Seducing the Viscount (25 page)

Raoul loudly cleared his throat, a wicked smile curling his lips as Ian tugged Mercy into his chambers, his arms still firmly wrapped about her.

“Being an actor with an exquisite sense of timing, I am capable of knowing my cue when I hear it,” Raoul murmured, sweeping them both a deep bow. “
Adieu, mon ami
. Miss Simpson.”

Ian made no attempt to halt his friend as he exited the room and closed the door behind his retreating form. Instead, he tugged Mercy toward the dying fire and impatiently removed her bonnet to reveal the gleaming gold of her curls.

“How did you get here?” he demanded, taking her hands to warm them with his own.

“Ella was kind enough to bring me to London in her carriage.”

Ian instinctively stiffened. “She is with you?”

“She is at the Norrington townhouse and has begged me to assure you that she will not attempt to see you without your leave,” Mercy said hastily.

“I see.” He gave a shake of his head, not yet willing to sort through the churning brew of emotions attached to his mother.

She stepped closer, her expression worried. “I am sorry if it troubles you to have her in town, but I had no other means of coming to you. I could not take my parents' only carriage, and I did not precisely know how to go about hiring a vehicle to take me to the nearest coaching inn.”

Any thought of his mother was dashed by the mere notion of Mercy traveling in a public vehicle, surrounded by any sort of low-life scoundrel. The image was enough to turn his hair gray.

“You considered taking the stagecoach? Alone?” He glared into her wide eyes. “Do you wish to give me heart failure?”

Far from appearing repentant, the minx offered a serene smile. “I would have been perfectly safe as long as my guardian angel continued to haunt my every step. Few would dare to cross paths with such a formidable protector.”

Ian's eyes widened before he gave a startled bark of laughter. “Reaver allowed himself to be caught?”

“He is rather difficult to overlook.”

“Where is the devil? He was not supposed to let you out of his sight.”

“Do not blame your servant. I pleaded with him to remain below stairs so I could surprise you.”

“Perhaps I should remind him who pays his wage,” Ian muttered, his words without heat. It was impossible to feel anything but bewildered joy at having Mercy so near. “Then again, perhaps I shall give him a rise in salary.”

“Actually, he is in part the reason I am here.”

“Then definitely a rise in salary,” he husked. “But how did he convince you to come to me?”

A hint of uncertainty entered the midnight eyes. “When I caught sight of him during my return to my parents' cottage, I began to hope that you had not completely washed your hands of me.”

Ian sucked in breath at the wrenching regret that he had ever allowed this woman a moment of doubt.

“Not bloody likely.” He leaned his forehead against hers, remorse trembling through his body. “You will never be rid of me, Miss Mercy Simpson.”

“I feared . . .” Her words briefly faltered. “When you left Rosehill, I did not believe I would ever see you again.”

Stroking his lips over her temple, Ian wrapped an unyielding arm about her waist.

“Forgive me, my sweet. I should never have pressed you to wed me and then charged off like a sulky child. My only excuse is that I was not thinking clearly.” He pulled back, allowing his love to be written across his features. “If I am so fortunate as to earn your trust, my sweet, I will devote my life to ensuring you never know another moment of unhappiness. That I swear to you.”

The shadows fled from her eyes. “You still wish me as your wife?”

“More than I have ever wished for anything in my life.”

“You are certain?”

“If you would step into my bedchamber, you would discover that I was in the process of packing my bags to come in search of you.” He brushed a stray curl from her cheek. Then, lowering his hand, he swiftly dealt with the hooks and buttons of her heavy cloak. There was far too much wool, and muslin, and God knew what else between them. “Although I am without doubt the world's greatest idiot, I still possess the heart of a gambler, and I know better than to toss away the finest hand I have ever been dealt.” He tugged off the cloak to allow it to pool on the floor, revealing the pretty rose and ivory gown beneath. “Tell me that I have not made a total muck of this, Mercy. Tell me that you'll be my wife.”

