Dangerous to Love

by Rexanne Becnel

  Their passion.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  His hand was shaking. Ivan pulled his boot on with an angry jerk, then reached for the other one. He dressed quietly. Swiftly. But his eyes kept stealing back to the slumbering woman on the rumpled bed.

  Lucy Drysdale, damn her bluestocking little soul, was more passionate than any self-professed wanton, at least any of the ones he'd had the pleasure of knowing. What those other women provided had been nothing more than sex, a midnight snack to ease his hunger. But Lucy had given him a twenty-course feast, every delicacy imaginable to man.

  And several beyond imagination.

  He stood, then paused, just staring at her. He wanted to stay. He wanted to slip back under the covers, now scented with their joining, and curl around her. He wanted to make love to her again, to sleep a while with her, then wake her up and make love to her all over again.

  He felt the demanding rise of his desire and grimly beat back an oath. He would have time enough to spend with his bride after the wedding. He'd accomplished what he'd wanted tonight by laying final claim to her body. She would not dare oppose their marriage now.

  His anger at her revived as he recalled her steadfast opposition to their impending nuptials. He pulled the crushed letter she'd written out of his pocket. She'd rather be ruined than marry him. Though she'd not said as much, that was the effect of her message. But she'd not been completely ruined when she wrote it. Now she was.

  He frowned and looked back at her, at the feminine sprawl beneath the rumpled covers, of slender arms and shapely legs, of innocent maiden and passionate lover.

  Only an idiot would consider her ruined by what had just occurred between them. But it was the opinion of idiots that would force her into this marriage. Lucy could not deny his offer any longer.

  He ripped the letter in half, and at the sound she stirred then opened her eyes. It took her a moment to remember. In the amber light of the sputtering candles he saw her blink and stare at him. Then her eyes widened and she sat up like a shot.

  The sight of her bare shoulders and wildly tangled hair sent blood surging to his loins. But he curbed his baser needs and focused instead on the matter at hand.

  "I'm returning your letter." He flung the shredded pages at her. They settled across the bed. "I assume you'll give up this pointless opposition to our wedding now, considering the events of the past hours."

  He saw her swallow and was unable not to stare at the smooth undulations of her throat. The throat he wanted to lick and taste and devour.

  With an effort he ignored that and forced himself to remain focused. "Agree to my offer of marriage, otherwise I'll have no choice but to inform your brother about what has passed between us."

  She gasped and clutched the wrinkled bed linens to her chest. "You wouldn't!"

  Ivan's eyes ran over her. She was naked under those few layers of sheeting. He could have her again, right now, if he wanted to.

  "Oh, but I would," he said. "If you don't agree to my proposal now, you leave me no option but to admit what we've done. He'll have no choice but to defend your honor. Is that what you want, for him to challenge me over your honor?"

  Slowly she shook her head. Again she swallowed, only this time it was jerky, as if she fought down a knot of tears. But she didn't cry.

  He nodded. "Tomorrow you will tell your brother that you agree. And on Thursday we will wed."

  They stared at one another a long moment Ivan realized he was holding his breath.

  Finally she said, "On Thursday we shall wed. Only ..."

  Ivan frowned. "Only what?"

  She looked down at her lap. Her hair fell around her face and in the shadowy room he could not make out her expression. She continued in little more than a whisper. "I was only wondering ... well... if you plan to come ... you know ... here. Tomorrow night."

  Like a tidal wave, pride and possession and a fierce need for her rushed over Ivan. She wanted him to come to her bed again. She couldn't bear to wait even another night to be with him. Desire struck him once more, like a ravenous clawing beast that would not be satisfied.

  He took a step toward the bed, then stopped, wrestling with the beast inside him. He would not give her that power over him. She didn't need to know how violent was his need to possess her—and not just her body. He wanted her to want him. He'd never needed that of any woman before. He clenched his jaw.

  "If I didn't already have proof of your innocence. I would wonder at such a bold request."

