Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  The menu consisted of soup, pigeon pie, veal, cheese, oysters, trifles and calves-foot jelly. Fine wines and champagne were served in great quantities. The conversation was punctuated with laughter and the atmosphere was jovial.

  “You have not eaten anything, Lady Roxburgh. Is the food not to your liking?” The gleam in Sir Garwen’s eye was indicative of unholy glee.

  “’Tis a strange circumstance, Sir Garwen,” she replied. “Whenever I find myself in the company of an evil, would-be rapist, I tend to lose my appetite.”

  He laughed delightedly. “Still bearing a grudge, my beauty? But I have more reason to feel aggrieved at the memory of our last encounter than you, as I recall.”

  Iona raised a reminiscent hand to her cheek. “Indeed?”

  “Oh, I was mayhap a tad overexuberant. That is quite your own fault, you know. You drive a man quite mad with lust.” She did not care that he saw the shudder of distaste that ran through her. He leaned closer. “Fear not. I will take great care next time to see that we are not disturbed.”

  “There will be no next time!”

  The agreeable veneer was completely gone in an instant. Beneath it, she sensed his true feral nature and was repulsed. “Be in no doubt, my beauty. I will have you and, when I do, you will rue the day you aided that lowlife who calls himself the Falcon.”

  Iona’s eyes flickered across to where Edwin was seated, but his attention was monopolised by the commander of the fort. Meanwhile, Mrs. Weston was leaning forward so that her ample breasts pressed against Edwin’s arm and one of her hands had disappeared beneath the table. Iona had a horrible image of those slender fingers gripping Edwin’s muscular thigh.

  “Your fine husband doesn’t give a fig about you tonight. I could throw you down and fuck you on this table in full view of all these guests and he wouldn’t even notice. Diana Weston has been his favourite mistress for years. Oh, granted, he plays the field. But ’tis well known that he always goes back to her. Did you think he would change with marriage?” His laughter followed her as, unable to listen to him any longer, Iona rose from the table and made her way back into the ballroom. Several couples were already making up a set for the first dance, and her hand was immediately claimed by an eager young sergeant. Glad of the opportunity to be rid of Sir Garwen for the next half an hour, she accepted and took her place in the circle.

  Tired of constantly removing Diana’s hand from his leg, where it insisted in creeping up his thigh, Edwin was relieved when the meal finally ended and the guests drifted into the ballroom. Despite the distance between them, he had been keeping a surreptitious eye on Iona and guessed she had not spent an enjoyable evening so far having been forced into such close proximity with Sir Garwen.

  When he saw her leave the room he had been about to follow, but his attention was claimed by another of the garrison’s senior officers who insisted on quizzing him about his reasons for leaving the army and his future plans. By the time he reached the ballroom, his patience was worn so thin it was almost invisible.

  His eyes, attuned to seeking Iona wherever they were, quickly discovered her dancing with one of the young soldiers, and he relaxed slightly as he observed her. He might consider himself her protector, but it was frightening how quickly he had come to rely equally on her presence to give him strength.

  His dinner companion pressed close against him, reminding him of her presence. “Why have you come here, Diana?”

  She opened her blue eyes very wide. “When Garwen told me you were married, Edwin, I simply had to come and see the lady for myself.”

  She followed Edwin’s gaze across the room to where his wife was dancing. Iona was clad in a gown of ivory velvet. Its fluted shape cleaved lovingly to the curves of her upper body before the full, embroidered skirts shimmered over her hips. No powder dulled the bright red-gold of her hair, which, for once, she had drawn up into a simple braid wound around her head. Several unruly strands had already broken free to cling to her forehead and the slender white column of her neck. She was one of the few women in the room who had not made use of the paint palette or the patch box, and her unadorned skin was faintly flushed from the exertion of the dance. Her hands were raised above her head and her toe was pointed. As they moved around the circle of dancers, she was laughing at something her partner was saying.

  “I had no idea, of course, that you had wed a woodland sprite. Has she elven blood?”

