A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (36 page)

“I’m not going to London,” he told her as he stroked her hair. “There will be other sales at Tattersall’s, and the rest of my business can hold a while longer.”

Diana raised her head. “No, you need to go and see to business, and I… I’ll miss you, but I need you to go.” She sighed. “The part of me that can think clearly knows I’m being ridiculous, but there’s a small piece that’s beyond my control. That small piece of me is terrified for you go to London without me. I don’t think you would seek out a woman, but I’ve seen the way women throw themselves in your path. Perhaps the unmarried ones will step aside, but the rest won’t care that you’re married. They think you’re foolish to have m-married m-me, and t-tonight I agree w-with them.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed. He let her have her cry and, after a few minutes, she quieted and raised her head. She turned her face away from him. “Don’t look at me. I’m all red and splotchy.”

“You’re beautiful. A bit deluded, but beautiful. Courting you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

She sniffed loudly. “Be serious, Henry.”

“I am serious. I’m not— I don’t consider myself a particularly intelligent man. I was never any good at my studies, not like James. Before I decided on the stud, I never tried very hard at anything. If I happened to be good at something, I kept on with it. If I wasn’t, I walked away, because I couldn’t stand to try and then fail. It was easier by far to be a self-indulgent fool than find out I’m nothing but a mediocre man. Can you imagine my father failing at anything?”

“I’m sure he must—”

“No, he’s never failed at anything. Both of my parents are incredible. The thought of disappointing them terrifies me. The thought of disappointing you—” He shook his head. “Do you know what you do to me every time you suggest you’re somehow unworthy of me? You tear me apart inside. I’m the unworthy one. There you were, right in front of me for so many years, but I was too blind to see you.” His hand trembled as he cupped her cheek.

She placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t waste time being sorry. We have each other now.”

He took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face, then brought his hand back up to cradle her head. He gently pressed his lips to her temple, her cheek, her lips… paying homage and making promises of forever. “No, I’m not smart,” he whispered against her ear, “but I was wise enough to fall in love with you and clever enough to convince you to marry me. I hope I’m not so stupid that I would ever let you go.”

H
ENRY HELPED
D
IANA UPSTAIRS AND
turned her over to Ellie’s care. Most evenings, they sat in the library for a while after dinner, but the sooner this night was over, the better. He made his way downstairs to fetch Diana’s novel and, for himself, Taplin’s
Compendium of Farriery
. If the book didn’t put him to sleep immediately, it would at least prevent him from attacking his wife. Reading about cures for mange had a way of cooling a man’s lust.

He poked his head into the dining room and found that in addition to clearing the table, someone had already swept away the broken glass and cleaned the wall, though it would likely still need repainting. He was about to head back upstairs when Mrs. Timms entered the room through the opposite door.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir! I thought you and Mrs. Weston had retired already. Is there aught I can get for you?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” He crossed the room so he wouldn’t have to shout. “My wife is feeling poorly again, and she needs a good night’s rest. If you will bring up hot water, I’ll prepare some of that special tea she likes. Bring me the laudanum as well. She’s fretful, and a few drops will help her to fall asleep.”

The housekeeper’s mouth pursed with displeasure.

“Is there a problem, Mrs. Timms?”

He didn’t expect the woman to say anything, but after a moment’s indecision, she took a few steps closer to him and lowered her voice. “Will you forgive me for speaking plain, sir?”

Henry inclined his head.

“I’ll have you know I don’t pass any judgment. There’s no harm in letting a marriage settle before there’s babes crying all the time, but there’s other ways than the pennyroyal—ways that are easier on a body. If you’ve fixed on it, though, you should know there’s no need for her to drink it every day. ‘Tis an unpleasant tea, I’ve always thought. It leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.”

It did, indeed. Henry had no idea how he kept his face impassive during Mrs. Timms’s revelation. Shock, perhaps. He knew the ways to keep from getting a woman with child, and he was familiar enough with the herbs women used to rid themselves of unwanted babes. He hadn’t expected Diana to know of such things, let alone make use of them.

Her fear of his betrayal no doubt stemmed from a guilty conscience. She’d sat beside him so many times, drinking her special “calming blend,” lying to him with every sip. God damn her, he’d given her all of himself, held nothing back. He finally understood what James had meant all those months ago when he said he trusted Isabella with his heart.

Henry had trusted Diana with his heart. He’d shared everything he was, good and bad, knowing she would accept all of him—
want
all of him. He wanted all of her. He’d meant what he’d said before. He needed more than her love; he needed her to trust him with her heart.

She didn’t even trust him with her fears. He needn’t have understood his Oxford professor’s ramblings about logic to understand Diana’s reasoning. If she didn’t believe he would remain faithful to her, she obviously didn’t think their marriage would last. Any child of theirs would end up torn between the two of them, or maybe she thought he’d abandon his children as well.

“Mr. Weston?”

He forced himself to focus on the housekeeper. “Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Timms. I hadn’t realized the tea might be causing my wife’s ill health. I’ll speak with her. Please, don’t say anything; she would be terribly embarrassed.”

“I wouldn’t want that, sir. Shall I make a cup of chamomile tea instead?”

