The Dangerous Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  A silence fell on the crowd at the duchess’s deliberate cruelty. No woman with an ounce of feeling would mention such a terrible accusation about a man to his wife.

  For a second, she was back in the Pelham library when the duchess had made those vile accusations to Papa and humiliated her.

  But the thought of Ian stiffened her spine. The bitter old witch hated all the women her husband had ever lusted after, whether those women had returned his lust or not. And now she sought to use Ian to degrade Felicity publicly.

  She fixed the duchess with a cool gaze. “Ian’s uncle? You mean Mr. Lennard?”

  “You know who I mean.”

  Felicity pasted a sympathetic look on her face. “The poor man. Is he still repeating that tale after all these years? It’s so sad. He never recovered after his wife’s death, you know. I think he blames himself, although it was purely accidental. She fell and hit her head while in his bedchamber. They were arguing—or so his mistress told me.”

  That took the duchess by surprise. “His mistress?”

  “Why, yes.” She hoped Miss Greenaway would forgive her for this as long as all names were kept out of it. “That woman I mentioned in the paper, the one on Waltham Street? It turns out I was mistaken about her connection to my husband. He helped her because she’d been Mr. Lennard’s mistress for a time and was in dire straits. She’d left Mr. Lennard because she couldn’t endure his grief any longer. I talked to her about all of it myself.”

  “Y-you talked to her?” the duchess stammered.

  No woman ever talked to someone presumed to be her husband’s mistress, which Felicity prayed would lend credence to her claims. “Yes. I wanted to find out if I could do anything to help dear Mr. Lennard through his grief. He is family, after all. Ian and I are both very concerned about him. The poor wretch’s mind seems to have snapped.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if to impart a great secret. “He has some notion that he should have inherited Chesterley instead of my husband. Can you believe it, your grace?”

  That started the whispers going, as she’d hoped it would. Such a “notion” offended firmly held beliefs in primogeniture. Besides, everyone assumed that the estate was entailed on Ian’s heir. Thus Edgar Lennard’s “notion” only proved his madness.

  “That doesn’t explain why your husband fled England,” the duchess persisted.

  To Felicity’s surprise, Lady Brumley answered that one. “He left to fight in the war, of course. Everyone knows that. His father—wise man that he was—refused to let his heir join the army, but boys will be boys, and Lord St. Clair wanted to serve his country.”

  “Really, Lady Brumley,” the duchess retorted, “do you expect us to believe that a viscount’s heir—”

  “Just ask Wellington about it,” Sara put in. “Only the other day, he mentioned Lord St. Clair’s service to my husband. He said England wouldn’t have won the war without the Viscount St. Clair.”

  Though she still looked skeptical, the Duchess of Pelham clearly realized when she was outnumbered. Casting them all a scathing look, she tipped up her chin and walked off.

  Felicity nearly collapsed. Good Lord, she hoped she never had to deal with that woman again.

  Lady Brumley took one look at her pale face and clasped her arm. “Do come tell me more about your troublesome husband,” she said as she dragged her away from the crowd. “I want to know all the details.”

  With relief, Felicity allowed the woman to lead her along the edge of the dance floor and away from the others. As soon as they were out of earshot, she asked in a low voice, “Do you think they believed me?”

  “The ones who don’t will keep it to themselves.” She patted Felicity’s hand. “You did very well, my dear. Now you must leave matters to the rumor mill. Coupled with your obvious affection for St. Clair, your story should gain more credence than Edgar’s in time. So relax. You’ve won.”

  She dearly hoped that was true. Ian had suffered enough. She cast a quick prayer to the Deity: Let it work, God, please. I’ll never complain again if You’ll do this for me. And for him.

  “So tell me, how much of that Banbury tale is true?” Lady Brumley asked.

  Felicity’s eyes widened. “What? Didn’t you believe me?”

  Lady Brumley laughed. “Not a word. Well, except for the parts about your husband’s qualities. I take it you’re well pleased with your ‘troublesome husband’?”