  “Your claws are showing, Diana.” Edwin did not take his eyes from his wife. “And you were wrong to come here.”

  “You cannot blame me for wishing to see my rival.” Her voice was petulant.

  He did look at her then, his eyes taking in the low-cut gown, the hunger in her eyes, the invitation of her half-open mouth. For many years, hers had been the body he sank into to find oblivion. An easy, eager partner. Diana Weston was known throughout London as a rich, society hostess with the morals of a courtesan. She had offered him what he needed. Sex with no emotional attachment. That was no longer what he needed. They had been equals, or so he thought. Something in her manner—and the fact that she had travelled all the way from London—told him that her emotions might be engaged. He felt a pang of pity for her. Could he do this gently? He would try. “My wife is not your rival.”

  Her smile widened. “I am so happy to hear you say that. Of course, I did not really think you would let a little thing like marriage come between us.”

  “No, you don’t understand. She is not your rival, Diana, because there is nothing between you and I. There never will be again.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know that is not true. You always come back to me.”

  “I have never been married before.”

  “I have. Still am. It’s not that wonderful.”

  Edwin smiled, hoping to keep this civilised. My God, what had his life become before Iona? He didn’t even like Diana Weston. “You will never be short of admirers—”

  “Oh, don’t try to placate me, for heaven’s sake.” She walked away with an angry swish of silk.

  “Not very adroit of you, old chap.” Sir Garwen’s smooth voice, so like that of his twin brother, caused Edwin’s whole body to tense. This night was proving every bit as bad as he had anticipated. He wanted to pluck Iona from the midst of the dancers, scoop her up in his arms and carry her back to Cameron House. If only they could stay there, just the two of them, locking out the rest of the world.

  Ten years ago, Edwin had vowed to one day kill this man’s brother. Fate, in the form of Fraser Lachlan, had intervened. Now, as he looked at Sir Garwen’s arrogant features and mocking eyes, the impulse overwhelmed Edwin once again. It was the same sardonic expression, the same sharp-featured face, a decade apart. Sir Garwen had dared to lay his hands on Iona. He had the power to destroy Edwin. They could never be happy because this man would not allow them to be. What was it that had caused these two brothers to become so steeped in their own infamy?

  “I thought you would be pleased to be reunited with Mrs. Weston.”

  “You are a meddling bastard, Sir Garwen.” Edwin kept his tone deliberately light.

  “I do my best. Did you light a candle today in memory of Saint Helena-le-Clay?” Sir Garwen rocked back slightly on his heels as though anticipating a forward lunge from Edwin.

  Edwin was too shocked to move. How could Sir Garwen say those words aloud, knowing what they meant? The memories—never far from his mind—came flooding back, awful in their clarity. Edwin felt as though his whole body was trying to shut down with shock. The only reality was the roaring sound in his ears, a noise that blocked out Sir Garwen’s next words. He became aware of his surroundings and forced himself to focus.

  “…no other choice.” Edwin caught only the tail end of Sir Garwen’s speech.

  To steady his nerves, he pretended he had not understood rather than admit that he had not heard. “Spell it out, man. Tell me exactly what you are saying.”

  Sir Garwen gave an exaggerated sigh. “I do so hate having to
explain myself. And yet I had not thought I was being obscure. It really is quite simple. Give me the Falcon or I will tell your charming lady all about Saint Helena-le-Clay.”

  At the mention of the convent’s name, the memories tried to surface once more. As always, they struck dread into Edwin’s heart. “What will you gain by telling my wife that, ten years ago, your brother ordered the rape and massacre of a convent of nuns?”

  The smile that was not a smile touched Sir Garwen’s lips. It was a familiar expression. His brother used to look exactly the same way when he executed one of his vile plans. Even if the man before him had been angelic in his goodness, Edwin would have hated him for his physical likeness to Augustus Hendry. As it was, he was every bit as villainous as his twin.

  “My brother is dead. And we all know he was an evil bastard anyway. His reputation cannot be tarnished. Yours on the other hand…” Sir Garwen nodded in Iona’s direction. “I’d not want to see the look in your Scots wildcat’s eyes if she ever learns the truth about her handsome husband.”

