The Dangerous Lord (15 page)

“Trust you to be the only virgin in the realm who'd say that.” Giving her breast one last tender kiss, he lifted her off his thigh and set her on her feet on the floor. Then he rose from his kneeling position.

Her wobbly legs threatened to buckle beneath her weight. When he caught her by the shoulders to steady her, then released her just as quickly, shame suffused her cheeks with scarlet.

Too late, much too late, she realized how far she'd gone. And that he'd been the one to stop it, not her. Yanking up her chemise, she fumbled awkwardly with the ties. “Good Lord in heaven, you must think me the most wanton creature—”

“No.” He laid his index finger against her lips to silence her. “No, I don't. But you're the last woman on earth I should have touched like this.” His thumb outlined her lips
in a sensuous stroke that made her heart race.

Her fingers stilled on the ties of her chemise. She stared up into his unreadable face, hoping shamelessly that he'd kiss her again. When he dropped his hand instead, the intensity of her disappointment surprised her.

“Yet I cannot regret it,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Nor could she. She felt like a deaf-mute suddenly given the gift of hearing and speech. All those times she'd railed against men for using women to satisfy their passions, she hadn't dreamed women had passions, too, that could be as powerful, as devastating as this. It cast new light on all her assumptions.

When she dropped her gaze to where the ties of her chemise still lay half-knotted in her hands, he extricated them from her suddenly inept fingers and deftly finished tying them.

“One thing is for certain,” he said in a low voice. “This time, you have every right to complain of me to Sara.”

“I wouldn't do that,” she whispered, hurt that he could even think it.

“Why not? Nothing has changed.”

“
Everything
has changed.” She didn't know why, but the entire world was different now. He was more moral than she'd expected, and she wasn't moral in the least. Indeed, she'd become a creature she didn't recognize, all in the space of a few heart-stopping kisses and caresses.

He tipped up her chin, his gaze boring into hers. “You don't think I'm a snake for trapping you in your room and taking liberties with you?”

She shook her head. “You stopped yourself, even though you could have done as you wished with me and I would have…would have…” She turned away from him with a choked sob, unable to finish the shameful statement.

When he'd kissed her on the balcony, she'd convinced herself that her dreamy capitulation had been a momentary
and perfectly understandable reaction to a rake's charms. He'd kept her there by force, she'd told herself. He'd taken her off guard.

But although tonight had begun as before, it hadn't ended the same. She'd reveled in her sin, had welcomed each caress. In short, she'd behaved like a wanton. Only his presence of mind had prevented her from giving herself to him.

Lifting her head, she caught sight of her image in the mirror. She even looked the part—her lips were reddened, her hair mussed, and she wore only her chemise and her drawers. With an anguished moan, she snatched her dressing gown off the floor and shoved her arms back through the opaque sleeves.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he reassured her, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Everyone has desires, and women can control them no easier than men. If anything, it's harder for women. Society expects men to sate their desires at will, but respectable women are expected to suppress theirs, even with their own husbands. It doesn't make for easy relations. Or fair ones.”

The observation astonished her so much that she forgot her guilty thoughts. She faced him with widened eyes. “That's a very progressive opinion, you know.”

“I'm a very progressive man,” he said dryly, “despite what you think of me.”

Her gaze locked with his. Yes, she'd begun to realize that. Certainly he wasn't the dissolute rake she'd thought him to be. But what was he? What kind of man restrained his urges when he had both the opportunity and the motive to take advantage of a woman? Lord knows she'd been too swept up by his expert seductions to quibble over niceties like reputation, honor, and chastity.

“You
are
progressive,” she acknowledged. “And you've shown me mercy when I didn't expect it. Or…deserve it.”

“Mercy?” He gave a hollow laugh. “Is that what this is? Strange, but it feels like insanity.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “No man in his right mind would turn you away when he could bed you. I must have lost my wits.”

This time she couldn't doubt his sincerity, and his fervent words made hot desire bubble up inside her once more. She forced it down firmly. “No. You simply exercised restraint, which demonstrates that you're indeed a gentleman.”

