A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (41 page)

Her head fell back as he palmed her breasts through her gown. “Thomas. Oh, God. It has been so long.”

“I can’t wait any longer, Linnet. I need you
now
.” He nearly growled the last word.

“Here?” Eager desire infused the breathily uttered syllable.

“Here.” He arched his brows, silently daring her to disagree.

Instead, she nodded and licked her lips. “What about Diana and Henry?”

He strode to the door that led to the hallway and locked it, then crossed the room and did the same to the door connected to his office. “They are perfectly capable of sorting through their problems on their own,” he assured her as he stalked toward her.

“And the— And Claire?”

“Later.” He came up behind her and nipped her earlobe, then set to work unfastening her gown.

“I want to know your daughter. She is part of you, and—”

“Hush.” He moved in front of her and captured her face in his hands. “You are the most astounding woman.”

She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling. “I love you,” she told him, raising her arms and placing her hands along his jaw.

Her words simultaneously soothed him and inflamed him. He saw the girl he’d given his heart to, and the woman who had kept it safe, despite everything that had come between them—including him.

She was his heart. The only true home he had ever known.

“Not as much as I love you,” he vowed. “Forever, Linny, and it still won’t be long enough for me to love you.”

They were the right words, and she rewarded him with a slow, sweet kiss. “You said forever, Thomas. That’s what I want. Forever. With you.”

Forever.

With Linnet.

It definitely wouldn’t be long enough, but damned if he wouldn’t love every moment.

CHAPTER TWENTY‍-‍THREE

Be patient with each other. As your marriage grows, so will you. The qualities you love most about your wife will be the same traits that will drive you insane, but when you feel ready to tear out your hair, remember how you felt on your wedding day. Marriage may seem effortless in these early weeks but, like any precious bloom, you must tend it. If married life suits you half as well as it suits me, you will be a very happy man.

—FROM THE VISCOUNT WESTON TO HIS SON HENRY

A
S
H
ENRY THUNDERED UP THE
drive to Swallowsdale Grange, he tried to prepare himself to face his wife. There was a possibility that she’d already left, but he didn’t think so. With his daughter back in his grasp, Merriwether wouldn’t let her go so quickly.

He rode past the stables around to the paddocks. Sure enough, Kingsley was talking with a middle-aged man who stood at least a foot shorter than him.

“Kingsley,” he called. “This noble steed is now a valued member of our stables. Will you see he gets a proper rub-down and extra oats?”

He dismounted as Kingsley came over to take the reins. “You took your time getting here,” the groom grumbled, “and now you bring me a hack?”

“Is she all right?” Henry demanded. “Rutland and Bess were still in London so I stayed with them. I didn’t go to my club until yesterday evening, or I would have been here sooner. You might have given me more direction than Suffolk. I went to her mother’s house. Damn it all, I’m sorry, Kingsley. It’s a bloody mess, but you watched over her and kept her safe, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Do you know where she is?”

The short man approached them, casting an unimpressed look in Kingsley’s direction. “So he’s finally come for Miss Diana, has he? You still owe me a crown. You said he’d be here yesterday morning at the latest.”

“That’s Mrs. Weston,” Henry said tightly, “and I’ll give you a guinea if you can tell me where she is.”

The man slowly took his measure and then pointed toward the house. “Follow the path behind the garden. She’s picking flowers with Claire.”

Henry didn’t know who Claire was, but he hurried in the direction the man had indicated. He’d gone about half a mile when he heard girlish laughter. At the sound of Diana’s voice, relief speared through him. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she sounded calm and cheerful, which was a long ways from how he’d imagined he might find her.

Then he turned a bend in the path and she came into sight. His heart tripped as she laughed at something the girl said. Henry looked at the girl, then at Diana, and then back again, and he actually tripped. He crashed to the ground like a felled tree. Feminine shrieks rent the air as they rushed over to him.

“Henry!” Diana yelped.

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed the girl.

“Are you all right?” Diana asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll bet he scared away all the animals for miles.”

Diana began to pat him all over. “Where are you hurt?”

He groaned as he drew in a breath.

“Claire, run to the house and fetch—”

“No.” He hauled himself to his feet. “I just had the wind knocked out of me.”

“But—”

“Leave be, Diana. Now, who is this?”

Diana placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I have a sister.” There was wonder in the words, along with a note of protectiveness and warning, as if she were worried he might spurn the girl for her illegitimate birth. Or perhaps she was reminding him of the unspoken rule that one didn’t quarrel in front of children or servants. “Henry, this is Claire.”

Henry smiled at this younger version of Diana. “If Diana has a sister, then it appears I have a sister as well. I daresay you can’t be more trouble than the ones I already have. Now, I would like to spend time getting to know you, but I must speak with your sister right now. Alone,” he added, when she made no move to leave.

The girl regarded him with suspicion.

“It’s all right, Claire,” Diana assured her. “Here, let me get the flowers for you to take back to the house.”

As Diana strode off to retrieve the basket of flowers they’d picked, Claire turned on Henry. “If you make her unhappy or hurt her, I’ll— I’ll—” Her face grew red and pinched as she scowled at him.

Henry’s heart twisted at the fierce display of loyalty. “Two of my sisters are married,” he told her, “and if either of their husbands hurt them, I would beat him to a pulp and then put a bullet in his black heart.”

Claire’s face brightened. “Then that’s what I will do to you.”

