A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (10 page)

Without any warning, a wall loomed up in front of her. Before she could turn in another direction, the wall reached out and held her in place. Then it began to rumble.

“Why are you running from me? Miss Merriwether?
Miss Merriwether!
”

The urgency in Henry’s voice managed to break through to her, and the past retreated. She lifted her head and found his concerned face looming over her; his hands gripped her shoulders as if he feared she might collapse at any moment. Diana drew in a deep, shuddering breath as she drank in the sight of him. The warmth of his presence drove away the lingering chill about her heart.

“Why did you run from me?” he demanded.

Run from him?

Her attraction to him terrified her, but she wasn’t smart enough to run from him. No, she sought him out like a moth drawn to a flame, unable to keep away despite the risk of getting singed. He was so close she could smell him—a heady mixture of soap on skin mingled with port and some earthy, masculine scent that was simply Henry.

His scent swirled around her, clean and crisp as a country breeze, yet crackling with the leashed energy of a coming storm. The muscles in her stomach tightened and released in shivery delight. Heat built inside her and spread through her body until she burned.

Run, run, run,
her mind urged, but her body wanted to burn.

Burn, burn, burn.

Perhaps she was a little afraid of him. He was dangerous to her health. If she stood there long enough—just stood there with his hands on her—he would burn her alive. She would go up in flames, right here in… She glanced around in confusion as she realized they stood in the courtyard. “What are we doing outside?”

“I hoped you would tell me. You called me a rogue, and then ran off. Are you unwell? Shall I fetch your mother?”

For a moment, she could not answer. Her feminine senses were overwhelmed, paralyzed at having somehow captured the interest of such a giant force of pure masculine energy.

“Forgive me. I just…” Heavens, he had the bluest eyes. In the light of the lanterns, they sparkled like brilliant sapphires. “I just became a trifle overheated, and I needed some air. There is no cause to upset my mother. We can return inside.” She took a small step back, trying to shrug out of his grasp, but his hands tightened about her shoulders, preventing her retreat.

“Hold a moment.” For all they were a command, the words were gentle. “You’re trembling,” he noted with concern.

She would continue to do so as long as he held her close. Diana turned her head, darting a glance at the other couples who had ventured outside. “Did I cause a scene when I ran out?” she asked worriedly.

He gave a short laugh. “No, but I’m certain everyone is wondering what I said to set up your bristles.” Keeping one hand on her shoulder, he guided her to a bench a few feet away. “Sit,” he told her. “You look as though you’re about to faint.”

She was still a little unsteady, so she did as he asked. The position put her eyes level with the hands that braced on his hips as he asked, “What happened in there?”

Perhaps because he’d rescued her once again, she felt as though she owed him at least a partial explanation. She had to look up, way up, to deliver it. “Sometimes I… I don’t know how to describe it, exactly. All of a sudden, my heart races, and I can’t catch my breath. It’s almost as if I’m in a dream or a trance. Most people run from their ugly memories in a less literal sense, but when I’m in that state, I have no control. I don’t… I don’t even remember running out here.” She ducked her head and hunched in on herself. “You must think me mad.”

“If you are mad, Miss Merriwether, there is very little hope for the rest of us. Does this happen often?”

She sighed and forced her gaze back up. “When my past catches up with me.”

Henry’s brow wrinkled.

“I wasn’t running from you,” she explained. “When you laughed and everyone turned in our direction… I couldn’t wait and risk seeing all those disapproving stares, overhearing the whispers…”

“I apologize. I never meant to distress you.”

“I know, and it wasn’t you that made me uncomfortable.”

“Even though I am a rogue?” he teased.

Diana blushed. “Well, you
are
!” she insisted.

“I assure you, at least half of what is reported in the gossip columns is entirely made up, and the other half is greatly exaggerated.”

“Yes,” she said bitterly. “I know just how much liberty newspapers take with the truth. All they care about is selling papers—making a profit—no matter how many lives and reputations are ruined in the process.”

His blue eyes were gentle, his expression thoughtful as he seated himself beside her. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you?”

She shrugged, disconcerted by this tender side of him. “I never lacked food to eat or a roof over my head.”

“I think I would rather face the elements than most of the spiteful old biddies at Almack’s. Going hungry, however? I’d have to think harder on that.”

A chuckle escaped her.

“Ah, now that’s better,” he said with satisfaction. “You have a beautiful smile, Miss Merriwether.”

His words flooded her heart with pleasure and her cheeks with heat. It didn’t matter whether he truly meant them, or if he’d said them to all the women in London. When he said them to her, she felt like the prettiest woman alive… which just brought her back to the fact that Henry Weston was a very dangerous man.

“And you have a way with women, Mr. Weston.”

“Although I’m certain it was not meant as such, I will take that as a compliment.”

“In truth, I envy you,” she admitted. “I am ill at ease with strangers, and I am no good at making polite conversation. You could charm an entire village without being uncomfortable. That is a gift.”

He shifted uneasily beside her, and Diana suddenly understood that this master of compliments had difficulty accepting them. She glanced away to hide her amusement.

“Of course, I must point out that you have taken no little advantage of this gift with regards to the female gender. I daresay that, despite your protestations otherwise, you have charmed every woman you’ve ever met and put far too many of them at ease.”

He relaxed and leaned in, giving her that roguish half-grin that made her heart skip a beat. “Do I charm you, Diana?”

“Not at the moment.” She lied without hesitation. “Nor have I given you permission to use my given name.”

