He sighed. He needed to find her a husband. If he found her a husband, he could think of her as unavailable. He might be a rogue, but he had his morals, and he did not carry on with married women. Yes, he must get her married off and soon.
There was that toad-eating Sir Samuel, but Henry couldn’t like the man. He doubted Stickley had ever broken a rule, or a bone… or a spindly-legged table. Diana didn’t really want to marry an uptight prig like Stickley. She couldn’t. There was too much passion in her. And Stickley didn’t deserve her.
He would never make her laugh. Diana was too self-possessed to laugh easily or often, but Henry knew how to break through her reserve. And how she rewarded him! Her hearty, open laughter wrapped around a man’s insides and coursed through his blood like fine brandy. Stickley wouldn’t know what to do with that rare, precious sound. He wouldn’t be driven, on hearing it, to kiss her breathless.
Diana was already too proper by half. Marriage to Stickley would wither her spirit. She needed someone who would keep her from being too serious. Someone who would coax out the passion she tried so hard to suppress and teach her to revel in those desires. What she needed, Henry decided, was a rogue.
Someone like him.
No, not someone like him.
Just him.
Henry leaned back hard against the wooden shelves as he allowed himself to consider the possibility. Him. Diana. Marriage. The words hovered in his mind like dandelion seeds adrift on a gentle current of air. He waited for a fast rush of denial to blow the mad notion away, but none came. Instead, the little bits of fluff drifted down and put out roots. With each one, new pictures grew in his mind. Teasing. Talking. Touching. Laughing. Helping. Engaging in all the libidinous acts allowed between married persons…
“Marriage.” He spoke the word softly, testing out the taste of it. “Married. Married to Diana.” The words were new and strange, but he liked them. He decided to try a variation as an experiment. Who was considered the catch of this Season? He had to think for a moment before he recalled Miss Sibylla Hill, an uncommonly pretty, uncommonly silly girl with a gift for setting his teeth on edge. “Married to— Dear God, I’d rather be hanged,” he muttered. “It might come to that if I had to listen to her day in and day out.”
He realized, somewhat abruptly, that he was talking to himself in someone else’s linen closet… not that the situation would necessarily be less objectionable were he in his own. He squared his shoulders and opened the door, praying that the corridor was empty and he wouldn’t have to come up with an explanation for his presence there.
As it happened, the object of his recent thoughts was exiting the ladies’ retiring room just opposite. He stepped into the hall, just managing to close the closet door before she caught sight of him.
“Mr. Weston!” She giggled. “My goodness! You appeared so very suddenly. Whatever were you doing in—?” She frowned. “Where were you?”
“I—”
No sooner had he opened his mouth to speak than Miss Hill took care to show him she was more than capable of holding up his half of the conversation as well as her own.
“No, I shall not make you say it. You were waiting for me. Oh, it is too wicked of you!” she trilled and rapped his arm with her fan. “You nearly waited too long. I almost gave away the dance I saved for you. You are a devil to keep me in such a state of anticipation. My nerves are too delicate— Oh, I do not mean to scold you. I shall be generous and forgive you.”
She batted long, dark lashes at him as she came close. “My uncle says men prefer generous women. You would need your wife to be very…” She twined both her arms around his, despite the limb not having been proffered, then afforded him a gamin smile. “Very generous, would you not say?” She rubbed against his arm, pressing her breasts into him.
Henry regarded her coolly. “You, Miss Hill, are playing a very dangerous game.”
“Oh, you look so cross,” she pouted. “I only wished to…”
“Extend your generosity?” he drawled.
She nodded, clinging even more tightly to his arm.
He wasn’t the least bit tempted. He had no interest in Miss Hill. He wanted Diana, and only Diana. As he accepted his fate, something in him calmed and settled. Diana was right. There was more than kisses between them, and he was through fighting it. She was right, and she was right for him.
His dear Miss Merriwether had best prepare herself because he was changing the rules of their arrangement. Henry didn’t fool himself that getting her to the altar would be easy. Their time together had given him a very clear understanding of Diana’s thoughts about men and marriage. She didn’t think highly of either. She thought even less of rogues.
That explained her preference for Stickley. Diana didn’t think of the deplorably dull baronet as a man; she wanted a marriage of convenience that left her invulnerable to any emotional upset. That was what she thought she wanted. Diana’s body told Henry that she wanted him. He couldn’t promise they would always be in perfect harmony, but he could promise that they would always enjoy making up.
He wouldn’t enjoy what he was about to do, but if seeing Miss Hill in his arms caused Diana even a small fraction of the frustration he incurred on seeing her with Stickley, the price his ears paid would be well worth it.
“Miss Hill, may I escort you back to the ballroom? I trust you will not be so cruel as to deny me a dance.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile, but he would swear she was annoyed with him. They were equals, then. He didn’t have time to play Miss Hill’s games. Keeping a step ahead of Diana presented enough of a challenge for him. Diana might not want a rogue, but she had one all the same, and he wasn’t letting her go.
