The Dangerous Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “There won’t be a wedding if I don’t talk to her now.” Shaking off the woman’s hand, he opened the door to the vestibule as Felicity reached the top step. “You’re late.”

  Her head shot up and she halted so abruptly she nearly lost her balance. Reaching out, he caught her by the arm to steady her.

  “Ian! Yes, I am…I didn’t mean to be, but…Good Lord, have you been standing there long?”

  “Half an hour. And yes, I saw you drive up with Miss Greenaway.”

  In the ethereal paleness of her face, her eyes shone dark and mysterious as the sea. “It’s not what you think—”

  “You don’t want to know what I think, I assure you.” He hauled her inside the vestibule, then turned to find Jordan and Mrs. Box regarding him uneasily, like edgy members of a Greek tragedy chorus. He leveled a black look on both of them. “Jordan, go tell the vicar the wedding will begin shortly, and fetch James, since he’s giving Felicity away. Mrs. Box, join Sara and Emily in the choir room. Tell them Felicity will be there in a moment to dress.”

  When the housekeeper hesitated, shooting Felicity an anxious glance, Felicity said, “It’s all right. Go on. I need to speak to Ian alone.”

  Her calm tone only further agitated his temper. As soon as the others disappeared, he faced her with a scowl. “Well? What explanation can you possibly have for this?”

  “I’m truly sorry I’m late, but we were talking, and the time slipped away—”

  “You know very well I’m not referring to your lateness,” he interrupted. “Why in God’s name did you go see Miss Greenaway? And what do you mean, you were talking? What about?”

  “You, of course. What else?”

  The orchestra from hell now howled in his head. “What did she say about me?”

  “Nothing important.” With an air of distraction, she turned away to survey the vestibule. “This is a very nice church, Ian. Is it the one you attend?”

  “Damn it, Felicity!” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. “What the bloody hell did she tell you?”

  Her gaze met his, cool, composed. “What if she told me the truth?”

  He didn’t have to ask what truth. My God, no. Surely not. Surely if Miss Greenaway had told her the truth, Felicity wouldn’t be standing here. She’d be running away from him as far as her meager funds would carry her. Wouldn’t she?

  Only when she reached up to pry his fingers from her shoulders did he realize he’d been digging them into her flesh.

  She didn’t release them, however, but clasped them in hers. “She told me nothing, Ian, that you hadn’t already told me. She said you swore her to secrecy. And that you would have to tell me yourself.”

  The furious pounding in his head eased, but only a little. “So she didn’t satisfy your foolish curiosity about things that don’t matter?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you came here anyway.”

  Her brief smile reassured him. “Yes. One thing she did tell me was that your secret isn’t likely to hurt me.”

  “I told you that myself.” It was far more likely to hurt him by turning her against him, which was why he wouldn’t speak of it until he had her wedded, bedded, and pregnant. And why he ignored her expectant look now. “What else did she tell you?”

  She sighed. “She also said you’d be a good husband and treat me well.”

  A faint hope sprouted inside him. “And you believed her?”

  “I believe you have the potential to be a good husband.” Her tone grew frosty. “But not if you continue to treat me the way you did the other night. Your secrecy is bad enough, but to threaten to hasten my financial ruin in such a despicable manner—” She lifted her chin a notch. “I do not like being bullied, Ian.”

  The extent of that dislike was apparent in every rigid line of her slender body. He ground his teeth together. He’d already planned to apologize, but now that the moment was come the words seemed stuck in his throat. “I did what I thought was right.”

  “You thought it was right to force me?”

  He dragged his hands from hers. “It was the only way to make you realize the wisdom of marrying me.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?” She crossed her arms over her faded wool bodice.

  With a groan, he glanced away. “No.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have forced you.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.”

  “So if I don’t marry you, you’ll do nothing to stop me?”

  His gaze shot to hers, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. My God, would she refuse him now? With everyone waiting in the church? He scanned her face for some sign of what she intended.

