A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (19 page)

“Di?”

She shivered, helpless to respond when he turned her name into a deep growl of a question. Taking her silence as assent, he drew the digit into the hot cavern of his mouth. His tongue swirled over her flesh, rough and soft all at once. He made a noise, a hum of appreciation, pleased by her taste. The vibrations from his throat traveled through her hand and exploded throughout her body.

“Di? Diana?”

She blinked owlishly at the glass of wine Henry held out to her.

“Are you too warm?” he asked in concern. “You are all flushed, and though I enjoy nothing better than seeing you in this state, I have not done anything to provoke it. Come and sit.”

Yes, she was too warm—hot, in fact. And no, Diana thought, he hadn’t done anything other than being himself. Her own wicked imagination had done the rest.

“I am perfectly well,” she assured him, sitting on the blanket and taking the wine he offered. “Tell me about the stud. I know you have many eager investors, but I thought Lord Parr would not make a decision until the end of the Season.”

“I thought so as well, but my father saw him and talked him around. Our courtship has proven very convincing, which is why I wanted to speak with you.”

“You needn’t say anything. I understand. Truly,” she said, her throat was thick with unhappiness.

“You sound hoarse. If you feel ill, I’ll take you home.”

“No!” she shouted, the ferocity of her outburst surprising them both. “I apologize,” she said more softly. “I appreciate your concern. I may have a touch of something”—the Henry Fever—“but there’s no need for me to go home, not yet. Please, I want to stay here with you.” She would not willingly give up this afternoon, the magical time spent alone with Henry. Certainly not if, as she suspected, this was to be her last.

“There’s no need to take on so.” Henry laughed as he reached over and chucked her under the chin. He lifted her face and frowned. “Before you were redder than these strawberries, and now you’re so pale I could count every last freckle.”

She ducked her head in embarrassment.

“I think about it, you know,” he continued. “Counting your freckles. Not really counting them so much as kissing them. Good, now you have a bit of color again. Yes, sometimes I lie awake at night imagining kissing your freckles. Every last one.”

“But I have freckles all over my body,” she blurted out, daring a glance at him.

He regarded her with undisguised hunger. “Yes.” He nodded slowly. “So I imagine.”

Unsure how to respond to that, Diana sipped her wine. After a glance in the direction of their servants, Henry shook his head. “If we were truly alone right now…” He sighed. “I may as well see you are fed.”

There wasn’t much, only some strawberries, a loaf of bread and a round of cheese, but with Henry handing her every bite, it was a feast. They both had their gloves off, so their hands brushed with each bit of food that passed between them. His fingers touched his lips and her fingers touched her lips; in a way, they kissed every time their fingers met.

She stared as he licked his fingers after eating a juicy strawberry. He caught her watching him, paused, and then began again in a more deliberate manner. He laved and sucked at his fingers, holding her gaze all the while. Her body tightened with need.

Henry took one last lick, and then handed her a strawberry. Fortunately, her unconscious mind knew how to chew, swallow, and breathe, because she could not think past the frantic pounding of her heart. She licked at her thumb, then sucked the tip of her finger into her mouth. The tugging sensation migrated to her breasts before lodging in her core. Henry’s eyes blazed blue fire, so much hotter than she had imagined in her daydream.

And after today, he would return to being a dream. Diana lowered her hand and looked away from Henry. He allowed her to retreat and began to talk about his estate, going on at length about the stables, which he knew would interest her. In addition to her father’s height, red hair, and freckles, she had inherited his love of horses. Some of her fondest memories were of the days before her parents separated when she had spent long blissful, dirty hours helping her father and the grooms in the stables. Most of her other happy memories were with Henry.

Think about that later, she told herself. She set aside her worries and memorized the sound of his voice, how he gesticulated with his large hands, and the way the dimple in his left cheek showed when he was excited. And then, since she was with him, she simply let herself be.

The afternoon passed all too quickly, and Henry drove them back to Berkeley Square. Since Gunter’s was the sole place where she could go without a chaperone, Diana dismissed her maid. Given the popularity of the confectioner’s shop, Diana expected the crowd of carriages drawn up around the railings of the central garden. Under the shade of the plane trees, fashionable ladies sat in their equipages and savored their sweets while their escorts stood and did the same.