  A shy smile crept over Felicity’s face. “Very pleased.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Some young women can’t recognize a good man even when he lands in their laps.”

  She thought of what Ian had told her about his uncle and Lady Brumley. “That’s because men—both good and bad—hide their characters very well. For example, Edgar Lennard might seem like a good man to some young women. But any woman who escaped marriage to him should consider herself fortunate. From what I understand, he has a temper. A violent temper. And a tendency to loose it on women.”

  Lady Brumley stared at her keenly, and Felicity didn’t flinch from her gaze. In that moment, an understanding passed between them.

  “I think I already knew that,” the marchioness finally said. “Though I sincerely hope his nephew doesn’t take after him in that respect.”

  “Not in the least. But then, you knew that, too, didn’t you?” She squeezed Lady Brumley’s hand. “Thank you.”

  The marchioness looked uncomfortable. “For what?”

  “For having faith in him when no one else did—not even me.”

  Lady Brumley gave a little shrug that set the ship’s bells on her new headdress tinkling. “You’re welcome, Lord X. And if you should ever need someone to write your column for you—”

  Felicity laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re the only person I’d consider.”

  Heedless of the loud music and the sounds of dancing feet coming from the ballroom, Ian and Jordan stood silently in a deserted card room. Ian had just finished his story, amazed by how much easier it had been to tell it the second time. Encouraged by Felicity’s earlier reaction, he’d left nothing out. Besides, it was becoming evident that the truth might emerge shortly, given his uncle’s determination to ruin him, and he wanted Jordan to hear it from him, not from Edgar Lennard.

  Jordan stared at him a long time. He’d asked questions here and there, but hadn’t made any commentary that might reveal what he thought, and that worried Ian.

  Finally, his friend sighed. “My God, I wish I’d known about all this long ago. How you must have suffered!”

  The reaction stunned him. He’d expected more shock, more revulsion. But apparently his wife was as wise in this as in everything else. His friends cared only about him. And they understood—as she had—that it had been an accident.

  “If I’d known, I might have done something to help,” Jordan went on.

  “There was nothing anyone could do, I’m afraid.”

  “Still, you could have told me. I’m your oldest friend. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Ian shrugged. “Shame. Guilt. I hated myself. And I had no reason to believe my friends would feel any differently.”

  “But something changed that, didn’t it?”

  A smile crept over his face. “Yes. My wife. She finally made me accept that we all make mistakes. That living with them doesn’t have to mean torturing oneself with them. Or bearing them alone.”

  Jordan gripped Ian’s arm, squeezed it briefly in a show of sympathy, then released it. “Your wife is a remarkable woman. Almost as remarkable as mine.”

  “Yes, I know.” To him, she was more remarkable, but he doubted Jordan would agree.

  “As for your uncle…” Jordan’s tone hardened. “You can’t let him win this. Even if I’d never known the truth, I would have thought it an abomination for your uncle to gain Chesterley. I wonder why your father ever considered it.”

  Ian ignored the sudden jolt of pain in his gut. That particular torment wasn’t likely to go away soon. “He thought me
more unfit for the position than my uncle.”

  “That’s not true.” Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “If he had, he would have disinherited you entirely, but he didn’t. Is it possible he set up that will as a way to make you see your responsibilities? When he died, he had no idea where you were or if you would ever return. Perhaps your father feared you wouldn’t return without good reason. And the threat of your uncle inheriting would certainly be a good reason.”

  Ian had never considered that, but it made sense. It was the sort of test his father would have given him. And it might mean that his father had believed him, after all. It was comforting to think that.

  “Perhaps you’re right, my friend,” he told Jordan. “In any case, we’ll never know. Right now, I’m more concerned with making sure Felicity doesn’t suffer the same nasty rumors I’ve endured for the past few years. So I think it’s long past time we returned to the ballroom.”