  She lifted her face and he could see in its heightened color what her words had cost her—and how his callous reply had hurt. Before he could find a way to take them back she spoke.

  "If you expect me to be a sweet and malleable wife, then I am afraid you shall be disappointed, my lord. There is a reason I have remained so long unwed."

  "The same can be said for myself. I will see you on Thursday, Lucy. Until then." He gave a curt bow. then afraid to linger a minute longer in her presence, he turned and left.

  Outside the room he paused, heart hammering and body fully aroused. Damnation, but the sassy wench tied him in knots!

  Inside the room Lucy sat as he left her, staring at the door with a sinking heart. How could he love her body so well and yet seem to hate her?

  Across the hall Antonia kept her ear pressed to the drinking glass she held against the door. She strained to hear anything further. Ivan had been two hours in the girl's room, then left with a frustrated oath on his lips. He was bedeviled, all right. Miss Drysdale might be wise to fear a marriage to him, but that was not Lady Antonia's concern. He wanted the chit and tonight the girl had sealed her fate. She would see to that.

  Antonia put the glass down and hobbled back to her bed. Lord, but she was tired. Her feet ached all the time. The social obligations of town life were wearing in the extreme. Once Ivan was safely wed and the marriage legally consummated, perhaps she would return to Dorset and the peace of the Westcott family seat—and there await the news that her great-grandchild was on the way.

  Lucy would much rather slap Ivan than kiss him. Fortunately her sense of fairness—and her sense of the ludicrous—kicked in and she had to admit, at least to herself, that she was not being totally honest. She did want to slap him. But she wanted to kiss him more.

  It had been a day and a half since she'd last seen him— one day, one night, and the awful remains of another night since he'd left her sitting naked in her own bed. Thirty-five and a half hours of utter misery. Frustration, longing, panic, and confusion had been just the least portion of her maelstrom of emotions. Utter fury had been there too.

  For Ivan had not been content merely to hold her wanton behavior over her head. Oh, no. He'd let her brother know, and she'd had to suffer Graham's sanctimonious preaching ever since. It wasn't enough for Graham that she'd agreed to marry the wretch. He had taken advantage of her fall from grace—not just a partial fall, but a full-fledged rumble into shameful debauchery, to hear him tell it—and relieved himself of every frustration he'd ever suffered on her account. If she'd married Winston Fletcher, this would never have happened. If she'd accepted Carlton Claverie's suit, the family would not be humiliated by so rushed a wedding. If she'd consented to be courted by George Anderson, their good family name would not be shamed, as she'd shamed it.

  The only thing that had shut him up was her sharp reminder that Ivan was an earl, while Carlton and Winston had merely been honorables, and George Anderson second in line to be a viscount. She hadn't liked using that argument, but at least it had worked.

  Now, however, as Graham led her down the aisle of the nearly empty Chapel of St. Mary of the Archangels, it was not Ivan's title she was thinking about. It was him, the man who stood waiting beside the minister, his gaze shuttered, his face expressionless.

  In a matter of minutes they would be wed. Then he would kiss her in front of her family and his and the few friends who'd attended the hasty wedding.

  For some reason s
he was terrified by the thought of that kiss. She had visions of herself melting into a puddle in front of everyone, for he could do that to her if he chose. He knew it and so did she. And there was no reason to think he would not choose to humiliate her like that. After all, she'd humiliated him by trying to turn down his very honorable proposal.

  She swallowed hard when Graham halted just before Ivan. The silence in the chapel was deafening.

  ."We gather in the sight of God and man," the minister began.

  It was an endless blur; it was over in a moment. The only portions of the ceremony Lucy was later to recall were the two times when Ivan touched her, for her heart kicked into a gallop each time. First when he took her left hand and placed a ring on it. It was exactly the right size, she'd vaguely noted, and it was heavier than any ring she'd ever worn. The second time he touched her it was to kiss her, after the minister pronounced them man and wife. But none of Lucy's fears came to pass—at least none of her fears about making a fool of herself. For his kiss was as devoid of feeling as hers was fraught with it. He didn't even touch her shoulders, but only bent stiffly forward and gave her a dry, impersonal peck on the lips.

