The Dangerous Lord (29 page)

“And all her columns about you—”

“Were a peculiar form of courtship, you could say.” Ian watched as she stood and began speaking to the boys with an earnest expression. “Other people send gifts—Felicity and I proffer rumors about each other.”

A sudden outcry came from one of the triplets. The boy hurtled across the room toward Ian and grabbed him around the legs, sobbing into one of Ian's knees.

Startled, Ian tousled the boy's hair and said soothingly, “There now, what's wrong?”

When the boy lifted a tear-streaked face to him, he recognized William by his missing tooth. “Lissy says that y-you're taking her away to l-live with you!” William stammered between sobs. “A-And we're to st-stay here without her!”

Felicity approached, her gaze on Ian. “I'm sorry…I didn't tell them until now. I knew they'd be so disappointed.”

“Please don't take away our s-sister—we need Lissy!”

Kneeling on one knee, Ian cupped William's damp cheeks. “I need her, too. And you've got Mrs. Box to take care of you. But who have I got? No one. Besides, it will only be a week. On New Year's Day, we'll be back to fetch you all. Then you'll come out to my estate to live with me and your sister. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“But Christmas will be over by then!” William wailed. “We can't have Christmas without Lissy!”

The cry tortured him. Christmas. Of course. It had been years since he'd celebrated Christmas in more than a cursory fashion, so although he'd vaguely noted that Lissy and the boys would be separated for the holiday, he hadn't worried about it. He'd sent a selection of playthings to Taylor Hall sufficient to please any child and had considered himself done with the problem.

He was a bloody idiot. The woman was the nearest thing to their mother, and now he was whisking her away at Christmas. What was wrong with him these days? The Ian Lennard who'd spied for His Majesty would have recognized the importance of the boys having Felicity around for Christmas. The Ian besotted by his wife, however, had thought only of getting her off to himself as soon as possible.

His gaze flew to Felicity, who was watching William with misty eyes. Damn. He stood and touched her arm. “Why didn't you say anything?”

Glancing away, she stammered, “A-About what?”

“You want to be here for Christmas, too, don't you? I'm sorry, I didn't—” He broke off with a groan. “I'm not so callous as to wrench you from your family during their holiday.”

He looked down at William's red nose and heaving chest. Slighting her siblings wouldn't endear him to his new wife. Yet the only solution didn't appeal to him.

So it took him completely by surprise when he heard himself say, “How about if Lissy and I stay at Taylor Hall tonight, William? We'll celebrate Christmas with you in the morning and leave tomorrow after Christmas dinner. Will that please you?”

William's eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! Do you hear, Lissy? We'll have Christmas all together!” He ran off to tell his brothers.

“But it's just for tonight!” Ian called out after the boy. Then he sighed. Another night sharing Felicity with her brothers. Bloody hell.

Felicity slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, then kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.” She beamed at him. “But you may regret your generous gesture later when my brothers are plaguing you unmercifully.”

“I regret it now,” he grumbled, laying his hand over hers. “Perhaps I can persuade them that Father Christmas will be more likely to come early if they retire early.”

“Good luck.” Her smile turned mischievous. “They're always so excited about Christmas, we'll be fortunate if they sleep at all tonight.”

“Why should they?
We
certainly won't.”

She looked blank, then colored and tried to remove her hand from his. “I beg your pardon.
I
shall sleep well. I always do when I'm in my own bed—alone.”

“Alone?” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Absolutely not. You're my wife now, and I won't have your servants gossiping around London about why the Viscount St. Clair didn't share a bed with his wife on their wedding night.”

Her dagger of a glance showed she understood his position and knew she couldn't hope to alter it. “Very well. We'll sleep together. But sleep is
all
we'll do, Ian.”

“If you say so,” he mocked. He'd let her keep her hypocrisy for the moment. After all, he had all evening to strip it from her, one piece at a time.

F
elicity came awake slowly, morning light glowing through her closed eyelids. Opening her eyes, she saw the familiar moldings on the ceiling. It was her own bed, and she was dressed in her chemise. But how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was telling Georgie a story in the nursery. And the strange dream afterward…arms lifting her…a low voice muttering…a sensation of floating—

Ian! She shot up in bed, then spotted him slumped in a chair not far away. Shirtless and barefoot, he wore only his smallclothes. His hairy legs were splayed in front of him, and his arms were crossed over his bare chest. And his eyes were open, fixed on her with a dark intensity that made her shiver.

He'd never looked more threatening. Or tempting.

“At last Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he growled, faintly slurring the words. He straightened in the chair and pain spasmed over his unusually pale face.

“Are you unwell?” she asked in instant concern.

Bending down, he picked up something and brandished it before her. A brandy bottle. And nearly empty by the look of it.

“For pity's sake, you're foxed!” she exclaimed.

He lifted the bottle, inspecting its meager contents sullenly. “Not foxed enough. It was half-empty when I found it.”

How strange for Ian to drink excessively. Being drunk meant losing control of a situation, and Ian never lost control. What could have made him drink? “Did something happen last night that I don't remember?”

