The boy’s face brightened. “You…you mean, like you told that nasty driver not to bother Lissy? And he listened and went away?”
“Yes,” Ian said solemnly. “Exactly like that.”
“You promise to stay until he comes? You promise?”
“I swear it,” Ian said with a fierceness that warmed Felicity’s heart.
She held her breath while William screwed up his little face in thought. Then, tugging Ian’s hand into his arms, he clutched it against his chest and sank back against the pillow. “All right. The monster’ll listen to you. You’re big, and you can beat him up.”
She watched in bewilderment, then envy as William closed his eyes, Ian’s hand held tightly to his heart like a precious toy. Within moments, she could hear the blessed sound of even breathing and see his features relax into sleep.
Tears stung her eyes. How many times had she assured him it was only a dream, yet been unable to calm his fears, having to wait until he exhausted himself with crying before leaving him? But Ian came in here with his commanding presence and calm assurances, and William felt safe.
She’d known the boys missed Papa, known that they often ran to Joseph for attention because the footman was the only man in the household. Until now she hadn’t realized the full extent of their longing for a man’s special strength. Her poor, fatherless tin soldiers. She wiped away tears, but more filled her eyes, coursing down her cheeks to drip off her chin and onto the wrinkled sheets.
“I’m sorry,” rumbled a voice from the other side of the bed. “I am so sorry, Felicity. You were right, and I was wrong. I should never have taken them into that damned room.” Her throat tightened when she saw him brush the hair back from William’s forehead in a paternal gesture.
“It’s not that. This probably sounds foolish, but you made him feel better when I couldn’t. I guess I’m a bit…jealous.”
“You’ve no reason. It’s my fault he suffered in the first place. I ought to be shot.”
Strong words indeed, coming from a man who generally hid his emotions. Her heart twisted when she saw the pain harshening his already rough features.
She tried to tease him out of his somber mood. “Shot? Oh, no, much too tame.” She glanced at the other boys, who were thankfully already asleep, then added, “The punishment should fit the crime. Beheading, that’s what you need. Then we could add your head to those stakes in Madame Tussaud’s exhibit.”
His gaze shot to hers, mirthless and even more wounded.
“I’m joking, Ian. You mustn’t blame yourself. You couldn’t know how he’d react.”
“But you did.”
“I’ve lived with him all his life.” She kept her tone light. “Besides, you probably never had nightmares yourself and had no idea what could bring them on. I imagine you were like Georgie, able to sleep easily after the most frightening adventures. William has an active imagination, I’m afraid.” She gave a shaky laugh. “He tries to be as tough as Georgie, but never quite succeeds.”
Ian said nothing for several moments, fixing his gaze on William’s chest, which now rose and fell in perfectly contented sleep. Then a world-weary look flitted across Ian’s face. “I never had childhood adventures, frightening or not. So I never had nightmares.”
Felicity caught her breath. Eager to seize the rare moment, she exclaimed, “No adventures! Every boy has adventures. Surely you must have run wild in the woods, or sneaked away to a bear-baiting, or something.”
“No.” He took a great, shuddering breath. “I was a very…dutiful son. I was never allowed to be anything else. Father believed that heirs should be prepared for their responsibilities at a young age, which meant not indulging them in frivolities. So there were no wild escapades in the forest. My mornings and evenings were spent with a tutor and my afternoons with my father, who took me over the estate and made me memorize all the tenants’ names and how everything worked.”
What a dreadful way to spend one’s childhood. She’d never considered that aspect of being a great lord, but with extensive property probably came extensive duties. “Is that why all the lords run so wild when they come to London? Because their fathers are such hard taskmasters?”
“Not from what Jordan has told me. My father was unique. I suppose I should be grateful for it, since his ‘preparation’ has been useful in my management of Chesterley. But once in a while…” He trailed off.
“Once in a while, you would have enjoyed an outing or two.”
He managed a smile. “I sound like a spoiled child.”
“Or a man who never got to be any kind of child at all.”
His gaze shot to hers and held. For that brief moment, she read so much yearning in him that she marveled she hadn’t seen it before. Then he flattened his expression and glanced away. “It proved advantageous. It enabled me to endure…later happenings more easily.”
“What about your mother?” Felicity asked softly. “Did she agree with your father’s philosophy?”
He was silent so long she began to think he might not answer. Then he sighed. “Who knows? She never said. She feared crossing him. They married because Father needed her fortune to pay off my grandfather’s debts. It was arranged between him and her family in Spain. She was terrified of Father and let him rule her life—and mine—until the day she died.”
A lump formed in her throat at the thought of Ian as a child, being fed the gruel of duty with little love to sweeten it. “When did she die? How did she die?”
“Why so many questions?” he countered with an arched eyebrow. “More grist for your mill?”
She ignored the barb. “No, indeed. I’m very particular about my grist these days. I’ve sworn off the St. Clair family entirely. You see, the head of the family is an arrogant wretch who causes trouble for me whenever I write about him.”
“See that you remember that,” he warned, but he was smiling now.
“So? Will you tell me about your mother’s death?”
