The Dangerous Lord (36 page)

“You're right,” Jordan said, then headed for the door.

When they entered the ballroom a few minutes later, he instantly noticed a change in the way people regarded him. The coldness that had been there earlier was absent. Some of the women even eyed him with interest.

He wanted only one woman, however. As they joined Gideon beside the punch table, it took Ian a few minutes to spot her standing with Lady Brumley amidst a crowd of matrons. Someone glanced at him, then said something to Felicity that made her laugh and cast him a delighted smile. He smiled back. What the devil was going on?

He didn't have long to wonder. Emily and Sara hurried up to the three of them, out of breath and beside themselves with excitement. “Where on earth have you two been?” Sara asked. “You've missed everything!”

“Oh?” Jordan asked, exchanging glances with Ian.

“Your wife is amazing!” Emily told Ian.

“I'm quite aware of that, believe me. What has she done now?”

“Well, you needn't worry about the gossip your uncle spread anymore,” Sara remarked.

It took Emily and Sara several minutes to tell the tale. As they detailed Felicity's blithe parrying of every accusation made by Edgar, Ian's astonishment grew. They were right—Felicity
was
amazing. It would never have occurred to him to attack the problem as she had. Somehow she'd turned all his uncle's lies into compliments to her husband without so much as calling Edgar Lennard a liar. Incredible.

Sara's eyes were bright with mischief as she finished her tale. “I believe she'd still complaining about her ‘troublesome' husband and how miserable she is married to a man who provides for her brothers, supports her profession, and as she puts it, makes her ‘behave most improperly.' She has them all laughing at your uncle's claim that you forced her into marriage. And pitying him for his other accusations.”

Ian could scarcely breathe, his throat was so tight with pride and love. She'd said she wouldn't disappoint him, then she'd gone on to surpass all his expectations. How had he gotten so lucky? To find the most wonderful woman in London, when all he'd sought was someone to give him an heir. He didn't care what happened now, as long as he got to keep her.

He looked for her again and spotted her in close conversation with Lord Jameson, another of the notorious gossips. No doubt she was laying further seeds of doubt on the most fertile ground possible.

As if she felt his gaze, she looked up, saw who surrounded him, then flashed him a tentative smile, as if trying to determine if he'd approved of her tactics. He put as much feeling into his answering smile as he could manage, and
her face glowed. He felt other eyes on them, but could think only of her. And how badly he wanted to get her home and make her “behave most improperly.”

Suddenly he caught sight of someone approaching her, and his smile vanished. Uncle Edgar, damn him. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmured to his friends and hurried toward Felicity.

His uncle said something to her and then they both headed out of the ballroom down one of the hallways toward the private rooms. Which was just as well, Ian thought as he followed them. What he had to say to his uncle was not for others' ears.

He found them entering a parlor off the main hall. He hurried toward it, but slowed as he approached the open door and heard his uncle say, “You wouldn't listen to me, would you? You had to take up with him. You had to defend him and make me appear the fool. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, Lady St. Clair.” He spoke the courtesy title with condescension. “You and your naïveté. When you hear the whole truth—”

“I
know
‘the whole truth,'” she said fiercely. “He's told me all of it. What's more, if I'd wanted to tell ‘the whole truth' to the world, I would have made sure you came off sounding like the vermin you are.”

Ian paused at the door.

“The fact is,” she continued, “I don't want to tell the whole truth—I have no wish to cause my husband further pain. But if you ever reveal what happened that night in that cottage, I won't hesitate to denounce you publicly for the wife-beater you are!”

“That won't prevent my nephew from going to prison for murdering my wife!”

“You might be surprised. I'm sure your former mistress—who detests you, by the way—would be happy to claim that
you
were the one who pushed your wife. I'm also sure any number of your servants could attest to your sordid
habits. So go ahead, try accusing Ian of murder. Miss Greenaway and I will make sure you go straight to Newgate for it. I won't let you hurt him anymore!”

“There are other ways I can hurt him,” he said in a sly voice that sent a chill down Ian's spine. “I wonder how my nephew would feel to discover me lying with his wife? Shall we find out?”

Ian surged through the door, slamming it so hard against the wall that his uncle whirled around in the process of reaching for Felicity. “Touch her,” Ian warned, “and I'll tear you into so many pieces they'll never find you!”

Felicity had never been so happy to see her husband in her life. Though she undoubtedly could have used her knee trick on his uncle, she much preferred to have her husband at her side for this. “There you are, my love! I was just telling your uncle how delighted I am to have joined the Lennard family. But for some reason, he refuses to congratulate me.”

“Come here, Felicity,” Ian commanded, though his eyes remained on his uncle. “We're expected in the ballroom. Our friends are probably looking for us right now.”

“Probably,” she said cheerily and joined him at the door. Now that Ian was here, she was beginning to feel quite pleased with herself. She'd made her point with his uncle, and had the distinct impression that he would hesitate to bother them any further.

She laid her hand in the crook of her husband's arm, and he covered it with his, squeezing it. His gaze swept her quickly. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly all right,” she reassured him.