“
Nothing
happened.” He settled back against the chair to glower at her, the bottle bumping against his leg. “That's the problem. Between your celebration of Christmas, all that time spent hanging stockings and singing carols with your brothers, and your insistence on taking the boys up to bed, not a damned thing happened. You wouldn't let me go up with you—gave me some nonsense about its being your last night alone with them for a while. So like a fool I came down here to wait for you.”

Tilting up the bottle, he swigged the rest of the brandy, the muscles in his throat working convulsively as he swallowed it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When you didn't come, I went looking for you and found you asleep on Georgie's bed.”

He sounded so put out she smiled. “Oh. It must have been the champagne. It always puts me right to sleep. And I did rise very early yesterday morn—”

“I tried to wake you.
That
was pointless, so I finally gave up and carried you to bed.” His gaze drifted down her body, then halted at her breasts.

The sudden alteration in his expression from anger to desire made her look down at her chemise. Good Lord. It gaped open where the ties were undone. Swiftly, she retied
them, careful not to meet his hungry gaze. “Did you…undress me?”

“Certainly. I couldn't very well let you sleep in your gown, could I?”

Heat swam over her at the thought of his unbuttoning her dress and sliding it slowly off her body. Had he touched her? Perhaps. But he hadn't bedded her—she was fairly certain of that. She would remember if he had. Besides, if he'd bedded her, he probably wouldn't be drunk now.

He held the bottle up, regarded it with a scowl, then tossed it aside like a surly child displeased with a toy. “Empty, damn it. Is there any more in this place?”

“If there was, I wouldn't give it to you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You shouldn't be drinking at this hour, for pity's sake.”

“I daresay any man who spent his wedding night watching his wife coddle a lot of thankless scamps and then fall into a dead sleep would be drinking at this hour.”

He sounded so forlorn, the poor dear. It almost made up for the fact that
he
had spent last night trying to wear down her resistance to him. A caress when her brothers weren't looking…an arm around the waist…handholding. Not to mention two stolen kisses in the hall and one blatant one under the mistletoe. Oh, yes, he deserved a wedding night alone after what he'd put her through.

She didn't realize she'd smiled until he grumbled, “You find this vastly amusing, don't you? You're very proud of yourself for all your delaying tactics.”

“Well, I didn't exactly plan it that way, so I can hardly be proud of it. But it did work in my favor.” She slipped from the bed and donned her dressing gown, then went to the door and unlocked it.

“Where do you think you're going?” He rose from the chair, his movements surprisingly steady.

She faced him, and her mouth went dry. His worsted smallclothes left nothing to the imagination, outlining his
arousal in loving detail. When combined with his half-naked and quite glorious physique, the sight sent her heart racing. Drat the man. Even slightly drunk, he was tempting.

But she wouldn't let him distract her from her purpose this time. Thinking quickly, she palmed the key so he couldn't lock the door again. “I thought I'd fetch you something for your aching head. The boys will be up any minute, and—”

“Lock the door,” he ordered as he stalked toward her. “We may have missed our wedding night, wife, but there's nothing that says we can't have a wedding morning.”

Heart pounding, she opened the door, but in two steps he was at her side, slamming it closed before she could get through. He sandwiched her body between his and the door. Every inch of hard, determined male flexed against her.

“Give me the key,” he commanded, eyes glittering down at her.

Defiantly, she tossed it across the room. “Get it yourself.”

He hesitated, apparently debating how to get the key without leaving her long enough for her to escape. Then he smiled and his hand cupped her hip. “Never mind.”

But as he bent his head to kiss her, she wriggled from between him and the door. “You're in no condition to be doing this,” she said, backing away from him.

“No man has ever been in a better condition to do this,
querida
.” He stalked her with leisurely intent. “You're my wife now. And we
will
consummate this marriage.”

The uneven series of raps and knocks on her bedchamber door startled them both. Ian halted, turning to glare at the door.

“Lissy!” came a child's loud whisper beyond it. “Lissy, are you awake?”

“Say nothing, and the little imps will leave,” he growled under his breath.

She laughed, partly from the ludicrousness of his statement and partly out of relief at being spared once more.
“It's Christmas morning, Ian. They won't leave. Just be happy they didn't burst in here without knocking. That's what they usually do.”

That sent him back against the door in a flash. “Go away, lads!” he called through it. “Your sister isn't ready to get up yet. She'll come out in a while.”

She smirked at him. “Nor will anything you say put them off. Not on Christmas morn.”

As if to support her claims, the door handle rattled and a child's voice cried, “Are you in there, Lissy? We want to see if Father Christmas filled our stockings!”

“So go look at them!” Ian shouted at the door.

“We can't! Lissy locked them in the parlor!”

His gaze shot to her. “You didn't.”

“I always do. Otherwise, they'd be in there at midnight.”

He glowered at her. “Tell them to wait until we come out.”

“Not on your life.” With a grin, she called out, “I'll only be a moment, boys! I just have to dress!”

“Hurry up! It's Christmas!” Georgie cried through the door.

