A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (22 page)

He just needed to make sure she was happy. And he needed to ascertain that Stickley was worthy of her. If she was truly content and Stickley was all he appeared, Henry would consider letting her go. Short of trussing her up and abducting her—a delightful idea he allowed himself to dwell on for far, far too long—what else he could do?

But even after a week of—very well, damn it, he was spying on her, and even after a week, he couldn’t be certain how she felt. Her mask of polite reserve was firmly in place, revealing nothing of her true feelings.

Then, last night at the Tiverthorne rout, her mask had finally slipped. He’d sneaked up beside her at the supper buffet and selected a strawberry tart. Their eyes had met, and in that brief second before she glanced away and pretended not to see him, he’d glimpsed so many conflicting emotions, he couldn’t begin to guess which was strongest. But happiness wasn’t among them.

If Diana had been happy, he might have found the strength to leave her in peace. As he had not, he’d followed her again. Tonight, she
would
see him.

Henry glowered as a flushed Diana finished a dance with Lord Brantley, whom Henry fully intended to trounce the next time they were in the ring at Jackson’s. If Henry was a rogue, Brantley was an out-and-out rakehell. The devil only knew what the bastard had been saying to put the color in Diana’s cheeks. The man had no interest in her, or any other marriageable female, apart from goading Henry, in which he was succeeding admirably.

Brantley knew it, too. He shot Henry a mocking smile as he returned Diana to her mother, who was deep in conversation with Stickley. Henry’s blood heated at the sight of the baronet. Diana whispered something in Lady Linnet’s ear before heading in what he assumed was the direction of the ladies’ retiring room. She would be more than a moment in returning, Henry decided, as he slipped through the crowd. Fortunately, he’d become very good at following her.

W
ITHOUT LOOKING
, D
IANA KNEW
H
enry
followed her as she made her way upstairs. They’d played at this for months, and even if her mind understood the game was up, the rest of her hadn’t caught on. She knew what would happen if he got her alone, and her body thrilled in anticipation.

She stopped in front of the retiring room, and he came up close behind her. “I took myself on a tour earlier,” he said. “Three doors down on the right is a small dressing closet. We may speak now,” he said, “or if you wish to refresh yourself first, we may speak after.”

“And if I do not wish to speak to you at all?” she asked breathlessly.

“That is not an option.” He walked past her and disappeared into the room he had described.

Diana hesitated a moment, then followed him. He was right; they needed to speak. She hated the way things had ended between them. She’d gone over their argument a hundred times during the past week of sleepless nights. She’d thought of what she could have said differently, of what she might have told him if Sir Samuel hadn’t arrived, but she couldn’t change the past. Now they could part as… as friends.

After checking that no one was around to see, Diana pushed open the door to the dressing closet and darted inside. The room was larger than the linen closet, but not by much. Moonlight poured in through the sole window, illuminating what little there was to see: a small desk and a chair, a high chest of drawers, and a low bench beneath the window.

And Henry.

In his shirtsleeves.

His coat and gloves lay discarded on the bench. Her heart fluttered. Without his coat, he seemed bigger somehow. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry. “You’ve made yourself very much at home,” she observed.

“I didn’t know how long you would make me wait. This room wasn’t designed with ventilation in mind, and opening the window might draw notice from outside.”

“What do you want?” she asked as he stepped around her to lock the door.

“You know what I want.” The husky timbre of his voice wrapped around her like a caress, but there a slight edge to his tone that almost sounded like… need?

Impossible,
she told herself.

Henry wanted her, but he didn’t need her. And she didn’t want him to. Need was a dangerous emotion that bordered too closely on other feelings. She shook her head slightly, trying to banish the unwanted thought.

His hands were at her waist, drawing her back against him. The scent of summer storms and male musk surrounded her as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Do you wish me to tell you?” His warm breath against her cheek sent a shiver rippling through her.

“Well?”

“I beg your pardon?” Diana struggled to remember what he’d asked.

“I asked if you wished me to tell you what I wanted, but I think you know.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her neck.

A little sigh of longing escaped her. “I don’t—”

“You
do,
” he insisted. “Because you want me, too.”

Yes, she wanted him. He tempted her to throw caution and propriety to the wind, but people often wanted things that weren’t good for them. She wanted Henry, but he wasn’t what she needed. She was old enough, had seen enough, to know the difference. She just had trouble remembering that whenever he was near.

He raised a hand and settled it over one of her breasts. As if he’d ordered the response, her nipples tightened to stiff points.

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make me want you.” Her voice caught as her throat tightened with emotion.

“What would you have me do?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “I can’t help wanting. I want you to burn as I burn. I want you to lie awake at night thinking of me. If you sleep, I want you to dream of me. I want you to tell me that you can’t stand the sight of me dancing with another woman. I want to know this last week has been as miserable for you as it has been for me. Why did you refuse to see me when I called?”

Shaken, Diana twisted out of his arms and turned to face him. The heated desire flaring in his eyes burned through to the dark places in her heart. The parts that had worried no man would ever truly desire her.

“I didn’t think we needed to say anything more.”

“You didn’t think—” he muttered. “I do nothing but think about you. You are driving me mad. All day long, you are in my thoughts. I dream about you at night. I can’t concentrate on anything for wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with…whether you’re happy. Are you happy? I need to know, Di.”

“I—” She swallowed. “I am as happy as you are, I imagine. You have your stud, and Sir Samuel has intimated that he wishes to speak with my grandfather.”

“He’s going to ask for your hand,” he said expressionlessly.

