How a Lady Weds a Rogue (28 page)

“Thank you.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Goddamn it, thank you. Is that what you wish to hear?”

She pulled out of his hold and went from the stall. He followed, her every motion in the dark so natural, so unconsciously beautiful even in her haste, that it stole his anger. She bent to retrieve her cloak and bonnet from the floor and the shape of her body made him breathless. He could not watch her enough.

“What did Lord Eads intend to do to the duke?” Her voice quavered, but he could hear the purpose in it, her bravery.

“I don’t know.” He touched her shoulder.

She whirled around, eyes glittering, a tear staining her cheek. “Don’t touch me. I don’t
want
this.” She backed away, clutching her cloak before her. “Why didn’t you simply tell me you did not wish to marry me? Why did you have to take to the bottle again? Were you afraid that I would not release you from your obligation? That I would beg for your attention?” Pain clouded her eyes. “Well then, Mr. Yale, you don’t know me well after all. So I suppose you won’t know this unless I tell you:
I don’t need you
. Mr. H is still eager for my hand. Even if I do come to be with child from this—this—”

“Truth?” He stepped close again and Diantha’s throat caught, cutting off her words. He was very tall, his wide shoulders and chest in clinging linen intimidating, and the line of his delicious mouth severe. His arm wrapped about her waist and he trapped her jaw in his palm so that she was forced to look up at him. “This truth?” He was beautiful, anger sparking in his silver gaze that moved across her features as though he meant to memorize her.

“This is not truth,” she whispered. She forced her arms to hang at her sides, not to cling to him as she wished. “I hate the feelings inside me now.” Inadequacy. Hurt. Need so profound it made her ache.

“You will marry me, Diantha.” His throat constricted in a rough swallow. “Marry me.”

She pushed against his chest, her insides swimming in confusion. “You pretended you had been with a prostitute so I would refuse your offer
only
this morning
, and now you are insisting that I marry you?” She broke free of his embrace. “You
are
insane.”

His fingers scraped through his hair around to the back of his neck. “Yes, I am insane when it comes to you. I nearly did take to the bottle again last night in a desperate attempt to put you off.”

“Nearly?”

“Do you know what would have happened to you if we had not bested the duke’s guards? Did Eads warn you, or did you go off half-cocked on a rescue mission once again, heedless of the consequences?”

“I have never been heedless of any consequences,” she shot back. “
Ever
. And I did this to help you!”

“I don’t need that kind of help from you!”

She couldn’t breathe. “You were not drunk last night or this morning? You pretended it so that I would refuse you?”

“Yes.”

She hadn’t thought she could hurt more, but she had been wrong. “You are a beast.”

“I did it to protect you from Yarmouth, who threatened to harm you because of his grudge against me.”

Diantha’s heart slammed over.

Wyn’s voice lowered. “I knew that if I told you of his threats you would invent some reckless plan to save me, which you did anyway despite my charade, because you are tenacious beyond reason. But my pretense was a mistake far beyond that. And part of me hoped, I think, that you would see through it. But you are not to blame, and for it I beg your forgiveness.”

He had done it all to protect
her
? He had thrown himself into the hands of a villain so that she would be safe? And now he was begging for her forgiveness?

Diantha’s heart pounded, her thoughts staggering. She had forced him into rescuing her time and again. He had never failed her and still would not, even if it continued hurting him, over and over. He would insist upon wedding her though she only caused him trouble. Wayward, foolish,
unbiddable
. Everything she had tried to do for him had bound him more tightly to her though he had never wanted it.

“It is over now, Diantha, and you must marry me.”

She could not bear to do this to him. “But don’t you see why I cannot? Don’t you see
anything
?”

“No, apparently.” His chest rose on a hard breath. “I barely even know the words I’m speaking. When I am with you, thinking of you, I don’t actually think. For God’s sake, I just made love to you three hundred yards from the house in which I was held prisoner today—in a stable, with my boots on. Fifteen years of perfecting every move I make thrown to the dogs the instant I see you. It is like nothing I have known before.”

