The Dangerous Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  LORD X, THE EVENING GAZETTE,

  DECEMBER 30, 1820

  Ian stood frozen with his wife’s mouth on his. Damn her, he couldn’t let this happen! Bedding her would make it impossible for him to annul the marriage. Why hadn’t he considered his wife’s passionate temperament in all his earlier strategizing?

  Because he hadn’t known she fancied herself in love with him. That’s why she was trying this damned maneuver. She thought that because they’d made love she was in love, which wasn’t the same thing. The things he’d told her had made no difference, because they were only a fraction of the real horror. Once she learned the truth about that, her feelings of love would dissipate rapidly enough. So he ought to tell her everything. Then she would despise him, and the battle would be over.

  He reached up to pry her arms from around his neck, but she held on tight, and with his fingers around her wrists, he could feel her wildly beating pulse. But it was worse when she moved her lips on his. Damn it, they were sweet. Literally. Sweet with burgundy, making him think of ripe, luscious fruit…as ripe and luscious as the breasts crushed against his chest by her tiptoed stance.

  My God, those breasts. He itched to touch them. Ignoring her lips was manageable. Possibly. If he kept his mouth closed and didn’t breathe in her scent.

  But ignoring her body, the full length of it so soft against him, was impossible. Not when he’d mangled his sheets for a week trying not to think of having her again. He wasn’t a bloody stone, for God’s sake. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, trying frantically to unlock the hands manacled about his neck.

  She drew back and frowned up at him. “Have you forgotten how to kiss me, Ian?”

  “No,” he said hoarsely, fire eating him up inside. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

  A smile curled up her temptress’s lips. “Yes, you do. You’re just being stubborn, and I won’t have it. I want you to make love to me again.”

  Erotic images danced in his vision—of throwing her back on that bed and having his way with her. “No. We should talk. I have more to tell you—”

  “Later. I want to do this first.”

  Do it! Yes, yes! his body cried. Thankfully, his mind still functioned, and it said no, though the no grew feebler by the second.

  Then she flattened her lower body against his already burgeoning erection, and he had to struggle to remember why he would say no at all.

  “I want you, Ian. Now.” She released his neck suddenly, and he released her wrists even more quickly, but she only moved her hands to her hair, where she proceeded to remove the pins.

  He scowled at her. “Don’t do that.”

  “You give me no choice. If you won’t make love to me, you force me to resort to the same tactics I used on the morning after our wedding.”

  Bloody hell, what fevered images those words sent running through his head! And every image was of her sliding out of a pair of silk drawers and lifting one leg—

  He grabbed her hands and forced them to her sides. “I won’t let you do this.”

  “You can’t stop me, and you know it.” She ground her pelvis against his loins again, and he went a little mad. “If you don’t let me undress, I’ll resort to your tactics that morning—I’ll tell you exactly what I want to do to every part of your body.”

  A truly wicked look entered her eyes as she let her gaze trail slowly down his chin and neck. “You know that line of hair just there on your chest, the one that starts below your throat? I want to run my finger all the way down that line, very, very slowly.”

  Her sultry gaze mirrored the actions she described, skimming down his chest to the sash. His shaft strained to escape his stockinette smallclothes. If she didn’t shut up—

  “I want to follow that intriguing line of hair to your belly and once around your navel. I might even plant a kiss or two there. Yes, I believe I’ll continue on with kisses. I’ll scatter a few warm, wet kisses down your belly until my mouth reaches your hard—”

  He never let her finish. He crushed her mouth beneath his, devouring it, invading it with his tongue the second she parted her lips. Thoughts of annulments and plans and salving his conscience vanished. His wife was in his arms, and he wanted her.

  God, how he wanted her. Only Felicity could combine the most sensuous impulses of a courtesan and the wondering enjoyment of an innocent—a combination no man could resist. Certainly not he.

