The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (6 page)

Odd that no one had ever mentioned his relations, considering the constant gossip one heard about him. “She’s only teething. The pressure against her gums helps soothe her ache. It doesn’t hurt me.”

“You’re remarkably at ease with her.” He was still studying her and Ivy, taking them in as though they were a portrait hanging in an elegant hall, his gaze following each line and curve to determine how child and woman flowed together.

“How can I not be? Besides growing up with all my Farthingale cousins, I now have a slew of nephews and nieces to adore. They’re all perfect. I melt whenever they look at me with their big, innocent eyes.” She paused a moment, realizing that Ian had never once called out for anyone dear to him, even when he had been delirious in those first days after the attack when his survival had been in doubt. She silently berated herself. Because of her thoughtlessness, he might have died alone in her bed, no loved ones beside him.

She resolved to find out about his family. What if he were attacked again? It wasn’t a matter of snooping. She was simply being thoughtful. However, she couldn’t ask him straight out. He would have spoken of relatives if he’d wanted to during those hours they’d spent together. No, she’d pry the information out of her elderly neighbor, Lady Eloise Dayne.

Eloise, who knew everything about everybody, was a kind and sensible woman, not the sort ever to lie or twist the truth. Indeed, Eloise would be the perfect source since she was practically a part of the Farthingale family. Her grandsons, Gabriel and Graelem, were married to Dillie’s sisters.

Ian continued to watch her and Ivy, drinking them in with his gaze. Ivy was still suckling her chin and her little hand was no longer fisted, but open and resting on Dillie’s cheek, stroking it lightly.

This felt nice, standing here with Ian, cradling Ivy in her arms.

Her heart skipped beats again, as it always did when Ian stood close. She could feel the subtle heat and power radiating off his body.

She shook out of the wayward thought, afraid to allow Ian too close, for he always overwhelmed her senses. He overwhelmed her heart. She couldn’t allow it, for she was about to enter her second London season. She wanted to meet the man she was going to marry and start a family. Ian wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d made no secret of his desire to remain a bachelor.

She cleared her throat. “Did you ever find out who was after you?”

He shrugged and propped his elbow casually on the staircase newel post. “No. It isn’t important.”

She knew him well enough to understand that Ian was never casual. “You’re doing that thing again.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Doing what thing?”

“Carrying around that I-deserve-to-be-miserable chip on your shoulder.”

He ignored the comment, just as she expected he would. But she was a Farthingale, and Farthingales spoke their minds, whether or not anyone wished to hear their pearls of wisdom. “Did you miss me?” he asked instead, obviously wishing to change the topic.

“It so happens, I did. It isn’t every day one finds a handsome duke in one’s bed. Life after that can seem deadly dull.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

She rolled her eyes again. “You know you are. Everyone knows you are.” Ivy released her chin long enough to let out a squeal. Dillie laughed. “See, even my niece thinks so. You’re devastating to all women, even those who can’t walk or talk yet.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Nanny Grenville’s arrival. “There you are, my little princess!” said the amiable older woman. “Do you mind if I take her, Miss Dillie?”

“Not at all.” She gave Ivy a kiss on the cheek—in fact, several kisses on her plump, pillow-soft cheek—and then handed her over. “Glad you’re here to rescue me. I’ve been thoroughly mauled by this ten-month-old, as you can see.”

Ivy’s nanny shook her head and sighed. “You aren’t the only one she’s bested. She may be little, but she’s quick with her fists.” She gave her charge a quick hug. “Aren’t you, my little princess?”

Dillie watched niece and nanny disappear up the stairs, and then turned to Ian. She blushed, realizing he’d continued to study her all the while she’d been watching Ivy. “There’s spittle oozing down your chin,” he said, his voice seductively tender.

She winced. “I know. Incredibly alluring, isn’t it?”

He let out an unguarded laugh. “Absolutely. Thoroughly irresistible. I’m struggling to hold back my desire. Here, let me wipe it off you.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his front pocket, tucked a finger under her chin, and tipped her face upward so that she met his gaze.

Holy crumpets!
There was something wonderful in the way he smiled at her, in the way that smile seemed to dance in his eyes. Her cheeks and ears were heating up again. So was the rest of her body. Unbearably hot. Melt-one’s-bones hot.