“Do you think I don’t regret that it has gone this way as well? That I ever asked you to help me?” She strapped her arms about her middle. “And it is worse even than you know, because it was all for nothing. My mother is not in Calais but London. Tracy took me to see her tonight, but . . . I didn’t
care
.” The truth of it spiraled through her. The old cruelty no longer imprisoned her. “I didn’t want to see her any longer. I didn’t need to.”
She only needed him
.

“Diantha.” He came forward and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her and she loved his kisses and his embrace and him. She loved him so much it hurt. She loved everything about him except how she forced him to be a man he was not. But she lifted her lips to him and allowed him to kiss her because this would be the last time. The last kiss. It astounded her that—even briefly—she had ever dreamed another ending to this story. He was her hero and he always would be, but she was not the heroine he deserved.

“Forgive my anger,” he whispered huskily against the corner of her lips. His silvery eyes sought hers, a crease between them. “I have no regrets. None.”

The stable door creaked open. Wyn pressed her into shadow and touched his fingertips to her lips.

A shuffling gait accompanied lamplight wobbling through the doorway, and a wrinkled face came into view, a bridle slung over a shoulder. He lifted the lamp and his brows went up.

Wyn bowed. “Our thanks for the use of the stall, my good man.” He tipped an imaginary hat, grasped Diantha’s hand and pulled her outside. But behind them she left her heart in pieces on the soft-scented straw.

Chapter 30

“W
here does your family believe you are tonight?”

“Lady Emily Vale’s house.”

He said nothing more, but clasped her hand tightly in his as they walked. In the muted hush of fog they found a street and, by sound alone it seemed, he identified a passing hackney coach. He bundled her inside, then jumped onto the box with the driver. The ride was long and slow and when he opened the door and offered his hand to assist her, she climbed stiffly out onto the street before Lady Emily’s house.

A footman ushered them to a parlor and Lady Emily appeared.

“Miss Lucas.” She came forward with a smile, candlelight glinting off her gold-rimmed spectacles and silvery-blond hair, but otherwise a study in sobriety from her dark blue gown to the ubiquitous book in her hand. “And Mr. Yale.” She nodded without any show of pleasure.

“Good evening, Lady Cleopatra.” He bowed.

“No ‘Lady.’ Only Cleopatra. She was a queen, you cretin.”

“As ever, I stand humbled in the light of your brilliance.”

Diantha couldn’t bear it. “Cleopatra—”

Emily touched her on the arm. “No, Miss Lucas. You shan’t be required to explain to me why the two of you have appeared in my house in the middle of the night looking like you have walked across half of London. I want Mr. Yale to have the honor.”

“I am certain you do,” he replied. “But you will be denied that pleasure.” He moved toward the door. Then he turned, his slight smile quirked to one side. “You understand this brings us even.”

“Finally.” Lady Emily’s smile was barely discernable. “I do wonder, though, that after nearly four years making me wait to repay you, you expect so little of me.”

“You mistake it, my lady.” His gaze came to Diantha. He bowed. “Good night, Miss Lucas.” He departed.

Diantha stared at the door, remembering Emily’s story about how years ago Wyn had helped her in a difficult situation, not because of gain for himself but because it was in his nature to do so.

But she knew it was more than that. She knew about his mother, and she had read his great-aunt’s rules.

“You mustn’t think ill of him,” she said softly. “He did not wish me to return home in this unkempt state. He does not wish my family to know the trouble I have been in.” She turned to her hostess. “I should write to my brother now, if I may.”

“In fact Sir Tracy sent a message to you here not a quarter hour ago. I was only now composing a note to accompany it to Lady Savege’s house.” Emily drew Diantha’s arm through her own. “Come. Let us acquire you a bath and a fresh nightrail. While Clarice brushes out your curls you will read your brother’s letter and reply to him if you wish.”

“I beg your pardon, and am grateful for your help. I had told Serena that I was coming here tonight.”

“How wonderfully convenient. My note will indicate that we are so enamored of each other’s company that neither of us could bear for you to leave before morning.” She drew Diantha toward the door. “But, Miss Lucas, regardless of the adventure you have had this evening, I must insist on one matter.”

“Of course.”