“Chamomile, yes, that’s fine. I’ll be in the library. Let me know when it’s ready, and I’ll take it up to her.”

“I can have one of the maids bring it up, sir,” Mrs. Timms offered. “There’s no need for you to wait down here.”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured her. He needed time to compose himself before he faced Diana. He paced around the library, his thoughts disordered and discordant. His mind leaped from the fiercest outrage to a tender understanding, from resentment to pity, and he alternately wanted to reassure her and rant at her.

When he went upstairs, he found his room mostly dark. A single candelabrum remained lit on the table, and Diana was asleep in his bed. As he set aside the tea and the books, he glanced at the door to Diana’s room. He considered sleeping there, but he heard his father’s voice in his head:
Try not to go to bed angry, but if you cannot, at least sleep in the same bed.

He quickly undressed, doused the candles, and climbed into bed. He turned on his side, facing away from her, and decided he’d leave for London at first light. As he stared into the darkness, listening to Diana breathe, dawn seemed damned far off.

CHAPTER TWENTY‍-‍ONE

As you know, James indulges Bride’s every whim. Yesterday morning at breakfast, I asked him what he thought I might have been like if my father had given in to my every demand. He grew very pale at the thought, I must say, but his solution is simple. We cannot be at war with France much longer, so by the time Bride is sixteen, we will place her in a French convent—preferably one surrounded by a moat containing carnivorous fish. Naturally, I told him the plan is both brilliant and flawless, and I encouraged him to put it down in writing. Someday I will show it to Bride and we will all laugh… assuming Bride has not already thrown her father to the sharks.

—FROM THE COUNTESS OF DUNSTON TO HER SISTER THE MARCHIONESS OF SHELDON

I
F SHE’D KNOWN WHAT LAY
in wait for her on the other side of sleep’s gates, Diana would never have allowed herself to pass through. The monsters from her past captured her before she could put up a struggle. They dragged her back to Swallowsdale, back to her hiding place beneath the desk. She pressed her palms against her ears, but they didn’t dim the sound of her parents shouting at each other. Two more angry voices joined the fray—Henry’s and her own.

“Stop,” she whispered. No one heard her. She couldn’t hear herself over the clamor of accusations and denials. “Stop!”

Something shattered in a bright clash and the room fell silent. Her breath caught on a sob. The pitiful sound echoed into the empty quiet. Henry called her name. She wanted to go to him, but she had to hear the rest of it. She wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her head on her knees, and braced herself for the words she knew were coming. She’d relived this nightmare so often that its power over her should have diminished.

It hadn’t. She flinched as her father gave her up without a second thought, and then exploded out from under the desk with a cry ripped straight from her heart.

“No!” The word burst from her lips, at once pointless and poignant in this room full of broken people with fractured dreams. Just another accusation, another denial. One more plea for love that would go unanswered.

Behind her, someone moved; the heavy tread ground pieces of pottery and glass with every step. Henry called her name again, but she only had eyes for her father.

“Please, Di,” Henry pleaded. “I’m here. Come on, love.”

She shook her head. “I hate you!” she yelled at her father.

“Diana!” Henry’s voice demanded her attention.

She took a step back in his direction, but she couldn’t look away from the man who’d sired her.

“You can’t decide between us,” her father said. “You’re stuck between going back and moving forward. You’ll choose me, you know. You always come back to me—”

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you. I want Henry.” She turned, but he was gone.

“Did you think to go with him?” her father asked. “It’s too late for that. Don’t you know by now that this can only end one way?”

She clapped her hands over her ears and ran from the house. She ran into the woods, farther and farther, until she found a safe place. A place so secret, no one would ever find her again.

She felt cold inside, and as night came on, the chill spread until she shivered uncontrollably. If only she had Henry beside her. He always radiated such heat. He would stave off the chill, but he’d left her. Oh, why hadn’t she gone with him when he’d asked? Now she was alone again, in hiding once more.

She thought she heard Henry call her name. The desperate imaginings of an unhinged mind, or—? She heard him again. She scrambled to her feet and spun about in a circle. She couldn’t tell which direction his voice had come from, or how to get back to where she’d been. She was well and truly lost, but she wanted Henry to find her. She
needed
him to find her. She shouted his name.

“Diana, wake up!”

She came awake in a rush. Henry’s anxious face hovered over her, filling her vision. A sob of relief escaped her as she threw her arms around his neck, toppling him back on the bed. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whispered. “It was a dream— just a dream. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”

She molded herself against him, and then struggled to get closer still, grabbing at whatever parts of him she could reach. She wanted to burrow inside him, to bury herself in his strength and his warmth. She needed to hold him and reassure herself that she hadn’t lost him, and she needed him to hold her and reassure her that she wasn’t lost.

As she pressed and wriggled against him, his sex hardened between them. A shiver of desire ripped down her spine.
Yes.
She needed this—the elemental joining, the primitive act of claiming and belonging. She reached between their bodies and clasped his hot length. He started at her touch and began to set her away.

“No,” she protested. “I need you. Please, Hen—”

He flipped her over onto her back without a word. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as he came over her, his face was set in harsh, determined lines.