He shrugged. “It’s no great secret. An epidemic of smallpox hit a neighboring town when I was seventeen. Father didn’t believe in inoculations—he thought they would cause the disease rather than prevent it—but I’d heard of Jenner’s vaccine at school, so I consulted our local physician. On his advice, I went behind Father’s back to have everyone on the estate inoculated.”
She couldn’t think of a single one of the seventeen-year-old lords she’d known who might take such an initiative. How amazing that Ian had. No doubt he’d saved hundreds of lives with his action.
“Unfortunately, Mother refused to go against Father’s wishes as usual. She died of the disease.” He looked up from the bed, his eyes glittering like shattered onyx in the dim candlelight. “And he blamed me, the stubborn old goat. He said I’d brought smallpox to the estate with the inoculations.”
“How unfair!” Her heart lurched at the thought of a young Ian forced to shoulder the blame for his mother’s death.
He shrugged. “Father had firm ideas about right and wrong, and I’d committed one of his cardinal sins by acting without his consent. He never forgave me for it.”
“Is that why you fled to the Continent?” she whispered unthinkingly. “To escape your father and his unfairness?”
It was as if a curtain dropped over his face. “Something like that.” Before she could comment, he glanced down at her brother, and said curtly, “Do you think it’s safe to leave William now?”
Her breath grew leaden in her chest. She should have known Ian wouldn’t answer that question. Even after all the time they’d spent together, he didn’t trust her.
“Felicity?” he prodded. “Will the boy be all right alone?”
She straightened her shoulders with a sigh. “Yes, I think so. He never has more than one nightmare.”
He released William’s hand and stood. “Then we might as well have that claret.”
Claret? She could hardly think about claret right now. All she could think of was the poor boy Ian had been and the torme
nted man he’d become, the one who wouldn’t speak of his past even to his friends. Now she could see why he might have turned to his aunt in his loneliness. Why he might have been driven to do the unthinkable.
No, she mustn’t think of that, or plague herself again with questions. Yet as she rose and followed Ian to the door, uneasiness built in her chest. He still wanted to talk to her alone.
Yesterday, she might have been foolish enough to believe she could resist his advances. After today she knew better—where Ian was concerned, she had the fortitude of a hare. And his revelations had softened her toward him most dangerously.
When they moved into the hall barely lit by its one candle, she realized she needed the candelabra that she’d forgotten in the nursery. “Wait,” she began, turning back toward the door.
He caught her around the waist and drew her into his arms. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” Then his mouth took hers in a searing kiss that stole her breath and severely battered her will.
She wound her arms about his neck. If she hadn’t secretly awaited this all day herself, she might be able to resist him. But it was impossible now. She’d lain awake too many nights remembering their caresses. Too many times she’d watched him dance with another and dreamed it was her instead.
Their kiss was everything she’d remembered and more. Warm breaths melting into one…the rasp of his whiskers against her cheeks…the familiar but faint scent of tobacco clinging to his hair.
After he had her limp in the knees—and everywhere else—he drew back to smile down at her. “This is better than claret, don’t you think?”
Better than any liquor she could imagine. Which was why she absolutely mustn’t let him do it again. Taking him by surprise, she wrenched free and raced toward the staircase. When she heard him curse behind her, she quickened her steps, but she could hardly do more than feel her way along in the faint light from the single candle at the top of the stairs. “You must leave, Ian,” she cried. “It’s late.”
“I’m not leaving,” he growled as he hurried down the steps after her.
She’d hoped to outstrip him, but that was impossible. Apparently the man possessed the eyes of a cat, for he caught up with her just as she reached the next floor.
He swung her around to face him, his eyes reflecting the darkest desires. “There’s no reason for me to leave, and you know it. I’m tired of this farce. I’m tired of going to bed wanting you and waking up wanting you more. I’m tired of pretending to court other women merely to make you jealous.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“Yes, that’s why I courted them,” he said, correctly interpreting her reaction. “You’re the only one I’ve wanted since that night at the Worthings.”
She swallowed hard. She should have known it was a ploy all along. She tried to summon up fury, but all she felt was a treacherous thrill that he’d gone to so much trouble to gain her.
“If you despised me, it would be one thing,” he went on in a low voice. “But you don’t. You want me, too. And the perfect solution to all this bloody wanting is for us to marry. So you and I shall come to an agreement. Tonight.”
The thought of marrying him tempted her fiercely, not only because of “this bloody wanting,” as he called it. The boys liked him. And he would give her a future—security and a home of her own, free of financial worry.
A home of her own where her husband didn’t trust her with the truth about his life. Though he’d revealed a little about himself this evening, the important things he still kept secret. How could she live with a man whose past was so dark even he wouldn’t hold it up to the light? Could she entrust her future and the boys’ to such a man? More importantly, could she gift her heart to someone who didn’t love her, who only wanted her because he needed an heir?
She could not. “I told you before, I won’t marry you.” Drat it, why must she sound so hesitant, as if she didn’t even believe her own words? Perhaps she too was tired of struggling against the feelings he roused, of being wise about the future.
