The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  Chapter Eighteen

  The cursed sun was shining far too brightly in the sky. Iona thought it odd that the sun should be shining like it was some pleasant summer day, when it wasn’t. She slipped into the drawing room and pressed her back to the paneled door. The lively conversation she’d heard taking place in the room came to a hasty stop. One by one, her family shifted their attentions from whatever they’d been discussing to the spot where she was standing.

  “I thought you were going back up to your bed,” her mother said.

  Iona had planned to do just that. At breakfast, she’d talked herself hoarse, trying her honest best to shoulder the blame for her and Nathan’s secret relationship. But, despite everything she’d said, no one would listen. And the sight of her father’s bruised knuckles had made her lose her appetite.

  She’d excused herself from the breakfast table, which the cook had crowded with all her favorite treats, and had escaped up to her bedchamber. She’d even stretched out on top of her pale pink quilt for a while and stared at the bed’s canopy.

  “My place is here,” she explained to her family. She crossed the drawing room to sit beside Lillian on a small sofa.

  Nathan had paid a terrible price for her. She was the one who, for years, had taken the easy way out of life by playing the role of obedient, priggish miss. Letting others tell her what she should do and pretending that she didn’t have a will of her own. That false persona had been cast too well.

  She swiped at the tears that were once again threatening. Poor Nathan. He’d suffered terribly because of her.

  “It isn’t her fault,” Lillian said. She was stabbing a piece of linen with a needle, her hasty fingers botching what just yesterday had promised to turn into a beautiful needlework scene of the elegant bridge and pond at Prior Park.

  “I should say not. It’s that blackguard who’s to blame,” her mother said. She hadn’t yet made a scene. Which was worrisome. Last night, she’d ushered her daughters and Amelia home in the family carriage and then sent them directly up to their beds without spilling much more than a few sharp words.

  And this morning, an unnatural hush, the same that accompanied a death, weighed down the air in the house.

  “About our marriage…” Iona started to say.

  Her cousin Byron gave her a sidelong look and shook his head. He hadn’t been at breakfast and she hadn’t spoken with him since he’d dragged her away from Nathan last evening. She could only imagine his disappointment in her. She wasn’t the silent flower he’d been expecting, or the paragon of perfection he’d claimed to desire in a wife.

  At her father’s nod, her cousin’s mood seemed to darken. The grim expression stamped on his face hardened. He pinched his nose and heaved a heavy sigh before approaching her.

  “Of course I don’t hold you responsible for what happened when you were alone with that bounder.” He bent down on one knee and sandwiched her chilly fingers between his. “And don’t worry your little head over your damaged reputation. Despite what everyone is saying about you, I will stand by my earlier promise to take you as my wife,” he said, sounding as if he was making a great sacrifice for her benefit. “Once we are joined, my upstanding position in society will help repair your damaged name.”

  “Thank you, but please don’t—” she said. She owed it to Nathan to show everyone in the room how she’d taken his lessons to heart. That their time together did have meaning. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Byron, but I have other plans for my life.”

  * * * *

  Nathan woke with a devil of a headache. His insides felt as if they’d been pounded in preparation for a recipe of jugged pigeon and the stiffness in his muscles had turned the simplest tasks—like rolling over in bed—into a damnable chore.

  If not for the curt wakeup call he’d received, he’d still be curled up on his bed, cradling his hurts and quietly tending his heartache.

  But none of that was to be, thanks to his father’s loyal minions. Two rather daunting footmen had forced their way past Freddie and barged into Nathan’s bedchamber. Handling him with less care than they would a sack of flour, they had stuffed him into his clothes, dragged him out of his apartment and tossed him into a crested carriage that whisked him off toward the Royal Crescent.

  And that was where he found himself, sitting on the carriage bench, his hands propping up his aching head—not at all surprised. He’d known last night that come morning there would be hell to pay with the Marquess.

