My Lady, My Lord (26 page)

“I thought you might be interested in a story, my lady,” Lord Grace said.

“A story? What sort?”

“The sort about a man who called in a favor to another man recently.”

Corinna’s hands stilled on the gloves. “Do tell, my lord.”

“Several years ago, Logan Jacobs took a lady to wife, a fifth daughter but a pretty girl who caught his eye and, apparently, his heart. They wed, as a youngblood and his maiden love are wont to do.” He flashed her a playful smile. Corinna returned it somewhat tremulously. “The pair lived in connubial bliss for three happy years.”

He paused. Corinna recognized her cue.

“What unfortunate event occurred then, my lord?”

“It came to pass that Lord Jacobs’s lady could not carry a child to term. Each time she was confined, shortly thereafter she lost the babe. It seemed a tragedy without end. My lord begged his young wife to tell him what he might do to ease her misery. She told him she wished for a horse.”

Corinna’s breath thinned. “How extraordinary.”

“Wasn’t it? But come to discover she did not want a saddle horse, or a carriage horse, or a hunter or a plow horse or any other than a thoroughbred racehorse. You see, it was Lady Jacobs’s somewhat superstitious notion that if she named a horse as she chose, and that horse won its first race, she would provide her husband with an heir at long last.”

“An interesting notion.”

“Mad, some might say,” he suggested.

“They might indeed.”

“And yet our mutual friend did not.”

“Our mutual friend?”

“Your brother-to-be.”

She thought it best to remain silent.

“It seems he has,” the baron continued, “shall we say, a soft spot for children as well as beasts of burden.”

“I would hardly call his horses beasts of burden.”

“As you will.” He bowed. “In any case, he agreed to the plan with alacrity. But there was one problem.”

“Oh?”

“My lord Jacobs was an avid card player; however, not a very good one. His pockets were to let. Without a penny in the till, the bill collectors beating at the door, and no sign of harvest for months to come, he could not pay for the desired animal.”

“What did he do?”

“Rather, you might ask, what did our mutual friend do?”

She nodded.

“He played cards with the fellow, of course.” Lord Grace smiled.

Corinna looked into the baron’s emerald eyes, warmth stealing through her. “He lost, didn’t he?”

“Enormously. So much so that he was obliged to repair to the bank the following day to withdraw the appropriate sum to satisfy his debt to Lord Jacobs. It was terribly embarrassing for him, of course. He doesn’t like to lose. Perhaps because he does it so infrequently.”

“I have heard that. Why are you telling me this, my lord?”

“Because, my lady,” he said, as he took her hand and placed a light kiss upon her knuckles, “I thought you might care to know it.”

“Lady Jacobs’s son is three years old now, I believe.”

“Or thereabouts.” He grinned.

“What did she name the horse?”

The baron’s eyes sparkled. “Goldielocks.”

Corinna laughed.

“What on earth has Grace been filling your ears with, Corinna?” Calista came to Corinna’s side. “Shocking tales of his and Ian’s misdeeds, no doubt.”

“Naturally,” the baron said with a bow. “Now, alas, I must take my leave of you fine ladies. Lady Corinna, thank you for your advice on the gloves. You are correct, I don’t believe they suit my consequence either.” He winked and left the shop.

“Cora,” Calista said with a brilliant smile, “I believe Lord Grace was flirting with you. Have you an admirer in him? I can easily see it.”

“No,” Corinna said. “He is merely a friend.” A friend she would be proud to have in truth, if ever she were allowed the occasion.

C
ORINNA SAT AT THE DESK
in her library listlessly penning invitations to her next salon when a footman appeared at the door and announced, “Lord Chance.”

She stood as Ian entered, and she wondered if air were truly necessary for life, because she couldn’t draw any into her lungs at present. Then she wondered if a woman could be so enormously foolish and still be considered intelligent.

It had been only four days since she had seen him last. Staring at him now, it seemed an eternity. He was beautiful, tall and broad-shouldered and clear-eyed and perfect. Why in heaven’s name did he have to be so perfect in so many ways and so horridly imperfect in one tragically essential way?

“Good day, my lady,” he said with an elegant bow.

“Hello, Ian.” She moved from behind the desk, setting her pen down and hoping it didn’t reveal the trembling of her fingers. “I hear you have been up to Dashbourne.”

