Page 69 of The Dangerous Lord

“Why so many questions?” he countered with an arched eyebrow. “More grist for your mill?”

She ignored the barb. “No, indeed. I’m very particular about my grist these days. I’ve sworn off the St. Clair family entirely. You see, the head of the family is an arrogant wretch who causes trouble for me whenever I write about him.”

“See that you remember that,” he warned, but he was smiling now.

“So? Will you tell me about your mother’s death?”

He shrugged. “It’s no great secret. I was seventeen. An epidemic of smallpox hit a neighboring town. Father didn’t believe in inoculations—he thought they would cause the disease rather than prevent it—but I’d heard of Jenner’s vaccine at school, so I consulted our local physician. On his advice, I went behind Father’s back to have everyone on the estate inoculated.”

She couldn’t think of a single one of the seventeen-year-old lords she’d known who might take such an initiative. How amazing that Ian had. No doubt he’d saved hundreds of lives with his action.

“Unfortunately, Mother refused to go against Father’s wishes as usual. She died of the disease.” He looked up from the bed, his eyes glittering like shattered onyx in the dim candlelight. “And he blamed me, the stubborn old goat. He said I’d brought smallpox to the estate with the inoculations.”

“How unfair!” Her heart lurched at the thought of a young Ian forced to shoulder the blame for his mother’s death.

He shrugged. “Father had firm ideas about right and wrong, and I’d committed one of his cardinal sins by acting without his consent. He never forgave me for it.”

“Is that why you fled to the Continent?” she whispered unthinkingly. “To escape your father and his unfairness?”

It was as if a curtain dropped over his face. “Something like that.” Before she could comment, he glanced down at her brother and said curtly, “Do you think it’s safe to leave William now?”

Her breath grew leaden in her chest. She should have known Ian wouldn’t answer that question. Even after all the time they’d spent together, he still didn’t trust her.

“Felicity?” he prodded. “Will the boy be all right alone?”

She straightened her shoulders with a sigh. “Yes, I think so. He never has more than one nightmare.”

He released William’s hand and stood. “Then we might as well have that claret.”

Claret? She could hardly think about claret right now. All she could think of was the poor boy Ian had been and the tormented man he’d become, the one who wouldn’t speak of his past even to his friends. Now she could see why he might have turned to his aunt in his loneliness. Why he might have been driven to do the unthinkable.

No, she mustn’t think of that, or be plagued again by questions. Mechanically, she rose and surveyed the room. The boys seemed content in their sleep. She had no more reason to linger. But as she followed Ian to the door, an uneasiness built in her chest. He still wanted to talk to her alone.

Yesterday, she might have been foolish enough to believe she could resist his advances. After today she knew better—where Ian was concerned, she had the fortitude of a hare. And his revelations had softened her toward him most dangerously.

When they moved into the hall barely lit by its one candle, she realized she needed the candelabra that she’d forgotten in the nursery. “Wait,” she began, turning back toward the door.

He caught her around the waist and drew her into his arms. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” Then his mouth took hers in a searing kiss that stole her breath and severely battered her will.

The fortitude of a hare—that’s me, she thought as she wound her arms about his neck. If she hadn’t secretly awaited this all day herself, she might resist him. But it was impossible now. She’d lain awake too many nights remembering their caresses. Too many times she’d watched him dance with another and dreamed it was her instead.

Their kiss was everything she’d remembered and more. Warm breaths melting into one ... the rasp of his whiskers against her cheeks ... the familiar but faint scent of tobacco clinging to his hair.

After he had her limp in the knees—and everywhere else—he drew back to smile down at her. “This is better than claret, don’t you think?”

Better than any liquor she could imagine. Which was why she absolutely mustn’t let him do it again. Taking him by surprise, she wrenched free and raced toward the staircase. When she heard him curse behind her, she quickened her steps, but she could hardly do more than feel her way along in the faint light shone by the single candle at the top of the stairs. “You must leave, Ian,” she cried. “It’s late.”

“I’m not leaving,” he growled as he hurried down the steps after her.

She’d hoped to outstrip him, but that was impossible. Apparently the man possessed the eyes of a cat, for he caught up with her just as she reached the next floor.

He swung her around to face him, his eyes reflecting the darkest desires. “There’s no reason for me to leave, and you know it. I’m tired of this farce. I’m tired of going to bed wanting you and waking up wanting you more. I’m tired of pretending to court other women merely to make you jealous.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“Yes, that’s why I courted them,” he said, correctly interpreting her reaction. “You’re the only one I’ve wanted since that night at the Worthings.”

She swallowed hard. She should have known it was a ploy all along. She tried to summon up fury, but all she felt was a treacherous thrill that he’d gone to so much trouble to gain her.