  The carriage door swung open the instant the carriage’s wheels had stopped turning. Two arms grabbed him and dragged him into the house and up a flight of stairs. They then pushed him through the door to his father’s study.

  The rough wool of the study’s carpet met Nathan’s face. He considered staying there, with his nose buried in the carpet’s fibers and resting for a while. His head spun when he slowly lifted it. Much to his surprise, his gaze landed on not his father’s but his mother’s face. She’d aged overnight. Disappointment was deeply etched around her lips and eyes. The loose skin on the hand she raised to her mouth was paper-thin, fragile. She let out a sharp cry at the sight of his battered body. The sound twisted through his heart.

  Though he hadn’t yet seen himself in the mirror, he could guess he looked something of a fright.

  “Mother—” He reached out to her, hoping only to comfort her. To reassure her that he’d survive this.

  She turned away from him. “The Duke of Newbury has told us the truth. I don’t know whether to mourn this or be relieved,” she said to the Marquess on a shuddering breath. Without taking another look at her son, she left the room.

  Nathan pulled himself up from the floor. He did his best to straighten his shoulders, despite the sharp pains pulling at his ribs, and act as if he felt nothing but a chilling indifference toward his family.

  This made his father frown. Moving as stiffly as Nathan felt, he settled into a leather chair beside the unlit fireplace.

  “Lady Iona. The Duke of Newbury’s daughter. Hmmm…” The Marquess steepled his fingers. “The Duke’s lovely daughter. You have gone too far this time. You know that, don’t you, Son?”

  It had been years since anyone had called Nathan son. What a gaping hole the loss of such a little word had made in his life.

  “It does look bad,” Nathan agreed. He eased himself into the chair across from his father. “I can explain if you are willing to listen.”

  “There really is no need. The past is done. It is your future that must be planned.”

  While his father began detailing the long list of dreadful punishments and banishments that would likely make up his future, Nathan’s thoughts took a different turn. His mind trailed back to the past and to the events that led to his fall last night.

  He didn’t regret a moment of his time with Iona. If he had to do it again, there was very little he’d have done differently. So what was it about last night that continued to nag at him?

  Iona, that’s what.

  Clearly she’d created that romantic setting in the grotto with those candles and moonlight with thoughts of seduction. And she’d led him right to the grotto, where they’d be alone in a situation that, in the light of day, smelled of premeditated scandal.

  I will get myself out of this marriage, she’d vowed. Now that he thought back on it, she had sounded pretty damned sure of herself.

  Could it be true? Had she designed their meeting, planning all along to be caught in a compromising position in order to untangle herself from an unwanted engagement? Had she knowingly played a deadly game with his life?

  He ground his jaw. If her father had arrived but a few minutes earlier and had seen what had really happened, Nathan wouldn’t merely be nursing his bruised body. He’d have been facing a bullet at dawn and a casket by noon.

  Perhaps she hadn’t completely thought it through, didn’t realize she was putting his life in jeopardy. Certainly, if she’d known, she wouldn’t have done that to him. Not when she…


  But did she love him?

  Love would put a different slant on everything. Including his future.

  Damn, he was a fool. Of course she loved him. And he’d promised to protect her.

  Nathan slammed his fist into the arm of his leather chair. His father jumped.

  “What? What?” the Marquess said and then cleared his throat. “Anyhow, I rather think the experience—though unpleasant—might be good for you.”

  “Do not bother with this any further, Father. You don’t have to impress me into service on the high seas or horsewhip me into oblivion.” He pushed up from his chair, which made his bruised ribs hurt even worse—something he hadn’t believed possible. “I will make this right.”

  He wasn’t anything like the role society had painted for him. And whether they accepted him or not, it was his duty to go to Iona’s aide.

  He planned to march down the street and confront the Duke of Newbury and fight for her reputation. But it wasn’t to be. He barely made it to the front door before his father’s footmen grabbed his arms and forced him back up the stairs.

