Lady Iona's Rebellion (4 page)

More’s the pity.

He turned a corner, thinking he was steps from the center of the maze and discovered he’d reached a dead-end.

“Are you lost?” a sunny voice asked.

He whirled around.

Iona, pretty as a spring flower in the nearby garden beds, blinked up at him. Her peacock blue dress shimmered in the afternoon sun as if it had been sprinkled with dew. A smile lit her face. She tilted her head and studied him without a blush of shame.

“Where is your gaggle of friends?” he asked. He looked beyond her shoulder and saw no one.

“They took a different path. I made a small wager with the others that a group couldn’t find their way to the center of the maze before an individual.”

He glanced at the dead-end alcove where they were both standing and then back to her. “It appears you are about to lose your wager.”

She took a bold step toward him. “I never wished to win in the first place.” She took another bold step, closing the distance between them. It was improper for an unescorted maiden to stand so close to him, a renowned rogue. “I wished to steal a few moments alone with you.”

“With me?” He swallowed hard.

He couldn’t think of one reason a proper lady would want to meet with him alone—unless that lady was overly bold and in search of a dalliance.

Good Lord, could it be true? Could women be seeking him out thanks to his reputation? Not that he had any trouble picturing the lovely Lady Iona sprawled out underneath him. Naked. Willing. And eager to please.

That was probably one of her most alluring traits. She had an eagerness to please others. Every member of the
ton
knew how she’d sacrificed her happiness time and again for her sister’s benefit. Once he convinced her to become his wife, he’d reward her eagerness to please by filling her nights with sensual bliss.

The bodice of her peacock blue walking dress was cut daringly low, as the latest fashion dictated. His gaze was drawn to the exposed tops of her plump virginal breasts. He fiddled with his tan gloves feeling every inch the big bad wolf society believed he’d become.

It would be easy enough to act on the urges that were suddenly banging around in his head. With a few carefully worded compliments, he could easily lure her away from prying eyes.

But blast it! This was Lady Iona, the paragon of propriety. Did she truly wish to—

“Surely you’re jesting.” He retreated from her until his backside was pressed into the prickly hedge. A branch snapped.

If he were to take advantage of her desires—or his—he’d destroy any chance at repairing both his reputation and his relationship with his family.
No. No. No
. Not even for a chance to sate his long-repressed hungers would he take such a risk.

“I rarely jest,” she said softly. She reached out and placed her slender, lacy-gloved hand on his chest.

He raised a brow. He didn’t enjoy feeling like a fox being run to ground. “Why are you seeking me out like this?”

“I have a request.” Her chin jutted upward. “You and I have grown as different as the East is from the West.”

“We have,” he agreed, unwilling to guess the nature of her request. Guessing was only getting him overly hot. To do any more would only lead to trouble—the kind that generally ended up with him staring down the barrel of a revolver.

“I wish to—” She paused and blinked heavily, turning her gaze skyward. Her lips twitched and she looked ready to burst out into a puddle of tears. She drew a loud, steady breath. “You have lived your life, Lord Nathan.”

“Some would say I’ve lived it too heartily.”

“Indeed,” she muttered.

“What is it that you wish, Lady Iona? Have you come in search of that kiss I failed to steal from your lovely lips two days ago?”

A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “No,” she said without hesitation. “No, I wouldn’t dream—I mean, I apologize for insulting you. I wish to make amends. In fact, I want to renew our friendship.” She let out a huff. “Two years ago, we successfully conspired to help our friends find love. Lord Nathan, I come to you now with a similar task.”

“You wish to play matchmaker again?” He laughed at the thought. It came out sounding bitter. Two years ago he’d helped his friend, the crusty Viscount Evers, find his heart and nearly lost his own in the process. “I am sorry, my lady. I cannot help you.”

“You misunderstand me,” she said and grabbed his arm before he could skirt around her. “I want you to help me recapture that feeling of excitement when we were plotting and scheming.” She sighed and added breathlessly, “And truly living each day. In short, I want you to teach me how to be more like you.”

He stared at the delicate hand curling around his arm. He tried to convince himself that the warmth he felt, radiating out from where she was touching him, was because the day was warm and nothing else. “You don’t understand what you are asking.”

She licked her glossy lips. Her pale blue gaze pierced his heart. “I think I do.”

“I couldn’t.” He peeled her fingers from his forearm, caressing each one in turn before releasing her hand. With large strides, he took several steps down the narrow passage and away from her.