“You needn’t sound so eager,” he teased.

Her smile was like her sister’s—a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds on a cold winter’s day.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I was fifteen in February.”

“I have twin sisters just a bit younger than you. Lia and Genni will be fifteen in November.” He watched as her eyes lit with interest.

“Do they look alike?”

“Identical. Strangers can’t tell them apart.”

“But you can?”

“Lia has a freckle right here.” He tapped the skin just above his left temple. “Genni’s is over here.” He moved his finger to the right side of his head. “Identical, but opposite. Of course, that only works if at least one of them is wearing her hair pulled back. You will see when you meet them.”

She chewed her lip, the same way Diana did when she was nervous or puzzling out a problem.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as Diana approached them.

“The girls at school think I’m an orphan. They all believe my father is my uncle.”

So that was the story Merriwether was using. That would work well enough, he supposed, so long as Merriwether had seen to all the details. Henry would make certain of it; he didn’t want Diana vulnerable, and though she’d only just discovered her sister, he could tell she wouldn’t give her up.

Claire took a breath, slowly exhaled, and then forged on. “Your sisters would know the truth, though, wouldn’t they? If they know Diana is my sister, they’ll know I’m a bastard. They might not like me.”

His chest tightened. Lord, this one would wrap him around her finger as easily as her sister had. “No, they will love you.” He reached forward and tugged on a red curl. “Among strangers, it’s probably best to keep pretending that you are your father’s niece, but we are family now. With me and with my family, you never have to worry about being anything other than yourself.”

Claire surprised him with a hug just as Diana reached them. She looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. “Merriwether women find me irresistible. It must be something in your blood.”

Diana muttered something that sounded like, “Hardly,” while Claire giggled.

“I expect those arithmetic problems to be finished by the time I am back,” Diana told Claire as she handed her the basket of flowers.

Claire made a face. “Will you help me with my French exercises later?”

“Of course,” Diana said fondly, and then sent her on her way. As soon as the girl was out of hearing, she turned to him. “I heard what you said to Claire, or part of it, at least. Thank you for being so good to her.”

“There’s no need to thank me for that.” She inclined her head in silent acceptance and began to walk along the path, moving farther away from the house. Henry followed her deeper into the wooded area. Just as well, he thought. They needed to talk, so it was best they had privacy. If Merriwether interrupted them, Henry wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. They walked on in silence for nearly ten minutes before some devil prompted him to say, “Though if you truly wished to thank me, I recall a certain French lesson you gave me…”

The mutinous look she shot him was neither amused nor interested.

He shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying.”

Diana stopped where she stood. Part of her was overjoyed to see him; she’d missed having his support over the past days. The rest of her wasn’t certain where they stood with each other. He’d left her without saying goodbye. She knew she’d hurt him with her lack of trust, and she planned to apologize, but Henry had to admit that he’d made mistakes as well. He should have told her that her father had sought him out, and he shouldn’t have left the way he had.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What
can
I blame you for?”

His hands fisted as he moved to stand in front of her. “Diana, I swear to you, I haven’t been with another woman—I haven’t desired another woman—since the night I first held you in my arms and tasted your sweetness and your passion. I stayed with Rutland while I was in London.”

She shook her head, her arms falling to her sides. “I know you wouldn’t be unfaithful—”

“No,” he said desperately, even a little angrily, though she knew this big man would never intentionally hurt her. “If you
knew
, I would have earned your trust. If you
knew
, you never would have run. Running away might be the way your family solves marital disputes, Di, but that’s not the way it’s going be between us.”

“But I didn’t run away,” she protested.

“You didn’t wait for me to get home to ask me about the letter you found,” he challenged. “You went haring off to Suffolk and led me a merry dance.”

“I came here because you wanted me to make peace with the past. I won’t pretend that I like all the women in your past, but they weren’t the real problem. I thought I would be home before you returned, but I hadn’t anticipated what I’d find here. In any event, you were the one who ran away.”

“Me?” He gaped at her.

“You didn’t say even good-bye. We needed to talk about what happened, but you didn’t wait long enough for me to wake up before you went haring off to London.”

“I didn’t leave because of our fight,” he said quietly. “The letter you found… You know it’s not what it seems?”

“I know. My father told me about his meeting with you.” She paused before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? ”

He raised his brows. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d discovered a taste for pennyroyal tea?”

She gasped.

“You might have kept me in the dark for quite some time if Mrs. Timms hadn’t voiced her concern,” he informed her, his tone dangerously calm.

“When?” she croaked.

“That last night at Ravensfield, after I took you upstairs, I thought that I, a caring husband, would bring my overset wife a cup of her favorite tea. I believe you said the blend was calming, did you not? But rather than looking favorably on my efforts, our housekeeper took me to task for attempting to force more pennyroyal tea down your gullet.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, setting it on end. “You were asleep when I came upstairs, and then I had to wake you from a nightmare. Venting my spleen at that point would have been like kicking a whipped dog.”

“But after—”

“Christ, Diana, you’d already told me you didn’t trust me. Do you think I wanted to hear you admit that you were willing to make yourself ill to keep from bearing my children? You’re just waiting for the day I decide to leave you. You think I’m no better than your father.”

Oh, God, she’d hurt him worse than she’d known. “It wasn’t like that,” she insisted, willing him to hear the truth in her words.

His lashes lowered, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Then tell me how it
was
.” The words were a low rumble, like distant thunder.