A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (37 page)

“Is something wr—?”

“I don’t want to talk, Di. We’ve said enough tonight.”

Diana’s breathing came fast as she struggled to pull her nightgown up over her head. Henry eased back as she stripped away the last barrier between them and tossed it away. She reached out her hands, beckoning him back, and groaned in satisfaction when he settled between her thighs.

He muttered something blasphemous when he tested her and found her more than ready for him. She gasped as he entered her, fast and sure, and took her over, body, and soul. Some nights he made love to her gently, taking his time with tender touches. This wasn’t one of those nights.

Henry acted like a man possessed… or a man determined to possess her. There was a wildness about him as he ravished her, and the wanton in her gloried in it. He didn’t coax her body’s response; he demanded it. Repeatedly. By the time he took his own release, she was sated, sleepy, and… settled.

Right here, right now, she belonged. She belonged to the moment. She belonged to Henry. And she began to see that he belonged to her. They’d fought, and she’d made him furious, but he hadn’t walked away. At her most vulnerable, he’d reassured her of how much he loved her. Henry was hers to lose. No, he was hers to
keep
.

W
HEN
D
IANA WOKE, SHE REACHED
for Henry, but she found only empty air beside her. She heard noise coming from his dressing closet, so she hurried over. If he hadn’t dressed yet, she would drag him back to bed. To her disappointment, she found Jasper rifling through the clothespress. Henry’s portmanteau lay at his feet.

“Has he already gone down to breakfast?” she asked.

Jasper wouldn’t quite meet her gaze. “He left for London early this morning, my lady,” the valet informed her. “I’m to follow him. He wanted to make an early start of it. The sooner he leaves, the quicker he can come back, I’m sure.”

“Oh yes, of course, he said as much last night. So silly of me to forget, but I never can think straight when I first wake up,” Diana lied, trying to hide the fact that her husband hadn’t seen fit to inform her that he’d changed his plans. He hadn’t even said good-bye. She told herself he hadn’t wanted to wake her, but she wasn’t very convincing.

Ellie tried to cheer her as she dressed, suggesting they might try styling her hair in different ways so she could surprise Henry on his return. Doubtless, at least one of the servants had overheard their quarrel, and if one had heard, they all knew. Given Henry’s early departure, they probably all thought she’d chased him off. Diana scowled and instructed Ellie to tie her hair back with the ugliest ribbon she could find.

Her week without Henry was off to a poor start, and Diana doubted it would get much better. She’d spent most of her life at The Hall and Lansdowne House, and her education had prepared her to run a similarly large household. The relative simplicity of Ravensfield posed no difficulty, and she had quite a bit of time on her hands.

She liked being in the stables, but they didn’t need her there. There were three grooms in addition to Kingsley and, at this point, relatively few horses. By the third day of Henry’s absence, she knew she must do something or she would drive Kingsley mad, following him about and asking him to recount stories of Henry as a boy.

The older man was patient with her for he was fond of her, but she could tell his nerves were wearing thin. She needed a project, she decided. Something to occupy her mind and her hands, so she wasn’t thinking about missing Henry. Worrying about their argument. Wondering what he might be doing that he couldn’t tell her about.

The nights were worst. After the first night sleeping—or rather, trying to sleep—alone in Henry’s room, she’d moved to her own, where the bed wasn’t quite as big and lonely. She still couldn’t sleep well. As she lay in bed, Diana wondered if she ought to fetch Kingsley to tell her some stories about the great champions of the turf or recite the long litany of their dams. She grinned. The man would likely suffer apoplexy if she appeared at his door at this hour, and she liked him far too much to kill him.

As she contemplated distaff lines, she suddenly knew what her project should be. She would write out pedigree charts for some of the horses at Ravensfield. She’d meant to order some prints for the office in the stables, but this would be much nicer. She wasn’t a particularly good artist, but she had endured enough years of drawing lessons that she thought she could devise some passably handsome ornaments as embellishment. She fell asleep full of plans.

The following morning, she sought out Kingsley. “You needn’t look as though you wish to flee,” she called out to him. “I haven’t come to pester you for more tales of my husband. I want your help.” She explained her purpose, and he agreed to aid her in any way possible. After he assured her that she wasn’t taking him away from any important work, he went with her into the office. She sat down behind the desk, trying not to blush as she remembered how she and Henry had made use of it.

“I think it will be best,” she said, “if I take notes as you speak. Then you can look over it and make sure I have everything correct before I write it properly. Let me get some paper.” She pulled open the desk drawer. There wasn’t much in it, only a couple of quills and a penknife. The only paper was a folded letter. The bold scrawling handwriting teased at her memory. She knew she’d seen it somewhere before. She looked at the sender’s address—

No, impossible. Henry would have told her if he’d received a letter from her father.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” asked Kingsley.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head as she scanned the contents of the letter.
After our meeting… consider what I asked of you… next year, you may be in possession of a future champion.

She scrambled to find some explanation that protected Henry, but it was clear that he was acquainted with her father. She doubted Henry had ever intended for her to find out. He hadn’t intended to tell her about the mare—
Penelope
—either. He’d told her to think of the horse as a wedding present, but he certainly hadn’t mentioned the sender was her father!