If he had to fight a little dirty… His mouth curved into a slow, anticipatory smile. He could teach Diana how enjoyable being a little dirty could be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I told myself I would be content if only I could dance with him, but having done so, I find I want more. Now I tell myself, if he will but call on me, I will be content. How easily we lie to ourselves! I wish you were with me, my dearest Lucy, that you might speak sense to me. Too many dreams cloud my perspective…
—FROM ELIZABETH FOTHERGILL TO HER SISTER LUCINDA
HENRY AWOKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING filled with purpose and anticipation. His good humor lasted until his manservant, Jasper, entered his bedchamber and informed him that a message had come round from Weston House. His father wished to see him at his earliest convenience. The news cast a pall over a day previously bright with possibility.
As Henry dressed, he racked his brains for something he might have done to deserve this summons. His behavior in the past weeks had been exemplary, and the only woman he’d kept company with was Diana. Christ, had his father found out about his arrangement with Diana? Or worse, the way he had very nearly taken advantage of her last night?
He felt like a man headed for the gallows as he walked the short distance between his bachelor’s lodgings and the family residence. He entered his father’s study with not a little trepidation. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Hal.” His father sat before the fireplace, his expression serious. He gestured to the chair beside his. “Come and sit down. I want to speak with you.”
That sounded ominous. “Oh?” Henry asked, cautiously moving forward.
“When you first came to me about the stud, I gave you something of a rough time, and I apologize.”
Henry shook his head as he settled into the wingback chair. “There’s no need for an apology, sir. I understand your hesitation, and I’ve taken all of your advice to heart. Several investors are ready to write bank drafts, and though I can’t manage to keep my name out of the papers, there’s been nothing lascivious.”
“I know, and I’m pleased with the direction you have shown of late. You have proven very committed to this business of the stud, and you’ve surprised me with your pursuit of Miss Merriwether.” His father laughed. “I never thought yo
u’d take a wife to convince Parr you’ve changed your wicked ways. Or have you realized that your mother is always right, and there is little use in fighting her? Either way, I commend you on your choice.”
Henry shifted in his seat, uneasy with his father’s praise since his initial motivation for the courtship had been to escape his mother’s matchmaking and reassure Parr just long enough for him to sign over the deed. Marriage had only occurred to him last night. It wasn’t that he doubted his sudden decision to wed Diana—once he’d opened his mind to the possibility, he’d known marrying her was the right course for him—but Diana didn’t even know his intentions were real yet. And he wasn’t entirely sure she would be happy about the change.
“She hasn’t yet agreed to marry me,” he pointed out. He tried to joke, but the words came out wooden. “She thinks I’m a rogue, and I’m not certain how to convince her I’m serious in my attentions.”
“So your wild past has caught up to you? The right woman will reform a man, but convincing a woman of that… I don’t envy you. A word of advice: A woman will have difficulty believing you’ve changed when you sneak her off and misbehave at every opportunity.”
Christ. “Did anyone else see us, or only you?”
“See you?” His father frowned in confusion, and then chuckled. “Ah, no, I spoke from my own experience. I had the damnedest time convincing your mother—”
Henry groaned. “I don’t want to hear this.”
His father grinned. “Someday you will have this conversation with your own son. Lord, what a thought! Now, in preparation for this grandson you will give me, I have some things for you.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a ring. A cluster of diamonds gleamed as he held it out to Henry.
“Your mother asked me to give this to you. It would please her if you gave this to Miss Merriwether as a betrothal ring. It belonged to young grandmother. Your mother’s mother,” he elaborated. “She died only a few months after you were born, but she was so delighted to have a grandchild. We were all so excited for your birth.” He shook his head, laughing a little as he remembered.
“Your mother said you would be the most adored child in all of England, a veritable little prince, what with all of us fawning over you and scrambling to do your bidding. That’s why she named you Henry. You’ve always been her prince, Hal.”
“How is it that I am a mere prince while Richard, who has not yet had his eighth birthday, is a king?” Henry asked, taking the ring. Eight smaller diamonds were set around a larger stone, like a flower of brilliants.
“Prince Hal matures into King Henry. You would know that had you applied yourself—”
“—to my studies. Yes, yes, I’ve heard it before. Everything was just so dull. All that Latin and Greek… At least there wasn’t any Shakespeare.”
“I won’t tell your mother that you said that.”
“I appreciate that. I very much appreciate the ring as well, but why isn’t Mother giving it to me herself?”
His father leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “We both know that if your mother gave you this ring, she’d cry and make a big fuss.”
Henry nodded.
“And we both know she’ll cry and make a big fuss when you announce your engagement.”
Again, Henry nodded.
“I offered to give you the ring in order to keep the crying and fussing to a minimum.”
“And she agreed?” Henry asked, astonished.
“I simply suggested that too much maternal excitement might send you fleeing in the opposite direction from the altar.” He rose and walked to his desk. “There is something else I have for you—an early wedding present, if you will.” He picked up a large document and brought it over to Henry.
Henry looked at the first words and was glad he had remained seated. “This is the deed to Ravensfield,” he said incredulously.
“The indenture is written up. You can arrange with Parr to sign it. I spoke with him last week, and he agreed the stud would be in capable hands. You have done everything I asked of you and more, and you will need a place to set up once you’re married. I thought you should have a home to offer your bride when you speak to Lansdowne.”
