Lady Iona's Rebellion (16 page)

You should be.

To hell with his short-lived plan of teasing her but not giving in. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribs. He tossed aside the damp cloth, peeled off that blasted mustache she was wearing and removed the frizzy wig.

Taking a virgin, an innocent, to his bed was one line he’d promised himself he’d never cross but, dammit, Iona
was
going to be his wife. He’d already decided that he’d fight the devil to win her if need be. So why not rush the consummation and enjoy himself now?

Because he cared for her. Of course he’d always been fond of her. And had once believed himself in love with her. But all of those emotions paled in comparison to what he was feeling for her right now. The thought of losing her pained him even deeper than the torment he’d suffered when his family had turned their backs on him, refusing to even listen to his explanations.

For her he would do the right thing—even if it meant not touching her until she agreed to become his wife.

C
hapter Eleven

Iona held her breath, praying he’d sweep her off her feet. He had a fevered look that made her belly dance. But instead of drawing her close again or touching her like he had that wonderful night at the King’s Bath, he was pulling away.

He was so infuriating!

Couldn’t he read the signs she was sending? Certainly he wasn’t so daft he didn’t understand that she wanted him as strongly as he wanted her.

And he wanted her. Of that she was certain. She’d felt the proof of his desire pressing against her belly.

They were both adults and far enough away from the prying eye of the
ton
to be safe. No one would need to know what might transpire tonight with her alone with him in his apartment.

So why was he acting as skittish as a feral cat?

Certainly his priggish behavior wasn’t stemming from an overblown sense of honor. He’d told her time and again that he didn’t care what society thought of him. And that he didn’t let the rigid rules of the
ton
control his actions.

What would she have to do to get him to kiss her again? At the King’s Bath he couldn’t seem to get enough of her lips but ever since their walk in Sydney Gardens, he appeared to be stubbornly set against the idea.

Maybe if she licked her lips as if she’d just savored a juicy orange, he might change his mind.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” she demanded instead.

“Why won’t I—” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not an animal that attacks every piece of fluff it encounters. Regardless of what you may have heard, I can control my urges.”

So that was it, he
was
trying to be noble. For her sake. Fustian! Her perfect reputation was ruining her life. Even the most disreputable of rakes refused to kiss her.

“I’m taking you home,” he said and grabbed up his hat.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She supposed she should be thanking him.

He paused halfway to the door. His shoulders tensed. Her heart shuddered in the silence that followed. She didn’t want to leave without his kiss and he appeared determined to deny her. He was going to send her on her way like an errant child.

“Dammit, don’t you dare cry.” He whirled around. She stumbled back a step while he advanced on her. In a flash, his arms were encircling her as he pulled her close.

“I have done as you have demanded. I have taken you to Goldsmith’s.” His deep voice caressed her lonely lips. “I have shown you the terrible trouble a gentleman can make for himself. Now you will do something for me.”

She nodded and then craned her head forward, seeking his kiss. “Anything…”

“Anything?” he said, his gaze pressed through her. “And I can hold you to your word?”

She’d give him the moon and the stars if only he’d kiss her. “Anything,” she whispered.

The heat spiraling between them was suddenly gone. And his lips were suddenly nowhere near hers. There was a calculating gleam in his eyes. He looked dangerous, ruthless. “I will escort you to the upcoming Victory Gala at Sydney Gardens where we will be seen together by others in a very proper setting.”

“I-I-I—” This was impossible.

“And you will stroll through the crowds at the gala on my arm,” he added.

Much to Iona’s chagrin, he stepped far enough away from her lips that she suspected that, unless she made a move, there weren’t going to be any kisses for her this night.

“It appears you have suitably composed yourself,” he said, the lack of emotion in his voice chilled her. Without giving her a second glance, he started back toward the door. “I shall walk you home.”

None of this was going as she’d planned. She couldn’t be seen with Nathan in public. Not when the official announcement of her engagement to Lord Lovington loomed a mere handful of days away.

Blast it! She’d given her word of honor she’d do anything for him. When he’d asked for her vow, her mouth had watered, expecting his desires to be directed toward the shadowy privacy of the bedroom, not to parade their attachment under the scrutinizing eyes of society. She’d simply have to talk him out of holding her to her word and pressing her to waltz into the Victory Gala on his arm. It was a terrible idea. Worse than terrible. It would set tongues to wagging.

A gentleman with his reputation being seen with her would be such an odd match that all of Bath would be tittering by the next morning. Word would surely spread across London before the week’s end. She had to talk him out of this.

Before she had a chance to launch into a somewhat heated argument, he set his hands on her shoulders and directed her toward the door.

“You are impossible,” she huffed, fighting an urge to scream at him. He’d so overset her, she teetered on the verge of matching Lillian’s and her mother’s skill in throwing a tantrum.

“So are you.” He sounded as prickly as she felt.

“Good.” She crossed her arms under her tightly bound breasts and glared.

He was too handsome for his own good. He’d tossed off his hat and his blond hair was in an adorable state of dishevelment.

“I’d hate to think I was the only one suffering tonight,” she grumbled.

“Every blasted moment I spend with you, I suffer,” he shot back.

Oh, he was worse than impossible. Why didn’t he simply go ahead and kiss her? Why make them both suffer? Simmering with frustration, she impulsively rose up on her tiptoes and cupped her hands around the back of his neck. She pressed her lips to his, taking the kiss he seemed so bound and determined to deny her.