  He still held her hands at her sides, but didn’t resist when she dragged them free, then slid them inside his dressing gown to skim his ribs. When he felt her fumbling with the ties of his smallclothes, he aided her in unfastening them, then shimmied out of them and his dressing gown with astonishing speed.

  Her eagerness to undress him gave him license to undress her next, tearing at buttons, ripping at tangled tapes and ties, shoving and peeling and discarding layers of lacy feminine fluff until she wore only her chemise and stockings. Apparently she wore no drawers, and that realization stiffened him to a rigidity unsurpassed in his lifetime.

  Pulling back from her, he yanked at the ties of her chemise, knotting them so badly he swore under his breath. She made a little sound that prompted him to glance up, and her expression checked his haste at once. She looked alarmed.

  Of course. For all her teasing, she was still nearly an innocent. She’d completed the act only twice, and his violent haste in undressing her had shocked her.

  He forced himself to pause and take a breath instead of tossing her on the bed as he wanted to. She deserved better. She deserved none of this, but he couldn’t stop himself now, so he must make it good for her instead.

  If he could keep from going insane in the meantime.

  He needed a little distance. Releasing her chemise, he said hoarsely, “Take this off for me.” Then I won’t be tempted to rip it off and ravish you too quickly.

  Her cheeks grew rosy, but she nodded. Stepping back from him, she bent her head and concentrated on unknotting the ties of her chemise, which gave him a second to breathe. And to feast his eyes on the sight of her in her chemise. He’d never seen this one on her before. It was something a wife would wear on her honeymoon—made of a silky gauze thin enough to reveal more than it should and less than he wanted.

  It showed clearly the dark peach buds of her nipples where they pressed against the fabric, but the rest of her breasts remained cloaked. The feminine swell of her belly was hidden, but the hair of the luscious vee between her legs showed darkly beneath the opaque cloth. He had to will his hands to be still, will them not to rip the damned thing in half so he could feast on her naked body.

  She reached for the hem as if to draw it up over her head.

  “No,” he commanded. “Do it the way you did it the morning after our wedding. Lower it. Slowly.”

  Her gaze met his. Her alarm was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed excitement. She did as he asked, and as she revealed inch after inch of female flesh, his mouth went dry. Candlelight shimmered on her smooth skin. Her breasts were as lovely as he remembered, pert and firm and the shape he liked—not too large, for he’d never been fond of blowsy women.

  Then came her belly, with its fine dimple of a navel, and then…

  “You can drop the chemise,” eh rasped.

  She did, and he groaned. Tendrils of hair curled sweetly about the spot he wanted to kiss and caress and lick.

  She started to undo one garter, and he said, “Wait. Leave it on.” Leaning forward, he tugged her into his arms for a long, probing kiss. Then he lifted her bodily, and turned to set her on her feet on the bed so that she stood a few feet above him.

  “Ian, what are you—”

  “Shh,” he murmured as he skimmed his hands over her hips and thighs. Had a woman ever been so perfectly made? Or was it that his need for her made him see perfection everywhere? “Hold on to the bedpost, querida.”

  When she did as he bade, he took her other hand and placed it on his shoulder. Then he lifted the opposite leg and hooked it over his other sh
oulder, spreading her open for his gaze. And his mouth.

  “Ian?” she said, her skin pinkening everywhere.

  “Remember what I said I wanted to do to you that morning?” He planted a kiss on the band of thigh above her garter. “What I wanted to do with my tongue?”

  She gave a little gasp of surprise when he did precisely what he’d threatened, running his tongue slowly up the inside of her thigh to the outer edges of her curly hair.

  “Good Lord,” she whispered as his mouth found the place he craved kissing, “you can’t mean to…It’s…it’s…Ohhhhh, Ian…”

  She didn’t protest after that. He kissed her there in earnest, enjoying the taste of her, relishing her approving murmurs as he laved the petals of her skin with his tongue. She’d abandoned the bedpost, so both of her hands clutched his head to force it closer. He liked that, liked the way his wanton little wife threw herself into the most intimate of marital acts.

