“Henry!” her low cry was loud in the silence. Loud enough to shock him back into some semblance of sanity. Christ, he was kissing (more than strictly kissing, if he wanted to be honest, which he wasn’t sure he did) Diana Merriwether (something, or someone rather, he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about) in the Keltons’ library where anyone might discover them.
And he really, really didn’t want to stop.
Diana—no, it would be better for both of them if he thought of her as Miss Merriwether—looked deliciously disheveled and more than a little bewildered. She looked ripe for dalliance. Unfortunately, he could not afford to dally with this particular woman.
He stepped away from her, thinking of cold lakes, curtain studies, the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V that his mother had forced him to learn as a boy… Anything to cool his blood.
Anything but her.
“I think you did tolerably well,” he said, pleased at the level tone to his voice.
She blinked at him, slowly coming out of her sensual haze. “You kissed me,” she said slowly, disbelievingly. She raised her gloved fingers to trace her mouth, as if she could still feel him there.
“You kissed me,” she said again, this time a bit more firmly.
“And you kissed me. You were very believable, too. You nearly convinced me.”
“Nearly?” Her brows winged up.
Henry bit the inside of his cheek. They both knew she’d all but devoured him. And he’d done the same. That thought sobered him. Having never experienced desire before, Diana’s sensual surrender wasn’t surprising. His loss of control, however, was inexcusable.
“Given your natural aversion to rogues, it was only to be expected that you would maintain some…” He gestured broadly, searching for the right words. “Some emotional distance.”
“Emotional distance,” she repeated, a faint frown creasing her forehead.
“Well, there wasn’t any physical distance, if you recall.” He grinned as a charming flush rose up in her cheeks. “Since you nearly convinced me, I think we’ve a fair shot of persuading the ton that we’re taken with each other.”
She held up a finger. “I could convince everyone that I’m taken with you. Given your popularity with my sex, no one would be surprised if I kissed your feet and vowed my eternal devotion.”
Henry chuckled. “If you are vowing your eternal devotion, there are better places to kiss than my feet.”
“However,” she went on, ignoring his innuendo or, more likely, not understanding it, “your plan is still flawed. No one will believe that you’ve suddenly taken an interest in me. As I told you earlier, I am hardly a woman to stir a man’s passions, while you are…”
Henry stopped listening to Diana’s nonsense. Not a woman to stir a man’s passions? Where had she been just moments ago? She hadn’t merely stirred his passions; she’d awoken, challenged, and inflamed them. His breeches were still uncomfortably tight.
How could she doubt his interest? For whatever reason, however, she did, and that was unacceptable. His gaze centered on that incredible mouth of hers. His kiss had plumped her full lips and darkened them to the color of pomegranates. Unaccountably, Diana had proved as rare and delightful a delicacy. He wanted another taste.
“You appear to need further convincing,” he told her. “I am happy to accommodate.”
DIANA DIDN’T HAVE LONG TO ponder the meaning of Henry’s words. He covered the distance between them in a flash and hauled her back into his arms.
Oh. So this was what he meant by convincing.
One of his big hands cupped her scalp, tilting her head back, and then his mouth descended on hers. There was no gentle seeking this time, no coaxing, just him taking and demanding. Insisting she acknowledge the sparks between them. The fire that roared to life. The searing heat that flared in his blue eyes, burning every inch of her it touched.
Oh…
A sigh escaped her as her arms rose to twine round his neck. Whatever difficulties her mind was having accepting the situation, her body had no such reservations. Her body was convinced and very partial to a courtship involving these false affections. If all rogues kissed as well as Henry, she might have to revise her position on rogues leading women astray. Given the chance, women probably dragged these scoundrels into their bedchambers.
Oh, saints preserve her, what was she thinking? She broke the kiss and buried her face in his shoulder, struggling to control her breathing. It was a mistake. His scent surrounded her, filled her with each shaky inhale, drugging her nearly as effectively as his kisses.
“Tell me again I do not desire you?” His breath was hot against her ear as he pressed himself against her. She felt the hardness of him through the layers of her skirts and his breeches.
“Believe me,” he groaned. “My body’s reaction is real. This attraction is unfeigned, and I haven’t yet decided if it will work to our advantage. For now, just know this: I want you. I want you every bit as much as you want me.”
Diana lifted her head at his words. “I thought I had only nearly convinced you.”
The infuriating man had the gall to laugh at her. “You nearly convinced me to take you right up against this door.”
He thought her wanton. The realization struck her like a slap in the face. She knew her mother hadn’t committed adultery, but her parents’ separation had been as good as an admission of guilt in the eyes of society. Over the years, Diana had found that where the mother’s morals were suspect, so were her daughter’s. After years of careful propriety, of never stepping out of line, she’d behaved as badly as all those mean-eyed, clucking dowagers had always expected. She sniffed, fighting back tears.
“That was uncalled for— My God, are you crying? Did I hurt you?” Henry looked stricken.
She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak. He had hurt her, but not physically. He had released something in her that frightened her.
“I scared you.” He began to reach for her, stopped himself. “I forgot myself tonight. I lost control. It will not happen again.”
She wiped at the tears that had escaped.
