Barbara Metzger (22 page)

Troy was also used to Lord Marden looking in on him before departing for the evening, but Athena did not mention that to the earl’s family. They were too busy with their bickering to consider their chaperone responsibilities, anyway. She hoped to get the earl aside and settle this botheration about duty and honor and marriage once and for all. In no uncertain terms. Without sounding like a fishwife. Or weeping.

She found her brother sitting propped up in bed, not at all sleepy, and not interested in his books. “What do you think, Attie? Will the earl come up to scratch tonight? Spartacus says he can’t wait too long or you won’t be accepted at Almack’s even after you get hitched, but it doesn’t sound all that interesting, anyway. Lady Marden told me she’d take me with her to Bath and her physicians when you are on honeymoon. Do I have to go? Isn’t Lady Doro the top of the trees? She says she has the map of the Richmond maze memorized and she’ll take me if I don’t go to Bath. And did you see Carswell’s waistcoat? He offered to take me to his tailor while you are out of town. So what do you think?”

“I think you can read your own dratted book,” she shouted, like a fishwife, dashing tears from her eyes before she rushed from Troy’s bedchamber. She would settle with Lord Marden and everyone else…tomorrow.

Chapter Sixteen

A man gives up his freedom with marriage.

—Anonymous

A woman gains freedom with marriage.

—Mrs. Anonymous

Gads, she was beautiful, Ian thought as Athena ran past him. With her hair all wispy from her bath and her cheeks rosy, Miss Renslow was the prettiest girl Ian had ever seen, and he had seen every beauty to grace London for a decade, from debutante to Drury Lane actress to demimondaine. Others might disagree, but something about Athena simply struck Ian as exquisite, especially when she smiled—more so when she smiled at him.

This might not be such a bad bargain, after all, he decided…at least for him. He had to marry eventually, and here was a handy bride, one his family and staff already adored, one he knew to be capable and caring. He even liked her. More, he was coming to like looking at her, wondering how he had ever thought her child-like. She was all woman, without being blatant or blowsy. He wondered now how that small, perfect body would fit with his larger one.

Nicely, he thought. Very nicely, indeed, as long as he did not crush her.

He’d be careful, and she’d be strong, as always. He knew Athena was powerful for all her lack of inches, for he’d seen her help her brother sit up, and seen her carrying the dog. She was dainty, but graceful, lithesome. Yes, that was the word for her, lithesome. It flowed over his tongue like his tongue would flow over her smooth, white skin. He would be the first man to touch that skin, to taste her, to—

Damn, if the house was not on fire, he must have caught a fever from his mother. Ian offered Athena his arm for the walk to the dining room, hoping the stroll down the corridor would cool him off. Lord Rensdale brought Ian’s mother along, while Carswell escorted Doro. The order of the procession might not be entirely according to correct protocol, but this was Ian’s house. He was going to walk beside the woman of his choice—Lud, had he thought that? Had he conceded defeat, then?—and protocol be damned.

Now, though, he could smell her light floral perfume, mixed with a lemony scent from her hair. Instead of fanning his skin, the walk was fanning his desire, making him think of that golden hair spread out on his pillow, that perfume on his sheets. He used his free arm to tug at his neckcloth, hoping for a cooler breeze. Ian also hoped they reached the dining room before his appetite became obvious, and he did not mean his rumbling stomach. No, this might not be a bad bargain, after all.

But what about for Athena? Could he say she was getting a fair deal? She’d get a title and wealth and furs and jewels, things other women coveted. She’d get to have her brother with her until Troy went off to school. Ian was determined that the boy would have the best education the Maddox coffers could buy, and he would be healthy enough to go. Was that enough for Attie? What if she was one of those females with her head in the clouds, wanting True Love and a Grand Passion?

Judging from his body’s awareness of her beside him, he might be able to provide the passion. Hell, Ian thought, he was going to provide a passionately embarrassing spectacle at the dinner table if he did not get his napkin over his lap soon. Once he’d started thinking of Athena in his bed, in his arms, out of her clothes, he could not get the idea out of his mind. The rest of him was proving just as difficult to control.

Watching her sip at her wine and then lick her lips was doing him no good, nor were the little bites of food she took, like delicate nips. From where he sat, he could almost look down the neck of her gown, if he craned his neck pretending to reach for the salt. His broth would taste like brine soon.

