Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03]

by A Rogue for All Seasons

Henry leaned his forehead against hers. “You will let me in.”

  His hand pressed between her thighs and covered her sex. Just the weight of his hand sent a shock of pleasure through her. Diana clamped her legs together, and she wasn’t sure whether she aimed to stop him or to trap him there.

  “Let me in,” he murmured. “Open to me.” He cupped her more firmly as he made the sensuous demand. She obeyed with a whimper.

  Diana pressed her forehead against the side of his neck as he searched out her entrance. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his skin, and his pulse pounded as frantically hers. She still felt his desire, hard and unrelenting against her backside, but now she also felt his desperation. The knowledge thrilled and awed her. He was as excited by this as she—

  She gasped as he circled the opening and pushed the tip of one finger inside.

  “Your body wants me,” Henry rasped. “So hot and wet. Your body knows you are mine.”

  His brazen speech shocked her, but her protest vanished as he slicked his fingers over her swollen folds and found a spot at the top of her cleft that made her writhe. Her existence narrowed to that place, to the sparks of pleasure that burst with each light feather-light brush. She moaned, a muffled sound against his cravat, as he began to work his finger inside her again.

  “I don’t think—” she panted.

  “No thinking,” he admonished. “What do you feel?”

  Diana lifted her head and met his gaze. “Aching. Fevered. Shivery. Like my skin is too tight, but somehow empty too. Like I need…” She looked helplessly at him. “Like I need.”

  “What do you need?” he asked softly.

  She knew what he wanted to hear, but she couldn’t say the word. She wouldn’t even let herself think it.

  “I need… more,” she whispered.

  She thought she glimpsed disappointment in his eyes, but the emotion disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be sure. In the next moment, his eyes were so heated, his smile so wicked, her sex clenched around him.

  “Christ,” he groaned. “What did I do to deserve you? Now kiss me, Di.”

  She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down. She kissed him as he’d taught her, teasing and tasting, entreating him to kiss her back. He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he stroked her intimately, matching the rhythm of his caress to their kiss.

  She couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to set her free or control her completely. Both, maybe. Her breathing came faster as the tension built higher and higher. Instinct had her arching her back and rocking her hips, fighting to reach whatever lay on the other side of this summit she was climbing. She was close to something. She had to be. She couldn’t stand much more of this.

  Henry rubbed the pleasure-packed spot at the apex of her sex harder and faster. Diana knew she would have been screaming if he hadn’t locked his mouth on hers. Releasing him, she clawed her fingers into the bench.

  Everything was too much. She feared she would explode into a million tiny pieces. What would happen if she couldn’t put herself back together?

  She would not break.

  “Let go, sweetheart. I have you,” Henry said against her lips.

  She shattered.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I have received your request—another vase of blue and white jasper with the decoration again after Barry’s Jupiter and Juno on Mount Ida—and I am most eager to accommodate your ladyship. All of us at Etruria are grateful for the earl’s brave service to our nation. Pray, do not fret overmuch about this. I do not mean to sound self-deprecating, but it is only a vase. They break, we sweep up the pieces, and life goes on…

  —FROM JOSIAH WEDGWOOD II TO HIS PATRONESS THE COUNTESS OF DUNSTON

  HENRY WOULD NEVER KNOW IF his words had pushed Diana over the edge, or if her body had simply been ready in that particular moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He swallowed her cries as he helped her ride out the pleasure, taking a fierce enjoyment in the way she twitched and trembled, and then finally collapsed against him in a shuddering, boneless heap. She’d given herself over to him completely, surrendering her need for control and propriety, and that told him everything she couldn’t say.

  She needed him every bit as much as he needed her.

  And now that her need was sated, he was painfully aware of his own. He wasn’t a clod; he was a passionate lover, and he always saw to a woman’s pleasure first. With Diana, he wanted to give her pleasure not simply because it gratified him to bring a woman to her climax, but because her pleasure was his pleasure.

  He eased his finger from her, trying to think of anything but the tight, hot clasp of her inner muscles, still pulsing with little tremors, reluctant to release him. Impossible. She squirmed at the friction against over-sensitive flesh, her movements grinding her pert bottom into his swollen cock.

  “Di?”

  “I like this feeling,” she told him in a breathy voice filled with languor and wonder.

  “Good,” he grunted.

  He gritted his teeth, fighting his body’s impulse to take her. It would be so easy, so damned easy to tumble her to the floor, but Diana deserved his care and respect. The first time he took her, they would be in a bed—and they would be married, he amended quickly, as the devil inside him insisted there was a perfectly good bed in the adjoining room.

  But if he claimed her here, now, she would have to marry him and accept that she belonged to him. With him. She would realize that soon enough, if she hadn’t already. He wouldn’t push her any further tonight. There would be time aplenty for that after the wedding. They were out of time here.

  Henry pressed a kiss into her hair. Would he ever be able to smell orange blossoms without getting harder than a horse’s hoof? Probably not, he decided as he smoothed her skirts back into place.

  “I could happily stay in this stuffy little room with you for days, Diana mine, but they’ll wonder what’s become of you downstairs.”