  “I suppose it would be pointless to tell you I do not know who the Falcon is?”

  “Maybe not. I’m not sure if I believe you but, even if that is the case, you have the means to find out. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t.” The hawklike features hardened. “I will give you a week.”

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. The only consolation during that time was that Edwin determinedly made sure he remained at Iona’s side. He was well aware of the pout on Diana’s face. Let her sulk. He was shocked, however, when Iona commented on it.

  “I think Mrs. Weston is trying to attract your attention. She seems most disappointed that you are not responding to her signals.” She made this observation as they came together in the dance. Since they were immediately separated again it was some time before he could reply.

  “What do you know of Mrs. Weston?” Edwin took Iona’s hand and they moved together down the line of clapping dancers. “Oh no. We are going to sit the rest of this set out, my love.” Instead of splitting up to form part of the line, he drew her away from the dance altogether. Finding a sofa in an alcove, he pulled her down to sit next to him.

  “I know she is your mistress.”

  He watched Iona’s face as she said the words. A flicker of hope flared in his breast. The look he glimpsed in her eyes was one of hurt. If she was jealous of Diana that meant she cared enough for him to be upset at the prospect of a rival. As quickly as the bright flame of pleasure at the thought flared, he was forced to quench it. He had no right to dream. He had nothing to offer Iona except more hurt.

  “You have been misinformed. Diana Weston was my mistress.”

  “Oh.” Iona took a moment to consider this. She raised those incredible eyes to his face. “You told me you would continue to have mistresses. And Martha said ’twas well known in London that she is your favourite.”

  Edwin sighed. He took her hand and placed it on his thigh. It was a dangerous move. His body instantly demanded more from her touch. He contrasted the feeling with his earlier annoyance when Diana placed her own hand in the same position. “I told you I might continue to have mistresses. It was a foolish comment. At the time, if you remember, you and I had not engaged in what you so charmingly termed ‘the sex act’. I said whether or not I continued to have mistresses would depend on you.”

  “You mean whether I keep you satisfied in bed?” A hint of mischief danced in her eyes. He loved her bluntness.

  “In my bed. On my desk. In the stables…”

  “And do I?” The hand on his thigh moved infinitesimally higher. He drew in a breath. This was certainly one way to get the thought of Sir Garwen and his threats out of his head. Although dealing with a raging erection in a ballroom was not an easy situation. Even for him.

  “You do.” His voice was husky.

  “Then I will contrive to keep doing so.” Iona’s expression was demure. The hand moved again, ever so slightly. “Mrs. Weston can go to the devil.”

  Edwin swiftly covered her hand with his. “If you keep doing that, it will be me going to the devil.” He glanced around at the room full of people he barely knew. Those he did know, he disliked intensely. Except, of course, for the fair torment at his side. “Would you object if we left now, my love? I’ve a few plans for you that I can’t put into practice in front of an audience.”

  “I will get my cloak.”

  They managed to sneak away without encountering either Sir Garwen or Diana. Laughing like naughty children truanting from school, they clambered into their carriage, and Edwin gave the order for the coachman to depart. No sooner had the carriage moved away than Edwin pulled Iona up from her seat so that she was imprisoned between his thighs. Tugging down the stiff material, he freed her breasts from the restraint of her bodice and rubbed his thumb back and forth across her nipples.

  “Even if you hadn’t been publicly fondling me and driving me into a frenzy, I’d have needed to have you as soon as we left that godawful place. I’ve been thinking about doing this since the moment we arrived. I love your breasts, Iona.”

  Iona responded by reaching a hand down to trace the rock-hard bulge in his breeches. “Then we must have been sharing the same thoughts throughout the evening. In return, let me assure you that I love your cock, Edwin.” She gasped as he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and pinched it hard.

  “Show me how much you love it.” He pushed her down into a kneeling position, using his knees to hold her in place against the swaying motion of the carriage. Lifting his hips, he unfastened his breeches. “Now.”