He returned his gaze to his uncle. “I'm warning you, Uncle Edgar—I protect what is mine. If you ever come near my wife again, there won't be enough left of you to bury. Do as you wish with me, but leave her alone. Is that understood?”

His uncle glowered at him. “We're not finished, you and
I. Chesterley may yet be mine. You still have to bear an heir.”

“Believe me, I have every intention of it.” Ian gazed down at his wife, and there was no mistaking the love in his gaze. “So we'd best get right to it, don't you think, my darling?”

“Oh, certainly,” she said, beaming up at him. “We must start on it at once.”

They left his uncle behind, cursing them both loudly.

Before they could reach the ballroom, however, Ian whisked her into what looked like a study and shut the door, driving the bolt to.

“What are you doing?” she asked, startled by the sudden thunder in his expression.

“You must promise never to let that man get you alone again. If he'd hurt you, I swear—”

“But he didn't.”

“Promise me, Felicity! Or I'll keep you locked up in here until you do. And the Strattons might find that odd in the morning.”

“I promise,” she said softly. Now that she'd had her say with his uncle, she need never see the wretch again. He visibly relaxed, but when he made no move to leave, she added, “Shouldn't we return to the ballroom now? You said our friends were expecting us.”

“I lied. Besides, there's another matter to discuss.”

“What's that?”

Eyes gleaming dangerously, he trailed his fingers over her cheek. “I hear that you consider me a most ‘troublesome husband.'”

She sucked in a breath. How much had Sara and Emily told him? Could he have disapproved of her methods? Ian
was
a very private person, after all. She deliberately kept her tone light. “Wherever did you hear such a thing?”

“Everyone's talking about it. Apparently you were almost as busy spreading tales about me this evening as my
uncle.” He hooked his fingers beneath her sleeves and drew them slowly off her shoulders.

Her pulse quickened, for his eyes reflected a decidedly wicked intent. He unfastened her gown. “They're saying I have this annoying habit of making you feel things you shouldn't.”

Trust Ian to use her words against her. “It's quite true.” She pressed his hand against her breast to feel her heart pounding. “You see? You're doing it now.”

“That's what happens when you let a ‘tall, virile, and well-built' viscount force you into marriage.” He ran his finger beneath the edge of her bodice until it skimmed her nipple, and she sucked in a breath. “Instead of holding out for the ‘penniless barrister' you had your ‘heart set on.'”

She blushed. “Did they tell you
every
word I said?”

“Sara has an astonishingly good memory.”

He clearly wasn't angry. Or if he was, he had an odd way of showing it.

He peeled her gown and chemise from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his avid gaze. “I especially liked the part about how you find yourself behaving most improperly when I'm around.”

She was losing the capacity to breathe. “You mean…like this?” Reaching up, she began to untie his cravat.

“Exactly.” He reached for her hair.

“Not the hair, Ian!” she protested. “I'll never get it back up properly, and then everyone will know what we've been doing!”

With a dark smile, he began removing the pins. “Good. I must live up to my reputation, after all. I'd hate to make a liar out of my wife.” He bent his head to kiss her throat. “Especially when she went to so much trouble to enumerate all my bad qualities.”

“I didn't begin to enumerate all of them,” she said testily as her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. “I forgot to mention your insistence on having your own way…
your arrogance…your tendency to choose the most inappropriate times and places for seducing me. Shall I go on?”

“Not now, my darling viscountess,” he whispered as he pressed kisses down her breastbone. “Save something for your column. Because right now, I'm planning to illustrate my bad qualities by doing the one thing you find most ‘annoying.'”

“Oh? What is that?”

“I believe you called it, ‘demanding my husbandly rights.'”

And to her utter delight, her troublesome husband did just that.

T
hree identical blond heads bent over Felicity as she sat propped up in the huge master bed at Chesterley, cradling her three-day-old son. “Give poor Algernon room to breathe, boys,” she admonished as the triplets crowded around her. “You'll have plenty of chances to look at him, I assure you.”

“Why is he so wrinkled?” Ansel asked. “He looks like an old man.”

“So did you when you were born,” she told him. “All babies look like that when they first come out.”

“Does he know we're his uncles?” William asked.

“Not yet, but he will. And think how lucky he will be to have four uncles living in the same house with him.”

Georgie peered more closely at the baby. “He sleeps an awful lot, don't he?”

“
Doesn't
he,” a stern female voice automatically corrected behind him.

“
Doesn't
he,” George repeated, with a furtive glance at the woman who towered over him.

Felicity smiled up at Miss Greenaway. “You're making progress, I see.”

Miss Greenaway rolled her eyes. “Yes. Now I only have to correct Master George ten times a day instead of twenty.”

“I ain't—I'm
not
—all that bad,” Georgie grumbled.

Both Felicity and Miss Greenaway burst into laughter. That woke the baby up, who immediately started caterwauling.

Miss Greenaway cast her most governess-like look on the triplets. “Come now, you three, we've got Latin lessons to finish. And your sister needs a rest.”