  It didn't prevent her heart from racing, though. It raced directly to the depths of despair.

  "Congratulations," said the minister, shaking Ivan's hand.

  Graham hugged Lucy. So did Valerie, Hortense, and her weeping mother. Even Lady Westcott gave her a sort of hug. But all the good wishes in the world could not disguise what everyone had seen. Ivan Thornton's so-called passion for his bride had either burnt out or it had never truly existed at all.

  Lucy wanted to weep.

  Instead she pasted a fixed expression on her face and allowed herself to be carried along when the dowager countess directed the small group toward the church vestibule. Ivan walked a little apart from Lucy, receiving her brother's enthusiastic good wishes.

  As much as Graham had harangued her about the humiliating circumstances of her marriage, he was obviously ecstatic to have an earl for a brother-in-law. Lucy sighed. If only Ivan showed one tenth the enthusiasm that Graham did.

  As if he sensed her perusal, Ivan looked up. Their eyes met and held, but Lucy found no solace in his hooded gaze.

  Oh, but the man was wearing! He blew hot one day and cold the next!

  Then again, perhaps he thought the same of her. That put an altogether different slant on things.

  Lucy took a deep breath. Did she dare? She smiled down at Prudence and gave her a squeeze. "Mind your sisters," she told her. "I fear I am neglecting my husband." Then fighting down a fear that had her knees trembling and her mouth dry, she made her way to Ivan's side.

  "Could we have a private word?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm. The surprised look on his face, though brief, lent her courage. "Please?" she added in a whisper.

  He gave a curt nod. Everyone stared as Lucy drew him away from the vestibule and out into the small churchyard. "Go on. We'll be there soon enough," she told them.

  "My word, now what?" Lucy's mother exclaimed.

  Alexander Blackburn laughed. "You're supposed to wait until—"

  He broke off when Hortense clapped her hands over Prudence's ears. Giles barely muffled a guffaw.

  Elliot was not there. Lucy had noted that earlier. She would have to do something to mend this silly rift between Ivan and him. But first she had to mend the huge one between Ivan and herself.

  She kept a tight hold on his arm until they reached the small garden that separated the church from the rectory. Once out of sight of their well-wishers, however, she was beset once more by nerves. She let go of his arm and wove her fingers nervously together and tried to find the right words. His silence was no help at all, especially when he folded his arms across his chest and stared belligerently at her.

  "It's too late to back out, Lucy. The deed is done. Both deeds," he added sarcastically.

  "I'm not trying to back out," she snapped. "Though I shall never forgive you for telling my brother about... about the other night."

  "I didn't tell him a thing."

  "Well, I certainly didn't, so who could have but you?"

  "Perhaps one of the servants saw me enter your room."

  "Or your grandmother might have overheard us." Lucy's face flamed at the very thought. "Well, I... I suppose that doesn't matter any more," she said with a nervous wave of one hand. "The thing is..." She faltered, then grimaced at her cowardliness. "The thing is, it occurs to me that although we have taken our vows, you have no idea what my feelings about our marriage truly are."

  "Your feelings about our marriage," he echoed. "I have reason to believe you think us supremely ill-suited to one another."

  Lucy swallowed and bit the inside of her cheek. "I know I said that. The thing is ... I want this marriage between us to work. I know I tried to avoid it, but... But I want you to know that... that I am not sorry we are wed."

  One of Ivan's dark brows arched. "I'm overwhelmed with your enthusiasm."

  "That didn't come out right." She wrung her hands. Words weren't going to do the trick, she realized. She would have to take things into her own hands. Literally.

  With a confidence that was pure sham, Lucy crossed-the short grassy space between them. She loosened his folded arms, stepped between them, and looped her arms around his neck. Then she looked straight into his wary blue eyes. "I'm going to give you a proper wedding kiss, Ivan. I hope you want to receive it. I hope you'll kiss me back."

