"But why Moira? Would a woman be strong enough to have strangled Moira?"
"Yes, I think so, if she caught her unawares."
"Deborah hated Moira."
"Yes, it appears so."
"Lyon, I'm afraid."
"I know, Diana. God, I know." He drew her against the length of his body. "I very much want to take you away from here."
"I can't go now. My father ---"
"Yes, Lucien. I do believe that Deborah knows something. What it is and whether or not it has any bearing on all of this, I do not know."
"Everything was fine until she came here. She and Patricia and Daniel."
"Yes. There is no getting away from that, is there? God, I wish there were a magistrate here or some way of finding out about everyone's pasts. I was involved in a mystery just once, and not really all that involved. It concerned Frances and Hawk and their racehorses." He told her the story, finishing with the true, outrageous finale. "And Amalie, Hawk's former mistress, saved the day. It must have been an amazing sight to see Amalie jumping onto the villain's back, screeching at the top of her lungs."
Diana laughed in the darkness and Lyon eased a bit. He kissed the tip of her nose, then her smiling mouth.
He felt her smooth palm slide down his chest, and deepened his kiss. When her hand found him, he forgot all the tragedy, the fear, and their helplessness. "Ah, Diana," he said, "you please me more than any woman in my life."
She raised her head and gave him a mock frown. "That is supposed to be some sort of compliment?"
"It is true. And don't I please you more than any other man?"
"Since you are the only one ---"
"Then your answer must obviously be a resounding yes."
He eased his body over her, stretched her arms above her head, and gently clasped her wrists with his hand. He was hard and demanding between her thighs, and she allowed herself to forget, at least for the time being.
"I think," Lyon said some minutes later, deep satisfaction in his voice, "that I just got you with child."
She blinked at that, still recovering. She felt him still deep inside her, felt the wetness of his seed, and wondered if perhaps he weren't right.
"You sound very proud of yourself, husband."
"Certainly pleased that at last I found the right vessel."
"Vessel! You conceited, arrogant ---"
He kissed her and to his surprise felt himself growing hard again. "Again, my love?"
"I think so, my lord," she whispered, and drew him tightly against her.
"I always believe that if I make a claim, I should do my best to fulfill it."
"Yes," she said, "that is something I should agree with."
There was pleasure, but it was a desperate pleasure, for both their minds couldn't remain oblivious of the misery that surrounded them.
Diana, on the following morning, didn't at all feel that she was with child. Of course, she had no idea what being with child should feel like, and she smiled to herself. Her smile faded rapidly. She had things to do today and people to speak to. The uncertainty, the fear, was eroding everything.
Usually Deborah was in the cookhouse at this time, overseeing the meals for the day and setting the slaves to their various tasks. At first Diana had felt strange, having another person assume this responsibility. When she and Lyon had returned, Lila had come to her several times, and Diana, in full goodwill, had directed her to Deborah. She thought again that Deborah was efficient, and although curt with the servants, she wasn't cruel.
All save Moira. Who was dead. She seemed to have a running battle with Dido, but upon closer inspection, every insult Deborah hurled at the old woman's head bounced right off. Yet, Diana thought, Dido thought her father had made a mistake. She shook her head, her various and sundry thoughts too chaotic to bear.