“If you agree to call me Henry, I’ll do better than my best.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, then gently nipped the fleshy bit at the base of her thumb. He had heard the spot called the mount of Venus; the size of the mound indicated whether a person was of a passionate nature.
“Henry!”
She exhaled his name on a shivery breath. Her eyes were unfocused, the pupils wide with arousal. Without taking his gaze from her face, he licked the spot he’d bitten. A shudder rippled through her body.
Unable to resist, he backed her into the tree and demanded her mouth—hard and wet, fast and hot. When he stepped back, he noted with satisfaction that she swayed on her feet. He steadied her and waited for her dazed expression to recede before indicating they should resume their walk.
Yes, Diana Merriwether most definitely possessed a passionate nature, and for the length of time she was his to pleasure, Henry would do better than his best.
He would do his worst.
CHAPTER TEN
You cannot possibly consider this Season the same as previous ones, but why did I not hear the news from you? Instead, I received congratulations that my sister had secured the interest of Henry Weston. I adore you, Diana, but I question this match. Are you well? Also, will you ask Weston his opinion on the proper amount of starch for a cravat?
—FROM ALEXANDER MERRIWETHER TO HIS SISTER DIANA
HENRY WAS WRONG. THE NEWSPAPERS, fearing libel suits, took longer than a week to run the unbelievable story of her courtship. By that time, word had spread to all of London, down to the lowliest ragpicker, and bets were entered into the books at Brooks’s and White’s. And though she did indeed have suitors by the end of a fortnight, she knew exactly what she wanted to do with them…
Nothing pleasant.
They gathered in her drawing room, but it wasn’t as if any of them were there for her. Well, perhaps one of them came for her. Sir Samuel Stickley’s business at home had been quickly resolved and, as he’d promised her mother, he had called at Lansdowne House. He was as amiable as her mother had described, and he hadn’t taken one look at her and run screaming for the hills. Admittedly, he had potential.
But as for the rest… They were merely the fawning courtiers of the golden prince of the ton. Wherever he went, they followed. She wished she could blame them, but after so many years spent standing in the shadows, she found herself just as drawn to Henry’s light. He was all levity and good humor, though their morning rides tested the latter.
Just being with him tested her.
“Why is it only at this ungodly hour that a body can ride without trampling someone?” he grumbled as their horses ambled down Rotten Row following an exhilarating race.
“It must be near noon,” she protested.
“I had a late night of it.” He chuckled. “What with Bess’s games, I didn’t seek my bed until five o’ clock this morning. I must remember to rest up before my next visit…”
He kept talking, but she stopped listening. He’d been with a woman all night. Anger rose up, along with hurt and the harsh sting of betrayal. Real or not, their courtship had rules and, after only a fortnight, Henry had broken them without a care. Without a care for her.
Of course, he doesn’t care for you.
Her mare sensed her inattention and jerked the reins out of her hands.
“Have a care, Diana,” Henry admonished. He urged his horse close to hers and leaned down to grab her reins. She refused to look at him as he handed them to her.
He sighed. “I’ve angered you. Come, berate me, and have done with it.”
“How could you?” she whispered.
“How could I what?” He sounded sincerely confused. “I didn’t realize you were truly upset. Diana, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Bess.” She nearly choked on the name. “You promised there would be no other women.”
He cursed before leaning close. “I want you to listen carefully to me.” His voice was low and rough. “I spent last evening in the company of Rutland and his wife, Elizabeth. She is my cousin through my mother’s family, and His Grace plans to invest in my stud. Bess is nearing her confinement and feeling poorly. Playing piquet until dawn to amuse her was the least I could do.”
“I thought—”
“I know what you thought. You were wrong. Look at me, Diana.”
She obeyed and got lost in those boundless blue eyes.
“You believe I’ll disappoint you,” he continued. “You believe that men are destroyers, not protectors. That’s not the usual way of the world. Trust me to take care of what’s mine and keep you safe. I want to lighten your burdens, sweetheart, not add to them.”