“I had an errand to see to there. Are you well?”

“I am, thank you,” if lightheaded and stomach-twisted were well. “Lord Grace told me of the failure of Lord Patterson and Mr. Sparks’s plan. Please congratulate Gregory for me, if you will.”

“I will. But you can congratulate him yourself tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Our parents’ wedding.”

Good heavens, what had happened to her brain? Perhaps it was oozing on the floor beside her knees. Her legs felt wobbly. She stepped behind a chair and gripped its back for support. Ian watched her, his expression unreadable. Then he went to the door and closed it. Her heart thundered as he came across the chamber and stood before her.

“Ian, I am so sorry about—”

He placed two fingertips over her lips.

“I told you already, you could not have done it. Sparks’s swift withdrawal proves it.” He let his hand drop.

“I was horrified I might have.”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Of course you were. Any novice player would be.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” His voice sounded rough. Gorgeously rough. Corinna’s breaths came fast. Ian’s eyes seemed to warm as he gazed down at her.

He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. For a moment, neither moved, only their lips joined in the most innocent of caresses.

It lasted only that moment.

His arms came around her tight and strong, her hands slipped over his shoulders to his neck, and their mouths opened. They sought, met, sought again, hungry as at the masquerade, but pure, no anger between them, or pain. He stroked her with his tongue and she offered him her most sensitive flesh, tangling inside her, fighting to give pleasure while taking it. His hand curved around her breast and she welcomed him holding her like a treasure, his touch reverent and needy. He caressed the tip, drawing it to a peak, filling her with sensation and memories of his mouth everywhere on her. He touched her and she longed to be closer still, the fire warming them and his body inside hers. She wanted all of him.

She wanted all of him.
And yet she wanted herself too.

She broke away, backing up several steps and casting her hand across her mouth.

“I cannot do this,” she uttered. “I cannot be your mistress. I don’t want that life for myself.”

Light from the window cast his eyes into shadow. “I assure you, that is the farthest thing from my wishes as well.”

Oh, no.
No
. How could she have spent days dreaming? He didn’t even want her as his mistress? He desired her, clearly. But he would not connect their lives, his name with hers in society, even to give her the honor of warming his bed occasionally. Hot, sickening humiliation cascaded over her.

“You may not believe it,” she said unsteadily, “but I have not given up all hope of marriage. There, I have said it. Laugh at me if you wish. Tell me a woman like me, a bluestocking with a babbling tongue cannot hope to make a good life with a good man.”

“I don’t believe that of you, Corinna. Certainly you can—”

“I may still.” Desperation clawed inside her. “Lord Fitzhugh asked for my hand.”

Ian’s face lost all expression. “He did?”

“He did.” She swallowed back the tears rising in her throat. “So you see, I won’t do this with you again.” She gestured between them. “It is not who I am. I am better than this.”

A long, strained silence stretched between them.

“Then I will go,” he finally said.

Corinna’s heart splintered. He would not offer for her. He wouldn’t even consider the possibility. She had bluffed and he had called her on it. Once again she had tried to beat Ian Chance at a game at which he was a master, and she failed.

“Yes, you’d better.” She turned her face away, unable to watch him walk out the door. The next time they met, she knew, it would be different. There would be no kisses, no more intimate conversations about things only they had shared and would never be able to speak of with others. They would be strangers again. Strangers who knew nearly everything about each other.

But she could not have it any other way. She didn’t want him in spurts and fits. She wanted all of him, and she wanted herself as well. If she could not have both, she must have the latter. She feared, however, that without all of him inside her, she would never be whole again.

~o0o~

Ian walked without seeing where he went, the sidewalk, the people he passed, or the vehicles that whipped up dust around him. In his pocket burned the object he had traveled to his estate to retrieve from the vault. An heirloom, a ring of gold set with diamonds and emeralds. Emeralds, for her eyes. A betrothal ring intended for the woman who had stolen his heart so thoroughly he barely recalled whom he saw at Dashbourne and what he did there except anticipate the next moment he would be with her again. The next moment he would touch her. The woman he could no longer live without who, it seemed, could live very well without him.