  And saw none. Yet he knew that only one answer would show his sincerity, however much it pricked his pride to give it. “No. Yes. I mean I’ll do nothing to stop you.”

  The blood thundered in his ears as he waited for her response, but she wasn’t finished with him yet. “I have one more question. If you answer it to my satisfaction, I’ll marry you, Ian.”

  That put him on his guard. “If you mean those tales of Lady Brumley’s—”

  “No. It’s something that…has been troubling me since you made love to me. Why did you choose me to marry? Why not any of those other women you courted?”

  Sara had asked him the same thing, and his answer hadn’t changed. “Because I want you more than any of them.”

  For the first time since they’d begun this ludicrous discussion, she looked agitated. “If by wanting me, you mean desire, I should warn you I still intend not to share your bed until we work out our differences.”

  “Fine.” That particular threat didn’t worry him. No woman with Felicity’s passions abstained from pleasure after she’d had a taste of it. Not when the man with her was bent on seduction. “But that wasn’t what I meant. I want you, the person Felicity. No other woman will suffice. You…intrigue me.” At her slow smile, he grew inexplicably nettled. “And I don’t know why, so don’t ask me to elaborate further or to spout a lot of nonsense about your virtues.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. If you begin cataloging my virtues, you’re certain to add my flaws as well, and I’m sure the latter outweigh the former in your mind.” Her smile broadened. “But I suppose that answer will do. For now, at least.”

  The extent of his relief staggered and alarmed him, so much so that he couldn’t keep the harshness out of his voice. “Then may we please have a wedding?”

  “Oh, very well. I mean, you’ve gone to so much trouble, after all. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Or humiliate you publicly.”

  He snorted. “Yes, you’re always so careful on that score.”

  A grin was her only response. But as she drew her hands from his and hurried to the stairs that led up to the choir room, he felt the casing of ice around his chest start to melt. He didn’t care what she threatened about not bedding him. Let her have her bit of fun and think she was in control. As long as the wedding went on and she became his wife once and for all, she could threaten whatever she wished.

  Because in the end, he would win.

  This is a most peculiar wedding, Felicity thought. The bride given away by her twelve-year-old brother. Only two attendants, and they were sister and brother—Sara standing up for her and Jordan standing up for Ian. And a former pirate captain flanking the bride’s squirming triplet brothers on the left while a housekeeper sat on the right. The only other guest was Emily, so it was both a motley assortment and small.

  Yet they made up for it by being merry beyond their size, more merry than the bride and groom, to be sure. As the vicar read the service, Jordan smirked and Sara smiled indulgently. Mrs. Box cried tears of joy from the beginning, while the boys wiggled and grinned in the pew, only too delighted to add a viscount to the family. And the generally stern-faced Gideon actually looked pleased at the whole affair, even while darting out a hand to subdue the antics of one triplet or another.

  As t
he vicar read the vows, Felicity stole a glance at her husband-to-be, looking so tall and strong in his white velvet waistcoat and his tail coat of dark blue saxony with gilt buttons. One would have thought from his unruffled countenance that this wedding was as easy for him as a ride in the country.

  But she knew better. There’d been that moment in the vestibule when she’d glimpsed the depth of his uncertainty, the sheer intensity of his desire to marry her and his equally intense fear that she might not. That glimpse had prodded her forward when every thought in her head had told her this was madness.

  Somewhere inside his cool façade lay a heart so bruised that he couldn’t love until it was healed. And she wanted to heal it. She had to. For she’d already lost her heart to him, and she wasn’t giving up until he’d done the same.

  Ian began to repeat the vows, and the steadiness of his deep voice soothed her worries. It will be all right. Somehow I’ll make it all right.

  When it was her turn, she spoke slowly, the words weighing down her tongue, for they were most solemn vows. If she were wrong about Ian, they might one day rise up to haunt her. But his stalwart presence at her side gave her the strength to finish them.