With a curse, he dropped his hand and pivoted away from her. “Don't fool yourself. I didn't do it out of any gentlemanly impulse, I assure you. I merely can't afford too many more of your damned articles in the paper.”

She didn't believe him. Maybe she
was
fooling herself, but she doubted he'd drawn back out of fear of her articles. The man feared nothing under the heavens, and certainly not her.

He stared across the room at the closed door, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his glove-tight pantaloon trousers. “So are we even now? Or shall I expect more reports of my activities in the
Gazette?
” His face was rigid, expectant, as if he wouldn't be surprised to hear that she intended to continue her attacks on him.

It shamed her that he could think she'd go on writing about him after what they'd done. “Shall I expect more of your attempts to expose my identity to your friends?”

He shot her a solemn glance. “I'll keep quiet if you will.”

“Then we're agreed. Lord X no longer has any quarrel with the Viscount St. Clair and vice versa.”
Nor any reason to speak to him
, she thought, an inexplicable pain gripping her chest.
No connection to him now whatsoever
.

His jaw went taut. He faced her fully, trailing his gaze down over her trembling body, then back up to her face. He now wore an expression of resigned acceptance. “That's probably best. After all, it wouldn't do for the viscount to quarrel with his fiancée so publicly.”

She gaped at him. “Fiancée?”

“Our encounter here this evening has brought me to a decision.” He cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over her once more. “Felicity, you and I should marry.”

I
an could tell from Felicity's incredulous expression that he'd surprised her. What else could he expect? He'd bloody well shocked himself.

“Wh-What did you say?” she stammered.

“I said we should marry.”

He hadn't meant to be so blunt. He certainly hadn't intended to propose when he'd come up to her room an hour ago. He'd meant only to scare her a little, make her see she couldn't continue this battle between them.

Then she'd put on that damned dressing gown, the bit of lace that showed more than it concealed. He should never have watched her undress. He should have revealed his presence before then. But three days away from her had made him hungry, even after reading her inflammatory col
umn. Three days and three nights of remembering their searing kisses had made him want a glimpse of her body, and she'd obliged him so quickly that he'd been powerless to end it by revealing his presence in the room.

Still, he didn't regret a minute of it. Nor did he regret proposing marriage. True, his decision had been hasty and his reasons complex and tangled even to him. Felicity, with her love of rumor and her unbounded curiosity, was the last person he should marry.

Yet he wanted her in his life. No other woman could match him tactic for tactic and forever surprise him. Marriage to her would be anything but boring.

He watched as she swung around and walked to the fireplace. Lambent light bathed her slender body, and her flimsy wrapper clung greedily to her very attractive derriere. Lust bolted through him anew. With a groan, he admitted the truth to himself. He didn't only want her in his life—he wanted her in his bed. That was the trouble; he wasn't thinking with his head—or at least not the one with a brain. Otherwise, he'd never be considering marriage to this clever miss with her penchant for gossip.

But he'd made up his mind. He needed a wife—why not have one he'd enjoy? God knows he would enjoy her; it had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from stripping her naked and acting on all the carnal impulses her winsome body inspired.

Two things had prevented him. The first was her status as a respectable virgin. It went against his moral code to deflower that sort of woman. The second—and perhaps more compelling—reason was the sure knowledge that a single night with her would never satisfy him, and she'd never allow him more. He might seduce her once, but his self-righteous gossipmonger would cut her throat before she'd consent to being any man's mistress.

Besides, he didn't need a mistress. He needed a wife. And if he married her, they could have as many nights in
bed as their passions allowed. The very thought made him hard again.

“Well?” he bit out impatiently when she lifted the brass poker and stoked the fire in apparent distraction. Sparks danced in the cold air about her tempting body.

“You're asking me…to marry you.” She stumbled over the words, as if they still seemed alien to her.

“It's not such an odd idea, is it?”

“I-I don't know. I mean, yes, it is. You're a viscount.”

“Now that's an astute observation,” he muttered, garnering a frown from her. He made a dismissive gesture. “It has nothing to do with anything.”

She set the poker aside and faced him. “Doesn't it? I'm a nobody. Why would you want to marry
me
?”

