her visit to his rooms and he'd guessed the reason.
Damn him!
Two more days of this, she thought with a sigh as Clara tidied her for a supper that would doubtless involve more of that deflective small talk. She was tempted to eat in her room, but she'd go down and somehow make it clear to him that she had no designs on his body!
When she entered their private dining room, however, she was surprised to find two strangers with the marquess.
He turned to her. "Ah, Lady Arradale, may I present to you Monsieur de Couriac and his lady?"
The young couple bowed and curtsied, and Diana inclined her head, concealing astonishment. French? Here? But then she remembered that they were now at peace. Officially, at least.
Then her cheeks heated. He was not depending on small talk. He'd gathered distraction and chaperons! Diana smiled brightly at the wretched people, and declared herself delighted.
Madame de Couriac was not so much pretty as intriguing, with pointed chin and bright dark eyes. "Lady Arradale," she declared with a marked accent, "we are enjoying your so beautiful country!"
Her tall, square-jawed husband, added, "It has been a sadness not to be able to visit England for so many years."
His English was very good, but he didn't sound as if he meant what he said. Diana wasn't surprised. The French rarely pined for English food and landscapes.
She switched to her excellent French. "War is always a sadness, is it not? You are to dine with us, madame, monsieur? How delightful. You must tell me the latest news from Paris."
The soup was brought in and they took their places, but Monsieur de Couriac said, "Alas, my lady, we live quietly in Normandy and have not recently been to Paris."
Soup passed in talk of travels, but when the fish was served, Diana caught an intent glance the Frenchman cast his wife. Diana had been talking almost exclusively to de Couriac, but now she followed the look. Madame de Couriac had placed her hand on the marquess's arm and was leaning toward him as if fascinated.
That raised an even more unwelcome reason for the French couple being at dinner. Was Lord Rothgar attempting seduction of the pretty young wife? Despite a pang of hurt, Diana turned brightly to the husband and asked his opinion of London.
Lud, but the marquess must be mad. They were in danger of having a duel on their hands!
Could such a clever man really be so foolish? She contrived to observe him while trying to hold the husband's attention. Soon she knew she wasn't imagining it.
She'd never seen anyone eat a meal with the blatant sensuality that Madame de Couriac displayed. The woman ate little, but that was because she made such a performance of it. She bit slowly into food, and chewed slowly, often licking her red lips. Once or twice, she even licked her fingers, gazing into the marquess's eyes.
Right under her husband's nose!
Despite Diana's efforts, de Couriac was clearly aware, so why was he doing nothing about it? Perhaps he thought a Frenchman here was powerless against an Englishman, especially a marquess. The French aristocracy had far more sweeping powers than the English.
Whatever the reason, he must surely take action sooner or later. Having failed to distract him, Diana turned her attention to Madame de Couriac and engaged her in conversation about fashion.
The woman was clearly not pleased, but had to oblige. For the rest of the meal, Diana relentlessly held her attention with talk of hairstyles, slippers, lotions for the complexion, and means of polishing the nails. She had never talked so long about such matters before in her life.
By the time the meal ended, Madame de Couriac had - despite efforts - managed only the occasional aside to Lord Rothgar. Diana couldn't tell how the marquess felt about it. If anything, he seemed amused. She resisted with difficulty an urge to glower at the man. Couldn't he sense the fiery tension coming from Monsieur de Couriac?
Thoroughly disgusted, she did finally flash a dark look at him and found him at his most enigmatic. He did not, however, look at all put out. Of course not. All her efforts had only delayed the inevitable. A tendency to burst into tears about it was her own problem entirely. Even though he was a reckless philanderer, she'd still do her best to protect him from himself.
She rose from the table, smiling at the French couple. "I'm sure you will want to retire early, so