  “Oh, heavens!” She scrambled off his lap, nearly falling in her haste. He steadied her, watching in resignation as passion fled in the face of propriety. “How long have we been here?” she fretted. “Never mind it. Too long, I know. My mother has likely already looked for me.”

  “Tell her you were ill,” he advised, “and you didn’t wish to be sick in front of anyone, so you sought another room.”

  Diana shook her head. “She won’t believe me.”

  “She might.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You wouldn’t be lying if you said you’ve been fevered.” He picked up his coat from where it had fallen on the floor and shrugged it on. “If she does guess, I daresay she’ll forgive us once she knows the circumstances. How early may I call on the duke tomorrow?”

  How long did women need to fuss before a wedding? He liked the idea of a special license and, say, the day after next, but he didn’t fool himself that might happen. His wedding would be as proper a wedding as Diana, Lady Linnet, and his mother could wish. Just as long as the event took place before the end of the Season. He refused to wait longer than that.

  His smile widened as he noticed Diana had been speaking to him while he’d been daydreaming. “Beg pardon?”

  “I asked why you wanted to see my grandfather,” she said tonelessly.

  She had her damned mask back in place, he realized. After everything they’d just shared, she was shutting herself off from him. She wanted to pretend that what they’d shared meant nothing, to go on with life as though tonight had never happened. That was too bloody bad.

  “Why do I want to see the duke? Perhaps that has something to do with my nearly having ravished his granddaughter. Damn it, Diana, I know you believe me a rogue and a scapegrace, but I draw the line at debauching innocents. You can’t imagine I meant to walk away from you.” He caught her hand, held it when she would have pulled away. “Di, I want to marry you.”

  Henry had always thought he would marry for love, but he didn’t tell Diana he loved her. He didn’t want to send her running, for one t
hing, and he didn’t want to say the words until he was certain he meant them.

  He wanted Diana to the point of madness, and she wanted him. She hadn’t realized it yet, but she needed him. He thought he might need her too. Just the tiniest bit. He cared for her as a dear friend—the best friend he had apart from James—and when he looked into the future, he saw her with him. But did all of that add up to love?

  Love was sudden. Instant. Consuming. The French described it as a bolt of lightning. Henry had been standing next to James when he’d first seen Isabella as an adult. The man had looked like he’d taken a fist to the gut. His other brother-in-law admitted that the moment he’d laid eyes on Olivia, he’d known his life would never be the same.

  Henry hadn’t experienced anything like that with Diana. He couldn’t recall his first meeting with her. At some point, years ago, she’d entered into the periphery of his life, and there she’d remained, save for those obligatory dances at his mother’s insistence.

  Well, perhaps there hadn’t been sparks at their first meeting, but now the mere thought of her lit him up like a bonfire. And somehow, even after so many years, she’d still been waiting for him. Lightning hadn’t struck him, but divine intervention must be at work to give him this second chance.

  No, this was anything but sudden. This was a sweet, slow seduction. Their path had been longer, their pace slower, but as long as they were together, he was exactly where he needed to be. Yes, he decided, this was love.

  Christ.

  He pulled out the chair at the desk and sat before his knees gave out. Terrible manners when the lady in the room still stood, but it was the least of his transgressions this evening.

  He loved her.

  “Henry?”

  He loved Diana.

  “Henry, what is the matter?”

  “I l—” Not yet. She wasn’t ready. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t remember you asking me one.”

  “Then let me rectify that.” He ought to kneel, he thought. He needed to do this properly for her. He went to her and began to lower himself, but she grabbed the lapels of his coat and urged him back up.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I need to marry Sir Samuel.”

  The baronet’s name on her lips infuriated him. “What can he give you that I can’t?” he demanded. “The man doesn’t love you, and I know you don’t love him. Why are you so determined to marry him?”

  “He will never break my heart.”

  “I WON’T—”

  Before he could say anything further, Diana touched her fingers to his mouth. He spoke to her with his eyes instead, conveying all his hurt, his frustration, and his confusion in turbulent shades of blue. She trailed the backs of her fingers over his cheek and cupped the hard line of his jaw.

  “You would.” She had to close her eyes as she acknowledged, “You are.”

  “Di—”

  She silenced him by rising up on her toes and pressing her lips to his. She stayed like that for several long moments as she tried to reconcile her heart with the plans she had made for it. Though she could never regret any kiss between them, she came closest to regretting this one. Because this kiss was good-bye.

  Eventually she found the will to pull away.

  “I wish you only the best, and I—” She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “I know your stud will be a great success.”

  “Don’t, Di.” His big hands clasped her shoulders. “Don’t do this. I won’t let you go.”

  “You will. If you care for me at all, you will,” she said miserably as she ducked out of his grasp. She fled the room before he stole her wits again with his sweet words and sweeter kisses.

  Tonight, Henry had breached her defenses. He’d battered the protective walls she had constructed until she lost all control, came undone in his arms. But however much he tempted her, she couldn’t give in. Henry deserved a woman who would give herself to him wholly and unreservedly, and he would demand everything from his woman.

  Diana refused to take that risk. She preferred the surety of safety to the possibility of pain. If that made her a coward, so be it. She blinked rapidly as she hurried down the hall to the room set aside for the use of the female guests. She needed a moment—more like an eternity—to regain her composure before returning downstairs to face her future.

