Barbara Metzger (38 page)

“The courts are too lenient these days.”

“Want we should take care of it here, my lord, and save the Crown the bother?”

“
Tut, tut.”

While they were discussing his future, Brown won the argument. Or he lost, depending on one’s viewpoint. His heart gave out. At any rate, discussion turned to where to bury the bastard.

Athena insisted it be in the church graveyard next to Brown’s mother’s grave, with a monument. Rensdale owed him that.

Her brother finally agreed, when Ian glared him into it. Lord Marden did have to offer to pay for carting the body, for Rensdale refused to ride home with his baseborn brute of a brother.

“There, my love. It is done. Now we can get on with our own lives.” Then he noticed that his shirt was getting wet. “Damnation, woman, are you crying again?”

She shook her head no, with a sob and a sniffle.

“Yes, you are. You aren’t hurt, are you?” He held her at arm’s length, inspecting her for damage. Her hair was fallen down and her gown was torn at the shoulder, but the tiny nick at her throat had already stopped bleeding.

She shook her head again, taking the handkerchief he handed her.

“Never tell me you are crying for Brown, are you?”

“I cannot help but thinking how unhappy he was, and how I never knew.”

“What could you have done for him if you had understood his resentment? Give him your pin money? Invite him to sit in at Troy’s lessons? His raising and his education were up to his father. Your sire could never have made him legitimate, but he could have made Brown a gentleman of sorts. He chose not to. You are not responsible for Brown’s sorry life, or his death.”

She blew her nose, leaving it red. Her cheeks were splotched with color and her eyes were swollen. Ian thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He supposed he would think that fifty years from now, when her hair was gray and her skin was wrinkled. She would still have eyes like summer skies, and she would still be his. “Do not weep, sweetheart. Brown was not worth it.”

“But he was my brother, as much as Spartacus is.”

“I can see you crying over the connection to Rensdale, but not the loss of Brown. He was nothing but a rabid dog, waiting to be put down.”

“You would never do that, would you? Turn your back on one of your sons?”

Ian had to laugh. “Since I shall never have a son who is not also yours, sweetheart, you shall have to help see that our sons are raised as befits the children of an earl and a countess. We are partners in that, aren’t we?”

She was back in his arms, smiling. “Partners.”

*

They went to Vauxhall that night, not to celebrate Brown’s death, but their own freedom and relief. The dowager had decreed that they should be seen about town to counteract the rumors that were bound to be flying through the
ton.
Captain Beecham was pleased they’d be going by boat.

Rensdale wanted to revel, he said, to erase the bad memories. What he really wanted was one night at the pleasure gardens before going home in the morning. They all knew his wife would never approve such frivolous entertainment as that found at Vauxhall, with its music, fireworks, and common performers, where the polite world mingled with the masses. She definitely would not approve of the Dark Walks, where females of opportunity awaited gentlemen of means. Rensdale meant to have a last lark away from his half-sister’s censorious eyes and his new brother-in-law’s sudden priggishness.

Lady Dorothy and Carswell were not concerned with propriety, either, only in having a few stolen moments alone. After legions of liaisons, Carswell knew every hidden rotunda and secluded clearing. Lady Dorothy was always eager to broaden her knowledge with new experiences. Carswell was simply eager.

Both Ian and Athena would have preferred a private party—very private—but Troy had been caged in the house too long now, Athena thought, not knowing that Ian had been taking the youngster out and about as much as he thought he could get away with. Troy was thrilled to be going on an adult entertainment, even if there were no horses. Wiggs decided he had better go, too, to see that the boy did not fall into bad company.

Once in the gardens, Lady Dorothy and Carswell disappeared. The dowager, the captain, and Rensdale went to find their reserved box and order the supper. Athena, Ian, and Wiggs had to walk slowly because of Troy, and because Troy wanted to watch the tightrope walkers, the jugglers, and the Cascade. Wiggs clucked his tongue, but Athena told him to go sit with the others if he was going to ruin Troy’s enjoyment.

Ian smiled. He could tell his wife was delighting in the simple entertainments as much as her young brother. As they made their slow way to the rotunda, he was stopped by friends and acquaintances who wanted to know the truth about the stories making the rounds. They would have ignored Troy, not looking at the imperfect youth, but Ian introduced him as the hero of the day, making Athena swell with pride at both of her escorts.

They had supper, listened to the music, and then Ian and Athena had their first waltz together as man and wife. The dance floor was crowded, however, and Ian did not like how the men ogled his countess in her low-cut silver gown—when he managed to raise his own eyes from the delectable sight. He dragged her back to the supper box and her shawl.