  Nathan landed on his backside in the middle of the study. “I am sorry, Son.” The Marquess hovered over him, his bulldog-jowled face swimming in and out of focus. “I cannot let you cause any more trouble. You won’t be leaving this room until arrangements have been made for your departure from England.”

  * * * *

  Iona sunk deeper and deeper into the cushions of the peach sofa in the drawing room and sulked while her family—gathered together as if preparing for war—made decisions for her wedding day. Despite her objections, they forged on as if she were a smiling, blushing bride-to-be.

  The dramatic mourning black silk her mother was wearing swished as she fiddled with a lace handkerchief. Her unnaturally calm demeanor was beginning to slip. She sniffed loudly whenever the Duke mentioned the need to rush the wedding date.

  According to him though everything had been settled—including Iona’s future. Sure there would be some scandalous talk over the next few weeks. Considering the damage she’d done to her reputation, the gossips couldn’t be avoided. But once she was well and wed to her cousin, the heir to the Newbury title, the fervor surrounding her would swiftly cool.

  Iona’s dreams of becoming a sculptress were fading again. Oh, but that wasn’t the source of her sullen mood. Nor had her family’s disregard of her blatant rejection of her cousin’s suit sparked this uncharacteristic sulk.

  Those problems alone, she could have managed. She thrummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. In her eagerness to grab onto an adventure and excitement, she’d somehow turned into a self-centered brat. And that she couldn’t abide.

  All of the signs had been there, right in front of her eyes, and yet she’d overlooked them as readily as her family had dismissed her own wishes. She must have been blind.

  Nathan wasn’t the happy-go-lucky rogue she’d sought out in the labyrinth. He wasn’t merely a family embarrassment whom society loved because he’d become a source of endless gossip.

  She should have known better. She should have taken the time to look beyond his jokes and smiles and really seen the man who was stealing her heart.

  Her heart sank. She’d treated him no better than the long line of gentlemen in her life had treated her. She deserved better.

  And so did Nathan.

  “You’ll see,” her cousin said as he copied her father’s take-charge posture. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the length of the parlor. “You’ll see, Iona, this is all for the best.”

  The best for whom, she wondered darkly. Not Nathan.

  She needed to see him. To apologize. And figure out how to help him.

  “Where is he? What did you do to him?” she demanded, interrupting a discussion between her parents on whether it would be better to hold the ceremony in Bath or London.

  Her cousin’s pleasant expression faded. “He isn’t your concern.”

  “Please.” Lillian pinched Iona’s arm. “Don’t.”

  “As I have already told you time and again, he didn’t do anything wrong,” Iona insisted.

  “That is your opinion!” her father roared. His outburst set her mother crying in earnest. Drawing a deep breath, he regained much of his composure. “Lord Nathan is a danger to polite society, poppet. I spoke with the Marquess of Portfry at length last night. And he agrees. He has promised to have Lord Nathan removed.”

  Removed? A strangling dread grabbed hold of her. Removed from where? “What is the Marquess planning to do?”

  “That is none of my concern…or yours,” he said as if it were that simple.

  But it wasn’t. She was about to explain all that—without throwing an emotional tantrum as she’d done last night—when Myers, the family butler, tapped on the drawing room door.

  He plodded into the room, his slow, shuffling gait more pronounced than usual. He went straight to her father and whispered the heavy news he carried in the Duke’s ear.

  “Indeed?” her father grumbled. “I suppose I ought to attend to him.”

  The Duke swept from the room with the Duchess and her cousin Byron following close on his heel. This was Iona’s chance. Noon had long passed and she was growing tired of being trapped in her loving, well-meaning and utterly suffocating family’s clutches. Ignoring Lillian’s protests, she grabbed her bonnet, sketchbook and charcoals and escaped into the family’s back gardens.

  She simply needed a moment alone. A moment to think. And grieve.

  She spread a blanket on a grassy spot underneath one of the property’s grand oaks and, arranging her skirts around her, sat down with her sketchbook. She drew lazy circles on the page and watched a small bird flit from branch to branch high above her.