With an enchantress smile, Mercy wrapped her arms about his neck. “Well, I most certainly did not travel all this distance to become your mistress.”

His chuckle was strained as his body responded to the feel of her curves pressed so intimately against him. It had been three weeks since he'd felt the least stirrings of desire. Now his body seemed determined to punish him for the absence.

“Do you ever intend to forgive me for that wretched offer?”

“Utterly and completely,” she said without hesitation. “Just as I will always forgive you.”

He blinked at her fierce tone. “Always?”

“Is that so astonishing?”

“As astonishing as me swearing that I shall never do anything that needs to be forgiven.”

“Do not tease, Ian.” Her fingers toyed with the curls at his nape, not seeming to realize that a randy, besotted gentleman needed very little to set his blood on fire. “I have at last realized that there is nothing to compel me to follow in my parents' footsteps. Not unless I choose to do so.”

“Which I sincerely hope you will not.”

“No.” She wrinkled her perfect nose. “Actually, now that I have accepted that fate is in my own hands, it should be quite easy to go on. We at least comprehend what
not
to do in a proper marriage.”

“A proper marriage.” He crushed her to his body, not even a bit surprised by the rush of pure happiness. “Do you know, my love, I like the sound of that.”

She snuggled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, just as if it had been made for that purpose.

“I rather like it myself.”

Ian's entire body hardened with an explosion of searing need, his mind barely capable of functioning. With an effort, he squashed the urge to toss her over his shoulder and head for the bed. There was still one unpleasant detail that had to be settled.

“What of your parents? I may be the most selfish beast ever born, but I will not have you plagued with guilt.” He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. “If you wish, I will purchase a home that is close enough for you to regularly visit, although I will not tolerate having you tend to them night and day. As your husband, I demand that any tending be exclusively devoted to me.”

She tilted back her head, her lips twitching. “Do you take a great deal of tending?”

He groaned, his hand slipping down to the curve of her back to press her against his aching erection.

“God, yes.”

Her breathless laugh feathered over his skin. “Actually, I hired a housekeeper from the village who has agreed to move in to the cottage, and while my parents are bound to grumble and grouse, I am confident that Mrs. Norville is perfectly capable of seeing to their needs.” She grimaced. “Of course, I will need to visit them quite often. For all their faults, they are my family.”

“Faults and family do seem to go hand in hand.”

Her eyes darkened at his unwittingly bitter words. “Ian—”

“Not tonight, my love,” he swiftly interrupted. “Tonight there is only you and me.”

“The two of us all alone.” Her teasing fingers brushed down his nape, slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt with devastating ease. “Whatever shall we do?”

Ian might be an idiot, but he was never one to miss an opportunity. No doubt if life were fair he would never have been allowed to win the love of this extraordinary woman, let alone have a second chance to have her as his wife, but now that he had been offered paradise, he was not about to waste a single moment.

With one smooth motion, Ian swept Mercy off her feet and headed for the bedchamber.

“Well, you did mention something about a proper marriage. Perhaps it would be best if we have a bit of practice.”

She met his smoldering gaze with a smile that held nothing but undiluted confidence in their future life together.

“Yes, indeed. All the best marriages must have practice.”

His chest swelled with a happiness that seemed too large to fit into his unworthy heart.

“And love,” he whispered.

“And love. . . .”

 

 

The Norrington townhouse was a splendid Palladian palace on Great Ormond Street. The façade was built of red brick with fluted columns that supported a balcony on the third story and towering windows that reflected the golden glow of the early morning sunlight.

Crossing the narrow courtyard behind a high wrought-iron fence, Ian mounted the shallow steps, his lips twisting as a uniformed footman swept open one of the heavy oak doors and stepped back to allow him entry.

In silence, the servant led him through the arched arcade of Corinthian columns, bypassing the split marble staircase to head toward the back of the massive house.