Someone waved and Diana absently waved back before recognizing Eliza Fothergill. The man accompanying her turned to see who had caught Eliza’s attention. Good heavens, was that Mr. Gabriel? He bowed in her direction before turning back to Eliza.

Even from a distance, Diana saw the look of pure adoration on his face. A flash of white-hot jealousy tore through her, leaving her ashamed and not a little shaken. She gathered her composure as Henry gave their orders to the waiter who had dashed over.

“Look!” She nudged his shoulder. “Do you see Mr. Gabriel and Miss Fothergill?”

He followed her line of sight and broke out in a wide grin. Diana’s gaze flitted upward, half expecting the clouds to part with rays of golden light.

“Confound it all, will you look at that!”

Diana began to point out that as
she
had shown
him,
she must already be looking at that, or rather them, when he clapped his hands in delight.

“You know, I think I have a knack for matchmaking.”

“Surely I deserve some of the credit,” Diana insisted, “though one couple hardly qualifies as a knack.”

“Not only them—” The waiter delivered their ices, interrupting him. She had chosen the orange flavor, one of her favorites; today, it tasted sour. She set the ice down beside her on the seat of the phaeton.

“Are you certain you are well?” Henry asked, eyeing the sweet.

“Well enough, but my appetite has deserted me,” she replied, her stomach churning. The time had come for them to talk—to part ways. Better now, before…

Before he broke her heart?

A bitter laugh escaped her. She’d told Henry she wouldn’t fall in love with him. She hadn’t lied. She hadn’t
fallen
in love with him. She had been a little bit in love with the man for years. The time spent with him during their courtship had only strengthened her feelings. She needed him out of her life before he stole any more of her heart. She would not allow him to break her.

“What?” Henry prompted.

“Hmm?”

“You laughed at something.”

“It’s just that we’re both thinking the same thing, but neither of us wants to speak first.”

Henry took a bite of his chocolate ice. “Tell me what you’re thinking. If I’m thinking the same thing, I will tell you. If not, I’ll have a taste of your ice.”

“I won’t make a game of this with you. You may have my ice; I told you, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Diana—”

“I release you. Is what you want me to say? There’s no need for our arrangement any longer. You are in possession of your stud, and I think it likely that I will soon receive a proposal of marriage.”

“Stickley,” Henry muttered darkly.

She nodded. “Sir Samuel is most attentive. I believe we are well-suited.”

“He is not right for you,” he bit out.

“I think I am the better judge of that.” She tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but an edge of hurt cut through.

“Diana, you won’t be happy with him. Any fool can see that.”

“Then I must be particularly foolish because I think he would make a very good husband.”

Henry stabbed his spoon into his ice and shoved it into the hands of a passing waiter. He braced both hands against the side of the phaeton as he leaned in close. “I’m sure he will be a good enough husband for some woman, but he’s not right for you. Why are you willing to live a life without love and passion?”

Her hands clenched into fists. “All I want is a steady, comfortable marriage.”

“But
why
?”

He had poked the scab one too many times, and the flesh underneath was still angry and raw.

“My parents had love and passion,” she hissed at him, “and they turned to anger and jealousy. They destroyed each other and our family. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

She realized she was crying when he lifted his hands to her cheeks and wiped away her tears. She glanced around, fearful she had drawn attention to herself, but no one appeared to have noticed.

Henry pressed on. “You can’t imagine all marriages are like your parents’?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Many marriages are a great deal worse.”

He shook his head. “My parents have been happily married for three decades. My sisters are both happily married, admittedly not for very long, but both couples have already weathered hardships and come through stronger.”

“Most marriages, most families, are not like yours.”

“Perhaps they’re not like yours,” he countered. “I understand that you’re scared. When you embrace passion, when you open your heart, there’s always an element of risk. You could get hurt,” he acknowledged, “but you could also find joy.”

“I would rather not take the risk, if it’s all the same to you.”

