A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (24 page)

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.

She’d sat just so beside Henry on a few occasions. Maybe not
just
so. Henry had sat so close their shoulders brushed and whispered in her ear throughout the performance. Sir Samuel sat an appropriate distance from her and appeared content simply watching the play, rather than those around him. Though she was usually of the same mind, Diana had no interest in tonight’s comedy about a feuding married couple. She fiddled with her program, folding and unfolding the paper, until her mother reached back and snatched it out of her hands.

A commotion in the theater distracted her. Mr. Townley, obviously drunk as a wheelbarrow, leaned over the side of his box and shouted at the actors. A number of people in the pit and gallery began yelling back. His niece—Good heavens, what had possessed Miss Hill to wear such an indecent gown?—looked on in mortification. Nearby, sitting uncustomarily alone, Lord Brantley glowered in their direction before leaving his box.

Diana spared a smile for Eliza, who sat with her parents, Mr. Gabriel, and Lord Blathersby. As she moved on, the hairs on her nape rose. Her breath caught as a familiar blond head came into sight.

Her heart slammed against ribs.
He shouldn’t be here.

Now that he had his stud—now that they were through—he ought to be drinking, wenching, and playing cards again. Or he ought to be in Surrey overseeing the renovations at Ravensfield. He shouldn’t be here, with his sisters sitting in front of him, their heads craned around as if Henry provided better amusement than the play.

He kept his opera glass fixed on her. Even with a theater full of people between them, she felt his hunger and determination. A matching desire rose within her, and she couldn’t look away. She heard the audience roar as the onstage couple launched into another silly spat. They were nothing but strutting actors reciting ridiculous words. They played out fiction, not fact.

But weren’t they all actors, each with their roles? She slipped effortlessly between daughter, sister, granddaughter, and wallflower. What was she to Henry? More than a friend, certainly. Less than a lover, regrettably. She was…
his
. The word rose up from deep within her.

She shoved it right back down. She’d performed in a tragedy once before. She wouldn’t chance it again.

H
ENRY PRESSED THE OPERA GLASS
more firmly against his face, as if doing so would render Diana in closer detail. He’d spent the past week at Ravensfield, but he might as well have been in another country for all he’d accomplished. He’d thought of her constantly, yet he was no closer to figuring out what to do with his very stubborn, very lovely, very dear Miss Merriwether.

He drank in every freckle, every copper curl… and every disapproving frown. His lips twitched. Diana
would
frown during a comedy. Sir Stick-in-the-Mud should have thought before bringing her to a play about a marriage that proved disastrous in just three weeks’ time.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. She would, though, even if he had to make as big a nuisance of himself as Townley.

He knew the instant she spotted him. Her body tensed. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, giving him the barest glimpse of white teeth.

He swallowed hard. He did it again when she bit down on her lower lip. The things he wanted to do with that mouth…

You can’t deny this, Di,
he thought at her.
You can’t deny
me.

She proved she could as she looked away and spoke to Stickley.

Well, damn it, he
couldn’t
. He couldn’t play when this was no longer a game. He couldn’t look at her when she’d moved out of his reach. He couldn’t watch her turn away from him to another man. He stood, handed the opera glass to Olivia, and walked out.

James followed him into the passage.

“Leaving, Hal? Or dare I hope that you’re about to act like a barbarian and haul your woman off somewhere until the two of you come to rights?”

“Just let it alone.”

“So it’s the former.” James crossed his arms and lounged against the wall. “Pity. Shall we take this conversation to the saloon? Misery may love company, but it’s damned fond of drink.”

“There’s no conversation to be had. She refused me, damn it all. She’d rather have that blasted fool of a baronet.”

“A woman who doesn’t want you,” James mused. “So, one exists after all.”

“She
wants
me,” Henry growled. “She doesn’t want to
marry
me.”

James laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come along. I need the drink, even if you don’t.”