  Then, afraid she would talk herself right out of it, Lucy kissed him.

  It was like kissing one of the marble statues at the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly—at first. When she did not relent, however, when she slanted her mouth against his and used her tongue to stroke the rigid seam of his lips, coaxing him as he'd coaxed her in the past, she felt him begin to soften. She teased his lips apart and deepened the kiss, and his arms tightened around her. Without thinking she arched against him, bringing them fully together.

  He was not so immune to her as he seemed! By the time they came apart, both gasping for breath, his heart was hammering just as hard as hers.

  "In some ways we are very well suited," she admitted, ducking her head against his chest.

  Ivan cupped her cheek and tilted her head up so that they were face to face. "For a bluestocking you have a shockingly passionate nature. For that matter, you're probably far too passionate to be a countess either."

  Lucy's heart sank. "I will try not to embarrass you, my lord."

  "Don't you have that backward? It's more likely I'll embarrass you. And call me Ivan," he added. "Never again are you to call me my lord."

  She smiled up at him, encouraged by his easing tension. "Yes, Ivan. Unless I am very angry with you."

  "Anger is just another passionate emotion. Like lust," he said, moving one hand down to cup her bottom and lift her against his arousal.

  Lucy sucked in a breath, unable to control her response to him. But as much as she returned his lust, she was also deflated by it. She wanted there to be more between, them than that.

  He lowered his head, capturing her mouth in a stinging kiss that was filled with lust but also, perhaps, with need. It was that need she must focus upon, she decided with the fleeting portion of her mind still able to think. She would make him need her. She would make herself necessary to him.

  "I expect you to be faithful to me," she said, when she could again speak.

  "Keep me satisfied and I will be," he said. He bunched her skirts up in one hand, baring the lower portion of her legs to the fresh air.

  "Keep me satisfied and I'll be faithful too," she replied, half fainting now with desire.

  Abruptly he pulled away, just enough to stare down at her. "You'll be satisfied. I'll see to that. But I'll have no talk of you being anything but faithful to me. You took your vows and you will abide by them."

  "As shall you. My lord."

  Though locked in an embrace, they glared at one another. Hot and cold. Would things always
be so volatile between them? Lucy wondered.

  Then Ivan grinned, that wicked one-sided grin that melted her bones every time. "I can hardly wait to get you back to the house, my dear, for I plan to wear you out. In fact, I can't wait at all. Come." He grabbed her wrist and began to pull her toward the rear court where the carriages waited.

  "But... But what of the reception? Wait, Ivan. We can't—"

  "We can," he vowed. "I am too hot for you to dither over champagne and finger sandwiches, and toasts from people I don't give a damn about."

  "No!" Lucy caught an iron fence post with her free hand and dug in her heels. "Please, Ivan."

  He stopped and faced her, a gleam in his eyes. "If I agree, what will you agree to in return?"

  Lucy was too befuddled to think. How had he turned matters upside down so fast? "What do you mean?"

  "If I must linger amidst our families—neither of which do I much care for—then you must make it up to me. For instance, you can agree to make love to me in the carriage on the way home."

  "In the carriage?"

  "In the carriage."

  "But how? I mean—" Lucy stared at him. "You can't be serious."

  "It's either in the carriage later, or in the carriage now." He gave a sudden tug and she lost hold of the fence.

  "All right! All right!"

  His eyes moved over her like a stroke of fire, burning her with their intensity. Her insides began to tremble with the most delicious sort of anticipation. "I'll need some token from you," he said. "Something to guarantee you mean what you say."

  "Really, but this is getting ridiculous."

  "I'll have your pantalets."

  "No!" she gasped.

  Ivan laughed, and despite her panic, Lucy saw a side of him she'd not seen before. He was having fun with her, teasing her like a little boy might tease a little girl. Except that the stakes here were grown-up stakes. If there was any doubt in her mind that she loved him, it disappeared in a flash.

  "Your pantalets or else we leave now," he threatened, letting his eyes run over her once more.