“Yes, I imagine he will.”

“After spending close to a week in his near constant company, do you still plan to accept? Or dare I hope you’ve come to your senses?”

She glared at him. “The only time I take leave of my senses is when I’m with you.”

“Good,” he growled, and then his arms were around her and his mouth was on hers in a carnal, desperate kiss. She understood and kissed him back with all the passion and wildness that had built inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her fingers in his hair, holding him as if something was about to tear him from her.

She knew something would. Whatever was between them couldn’t last. He would remember that this was all an act, and she was Diana Merriwether, a near-spinster in her seventh Season. Each kiss between them was a stolen treasure, a moment in time that should never have happened, and she hoarded them greedily. She knew she should push him away, but instead she clung to him, trying to impress every detail on her senses so she would be able to relive the experience in years to come.

They were both breathing heavily when he lifted his head. She didn’t protest as he carried her across the room to the bench beneath window. He sat down, settling her sideways on his lap. Diana spared a moment of distress for the bench, which didn’t look like it could support Henry, let alone the pair of them, but they didn’t go crashing to the floor, so she turned to a more pressing matter.

Through the layers of her skirts, she encountered the undeniable evidence of Henry’s interest. She tensed, uncertain whether she ought to leap off his lap or act oblivious to the hard length beneath her backside. While she debated, he tightened one of his arms around her waist and brought the other up to her face.

With more gentleness than should have been possible for a man of his size, Henry traced the sweep of her forehead, the line of her nose, the curve of her cheek… When his fingers feathered over her lips, she surrendered to the urge to taste. She flicked her tongue over his skin, exulting in the way his whole body stiffened in response.

“God, Diana,” he groaned.

She combed her fingers through his hair, then ran her hand down the strong column of his neck. She slowly smoothed her palm along the path to his shoulder, memorizing each magnificent inch of him. Through the fine linen, she felt every inch of hot skin over strong muscle. She wanted to touch him without his shirt and waistcoat in the way. Her palms itched to smooth over the solid breadth of his bare chest.

“Do you feel what you do to me?”

“It is, ah, rather hard to miss,” she remarked.

His laughter, strained and hungry, pulled at her insides. “Not just that. I have missed 
you
. Kissing you. Holding you. Talking with you. I’ve even missed being scolded by you.”

“I have missed you, too,” she admitted.

“I want you.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot just below her ear. “And you want me.”

She inhaled sharply as he caught her earlobe beneath his teeth. Tugged. “Yes,” she agreed.

She’d been wrong, she thought. Their last kiss hadn’t been desperate.
This
was a desperate kiss.
This
was a fierce, wet, heart-pounding, toe-curling, get-close-as-you-can-and-then-get-closer kiss.
This
was more than a kiss.

She felt his hand at the hem of her skirts and tensed. Henry lifted his head. “I have to touch you.” The words were part plea, part apology. “Don’t push me away, Di. I swear not to go too far, but I need you now.” She didn’t have time to examine his words because he was taking her again. Tasting her. Touching her. And she was losing the will to push him away.

“Stop worrying,” he murmured against her lips.

“How?” She jumped as his fingers brushed her ankle.

“Right here, right now, you are only allowed to
feel
.” As he spoke, his hand moved along her calf and over her knee, drawing the skirts of her dress and petticoat up.

“What if that—” Her breath hitched as he passed her garter and toyed with the edge of her stocking. “What if that’s what concerns me?”

His hand stopped its ascent. Diana shivered as his thumb brushed back and forth over the sensitive skin on her inner thigh.

He nipped her lower lip. “You don’t like to let anyone close, do you, Di?”

How could he say that given their current position? He was close. So close to where she ached. Where she needed him—

She shook her head. No, where she
wanted
him. She could want him, but she couldn’t need him. She couldn’t
need
anyone.

Henry leaned his forehead against hers. “You will let me in.”

His hand pressed between her thighs and covered her sex. Just the weight of his hand sent a shock of pleasure through her. Diana clamped her legs together, and she wasn’t sure whether she aimed to stop him or to trap him there.

“Let me in,” he murmured. “Open to me.” He cupped her more firmly as he made the sensuous demand. She obeyed with a whimper.

Diana pressed her forehead against the side of his neck as he searched out her entrance. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his skin, and his pulse pounded as frantically hers. She still felt his desire, hard and unrelenting against her backside, but now she also felt his desperation. The knowledge thrilled and awed her. He was as excited by this as she—

She gasped as he circled the opening and pushed the tip of one finger inside.

“Your body wants me,” Henry rasped. “So hot and wet. Your body knows you are mine.”

His brazen speech shocked her, but her protest vanished as he slicked his fingers over her swollen folds and found a spot at the top of her cleft that made her writhe. Her existence narrowed to that place, to the sparks of pleasure that burst with each light feather-light brush. She moaned, a muffled sound against his cravat, as he began to work his finger inside her again.

“I don’t think—” she panted.

“No thinking,” he admonished. “What do you feel?”

Diana lifted her head and met his gaze. “Aching. Fevered. Shivery. Like my skin is too tight, but somehow empty too. Like I need…” She looked helplessly at him. “Like I
need
.”

“What do you need?” he asked softly.

She knew what he wanted to hear, but she couldn’t say the word. She wouldn’t even let herself think it.

“I need… more,” she whispered.

She thought she glimpsed disappointment in his eyes, but the emotion disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be sure. In the next moment, his eyes were so heated, his smile so wicked, her sex clenched around him.