He gently dabbed her chin, and ever so gently wiped the corners of her lips.

His knuckles grazed her lips.

She
eeped. Crumpets!
He was having far too much fun drying her off. “My hair’s a mess,” she said, hurriedly drawing away. She removed the last of the hairpins, most of which were dangling amid the long strands, and gave her hair a quick twist in order to fashion a passable bun at the nape of her neck. She stuck the pins back in to hold the style in place and hoped it would last through the afternoon, but she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t done a very good job of it.

Ian was still studying her.

She whirled to face him. “What?”

He acted as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Is there a question in that comment?”

“Why are you still looking at me?”

“Should I look away? You aren’t that hideous. Indeed, at times you’re quite nice to look at. Not right now, of course. I think Ivy gave you a shiner. And your earlobe is a bright, apple red.” He touched a finger to her ear, and then trailed it lightly down the side of her neck. The pulse at its base began to throb and a deliciously hot tingle ran up her spine.
Mercy!

“Stop it, you clunch. And why don’t you care that you haven’t found out who was after you? If I were you, I’d make it a priority to run those villains to ground.”

“But you’re not me.”

He sounded quite smug. Had she felt sympathy for his plight? Well, no longer. She wanted to grab him by his exquisite lapels and shake him till his teeth rattled. “Fine, don’t look for them. I won’t save you the next time. No, I’ll stay cozy in my room and pop grapes in my mouth while I stand by my window and watch you slowly bleed to death.”

He let out a deep, unrestrained laugh. “Dillie, you’re the farthest thing from a bloodthirsty wench I’ve ever met. Your instincts are to nurture and protect. You’re far too generous, you love faithfully, and you’ll protect even those you don’t like very much. Such as myself.”

“Are you mocking me?”

He took her hand and stuck it on his arm. “No, quite the opposite. I just gave you a compliment, you impertinent little baggage. You’re soft-hearted and yet quite fearless when you need to be. I’m still in awe of the way you chased off my attackers. Who taught you how to shoot an elephant gun?”

“My Uncle George,” she admitted with a wince. “He caught Lily and me one morning trying to break into the cabinet where he stored his collection of weapons. Rather than scold us, he thought it safer to teach us how to use them. We were twelve years old at the time and that gun was enormous, much bigger than we were. He taught us how to load it, but wouldn’t allow us to fire it because he thought the force of the recoil would break our young bones.”

He glanced at her shoulder and frowned suddenly. “I never thought to ask. You didn’t appear to be hurt, but—”

“I wasn’t.” She shook her head and laughed lightly. “Although the force of the recoil did knock me onto my dainty derriere. Twice. The thick carpet in my bedchamber cushioned my fall. I’m surprised Uncle George didn’t come tearing into my room at the roar of that first shot, but he’d been up for two days straight with that important patient of his and was exhausted. He fell asleep fully clothed—jacket, cravat, boots—and was snoring before his head hit the pillow. Nothing was going to wake him up.”

“Except your butler.”

Still smiling, Dillie nodded. “Poor Pruitt, he had to duck my uncle’s fists as he shook him awake. But all turned out well, thank goodness. You’re alive.”

He covered her hand with his own when she began to tremble, for it was still resting on his arm where he’d placed it when preparing to escort her into Daisy’s parlor. “Come along,” he said with unexpected tenderness, “or Daisy and Gabriel will wonder what’s become of us.”

They managed only two steps before Dillie held him back. “I forgot to mention, Uncle George and I never said a word to anyone about... you know.”

He arched an eyebrow. “About my week in your bed?”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it quite like that. We thought it better to keep the incident to ourselves. No one knows but the three of us.”

“And Pruitt. And Ashcroft,” he pointed out. “And your footmen and my coachman.”

Dillie pursed her lips in thought. “But they’re all loyal. They wouldn’t tattle, would they?”

He shrugged. “Let’s hope not.”

***

The quiet afternoon Ian had hoped for turned out not to be so quiet after all. He had expected to meet Gabriel at his home to discuss business and other matters of national importance, including who had tried to kill him last November. He hadn’t expected to find Dillie there visiting her sister.