“No, you have not,” he agreed. “Not yet. You will, though. But, I must point out,
Diana
”—the sound of her name on his lips sent chills tingling up her spine—“daring is part of a rogue’s attraction.”

“Attraction doesn’t last,” she replied, stiffening her spine—and her mind—against his potent allure. “And, though you may find this difficult to believe, not all women are attracted to rogues.”

“You, for one?”

She nodded. “When I was in my first Season I made a list of desirable attributes, and—”

“You have a list?” His expression hovered between horror and interest.

“It has grown shorter over the years, but no roguish qualities were ever included.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I can imagine precisely the man you would seek. You want a quiet, studious country gentleman. Someone totally dependable, utterly predictable, and unbearably dull. Well, have I got it right thus far?”

She refused to take his bait. “As I am quiet, studious, and prefer the simplicity of country life to the pleasures of town, you have indeed described my perfect match. He must also be of a steady disposition and an even temper, guided by logic rather than emotion.”

“You haven’t made any mention of your heart. Is this to be a love-match?”

And risk the jealousies that could tear a marriage apart? Her parents’ separation hadn’t only devastated her mother. The man Diana had loved and trusted most in the world had betrayed her, and she would never open herself to that pain again.

“No,” she whispered. “I know love is a game to you, but it isn’t to me. People get hurt—” Her voice broke.

He gently lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “You are safe with me, Diana,” he promised.

His fingers spread shivers across her skin, and she jerked her head away. “I know.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not a woman to stir a man’s passions.”

“That’s not what I—”

“But you needn’t worry that I will fall in love with you, either.” She reached over to pat his hand in reassurance. “You are safe with me, too, Mr. Weston.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I cannot ask this over the breakfast table, since we both know Izzie will make a fuss. She will tell my mother and Livvy, and then I may as well forget the idea. You are my oldest friend, so I hope I may trust you to be honest with me. Am I insane to consider courting Miss Merriwether? I realize this may be a question from one madman to another. You married my sister, after all, which surely makes you a candidate for Bedlam.

—FROM HENRY WESTON TO HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW THE EARL OF DUNSTON

H
ENRY FROWNED AT
D
IANA
. H
E
didn’t expect every woman he met to fall for him, but… Well, perhaps he did. Not that he wanted 
this
 woman to fall in love with him, but it intrigued him that she seemed so sure she wouldn’t.

“Because I’m a rogue,” he clarified. “That’s why you won’t fall in love with me.”

“One of many reasons, Mr. Weston.”

“Please, call me Henry.”

She shook her head. The movement sent the curls around her face dancing like little flames. In the moonlight, her hair shimmered with all the colors of a summer sunset, from russet to gold and every shade in between.

What had his mother called her hair?

Marvelous? Gorgeous?
Glorious.
That was it. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Henry reached out and captured a curl between his thumb and forefinger.

“W-what are you doing?”

The little quiver in her voice prodded at something inside him, something male and primitive that would have been best left sleeping. Now the beast stirred awake.

“I’m trying to decide the color of your hair.” The words emerged on a husky whisper.

He met her startled gaze and found her eyes were the colors of his dreams. Chestnut stars flecked with gold overlaid a field of rich green—a glossy Arabian streaking across the turf. As their eyes held, her breath caught. He kept hold of her silky curl, but his gaze dropped to her mouth.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Though he’d danced with her countless times, if asked to describe Diana Merriwether, he would have said she was tall with red hair. He would have had to guess at her eye color. In all the years he’d known her, he had never really seen her.

How had he never noticed that she had a mouth made for sin? In the landscape of her serious face, her mouth was a folly, surprising and sensual. She likely thought it a bit too wide, her lips a shade too full. Women had the oddest notions about these things. From a male point of view, Diana’s mouth was perfection. Lush, naughty perfection.

That bothered him. He was bothered because he hadn’t noticed before, bothered because he noticed now, bothered because the bothersome mouth in question belonged to Diana, and mostly bothered that he was feeling…
bothered
. And hot.

He released her hair to tug at his cravat.

“My hair is the same unfortunate color it has always been: red.” Her brow furrowed as she patted at her curls. “You asked why I wouldn’t fall in love with you. Mr. Weston, I’m not a young girl wishing for a handsome gentleman to sweep me off my feet. I am determined this will be my last Season. If I haven’t found a husband after this many years of looking, I doubt I ever shall. I’m not averse to the notion of marriage—I should like to have my own household and children—but I want nothing to do with love and less to do with scandal. My family has been subject to enough pointing fingers and wagging tongues. Thus, I think it unlikely I’ll succumb to your charms.”

Henry got to his feet and extended his hand to her. “Come. Walk with me.”

After a slight hesitation, she stood and took his arm. “I don’t see how I can refuse”—she flashed him a smile—“given that you didn’t bother asking. We shouldn’t stay out too long, though. Half of the guests likely saw you come after me, and they’ll talk if we linger here too long.”

Henry wasn’t used to caring if people talked about him, but given what his father had said earlier, he must learn to care. In order to convince Parr to sell Ravensfield, Henry had to become respectable. He could learn from Miss Merriwether. As she said, there was scandal in her family history, but the lady herself was propriety personified.

They walked the length of the courtyard in companionable silence. The musical notes of the pianoforte and the chatter of polite conversation spilled down from the open windows above. He found himself noticing little things about her.

The way she carried herself, tall and regal. The long, graceful line of her throat. The pale copper freckles decorating her porcelain skin. The faint scent of orange blossoms, fresh linen, and
woman
.