A curse erupted from Ian's lips. He glanced from her to the door handle and back to her as she headed for her dresser at the other end of the room. She could guess his thoughts. Open the door and order the boys to leave? No, they might dash in, putting an end to anything. Leave the door and search for the key? Then she would run out.

She chuckled to herself. This ought to repay him amply for his little maneuvers in the carriage yesterday and his taunts and caresses last night. She drew out a fresh chemise, drawers, and hose, then chose a front-closing gown she could put on easily, since she didn't want his help. She started for the privacy screen, but stopped as a wicked thought entered her head.

She had an even better way of repaying him.

Feeling daring, she faced him and removed her dressing
gown as casually as if he weren't watching her with hooded eyes from his position at the door. She hesitated a moment, unsure of the wisdom of her plan. But he had one shoulder braced against the door and couldn't move. She would be safe.

Besides, it was time to remind him what he'd be missing as long as he considered her a brood mare and not a wife. Slowly, she untied her chemise and shrugged off one sleeve, then the other.

His eyes widened. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“I'm changing clothes, of course. I have to dress.” With a teasing smile, she dropped the chemise to the floor, baring her breasts.

His gaze raked her hungrily. “Come here, and I'll help you,” he said in that thrumming voice that scrambled her insides.

Oh, she was tempted. Sorely tempted. But she wouldn't cave in, especially after he'd been so sure of himself yesterday. “I don't need any help. Besides, you have to keep the door closed. You never know when the boys might try to come in.”

She reached for the ties of her drawers, and he growled, “Don't you dare!”

Enjoying the feeling of power over him, she untied them very slowly, remembering his bold caresses yesterday and the taunt that had followed them.

His eyes blazed at her. “This is not amusing, Felicity.”

“No? Are you worried that you might not have your heir ‘by Martinmas' after all?” she said saucily. Then she shimmied out of her drawers.

With an oath, he shoved away from the door.

“Boys?” she called out loudly.

They tried the handle outside and Ian slammed back against the door. “Go away!” he hissed at the door, but his eyes ate her up.

She reveled in the wicked thrill that shot through her as
his gaze raked every inch of her naked body. This was reckless, audacious in the extreme. She ought to be ashamed of herself, but she wasn't. Not at all. It served him right to suffer a little of the torture he'd put her through yesterday.

“At least have the decency to use the screen,” he bit out.

“All you have to do is close your eyes.”

“I can't,” he said hoarsely.

In truth, he seemed frozen, the very picture of a frustrated male as he leaned against the door and drank up her every move, the rest of his body as rigid as the thing inside his smallclothes. Raising an eyebrow, she held up one stocking, then lifted her foot and propped it on the bed so she could put the stocking on. From his vantage point, he had to have an excellent view of a certain area of her anatomy.

A strangled noise, a cross between a groan and a curse, erupted from him. She tied the stocking with a garter, then put down her foot and reached for the other stocking.

“Enough!” he roared. When she lifted an eyebrow at him, he straightened. “Two can play this game, you know. Continue displaying your assets,
querida
, and I will describe exactly what I wish to do with you. Loudly. We might as well give your brothers an education as long as they're listening in on the other side of the door.”

She hesitated. Indeed, it had become very quiet out in the hall, and she knew her brothers too well to think they'd left. “You wouldn't.”

His eyes narrowed. “That little patch of skin above your garter? I want to take my tongue and run it up—”

“All right, all right!” Scooping up her clothes, she darted behind the privacy screen.

His sigh of relief echoed in the room. She dressed quickly, and when she came out from behind the screen, it was to find him donning his shirt and pantaloon trousers with a scowl. He'd propped a chair under the doorknob but had clearly relinquished any further plans to bed her this
morning, since the boys were making such a clatter outside the door that it was clear neither of them would get any peace until it was opened.

As she hurried past him, however, he caught her by the arm and pulled her close enough to whisper, “Tonight, my teasing wife, there won't be any boys pounding on our door.”

A shiver skittered along her spine. Perhaps her method of revenge hadn't been such a good idea after all. “Tonight, I'll have my own bedchamber.”

“For sleeping only.” His roguish smile made her skin come alive. “In fact, I want you to repeat this morning's stunning performance in the privacy of my bedchamber at Chesterley.”

She lifted an earnest face to him. “Gladly. As soon as you tell me what I wish to know, Ian, I'll be happy to join you in your bedchamber.”

His smile vanished. “Do you never quit?”

“No. I'd rather forego the many pleasures of your embraces than spend one moment in your bed knowing it's nothing to you but a mating.”

For a moment he looked as if he might say something. Then his jaw tightened and he glanced at the door. “You'd best open it before the little hellions break it down.”

 

No doubt about it, he'd married a wanton, Ian thought sullenly as he sat in the parlor where the Taylor Terrors eviscerated a score of wrapped boxes and packages. His gaze was fixed on his new wife—in truth, he'd been unable to turn it anywhere else since her little stunt in the bedroom. Her hair mantled her shoulders like a rumpled velvet cape, and a fresh, sweet smile curved her mouth every time her brothers opened one of his many presents. Seated on the floor with her body hidden behind mounds of shredded paper and tangled ribbons, she might have been mistaken for another of the children.