Having obtained what he sought, Alastair intended to go easy on the peer, but found to his surprise that the young Duke held his own pretty well. He even managed to land two or three well-disguised feints that were going to leave Alastair with a bruised jaw for the foreseeable future.
* * *
Sometime later, after they were both panting and bloodied, Alastair held up a hand. ‘Shall we call a draw?’
Holding his sides, the Duke nodded. When he could catch his breath, he said, ‘You were right. It doesn’t change the past, but it did...help.’
‘I’m glad,’ Alastair said in perfect truth. A man who would persecute a woman was despicable. But a man who could finally realise he was in the wrong, alter his course—and could throw quite a respectable right hook in the bargain—deserved a second chance. ‘Then we are agreed.’
Graveston sighed. ‘I’ve spent the last five years dreaming of revenge for my mother...and myself. It’s hard to let that go. There’s the temptation to keep fighting, even at the cost of tarnishing my reputation.’
‘Shooting your best hunting dog to take down a pigeon? Not wise.’
‘No—though oh-so-satisfying. But...yes, we’re agreed. I’ll inform my solicitor not to delay any longer the execution of Father’s will. Your Dowager will get her properties. I’d prefer that she and the brat not use the Dower House, though. I’d prefer they remain out of my sight permanently.’
‘I see no difficulty there. She has no more desire to set foot at Graveston Court than you do to see her here, and since the boy will inherit other properties, there’s no need for him to reside here either. In return, I’ll pledge that as long as you keep our bargain, I’ll not present my evidence to the Lords.’
Pleased to have achieved the results he wanted, Alastair felt he could be magnanimous and forgive the insults Graveston had flung at him. Smiling, he offered his hand.
Reluctantly, the Duke shook it.
‘One last bit of advice. When you take your seat in the Lords, I’d still be wary of my uncle.’
‘Thank you; I’ll remember that.’ Graveston shook his head. ‘I’ll never understand the fascination she elicits in men. She certainly won a strong champion in you.’
‘So she did. If you’re tempted to forget our agreement, remember that.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Euphoria in his heart, Alastair set off for Barton Abbey, riding as fast as he could change horses. He knew Diana was anxious, despite her trust in him. He couldn’t wait to set her worries at rest.
Finally, they could move on to resolve the situation between them, resume the progress of their relationship that had been arrested when the threat against her demanded her removal to safety under his mother’s roof.
How would she choose to resolve it? Anticipation and anxiety warred within as he contemplated her possible reaction.
She’d more or less said she wished to resume their physical relationship. Would she allow more than that? Could he be satisfied with less than a full commitment from her?
Ah, how he wished to cosset and care for her! Shower her with so much attention and love that the grim years with Graveston receded into distant memory, blurred by time until they seemed like events in the life of a stranger.
Would she let him?
The only thing he knew for certain was he didn’t want her to walk away.
* * *
Three days of hard riding later, he had arrived at Barton Abbey in the late afternoon. Leaving his lathered horse at the stables, he had jogged to the house, impatient to bathe, change, and seek her out as quickly as possible.
A bare half-hour later, his still-dripping hair slicked down and his damp shirt sticking to his back, he found her at her easel in her north-salon studio.
He’d approached quietly, easing the door open, anxious to drink in the sight of her for a moment before she was aware of his presence.
How lovely she was, he marvelled, his heart contracting with joy and longing at the sight of her. Even better, her expression looked intent but serene as she studied her canvas, with no dark shadows of worry beneath her eyes and the once-wary set of her shoulders relaxed.
After a moment, some sixth sense must have alerted her she was under scrutiny, for she stilled, then looked over at him. ‘Alastair,’ she cried, the happiness in her voice the sweetest music to his needy ears.
Unable to resist, he paced towards her, picked her up and swung her around in his arms when she ran to meet him, then sat her down and kissed her thoroughly.
‘Ah, how much I’ve missed that!’ he murmured, cradling her to the rapid beating of his heart.
She looked up at him anxiously. ‘It must have gone well. You wouldn’t look so happy, if it had not.’
‘He should have believed it,’ Alastair said. ‘You told him forcefully enough.’
‘It took him a long time to finally realise it. Years of tracking down and then removing everything that meant anything to me, until he had nothing left with which to try to control me.’
Alastair hadn’t wanted to ask—the prospect made him sick to contemplate—but somehow the words forced themselves out. ‘Not even beating you?’
‘Ah. Beating. That was perhaps most frustrating of all to him. Eventually he realised—unlike, I suspect, his poor first wife—that I had no fear of physical punishment. What was physical pain, compared to the agony of all I had lost, what I would never have?’
Rising, she paced away from him, making a circuit of the room. Though he wanted to go after her, pull her into his arms, offer comfort, he knew he had to leave her be.