  “You’re right,” Jordan said, then headed for the door.

  When they entered the ballroom a few minutes later, he instantly noticed a change in the way people regarded him. The coldness that had been there earlier was absent. Some of the women even eyed him with interest.

  He wanted only one woman, however. As they joined Gideon beside the punch table, it took Ian a few minutes to spot her standing with Lady Brumley amidst a crowd of matrons. Someone glanced at him, then said something to Felicity that made her laugh and cast him a delighted smile. He smiled back. What the devil was going on?

  He didn’t have long to wonder. Emily and Sara hurried up to the three of them, out of breath and beside themselves with excitement. “Where on earth have you two been?” Sara asked. “You’ve missed everything!”

  “Oh?” Jordan asked, exchanging glances with Ian.

  “Your wife is amazing!” Emily told Ian.

  “I’m quite aware of that, believe me. What has she done now?”

  “Well, you needn’t worry about the gossip your uncle spread anymore,” Sara remarked.

  It took Emily and Sara several minutes to tell the tale. As they detailed Felicity’s blithe parrying of every accusation made by Edgar, Ian’s astonishment grew. They were right—Felicity was amazing. It would never have occurred to him to attack the problem as she had. Somehow she’d turned all his uncle’s lies into compliments to her husband without so much as calling Edgar Lennard a liar. Incredible.

  Sara’s eyes were bright with mischief as she finished her tale. “I believe she’d still complaining about her ‘troublesome’ husband and how miserable she is married to a man who provides for her brothers, supports her profession, and as she puts it, makes her ‘behave most improperly.’ She has them all laughing at your uncle’s claim that you forced her into marriage. And pitying him for his other accusations.”

  Ian could scarcely breathe, his throat was so tight with pride and love. She’d said she wouldn’t disappoint him, then she’d gone on to surpass all his expectations. How had he gotten so lucky? To find the most wonderful woman in London, when all he’d sought was someone to give him an heir. He didn’t care what happened now, as long as he got to keep her.

  He looked for her again and spotted her in close conversation with Lord Jameson, another of the notorious gossips. No doubt she was laying further seeds of doubt on the most fertile ground possible.

  As if she felt his gaze, she looked up, saw who surrounded him, then flashed him a tentative smile, as if trying to determine if he’d approved of her tactics. He put as much feeling into his answering smile as he could manage, and her face glowed. He felt other eyes on them, but could think only of her. And how badly he wanted to get her home and make her “behave most improperly.”

  Suddenly he caught sight of someone approaching her, and his smile vanished. Uncle Edgar, damn him. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmured to his friends and hurried toward Felicity.

  His uncle said something to her and then they both headed out of the ballroom down one of the hallways toward the private rooms. Which was just as well, Ian thought as he followed them. What he had to say to his uncle was not for others’ ears.

  He found them entering a parlor off the main hall. He hurried toward it, but slowed as he approached the open door and heard his uncle say, “You wouldn’t listen to me, would you? You had to take up with him. You had to defend him and make me appear the fool. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, Lady St. Clair.” He spoke the courtesy title with condescension. “You and your naïveté. When you hear the whole truth—”

  “I know ‘the whole truth,’” she said fiercely. “He’s told me all of it. What’s more, if I’d wanted to tell ‘the whole truth’ to the world, I would have made sure you came off sounding like the vermin you are.”

  Ian paused at the door.

  “The fact is,” she continued, “I don’t want to tell the whole truth—I have no wish to cause my husband further pain. But if you ever reveal what happened that night in that cottage, I won’t hesitate to denounce you publicly for the wife-beater you are!”

  “That won’t prevent my nephew from going to prison for murdering my wife!”

  “You might be surprised. I’m sure your former mistress—who detests you, by the way—would be happy to claim that you were the one who pushed your wife. I’m also sure any number of your servants could attest to your sordid habits. So go ahead, try accusing Ian of murder. Miss Greenaway and I will make sure you go straight to Newgate for it. I won’t let you hurt him anymore!”