Henry stared at the vellum sheet, still in shock.
“I never doubted your ability to succeed, Hal, but you haven’t always been willing to work hard. You felt the pressure of being the oldest and the heir, and you chose not to try rather than chance failure. No one is expecting you to be perfect. Your mother and I will always be proud of you, win or lose, so long as you try your best. I hope you know that. Now, I expect there is someone with whom you’d like to share this news.”
“Yes, sir,” Henry answered dazedly. “I can’t begin to thank you en—”
“Thank me with a grandchild.” At Henry’s eager nod, he added, “One conceived after the wedding.” He strode to the window and looked out. “The day is very fine. A clever man would celebrate in the Park with a pretty woman. A very clever man would ask Cook if she has some strawberries left over from last night’s tart to take along as a snack.”
Henry joined him at the window. “Is this a jest, or are you truly giving me romantic lessons?”
His father raised a brow. “Are you not one of seven children? Your mother and I will be married thirty years come December. I do have some knowledge of the way a woman’s mind works.”
Henry relaxed. “Just as long as you only plan to talk about her mind.”
“A woman’s mind is the key to the rest of her. Once you learn a woman’s mind—discover what she wants—you can begin giving her what she needs.”
Henry pondered his father’s words as Cook packed a basket for him. He knew Diana wanted Sir Samuel. At least, she wanted to want the baronet. But she needed him. He’d planned to court her a while longer, seduce her a bit more, but a need for action filled him.
Though he could scarcely believe it, Ravensfield Hall belonged to him. He was thrilled, no question, but he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d been given the place under false pretenses. He shook off the doubts. He’d secured the investors, hadn’t he? And though he hadn’t intended to change his ways when he started courting Diana, such a circumstance had to be insignificant in light of his intention to wed her.
Henry walked home and asked his manservant to have his phaeton readied. He was anxious to show Ravensfield to Diana, but as he couldn’t imagine Lady Linnet approving that particular excursion, that would have to wait. They’d talked many times of what he imagined for the stud, discussed the changes he planned to make. He’d shared his hopes and dreams. Now he would ask her to share his life. He pictured her shock, the delightful crimson flush sweeping over her fair skin. She would come up with a thousand and one reasons why they shouldn’t marry, but he would put her fears to rest, one by one, until she said yes.
He whistled as he climbed into his phaeton, stowed the basket, and steered his team toward Berkeley Square. He was too early to call, but what, he wondered, did one more transgression matter? The butler, Snellings, knew him by now; he showed Henry into the drawing room to wait, though the pompous arse made his disapproval clear.
Henry paced around the room, trying to expend some of his restless energy, and thought about the improvements needed at Ravensfield. He’d concentrated his plans on making the place habitable for horses. He needed to extend that concern to humans. The house wanted a good cleaning and fresh paint. Staff. A good cook. Food was important, but he also needed… a bed.
A large, comfortable bed.
Henry jumped at the sound of someone clearing a throat. Diana had entered the room, along with her mother.
“Mr. Weston, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Lady Linnet’s inflection implied just how little pleasure she took in seeing him.
“I apologize for the early hour, my lady, but I hoped to be the proverbial early bird and—”
“Are you calling me a worm?” Diana rounded on him, her hazel eyes flashing.
>
“Diana,” her mother gently rebuked.
“Miss Merriwether, I meant no offense. Will a ride in the Park and a visit to Gunter’s suffice as apology?”
Diana’s eyes lit with pleasure. “How lovely!”
“I hope so. Can you think of a better way to celebrate?”
“What is the occasion?” asked Lady Linnet.
“I am now the proud owner of Ravensfield Hall, my lady, and I wouldn’t have my estate without your daughter’s help.”
“What?” Diana gaped at him. “When did this happen?”
He grinned at her. “My father gave me the deed this morning.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” She beamed at him, and he knew she was genuinely happy for his good fortune. “You’re right. We must celebrate.”
“Indeed, you must,” her mother echoed. “I hope you will have a very pleasant day together. It’s already mid-June; there will not be many more like it.”
Henry caught the meaning behind Lady Linnet’s words. She thought he would end his arrangement with Diana today. He supposed she was right, in a way. The old arrangement had served its purpose—it had brought them together—but the time had come for a new one. Ravensfield Hall was his, and by the end of the afternoon, he hoped Diana would be as well. He patted his pocket and felt the slight bulge of the betrothal ring. His future mother-in-law could say what she wished. This afternoon would be more than pleasant, and he planned to have a lifetime more like it.
SHORTLY AFTER SETTING OUT, DIANA realized two things, neither of them pleasant. First, while most phaetons could comfortably hold three people, those phaetons did not include Henry Weston. Squashed between him and her maid, Diana endured jostling, jarring, and jouncing before they reached the Park. Her physical discomforts mattered little, however, in light of her second realization. In her earlier excitement, she hadn’t considered the consequences of Henry’s acquisition.
Now that he had his stud, he didn’t need to continue with their arrangement. With Sir Samuel waiting off in the wings, neither did she need Henry. He would end their arrangement today. That explained her mother’s good cheer.
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