Deliberately, he trailed his gaze down her welter of rich cinnamon hair, past the delicious breasts he'd pleasured, to the part of her he wished he'd also pleasured and tasted and sampled…When his gaze snapped back to her face, he saw she understood. “I want to marry you for the same reason any man marries a woman he desires.”

Scarlet color stained her cheeks, and it occurred to him that he seldom saw her blush. It was becoming, especially on her. He'd have to make her blush frequently once they were married.

“But men of your sort—”

“Be careful, Felicity. I tire of your generalizations about men of my ‘sort.'”

She eyed him with disbelief. “You can't tell me you don't care at all that I have no family connections or great wealth or—”

“Why should I? I have enough for both of us. That's not what I want in a wife.”

“Yes, I forgot.” Her fingers clutched at the edges of her wrapper as she struggled to keep it closed. She looked suddenly very young, young and tormented, her eyes bleak with dismay. “You want a woman to bear your heir.”

“That would be one of your duties, yes.” When she went rigid, he added, “But children are the usual result of indulging one's desires, and as I recall, you find that particular activity appealing.”

Her gaze shot to his, shadowed with embarrassment. “You said there was nothing wrong with feeling desire.”

“I meant it,” he reassured her, remembering how ashamed her eager response to his caresses had made her. “And marriage makes desire far more convenient.”

He realized he'd said the wrong thing when her pretty chin quivered. “Yes, marriage would make it convenient, for
you
as well as me. After all, why rely on two separate women for all your needs—one to bear your children and the other to satisfy your…your manly urges?” Her voice grew bitter. “Think how convenient it would be to have only one woman serve both purposes. What a revolutionary concept.”

“I've never wanted more than one woman at a time,” he ground out, wondering how this discussion had gotten out of hand. “And yes, I prefer to have a wife I can desire. Although I'd previously resigned myself to a comfortable, if passionless, marriage, I now realize I can have more. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“I don't know.” She stuck her chin out. “What would Miss Greenaway think?”

The air crackled between them, fraught with sudden tension. He should have seen the question coming. If he'd been this dense during the war, he would have gotten himself killed half a dozen times. That he hadn't anticipated her objections was a testimony to how much she and her adorable body had disconcerted him.

Carefully, he weighed his words. “Her opinion is of no matter.”

“Oh? Then what role will she play in this marriage?”

“None at all.” Sheer exasperation sharpened his tone. “I
told you before—the woman is
not
my mistress. I'm helping her and her son, nothing more.”

“You still expect me to believe that fairy tale about her brother being your soldier friend?” When he glowered at her, she added, “I realize you told the truth about fighting for England—I can hardly ignore the assertions of a man like Wellington. But I know you're lying about Miss Greenaway's connection to you. I'm not a fool, you know.”

“Of course not.” Sarcasm edged his words. “You're much too intelligent to believe in my generosity or loyalty to a friend.”

A pained expression crossed her face. “I deserve that, I suppose, but you're wrong—I can believe many good things about you. What I can't believe is that Miss Greenaway would have refused to set me straight concerning your kindness. Any woman in her position would have defended you at once. Or gone to the
Gazette
after the article was published to demand a retraction.”

Why must the woman be so bloody logical? “Miss Greenaway understands, as you do not, that I prefer to keep certain aspects of my past
out
of the newspapers.”

“And secret from your prospective fiancée?”

He groaned. “Damn it, Felicity—”

“I want to know what she is to you.” Hurt dulled her green eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I-I don't think it's an unreasonable request, considering your proposal to me.”

In hit him then. My God, the woman was jealous! Though that absurdly pleased him, it also complicated matters. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth and put an end to her foolish concerns. But that would require more than a simple explanation of how he knew Miss Greenaway. He'd have to explain why he was helping the woman, why she was necessary to his plans for his uncle, and why he and his uncle were enemies. He'd have to entrust London's most notorious scribbler with the scandalous details of his
life. And he'd have to do it without even being sure it would gain him her hand. No one in their right mind would agree to that.

Still, he wouldn't let her jealousy stand between them.

He advanced on her with grim determination. “I'll tell you what Miss Greenaway is
not
. She's
not
my mistress nor any temptation to me. Her son isn't mine, or I would have claimed him long ago. Most importantly, what she is to me has nothing to do with you. She will never have any influence over our marriage. That's all you need to know.”

