Lady Iona's Rebellion (6 page)

And then his father intervened…

The Duchess of Newbury had personally visited his apartments to warn Nathan off. “She’s not for you,” he’d been baldly told. He might be the son of a nobleman but his rakish ways had disgraced his family. And she didn’t want the sting of dishonor to touch her dreadfully obedient daughter.

Not for you
. The words had sent an icy spike through his heart.

He’d vowed that day to show the
ton
, and his father, how much disgrace he could heap around his ears. Unfortunately he’d been only too successful.

Now, two years later, Lady Iona lay underneath him, her breath coming fast and short. Her chest rose to meet his hands when he reached out to caress her through her thin linen chemise made nearly transparent by the damp. She was pliable and willing.

It would be so easy to take her, to make her his.

Not for you
, the echoing insult taunted.

He pulled away.

Her tongue traced the edge of her dewy lips. Her hips ground against him, inviting him to finish what he’d started. He doubted she knew in her innocence what her body was begging for him to do.

She blinked. “Do you still believe me to be as dull as dishwater and too meek to follow you in your adventures?” Pain laced that question and he found it impossible to stop himself from reaching out and cupping her chin, tilting her head up toward him. He dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. Tentatively at first, he traced the soft contours of her mouth with his tongue.

Her lips parted with a sigh. Petal-soft, they trembled against his as he nudged her closer until every warm curve of hers was fitted snug against his body.

Yet, despite the desire thrumming through him and the erotic feel of her tongue slipping into his mouth, he was still a gentleman. And she was a woman seeking reassurance, not disgrace and ruin.

This was one prize he didn’t want tarnished by his touch.

Her slender arms draped around his neck and held onto him with an almost desperate grip as he tried to peel away from her.

“Please, please,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and nearly lost himself as she kissed him with enchanting inexperience. He gave her his mouth while keeping the rest of his body as stiff and still as the statue of Beau Nash in the Pump Room. Though the demons of desire were strong, none could tempt him to take her down with him into his hell. He would not peel away her clothes to find out if the rest of her body tasted as sweet as her mouth.

He could not.

What little honor he had left was far too precious to soil in this way.

Ch
apter Four

Iona had kissed men before. At three-and-twenty and—according to her mother—apparently on the shelf, Iona believed herself knowledgeable in the subtle games of seduction men and women played. It was the duty of a proper young lady to understand such things so she would be better able to guard her virtue against them, wasn’t it?

Unscrupulous gentlemen would rob a careless maiden of her virtue, if given the opportunity. And according to the whispers in the
ton
, no gentleman rivaled Lord Nathan Wynter when it came to rakish and unscrupulous behavior. Gracious, and he was living up to his rather scandalous reputation by taking advantage of her damp and nearly naked state and kissing her with a lover’s familiarity.

She wasn’t certain if the erotic things he’d done with his tongue and lips to her mouth could even be called kissing. The way he’d moved his body against her while his lips suckled hers was so very different from anything she had ever experienced that she suddenly felt as unsophisticated as a wide-eyed chit still cosseted in her schoolroom.

While a true gentleman would be inclined to cover her sodden body with a cloak and protect her modesty, Lord Nathan’s roaming fingers had found their way beneath her chemise and had shamelessly teased her nipples. She knew she should feel offended by his actions. In truth, she labored in earnest to conjure up a proper indignant reaction.

And failed.

Excitement along with a mystifying, almost anxious, sense of anticipation raced through her veins. These were new feelings that she wasn’t ready to let come to an end. She reached up and tried to pull him back toward her. Tiny water droplets dripped from his eyelashes like sparkling gems.

“No,” he said, grinding his jaw. “We cannot continue this dangerous game. I should never have brought you into my world in the first place, nor should I have taken advantage of your innocence.”

“I’m suffering no regrets,” she assured him and tugged on his neck. “Come, my lips feel cold without yours upon them.”

He muttered an oath and pulled free from her grasp. With a quick motion, he tucked the dark, heavy cloak around her body, lifted her from the rough stone ledge and set her on her feet in the passageway next to her discarded gown.