Rensdale was gone, and Wiggs was enjoying the famous arrack punch more than seemly for a man of the cloth. The dowager was drowsing in her seat, while Troy and his uncle were debating if Oxford or Cambridge might offer the better education. Ian checked his watch and his wife’s décolletage.

At last, it was time for the fireworks. They made their slow way to the viewing area. Troy was tired, but game. He leaned on his crutches and watched, entranced. Ian watched his wife, who was just as rapt in the spectacle. When it was over, he took her hand and whispered in her ear. “I know where we can make our own fireworks. Unless you are still, ah, indisposed?”

Athena was glad the darkness hid her blushes, and gladder, that her husband was as anxious to resume their lovemaking as she was. “I don’t want to go to your house in Kensington, though. I would keep thinking of the other women you have taken there.”

Ian raised Athena’s Kashmir shawl higher on her shoulders and said, “You do not have to worry. I gave the house to Lady Paige. Good riddance to both of them, I say, the house and the woman. Even better if she keeps Wiggs there with her. I was thinking of a suite at the Clarendon for us.”

“What about Troy?”

“He’s not invited.”

When she laughed he said, “We’ll take him home first. He’s half asleep as is. The others can get back themselves. Tonight, finally, is going to be ours.”

*

The fireworks at Vauxhall could not hold a candle—or a shooting star—to the enchantment, the excitement, the ecstasy of the rose-strewn bedroom Ian had reserved. The night was indeed theirs, for no one else could have made such good use of it. The next morning and afternoon were theirs, too, because they had waited
so long, and because they had so much to learn, so much to teach.

“Oh, dear. I forgot about my brother’s leaving this morning.”

“We’ll see him again when his infant is born. That’s soon enough.”

Rensdale could survive without their farewells. Troy needed to learn to manage without his sister if he was going away to university. As for the others, well, if they were enjoying themselves half as much as Ian and Athena, they should consider themselves blessed. Ian certainly did.

The first time was awkward, like a firecracker that exploded before reaching great height, with more noise than color. At least it was not terribly painful. Ian was certain he suffered more than his delicate bride, trying not to overwhelm her.

The next time they made love was slower, with the stars sending spinning, shooting flames into the sky that lighted the universe, that made the universe shrink to this room, this bed, this instant.

The third time…Athena could understand why Lady Doro and Carswell kept slipping away. After that, they lost count.

When he could breathe again, Ian kissed Athena’s half-closed eyelids and said, “Wait, my darling. It gets better.”

Athena barely had energy enough to move her lips to speak. She was adrift on the sea of satiation, floating like a dust mote in the glory of utter fulfillment. She was also half asleep. “Impossible. I do not believe you.”

Ian leaned on his elbow beside her, their bodies still one. “What’s this? I thought you trusted me.”

She smiled and brushed the damp, dark curls off his forehead, breathing in the smell of him and their lovemaking. “Yes, but you broke your promise to Alfie Brown. How do I know you are not lying about this, too?”

So he showed her, worshiping every inch of her body, and Athena found that she was not sleepy after all. Ian kept his promise, like the man of honor he was, with occasional lapses.

“And it will be better tomorrow and the next day and the one after that, I swear to you. I love you, Lady Marden, and I will for all time.”

“Promise?”

“Word of a gentleman.”

“Good, because I love you, Lord Marden, even if you are not perfect.”

He raised his eyebrow. “I’m not?”

“You did lie, you know. But I think I love you the better for not being quite so magnificent. Besides, no one is perfect. Look at Troy, your sister, and Uncle Barnaby. They are all well loved, despite their faults.”

“What about Carswell?”

“Oh, he is too perfect. That leaves him lacking.”

Ian tried to follow her reasoning. “Well, you are nearly perfect, sweetheart, except for that mole on your knee and those freckles I never noticed across your nose. I cannot think of one thing you are lacking.”

“Gammon. I am too short and my hair is too curly and—”

“Perfect,” Ian declared. “Except you can’t sing for a tinker’s damn, of course. Not that I do not love your singing anyway,” he hastily added.

“Oh, I do love you, Ian. And I will forever.”

“Promise?”

“Word of a lady.”

That was good enough for Lord Marden. It had to be, for his countess was fast asleep, a smile on her well-kissed lips.

Ian smiled, too. His wife. His partner. His, forever. “That just might be long enough,” he whispered before he closed his eyes. “That just might be…perfect.”