Thunderation, he was a grown man, not a randy boy. So he gathered what wits he had working at the moment, all three of them, it felt like, and concentrated on his meal—and how he was going to ask Athena to marry him.

He could not come out and say what he wanted: that he had shot her brother, possibly leaving him a permanent invalid, that he had dishonored her reputation by his paper-skulled presence, and that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make things better for both of them. No, he could not say that. What woman wanted to hear that her betrothed was her brother’s near-murderer?

He could not offer her the words most females wanted to hear.
Actually, most of the women with whom he usually associated wanted to hear that they could send him their bills, but the others wanted words of love. Hell, Athena would laugh if he professed an undying devotion. She’d likely feel his forehead for fever, as she did her brother’s.

He certainly could not tell her that he lusted for her body. She was a lady, for heaven’s sake. If she were not, he would not be in this fix. He’d satisfy his cravings, give her a parting gift, and go on to the next pretty face, the next inviting curves. Besides, they both knew that lust did not last. She might be an innocent—he was sure she was an innocent—but she had to realize that what attracted a man one day was of no interest the next. She’d met Lady Paige, after all.

So what could he tell her, to convince Athena that marriage to him would not be the end of the world? Could he tell her that she’d be free to fall in love with a gentleman of her choice? Not on his life. Could he swear fidelity? That was almost as far-fetched, although he did mean to try. For a while, anyway.

Ian chewed his meal and his options, and he enjoyed neither. Long before he had a satisfactory speech composed, his mother was standing, leading the ladies from the room. Athena was making her good nights, retiring, she said, with her younger brother as an excuse.

The boy would be Ian’s brother soon enough, so he could leave soon, too. Gads, did that mean he would also have to claim Rensdale? The fellow was not impossible, merely harebrained, henpecked, and close as a clam when it came to parting with his blunt. Rensdale’s sister seemed to have three decent gowns to her name, and nothing but the pearls on her neck for jewelry. That would change soon, starting with the diamond ring in Ian’s pocket.

Rensdale’s wife had chests full of fripperies, Ian guessed, deciding that he and Athena would not see much of the unpleasant pair. She might want to attend the christening for the couple’s infant, though, which meant he would be forced into their company sooner than he wished. Why did no one mention that when a man took a wife, he also took on an entire family?

Perhaps Athena and the younger brother could go by themselves to Rensdale’s seat in Derby. No, that would not do, not so soon after their marriage. People would talk worse than they were talking now, speculating on an estrangement. The idea of the old tabbies digging their claws into his wife did not sit well with Ian. Nor, now that he thought of it, did the idea of her going off with no one but the boy for protection. Lud, a wife was a lot of responsibility, it seemed.

On the other hand, if she were already breeding by the time the Rensdale infant was born, they could plead Athena’s condition as a reason to miss the family celebration. Now that was an excellent notion, as was the picture in his mind of Athena growing large with child—his child—and bearing him an heir, or a tiny turquoise-eyed moppet.

The sooner Ian started on his fine new plan, the sooner he’d have that heir, and the delight of the begetting. He set down his glass of port, got to his feet, and begged the others’ apologies. He left Carswell to entertain Rensdale while he went to bid Troy pleasant dreams, too. His own dreams were looking far rosier.

Carswell raised his glass—in commiseration or for luck, Ian did not know which—and Rensdale told him to get on with it, already, or Lady Rensdale was liable to descend on them all to see what was delaying the match and Rensdale’s return.

That sent Ian up the stairs at a faster rate. He was still too late to catch
Athena.

“She went to bed,” Troy told him, sounding as suspicious as Spartacus. The dog was at his side on the bed, growling, too. Troy put his hand on the dog’s collar, to keep her from launching an attack on Ian’s shoes. “What did you say to upset her?”

“I did not say anything.”

“Maybe that’s what has her up in the boughs. I thought you would know better about how to turn a lady up sweet.” Troy seemed disappointed in his hero, enough to let the dog loose.

Ian had a slice of chicken ready. While he wiped his hand on a towel he said, “I know more now than you will in your entire life, brat, so mind your manners. Besides, no man knows what goes on in a woman’s mind. It’s like quicksand. Stick to your Greek and Latin, for they are easier to master. Speaking of that”—and not Ian’s marriage prospects—“I understand you are back to keeping pace with your studies.”

