The Dangerous Lord (28 page)

As the vicar read the vows, Felicity stole a glance at her husband-to-be, looking so tall and strong in his white velvet waistcoat and his tail coat of dark blue saxony with gilt buttons. One would have thought from his unruffled countenance that this wedding was as easy for him as a ride in the country.

But she knew better. There'd been that moment in the vestibule when she'd glimpsed the depth of his uncertainty, the sheer intensity of his desire to marry her and his equally intense fear that she might not. That glimpse had prodded her forward when every thought in her head had told her this was madness.

Somewhere inside his cool façade lay a heart so bruised that he couldn't love until it was healed. And she wanted to heal it. She had to. For she'd already lost her heart to him, and she wasn't giving up until he'd done the same.

Ian began to repeat the vows, and the steadiness of his deep voice soothed her worries.
It will be all right. Somehow I'll make it all right
.

When it was her turn, she spoke slowly, the words weighing down her tongue, for they were most solemn vows. If she were wrong about Ian, they might one day rise up to haunt her. But his stalwart presence at her side gave her the strength to finish them.

She and Ian exchanged rings. She gave him her father's old wedding ring—it was all she could afford—but the one Ian slid on her finger was obviously new and costly. He'd certainly meant it when he'd promised to be a generous husband.

“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar intoned.

Her blood clamored foolishly as Ian faced her and lifted her veil. She'd forgotten about this part of the ceremony, and it had been two days since he'd last kissed her. His
kiss was swift and circumspect, a mere press of his lips to hers, but flames scorched her lips where he'd touched them, and fire rose up in her loins. Nor could she mistake the possessive glint in his midnight eyes as he drew back from her. It found an answer in the smile she couldn't keep from springing to her lips.

Oh, but she was a hopeless case. His every motion called to her senses, which in turn clamored for his attentions. A glance here, a touch there…any and all sparked flames in naughty places.

And she thought to resist
this
? She hardly even noticed the wedding guests' broad smiles as she and Ian walked down the aisle. His gloved hand covered hers where it was tucked in the crook of his elbow, but even the chaste contact proved too much for her wild imagination, which kept seeing his naked hands on her breasts and belly and thighs.

She swallowed. Thank God they both wore gloves, or their hands would surely meld together from the heat of her thoughts. In a sensual haze, she let him lead her into the vestibule. In the same sensual haze, she went with him and the vicar into the chamber where they signed all the necessary papers.

Though it was only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before they walked out of the church to the carriage that would take them to the wedding breakfast Sara had insisted upon giving them. By the time they reached his carriage her body was awash with accursed need, and all from just the mildest of husbandly contacts.

If she could only escape him for a moment, only catch her breath before Ian had her to himself. But that was impossible. Now they would be alone in the carriage all the way to Sara's breakfast. Well, he would surely not attempt anything in so short a distance. Maybe that would give her time to clamp down on her wicked urges before they set off on the two-hour journey to his estate.

Unfortunately, once they were in his carriage, he took
the seat next to her. The curtains were closed, and the coach was as intimate as any bedchamber. She groaned aloud at the thought, and he shot her a concerned glance.

“Was the wedding not acceptable?” he asked as the coach set off.

“The wedding was fine,” was all she could manage. His carriage was roomy, but she couldn't avoid touching him when he shared her seat, and the press of his thigh to hers offered new temptations. Having shared a bed with the man should have quelled all her body's eager stammerings and starts, but if anything, it made them worse.

“I'm glad it met with your approval,” he said. “I meant to tell you, your choice of a gown is excellent. How did you manage it on such short notice?”

“It was Mama's wedding gown. Mrs. Box altered it for me.”

“With admirable success. It fits you well.”

Good Lord, must he say it in that rumbling male voice that made the most innocuous of comments seem seductive? “I'll tell her you said so.”

Catching her hand, he laced his fingers with hers. “You look lovely in it.”