  Her thoughts kept returning to what Nathan had told her the night before—that no matter what happened she should keep reaching for her dreams.

  But how could she? How could she hope to ever find happiness again when everything had gone so terribly wrong?

  She had barely had a chance to ponder about much of anything when her attentions were drawn away from the paper in front of her by a loud rustle in the branches behind her. She glanced up at the tall brick wall separating her father’s gardens from the neighbors’ and spotted a dark shadow squatting on the wall beside her. The figure blotted out the bright sun.

  Like a desperate pirate come to life out of the latest novel she was reading, the figure dropped off the wall and landed beside her with a grunt. Iona gave a sharp cry of alarm. A gloved hand clamped almost instantly over her lips, silencing her.

  “Shhh,” a soothing voice whispered in her ear.

  It couldn’t be…

  Nathan, her poor battered Nathan, sat sprawled in a rather gangly position on the grass. His clothes were mismatched and rumpled, one sleeve torn completely away and his face purple and bruised. She couldn’t remember ever laying eyes on a more wondrous sight.

  “I might look like a dangerous footpad but I assure you I mean you no harm. You do recognize me, don’t you?”

  Of course she did. How could he believe otherwise? She nodded fervently, wanting nothing more than to touch him and to feel his heart beating against hers. When he pulled his hand away from her mouth, she did just that. Tentatively touching the bruises on his face and the hard stubble on his cheeks and chin.

  “I was so frightened—” she choked out.

  “I can imagine.” He sounded hard. The corded muscles in his arms and chest grew stiff like he wanted to pull away from her. “This is exactly what I feared would happen to you.”

  “To me?” she protested. He believed her so shallow that she was only crushed by the upset her behavior had caused her family? He couldn’t be more wrong. “I-I-I’m not…”

  He leaned closer. Her breath hitched in her throat. Before she realized what was happening his lips took hers with a demanding kiss.

  “I couldn’t keep away from you a moment longer. I’ve been sick with worry all morning.
I need to know how you are faring, love,” he said as he peeled his mouth away.

  She felt breathless and needy and ever so grateful to see him one more time.

  “How am I—” she started to say and then tossed her arms around him.

  Her tears were nearly his undoing. She shuddered against him like a frightened wren. He couldn’t help but be awed by how brave she’d been. In his arms, her slender body felt terribly delicate. And yet, he knew from harrowing experience that the heart beating in her chest had the steely strength of a fearsome lioness. In fact, now, this fateful morning in her father’s garden, she was the first to find the courage to speak again.

  “How did you manage to escape? My father said—”

  “I told you I wouldn’t abandon you to the gossips and I mean to stand by my word.” He didn’t want to talk about how he’d fought his way out of his father’s townhouse like a madman possessed. He’d rather hold Iona in his arms and, ignoring the tearing pains in his side, nuzzle the delicate curve of her neck.

  “I sure made a muddle of things last night,” she whispered. “I should have never dared speak my mind.”

  “Balderdash,” he exclaimed and couldn’t help but smile. “Your timing can certainly be improved but you’re still learning how to use your voice. Mistakes are bound to happen.”

  “A mistake.” She returned his smile, though hers had quite a rueful tilt. “You’re too kind. I can’t imagine a balder understatement.”

  “I’ve made my fair share.”

  “Hmmm…” she agreed. “At least I’m in good company. You are a dear for coming to check on me, Nathan. I can’t tell you how much your concern means to me.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not thinking to dismiss me so easily, are you? I meant what I said. Whether you want me to or not, I am going to stand by you and help you. So tell me, Iona, what has happened?”

  “According to my family, I have become tainted as the latest hapless victim of Bath’s most dangerous rake. I was too innocent to know what I was getting myself into. But regardless of any of that, I’m tainted. Stained by your touch, they say.” Her voice rose with indignation. “It’s utter nonsense of course. I knew exactly what I was doing and I have no regrets.”