  “There are other ways I can hurt him,” he said in a sly voice that sent a chill down Ian’s spine. “I wonder how my nephew would feel to discover me lying with his wife? Shall we find out?”

  Ian surged through the door, slamming it so hard against the wall that his uncle whirled around in the process of reaching for Felicity. “Touch her,” Ian warned, “and I’ll tear you into so many pieces they’ll never find you!”

  Felicity had never been so happy to see her husband in her life. Though she undoubtedly could have used her knee trick on his uncle, she much preferred to have her husband at her side for this. “There you are, my love! I was just telling your uncle how delighted I am to have joined the Lennard family. But for some reason, he refuses to congratulate me.”

  “Come here, Felicity,” Ian commanded, though his eyes remained on his uncle. “We’re expected in the ballroom. Our friends are probably looking for us right now.”

  “Probably,” she said cheerily and joined him at the door. Now that Ian was here, she was beginning to feel quite pleased with herself. She’d made her point with his uncle, and had the distinct impression that he would hesitate to bother them any further.

  She laid her hand in the crook of her husband’s arm, and he covered it with his, squeezing it. His gaze swept her quickly. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly all right,” she reassured him.

  He returned his gaze to his uncle. “I’m warning you, Uncle Edgar—I protect what is mine. If you ever come near my wife again, there won’t be enough left of you to bury. Do as you wish with me, but leave her alone. Is that understood?”

  His uncle glowered at him. “We’re not finished, you and I. Chesterley may yet be mine. You still have to bear an heir.”

  “Believe me, I have every intention of it.” Ian gazed down at his wife, and there was no mistaking the love in his gaze. “So we’d best get right to it, don’t you think, my darling?”

  “Oh, certainly,” she said, beaming up at him. “We must start on it at once.”

  They left his uncle behind, cursing them both loudly.

  Before they could reach the ballroom, however, Ian whisked her into what looked like a study and shut the door, driving the bolt to.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, startled by the sudden thunder in his expression.

  “You must promise never to let that man get you alone again. If he’d hurt you, I swear—”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Promise me, Felicity! Or I’ll keep you locked up i
n here until you do. And the Strattons might find that odd in the morning.”

  “I promise,” she said softly. Now that she’d had her say with his uncle, she need never see the wretch again. He visibly relaxed, but when he made no move to leave, she added, “Shouldn’t we return to the ballroom now? You said our friends were expecting us.”

  “I lied. Besides, there’s another matter to discuss.”

  “What’s that?”

  Eyes gleaming dangerously, he trailed his fingers over her cheek. “I hear that you consider me a most ‘troublesome husband.’”

  She sucked in a breath. How much had Sara and Emily told him? Could he have disapproved of her methods? Ian was a very private person, after all. She deliberately kept her tone light. “Wherever did you hear such a thing?”

  “Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently you were almost as busy spreading tales about me this evening as my uncle.” He hooked his fingers beneath her sleeves and drew them slowly off her shoulders.

  Her pulse quickened, for his eyes reflected a decidedly wicked intent. He unfastened her gown. “They’re saying I have this annoying habit of making you feel things you shouldn’t.”

  Trust Ian to use her words against her. “It’s quite true.” She pressed his hand against her breast to feel her heart pounding. “You see? You’re doing it now.”

  “That’s what happens when you let a ‘tall, virile, and well-built’ viscount force you into marriage.” He ran his finger beneath the edge of her bodice until it skimmed her nipple, and she sucked in a breath. “Instead of holding out for the ‘penniless barrister’ you had your ‘heart set on.’”

  She blushed. “Did they tell you every word I said?”

  “Sara has an astonishingly good memory.”

  He clearly wasn’t angry. Or if he was, he had an odd way of showing it.

  He peeled her gown and chemise from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his avid gaze. “I especially liked the part about how you find yourself behaving most improperly when I’m around.”