Her heart tripped at the easy endearment, began to fall at what he promised, but she pulled herself back. Henry didn’t understand. Her father had carried her world on his shoulders and he had dropped it. She couldn’t allow another person to hold her happiness, no matter how strong and capable.
She shook her head. “I’m not yours.”
“You are for the length of our courtship.” His blue eyes were serious, searching, and then they crinkled at the corners as that crooked grin came out to play. “When we’re together, I want you to practice setting your cares aside and taking pleasure in the moment. We’re each seeking something out of this courtship, and I’m determined we shall both get what we want. In the meantime, you, my dear Miss Merriwether, are in desperate need of amusement. Fortunately for you, I am extremely qualified to teach you about enjoying life.”
He was.
They set about exploring London like strangers to the city, fiercely determined to experience all the metropolis had to offer. They marveled at the Egyptian mummy at the British Museum. They argued over the merits of the artworks presented in the Royal Academy exhibition at Somerset House. Henry dragged her, along with his younger brother and his nephew, to the Leverian Museum. Diana found the cases of dried insects and deceased animals repulsive, but she found pleasure in the obvious excitement of the boys—all three of them.
Henry made countless introductions as they walked along the best shops on Mount Street and drove in the Park during the fashionable hour. He invited her to Covent Garden, where his brother-in-law had taken a private box for the Season. They went to Vauxhall, chaperoned by his sisters and their husbands, where they passed a glorious April evening. Henry even secured a subscription for Almack’s and danced with her on Wednesday nights under the fierce stares of the Lady Patronesses.
He asked her to dine with his family, an occasion she enjoyed tremendously as laughter and lively conversation dominated the meal. Diana issued a return invitation, and despite the ensuing affair being far more dismal, he seemed content. She suspected that his contentment had everything to do with her grandfather’s French chef de cuisine.
He won over her grandmother by virtue of his courtship. Her grandfather only said that Henry’s grandfather had been a good man, and Henry had the look of him—high praise, as the duke rarely said anything to anyone. Her mother remained cool toward Henry, but then, she knew the truth.
Her mother determinedly championed Sir Samuel. He, too, came to dinner. The baronet called on Diana regularly, walked with her in the Park, and danced with her at balls. She thought he would propose by the end of the Season. If he did, she would accept. She liked him well enough, liked the safety he represented.
Diana never felt safe with Henry, but her comfort with him had reached a place she had never found outside her mother and brother. Though they had little in common save a mutual love of horses, they never lacked for conversation. He made her laugh with stories about his days at Eton and Oxford. She told him terrifying tales of life under the reign of Her Grace, the Duchess of Lansdowne. They wove dreams of Henry’s future stud, and he held her hand when she ventured to talk about her past. He teased her when she became overly concerned with proprieties, while she appealed to his better nature when he forgot them.
Mostly.
When
he forgot propriety with regard to her, she forgot everything but the pleasure she found in his arms. She could have no doubts about his roguish past; he seduced her far too often, and far too easily. In the mix of all the couples dispersing after a dance, he would whisk her out of the ballroom and onto the terrace, or behind a potted palm or a marble column.
Those were hasty, stolen kisses. Just enough so his wild taste clung to her lips, so his wicked scent of masculine skin and approaching storm lingered in her every breath. Those kisses haunted her days, but at night, alone in her bed, she allowed herself to relive his other kisses.
The ones where he hurried her down the hall to a deserted room, an empty alcove—the man had a diabolical knack for locating unoccupied spots. And who but Henry could turn a linen closet into a perfect site for seduction?
“Henry!” She laughed as he pushed her inside the tiny room. “This is a lin—”
His mouth came down on hers as he pulled the door shut, blanketing them in darkness. Her lips parted, welcoming him, as she let the first burst of pent-up desire rush over her. He wrapped his arms around her, clasping her tightly to him—one of his hands splayed across her back, the other indecently lower—as if any distance between their bodies was too much. As if she could go anywhere in the tiny space. As if she wanted to be anywhere else.