His body was rigid beside her, nearly vibrating with tightly wound tension. She didn’t understand him. He should be grateful she wasn’t holding him to their arrangement until Sir Samuel proposed.

“It’s not,” he said gruffly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said that it’s not all the same to me, but my opinion doesn’t matter to you, does it?” He gave her his slightly crooked smile, the one that always made her heart flop around in her chest, but it didn’t reach his eyes. No, those bluer- than-blue eyes were hard, and rather than doing its customary acrobatics, her heart dropped straight to her stomach. “I’m a rogue, as you are always so quick to point out, so naturally I have no feelings worthy of your consideration.”

“Why are you making this so difficult?” she demanded. “You have your stud. I know you have no more use for me. And, though we both know you had little to do with it, I have a suitor whom I expect to propose. I will accept, we will be married, and all will be as it should. You see, I have no further use for you either, Mr. Weston.”

Henry’s face was ashen. “Di, I—”

“Miss Merriwether!”

Diana saw Sir Samuel quickly striding toward them.

“I just called at Lansdowne House, and your mother suggested I seek you out here.”

“How fortunate you spotted us,” Henry drawled.

“Weston,” a tight-lipped Sir Samuel acknowledged.

They eyed each other like a pair of dogs with but one bone betwixt them. Her temples began to throb.

“Sir Samuel, what a pleasant surprise.” Diana tried to look happy. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but I fear my head has started to pound.”

“Delicate creature,” tutted Sir Samuel. “You have taken too much sunlight, no doubt. Will you allow me to see you home?”

Henry straightened to his full height, though even slouching he was able to look down his nose at the other man. “I am quite capable of taking Miss Weston home.”

This was ridiculous, Diana thought. Lansdowne House was
in
Berkeley Square. She could see herself home. But that wouldn’t solve her problem. For whatever reason, Henry hadn’t ended their arrangement, so she had to be strong enough to let him go. She had no future with him. She had the possibility of one with Sir Samuel.

“Nonsense.” She smiled brightly at Henry. “You have a number of—of
friends
”—she stumbled over the word—“you have been neglecting at my request. I shall not keep you away from them any longer. You deserve to spend the remainder of the day celebrating, not playing nursemaid. Mr. Weston has come into some property,” she informed Sir Samuel. “As we are old friends, I’m very pleased for his good fortune, though I fear his new duties will prevent him from calling on us as often as he has in the past.”

“What a shame.” Sir Samuel’s words were at odds with the delighted manner in which he said them.

“Thank you for a most enjoyable outing, Mr. Weston. Sir Samuel can see me home, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“None at all, none at all,” the baronet assured her. “Come, let me help you.”

Henry crossed his arms over his chest as Sir Samuel handed her down from the phaeton. “Sir Samuel, it appears the lady has made her decision. Miss Merriwether, I regret I will not see you tonight at the Winthrop musicale as planned. As you so obligingly reminded me, I have acquaintances to renew. Good day to you both.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and got up into his phaeton. His groom handed him the reins before clambering onto the tiger’s perch at the back. Without so much as a glance in her direction, Henry clucked at his team and drove off.

Diana gladly accepted the support of Sir Samuel’s arm as they walked the short distance to Lansdowne House. The day had left her confused and off-balance, but beside Sir Samuel’s unflappable demeanor, she regained some semblance of the calm and order she craved.

“Do you plan to go to the Winthrop musicale tonight?” she asked. “I hear Signora Bolla is engaged to sing. Her voice is not as good as Miss Dixon’s, but she is very talented.”

“I received an invitation, but I hadn’t made up my mind. I confess I care little for opera. It is pleasant enough to listen to, but I find nothing enjoyable in dramas of unfaithful, jealous lovers.”

Diana stumbled, aghast at his outright condemnation of her parents.

Sir Samuel steadied her. “Are you all right, my dear?”

She opened her mouth to berate him for his unfeeling words, but she stopped herself when their gazes met. His brown eyes were earnest, and his expression spoke only of concern for her well-being. He hadn’t been alluding to her past, merely expressing honest distaste at the storyline of many operas.