Troy sighed and returned the horse book to the nightstand next to his bed. “Attie insists, even if Wiggy hasn’t come by for a couple of days.”

“She’s right. Can’t let your brain wither. Or your muscles. What say we go to Tattersall’s tomorrow? I find that I need a new pair for my phaeton, and it would be good for you to get out. You seem healthy enough for a short excursion, and you must be bored to botheration stuck in this room. We can take blankets and hot bricks so your sister can’t complain, and then stop at Gunter’s for an ice, unless you’d prefer one of the coffeehouses. Or you could come to White’s as my guest, and see what you have to look forward to in a few years.”

Troy’s smile faded, and he picked at the blanket with his hand, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

“I cannot.”

“What, afraid of what your sister will say? I’ll talk to her. She has to stop keeping you wrapped in cotton wool or you will never get your strength back.”

Troy looked down at his legs. “I…I cannot walk well enough.”

“You’ve tried?”

“Oh, yes. Do you think I enjoy staying in bed?”

Ian could have kicked himself. “No, of course not. Jupiter, I did not mean to imply you were malingering. We’ll wait until you are stronger.”

“I am tired now,” Troy said in a low voice. “I think I would like to go to sleep.”

Ian left, knowing he would not sleep this night. All those sweet thoughts of an alluring bride and a comfortable marriage turned sour. He could taste the bitter bile of guilt, and nothing could destroy desire faster.

The boy might never be the same, thanks to him. How could Ian worry over which family ring best suited Athena, or how soon he could celebrate their wedding night, when he was responsible for maiming a youth, perhaps destroying a young man’s life? Hell and damnation, if he sank any lower he’d be at the blasted dog’s level. Unfortunately, unlike the dog, he thought he would always hear that doomed gunshot.

*

Morning had brought neither relief nor inspiration. It had brought Ian to the conclusion that he was a fool, a coward, and a craven for not bringing himself to the sticking point. Today he would do the necessary deed, perfect speech or not.

Breakfast time would be perfect, he decided. His mother never rose before noon, and his sister always took her morning chocolate and a sweet roll in her room, while she planned which peer to pester over her
latest pet project. Ian believed she was going in the afternoon to visit one of the orphanages his family supported, with Carswell as escort, of all people. They had been arguing the issue of teaching street urchins to read, and Doro was determined to prove her point. Poor Carswell. If Ian could get this dreaded chore over with at breakfast, he thought, then he might enjoy the rest of his day. He needed a ride, a walk, a sparring match at Gentleman Jackson’s. He did not need a visit to charity homes or a session of his sister’s stridency. Perhaps Athena would like to go for a drive to celebrate—No, he had to get to Tattersall’s first.

Resolved, his day and his life both planned, Ian had a cup of hot, dark coffee while he waited for Athena to come down.

“Miss Renslow has not broken her fast yet this morning, has she?” he asked Hull, as the butler carried in a tray.

Hull’s nostrils flared in disapproval. “Since it has not gone seven yet, my lord, I do not expect to see the young lady for some time.” He placed a pile of toast in front of the earl, arranging bowls of preserves, butter, and honey on the table. Then he removed a silver dome from another platter to reveal a mass of eggs for Ian’s inspection.

“I thought it must be nine, at least,” Ian said, shaking his head at the eggs. “I was, ah, hungry.”

Hull looked at the unwanted eggs that Cook had hurried to make, hours before usual. “Yes, my lord.” He placed the eggs on the sideboard and left to fetch a dish of kippers, also under a silver dome.

The earl turned that down, too. “The smell is turning my stomach.”

Hull’s next trip brought two covered dishes, one with kidneys, one with rashers of bacon. Ian sent both to the sideboard. One he rejected as too heavy; the other one was too greasy.

“Perhaps if your lordship would inform me for which item you are so hungry, the kitchens might not go into a frenzy of preparation. Kidneys? A sirloin? Buttered rolls? Porridge? Ham?” If the butler’s nostrils widened further, his sinuses might fall out. “Perhaps one of Lady Marden’s digestive biscuits?”