  Now if only he could keep from losing control. Her musky scent and eager undulations were building the tension in him, too, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without embarrassing himself.

  “Yes, yes…Ian,” she moaned, “yes…like that…oh, that’s even better…my God…my sweet God…”

  Her explosion came so quickly he had to anchor her hips against him to keep her from falling as the shudders swept her body and she cried out his name. She swayed there a moment as if suspended, her leg slipping off his shoulder.

  Then slowly she sank to her knees on the bed. She stared into his eyes, the dazed light of pleasure still shining in her face. “I never realized…”

  “Neither did I.” He’d never realized that giving pleasure to a woman could be so sublime. Or that he could want a woman urgently, yet want to please her even more. Or that he could find himself so enamored of her he never wanted to let her out of his sight.

  She glanced down at his erection, and her eyes went round. “What about…”

  He froze. He could end this now, and they could still have an annulment. She’d found her pleasure, so she wouldn’t quibble much if he didn’t find his.

  But she must have guessed his thoughts, for she murmured, “Oh, no, you don’t,” and pulled his head down to hers.

  After that, he was scarcely conscious of how she ended up laid out on the bed with her thighs parted and him kneeling between them. His cock was leading him, that’s all. Next thing he knew, he was sliding into her slick, welcoming passage.

  “My God, querida, you’re so warm.” Warm and tight and incredible. Was it possible to die of pleasure? Because if anybody could prompt it, it was his darling wife.

  Like a natural wanton, she clamped her legs instinctively about his hips, drawing him in, sucking him down into her. He couldn’t go slowly. Not a chance. She felt too good with her legs locked around him and her body straining up to meet his thrusts. He drove deep and hard…he couldn’t help himself.

  He wanted to be inside her so fully she could never forget him, never want to leave him. He wanted to imprint himself on her like a key pressed into the locksmith’s wax, so that only they two fit together.

  “You’ve lost…your chance…for an annulment,” he warned as he pounded into her.

  “Good.” She kissed him full on the mouth to seal the agreement. Her tongue darted inside to tease him, and he sucked hard on it, wanting…needing as much of her as he could get.

  She was his. Forever. The thought made him so glad, he drove to the hilt inside her and spilled his seed almost in the same instant.

  “I love you,” she cried against his mouth as she found her own release again. “I love you…I love you…I love you…”

  I love you, too, he thought in that instant. God help me, I love you, too.

  Which meant he had to tell her everything. He couldn’t let her go on imagining herself in love with him when she didn’t truly know him. She deserved to know what she’d just gotten herself into.

  But not now. In the morning. Let him have this one sweet night with her.

  Something tickled Felicity’s ear, dragging her up through the fog of sleep. A whisper. Someone was whispering her name in her ear. She snuggled deeper into the covers, which were tucked up under her chin. “Go away,” she grumbled.

  A male voice chuckled. “You can’t sleep all day, querida.”

  She opened one eye to glare at Ian, then shut it. “Why not?”

  “We’re leaving for London today, remember?”

  It took a second for that to sink in, but when it did, her eyes flew open. Ian sat on the edge of the bed beside her, his hand resting on her well-draped hip. He was already dressed, for pity’s sake. Of course, the room was flooded with light, which might have something to do with that.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Noon.”

  “Noon? Good Lord, I slept late!”

  “That’s understandable. You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  No, I didn’t, she thought, flushing. They’d had quite an evening. If he hadn’t sired an heir last night, it wasn’t for want of trying.

  A hot flood of pleasant memories made her smile coyly at him. “You didn’t get much sleep, either. Perhaps you should come back to bed.”

  He laughed. “In the words of the immortal Lord X, ‘Man doth not live by bed alone.’ You must get up, querida. I hope to be off by one o’clock.”

  She gazed up at him, her heart beating triple time. “Why so early?”

