Page 100 of The Dangerous Lord

She chose her words with care. “I forgave you for that long ago, just as you forgave me all my misjudgments of you. I don’t care anymore that you lied to me about your reasons for marriage. It wasn’t much of a lie. You’d already made it clear you were marrying me for practical considerations. Learning that those considerations were more urgent than I’d guessed makes little difference, and it certainly is no reason to seek a separation. Nor does it change my feelings for you one bit.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “It should.”

“It doesn’t. I’m not foolish enough to believe that one small mistake defines a man’s character.”

He rounded on her, eyes glittering darkly. “You don’t know my character, damn it! Those years on the Continent—what do you think I was doing? I was a spy, and that means I lived a life of constant deception and betrayal. Because I wasn’t just a spy, I was a good spy. Do you know what it takes to be a good spy?”

The vehemence behind the question caught her off guard. All she could do was shake her head mutely.

“It takes not giving a bloody damn what happens to you or what you do. Morality has no place in your actions—you do whatever your government deems necessary. Back then I felt that the world had turned its back on me, so I did the same. I turned my back on my family, on Chesterley, on everything I held dear. I taught myself how not to feel, how not to let my emotions get the better of me. I relied on intellect instead, and it carried me far. My superiors soon discovered I would take on any task as long as it was dangerous enough to make me forget⁠—”

He broke off, his face tortured. “No matter what Wellington said, the things I did were nothing to be proud of. Yes, I found out information no one could. Yes, thanks to my coloring and my talent for languages, I insinuated myself deeply into the ranks of Napoleon’s army in Spain. Do you know how many French and Spanish ‘friends’ I betrayed to do that? How many lies I told?”

“But they were the enemy⁠—”

“That was my excuse, too. But they weren’t all the enemy. There were Spanish camp followers and civilians and— Spying is a nasty business. It spills over very quickly into all of life. You can’t possibly know how many things I did that I now regret.” He spoke the words with such sharp self-contempt it wrenched her heart.

“The fact that you regret them only proves your good character. It’s one of many reasons I love you, Ian.”

“Stop saying that! You couldn’t possibly love a man like me!”

Talking would clearly not convince him. So she moved closer and said, “Then I see I must prove that I love you.”

And before he could stop her, she looped her arms about his neck and dragged his head down for her kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Three

New Year’s Eve promises many enticing amusements, among them the fireworks display at Vauxhall, Mr. and Mrs. Locksley’s entertainment, Lord Stratton’s annual ball, and His Majesty’s lavish dinner at Frogmore-lodge. There will be something for every level of society, so the night is sure to be enjoyed all round.

Lord X, The Evening Gazette, December 30, 1820

Ian stood frozen with his wife’s mouth on his. Damn her, he couldn’t let this happen! Bedding her would make it impossible for him to bear a separation from her. Why hadn’t he considered his wife’s passionate temperament in all his earlier strategizing?

Because he hadn’t known she fancied herself in love with him. That’s why she was trying this damned maneuver. She thought that because they’d made love she was in love, which wasn’t the same thing. The things he’d told her had made no difference, because they were only a fraction of the real horror. Once she learned the truth about that, her feelings of love would dissipate rapidly enough. So he ought to tell her everything. Then she would despise him, and the battle would be over.

He reached up to pry her arms from around his neck, but she held on tight, and with his fingers around her wrists, he could feel her wildly beating pulse. But it was worse when she moved her lips on his. Damn it, they were sweet. Literally. Sweet with burgundy, making him think of ripe, luscious fruit ... as ripe and luscious as the breasts crushed against his chest by her tiptoed stance.

My God, those breasts. He itched to touch them. Ignoring her lips was manageable. Possibly. If he kept his mouth closed and didn’t breathe in her scent.

But ignoring her body, the full length of it so soft against him, was impossible. Not when he’d mangled his sheets for a week trying not to think of having her again. He wasn’t a bloody stone, for God’s sake. He dug his fingers into her wrists, trying frantically to unlock the hands manacled about his neck.

She drew back and frowned up at him. “Have you forgotten how to kiss me, Ian?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, fire eating him up inside. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

A smile curled up her temptress’s lips. “Yes, you do. You’re just being stubborn, and I won’t have it. I want you to make love to me again.”

Erotic images danced in his vision—of throwing her back on that bed and having his way with her. “No. We should talk. I have more to tell you⁠—”

“Later. I want to do this first.”

Do it, yes, yes! his body cried. Thankfully, his mind still functioned, and it said no, though the no grew feebler by the second.

Then she flattened her lower body against his already burgeoning erection, and he had to struggle to remember why he would say no at all.

“I want you, Ian. Now.” She released his neck suddenly, and he released her wrists even more quickly, but she only moved her hands to her hair, where she proceeded to remove the pins.

He scowled at her. “Don’t do that.”