Thorne to think her dreams were more important to her than Amy’s future.
“I assure you,” she said finally, “that my career is secondary to Amy’s needs. I have no intention of abandoning her—but it would clearly be better for her if I remained in the background.”
Thorne was studying her intently, with something akin to admiration in his eyes. “You are very unique in my experience, Miss Sheridan,” he said softly.
Diana felt herself flush, certain he intended his remark as a compliment and wasn’t merely trying to provoke her again. “Would you care for tea, my lord?”
Without waiting for an answer, she made a show of pouring him a cup and adding sugar and cream.
Thorne watched her distracted movements, admiring the delicate flush on her cheeks. He hadn’t lied when he’d termed Diana Sheridan unique. With her passion for art and her fierce protectiveness toward her cousin, she seemed unlike most any other woman of his acquaintance.
He found her immensely intriguing—in part, he realized, because she was something of a black sheep as he was. And because she hadn’t tried to deny it or make excuses for herself. Her frank confession had made him like her even more.
The tale of her scarlet past and her subsequent vulnerability had aroused all his protective instincts. It had also made him recognize that their experiences were merely opposite sides of the same coin: She had been jilted because she wasn’t an heiress, while he’d had women chasing him most of his life for his title and fortune.
Her beauty was a prime attraction, as well, he willingly admitted. Her lustrous hair was a rich brunette, but not so dark as to be called raven. He was sorely tempted to pull out the pins to see how it would look tangled after lovemaking. And he was incapable of looking at her delicious mouth without thinking of sin and sex.
In the cove earlier, he had wanted to do much more than merely kiss her—and so had she, he was certain. Too many women had arched beneath him in passion for him to mistake her response to his mouth, to his body.
Even now the lady was as aware of him as he was of her.
It was a pity she was off-limits to him, Thorne reflected. Doubtless she would be a pleasure to have in his bed. But there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy a game of wits between them. She was just the sort of clever-tongued adversary he appreciated. And he would take sinful delight in testing his skills with such a lovely opponent. He suspected she could hold her own with him.
He didn’t anticipate, however, the method she would use to abruptly steer the subject away from herself.
“Did you have a chance to examine Nathaniel’s letter?” Diana asked as she handed him his full cup.
Caught off guard, Thorne forced himself to drink the tea he didn’t want. “I read it, yes.”
“I presume you could make sense of his more cryptic remarks.”
“Remarks?”
“It raises suspicions about Nathaniel’s death, don’t you agree? I think he must have been purposely murdered for more than just his purse.”
Thorne deliberately arched an eyebrow, trying to convey skepticism. “My lovely Miss Sheridan, have you perhaps been reading too many Minerva Press novels, as Amy is so fond of doing?”
Her gaze turned cool. “
My dear Lord Thorne,
except in my art I am not given to flights of fancy. Nor am I a fool. Nathaniel was a wonderful man, and I loved him like a brother. I expect you to investigate his death further. If you do not, I assure you that I will.”
Her retort made Thorne swiftly reconsider his tactics. Diana Sheridan had a sharp mind, he reflected, feeling a reluctant surge of admiration. And a strong backbone. She wouldn’t be placated by some fabricated tale.
He intended to downplay her concerns, of course. He needed to be careful what he told her in order to keep the Guardians’ existence a secret. But perhaps she could be trusted with a partial truth….
He offered her a rueful smile. “I, too,
“I assure you,” she said finally, “that my career is secondary to Amy’s needs. I have no intention of abandoning her—but it would clearly be better for her if I remained in the background.”
Thorne was studying her intently, with something akin to admiration in his eyes. “You are very unique in my experience, Miss Sheridan,” he said softly.
Diana felt herself flush, certain he intended his remark as a compliment and wasn’t merely trying to provoke her again. “Would you care for tea, my lord?”
Without waiting for an answer, she made a show of pouring him a cup and adding sugar and cream.
Thorne watched her distracted movements, admiring the delicate flush on her cheeks. He hadn’t lied when he’d termed Diana Sheridan unique. With her passion for art and her fierce protectiveness toward her cousin, she seemed unlike most any other woman of his acquaintance.
He found her immensely intriguing—in part, he realized, because she was something of a black sheep as he was. And because she hadn’t tried to deny it or make excuses for herself. Her frank confession had made him like her even more.
The tale of her scarlet past and her subsequent vulnerability had aroused all his protective instincts. It had also made him recognize that their experiences were merely opposite sides of the same coin: She had been jilted because she wasn’t an heiress, while he’d had women chasing him most of his life for his title and fortune.
Her beauty was a prime attraction, as well, he willingly admitted. Her lustrous hair was a rich brunette, but not so dark as to be called raven. He was sorely tempted to pull out the pins to see how it would look tangled after lovemaking. And he was incapable of looking at her delicious mouth without thinking of sin and sex.
In the cove earlier, he had wanted to do much more than merely kiss her—and so had she, he was certain. Too many women had arched beneath him in passion for him to mistake her response to his mouth, to his body.
Even now the lady was as aware of him as he was of her.
It was a pity she was off-limits to him, Thorne reflected. Doubtless she would be a pleasure to have in his bed. But there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy a game of wits between them. She was just the sort of clever-tongued adversary he appreciated. And he would take sinful delight in testing his skills with such a lovely opponent. He suspected she could hold her own with him.
He didn’t anticipate, however, the method she would use to abruptly steer the subject away from herself.
“Did you have a chance to examine Nathaniel’s letter?” Diana asked as she handed him his full cup.
Caught off guard, Thorne forced himself to drink the tea he didn’t want. “I read it, yes.”
“I presume you could make sense of his more cryptic remarks.”
“Remarks?”
“It raises suspicions about Nathaniel’s death, don’t you agree? I think he must have been purposely murdered for more than just his purse.”
Thorne deliberately arched an eyebrow, trying to convey skepticism. “My lovely Miss Sheridan, have you perhaps been reading too many Minerva Press novels, as Amy is so fond of doing?”
Her gaze turned cool. “
My dear Lord Thorne,
except in my art I am not given to flights of fancy. Nor am I a fool. Nathaniel was a wonderful man, and I loved him like a brother. I expect you to investigate his death further. If you do not, I assure you that I will.”
Her retort made Thorne swiftly reconsider his tactics. Diana Sheridan had a sharp mind, he reflected, feeling a reluctant surge of admiration. And a strong backbone. She wouldn’t be placated by some fabricated tale.
He intended to downplay her concerns, of course. He needed to be careful what he told her in order to keep the Guardians’ existence a secret. But perhaps she could be trusted with a partial truth….
He offered her a rueful smile. “I, too,
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