“I suppose then I will simply have to ask either Mr. Harlow or Lord Grainger to teach me their roguish ways.”

Nathan froze in his step. “You wouldn’t.”

“I will if I must,” she said. Her voice had hardened with resolve.

He was acquainted with both men though he’d not call either friend.

Harlow was a fop, a young one with absolutely no sense at all. He’d muddle things, leading the reserved Iona into a situation that would surely ruin her reputation.

Talbot, on the other hand, was older and more careful. Iona might escape an encounter with the rogue with her reputation unscathed, for he’d be discreet. But Nathan wouldn’t trust Talbot alone with an innocent like her. He’d seduce away her innocence and leave her heartbroken. Much like himself, Talbot was a wolf, naught but a wild animal that should never be trusted with the sheep.

Nathan grabbed Iona’s arms. “No,” he said. “You won’t pursue this crazed idea with any gentleman. I will pay a visit to your father if forced.”

Fire flashed in her cool gaze.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t know what it feels like to temper every action, to be the obedient one.”

She might as well have slashed him with a sword. She represented everything he wished to become. She was the daylight to his perpetual nightmare. Ladies like her were to be protected, shielded from the darker side of life.

But if she wanted to spend time with him, even for such a nefarious purpose, perhaps he could use her folly to his benefit.

“Very well,” he managed to dredge out from behind his clenched teeth. “However I will choose how the lessons go—”

“What is this?” Talbot’s voice boomed just before a large hand grabbed Nathan’s shoulder and turned him around. “When you failed to reach the labyrinth’s end I grew concerned, Lady Iona. That concern, I see, was not unfounded.” Talbot curled his right hand into a fist and drew it back. “Tell me he tried to harm you. Just say the word.”

“Stop this!” Iona squeezed between them and held up her hands. Her rounded backside pressed up against Nathan. He groaned.

Grainger must have noticed the flare of lust. His frown grew and he began to swing his fist.

Iona held up her hands. “There will be absolutely no hitting in my presence.”

Not quite the defense Nathan had hoped for from her. She had sought him out, after all. Still, relief swept through him. In no way did he wish to become embroiled in a public brawl.

“I shall call him out on your behalf,” Talbot proclaimed and whipped off a glove. “I shall champion your honor.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. This popinjay was laying his bravado on a little thick. He knew Iona. She wouldn’t appreciate any man dueling because of her. Duels weren’t proper. In fact, they were downright illegal.

She’d never stand for such a thing…he hoped.

She held her tongue longer than Nathan thought wise. A killer’s gleam had begun to darken Talbot’s features. The man slapped his glove against his thigh. Was this what she wanted? Surely she didn’t understand that blood and death were frequently the outcome of duels.

Needless trouble, duels were, foolish endeavors all too often pursued by cuckolded husbands.

“You have no claim on Lady Iona,” Nathan said. “You have no right to champion her.”

“Enough of this idiocy,” she ordered just as Talbot opened his mouth to argue. “I hear Lillian approaching. I’ll not have her involved in a scene.” She took Talbot’s arm, swung him around and gave his back a goodly shove toward her sister.

“I will hold you to your word,” she tossed over her shoulder as she followed Talbot, her slender hips swaying.

Nathan remained in the alcove. He closed his suddenly gaping mouth.

“Was that Lord Nathan?” he heard Lillian ask, as the trio turned a corner. “Please vow to me he didn’t turn wild and try to ravish you.”

Nathan groaned. It seemed he’d let society paint a sordid picture of his character for far too long. With all the members of the
ton
wary of him, winning Iona as a bride promised to prove much more difficult than he initially imagined.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Nathan tossed back a shot of whiskey and nearly toppled out of the wobbly wooden chair. Or perhaps it was the floor that wobbled? No matter, he didn’t plan on going much further than the rug at his feet anyhow. The young Mr. James Harlow had already collapsed onto the deep-hued Aubusson rug and was snoring loudly.

“Drink up,” Lord Grainger Talbot slurred. He splashed more single malt whiskey into both their glasses. Quite an obliging chap, that Talbot.

Not more than an hour ago, Talbot and Harlow had showed up at the small apartment Nathan had rented. The two men had barged inside without a by-your-leave, fully prepared to bash Nathan’s head into the floorboards.