A father who didn’t want her, didn’t love her, but had gone to the trouble of buying her a husband. What cruel twist of fate had led him to settle on Henry, the one man capable of breaking her heart?

So many things began to fall into place.

Like many men of their class, Henry wanted to found a dynasty. For that, he needed a good brood mare. Not in the sense of a wife to bear him heirs—though he needed that, too—but an actual brood mare.

She had known there must be some reason Henry had started to pay attention to her after so many years of casual indifference. Oh, God, had everything that passed between them been a lie? How long had he been under her father’s thumb? Had he come up with the idea of the false courtship to spend time with her after she had expressed her distaste for rogues? Had every word, every gesture been calculated to win her confidence?

She had to know if everything had been some elaborate lie, and she couldn’t wait another week for Henry to return. But even if she went to London and found him, how would she know if he were telling the truth? If he took her in his arms and kissed her, Henry could persuade her of anything. If she couldn’t ask Henry, there was only one other man she
could
ask. Her stomach pitched at the thought of confronting him after all this time, but what choice did she have?

She focused her gaze on Kingsley. “I need the carriage readied.” Her voice wobbled, betraying the frantic storm churning inside her. Waves of emotion raged up and surged over the ruins of the walls that had once stood around her heart. Henry had torn down those walls, smile by smile, kiss by kiss, until her heart lay exposed and vulnerable—his for the taking.

But what if he’d never wanted it—never wanted her? Had she been the price he’d paid to get what he truly wanted? She needed the truth, and then she would decide what her next step should be. If the worst were true, she wouldn’t be the first woman in her family with a failed marriage. At least she knew how to handle rejection.

While she ached for what might have been, part of Diana was… relieved. This, at least, was familiar. To a certain extent, she’d even expected this. She hadn’t held back from loving Henry. She wasn’t strong enough for that.

She
had
held back from believing and trusting, though. In him. In them. In their marriage. He’d asked her to let go of his past and trust him. But it wasn’t his past that she couldn’t let go of… it was her own.

Only years spent with the duchess, who disapproved of emotional displays, allowed Diana to regain her control. “I will be traveling to Suffolk,” she told Kingsley in a much calmer tone. “I’ll take my maid, along with whomever you can best spare. Tell the man to prepare to be gone a sennight, and have him make haste. I wish to reach Romford by sundown. There’s a good inn there with edible food and comfortable beds.”

A deep frown creased Kingsley’s wrinkled brow. “I think you had best wait for Master Henry’s return, my lady.”

Diana shook her head as she stood. “I’m afraid this can’t wait. ‘Master Henry’ should be glad I’ve set my sights in another direction. There’s a small chance I will be in a better frame of mind by the time I see him.” She held up a hand. “Don’t try to stop me, Kingsley. I’m holding myself together by a very fragile thread. Unless you wish to see a hysterical woman…”

They were on the road by noon.

S
WALLOWSDALE
G
RANGE HADN’T CHANGED AT
all from the last time she’d seen it, Diana thought as the coach lumbered up the drive. Only when she got closer did she see the small signs of disrepair. Weeds had overtaken the flowerbeds near the door, once lovingly tended by her mother. Was there no one to look after the house? And what of the owner—did he need looking after as well? Not that she cared. After today, she planned to put her father out of her mind—and her life—completely.

A lad came running from the direction of the stables to take the reins from Kingsley. The groom had tried to dissuade her from leaving Ravensfield, but when she’d proven firm in her resolve, he’d insisted on accompanying her… though not without a fair bit of grumbling. Diana could hear him muttering as he got down from the coachman’s seat and came around to help her and Ellie down from the carriage.

The door to the house opened then, and a short, wiry man stepped outside. There were streaks of gray in his sable hair, but Diana immediately recognized Barnaby Ramsey. The trainer’s friendship with her father went back to his trick riding days, and he’d been as good as a member of their family.

Bar addressed Kingsley, who stood protectively in front of Diana, blocking her from his view. “Beg your pardon, but Mr. Merriwether is not at home. If your mistress would care to leave her card or return tomorrow, I—”

“Bar,” Diana said softly as she stepped around Kingsley.

His eyes grew wide. “Miss Diana?”

She nodded, her throat tight.

“Saints be praised!” He broke into a wide grin and dashed forward, pulling her into a quick, hard hug. “Let me fetch your pa. Tom,” he yelled, hurrying back to the house. “Tom, come quick!”

“Please, wait.” Diana reached out to try to stop him, but it was too late. She followed Bar’s path to the house, but she hesitated at the front door. Bar had left the door open, and a peek at the entry hall showed her the house also remained unchanged. If she crossed over the threshold, would she once more be the frightened, betrayed child who’d left here? She nearly laughed at herself. Had she ever
stopped
being that child?

She’d come to confront her past, and she ought to be ready. Since finding her father’s letter, she’d nursed her anger and indignation, but now, when she needed them most, they deserted her. Looking into a house she’d lived in a lifetime ago, she didn’t know what she’d hoped to find there.

Adrift, uncertain, and terribly alone, she considered running back to the carriage and ordering Kingsley to drive off. Her hesitation took the choice away from her. Two pairs of footsteps, one heavy, the other light, hurried toward her. Diana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to brace herself. It was time, past time, for this particular reunion.