The sight of Dillie standing in the entry hall, holding her niece in her arms, had sent his heart shooting into his throat. She had looked so happy. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt such joy. He didn’t think he ever had.

She was laughing and cooing over Ivy, the love she held for that baby shining through her glorious blue eyes, even as Ivy wreaked havoc on her hair and practically tore the earring off her earlobe. Dillie hadn’t minded at all. She’d held the child so naturally, as though the squirming bundle in her arms were simply another appendage.

She would make a wonderful mother. Unlike his own.

Dillie had caught him staring at her. In truth, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. There were many beautiful young women in London, though none came close to Dillie’s spectacular allure. She had a magical, inner glow, a moon-and-stars sparkle that made him ache to take her into his arms and hold her close forever.

Of course, forever for him meant about a month, for that was the longest any sweet young thing had ever held his interest. Dillie was the exception, but only because she was forbidden fruit. Gabriel and Graelem would cut out his entrails and feed them to the carrion birds if he ever hurt Dillie.

Ian fidgeted in his chair. Gabriel and Daisy had taken over the settee, leaving him no choice but to claim the seat beside Dillie’s. He spent the next half hour forced to pretend that her soft laughter and sweet blush did not affect him. Daisy, her own blue eyes sparkling with mirth, had taken over the conversation, relating the latest scandals making their way around London. Dillie had responded with the innocent awe of a child.

He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent.

He shifted uncomfortably once more, tortured by Dillie’s nearness and his inability to touch her. He couldn’t conceive of a worse punishment... and then Daisy’s other guests arrived. By the time Lady Eloise Dayne was announced, the servants had set out an elaborate display of sweets and other refreshments to accompany the afternoon tea.

He rose as Eloise entered and greeted her warmly. She was Gabriel’s grandmother and neighbor to the Farthingales on Chipping Way. He truly liked the old dowager. She was helpful, perfectly agreeable, and a genuine delight.

Not so delightful was Eloise’s tiny companion, Lady Phoebe Withnall, the
ton’s
most notorious gossip.
Hell.
This could be bad. In truth, he liked Phoebe as well, and despite her ruthless reputation, she’d often gone easy on him. Often, but not always. The woman had ears planted in everyone’s walls, or so it seemed, for she had a way of digging up secrets that were meant to be shrouded in darkness for eternity.

Had the old bloodhound picked up the scent of his injury? And his recovery in Dillie’s bed? Dillie had assured him that she and George hadn’t mentioned the incident to anyone. He hoped it was true.

Phoebe’s beady-eyed gaze homed in on him, and her pointed nose began to twitch as she inspected him from head to elegantly booted toe. She was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing him out. “You’ve been quiet these past few months, Your Grace.”

He’d spent years fighting Napoleon’s ablest soldiers and spies, been captured a couple of times, and survived torture. He wasn’t about to make a slip under the heat of Phoebe’s questioning gaze.

Dillie would, though.

Fortunately, Phoebe’s attention was still trained on him. Her nose twitched again, a sign she was contemplating her strategy. “Where did you spend your holidays?”

He shrugged. “Quietly at Edgeware.”

“I heard you stayed in town longer than expected last season. Any reason?”

Dillie had been about to lift her teacup to her lips, but let out a soft gasp instead. “Too hot,” she hastily muttered, easing her hand off the cup, no doubt afraid she’d draw further attention to herself by spilling her tea if the conversation suddenly turned alarming.

Ian was good at hiding his thoughts. Dillie hadn’t any such talent. She’d be
eeping
like a demented bird the moment the old woman trained her gaze on her.

In truth, he liked those throaty little sounds Dillie made. Proof that he unsettled her. Not that he would ever act upon that proof. Still, it mattered to him that Dillie was not quite as resistant to him as she would like to believe.

Phoebe asked him several more questions, to which he purposely gave empty responses. Finding little gossip fodder from him, she turned her attention to Dillie. “Drink up, girl. Why aren’t you touching your tea?”

“Daisy and I finished a pot before you arrived, Lady Withnall,” she answered, smoothly managing her lie. “A lovely oriental blend with a hint of orange peel. Delicious.”