She raised a hand to Henry’s jaw as she sucked on his upper lip. She wanted more than the encouraging sound of pleasure she got. Ever so slowly, she lightly traced his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Diana sensed the need rising in him, but he held still save for the fingers clenching her behind. She let him feel a hint of teeth.
He tensed, groaned, and then, after gently nipping her lower lip in retaliation, he seized control. As he devoured her mouth, he pulled both her arms behind her back and held them there, restraining her wrists in one big hand. She opened her eyes, but she could see nothing in the pitch-blackness.
At his mercy.
She gasped when his other hand molded over her breast. He tightened his hold on her wrists, but he eased back from her mouth, letting her breathe as he dropped soft kisses over her face. She barely noticed them. Her entire being centered on where his palm cupped her. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and her nipples strained against her corset. She arched against him, rubbing restlessly, trying to ease the ache.
Henry slowly made his way back to her mouth as his hand moved higher. He traced his forefinger across the sensitive swell of her breasts. Back and forth, back and forth, Diana floated between the intoxication of his kiss and the rhythmic caress. Distantly, she realized his finger skated progressively lower, easing under neckline of her gown, and then lower still. Sweeping beneath the layers of her corset and shift, he grazed the tip of her breast.
She jolted out of her dreamlike state, the light touch spearing pleasure through her. Henry took her choked cry into his mouth as he pressed her body into the wall of shelves. Her knees buckled as he rubbed over her nipple in slow, deliberate circles. Desire spiraled low in her belly, throbbed between her legs. She clenched her thighs together, too conscious of the emptiness at her core.
Her virginal state didn’t preclude some knowledge of sexual matters. She’d grown up on a stud in the country, and her grandfather collected ancient statues. She ate dinner every night with nude men looking on, though there was a definite difference between cold marble and heated flesh. From what pressed against her, there existed another, er, sizable difference between the statuary and Henry. Her hips jerked at the thought.
“You steal my wits,” he whispered against her ear.
The loss of her sight sharpened Diana’s other senses. She heard the husky catch to Henry’s voice, the rough sounds of their breathing, the heavy drumming of her heart. She savored the faint taste of sugar clinging to his lips, drank the brandy from his breath. She caught the subtle smell of the lavender and rosemary folded away in the linens and the sweet fragrance of the rose water she had dabbed on earlier that evening. Stronger than both, the deliciously masculine scent she had come to associate with Henry wrapped around her. Each time they came together, the scent darkened as the storm built.
Closer and closer, the storm approached. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to outrun those tempestuous clouds. Soon, the storm would break.
It would break.
Diana’s breath caught as Henry scraped his nail over her nipple.
The vase shattered in a burst of blue and white. One of the pieces landed near her hiding place. Diana hugged her knees tighter underneath the desk.
“Thomas! That vase was a wedding gift from the Prince of Wales,” her mother exclaimed.
“And now it’s broken. Just like my trust. Just like our marriage…”
“No,” she whispered. She pushed at Henry’s chest until he removed his hands and backed away, as much as he was able to do so in a space not meant to hold one person, let alone two.
“Di?” Confusion and a tinge of regret colored the syllable.
“I—I shouldn’t…” She swallowed hard. “I have to get back.”
“Of course, you mustn’t keep Sir Stick-in-the-Mud waiting,” he grumbled.
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Sir Samuel is—”
“Stickley is a duller-than-dull stick in the mud with atrocious taste in cattle.”
That was true, Diana thought. She’d barely managed to hide her dismay when Sir Samuel had proudly showed off his newly acquired carriage horses, an ugly, mismatched pair of gray nags.