He immediately started pacing. “Good Lord, what have I done?” He tugged a hand through his hair. Shadowed and soaked, his blond strands appeared almost black. “This cannot be undone, can it? No, no, of course not.”

Before she realized what he intended, he had taken her hands in his own and pressed them against his chest. “You have no reason to fear for your reputation. I will protect you from the sharp-tongued harpies of this world. Those witches seem to live for nothing more than to latch onto the latest scandal. No matter what happens after tonight, I will shield you from the worst of them.”

She tried to draw her hands away. Whatever could he mean? There was no reason to worry about her reputation. Thanks to his quick thinking, no one had actually seen her taking that exhilarating dip. And even if someone had seen her, the mists rising off the water would surely have obscured her identity.

He’d been right about ending their love-play, however. The last set of the evening would soon commence, if it hadn’t already. And if she didn’t return before the set’s end, her parents would quickly discover her absence and demand she answer a host of difficult questions when she did return. Which wouldn’t do. She simply needed to don her gown and hurry back to the Lower Assembly Rooms.

“Please,” she said and tried again to free her hands from his tight grasp, “we don’t have much time.”

“I will pay a visit to your father this evening,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “I can explain the situation in a manner that will preserve your modesty.”

“What are you saying?” She wasn’t daft though. She understood what he was trying to say only too well.

That cursed chivalry to which gentlemen—obviously even the rakish ones—subscribed could not be allowed. She had to put a stop to this right away and get herself put back together before that last set ended.

He stroked her chilly fingers. “I understand you are frightened,” he said far too calmly. He sounded resigned to the course he had set for himself. “But there is no need. I will do whatever is necessary to protect you, even go as far as to insist that your father let us marry.”

“
Marry you
? No!” With a sharp twist she freed her hands from his grasp and stumbled back away from him, violently shaking her head. “No. No. No. No.”

“This isn’t a death sentence. I vow there are worse things. Salvaging your reputation with marriage can have its benefits.”

Funny, she couldn’t think of one good thing that could possibly result from such a harebrained idea.

“You will not fall on the matrimonial sword for me! Besides you cannot.” Her cousin, Byron Lovington, had already been promised her hand!

“I will be a fair and understanding husband,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “Faithful and loving.”

“No! I will not agree. Besides I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else. Ever. Why can’t the blasted men in my life simply accept that? I don’t need some white knight on some blasted steed to rescue me from my spinsterhood.”

“I’m not suggesting you need rescuing, Iona,” he said slowly. Carefully.

She took the cue from him and steadied her voice. “Turn around. I need to strip off my chemise and slip into my gown.” She pushed on his shoulder until he was standing with his back to her. “There isn’t much time.”

Her mind was working in its usual calm, logical fashion by the time she had stepped into the white crepe gown with pink bands and had slid her arms through its sleeves. And, thanks to her ability to think clearly and logically again, she immediately saw the futility of her earlier reasoning. She couldn’t possibly return to the ball without raising quite a few shocked brows.

The fabric on the shoulders of her gown was already growing damp from her sodden hair, which was hanging limply down her back. The elaborate coiffure that had piled her hair on top of her head, threaded with a profusion of delicate pink daisies and a twisting pattern of long, narrow braids, was beyond any hope of repair. And even if it could be repaired, her wet hair would take hours to dry.

Lord Nathan turned around when she huffed. He didn’t say a word, just set about the task of lacing up her gown. Once he was finished he pulled her into his arms and caressed her forehead with a gentle kiss. It was the kind of kiss a friend would give to another. There was no heat or sensuality lingering in the gesture, only comfort. Iona supposed their erotic, heated emotions had drained away once reality had set in.

Well, she supposed she should be happy. She’d been looking for an adventure. And she found it.

She was also looking for a way to escape her marriage to her cousin. It was beginning to look as if she’d found that as well.

If only there was a way to escape this night without having to compel a friend into marriage, especially a friend she’d shamelessly manipulated into taking her on a quest to find excitement within the walls of the King’s Bath.

“Remember when we were helping Evers and the former Miss Sheffers discover for themselves how perfect they were for each other?” he asked, still holding her in a deep, wet hug. “Several times over that summer I doubted they would survive the ordeal. But they did. And they are happier for it.” He stepped back and held her by the shoulders. Bending down a bit, he looked her square in the eye. “We will too.”

