She looked puzzled at his last words. And he realized that they made no sense. For why would Nathan Dale wish to make amends for her past, if he'd had no part in it? He waited to see if she understood. If she questioned him, he would tell her the truth and go where it led.
Instead, she said, 'I would like that very much.'
He was still free of the past, if there was freedom in hiding. But what did it matter, as long as she wanted him? And while she had not offered love in words, he had heard the truth in the response of her body to his. It would be all right between them, somehow. He smiled at her. 'I have much work to do. To secure our future.' He reached out for her, kissing her fingertips before linking her arm with his. 'Will you allow me to escort you home, Miss Price?'
'Gladly, sir.'
Chapter Thirteen
Nathan came back to the Fourth Circle that afternoon, flushed with the success of his walk with Diana. He had escorted her to the very door of the Carlow town house, and bid her a proper farewell. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world, and not an endeavour fraught with risk. He had pushed aside the hundred worries in his mind about his mending his tattered reputation and her preserving her spotless one, and enjoyed the little time they'd had as he should have done. Caution was all well and good, when kept in its place. But if he wished for a future that was a tenth as happy as this morning had been, it was time to act, even at the risk of failure.
Dante indicated with the barest nod of his head that he would find the Gypsy seated at their usual table. Nathan approached slowly, to assess the mood of the man. There was no sign of the headache of two weeks ago. And with a doxy on his knee and a drink in his hand, Stephano looked almost at ease. It seemed he had taken the two weeks as a holiday from his quest, as well. His usual dark mood was gone, and as Nathan watched, he leaned back his head and laughed at something the girl had whispered to him. It sounded nothing like the sour mirth Nathan had heard from him, when gloating over the misfortune of his victims. The girl responded with a kiss, and then tossed her head and laughed as well.
She was rewarded with jealous glares from the other women in the room, who were looking at the Gypsy as though they would gladly change places with his chosen inamorata, the moment he lost interest in her.
For a moment, it was as if Nate's old friend had grown to adulthood and sat before him, ready for a game of cards. Then Stephano looked up, and his good mood evaporated, as though it had not existed. The merriment disappeared and a cynically smiling mask covered his handsome features. He muttered something and pushed the girl from his lap, then raised his glass in a sarcastic salute. 'Nathan.'
Nate dropped into the chair opposite, noting the absence of a surname in the greeting. The Gypsy had not yet decided if he had earned the right to hide behind the name Dale. He said nothing in response and placed the journal on the table between them.
The Gypsy raised an eyebrow. 'What is this?'
'Proof enough for you to leave me alone. The entries in this book show Narborough to be no real friend of my father, nor of you. If you wish for justice, get out of my chair and go to bother him.'
Stephano opened the book at the marked page and began to read. When he came to the missing pages, he looked up. 'There is nothing at all here about the night of the murder.'
'Is that not strange? Was the event not significant enough to record in detail? Or perhaps George Carlow wrote the whole truth in an impetuous moment and then thought the better of it and tore out the pages.'
Stephen closed the book and offered it back to him. 'When you bring me the missing pages, I will tell you what I think.'
'Until recently, I would have been unable to get this much information. If you want the missing parts? Then find them yourself. I have given you more than enough reason to doubt.'
Beshaley gave him a sceptical look. 'Why would it matter to me what they say?'
Perhaps it would have mattered to the man who had been sitting here as he had arrived. So Nate appealed to him. 'For a moment, let us ignore the nonsense of your mother's curse. Stephen Hebden, if you care who killed your father, then this journal could make us more allies than antagonists.'
The man across the table from him did not respond, staring in response to his old name as though Nate had not spoken.
'All right then. Stephano Beshaley.' Then he continued. 'If my father died for a murder he did not commit, do I not have as great a reason as you to be angry? I lost a father, a title and my reputation, just as you did. And my family as well. You seem to have found a new one, when you returned to your people. But my sisters are lost to me.'
A shadow flitted across the face of his old friend, and then it was gone.