Anger flared in her face. “You won't even tell me how you met her?”

“No.” He paused a few feet from her, deliberately softening his tone. “Trust me, there's no reason why her mere existence in a house that I own should concern you.”

“And that's your final word on the subject?”

“Yes.”

“Then my answer is no.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your answer to what?”

“Your offer of marriage. I can't marry a man who won't be honest with me.”

He couldn't believe his ears. “You're refusing me because you're jealous of some woman I'm helping?”

“I'm
not
jealous!” she protested, though her expression belied her words. “I'm…I'm refusing you because you don't want a real marriage. You want a business arrangement: I am to perform my duty by bearing you children without interfering in your life, and in exchange you'll give me your name and pay for my gowns.”

“And make love to you,” he added in a husky voice, determined to remind her of why this conversation had first come about.

She edged closer to the fireplace, the tips of her ears pinkening. “Yes. That, too. But anyone could serve that purpose for you. I merely happen to be convenient.”

“Believe me, if I were choosing a wife by convenience,
you would
not
be on the list. The last thing I need is a loose-tongued newspaper writer sharing my bed!”

Her gaze shot back to him, a new comprehension shining in their depths. “So
that's
your reason for proposing! You want to marry me so I won't dig up the nasty secrets in your past and publish them in my column!”

“Oh, for God's—You already agreed to keep quiet. Why on earth should I marry you merely to gain
that
?”

“Because you don't trust me. If you did, you'd tell me the truth about Miss Greenaway.”

He ground his teeth in frustration. Damn the bloody female and her ideals! Most men kept secrets from their wives—it was accepted, even expected. But she wouldn't allow it—oh, no. Not his self-righteous little troublemaker, with her unrealistic ideas about how men should behave in marriage! He should have heeded his earlier warning that she'd never agree to marry him. But no, he'd had to let his cock do his thinking.

Well, he'd proposed and made a fool of himself sufficiently. Now he should wash his hands of her, leave her to her suspicions. Could any woman be worth all this trouble?

He gazed at her angry stance, at the delicate hands planted on the choicest pair of hips this side of the Channel, at the expressive eyes flashing emerald. Even haphazardly attired with pencils stuck through her hair, she'd been enticing, but now, wearing that excuse for a wrapper, she was irresistible. He'd never seen a young woman so full of life, audacity, and a sensual promise shimmering from her in waves, especially when her temper was roused.

Yes, this woman was worth any trouble. And he began to see that convincing her to marry him would take more than one seductive interlude and some discussion.

All right, so he'd plan a more elaborate strategy. He hadn't been a spy for nothing. And he still had a little time to be patient.

“Well?” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “You do un
derstand, don't you? I shan't marry you, Ian, and nothing you say will change my decision.”

“You've made that perfectly clear,” he said in a neutral tone.

She eyed him with suspicion. “So you won't pursue this any further?”

“No.”
Not until I think of a suitable strategy for it
.

She seemed startled by his easy acquiescence. “And my refusal of your proposal won't affect our agreement?”

“What agreement?”

“That I won't write anything about you in my column, and you won't expose me.”

He'd forgotten about that. Bloody hell, that was perfect! She was handing him his strategy on the proverbial platter! He could use her fear of exposure to his advantage.

Turning away, he clasped his hands together behind his back and strolled the room as if deep in thought. “That's a different matter entirely, isn't it? Thanks to the false insinuations in your most recent column, I now have the reputation of being a coward and a liar, which will make it difficult for me to find a wife. In essence, you've ‘ruined' me, yet you refuse to do the honorable thing and marry me. So why shouldn't I expose you?”

“Don't be absurd! I haven't ‘ruined' you—surely many women would marry you for your fortune and your title alone!”

Halting near the bed, he shrugged. “It's not easy to find a wife when one has my reputation. I've looked for two years.” She needn't know that he'd been more particular than most, which was partly responsible for his current dilemma. “In that time, the closest I've come to an actual engagement was with your friend Katherine, and you ended that with your revelations about my private life.”