The Dangerous Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Then she’d put on that damned dressing gown, the bit of lace that showed more than it concealed. He should never have watched her undress. He should have revealed his presence before then. But three days away from her had made him hungry, even after reading her inflammatory column. Three days and three nights of remembering their searing kisses had made him want a glimpse of her body, and she’d obliged him so quickly that he’d been powerless to end it by revealing his presence in the room.

  Still, he didn’t regret a minute of it. Nor did he regret proposing marriage. True, his decision had been hasty and his reasons complex and tangled even to him. Felicity, with her love of rumor and her unbounded curiosity, was the last person he should marry.

  Yet he wanted her in his life. No other woman could match him tactic for tactic and forever surprise him. Marriage to her would be anything but boring.

  He watched as she swung around and walked to the fireplace. Lambent light bathed her slender body, and her flimsy wrapper clung greedily to her very attractive derriere. Lust bolted through him anew. With a groan, he admitted the truth to himself. He didn’t only want her in his life—he wanted her in his bed. That was the trouble; he wasn’t thinking with his head—or at least not the one with a brain. Otherwise, he’d never be considering marriage to this clever miss with her penchant for gossip.

  But he’d made up his mind. He needed a wife—why not have one he’d enjoy? God knows he would enjoy her; it had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from stripping her naked and acting on all the carnal impulses her winsome body inspired.

  Two things had prevented him. The first was her status as a respectable virgin. It went against his moral code to deflower that sort of woman. The second—and perhaps more compelling—reason was the sure knowledge that a single night with her would never satisfy him, and she’d never allow him more. He might seduce her once, but his self-righteous gossipmonger would cut her throat before she’d consent to being any man’s mistress.

  Besides, he didn’t need a mistress. He needed a wife. And if he married her, they could have as many nights in bed as their passions allowed. The very thought made him hard again.

  “Well?” he bit out impatiently when she lifted the brass poker and stoked the fire in apparent distraction. Sparks danced in the cold air about her tempting body.

  “You’re asking me…to marry you.” She stumbled over the words, as if they still seemed alien to her.

  “It’s not such an odd idea, is it?”

  “I-I don’t know. I mean, yes, it is. You’re a viscount.”

  “Now that’s an astute observation,” he muttered, garnering a frown from her. He made a dismissive gesture. “It has nothing to do with anything.”

  She set the poker aside and faced him. “Doesn’t it? I’m a nobody. Why would you want to marry me?”

  Deliberately, he trailed his gaze down her welter of rich cinnamon hair, past the delicious breasts he’d pleasured, to the part of her he wished he’d also pleasured and tasted and sampled…When his gaze snapped back to her face, he saw she understood. “I want to marry you for the same reason any man marries a woman he desires.”

  Scarlet color stained her cheeks, and it occurred to him that he seldom saw her blush. It was becoming, especially on her. He’d have to make her blush frequently once they were married.

  “But men of your sort—”

  “Be careful, Felicity. I tire of your generalizations about men of my ‘sort.’”

  She eyed him with disbelief. “You can’t tell me you don’t care at all that I have no family connections or great wealth or—”

  “Why should I? I have enough for both of us. That’s not what I want in a wife.”

  “Yes, I forgot.” Her fingers clutched at the edges of her wrapper as she struggled to keep it closed. She looked suddenly very young, young and tormented, her eyes bleak with dismay. “You want a woman to bear your heir.”

  “That would be one of your duties, yes.” When she went rigid, he added, “But children are the usual result of indulging one’s desires, and as I recall, you find that particular activity appealing.”

  Her gaze shot to his, shadowed with embarrassment. “You said there was nothing wrong with feeling desire.”

  “I meant it,” he reassured her, remembering how ashamed her eager response to his caresses had made her. “And marriage makes desire far more convenient.”

  He realized he’d said the wrong thing when her pretty chin quivered. “Yes, marriage would make it convenient, for you as well as me. After all, why rely on two separate women for all your needs—one to bear your children and the other to satisfy your…your manly urges?” Her voice grew bitter. “Think how convenient it would be to have only one woman serve both purposes. What a revolutionary concept.”

  “I’ve never wanted more than one woman at a time,” he ground out, wondering how this discussion had gotten out of hand. “And yes, I prefer to have a wife I can desire. Although I’d previously resigned myself to a comfortable, if passionless, marriage, I now realize I can have more. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “I don’t know.” She stuck her chin out. “What would Miss Greenaway think?”

  The air crackled between them, fraught with sudden tension. He should have seen the question coming. If he’d been this dense during the war, he would have gotten himself killed half a dozen times. That he hadn’t anticipated her objections was a testimony to how much she and her adorable body had disconcerted him.

  Carefully, he weighed his words. “Her opinion is of no matter.”

  “Oh? Then what role will she play in this marriage?”

  “None at all.” Sheer exasperation sharpened his tone. “I told you before—the woman is not my mistress. I’m helping her and her son, nothing more.”