Now
that
he'd intended to be seductive. She mustn't let the conversation wander in that direction. “If I'd had time,” she said, trying to sound irritated, “I could have had one made that was more fashionable. But you were in such a dratted hurry to have your bargain sealed.”

She'd hoped to annoy him enough to drop her hand, but his grip merely shifted so that his thumb could stroke across her wrist. She could feel the sensuous touch even through her gloves.

“I compromised you, remember? We had to move swiftly to preserve your reputation.”

“Yes, and to gain possession of any heir you may have sired. You paid quite dearly for that heir of yours.”

That didn't work either. As if he knew why she goaded
him, he chuckled, then released her hand, but only to draw off his gloves with slow movements that turned her insides to mush.

She swallowed and added, “Well, you may find you got the worst of the bargain.”

He tossed the gloves aside. “How so?”

“Papa's debts are rather substantial; my brothers are likely to eat you into the poorhouse; and I myself may decide it's time to indulge my taste for luxuries heretofore inaccessible to me.”

With a laugh, he settled back against the padded seat and took her gloved hands in his. He turned one over and lifted it to press a kiss into her curving palm. “You may indulge yourself to your heart's content,
querida
. When you and your father's trustee discussed the terms of the marriage settlement yesterday, I'm sure he told you of the allowance I'm providing you and your brothers.”

“Yes.” In truth, she had more “pin money” per annum than she could spend in a lifetime. Lifting her face to his, she grumbled, “I don't see how you can possibly get your money's worth out of me.”

She cursed her unthinking tongue when desire flared in his gaze. “It would have been a bargain at thrice the price,” he said, his voice thick with need.

Oh, no. She knew what that look meant, knew what it signaled. Yet like a fool she stared transfixed as he bent his head with infinite slowness toward her. By the time his mouth covered hers, warm, firm, and scented with wine, she ached for it. The knowledge that he was her husband now, that this was not only accepted, but expected, further eroded her will, softening her, making her relent so gradually she didn't recognize it as relenting until too late.

He took his time, leisurely partaking of her mouth, first with softly caressing lips and then with tender strokes of his tongue. When she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, he hauled her onto his lap so he could plunder her mouth
in earnest. The kiss was no longer tender or gentle. It was the explosion of all his hunger and hers, mouths seeking pleasure with unashamed enthusiasm.

One of his hands slid her gown and petticoats up her legs until they cleared the tops of her garters. Then he was finding the aching place between her legs and sliding his thumb inside the slit in her drawers to tease the soft flesh into a hard little kernel. She shifted half-consciously to allow him better access, and he took full advantage of it, slipping a finger deep inside her slick passage. He stroked her with such boldness, it wrung a shocked gasp from her that he swallowed with his kiss.

It felt so wanton to indulge in these caresses when only a curtain and a sheet of glass separated them from the rest of London. The thought excited her beyond reason. And she wasn't the only one excited. His arousal swelled beneath her bottom as surely as her own arousal throbbed between her thighs.

She wouldn't even have noticed the carriage halting if he hadn't abruptly stopped kissing and caressing her. Even after he drew back, her head still spun giddily.

Then he gazed down at her, and his mouth—his teasing, wicked mouth—curved into a smile. “I'll have my heir by Martinmas next,” he reminded her in a whisper. “Or sooner.”

As the reminder sank in and his eyes gleamed with triumph, all her pleasure vanished. Drat him, drat him,
drat
him! He already had her sitting on his lap like some tart with his hand up her skirts! How could she have let him win so easily?

“Let go of me,” she whispered, unable to think of any witty rejoinder to hide her mortification.

“Are you sure that's what you want?” He had the audacity to thumb her tight little nodule of flesh again.

She yanked his hand out from beneath her skirts. “Yes. We're here. It's time to go inside.”

“We could head straight on to Chesterley—it's a good two-hour drive; plenty of time for…private enjoyments. I'm perfectly willing to forego Sara's breakfast—”

“Well, I'm not,” she snapped, wriggling from his lap. “I've had nothing to eat since dawn, and I must have sustenance, my lord.”

“I can give you sustenance,
querida
,” he whispered as she reached for the door.

Frantic to be free of him, she shoved it open. “Man doth not live by bed alone,” she quipped before stepping nimbly from the carriage without waiting for him to hand her out. “Nor doth woman.”

He grinned as he followed her out. “Very well. I can wait until later.”

“There will be no ‘later,'” she murmured as much to him as to herself. “Next time, I'll be better prepared.”

Refusing the arm he offered, she hurried up the entrance steps, her anger increasing when she glanced back to see him tugging on his gloves. The gloves he'd deliberately removed so he could fondle her. He'd done that on purpose, drat him, to prove he could seduce her whenever he liked. Ooh, she should have expected that from him. He saw her refusal to bed him as a challenge, and Ian never backed down from a challenge.

Well, he was in for a surprise. This time he'd made her angry enough to resist him. Let him try that little seduction again later. He would
not
like the result.

Ian congratulated himself as he regarded his new bride's stiff back from behind. It had been ridiculously easy to prove she couldn't resist her own passions. He probably shouldn't have taunted her there at the end, but how could he not gloat when she'd turned to pure butter in his hands a mere hour after forbidding him her bed?

His little hypocrite, that's what she was. And he would enjoy peeling away her hypocrisy when he peeled the gown from her later.

She paused at the top of the stairs to wait for him, eyes flashing. Perversely, he slowed his steps and let his gaze drink her in. He liked looking at her in that gown—her mother's. That bespoke a sentimental attachment for him, did it not?

Surely once they settled into married life, she'd forget all about his secrets. It would be easy sailing, provided he sired an heir soon. And there was no reason to think he wouldn't, now that he was sure she couldn't resist his seductions. His father had been one of two sons, and she was the only girl out of five children. Yes, he'd have his heir. Maybe even before Martinmas. Maybe by Michaelmas.

He took her arm when he reached the top. “How long must we stay to satisfy your need for sustenance? I doubt the Worthings can offer me anything to satisfy mine.”

“That's because your appetite is jaded,” she said tartly.

“Not jaded…carnal. And satisfying those appetites here would shock my friends.” He leaned close to whisper, “Though I believe it would please my wife.”

“You overestimate your powers of seduction,” she hissed under her breath as the door opened before them.

“And you, your powers of resistance.”

As the servants descended to take her cloak and his coat, her heightened color told him she knew his will and wasn't as certain of her own. It was enough to make him inordinately pleased with himself.

As soon as they reached the dining room, his friends surrounded them, but even that didn't dent his good humor. The women carried Felicity off, clamoring for details about the sudden wedding. He wondered what she was telling them. The truth? He doubted it.

Whatever it was, she'd barely started before she was cut off as the double doors opened at one end of the room and the Taylor Terrors raced toward her at a full gallop. She knelt to gather the triplets to her, and her hips strained
against the blue silk. In a flash of memory he saw himself kissing the shapely globes, then turning her over to part her thighs and…

His recalcitrant member came to instant attention inside his tight-fitting breeches. Damn, he would never make it until tonight.

Jordan came up and handed him a glass of champagne. Since Ian couldn't tear his eyes from Felicity and the damned thing in his breeches was fixed on her like a compass pointing north, Ian moved so that a chair blocked the view of his lower body.

Clearly noting Ian's none-too-subtle maneuver, Jordan grinned. “Congratulations, my friend. You've got yourself quite a wife—though it looks as if she came with a great deal of baggage. You're the only man I know who'd take on such a large and boisterous family for a woman.”

“She's worth it,” he heard himself saying, realizing he meant it.

“I daresay she is.” Jordan sipped his own champagne. “You know, Emily told me something odd. She claims your wife is the famous Lord X.”

Felicity's laughter floated on the air, making Ian's gut tighten instantly. He gulped some champagne. “She is. So watch what you say around her. I doubt she has any intention of retiring from her profession simply because she married me.”