  Iona’s tongue began at the base of his cock, sliding up his length and into the sensitive indentation on the head. She took a moment to swirl her tongue around his throbbing rim, before going back to the base and repeating the movement all over again. Finally, her mouth closed over his head, and with tormenting slowness, she sucked his length into her mouth. Edwin lifted his hips to push himself deeper, and she took all of him with a welcoming moan.

  “I’m not going to last long enough for that.” Edwin pulled out of her mouth. “Turn around,” he instructed hoarsely.

  Iona moved onto her hands and knees, her fingers gripping the carriage seat she had vacated.

  Edwin moved to kneel behind her, lifting her skirts up to her waist. He held on to her hips and probed the slit of her sex with the head of his cock. The lurching of the vehicle added to the challenge, and Iona laughed as he slipped away from her. Cursing, he moved back into place. Taking a breath, he rammed himself into her. Her inner muscles tightened around him, her liquid warmth welcomed him.

  “Oh dear God.” She pushed back against him, drawing his cock deeper. “You feel so good.”

  “That’s what I was about to say.” He began to pound into her. The carriage swung from side to side, adding to the urgency of the encounter. Iona’s moans became cries and then screams. As she orgasmed, her muscles squeezed him. The sensation was enough to send Edwin over the edge. He came hard, gripping her hips and thrusting until he had fully spent himself.

  Iona’s knees gave way, and she tumbled forward dragging Edwin with her. Laughing, he pulled out of her and, after swiftly kissing her, managed to rearrange their clothing just in time for the carriage to draw to a halt in front of Cameron House.

  “Not the most enjoyable evening I have ever spent, my lady,” he said, as he handed her down from the carriage and quirked an eye at her flushed countenance. “But it had its compensations.”

  “Indeed, Sir Edwin.” Iona reached up a hand to straighten a lock of his powdered hair. “I have developed quite a fondness for carriage rides this night. Mayhap ’tis something we should do more often?”

  Edwin’s answering smile faded as they entered the house and he watched her run lightly up the staircase. His choices stretched stark and clear before him. He could find the Falcon and hand him over to Sir Garwen in which case Iona, along with the whole of the highlands, would hate him for
ever. Or he could dredge into the depths of his very soul and tell Iona about what happened ten years ago at Saint Helena-le-Clay. That would have the same effect in terms of her feelings toward him. As he placed his foot on the bottom stair, a third alternative occurred to him. He could disappear from her life forever.

  Iona paused on the turn in the stairs, looking down at him as though surprised that he hadn’t followed. Edwin recalled the first time he saw her. She had stood in almost exactly the same position and gazed at him with suspicion. Now that look was gone, and in its place, there was only a hint of laughter in her eyes.

  “Ye’ve tamed me to the point of exhaustion this night, Sir Edwin. Will ye no come to bed so I can fall asleep in your arms?”

  He couldn’t lose her. Which meant that none of his three existing choices were realistic options. He would have to find another way. Setting his foot on the next stair, he followed her up to their bedchamber.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the last carriage pulled away from Fort William, Mrs. Weston and Sir Garwen Hendry stood together in a shadowy corner of the courtyard.

  “I want Edwin Roxburgh back in my life and in my bed, Garwen.”

  He glanced down at her. “Have you fallen in love with him, my dear? How dreadfully careless of you.”

  Her fingers gripped his forearm tightly. “Get him for me.”

  “I am working on it, Diana. For reasons of my own I would prefer him occupied with you while I go about my own business with his wife.”

  She smiled up at him. “Have you a yen for the redheaded nymph? She is not your usual type. Or Edwin’s, for that matter.”

  His smile was deeply unpleasant. “You know nothing of my type. I’ll have to steal her away from Roxburgh, and do some work on breaking her spirit, but I’ve a feeling she’ll be worth it. I’m minded to keep this one for a while.”

  “How will you get Edwin out of the way? He seems intent upon gluing himself to her side. I had not thought he could be so horribly provincial.”