Ian ignored the click of his heels that echoed eerily about the lofted ceilings that were molded with a great deal of gilt and the elegant furnishings that were still hidden beneath Holland covers. During the handful of occasions he had visited the house during his childhood, he had been overawed by the majestic beauty and constantly in fear of breaking one of the priceless heirlooms that were scattered throughout. It was as oppressive and formal as Rosehill.

On this morning, he was too filled with joy to have it dimmed by ancient memories. Indeed, he was astonishingly pleased at the thought of Mercy being surrounded by such graceful beauty. This was precisely the sort of setting she deserved.

The past was gone, and in its place was a glorious future filled with endless possibilities.

The footman opened the doors to the second drawing room and Ian entered to discover Ella seated upon a crimson velvet
chaise
, sipping her morning chocolate as she shifted through an enormous pile of invitations that had clearly just arrived. Although Ella rarely entered into London society, her arrival at the townhouse was enough to stir the society hostesses to fight over her elusive presence.

She lifted her head at his entrance, her brown eyes widening in shock as the envelopes dropped from her shaking hands.

“Ian.” With an obvious effort, the older woman rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping desperately over his carefully guarded expression as if it had been years not weeks since she had last caught sight of him. “I fear that Mercy has not yet risen.”

Ian hid his smug smile. He had made love to Mercy for hours, savoring each and every caress. Only when the dawn was threatening to crest had he forced himself to escort her back to Norrington House.

“I did not expect her to be down yet. She had a rather late evening,” he murmured.

A knowing amusement briefly flickered over Ella's pale face. “So she did.” The older woman paused, seeming oddly uncertain as she clutched her hands together. “Did you wish to leave a message for her?”

“Actually, I came to speak with you.”

“Oh.” Ella took a hesitant step forward. “I suppose you are angry that I came to London, but I assure you that I have no intention of pushing myself—”

“I came to thank you,” he firmly interrupted.

“Thank me?”

“For bringing Mercy safely to London.”

The round face colored with pleasure. “Oh, well, she was quite set on coming, and I could not possibly allow her to travel on her own.”

Thank God his mother at least understood the dangers. Which was more than he could say for his soon-to-be wife.

He smiled wryly. “Although my fiancée may possess a great deal of common sense, she is still adorably innocent in most worldly matters. She would no doubt have given half her coins to the local spongers and lost the other half to pickpockets before she ever reached the first coaching inn.”

“Fiancée?” Genuine happiness lightened Ella's expression. “Then you are to wed?”

“I intend to seek a special license this afternoon.”

“But that is wonderful.” Ella abruptly frowned. “Oh, but surely Mercy will desire to be wed in her father's church? He was the vicar there, after all.”

Ian snorted at the mere notion. “And have the surly old goat scowling through the entire ceremony while her mother wails and wrings her hands in the background ? No, I would never allow Mercy's wedding day to be ruined by such ridiculous theatrics. Thankfully, she is quite set on a quiet London ceremony with only a few witnesses.”

Ella's smile returned. “That is no doubt for the best. May I inquire where will you hold the ceremony?”

Ian paused, briefly wrestling with his inner demons. Then, recalling Mercy's soft demand as she lay in his arms, he squared his shoulders.

“Mercy would like the ceremony to be held here, at Norrington House, if you and the viscount will allow it.”

“Here? Oh . . .” Hastily retrieving a handkerchief from the sleeve of her French gray morning gown, Ella dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Ian. Oh.”

Ian shifted uneasily, his lingering bitterness no proof against the fragile hope that bloomed in the damp brown eyes.

“As I said, it is to be a quiet affair, a fortnight from Tuesday if that is convenient.”

“Perfectly convenient. I shall see to a wedding breakfast, of course, and Mercy's trousseau, although it will be a close thing to have more than a few gowns actually finished by . . . by . . .”

Her words trailed to an end as she sank onto the edge of the
chaise
, her body shaking with deep sobs of relief.

With long strides, Ian was seated beside her, his arms encircling her heaving shoulders.