“If you speak a word about that vainglorious quiz in my house, I will be obliged to make you sleep in the coal scuttle.”

Diantha could not help but smile. “Vainglorious? He wears black coats, and I have only once seen him in a colored waistcoat.”

“Alas, the coal scuttle it will be for you.” They ascended the stair. “I admit to being disappointed, as I had gotten used to thinking you somewhat sensible. But some ladies, I understand, will lodge their affections in the most astounding quarters.”

U
pon returning home in the morning, Diantha had no desire to hear more of her brother’s chastisements; his letter the previous night had been full of them and he indicated he would call upon her early. Instead she requested the company of a footman and walked to Teresa’s house.

“Have you seen Lord Eads again since the ball, T?”

“No.” Teresa drew silk thread through a square of linen, her movements precise. “But when I do, I shall do what I must to make him marry me.”

Diantha doubted Lord Eads would return to society. He had only been at the ball because of Wyn. She stared dully at the rainy day, then took a breath and turned back to her friend.

“I called this morning, T, because I have something I must tell you.”

Teresa set down her work. “I knew it the moment you entered. Something is amiss.” She moved to the sofa beside Diantha.

“I love a gentleman. Mr. Yale. Perhaps you saw him at the ball, so gorgeously elegant except when I have caused him not to be. But even then—tousled, fevered, unshaven, even furious—he is perfect.”

“Furious?” Teresa’s eyes were wide. “
Unshaven
?” Her pretty red lips gaped. “Diantha!”

“He has compromised me and believes he must now marry me. But I am ruining his life and cannot accept him because I want what is best for him. That is what love should be, and I wish to love like that now.”

“I . . . I . . .” Teresa surrounded Diantha’s hands warmly. “I daresay.”

They sat like that for a moment while Teresa leaned into her shoulder in comfort. Finally she said, “Di, could you perhaps explain that part about him compromising you?”

Diantha laughed, and it felt wretched. “He was my last willful transgression. I must now cease behaving recklessly and instead be a lady of whom my family can be proud.”

“Don’t you think they would be proud if you married a fine gentleman like Mr. Yale, especially given that . . .”

“Given that I gave my maidenhood to him? No. Tracy has forbidden me to marry him. In any case, it doesn’t matter that I am ruined.”

“You always said it wouldn’t matter,” Teresa said very quietly.

“T, could you try to be happy for me, at least for turning over a new leaf?”

Teresa sighed. “I rather liked the old you. This new Diantha may not be to my tastes.” She squeezed her hand. “But I daresay I will love you no matter how tiresomely proper you become.” She stroked the back of Diantha’s hand. “You know, Mr. Yale is likely to be unhappy with your decision not to allow him to be honorable to you. He is bound to call on you.”

“That is the trouble. He is bound to.” She stared at her hands. “I mustn’t be at home when he calls.”

“He may call again until he sees you.”

“Then I must leave London.” Diantha stood, within her heart new purpose seeking to push aside the heavy grief. “I will make a new plan.”

“A new plan? Oh, no, Di—”

“You are brilliant, T.” She squeezed her friend’s hands. “This plan will take me far from London and if he calls on me and tries to convince me to marry him again, I will not be here to succumb.”

“This sounds like a remarkably bad plan to me.”

Diantha gripped her teeth together, pasted on a smile, and went to the door. “Will you help me pack? I will have a lot to do to prepare. John, the footman, will help me find the closest Mail Coach inn, I’ve no doubt. He is the sweetest man. And I will ask Cook to prepare a picnic lunch. She is always so kind.” She reached for the doorknob. “I should write a letter to Serena explaining that she needn’t worry about me. And I must—”

Teresa bolted up from the sofa. “Diantha, you cannot go!”

Diantha swiveled around. “You
must
help me, T.” Her voice shook. “I cannot bear to be a burden on him again, to allow him to be hurt because of me. If I stay, I know I will. I always do.”

Teresa’s lower lip quivered, her eyes entreating. But she nodded. Diantha drew open the door, then paused.

“And . . . T?”

“Di?” The single syllable was thick.

“It will have to be Mr. H for me after all.”

“Oh!” She sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Diantha and held her close.