Never Rescue a Rogue (The Merriwell Sisters, #2)

by Virginia Heath

for she wasn’t so much a woman who marched to the beat of her own drum but one who made it seem as if everyone else were out of step.

“You continue to linger on the periphery of my life like a bad smell.”

The more he got to know her, the more he became convinced she read him like a book, and that really galled him. Because Giles liked to think he was always the canniest person in any room and several paces ahead of the crowd—but she was always hot on his heels. Or more often, he trailed on hers.

From the moment he had discovered four years ago that his real mother was his father’s mistress instead of his wife, the deception had weighed heavily on his mind. It had also spun his world on its axis. Shifted things, altered everything, and denied him the happy future family of his own that he had always dreamed of. And he had such plans for that, but most especially to do everything for his children that his hostile parents had denied him growing up.

Without thinking, she groped for his hand beneath the table, and as if he, too, sensed trouble, his fingers laced with hers tight. Very tight. And something odd happened. Something very odd. Because it felt as if that was exactly where her hand was always meant to be.

“I am afraid I come as the bearer of grave tidings. Very grave tidings indeed … Your Grace.”

He frowned at that. “Have you never looked in a mirror, Diana? Because believe me, you are far too beautiful to blend into anything.” Despite being backhanded, his unexpected compliment excited her. He flapped his hand in the vicinity of her body, looking uncomfortable to be talking about it. “One cannot blend in if one is cursed with being temptation incarnate.”

“Five months.” Her heart plummeted at the prospect. “I shall miss you.” The truth escaped her still-tingling lips before she could stop it.

She still recoiled at the memory of that brute pressing his foul lips against hers in that alleyway as his fists pinned her wrists to the wall. A dark alleyway her father had duped her into entering. He had denied it afterward, of course, acting all incensed and suitably relieved that she had escaped, but it had been the final nail in his coffin. And perhaps the final nail in hers, too. She had certainly never been quite the same afterward. Any residual naïveté died that night in that alleyway, and a very different woman had stalked out of it.

“All right…” He inhaled deeply then blew out a labored breath, his fingers suddenly gripping hers as if he needed her strength simply to get the words out. “Good grief … I cannot believe I am about to do this but…” Instinctively she held his hand for all she was worth. “The duchess wasn’t really my mother and I am, in fact, the Duke of Harpenden’s bastard.”

“And seeing as the cognac has decreed this is a night for sharing deep and dangerous secrets, here’s another one I shouldn’t confess to you but apparently I am going to anyway though heaven only knows why.” He traced the pad of his index finger down her cheek and across her lips, looking so lost and defeated it broke her heart. “I am going to miss you, too, Diana. Undeniably so much more than a man in my precarious and untenable position should.” “Oh, Giles…” Without thinking it through, and before talking herself out of it, her hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it. Then he sighed against her mouth as he pressed his lips to hers.

“That woman of yours works some unsociable hours at that newspaper. This morning she started at seven and was still working when I left her not a half hour ago.”

she is neither unsupervised nor unprotected. Not that she needs much protecting, if you want my opinion, as she’s as wily as a fox.”

that one gives as good as she gets—worse actually—and I wouldn’t fancy my chances against her in a fistfight.” Dalton chuckled with what looked a lot like affection. “Miss Diana would fight dirty.” In case Giles missed his drift, he covered his genital area with his ruined hand. “How is she?” “Diana’s a firecracker. Always busy. Takes no nonsense. I like her.”

“But that wasn’t what you were really asking, was it? You wanted to know if she is pining away for you.”

“Of course she hasn’t—because she’s too smart to get caught and I’ve been glued to her side. Just as you asked.”

“That you ordered me to watch over her, however, is telling in itself as I’ve never known you to be so diligent about a lady’s welfare—and a nice young lady’s welfare to boot. You’re usually the love-them-and-leave-them sort. The sort who chases game girls who’ve been around the park many times before because they enjoy the ride.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But this one has got under your skin, hasn’t she? You are interested in her—in the romantic sense.”

