Page 91 of The Dangerous Lord

“For sleeping only.” His roguish smile made her skin come alive. “In fact, I want you to repeat this morning’s stunning performance in the privacy of my bedchamber at Chesterley.”

She lifted an earnest face to him. “Gladly. As soon as you tell me what I wish to know, Ian, I’ll be happy to join you in your bedchamber.”

His smile vanished. “Do you never quit?”

“No. I’d rather forego the many pleasures of your embraces than spend one moment in your bed knowing it’s nothing to you but a mating.”

For a moment he looked as if he might say something. Then his jaw tightened and he glanced at the door. “You’d best open it before the little hellions break it down.”

No doubt about it, he’d married a wanton, Ian thought sullenly as he sat in the parlor where the Taylor Terrors eviscerated a score of wrapped boxes and packages. His gaze was fixed on his new wife—in truth, he’d been unable to turn it anywhere else since her little stunt in the bedroom. Her hair mantled her shoulders like a rumpled velvet cape, and a fresh, sweet smile curved her mouth every time her brothers opened one of his many presents. Seated on the floor with her body hidden behind mounds of shredded paper and tangled ribbons, she might have been mistaken for just another of the children.

But not by him. My God, this morning when she’d slipped out of her drawers ...

He groaned. She was a piece of work. The image of her naked body, drenched in sunlight that kissed the high, small breasts and the tempting curls between her legs, was still emblazoned on his memory. As were all her come-hither-but-not-now smiles. If he hadn’t taken her virginity himself, he’d doubt her virtue, but apparently her provocative instincts were as natural to her as writing gossip. She’d be the death of him yet.

A self-mocking smile touched his lips. And yesterday, he’d had the arrogance to think this would be easy! Nothing was easy with Felicity. She had wanton urges, yes, and perhaps more potent urges than most women. But this morning she’d demonstrated that she could find a way around them while at the same time teasing him as casually as he’d teased her yesterday in the carriage. If he didn’t take care, she’d have him blurting out not only all the secrets about his past, but a thousand others, anything to regain the privilege of spreading those supple white thighs and⁠—

Bloody hell. Time for a new strategy. But what? Overt attempts to seduce her merely roused her determination to resist, and covert attempts made her respond in kind, only to stop short of the act.

William bounded toward him, dragging behind him the hobby horse he’d received from “Father Christmas,” an elaborate affair with real horse’s hair that Ian had picked out with William especially in mind. George and Ansel had already darted out the door to try theirs on the stairs, and James sat beside his sister beaming at a set of woodcarving tools.

But William approached Ian with a shy smile. “Look, Lord St. Clair, it has leather reins and everything!”

The boy’s excitement banished any lingering resentment he’d felt toward the lads for ruining his plans for his honeymoon. “You know, William, now that I’ve married your sister, you and I are brothers. So why don’t you call me Ian?”

William beamed. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Ian lifted the boy to sit on his knee, surprised at the flood of familial affection that possessed him. “And when your sister and I return to town next week to bring you and your brothers to Chesterley, we’ll see about buying all of you real ponies.”

“’Odsfish!” William threw his arms about Ian’s neck. “You’re the best brother ever!”

“Or at least the richest,” Felicity quipped. When Ian grinned at her undaunted over William’s head, she added, “You’ll spoil them if you keep that up.”

“I’m merely looking for ways to keep them occupied in the early morning hours, so they don’t go about knocking on people’s bedroom doors.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, you overshot your mark.” She swept her hand around the room. “You—I mean, Father Christmas—has been far too extravagant.”

“I should hope so. He seems to have bypassed the Taylors lately, so he owed them more than usual, don’t you think?” He jiggled William on his knee. “Do you mind Father Christmas giving you so many presents at once, my boy?”

The answer was predictably a loud “no.”

“You see?” Ian continued laughingly. “The males of this family have no trouble agreeing on anything. You’re the only naysayer.”

“Because I’m the only sensible one.”

“Does that mean you don’t want the gift I bought for you?”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “You bought me a gift?”

“Of course. You’re my wife.”

Averting her face from his, she stammered, “Y-Yes, but I haven’t got one for you ... that is ... there was no time⁠—”

“And no money. It’s all right.”

He set William aside, and the boy dashed from the room to join the other two triplets, shouting, “Guess what, Georgie! Ian’s gonna get us real ponies!”

Ian stood, then walked to the window and retrieved a stack of presents from behind the curtain. Returning to where she sat, he handed them to her. “I don’t need anything. You do.”