Page 93 of The Dangerous Lord

“Certainly.” She thought to run off after dropping this surprise in his lap, did she? “You and I can discuss the painting later.”

Her gaze shot to him. “What do you mean, ‘discuss it’?”

“I’m curious to know what attracts you to the painting.”

“Me? Nothing at all.” But her high color confirmed his suspicions, as did her mumbled, “I-I’d better go.”

He watched, trying not to laugh as she fled the parlor. At last he’d figured out his strategy for winning her. He hadn’t gained a bit of ground by advancing on her with all the subtlety of a battalion. She wanted him as badly as he did her, but whenever he blustered at her and backed her against a wall, her pride rose against him.

No, he must use her own needs against her. He must provoke her, tempt her. Her pleasure at his gifts, her shy offering of a most erotic painting, demonstrated that she felt enough ambivalence about him to be vulnerable to courtship. Now that he thought of it, she’d succumbed to his seduction after his week of heightening her jealousy and his day of squiring her about town with her brothers.

So, although he was impatient to have her in his bed again he would progress slowly, woo her without any sign of overt advance until he had her on her knees begging him to take her.

He had a week alone with her. If by the end of that time he hadn’t brought her willingly to his bed, he was no kind of tactician at all.

Chapter Twenty-One

The marriage of the Viscount St. Clair to Miss Felicity Taylor, daughter of the late architect Algernon Taylor, took society by surprise. Though rumors had circulated about the two, no one expected such a hasty wedding.

Lord X, The Evening Gazette, December 27, 1820

On the third night after her wedding, Felicity sat writing with her new pen at the table in her spacious bedchamber at Chesterley. But her mind soon wandered from her column to her enigmatic husband.

What was she to make of Ian’s behavior? After their Christmas morning confrontation, she’d expected a long and bitter battle, one she would win, of course, but still a battle. She’d been determined to make him see the advantages of a true marriage where the partners shared everything with each other. Abstinence from marital relations had seemed the only thing that might make an impression on him.

Now she wasn’t so sure. After she’d spent all of Christmas morning and afternoon girding herself to resist his too tempting kisses and caresses, there’d been none. He’d given a reason for it the day he’d brought her here, some nonsense about allowing her time to adjust to the marriage, but she didn’t believe that for a moment. Ian had never allowed her time to adjust to anything before. Why be so considerate now? Besides, Ian never acted without a purpose. He was up to something.

Very well. Ian might be a master at stratagems, but she’d spent an inordinate amount of time studying the workings of the men and women who populated London society. Surely she could figure out his intentions.

But not tonight, she thought wearily. This wasn’t the time to brood on such matters, not when her courses had just come, with all the attendant discomfort and moodiness. She should dwell on happy things, on how much she liked Chesterley and its staff, who’d surprised her with their welcome. But when her courses were upon her, she couldn’t think rationally. She made mountains out of molehills and cried for no reason, which was not an advantage when dealing with her husband’s cool, tactical mind.

My husband. The thought gave her a little thrill. Oh, why must the thought of his being her husband soften her resolve?

Perhaps because as Lord St. Clair, he’d been the enemy and as Ian, he’d been an irritation, even a temptation, but not someone capable of altering her life substantially. As her husband, however, he was the most dangerous creature on earth, an incubus rising up from hell and demanding her soul in exchange for satisfaction of her wicked desires ... her hot, abandoned dreams ... her flagrant fantasies ...

She sighed and took up her pen again. These days she dearly wanted to strip naked and throw herself at the man’s feet. Which was exactly what he hoped for.

A knock at the door between their bedchambers made her jump. “Who is it?” she snapped without thinking.

“Your husband, who else? May I come in?”

“Of course.” Good Lord, how did he do that? Appear like that whenever she thought of him? And even know to use the one word calculated to reduce her to mush? The man truly was the devil.

Especially now, when he entered the room wearing only a half-buttoned shirt that scarcely disguised the breadth of his dark-skinned chest and a pair of pantaloon trousers that fit snugly over strong thighs. Give him Persian garb and he would be her sultan in the flesh, all rough features and exquisite muscles and splendid economy of motion.

Not that his state of undress should surprise her at this time of the evening. Still, he seemed to only enter her bedchamber when he could reasonably do so half-dressed, as if to use the casualness of his attire to reinforce the intimacy of their being husband and wife. Then he roamed the room with familiarity, or worse yet, sprawled on the bed for his discussions about the day’s events or plans for the morrow.

The man didn’t miss a single opportunity to disturb her equilibrium. Thankfully, she had good reason to rebuff him this evening if he should try, for surely he would not wish to bed her during this time of the month.

Besides, tonight he didn’t look like a man bent on seduction. He had a newspaper tucked under one arm, and although she was scantily clad, his eyes flicked only briefly over her attire. “I missed you at dinner. Your maid informed me you were unwell.”

She blushed. “Yes.” She said nothing else. He might be her husband, but discussing her monthly courses with him seemed too intimate for words.

“I brought you the latest edition of the Evening Gazette. I thought it might cheer you.” His expression was unreadable. “I see Lord X announced our marriage.”

“It would’ve seemed odd if Lord X had ignored such a topic.” She swallowed. Had he read the entire article? And what did he think? Two days ago, she’d thought that a little prodding in her usual manner might have some impact on him. Now she wasn’t at all sure that had been wise. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“That everyone knows I married you? Why should I?” He ambled toward her. “But as you know, that wasn’t all you discussed.” He lifted the newspaper and read: