Lady Iona's Rebellion (9 page)

“I-I should go,” she said and worried her fingers with the bow on her bonnet instead of giving her vow to obey his wishes. “The ladies are waiting for me.”

She donned her gloves, picked up her basket and was rushing toward the door when her father, a frown furrowing his brows, called out to her. “Is Lillian not accompanying you?”

“No, Papa, Lillian is spending the day with Miss Harlow. But do not worry, I have a maid as a companion.”

In truth, Lillian had not been invited. Her sister was the last person she wished to have come along. No, that wasn’t quite right. Her cousin Byron was the absolute last person in all of England she’d wish to accompany her on this scandalous errand or anywhere else, for that matter.

At three o’clock, Lord Nathan would be waiting for her somewhere near Bath’s secluded mossy grotto. Her heart skipped a beat with anticipation. In that stolen moment when they’d hide in the shadows, plotting their next adventure, his lips might seek hers. Her lips might answer.

Thanks to an overflow of such heated thoughts last night, sleep had eluded her. She’d risen early this morning, feeling more alert, more alive than she’d felt in ages, with her body still tingling from the exquisite way Lord Nathan had stroked and caressed her.

Anticipation spiked through her veins as she plotted how to set up her next lesson, plotting that included her need to slip past Lillian’s notice. Her sister had already blistered her ears for doing something so utterly reckless, something that might tarnish the shiny family name.

“And where would that get
me
when I am ready to take a husband?” Lillian had scolded first thing that morning. “You must consider the rest of us before you go and do something so rash again.”

Iona had spent a lifetime acting cautiously and fulfilling the desires of others instead of listening to her own heart. She was tired of watching others find their paths to happiness while she dutifully sat with her mother’s friends and sedately sipped her tea.

It was time she did something for herself.

So without a glimmer of hesitation or guilt, she gave her father a curtsy, wished him a pleasant afternoon and rushed out the door with her basket of flowers on her arm and her maid on her heel, toward what she hoped would turn into a delightfully scintillating and scandalous outing.

She felt wondrously wicked.

* * * * *

The dainty watch hanging from a pin attached to Iona’s dress read nearly a quarter after three by the time she reached Sydney Gardens. After directing her maid to wait for her on a bench near the front of the gardens, she hurried on her way, hoping Lord Nathan had waited for her.

Thankfully he had, though not precisely where she’d instructed.

She spotted him pacing alongside a flowerbed bursting with pale pink candytufts and golden marigolds in a shady area near the labyrinth. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him dressed in a corbeau-colored coat that was so dark the green appeared nearly black and a pair of form-fitting sage green kerseymere pantaloons.

His beaver hat had been discarded on a nearby bench and his dusty blond hair was delightfully mussed from the breeze rustling through the trees.

She hung back and watched him as he strolled with an air of a man without a care in the world. It made her heart ache as she longed for a piece of his languid self-assurance for herself.

He wandered among the plants looking no more dangerous than the tiny black kitten that had sneaked into the cook’s pantry that morning. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could believe he would lure a young lady into ruin. Vicious gossips and lies, there couldn’t be any truth to what she’d heard about him. She refused to listen to a word of what was being said about the playful gentleman she’d learned to trust while the two of them had conspired, shamelessly matchmaking their friends, May Sheffers and Viscount Evers.

A special fondness, one she’d never felt toward any other gentleman, warmed her cheeks as she watched him. Which wouldn’t do.

She wasn’t looking to fall in love. And she certainly didn’t need another man in her life.

Her cousin Byron was one too many already.

A smile graced Lord Nathan’s lips when his gaze met hers.

“You are unforgivably late,” he said, mocking the words she’d used in place of a greeting the previous evening. He didn’t appear to be the least bit upset though. With a flourish generally reserved for royalty, he scooped up his beaver hat and dipped into a deep bow. “Late or otherwise, I am humbled at the sight of you, my lady adventuress.”

His ridiculous feint of gallantry so surprised and pleased Iona that she returned his bow with a playful curtsy of her own. “I would have been here sooner but one of the ladies I regularly visit was feeling worse than usual and wanted me to stay by her bedside while she quizzed me ruthlessly about a rosy glow she seems to think has suddenly appeared in my cheeks.”

Nathan crossed the distance between them. Without warning, he cupped her chin in his large, warm hand and tilted her head up so he could take a better look.

“Hmmm,” he said.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his signature scent of honey and pine thrilled her senses.

“This sharp-eyed lady is correct. There is an extra flush of color this afternoon. I daresay the King’s Bath did wonders for that wan complexion of yours. I recommend you consider taking regular dips though perhaps at a more reasonable hour.”

She pressed her cheek into his hand and sighed like a besotted ninny while her lips trembled, begging for his kisses.

She blinked. He was gazing down on her with a look of satisfaction. A crooked grin graced his lips—lips she had trouble ignoring. She jerked her head away from his seductive touch and stepped back.

“I survived last evening,” she said crisply. “No one, other than my sister and Miss Harlow, knows anything about our secret liaison.”

She whipped open her pagoda parasol and gave it a whirl. “I survived despite that little trick you pulled. I gather you suggested a dip in the King’s Bath hoping I would run away from you with my tail tucked between my legs.” She gave him a hard stare. “But I am not running, Lord Nathan. I have no intention of letting you scare me away so handily.”

“Indeed?” he said and crossed his arms, his arrogantly crooked grin holding firm. “I admit I was a trifle confused by the demanding little note you sent this morning. After having a door slammed in my face last night, I had thought you might never speak to me again, what with your stubborn mind set against men and marriage and all.”

If not for her father’s insistence that she marry her cousin fueling her resolve, she would have probably found herself trembling in her kid boots just now. She was in over her head with Lord Nathan. He wasn’t like the overeager gentlemen who followed her around every blasted tea and soirée for the past six seasons, tripping over their own toes to please her.

Lord Nathan, she was learning, wasn’t nearly as predictable. Something about his manner—perhaps it was the way he seemed only too aware of her every movement—made her wary. And all the more conscious of her own body and how she used it.

Lawks, she’d flown with a moth’s eagerness directly into his flame. She was lucky her wings hadn’t been singed off. If she were acting reasonably, she would be wishing Lord Nathan, with his dangerous reputation, a good day and thanking the stars that she’d survived the previous night with her virtue and reputation intact.

That was what any proper lady would do.

But what had a lifetime of reasonable and dreadfully thought-out decisions gotten her? A betrothal to her cousin and her father’s deaf ear, that’s what.

She mimicked Lord Nathan’s easy stance, crossing her arms over her chest while letting her bold thoughts lend her smile a wicked tilt. “My thoughts on marriage are of no account,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“No?” He raised a brow. “Even the most hardened rogue eventually realizes he must one day settle down, or at the very least, slow down.” He leaned in closer. She could almost feel the heat of him brushing her skin. “What is it about marriage that frightens you?”

His question, or rather the implication that she might be frightened by the more intimate consequences of marriage, caused a shiver of anticipation to prickle her skin and bring a blush to her cheeks.

“Very little frightens me,” she assured him, using her chilliest, haughtiest tone. “I would think last night would have unquestionably proven my courage.”

“I’m not sure whether I’d consider what you did last night a mark of courage or a streak of madness,” he drawled. Mischief sparkled in his blue eyes. “Besides, if you are so courageous, my dove, why do you blanch whenever I speak of marriage?”

“I don’t—” But that was a lie. She did blanch at the thought of marriage, especially marriage to her cousin. “We’re wasting valuable time. No matter how skilled a teacher you are, I would hardly think one lesson adequate for my education. I wish to plot our next session.”

At that, his grin deepened. “And what else, my dear lady, does your daring heart desire from me? More seductive kisses? More sensual caresses?” His voice deepened as he advanced on her. A heated look darkened his celestial blue eyes. “Or are you looking to experience something more permanent?”

She held up her hand and retreated a step. “An adventure,” she said rather breathlessly since he continued to advance, stopping only after his chest was firmly pressed against the palm of her upraised hand. “I-I wish to experience another rogue’s adventure. Nothing more than a simple adventure where my fate is in my own hands.”

She couldn’t help remembering how eager he’d been to protect her last night, vowing how he’d make her his wife, if need be.

His wife! After six seasons of carefully avoiding marriage proposals, she could not fathom how she ended up with landing two in less than a week. She needed to be more careful.

Her gaze strayed to where his chest was still pressed against her hand. They were in the middle of the garden where anyone might wander by, see them and wonder what she was doing with this well-known rake. She sent her gaze tripping over the landscape. No one appeared to be paying much attention.

With a huff, she dragged her hand away. “You were supposed to meet me at the grotto so we could plan my next lesson without any danger of being seen together.”

“As you already know, I do not always do what is expected of me, my lady,” he said and took her hand, placing it firmly on his arm. “In this case, I will not let you lead me into a situation where, if discovered, your virtue will be questioned. We will stroll along the canal with the respectable couples.”

But a stroll along the canal wouldn’t give him any opportunities to steal another kiss. Not that she wanted one…because she didn’t. She only wanted her will to win out, she assured herself as she tried her best to dissuade him. “This is imprudent,” she said. “Have you forgotten? You have been banned from nearly all of polite society. The matrons of the
ton
believe you to be too dangerous around innocent maids such as myself. It is risky for me to be seen with you like this.”

While she argued, he led the way to the canal walk. His determined tread remained steady.