“There must be another way.” If only she could think of one. She followed him toward the entrance of the King’s Bath, chewing on the inside of her cheek the entire way. “There simply must be another way.”

The stress of living outside the safe, the known, was giving her a terrible headache. She rubbed her temples, still chewing the inside of her cheek. This situation was impossible, simply impossible. And to top off her misery, her head was beginning to throb with a devil’s vengeance.

That was it! An idea that was so obvious it hit her with the force of a thunderbolt.

She grabbed his arm.

“I have a devil of a megrim,” she happily declared.

“That’s a deuced odd thing to sound happy about.” He patted her hand. “But don’t worry, I’ll get you home soon enough.”

“No,” she said and gave him a shake, “listen to me. I have a megrim. They sometimes come on very suddenly like this one.”

“So?” he asked rather brusquely. He kicked a loose stone with his soggy boot. His patience looked as if it might be running thin.

“So? Don’t you see? I have been known to abruptly leave a party, taking the family carriage home, because of them.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Sometimes without telling but one or two acquaintances I’d chanced to meet on the way to the door.” She gripped her head and rubbed her temples with more force. Her head was beginning to pound while shimmering spots danced in her eyesight. It was looking as if this particular headache was going to quickly bloom into a full-blown, roil-her-stomach migraine.

“Steady.” He caught her when she stumbled on an uneven part of the pavement. “Here, let me help you.” He rubbed his hand vigorously up and down her back. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. His strong fingers kneaded her skin. The way he worked the tension from her neck and shoulders felt like magic. A warm tingling spread up her neck, gradually releasing her from much of the migraine’s twinges. She leaned back against his chest and sighed deeply.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Mmmmm,” she replied, wishing he would kiss her and caress her in some of those shocking places he’d explored earlier.

He cleared his throat a couple of times before saying, “Then we should go.” He helped her put on the dark cloak.

She groaned when his magical massaging fingers left her neck. But she obediently followed when he stepped around her and led the way through the dark passage and back out to the street.

“I need you to run as fast as you can and deliver a message to the Lower Assembly Rooms for me,” Lord Nathan called to the tweed-capped fellow who had unlocked the gates to the bath for them. He tossed the man a coin. “Tell the Master of Ceremonies that you’ve been given this message a half-hour ago and you only just remembered.”

“Aye, m’lord,” the man said, grinning at his coin. “I’ll be only too ‘appy to oblige, m’lord.”

“Now repeat this exactly as I tell you. Lady Iona, the Duke of Newbury’s daughter, has gone home in her family carriage with a headache. She would like the Master of Ceremonies to inform the Duke of this right away.”

“Newbury, you say, m’lord?” the man said with a tone akin to reverence and took a long hard stare at Iona, his mouth gaping. She lowered the hood on the black cape over her head while stepping back into the shadows.

“You heard me. And there isn’t time to delay,” Lord Nathan said rather crossly.

“No, m’lord.” The man tugged on his tweed cap and took off in a hard run down the carriage-lined York Street.

After making certain the man was running in the right direction, Lord Nathan tossed his evening coat over his shoulders and tugged on his shiny beaver hat until it sat low on his head. Even though he was soggier than Iona, he looked quite the dangerous rogue, which made her long to feel his hands on her body again. Lord, he had touched her shamelessly and in a manner only a rogue would dare, which meant his looks weren’t the least bit deceiving.

“Come along,” he said and rushed her toward his curricle that was waiting for them a few streets away, his boots and her pink stockings sloshing with every step.

The chimes of Bath Abbey began to herald the midnight hour as he lifted her up onto his carriage.

“We must hurry,” he said and climbed up onto the seat behind her. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins, setting his pair of horses into a hard run.

While he steered his team with an expert hand, he argued with her that she should let him do the right thing. He seemed determined to go with her to the front door and demand an audience with her father. An idea she was adamantly opposed to. She held firm and so, instead of taking Brock Street to the Royal Crescent, he turned and made his way to Crescent Lane, the street that ran along the back property of the townhouses. Rows of long and narrow private gardens, stables and coaching houses lined the way.