  The servant girl on duty in the retiring room took one glance at Diana and exclaimed, “Are you ill, milady?”

  The mirror revealed that Diana looked little better than she felt. Her distress was evident, and that, combined with her disheveled hair and pale, clammy skin, gave her the appearance of a sick woman. Either that, she thought a bit hysterically, or a mad one.

  “May I get you some tea, milady?”

  Diana turned to the girl. “No, thank you. If you would just help me put my hair to rights, I will be fine.”

  She would be fine, she told herself, as she made her way downstairs.

  She would be fine, she told herself, as she sat in the carriage on the way home. Her mother hadn’t questioned Diana’s sudden illness since she thought the crab served at dinner had spoiled and predicted several more hasty exits as the evening progressed.

  Her sickness was of the heart, but she would be fine. She needed Sir Samuel to propose. They could marry quickly with a special license. Then she would go to Wiltshire, far from the dangerous temptation Henry posed to her heart.

  But though the baronet had promised to call and inquire after her welfare, she didn’t see him for several days. Sir Samuel, along with a dozen or so other guests at Lady Langley’s soiree, had partaken of the aforementioned crab, covering it with too much of the fish sauce to detect anything amiss. They regretted their indulgence, but none suffered more than the countess (who was in disgrace) and her cook (who lost her place).

  Diana’s spirits remained low, but the doctor thought her quick return to health nothing short of astounding. He might have revised his opinion had he known the crab had never reached her end of the table, but she decided no one needed to know that insignificant detail. Sir Samuel, poor man, sent word through Lady Kelton that he would be indisposed through the end of the week. That gave her far too much time to think.

  She began reading A General View of the Agriculture of the County of Wiltshire, which her mother had bought for her, but only managed the Introduction. Six pages in six days. She ought to tell Henry. He stupidly believed his disinterest in books signaled a lack of intelligence. The only books he’d ever enjoyed had pictures, he’d told her. Pictures of—

  Best not to think about that. Best not to think about him. And yet, she did little else.

  She’d been such a fool. From the night of the Weston ball, she had inched closer to the gate in the wall she had built to protect her heart. When she got close enough to see Henry, she’d reached through the bars and touched him. So long as she kept the gate locked, what harm could there be? But while she had stood transfixed, cracks had formed in her wall. She’d never intended to let him in—never welcomed him—but Henry had slipped through nonetheless and laid claim to her heart one moment at a time.

  A wicked smile as he coaxed her into impropriety at Lady Galloway’s masquerade ball. A fiery kiss stolen at Vauxhall that burned brighter than any firework. Those early morning races along Rotten Row. Every time he called her “my dear Miss Merriwether” in that teasing, tender way of his. The conversations about nothing that meant everything because he listened to her. The look—part lust, part amusement, and all male challenge—that brought every inch of her to life.

  Something about Henry made her dare, dream, and, God yes, desire. She found that thrilling and terrifying. She’d spent years waiting for a proposal from a perfect country gentleman like Sir Samuel. Someone proper, considerate, and traditional. Three months with Henry—a Season with a rogue—and she’d discovered parts of herself she hadn’t known existed, but she’d lost her way.

  Diana’s feelings
for Henry scared her so much that, for once, the announcement of Sir Samuel’s arrival at Lansdowne House relieved her. He shone like a beacon on the path to safety. If he reached out, she would grab on to his hand.

  She wasn’t condemning herself to some terrible fate. She liked the baronet. He enjoyed reading and spoke eloquently on many topics. He talked fondly of his family and took genuine interest in his estate. She became a little alarmed when he described his flock of Wiltshire Horns, but, thankfully, he did not go on at length; if he’d proven another Blathersby, nothing could have induced her to marry him.

  What she liked best about the baronet was that he hadn’t much more affection for her than she had for him. Oh, he’d proven a kind and solicitous suitor, and no one could doubt his enthusiasm for the match, but she fit his set of stipulations as perfectly as he fit hers. He had probably decided to marry her before he met her.

  Though Sir Samuel lived but a half a day’s journey from Bath, he had prevailed upon his cousin’s hospitality and come to London to look for a wife. Diana interpreted this to mean that he aspired to a spouse with money and connections. Despite the scandal, she had both. From the first, he’d told her mother that he desired a sensible, family-minded woman; in other words, he wanted a woman content to live in the country, running his household and raising his children. Diana had met those conditions as well.

  There were no heated looks or longing glances. She didn’t expect him to make an improper advance—he was too much of a gentleman—but he didn’t appear to be exercising restraint. That suited her perfectly. The only advance she wished him to make was from the drawing room to her grandfather’s study. That day, however, the only offer he made pertained to Drury Lane.

  Two nights later, Sir Samuel escorted Diana, along with her mother and grandmother, to a box on the dress tier. She said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d bought the costlier tickets; her grandmother would certainly have complained if forced to bear the indignity of more plebian seating. Diana insisted that her mother and grandmother take the chairs, which left her sitting on the velvet-covered padded bench behind them, next to Sir Samuel.