Their chorus of groans didn't deter the young woman, and in seconds she had all three boys marching out of the room like real soldiers. Felicity shook her head in amazement. That had been the best move she'd ever made—asking Miss Greenaway to be the boys' governess. The woman had a natural ability with children, if her work with the triplets was any indication. Miss Greenaway had leapt at the opportunity as well, since a woman with a bastard child would have difficulty finding suitable work.

Lately Felicity had noticed Ian's unmarried man of affairs eyeing Miss Greenaway with something more than idle curiosity. Miss Greenaway had rebuffed his initial attempts at courtship, telling Felicity that a man of his intelligence and position deserved a “pure” woman.

But Felicity knew the man would wear Miss Greenaway down. When the only thing that stood in the way of love
was a dark past, the principals in the affair never had a chance. Love would always triumph. She'd wager all her pin money that there'd be another wedding at Chesterley soon.

Little Algernon's mouth was opening and closing like a fish's. She quickly lowered her gown, and he fastened his tiny mouth to her nipple, dragging on it lustily. He was perfect, she thought, surveying the little snip of a nose, the shells of his ears, the still-blue eyes that would probably soon turn black to match the fuzzy raven hair that whorled around the center of his delicate head.

He looked like his father, of course. A little sultan to match the big one. Well, there'd be no harem for her darling boy, if she had anything to say about it. No, he must have a nice, presentable girl…some lovely earl's daughter or even a duke's—

She groaned. She'd better watch it, or she'd turn into one of those women she always criticized in her column.

He'd finished suckling and had fallen into a sated sleep against her. Carefully, she drew her gown back up over her breast.

“No need to do that on my account,” came a rumbling male voice from the doorway.

She looked up in delight. “Ian! You're back!”

“So I am.” With a smile, he entered, then lowered his heated gaze to her now covered breasts. “I see I should have been a few minutes earlier.”

“Don't tease me,” she warned. “We've got six more weeks, you know, before we can indulge ourselves.”

He groaned. “Believe me, my love, I'm well aware of it.” He strode to the bed and sat down beside it, reaching out to trace his son's cheek. “He's beautiful, isn't he?”

“Yes,” she agreed with maternal pride.

“And now he's the proud heir of an entire estate.”

She gazed up at him eagerly. “It's settled then? It's all done?”

He nodded. “Uncle Edgar can't touch us. I think he'd already realized it the night of the Strattons' ball.”

Mrs. Box bustled into the room. “His lordship has come and—Oh, there you are, milord! Beat me up here to tell her, I see.” She approached the bed, smiling broadly. “Shall I take the little master for you, luv? Looks like he's nappin' again.”

Felicity handed the baby to Mrs. Box. The woman had proven an excellent nurse, and Felicity had no doubt she'd continue to be one through many more little Lennards.

As soon as Mrs. Box was gone, Ian stretched out beside her on the bed. “I found something interesting while I was at the solicitor's in London.” He drew out a folded sheet of paper. “Apparently, my father had left instructions that I was to be given this if I succeeded in having an heir before the appointed time.”

She tried to guess from Ian's expression what it said, but he merely stared at her in that inscrutable manner he still sometimes had. Taking the paper with trembling hands, she opened it and scanned the lines:

Felicity tossed the paper down angrily. “And this is all he wrote? No words of apology for driving you away? No hint that he believed you innocent all along?”

“This
was
his apology, my love—or the closest my father could ever come to one. Jordan once said that if my father had truly believed me unworthy of being his heir, he wouldn't have arranged that strange will. He would simply
have left the estate to my uncle. But he didn't—because he wanted to make sure I came back for it.”

Noting the resignation in his tone, she took his hand in hers. “You're not angry at him? All those years of torture, of thinking he despised you—”

“I'm more angry at myself than anything. If I'd stayed, we might have worked through our differences. But I let my pride drive me away.” He smiled. “Then again, if I'd stayed, I might not have met you.”

She grinned. “Oh, I'm sure you would have. You're such a troublesome man, you would eventually have done
something
to merit mention in my column. And then you would have strode into my study and warned me about crossing you—”

“And seduced you and laid the most careful strategy to have you.” He squeezed her hand. “You're right,
querida
. It would have made no difference at all. One encounter with you would have been sufficient to make me want you. It certainly was all it took the first time.”

“What? You didn't
act
as if you wanted me that day. You acted like a bully.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For all the good it did me. You merely continued to write precisely what you wished about me.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “it's time I went back to writing my column. What do you think should be the subject of my first column since the baby's birth? How the Viscount St. Clair roused a doctor out of bed the moment his wife first complained of birth pains? How the good viscount's notoriously even temper deserted him when the doctor said it might be hours and he should sleep a while longer? How the baby arrived amid the constant advice of a father who seemed to think he knew something about physic when he most decidedly did not?”

“I have a better idea,” Ian said with a dangerous smile.
“Why not write a column on the various ways the good viscount intends to torture his wife with pleasure once the doctor approves marital relations?”

“Oh no, I couldn't write about that!” she said in mock horror.

“Too scandalous even for you?”

“Not at all,” she said coyly. “Too long. That would take far more than one column.”