  She and Ian exchanged rings. She gave him her father’s old wedding ring—it was all she could afford—but the one Ian slid on her finger was obviously new and costly. He’d certainly meant it when he’d promised to be a generous husband.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the vicar intoned.

  Her blood clamored foolishly as Ian faced her and lifted her veil. She’d forgotten about this part of the ceremony, and it had been two days since he’d last kissed her. His kiss was swift and circumspect, a mere press of his lips to hers, but flames scorched her lips where he’d touched them, and fire rose up in her loins. Nor could she mistake the possessive glint in his midnight eyes as he drew back from her. It found an answer in the smile she couldn’t keep from springing to her lips.

  Oh, but she was a hopeless case. His every motion called to her senses, which in turn clamored for his attentions. A glance here, a touch there…any and all sparked flames in naughty places.

  And she thought to resist this? She hardly even noticed the wedding guests’ broad smiles as she and Ian walked down the aisle. His gloved hand covered hers where it was tucked in the crook of his elbow, but even the chaste contact proved too much for her wild imagination, which kept seeing his naked hands on her breasts and belly and thighs.

  She swallowed. Thank God they both wore gloves, or their hands would surely meld together from the heat of her thoughts. In a sensual haze, she let him lead her into the vestibule. In the same sensual haze, she went with him and the vicar into the chamber where they signed all the necessary papers.

  Though it was only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before they walked out of the church to the carriage that would take them to the wedding breakfast Sara had insisted upon giving them. By the time they reached his carriage her body was awash with accursed need, and all from just the mildest of husbandly contacts.

  If she could only escape him for a moment, only catch her breath before Ian had her to himself. But that was impossible. Now they would be alone in the carriage all the way to Sara’s breakfast. Well, he would surely not attempt anything in so short a distance. Maybe that would give her time to clamp down on her wicked urges before they set off on the two-hour journey to his estate.

  Unfortunately, once they were in his carriage, he took the seat next to her. The curtains were closed, and the coach was as intimate as any bedchamber. She groaned aloud at the thought, and he shot her a concerned glance.

  “Was the wedding not acceptable?” he asked as the coach set off.

  “The wedding was fine,” was all she could manage. His carriage was roomy, but she couldn’t avoid touching him when he shared her seat, and the press of his thigh to hers offered new temptations. Having shared a bed with the man should have quelled all her body’s eager stammerings and starts, but if anything, it made them worse.

  “I’m glad it met with your approval,” he said. “I meant to tell you, your choice of a gown is excellent. How did you manage it on such short notice?”

  “It was Mama’s wedding gown. Mrs. Box altered it for me.”

  “With admirable success. It fits you well.”

  Good Lord, must he say it in that rumbling male voice that made the most innocuous of comments seem seductive? “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  Catching her hand, he laced his fingers with hers. “You look lovely in it.”

  Now that he’d intended to be seductive. She mustn’t let the conversation wander in that direction. “If I’d had time,” she said, trying to sound irritated, “I could have had one made that was more fashionable. But you were in such a dratted hurry to have your bargain sealed.”

  She’d hoped to annoy him enough to drop her hand, but his grip merely shifted so that his thumb could stroke across her wrist. She could feel the sensuous touch even through her gloves.

  “I compromised you, remember? We had to move swiftly to preserve your reputation.”

  “Yes, and to gain possession of any heir you may have sired. You paid quite dearly for that heir of yours.”

  That didn’t work either. As if he knew why she goaded him, he chuckled, then released her hand, but only to draw off his gloves with slow movements that turned her insides to mush.

  She swallowed and added, “Well, you may find you got the worst of the bargain.”

  He tossed the gloves aside. “How so?”

  “Papa’s debts are rather substantial; my brothers are likely to eat you into the poorhouse; and I myself may decide it’s time to indulge my taste for luxuries heretofore inaccessible to me.”