“That is a shame, Your Grace.” Dalton made a show of gathering up the clothes and trudging back toward the dressing room with them, his gruff voice muffling as he disappeared inside. “Because I have it on the highest authority that a certain prickly minx whom you have absolutely no romantic interest in whatsoever, and whom you did not just ride two hundred muddy miles expressly to see, is also heading to that same soiree…”

Because he recognized one of the faces, too—but only in paint. “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost nephew.”

“Yet I see nothing of your mother in you. Nothing at all. Odd that, don’t you think?” And just like that, Giles knew why the man was here.

“‘We,’ Dalton?” “Duke or bastard, I’ll not desert you.”

“I rather like crouching in the shadows with you. It’s always entertaining.” “It is, isn’t it?” She grinned as she turned to leave and he caught her hand. “Diana, I…” There was so much he wanted to say and do and none of it appropriate for a man in his precarious legal position. So instead he settled for bringing her fingers to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss on the back of them. “Until tomorrow, my Goddess of the Hunt and Hornet-Kicking Hunter of the Truth. I suspect I shall count the hours.” Just as he always did.

She smiled as if she understood all he had left unsaid and so did he, so caught up in the poignancy of the moment that neither of them noticed they were being watched.

“Are we really oil and water, Diana? Because from where I stand I think I have more in common with you than I do with anyone.”

“But if I could ask…” He had no idea why he felt compelled to be honest but couldn’t seem to stop. “If the chaotic mess of my life were miraculously gone and my ruination and scandal didn’t loom on the horizon like the Grim Reaper … if I were in a position to ask anybody to spend eternity with me, it would be you, Diana.”

It was late and he was tired. Petrified and overwhelmed. Every nerve he possessed was frayed and his emotions veered all over the place. This wasn’t the time for misjudged soul baring or inappropriate declarations. “I think I am in love with you, Diana.” When he acknowledged that thought he hadn’t intended to speak it aloud, but it echoed in the silence. Then hung there while she stood as still as a statue.

She stared for a few seconds more. Blinked. Blinked again. “I was thinking that instead of putting it behind us we should…” She paused and Giles gripped her elbow, fully committed to shaking the words out of her if he had to, to put him out of his misery. “I was thinking that perhaps we should put it in front of us instead?”

“You have some nerve turning up here again, Galahad Sinclair!”

Yes, I heard that nonsense loud and clear but have decided to ignore it because it was ridiculous! In fact you are ridiculous to even think for a moment I would cut and run when the hornets start to buzz. Hornets are my stock in trade and I haven’t been stung by one yet!”

“And I suspect there is the slimmest chance His Grace might well be legitimate after all.”

“Diana Merriwell.” Giles dropped to his knees and stared deep into her eyes. “My Goddess of the Hunt, Hunter of the Truth, and Fearsome Kicker of Hornets—for some inexplicable reason I love you, and much to your chagrin, you love me, too. I know that scares you, and heaven only knows I don’t deserve you, but we both know that there is nobody else we would each like to spend eternity with and, quite frankly, nobody else who could stand us enough to want to. So marry me. Today … tomorrow … in twenty years if you feel I deserve to be tortured for that long. I do not care so long as you say yes.”

“Does the Sentinel ever sleep?” They winced at his slip, as five outraged voices screamed in unison. “Diana is the Sentinel!” “You had to kick that hornet’s nest, didn’t you?” She shook her head and glared at him as if he were a half-wit. “And we had just smoothed things over, too.” “In my defense, I am a little overwhelmed. It’s not every day a chap becomes engaged to the woman of his dreams.” Her expression softened, and despite all the uproar, wagging fingers, and angry hornets everywhere, he saw the love shining in her clever eyes. “What do you propose we do now, idiot?” “I haven’t a clue, harridan.” He sighed then cuddled her close while the others all railed at them from every quarter. “But I do know we are going to need more biscuits.”