The pull of their bodies and souls was not enough for her. She wanted a man she could respect, a man who shared her interests. She despised what Ian made her—passionate, needy. Hated it, and by the look of distress in her eyes she hated him for making her feel and do something so alien to what she wished to be. What she was. Extraordinary. Brilliant, compassionate, gracious, quick-witted, forgiving. Beautiful beyond measure.

Now Giles Fitzhugh, damn and blast him, would have all of that. Ian hadn’t ever heard a poor word about the viscount, and he’d proved himself nothing but decent and steady with Corinna. Fitzhugh deserved her.

Ian did not.

But he wasn’t finished trying to deserve her. He would never have her, but he must at least perform one last act to be worthy of loving her. And he couldn’t delay. Once she married, he wouldn’t have the right. It would be Fitzhugh’s.

He walked to St. James’s and went into White’s Club. He preferred Brooks’s, but it was still early enough in the day that he didn’t expect to meet with any of his particular friends now at either place.

Pelley, on the other hand, was an early riser. He sat where Ian had seen him many times before, in a corner by a case of books, perusing a volume. Ian went to him.

Sober, Pelley’s expression was considerably sharper than when he was foxed. Twice Ian’s age, he bore black eyes above a beaked nose that lent him a patronizing air even as he looked up to meet Ian’s regard. Ian hadn’t liked speaking to him as Corinna, and he liked it even less approaching him as himself. But he had no choice.

“Good day, Lord Chance,” Pelley said with a slow perusal of Ian’s person. “May I help you?” His tone suggested skepticism.

“I hope so, sir. May I join you?” He gestured toward the chair opposite Pelley’s.

“Of course.” Pelley nodded to the waiter to approach. Ian ordered a drink, feeling like nothing more than a schoolboy perched in front of his tutor. Pelley assessed him coolly, and Ian had the impression he found him lacking. But a man couldn’t see what was in another man’s heart or even his mind. There, they were on equal footing.

“My lord,” he said, “I have a proposition to make to you.”

“Go on.” Pelley waved a bony hand.

Ian resisted fidgeting. Earls—Corinthians—men in desperate love with women who did not want them—did not fidget before the adversary. Even so, if Ian ever encountered Pelley on a racetrack, he would not be immune to the temptation to make the fellow squirm.

“I understand you wish to part with a publishing venture that has been in your family for some decades.”

“Ten decades, to be precise.” Pelley’s gray brows dipped.

“I wish to purchase your company. I am prepared to pay handsomely for it.”

Pelley set his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers.

“How intriguing. I had no idea you were interested in books, Lord Chance.”

“I am interested in a great many things that are not common knowledge, sir.” Like a woman with long golden-brown hair, lips to drive a man mad with desire, and humor laced with sharp wit that could turn to fury in a moment.

“Is that so?”

“I would treat the company as you have, maintaining the integrity of the imprint and increasing its profits, of which I would, of course, offer you a percentage according to the terms of the exchange.”

Pelley’s eyes narrowed. “You would not try to sell the company for profit?”

Ian looked directly into the earl’s eyes and told the truth. “No.” Then, for the first time in his memory, he lied. “I have no plans to sell it.”

“Not even to a member of your own newly enlarged family?”

Their parents’ wedding announcement had appeared in the journals. Pelley was no fool.

“Perhaps you are suggesting I would sell it to a
woman
?” Ian asked.

“Your families are known to be close, now even closer with the marriage of your parents. Lady Corinna Mowbray has been pestering me to sell my company to her for months. How do I know that she didn’t put you up to this?”

“I assure you, my lord, such a notion would be the farthest thing from her mind.” He allowed himself a smile. “She has a low regard for my intellect, you see. I must say, however, that she did give me the idea of it.”

“You’re not hoping to purchase my company as part of a personal squabble, are you?” Pelley’s nose pinched. “I will not have my family’s estimable venture dragged into another family’s petty quarrels.”

“Lady Corinna and I dispensed with petty quarrels long ago.” About a month ago. “She does not come into my reckoning in this matter.” The lies came more easily now.
Once fallen
. Ian knew that lesson well. “What say you, sir? How do you like my offer?”

Pelley lifted a single brow and seemed to study Ian for a long interval. With his task completed, Ian sat calmly awaiting the outcome. A man who bred horses became accustomed to waiting.

Pelley leaned forward, paused momentarily, then extended his hand.

“Welcome to the publishing business, Lord Chance.”