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THE CLOSER DIANNA GOT to the sprawling mansion the brighter the lights glowed. Shying away from the wedding reception still ongoing inside the palatial estate, she went instead to a dark gazebo on the outskirts of the front lawn.
A fine layer of dew clung to the hem of her gown by the time she reached the abandoned structure, dampening the thin muslin and soaking through her dancing slippers. Kneeling, she methodically pried off one shoe and then the other, setting them neatly beside the first step before walking barefoot into the gazebo and sitting in the furthest corner.
From her new vantage point she could just make out the shadowed silhouettes of dancing couples as they swept by the manor’s oversized windows, moving in time to the lively music spilling out through a set of open French doors. It seemed almost impossible that less than an hour ago she been in their midst, carefree and happy, Miles Radnor the very last thing on her mind.
Now he was the only thing she could think about... no matter how hard she tried not to. But like a hot brand his ruggedly handsome countenance was imprinted in her mind, the hard growl of his voice echoing in her ears.
This is not over...
With a sharp cry Dianna jumped to her feet and began to pace the length of the gazebo, heels hitting the wooden boards hard enough to send pain ricocheting up into her calves which she astutely ignored, any physical pain paling in comparison to the agony she felt in her heart.
Why did Miles have to come back now? As her eyes filled with tears she drew a ragged breath and braced her hands on the railing, shoulders trembling with the force it took to contain her emotions as she stared blindly out into the dark.
It simply wasn’t fair she thought miserably as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and slowly trickled down one smooth cheek. It clung briefly to the soft curve of her chin before falling silently on the railing, glinting like the tiniest of diamonds in the silvery light. With a pitiful sniffle Dianna dragged a hand across her face, wiping away any other tears before they could fall. Crying never solved anything, and she’d vowed long ago never to shed another tear over Miles Radnor.
“Are you... crying?” The shock in Miles’ voice mirrored the shock on his face. He hesitated uncertainly beneath the garden arbor, his lanky frame casting a long dark shadow out across the stone walkway.
“What do you care?” Dianna asked crossly. Feeling miserable, she hunched forward on the wooden bench she’d been huddled upon for the past hour and wrapped her thin arms around her knees, hugging them close to her flat chest.
“What’s wrong?” Miles asked. “What’s happened?”
“Leave me alone,” she said, turning her head away to stare at a cluster of bright yellow tulips. “I do not want to see anyone. I - I am not receiving visitors at this time.” It was what her mama always said when she didn’t want to be bothered, but Miles either hadn’t heard her, or didn’t care to listen.
He walked to the bench and sat down on the other end of it, the muddy heels of his riding boots scraping on the stone as he kicked his legs out in front of him. “Come on,” he coaxed after a moment, and even though Dianna still had her head turned stubbornly towards the tulips and couldn’t see his face, she heard his smile. “Tell me what the matter is. Maybe I can help.”
“You cannot,” she muttered, plucking at a loose thread on her skirt. When it snapped free she wound it around her pinky finger, absently tucking the ends under to make a thin ring of blue thread.
“Why not?”
“Because you are the matter!” Dianna cried before jumping to her feet and whirling around to face him. Boys, she thought in disgust. They didn’t know anything.
“Me?” Miles said, his green eyes widening. “What did I do this time?”
Looking down at the ground, Dianna nudged a tiny pebble off the walkway and into the bushes before she muttered, “You... you wouldn’t take me riding with you this morning.”
“Riding?” Miles blinked in confusion. “But you hate horses!”
She huffed out a breath. “I do not hate horses.”
“You don’t like them. You’re afraid of them. You told me yourself.”
“That is not the point,” she argued. “You - you should have invited me nevertheless.” Oh, how she hated being left out of things! First her parents, now Miles. The only person who ever seemed have any time for her was Aunt Abigail and she was away in London until the end of next week visiting a friend, leaving Dianna alone and feeling positively wretched. Two more fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to keep crying, especially not in front of Miles, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“Stop doing that,” he said, sounding angry.
“Just leave me alone,” she said with a sniffle. “It is what you’re good at, after all.”
It was what everyone was good at.
Unfolding his long, lanky body Miles stood up from the bench and shoved a hand through his hair, leaving the dark curls standing on end when he crossed both arms over his chest. “I am sorry I did not ask you to come riding with me this morning,” he muttered after a long pause.
Dianna’s lips parted to form a little ‘o’ of surprise. “You - you are?”
He shrugged and looked away, his gaze darting every which way except for Dianna’s face. “Yes. I mean, I suppose. But I did come calling this afternoon to see if you would like to walk over to Lord Nelson’s stables and see his new colt.”
“You did?” she said, dumbfounded.
“I am here, aren’t I?”
He certainly was, and even though it had not been the most gracious of invitations, Dianna happily accepted. “I would love to go!”
“Can you stop crying now?” Miles asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. His eyes met hers, darted away, then returned in an uneasy stare. “I do not like it when you cry.”
Obediently Dianna wiped both her cheeks dry using the hem of one sleeve and, with a very loud, very unladylike sniff, swallowed back the rest of her tears. “I do not like it either.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because... because I believe it is always better to let your feelings out than trying keep them in. Don’t you ever cry?” she asked curiously.
Miles shook his head. “Never.”
“Not even when you are feeling very, very sad?” she pressed, studying him closely for she could always tell when he was not telling the truth. He met her gaze without blinking.
“Never,” he repeated solemnly.
“I cry quite often,” she confessed, hanging her head as the admission caused a wave of shame to pinken her cheeks. Feeling a faint pressure on her shoulder she looked up to see Miles had closed the gap between them and now stood with one hand resting reassuringly on her arm. He gave a gentle squeeze, and she managed a tiny smile.
“Are you often very, very sad?” he asked.
She nodded. They were standing so close together she could see tiny flecks of gold shimmering in the mossy green of his eyes and suddenly the blush staining her cheeks had little to do with shame and everything to do with Miles.
He lifted his hand from her shoulder and caught a golden curl that had come loose from the heavy braid she wore at the nape of her neck. Studying the shiny curl as though it were a rare piece of gold, Miles whispered, “Because of your parents never being here?”
Incapable of speech, she nodded again.
“But you have me.” Carefully tucking the curl behind the tiny curve of her ear, he took a step back. “From now on, whenever you are very, very sad, I want you to think about me instead of them.”
“What if you are the reason I am sad?”
Miles drew his shoulders back. With a look of determination on his young face, he said, “I will never make you cry again, Dianna Foxcroft. I vow it.”
Haunted by memories of what had been and what could never be, Dianna buried her head in her hands and sobbed.