  “Don’t you want to spend a few hours with your brothers before the ball? And you’ll need time to dress.”

  A relieved sigh escaped her lips. “So you’re not…still going to visit that solicitor about the annulment.”

  He glanced away. “I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. Now that we’ve consummated the marriage, we can’t pursue the matter until we make sure you’re not pregnant. By then no judge with eyes will believe we haven’t had conjugal relations, even if you don’t prove to be pregnant.”

  The tinge of regret in his tone made her tip up her chin and say stoutly, “Good.”

  His gaze swung back to her. “We’ll see if you feel the same later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to talk. We should have talked about this last night before it was too late, but we were—”

  “I don’t regret last night.”

  The brief flicker of satisfaction in his eyes told her he didn’t either, no matter what he said. “I only hope you can say the same after we talk. But we can do that in the carriage on the way to London.” He grabbed the edge of the covers tucked up under her chin. “Now get out of bed and get dressed, lazybones. Or I’ll dress you myself.”

  With a taunting smile, he whisked back the covers, then froze. Apparently he’d forgotten she hadn’t donned a nightgown last night. His gaze trailed hungrily over her naked body.

  “Dress me?” she teased. “You’d never manage it.” She reached up and grabbed his cravat, then tugged him toward her.

  He went willingly. “I suppose we could leave a little later,” he conceded as he lowered his head to nibble on her ear. “An hour will do no harm.”

  “Or two. Or three.” She unbuttoned his waistcoat. “In the words of the immortal Lord X, passion must never be hurried.”

  “He never said that.”

  “He just did.” Then she muffled his laughter with her kiss.

  Four hours later, they entered the St. Clair carriage. All plans for stopping by the Taylor home had been abandoned now that they were so late, since she didn’t wish to excite her brothers by showing up for only an hour or so, then flitting off to a ball. They weren’t expecting her until tomorrow anyway, so she and Ian would go to the St. Clair town house and dress.

  Felicity sank back onto her seat, feeling warm, sated, and yes, loved. Ian had yet to say the words, but she felt his love in every caress, every look. She was sure he loved her. And one day she’d make him say the words. Just see if she didn’t.

  This w
ouldn’t be the day, however. Judging from the grim set to his face as he took the seat across from her, he was intent upon his “talk,” and it didn’t look as if it would be pleasant for either of them.

  The carriage set off, and they traveled a mile or so in silence with her watching out the window and dreading the coming discussion. Nor did the day look promising for it. The sunlight that had shone so brightly while they made love had vanished behind a blanket of sullen clouds that threatened snow. A bleak, dreary day, to be sure.

  Suddenly, Ian cleared his throat. “It’s time I told you everything.”

  Her heart pounded as she turned her gaze to his. “About what?” But she knew and braced herself for the worst.

  “My past. All that ‘truth’ you were so intent upon getting at a week ago.”

  “Why now?” It dawned on her that she feared knowing the truth almost as much as she wanted it. His telling her might change them both irrevocably.

  “You deserve to know. We can’t annul the marriage, but we could still dissolve it some other way. Divorce, separation, whatever you wish. I want you to know what kind of man you’ve married before you continue in this…illusion that you love me.”

  There was such pain in his countenance, it banished her reluctance to hear him. He needed to reveal the thorn in his heart, and she could endure it. “My love for you isn’t an illusion,” she said softly. “Nothing you can say will change it.”

  He glanced out the window, a muscle working in his jaw. “What if I…tell you I did something so awful it left several people’s lives in ruin?”

  “If you mean that story about your seduction of your aunt—”

  “The truth is worse than that—ten times worse.”

  Did he imply that his uncle’s darker accusation was the truth? No, she couldn’t believe it. “I know in my heart that you’re decent and good, no matter what you tell me.”

  “You think so?” He paused. “Very well. We’ll see what you think after you hear everything. You see, I didn’t seduce my aunt as Lady Brumley claimed, or even force myself on her as my uncle claimed.”