“Take me to your bed.” She couldn’t believe those words had sprung from her mouth. And yet they felt right. She didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

He drew back and eyed her critically. She could almost see the thoughts spinning in his head.

“You’re serious,” he said finally.

She was terrified. Excited. And suspected what she was asking would lead to a basket load of troubles. Even so, her enflamed body wasn’t willing to let her sedate, dreadfully proper, logical mind talk her way out of this one.

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“You want me to take you to
my
bed? And do what a husband would do for a wife?”

That was the hitch. Would his dratted sense of honor toward her again leave him eager to fall on the matrimonial sword for her, like it had done the night at the King’s Bath?

He was watching her with an intensity that left her shaking. Did she see a spark of possession gleaming in his eyes? Was he like all the other dratted gentlemen in her life, interested only in wedding the paragon of perfection, the perfect Duke’s daughter?

As much as she ached for him, she feared that he too didn’t see beyond her pretty façade. Her recent reckless behavior obviously confounded him. She’d caught him frowning at her several times this evening alone.

“Well?” he asked.

While her body’s desires were still warring with her logical mind, she couldn’t seem to speak. This moment was too big, too important for words. Despite her fears and worries about his intentions and the consequences of the moment, this was something she wanted. Desperately.

Yes.

She nodded again.

Take me to your bed.

If she were to succeed in convincing her father that she didn’t have to marry her cousin, or anyone else for that matter, she’d soon find herself an ape leader and confirmed spinster. This might be her only chance to experience the pleasures of the marriage bed she’d heard spoken about only in parlor-room whispers. And she couldn’t imagine letting anyone other than Nathan teach her the secrets of passion.

“I need to hear the words, Iona.” There was an edge of panic in his voice. “Tell me what to do.”

“I need you to complete the lesson,” she managed to choke out and then swallowed deeply. “I need you to teach me how to truly live. I’m tired of hiding behind this serene smile and pretending that I’m happy. Take me to your bed.”

With a low growl, he swept her into his arms and carried her across the room. His pace remained steady and determined, not even letting something as bothersome as a door get in his way. He kicked it open and crossed the threshold into the most private of places—his bedchamber.

A sweet and spicy aroma greeted her. She breathed in deeply.

“What is that heavenly scent?” She whispered the question.

“The candles.” Half a dozen candles were scattered throughout the room in ornately jeweled brass and copper holders. Their flames smelled nothing like the tallow candles used in her bedchamber. “I have them imported from China.”

How exotic. It complemented the décor of the room. She’d expected his bedchamber to be plainly furnished, matching the slightly shabby parlor, not a pleasure room more suited for an exotic sultan. Brightly colored silks with elaborate scenes hung on the walls. A crimson silk covered the rather large bed that took center stage in the middle of the room. Dozens of fringed pillows and bolsters spanned across the bed’s headboard.

The silk draping the bed depicted a dark-skinned man kneeling in front of a scantily dressed and equally exotic-looking woman. He was taking the woman’s bared breast into his mouth. The smaller silks hanging on the walls also had exotic men frozen for all time in shocking poses with nearly naked women.

One in particular caught her eye. A young woman, naked from the waist down, was sprawled on her back in a grassy meadow. Her legs were slung over the fully dressed gentleman’s shoulders. And the man’s long, pink tongue—Iona gasped—was licking the tender place between the woman’s thighs. This room was as wicked as…

Her gaze flew to meet Nathan’s determined and lust-clouded blue eyes.

As wicked as Nathan’s reputation. A reputation she’d refused to credit until now. In a state of distress, her mind reeled. What if? What if?

“Why is your room decorated like…like you’re an unrepentant, dangerous rogue?” she demanded to know.

He stopped mid-step and considered the question, his eyes not straying from her body. For the briefest moment, his playful mask slipped and she read regret in those brilliant blue eyes before he gave a negligent shrug.

“This is what society expects of me, isn’t it?”

His reply only caused more confusion. She had a feeling there was a deeper reason behind his playing the part of rogue so completely. And if the persona he presented to society was a lie, she was also beginning to wonder whether everything she knew about him was a lie too.

She was about to press him for answers but he dipped his head and claimed her lips, washing away her straying thoughts and questions. This was Nathan—the Nathan she’d fallen in love with nearly two years ago—not the big bad wolf with a taste for devouring innocent virgins. Although, after seeing that wall hanging, the thought of being devoured by a man was beginning to take on a whole new meaning…

She suddenly felt hot and damp between her legs. Her head was spinning so fast she barely noticed when he dropped her onto his bed.

He climbed on top of her with his legs straddling her. His roaming hands fondled her bound breasts through the layers of clothing while his tongue eased past the barrier of her lips to dip into her mouth. She groaned.

There were too many layers of clothes between them. Her body instinctively ached to feel him against her, flesh against flesh. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed herself against the demanding bulge in his pants. Abandoning all modesty, she rubbed against him, thrilling in the pleasure the friction and heat brought.

He growled in her mouth and pulled away. For a frisson of a heartbeat, she worried that her bold, wicked behavior had shocked him. A blush started to sting her cheeks when he pulled her to the side of the bed.

The feverish heat she saw in his gaze waylaid her embarrassment. He took several quick, shallow breaths while he caressed her between her legs, making her feel anxious and needy. He murmured in a deep voice that vibrated throughout her body how he longed to eat her alive.

“You
are
the big bad wolf,” she breathed.

He frowned. “Does that scare you? Would you prefer a tame spaniel?”