  “You still expect me to believe that fairy tale about her brother being your soldier friend?” When he glowered at her, she added, “I realize you told the truth about fighting for England—I can hardly ignore the assertions of a man like Wellington. But I know you’re lying about Miss Greenaway’s connection to you. I’m not a fool, you know.”

  “Of course not.” Sarcasm edged his words. “You’re much too intelligent to believe in my generosity or loyalty to a friend.”

  A pained expression crossed her face. “I deserve that, I suppose, but you’re wrong—I can believe many good things about you. What I can’t believe is that Miss Greenaway would have refused to set me straight concerning your kindness. Any woman in her position would have defended you at once. Or gone to the Gazette after the article was published to demand a retraction.”

  Why must the woman be so bloody logical? “Miss Greenaway understands, as you do not, that I prefer to keep certain aspects of my past out of the newspapers.”

  “And secret from your prospective fiancée?”

  He groaned. “Damn it, Felicity—”

  “I want to know what she is to you.” Hurt dulled her green eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I-I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request, considering your proposal to me.”

  In hit him then. My God, the woman was jealous! Though that absurdly pleased him, it also complicated matters. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth and put an end to her foolish concerns. But that would require more than a simple explanation of how he knew Miss Greenaway. He’d have to explain why he was helping the woman, why she was necessary to his plans for his uncle, and why he and his uncle were enemies. He’d have to entrust London’s most notorious scribbler with the scandalous details of his life. And he’d have to do it without even being sure it would gain him her hand. No one in their right mind would agree to that.

  Still, he wouldn’t let her jealousy stand between them.

  He advanced on her with grim determination. “I’ll tell you what Miss Greenaway is not. She’s not my mistress nor any temptation to me. Her son isn’t mine, or I would have claimed him long ago. Most importantly, what she is to me has nothing to do w
ith you. She will never have any influence over our marriage. That’s all you need to know.”

  Anger flared in her face. “You won’t even tell me how you met her?”

  “No.” He paused a few feet from her, deliberately softening his tone. “Trust me, there’s no reason why her mere existence in a house that I own should concern you.”

  “And that’s your final word on the subject?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then my answer is no.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your answer to what?”

  “Your offer of marriage. I can’t marry a man who won’t be honest with me.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re refusing me because you’re jealous of some woman I’m helping?”

  “I’m not jealous!” she protested, though her expression belied her words. “I’m…I’m refusing you because you don’t want a real marriage. You want a business arrangement: I am to perform my duty by bearing you children without interfering in your life, and in exchange you’ll give me your name and pay for my gowns.”

  “And make love to you,” he added in a husky voice, determined to remind her of why this conversation had first come about.

  She edged closer to the fireplace, the tips of her ears pinkening. “Yes. That, too. But anyone could serve that purpose for you. I merely happen to be convenient.”

  “Believe me, if I were choosing a wife by convenience, you would not be on the list. The last thing I need is a loose-tongued newspaper writer sharing my bed!”

  Her gaze shot back to him, a new comprehension shining in their depths. “So that’s your reason for proposing! You want to marry me so I won’t dig up the nasty secrets in your past and publish them in my column!”

  “Oh, for God’s—You already agreed to keep quiet. Why on earth should I marry you merely to gain that?”

  “Because you don’t trust me. If you did, you’d tell me the truth about Miss Greenaway.”

  He ground his teeth in frustration. Damn the bloody female and her ideals! Most men kept secrets from their wives—it was accepted, even expected. But she wouldn’t allow it—oh, no. Not his self-righteous little troublemaker, with her unrealistic ideas about how men should behave in marriage! He should have heeded his earlier warning that she’d never agree to marry him. But no, he’d had to let his cock do his thinking.

  Well, he’d proposed and made a fool of himself sufficiently. Now he should wash his hands of her, leave her to her suspicions. Could any woman be worth all this trouble?

  He gazed at her angry stance, at the delicate hands planted on the choicest pair of hips this side of the Channel, at the expressive eyes flashing emerald. Even haphazardly attired with pencils stuck through her hair, she’d been enticing, but now, wearing that excuse for a wrapper, she was irresistible. He’d never seen a young woman so full of life, audacity, and a sensual promise shimmering from her in waves, especially when her temper was roused.

  Yes, this woman was worth any trouble. And he began to see that convincing her to marry him would take more than one seductive interlude and some discussion.

  All right, so he’d plan a more elaborate strategy. He hadn’t been a spy for nothing. And he still had a little time to be patient.

  “Well?” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “You do understand, don’t you? I shan’t marry you, Ian, and nothing you say will change my decision.”

  “You’ve made that perfectly clear,” he said in a neutral tone.

  She eyed him with suspicion. “So you won’t pursue this any further?”

  “No.” Not until I think of a suitable strategy for it.

  She seemed startled by his easy acquiescence. “And my refusal of your proposal won’t affect our agreement?”

  “What agreement?”

  “That I won’t write anything about you in my column, and you won’t expose me.”

  He’d forgotten about that. Bloody hell, that was perfect! She was handing him his strategy on the proverbial platter! He could use her fear of exposure to his advantage.