“A true rogue wouldn’t worry about what others might see or be thinking.” He patted her hand. “Consider this your second lesson.”

“A proper stroll in a garden with an unredeemable rogue? It hardly qualifies as an adventure.”

He stopped in the middle of the path and lowered his head until his lips were so close that his warm breath tickled her neck. Close enough that she suspected he was about to kiss her in front of two couples, a finely dressed lady chasing after a rambunctious tot and an elderly gentleman being pushed toward the hotel in a wicker wheelchair. Iona’s stomach did a little flip.

“Adventures can come in any form, Lady Iona,” his voice brushed up against her ear.

She turned her head toward him and found her lips were nearly touching his. Her breath held fast in her throat as she waited, anticipating how it would feel to have his lips master hers again.

“Shall we plot your next lesson?” he asked and pulled away without giving her so much as a playful peck.

Iona allowed herself to be led and chewed on the inside of her cheek, stewing. What game was he playing? She’d given him a perfect opportunity to steal a kiss and he’d ignored it.

Certainly he wasn’t so dense that he didn’t recognize her invitation. He was supposedly one of the most skilled seducers in England and would know without question when a lady was close to begging for his attentions.

She did want his attentions, didn’t she?

Oh, he was ever so vexing. She ground her jaw as she bit back a frustrated shriek that would have been worthy of one of Lillian’s tantrums.

Yes, she wanted the adventure, the excitement of living her life on her own terms, just as he had said. And if that adventure included a replay of the previous night’s intimacies, then that was what she wanted too.

He seemed to understand and accept the rules of their friendly game. Seemed to understand that she wanted to delve beyond the respectable and experience some more of the shocking things in which he seemed terribly knowledgeable—things no proper lady was supposed to admit to knowing.

So why in blazes wasn’t he playing along?

Lady Iona was in quite a charming temper by the time Nathan had steered her down the steps to the canal walk. Her cheeks were prettier than the delicate honeysuckle and sweet-pea blooms draping over the canal’s bricked embankment. She twirled her royal blue parasol faster and faster.

If only she knew how difficult it had been for him to deny her and himself the pleasure of a brief kiss. He silently groaned. No lady in all of Bath, not even Iona’s younger sister, could hope to rival Iona’s quiet allure as she walked beside him, her tread lightening—in sharp contrast to her prickling temper—until her step was so light she could have waltzed across the lily pads.

She was dressed in a lovely white spencer promenade dress Nathan recognized as being the height of this season’s fashion. The empire waist accentuated her slender curves and the satin-rimmed neckline plunged as daringly as some evening gowns, drawing his gaze to the proud pair of breasts he’d so tenderly cupped in his hands the previous evening.

The slightest tug on her gown and he’d be able to bare them for his pleasure. One small tug and he could put his mouth to suckle them.

And she’d wanted to lead him into the darkened grotto. Foolish girl. If only she knew what kind of a hungry wolf lived inside his head, waiting for a darkened moment.

She’d certainly run away from him as fast as her virginal legs could carry her if she could hear his vastly improper thoughts.

This was the lady he intended to make his wife, he reminded himself, not some doxy he hoped to seduce into his bed for a lurid liaison. He plucked a pale honeysuckle bloom and threaded it in the ribbon of her bonnet. She graced him with a smile, her lips still trembling with frustration.

She’d been expecting a kiss.

It had been a dirty trick to deny her.

But sometimes it was better to leave a lady wanting, to make her work to earn his devotion and loving attentions. Since Iona saw him as nothing more than a friend, a thought that still rankled him, he intended to treat her as just that. A friend.

Watching her struggle to hide her temper, while they strolled as a couple in full view of anyone happening to pass by, was heartening enough to give him hope for their future.

“I have been thinking about your next lesson,” he said as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than the afternoon’s warm weather. “If daring is what you’re seeking, we could take two of Bath’s swiftest horses on a blistering ride across—”

She held up her hand. “You picked our last adventure and, as I already pointed out, designed it specifically so I would refuse.”

Nathan gave a self-depreciating smile and shrugged when she looked up at him expectantly. There was no need to lie. Teaching her to be more like him was still a terrible idea.

She believed she’d find happiness at the end of his gilded trail. He knew firsthand the kinds of ugly beasts waiting for her. Emptiness and despair were no substitute for the love and security a family could provide.

“And where do you suggest I take you?” he asked, though he didn’t really want to know.

“I wish to gamble.”

Was that all?

He let go of the breath he was holding. Although gambling was illegal—outlawed by Beau Nash, the Master of Ceremonies who had transformed the city into a leading resort nearly a hundred years earlier—lively card games could be found in nearly every public room and at many private events. It wasn’t unusual for a married lady to join in a game or two, more often than not losing her pin money to the kind of gentleman who turned ruthless when sitting behind a hand of cards.