“I’m not marrying the man for his taste in horses,” she said quietly. “I may not be marrying him at all, but he’s my best chance at the moment. This behavior isn’t helping you get your stud, and it could very well hurt my chance at a husband. Sir Samuel is exactly the sort of man I want. This—” She gestured between them. “This is…”
Wonderful. Terrifying. She took a breath. “This is more than kissing. For both our sakes, we must remember what we stand to lose if we were found us like this.” She wedged herself past Henry and exited into the hall, which was blessedly empty, and closed the door. A downward glance had her hastily rearranging her bodice, but even properly dressed, Diana feared her improper behavior would be all too obvious. She fanned her hot cheeks and smoothed her hands over her hair.
She tried to find her composure as she returned to the party, but her thoughts kept circling to a dark, passion-filled room and a man who threatened her prized control. Henry always made her forget herself, but tonight, he’d also made her remember her past. Even more reason to hurry back to Sir Samuel.
HENRY STOOD IN THE DARK, angry and frustrated, wondering how he’d lost control. Again. Since that first night, he’d been careful not to let things get out of hand, but tonight he’d lived up to Diana’s low expectations and acted every inch the rogue She’d come to her senses, thank God, but what if she hadn’t?
Guilt settled on his shoulders, an unaccustomed, unwanted weight. Whatever she thought, he was no seducer of innocents. She was the granddaughter of a duke, damn it all, and he was a gentleman. A gentleman didn’t fondle a well-bred young lady’s breasts, no matter how tempting, and he didn’t continue reflecting on how they had felt in his hands or how they might taste—
He cut off the thought, swearing as his already uncomfortably tight breeches got a bit tighter. He was fit to burst with wanting her, and all from touching her breast. Touching. Her. Breast. He hadn’t taken her soft flesh in his mouth and tasted her, or sneaked a hand beneath her skirts and found her damp with wanting him, or—
Christ. He passed a shaky hand over his face. Perhaps he should leave town for a short time. He could find a small village inn somewhere with a lusty tavern wench and take her until this damnable lust abated. Diana need never find out. He’d be protecting her, really. She’d challenged him to go without a woman for the length of their courtship and, by God, admitting defeat would be better than the alternative.
If he kept along his current path, he would ruin her. He didn’t have much to start
with in the way of brains. What little he had ceased functioning in her presence, likely because all his blood congregated south. Had she not stopped him tonight, he didn’t know if he would have controlled himself. He thought it more likely he would have greedily accepted everything she had to give… and then taken more.
Despite being perilously close to “on the shelf,” Diana was an innocent. She wasn’t, thanks to him, quite untouched, but she was a virgin, and a virgin she must remain for her future husband. That was the reason she’d agreed to this courtship. She wanted a husband, a boring country gentleman like that starchy Sir Samuel. If Henry ruined her, or was caught trying, she would still get a husband—him. That would be disastrous.
Well, maybe not disastrous. He could imagine himself in worse situations. Hell, maybe he had lost his mind. He didn’t want to marry Diana. This desire he felt for her was the result of spending too much time with her and not enough time with other women. Celibacy didn’t suit him.
True, the past two months hadn’t been as challenging as he’d expected, but he’d been busy meeting with investors, teasing Diana, planning improvements for Ravensfield, kissing Diana, considering horses to purchase for the stud, and pretending to court Diana. If he were truthful with himself, he hadn’t needed to pretend. He enjoyed spending time with her. She amused him, challenged him, understood him, believed in him, and brought forth a gentler side of him. A softer side. Maybe even a better side.
There had always been more than lust between them. Even before they’d begun their arrangement, she’d made him want to help her wallflower friend. What was the girl’s name? Miss Featherbill? Whatever her name was, he’d wanted to help her dance with Gabriel to please Diana. He’d arranged to have a bouquet of day lilies delivered to Lansdowne House every week because he knew the flowers would make Diana happy. He’d spent more time with her than with any past lover, and his interest in her hadn’t waned.
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