Free Diana the Huntress by MC Beaton

the room. Amos was standing behind the door with a stout stick raised in both hands. His intention was obviously to club down Lord Dantrey as soon as he appeared through the door. Her eyes enormous in her white face, Diana kicked blindly with her bound legs, trying to do something to take Amos’s attention away from the door.
    The door swung open. Lord Dantrey swung about and seized Mr Pomfret by the collar of his pea jacket and thrust him forwards into the room, and Amos brought the club fairly and squarely down on the unlucky Mr Pomfret’s head. Mr Smith rushed forwards but halted at the sight of the pistol in Lord Dantrey’s hand.
    Lord Dantrey’s eyes fell on the four glasses on the table and then roamed over the room, finally noticing the wriggling figure in the dark corner.
    ‘Go and untie him.’ Lord Dantrey waved the pistol at Amos. Grumbling about only doing the King’s duty, Amos set about freeing Diana. ‘Come here and stand behind me, Mr Armitage,’ ordered Lord Dantrey. Diana stumbled to her feet, clutching hold of the table to get her balance.
    ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Lord Dantrey, ‘sit down at that table and do not dare move an inch. I shall lock you in as a precaution. Mr Armitage, pray relieve MrWhateverhisnameis of that nasty-looking pistol. You will find it in his boot. You should have fired at me as I came through the door, not tried to club me. Thank you, Mr Armitage. Let us go.’ Drawing Diana with him, Lord Dantrey retreated into the corridor and locked the door behind him.
    ‘Not a word, Mr Armitage,’ he said coldly. ‘You may explain yourself when we return to Limmer’s.’
    Still, Diana tried to babble her thanks, but he would not listen. He mounted his horse and pulled her up behind him. ‘It was you who was following me,’ said Diana to his well-tailored back, but he did not reply, setting a steady pace out of the City towards the West End.
    Diana was not very afraid of Lord Dantrey’s temper. She had been tricked like any greenhorn, but she had told Lord Dantrey that she, David Armitage, lacked town bronze. Also, he was not her father and so he could not strike her or beat her in any way.
    When they had dismounted and the ostler had taken Lord Dantrey’s horse round to the mews, Lord Dantrey looked down at Diana and said quietly, ‘Let us go to your room.’
    Lord Dantrey’s face was white against the fog and his eyes were like chips of emerald set in gold.
    Diana folded her lips in a mutinous line. It had been clever of him to claim her as his ward. But he had no authority over her. She was her own mistress – master. She would not be bullied. Surely, anyone who had survived the lash of the vicar’s tongue on the hunting field could cope with anyone else’s sermonizing.
    But her knees trembled when they were finally upstairs in her room. For the first time in her young life, Diana began to think that the lot of a female was not quite so unhappy. Women were not pressganged. They were not expected to gamble for vast sums of money, or drink heavily, or fight for their lives.
    Lord Dantrey drew off his York tan gloves and placed his hat and cane on the table beside the bed. Despite the cold of the morning he, like Diana, had not put on a topcoat. Even the normally democratic London soot had left his cravat shining white. Diana had seen fair-haired people whose locks glinted with silver, but his almost white hair glinted with threads of gold which was …
    ‘Well, Mr Armitage?’
    ‘It was very kind of you to rescue me,’ said Diana, her voice made gruff with embarrassment. ‘I was caught like the veriest flat. But how was I to know that such practices would be condoned in full daylight on a ship that appears to have been built for no other purpose than pressganging.’
    ‘They do not often run up against trouble,’ said Lord Dantrey. ‘They make very sure of their target. The shabbiness of that disgusting coat, added to the fact that you no doubt told them you had