He would have been a bloody lump of bones and flesh if the two hadn’t gotten themselves into an argument over which one had the right to defend Lady Iona’s honor. Harlow insisted Iona harbored a secret passion for him, which had sent Talbot into a rage.

Thanks to Nathan’s quick thinking and the bottle of fifteen-year-old whiskey he’d produced from his private stash of smuggled spirits, all violence had been averted.

Nathan raised his cup and studied the distorted setting sunlight as it streamed through his cramped parlor’s spotless window and curled like a colorful rainbow of orange and red hues through his finely cut crystal glass. “Lady Iona needs to marry,” he said.

“Yyyess,” Talbot drawled. “The gel is too damned stubborn for her own good.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nathan slammed his glass onto the table. A goodly portion of his drink sloshed onto the already sticky desktop. “A woman with her partenagg…partenshash…umm…pedigree could serve a man well.”

“A man like you, I suppose?”

“She could do worse,” Nathan said.

“Next you’ll tell me you believe in the wee fairies. Too drunk to know what’s real, you are. Perhaps you should go ahead and pass out.” Talbot gave Nathan’s shoulder a nudge.

Instead of falling on his face, Nathan launched out of his chair. “A bloody nuisance,” he shouted. “That’s what we bloody are. You and you—” He gestured toward the unconscious James Harlow on the floor. “And me. Second sons. What good are we? Alive only because our older brothers might kick off this mortal coil before producing heirs. My father splits his time between wishing me to the devil and pretending I was never born. And my damned brother already has a son of his own. So what use can I be to him? I’m a bloody nuisance, that’s what.”

“Speak for yourself, Wynter,” Talbot said after draining his glass of whiskey. “My father is pressuring me to complete my studies and take up a position in the blasted clergy. Wants me to become a damned productive citizen. Can you imagine me—
me
delivering a sermon on the evils of vice? I’d pay a year’s allowance just to get my father to ignore me.”

Harlow snorted from the floor.

“You’re lucky,” Nathan grumbled. “I came to Bath thinking I might be able to—” He waved a hand in the air and nearly lost his balance. “Never mind. I can’t gain entry into any of Bath society’s dull functions thanks to his—” He batted away the angry thought as the room spun around him. “Never mind. Who would want to go to a damned tea or ball anyhow? Drink up. This is a fine whiskey and the beginnings of a fine night. Neither should be wasted.”

Talbot grunted his agreement and drained his cup.

Nathan reached for his own glass but ended up grabbing his head to ward off the loud, painful sound that was pounding on his ears. Perhaps some mischievous goblin had crawled inside his head and was banging on his skull from the inside out. Damn and drat. He’d pay a pretty coin to get that thumping to stop.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” Talbot said. “Don’t you have a valet to chase unwelcome guests away, Wynter? This bottle is nearly drained as it is. Send them away! Send them away!” He tossed an arm in the air. “We haven’t enough to share!”

“My valet has the day off.” Truth was, Nathan sent his efficient servant away. Freddie would scold like a fishwife if he were to witness his master in such a sorry condition.

The cursed knocking resumed.

“Well, someone needs to send them away,” Talbot said.

Harlow groaned and tossed an arm over his head.

“Very well.” With the help of the top of his sturdy desk, Nathan managed to stand. He tugged on his coat to straighten it. There was no hope for his cravat. The starched muslin was wrinkled beyond any hope of repair. No matter, he planned to open the door only long enough to send the cove with the relentless knuckles on his way.

“Please,” he barked as he tossed open the door, “stop that infernal knocking.”

A ragged street urchin quickly lowered the fist he’d been using to practically pound the blasted door down. “Would you ‘appen to be Lord Nathan Wynter, sir?” the lad drawled.

Nathan nodded, which set the world to wobbling again. “Damn and blast, who the devil wants to bother me right now?”

The lad didn’t answer. His eyes grew to the size of a pair of wide saucers as he dug around in a deep trouser pocket. After a moment of frantic searching, the boy produced a crumpled piece of foolscap. He pressed the grimy note into Nathan’s fingers and scampered away.

Nathan pushed the door closed, leaning against it while he stared at the paper sitting in the palm of his hand.

“Who the bugger was that?” Talbot shouted the question.

Nathan unfolded the note and read the flowery scroll.
Tonight.
Eleven o’clock, outside the Lower Assembly Rooms
a feminine hand had written. It was signed with a flourish
Your eager pupil
.

“A bloody heap of trouble, that’s who,” he said.