Henry swore under his breath. “I meant to go easy with you,” he said against her hair, and this time when he reached for her, he didn’t stop. He held her gently against him and rubbed her back. “You responded to me so perfectly, I forgot this is all new to you.”
His tenderness very nearly undid her, but as much as she wanted to let herself fall to pieces, Diana knew this was neither the time nor the place. She’d been gone from the party too long as it was, though she doubted anyone but her mother had remarked upon her absence. They would have had to notice she was there in the first place.
“It would be best if we went back upstairs separately,” she said, somehow finding the strength to pull away from him.
“Yes, indeed,” he murmured. “I’ll go ahead, shall I? That will give you a few minutes to compose yourself. I shall call on you tomorrow.”
“That isn’t necessary,” she began.
“I disagree. Calling on you is the first step in making my interest known.”
“You might send flowers instead,” she suggested, trying to think of some way to prevent him from showing up on her doorstep tomorrow. She would not agree to his absurd plan.
“What are your favorite flowers?”
“Day lilies. My mother planted them in the garden where I grew up. My fath—” She stumbled over the word, swallowed and tried again. “My father called them ‘Di lilies.’ He said they were sunny and freckled, just like me.” Her throat ached at the bittersweet memory.
“Tomorrow, when I come to call, I will bring you day lilies.” The mischief in Henry’s eyes helped to ease the tightness in her throat.
“But—”
He reached out and placed a finger on her lips. “No more ‘buts,’ no more excuses,” he told her, opening the door. “We both know you want to say yes.”
Before she could respond, he stepped into the hall and shut the
door behind him, leaving her alone with muddled thoughts and a racing heart.
The man was maddening, but he was also right, and therein lay the trouble. Where Henry Weston was concerned, it was all too easy for her to say yes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My offer still stands to double Diana’s dowry. My money may not be as old or respected as that of your family, but I am now a wealthy man. My daughter should benefit from my prosperity. All I wish is to see her. I have no right to ask you to intercede on my behalf, but I beg of you, help me…
—FROM THOMAS MERRIWETHER TO HIS WIFE LADY LINNET
LINNET SPENT THE COACH RIDE back to Berkeley Square quietly observing her daughter. Diana claimed she had a headache, but Linnet didn’t believe her. Or rather, Diana’s head might pain her, but something—or someone—had caused that hurt. Shortly after Diana had gone to “rescue” that Weston rogue, Linnet had lost sight of her.
In truth, her daughter was probably safer with Weston than most of the men who’d been present. If what his mother said was true, he shared Diana’s lack of enthusiasm for the married state. But Weston’s disinterest stemmed from a reluctance to give up his wild bachelor ways, and he would come around eventually. Diana… might not, and Linnet carried the blame. She and Thomas had fought a desperate, losing war against each other and for each other, and their children had borne witness.
Alex had been too young to know what was happening, but Diana had been understandably distressed. She began having terrible night terrors and, for a time, Linnet had feared the strain was too much for her daughter’s young mind. Diana had outgrown the nightmares, but the scars from childhood had only faded. Linnet knew they would never disappear completely, and she would face the devil himself to keep Diana from further hurt.
When they arrived back at Lansdowne House, Linnet announced her intention to retire, though she didn’t intend to go to bed just yet. Something had upset Diana, and Linnet would not rest until she assured herself of her daughter’s well-being.
She prepared for bed as usual, and then dismissed her maid for the evening. After donning a wrapper and slippers, Linnet headed across the hall to her daughter’s room. Diana was in bed reading, but she laid aside her book at Linnet’s entrance.
“I wanted to see if you were feeling any better,” Linnet ventured.
“I’m certain I will feel better shortly.” She laughed. “One can’t sit between Lords Finkley and Blathersby for the duration of a meal and expect to come away unscathed.”
Diana’s laughter would have fooled anyone, Linnet thought. Anyone save her mother.
“Were you able to enjoy yourself at all tonight?” Linnet asked. “I know you dislike going to these parties, but—”
“It isn’t the parties I dislike as much as the people who attend them.”
Linnet seated herself on the end of the bed. “You like Mr. Weston well enough.”
Her daughter gave a noncommittal murmur.
“He is very handsome,” Linnet prompted.
“Yes,” Diana agreed.
“You danced twice with him at the Weston ball. I heard Lady Endersby remark upon it.”
Diana bristled. “Lady Endersby is an old gossip. She’d do better to concern herself with her son’s excesses than my dance partners.”
“That may be true, but people still listen to her. You must be careful of your reputation.”
“Why?” Diana exploded, throwing her hands up. “What good has it done me?”
Linnet understood her frustration, but the loss of her reputation would not only ruin Diana’s chances for marriage, it would make her a social pariah. “I know what it’s like to have your reputation destroyed. Even after all this time, I sometimes hear whispers when I enter a room, and they still hurt. My heart has withstood a great deal in my life, but I think it would break if you were hurt that way.”
“Because Mr. Weston must be toying with me,” Diana said softly, plucking at the bed covers. “That’s what you are trying to say, isn’t it?” She raised her head to meet Linnet’s eyes.
Linnet leaned forward and reached for Diana’s hand, but she tugged away.
“Diana, you are a beautiful young woman with a good head and a kind heart. Mr. Weston would be lucky to have you. My doubts have nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. I am certain he is an amiable young man, but he’s shown no indication that he is looking to marry. If you think sensibly, you will not believe his interest any more than I do.”
“Perhaps I don’t. Did you consider that? Perhaps I wanted to feel desirable for one evening. Can you not even let me have that? You’re not the only one who still hears the whispers!” Diana clapped a hand over her mouth.
Linnet saw the immediate remorse in her daughter’s eyes, but she bore the painful lashes of Diana’s words as her due. Knowing she deserved them didn’t lessen their harsh sting. “I beg your pardon,” she whispered, scrambling off the bed.
“Mama, I—”
Knowing she was going to cry, Linnet fled the room and hurried toward her own chamber. Once inside, she collapsed back against the door, overcome with hating herself and with what her life had become. Her breath came in shaky, shallow pants as she sobbed into her hands. Where had she gone so wrong?
Unbidden, her mind raced back to a long ago winter’s eve at Halswelle Hall, her family’s country estate…
She sneaked out after everyone was in bed. Her heart pounded with the fear of discovery, but the need to see Thomas spurred her on. She trudged through the snow around the back of the stables to the small cottage built to house the stable master. The darkness would have frightened her once, but now she was glad of its cover. She didn’t need light to see the way when she had the path etched on her heart. When Thomas opened the door, she hurled herself into his arms.
“Linnet? Why have you come?”
“I had to see you.”
“You shouldn’t come out in such ill weather for that, love. I’m not worth it,” he teased as he shut the door and gathered her close.
She snuggled into his heat. “When you hold me, I think everything will be all right.” She raised her arms and threaded her fingers through his thick, red-gold hair. She tugged his head down to hers, and they both groaned as their mouths met. He kissed her until her toes curled and she had trouble remembering her own name.
“Make love to me,” she pleaded. It wasn’t the first time she’d made the bold request. But just as he’d done every time before, Thomas stubbornly shook his head.
“Don’t ask me, Linny.” He stepped away from her and prowled around the small space. Even from across the room, his blue eyes burned her with icy fire. “You know how badly I want you, but not like this. I won’t dishonor you, and I won’t betray your father’s trust by stealing your innocence like a thief in the night.”
“Mother brought up the Season tonight. It’s only January, but she’s already fixed on it.” The words poured out of her in a panicked rush. “This year she won’t let me come home unattached. The only reason I escaped before was that the Duke of Inwood was still in mourning, and she thinks I have a chance at him. I thought if I had a Season and refused all my suitors, perhaps my parents would accept you as my choice. We couldn’t cause a worse scandal than a duke marrying the daughter of the King’s horse trainer.”
“Yes, we could. She brought him a great fortune. I can only give you all I am and all I hope to become. Society will forgive a duke who marries a commoner for money. They won’t forgive me for daring to love you. You deserve to be a duchess, and I would take that away from you.”
“I deserve happiness, and Inwood can’t give that to me.” She swallowed hard. “My parents will never give us their blessing, will they?”
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t believe so, but even if we kept in good with them, we wouldn’t have an easy time of it.”
She sank to the floor in despair. “What are we going to do?”
He picked her up and carried her over to the chair before
the open hearth, settling her on his lap. “I love you, Linnet. You know I want to marry you, with or without your parents’ approval. This is your life, though, and this needs to be your choice. I will love you whether you pick a life with me or a life with them.”
“I don’t want to have to choose.” She buried her face in his chest and wept.
“I know.” His tone was gentle as he stroked her hair. “I hate that I’m the one making you choose, but I can’t let you go, even when I know I should.” He patted her back. “Please, no more tears, Linny. It breaks my heart to see you unhappy. You don’t have to decide anything just now. There’s time yet before the Season.”
Linnet looked up at him, her choice suddenly made. “I may be forced to choose because of loving you, but my parents are the ones who are forcing me to make the choice. If they care about my happiness a fraction as much as you do, they will come to accept you.” Her smile was at once tremulous and tender as she brought a shaking hand up and splayed her fingers over his heart. “You, Thomas. I choose you.”
A soft scratching at the door brought Linnet back to the present. She dashed away her tears with the backs of her hands. “Yes?”
“Pardonnez-moi, my lady.” Though her mother’s lady’s maid had lived in England at least as long as Linnet’s parents had been married, Martine had never entirely given up her native tongue. “La duchesse, she wishes to see you.”
“Tonight?”
“Oui, maintenant.”
Linnet sighed. It did not matter that she had no desire to see her mother just now. A summons from Her Grace was not a request; it was an order.
“Very well, Martine. I will be along in a few moments.”
The washstand was in the small closet attached to her room. Linnet splashed some water on her face, washing away the salt from her tears, and then tidied up her bedchamber. There was no need. One of the chambermaids would see to any clutter the following day. But in the early years of her marriage, when there had only been enough money for a maid-of-all-work, Linnet had learned to clean up after herself. She hadn’t minded, but Thomas had been distraught over her work-roughened hands.
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