  With a laugh, he settled back against the padded seat and took her gloved hands in his. He turned one over and lifted it to press a kiss into her curving palm. “You may indulge yourself to your heart’s content, querida. When you and your father’s trustee discussed the terms of the marriage settlement yesterday, I’m sure he told you of the allowance I’m providing you and your brothers.”

  “Yes.” In truth, she had more “pin money” per annum than she could spend in a lifetime. Lifting her face to his, she grumbled, “I don’t see how you can possibly get your money’s worth out of me.”

  She cursed her unthinking tongue when desire flared in his gaze. “It would have been a bargain at thrice the price,” he said, his voice thick with need.

  Oh, no. She knew what that look meant, knew what it signaled. Yet like a fool she stared transfixed as he bent his head with infinite slowness toward her. By the time his mouth covered hers, warm, firm, and scented with wine, she ached for it. The knowledge that he was her husband now, that this was not only accepted, but expected, further eroded her will, softening her, making her relent so gradually she didn’t recognize it as relenting until too late.

  He took his time, leisurely partaking of her mouth, first with softly caressing lips and then with tender strokes of his tongue. When she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, he hauled her onto his lap so he could plunder her mouth in earnest. The kiss was no longer tender or gentle. It was the explosion of all his hunger and hers, mouths seeking pleasure with unashamed enthusiasm.

  One of his hands slid her gown and petticoats up her legs until they cleared the tops of her garters. Then he was finding the aching place between her legs and sliding his thumb inside the slit in her drawers to tease the soft flesh into a hard little kernel. She shifted half-consciously to allow him better access, and he took full advantage of it, slipping a finger deep inside her slick passage. He stroked her with such boldness, it wrung a shocked gasp from her that he swallowed with his kiss.

  It felt so wanton to indulge in these caresses when only a curtain and a sheet of glass separated them from the rest of London. The thought excited her beyond reason. And she wasn’t the only one excited. His arousal swelled beneath her bottom as surely as her own arousal throbbed between her thighs.

&nbs
p; She wouldn’t even have noticed the carriage halting if he hadn’t abruptly stopped kissing and caressing her. Even after he drew back, her head still spun giddily.

  Then he gazed down at her, and his mouth—his teasing, wicked mouth—curved into a smile. “I’ll have my heir by Martinmas next,” he reminded her in a whisper. “Or sooner.”

  As the reminder sank in and his eyes gleamed with triumph, all her pleasure vanished. Drat him, drat him, drat him! He already had her sitting on his lap like some tart with his hand up her skirts! How could she have let him win so easily?

  “Let go of me,” she whispered, unable to think of any witty rejoinder to hide her mortification.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He had the audacity to thumb her tight little nodule of flesh again.

  She yanked his hand out from beneath her skirts. “Yes. We’re here. It’s time to go inside.”

  “We could head straight on to Chesterley—it’s a good two-hour drive; plenty of time for…private enjoyments. I’m perfectly willing to forego Sara’s breakfast—”

  “Well, I’m not,” she snapped, wriggling from his lap. “I’ve had nothing to eat since dawn, and I must have sustenance, my lord.”

  “I can give you sustenance, querida,” he whispered as she reached for the door.

  Frantic to be free of him, she shoved it open. “Man doth not live by bed alone,” she quipped before stepping nimbly from the carriage without waiting for him to hand her out. “Nor doth woman.”

  He grinned as he followed her out. “Very well. I can wait until later.”

  “There will be no ‘later,’” she murmured as much to him as to herself. “Next time, I’ll be better prepared.”

  Refusing the arm he offered, she hurried up the entrance steps, her anger increasing when she glanced back to see him tugging on his gloves. The gloves he’d deliberately removed so he could fondle her. He’d done that on purpose, drat him, to prove he could seduce her whenever he liked. Ooh, she should have expected that from him. He saw her refusal to bed him as a challenge, and Ian never backed down from a challenge.