  Turning away, he clasped his hands together behind his back and strolled the room as if deep in thought. “That’s a different matter entirely, isn’t it? Thanks to the false insinuations in your most recent column, I now have the reputation of being a coward and a liar, which will make it difficult for me to find a wife. In essence, you’ve ‘ruined’ me, yet you refuse to do the honorable thing and marry me. So why shouldn’t I expose you?”

  “Don’t be absurd! I haven’t ‘ruined’ you—surely many women would marry you for your fortune and your title alone!”

  Halting near the bed, he shrugged. “It’s not easy to find a wife when one has my reputation. I’ve looked for two years.” She needn’t know that he’d been more particular than most, which was partly responsible for his current dilemma. “In that time, the closest I’ve come to an actual engagement was with your friend Katherine, and you ended that with your revelations about my private life.”

  “Revelations that were true! It’s not my fault you have a mistress!”

  “Even if Miss Greenaway were my mistress, which she isn’t,” he said evenly, “it was you who exposed my association with her, thus destroying my engagement. In the process, you drove Katherine to elope with a man who might very well be a fortune hunter. Your meddling cost me and your friend a great deal. Surely you’ll admit that.”

  She sniffed. “I admit only that I wrote what my conscience dictated.”

  Sometimes he found her bloody self-righteousness almost amusing. “And in the second column? Did your conscience also dictate that you make baseless assumptions about my war career?”

  Guilt suffused her face, as he’d known it would. “All right, I’ll admit that was badly done, and I regret it.” She set her shoulders with stubborn determination. “But I can set the record straight in Lord X’s next col—”

  “How? I assure you, Wellington won’t repeat his words to Gideon. No one in the government will acknowledge me. And if you present only rumor, that will make your readers doubt me more, not less. No, you’ve opened that Pandora’s box, and you’ll never be able to shut it.”

  “What do you want from me? I can’t marry you, Ian!”

  “Yet I still need a wife.” He rubbed his chin, casting her a speculative glance. “So why don’t you provide me with a replacement for yourself.”

  Clearly, he’d startled her. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know many young women, and you have the ear of society even without your column. I’m sure you could find me someone to marry.”

  “Find you a wife?” The panic in her expression pleased him inordinately. “Don’t be ridiculous! I-I wouldn’t know who or how or—”

  “Then you plan to leave me in this situation?”

  “Yes. No! I-I mean—” She broke off, her eyes narrowing. “You act as if you must marry at once. But if you’ll only wait until the gossip dies down—”

  “I can’t,” he bit out, then cursed himself when her brow knit in confusion.

  “Why not?”

  After years of spying, coming up with a plausible reason for his urgency took only a second’s thought, especially since it was almost true. “Searching for a wife takes me away from my estate. I’ve spent two fruitless years on the endeavor; I can ill afford another.” A sudden inspiration hit him. “And consider this—you spend a great deal of time at social events advancing your profession, while I spend the same time looking for a wife. It would make perfect sense for us to help each other in our endeavors.”

  With a wary look, she folded her arms over her chest. “Each other? Exactly how would you help me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “By not exposing your real identity, of course.”

  Alarm lit her features. “You mean if I don’t find you a wife, you’ll expose me?”

  He suppressed a smile. “Let’s just say that your refusal to help me with my problem will encourage me to start a rumor or two about Lord X’s true identity. You could hard
ly blame me for that, given the ‘rumors’ you’ve spread about me.”

  Gliding away from the fireplace, she wandered to the dressing table. She braced her hands on the greenish wood surface and stared into the mirror as if to find answers in her reflection. His gut tightened at the sight. He didn’t like playing these games, but he saw no other way to secure her.

  And secure her he would, no matter what stratagem he must use. He’d have that waist-length hair scattered across a pillow and those hands clutching him close. He’d have those honey-sweet lips and that lissome body, rampant with sensual secrets. And yes, that bloody sharp mind of hers would be his, too. He wanted it all. As soon as he could get it.

  In the mirror, he saw her gaze shift to him, haunted, reluctant. Bitter. “To think that a few minutes ago, I called you a gentleman.”

  The accusation stung, but not enough to change his mind. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said softly. “And your mistake lies in underestimating me. I’m not a gentleman when it comes to getting what I want. You should have learned that by now.”

  Folding her arms over her breasts like a Christian maid meeting the heathens, she faced him. “What if I do as I threatened before? Find out your secrets and print them?”

  “Come now, Felicity, do you really want war between us? Over the mere possibility of helping with my hunt for a wife?” He stepped toward her. “I’m not asking you to drag a woman into the church for me. I merely want you to praise me to your unattached female friends, introduce me here and there, and try to negate the effects of your most recent column. Surely you don’t think me undeserving of anyone simply because I don’t suit you. Am I so evil as all that?”

  The starch went out of her posture. Bending her head, she fiddled with the lace ties of her wrapper. “N-No, of course not.”

  He pressed his advantage. “Think of the opportunity this will afford you to make my life miserable. You can choose only sharp-tongued women or ugly women or even cruel women. In my current state of desperation, I’ll take nearly anyone you find me.”