drawing herself up, hands on her hips, and glaring at him. All the panic and shock were gone, at least visibly, and she was incensed. Which was much better, as far as he was concerned.

Anger he could work with. Panic, not so much.

"Exactly what do you think you are about?" she asked—nay, demanded—to know.

"Where do you think you're going?" he retorted, stalking toward her.

Another woman might have cowered or even taken a step back.

Diana narrowed her eyes and held up her hand, palm outward, almost daring him to keep coming. Since he was now only a few feet away from her and did not want her to feel threatened—at least, not any more than was required to answer his question honestly—he ground to a halt and raised his eyebrow at her.

To his surprise, a flush heated her cheeks, and her gaze skittered away from his.

"I…" She cleared her throat. "I was going to leave you a note."

"A note." He took another step forward, causing her to meet his gaze again. Sternly. Oliver waited on the balls of his feet in case he needed to step forward again, not that she had anywhere else to go. He was between her and the door, though if she truly desired to leave, he would let her.

She was not trying to get out, though, despite the packing. No, rather than insisting she be allowed to leave or attempting to flee, she was meeting him on his own level. She had not even ordered him out of her room, just asked what he was doing there.

"A note? About what?" His voice had turned silky, seductive.

This little dance they were doing around each other was as invigorating as it was infuriating.

With Marianne, they'd gone back and forth on who took the lead. Was Diana the same? He'd always preferred to be the one to follow in the bedroom, but he would do whatever she liked. But she did not seem like she was about to acquiesce to being put over his knee, even if part of him wanted to spank her for the impertinence.

A note.

He already knew what such a note might say, but he wanted to make her admit it.

That stubborn chin went up again, dark eyes flashing with her own temper.

"A note to inform you that, as you are fully recovered and my services are no longer needed, I have gone on to seek other employment." She bit out the words succinctly but also as though they gave her no joy.

The idea of her leaving lit a flame within him.

"One night without my cane and you think I am fully recovered?" He had not actually needed the cane for weeks, and they both knew it, but she'd accepted the deception before, so she could hardly call him on it now. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursing.

Yes, he was prodding at her temper and her pride. Deliberately so.

Fighting was good. He could win a fight.

"Besides," he continued, "it is hardly safe or seemly to leave in the middle of the night."

"I was going to wait ‘til morning," she claimed, but her eyes darted to the side. Lie.

He'd learned her facial cues very well over the time they'd spent together. While Diana was a very good liar, especially when she had what he privately thought of as her ‘nurse face' on, he was an expert at reading body language in general. With the close attention he'd paid to her as they'd gotten to know each other, he doubted there was much she could hide about her emotions at this juncture.

"And say goodbye to the family?"

"Yes. I was planning to leave after breakfast." Her gaze met his again.

Oliver bet she had not entirely decided when she was leaving, only that she was going to. Well. That was easy enough. He just had to convince her to stay.

Diana

How horribly awkward. She truly had not expected him to follow after her. The entire way back to Camden House, she fretted in the carriage over what her next move was to be. Leaving in the middle of the night was not ideal, but it would have been easier than facing him in the morning.

After she'd…

And he'd…

Then he'd burst through her door like Mars on the warpath, ordering everyone about like the god he thought he was. Part of her had been relieved. Another part flattered that he'd come after her. Very small parts. Most of her had been horrified and shocked.

She could only imagine what the servants were saying.

Damn him. This was going to make getting another position difficult. Perhaps she should leave the capital. There was always need out in the country, especially with elderly relations who had retired to their manors or villages for a quieter life in their later years. It would not be as exciting as living in London, but right now, she felt like she'd had quite enough excitement.

If she could outrun the gossip, eventually, it would die down, and she could return. Another scandal would take its place. The ton had long memories, but she was hardly a person of interest, other than if she was paired with a marquess. If she disappeared to the country, tongues might wag for a short bit, but with no further meat to chew on, they would soon move on to other, more delicious fare.

"So. After breakfast, then." He took another step toward her.

Something in his expression had changed. Diana's heart started to pound. He was looking at her the same way he had before he'd dropped to his knees in front of her.

Somehow, that was far more intimidating than when he was actively trying to push her around. This—the way he looked at her, the way it made her feel when he looked at her like that—this was new. This was something she did not know how to counter.

She did not even know if she wanted to counter it.

"Yes, after breakfast," she said calmly, making as if to turn away, so she could escape the heat in his gaze.

But she'd made a mistake.

She'd forgotten how close she was to the bed.

It was only a couple feet in front of her, blocking any easy path, and the moment she saw it—the moment she was reminded of where they were while her body was still humming from his tongue—her mind and movement were arrested.

Then he was behind her, his arms around her, his body pressing against hers.

His hands slid from her stomach up to just under her breasts, not quite touching them, and her breath stuttered in shock. The thick bulge against her backside made her hyperaware of the rest of her body, especially the pulsing in her core, the emptiness that was suddenly aching to be filled.

"If you are leaving after breakfast, then what's the harm in one night?" the Marquess murmured in her ear.

One night.

One night in his arms. One night with him in her bed.

What's the harm? The little voice whispering in her head agreed with him, urging her to take the offer. One night. Then she'd leave on the morrow. It was the same plan she'd had before but with an additional bonus.

She had just had her menses. The likelihood of a child resulting from their union was extremely unlikely.

He was the first man who had ever tempted her. The first who had ever made her feel this way. If all he wanted was one night before he would let her go… Her heart ached at knowing that was all he wanted, but then it was more than she'd ever wanted before. One night, then she'd leave and have an incredible memory to take with her.

An even more incredible one than the one she already had. Something to take out and treasure and remember when she was an old grey spinster, surrounded by nieces and nephews. The night she'd been seduced by a marquess.

Why not?

"Very well." She gasped as his hands moved up to cup her breasts, her back automatically arching, pushing her back against him as he squeezed the firm handful. "But we do this my way."

"Of course, my lady," he murmured in her ear, running his lips down her neck. His thumb moved over her nipple, and even through the fabric of her dress, she felt it. It was as though her entire body was heating up from the inside, all over again.

She was starting to understand how one could indulge multiple times in one evening. If anything, she was even more sensitive, more eager than before. She wanted him, and she did not want to deny it anymore.