They made their way to the nearest of the elegantly appointed saloons and found only a dozen or so people in the room. That would change come the intermission between the evening’s two plays. Henry found a pair of chairs in an empty corner while James procured the liquor. If they were going to do this—
this
being two grown men discussing feelings—then they definitely needed alcohol, and at least some semblance of privacy.

James brought over two glasses and handed one to Henry. He swallowed half the contents in a single gulp. “Brandy would’ve been better,” he grumbled as James seated himself.

“So,” James said. He sipped his port.

“So?”

“So you say Miss Merriwether prefers the baronet to you. I find this… surprising. I may be unfairly prejudiced, but you
are
the better catch.”

Henry raised his glass in acknowledgment, then drained it and set it on the floor. “Diana cares little about titles and wealth.”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” James went on. “She cares about you.”

“I know she
cares
about me.
She
knows she cares about me, and that scares her.”

“I see.” James tapped his fingers on the arm on his chair. “Have you spoken with her about her fears?”

“I’ve tried. She won’t listen to reason.” He had tried, hadn’t he? He’d tried to make her see reason that day at the Park when everything had gone hellishly wrong. He’d told her he wouldn’t break her heart. But had they discussed what lay at the heart of her objections?

“Perhaps you should try harder to listen to her reasons. Or are you willing to let her go?”

“If I thought she’d be happier with him—” Henry reached out, took James’s glass, and finished what was left of the sweet wine. “Even then, I’m not certain I could. She sees something in me, believes in me, even when I doubt myself. And I see her, all of her. Everything she tries to hide. We…” He sought for the right word. “We balance each other.”

“Setting aside your present distress, you’re far more settled than at the start of the Season,” James agreed.

“She’s everything I never knew I wanted, never knew I needed. She’s the part of me I didn’t know was missing, but if I lose her now, I’ll forever have a Diana-shaped hole in my heart. There’s something comfortable, something enduring between us. I lust after her, God knows, but it’s different with her. Better. Christ, I sound like—”

“—like a man in love,” James finished. “Have you told her?”

“That I love her?” Henry sighed. “Even if I thought that would help, which I don’t, she won’t see me. Damn it all, how can I convince her of anything when she won’t let me get near her?” His voice rose as his temper flared, earning him a few quizzical glances. The saloon had quickly begun to fill, which signaled both the end of the first play and their privacy. He inclined his head in the direction of the door and lifted a brow.

James nodded, and they headed back toward the box. “Why not ask your sisters for help?” he asked. “They enjoy intrigues and making devious plans. I think Izzie gets nearly as much pleasure from meddling as she does from se—er, surprises.”

Henry glanced sideways at James. “I didn’t think Izzie liked surprises.”

“She likes nice surprises. I’m fairly certain our boyhood pranks can’t be characterized as such.”

“We never did anything worthy of the retribution she and Livvy extracted.”

James chuckled. “They certainly were inventive.”

Yes, they were. His sisters were inventive, devious, and meddlesome, and for the first time, Henry found himself grateful. “I’ll listen to anything their scheming minds can dream up. Lord knows, it has to be better than what I have in mind.”

“Do you have
anything
in mind?”

Henry shrugged. “I’ve thought about kidnapping her.”

“Delightful in its own way, but abduction is a felony, isn’t it?”

“Not a hanging offense, but I’d rather only use that plan as a last resort, all the same.”

When they reached the box, they found only Sheldon. Henry surveyed the half-empty boxes, but he couldn’t spot his sisters. For all he knew, they’d come into the saloon and he’d missed them in the crowd. He glanced across the theater to Diana’s box, but she was gone. So was Stickley. Henry’s hands balled into fists. It was a good thing he knew the baronet wouldn’t attempt anything improper, or he might have taken James’s initial suggestion and played the barbarian.

“Did they say where they were going?” he asked Sheldon tersely.

His brother-in-law shook his head. “They left whispering to each other, thick as thieves. Those two are planning something. I only hope Livvy knows I’m serious about not wanting a birthday celebration. Turning thirty is frightening enough without a party.”