“Then I must convince you otherwise.” His shadowed face hovered near hers, overwhelming, tempting. “It’s time you see what you’re denying yourself.”
Her heart beat faster. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you.” He kissed her again, this time so thoroughly she felt dizzy. Angling his head, he found a virgin patch of skin under her ear and kissed it, then nipped her earlobe. “Where’s your bedchamber, querida? Where can we be private?”
She blinked at him in dazed confusion. “Wh-what?” She felt as if someone had filled her mind with cotton.
“Never mind,” he growled. “I’ll find it. Or someplace equally acceptable.” Scooping her up in his arms, he strode down the darkened hall.
She would have fought him—really, she would have—if he hadn’t kissed her again. It wasn’t much of a kiss, a mere brush of his mouth against hers, but it left her aching for more. As he continued down the hall, past the open doors of her study, her parents’ old bedchamber, and Mama’s sewing room, she marveled at her reluctance to stop him.
What mad spell had he spun about her? Everything seemed unreal, as if in a dream, a dream where he belonged to her in every sense of the word. He paused outside her bedchamber, then entered it. After setting her down, he shut the door behind them, turning the key with the twist of one hand.
The click of the lock jerked her out of his spell. “We shouldn’t be here…we should—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. “How did you know this was my room, Ian? Have you been spying on me?”
He laughed and shrugged out of his frock coat. “This is the only room on this floor with a fire going and the bed turned down. It wasn’t difficult to deduce.”
Then she realized what he’d meant by saying he would show her what she was denying herself. Not a few kisses and caresses like before. Seduction. What a dunce she’d been not to realize it sooner! “Ian, this is wrong!”
“Not in the least. As I recall, this all started because you were determined to make sure Katherine went into marriage with her eyes open. Well, I’m offering you a similar opportunity. If you’re determined to be a spinster, you should go into spinsterhood with your eyes open.” He stripped off his waistcoat and went to work on his cravat. “I intend to open your eyes, to show you what you’ll be missing if you deny me, querida.”
A weakness seized her limbs. She wished he’d stop calling her “darling” in that husky voice. Spanish or no, it did naughty things to her. “My eyes are completely open. You opened them the last time you touched me, if you’ll recall.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I recall very well. I recall the way you kissed me back, the way you rode my thigh, the way you groaned when I touched your breasts.”
The frank words shocked and titillated her at the same time, sending wild and indecent images surging through her memory. Her skin heated under his knowing look, and she had to glance away before he could see the effect of his words on her.
“But I didn’t open your eyes completely,” he went on. “That’s the only reason you refused my proposal of marriage. I wonder what your answer would have been if I’d taken you to bed instead.” Approaching her, he lifted his hand to cup her burning cheek. His thumb dipped down to stroke her throat, then outline her chin before caressing her bottom lip silkily. “Shall we find out?”
Why couldn’t she say no? Why did the word stick in her throat, damn him? “I-I don’t think…that’s wise.” But she said it on a breathy little gasp, and her head reeled from the intimacy of his fingers against her face, not to mention the jumble of images his words had provoked.
He clasped her waist, bringing her back into his embrace. “Yes, but since when did you ever do what was wise, querida?”
He had a point, she thought. Then he was kissing her again, and she was lost. Her reason shut down, along with her will and her common sense. All of them fell subject to the beating of her heart and the sheer wanton desires trampling through her unruly bo
dy.
It didn’t matter what her mind screamed at her—that he’d primed her for this since that night at the Worthings, that it was a mistake, that she’d regret it later. Right now she didn’t regret it. She couldn’t. And she couldn’t even hate him for using her weakness, her secret and shameful urges, against her.
She opened her mouth to his bold tongue as eagerly as the wanton she evidently was. His hands unfastened the buttons at the back of her gown with amazing deftness, and all she could do was twine her arms about his neck. She matched his every wicked impulse with one of her own, abandoning herself to his greater experience in a fever of need. When his hand slid inside her gown to stroke her thinly clad back, a luxurious sigh escaped her lips.
“I like to touch you,” he whispered as he dropped his hand lower inside her gown to squeeze her bottom. “And you like having me touch you, don’t you?”
She buried her flaming face in his shoulder, unable to admit aloud the painful truth—that she craved his hands, that she wanted them all over her body. Good Lord, how shameless of her! A sensible, respectable woman would evict him this minute!
Obviously, she was neither. But how could she resist the glittering temptation he presented? It was like having her sultan step out of her dreams and into her bedchamber. He transformed the dreary room with its simple oak furnishings and ragged curtains into a magical oasis where any sensual act was acceptable, even expected.
Dark eyes blazing with promises, he stepped back and tore impatiently at the buttons of his shirt. She waited with indrawn breath to see what lay beneath the civilized veneer.
She shivered at the sight. Skin the color of coffee with milk, skin that attested to his mixed heritage, his wild Spanish blood. A patch of rich, springy hair arrowed downward—as black as that on his head, but curly where the other was straight. As he opened the shirt, her gaze followed the trail down to where the hair thinned into a line, then disappeared beneath his waistband.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked, the sound deep and rumbling.
The Dangerous Lord Page 22
