Lady Iona's Rebellion (3 page)

Where had Edward disappeared to? Their father needed all the assistance he could get. He was still much too ill, too weak to be trudging across the sidewalk, much less up a flight of stairs without an army’s worth of assistance.

Though not so weak that he didn’t have all the footmen quaking in their boots and keeping a good arm’s distance away. The Marquess’s voice boomed violently as he countermanded Nathan’s order directing the footmen to lift the Marquess from the carriage and carry him in their arms into the townhouse.

Though the servants might be cowed by his father’s bluster, Nathan wasn’t. His determination remained firm. He had to protect his father from a relapse, even if he had to haul the stubborn goat inside and up the steps alone.

“Leave off, you insolent pup. Do stop tugging on me.” It was the kindest thing the Marquess had said to Nathan since his homecoming. He couldn’t help but smile as he looped his arm around his father’s back. He used sheer force to make the old codger accept his assistance as they stepped away from the carriage.

“Blast it, you are the bane of this family!” the Marquess shouted in front of the gaping servants not two steps later. And in front of three ladies—their faces hidden behind outrageously wide bonnets—who had the misfortune to be strolling on the wide sidewalk in front of the townhouse at that very moment. One lady, dressed in a peacock blue gown, paused and lifted her head. Her small mouth formed a moue. A feeling of recognition kicked low in Nathan’s gut as his gaze brushed hers.

Lady Iona.

“Untamed. Unschooled. My deepest shame, boy. I rue the day you were born. I rue it!”

Nathan tightened his jaw and turned away from Lady Iona, staring instead at the Royal Crescent’s façade of giant Ionic columns. His reputation was already so battered he doubted his father’s ravings could do much harm. Even so, a shudder of shame coursed through him.

He’d considered Lady Iona a friend once. But now, like all the other proper ladies of the
ton
, she apparently felt compelled to guard her virtue against a rogue like him.

More’s the pity.

He trudged across the sidewalk and into the townhouse with his father leaning ever heavier on his arm.

It had been a long year, watching his father struggle with his illness. The Marquess had simply been too cross, too stubborn to let the Angel of Death haul him off that late spring day a little more than a year ago.

Nathan couldn’t have been more relieved. His father’s recovery had handed him a second chance, of sorts. Not that his homecoming had been an easy one.

“So you’ve come,” his older brother, Edward, had said with a curled lip the evening Nathan had finally returned home to Callaway Abbey. He’d met Nathan in the front foyer with his legs braced and arms held tightly across his chest. “You’re not welcome here. I don’t know whether to bash you into the ground with my bare hands or have a footman do the deed for me.”

Edward had done neither. Hadn’t had a chance, really. For the very next moment a maid had sobbed loudly, sending both Edward and Nathan charging up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and dashing into the Marquess’s bedchamber.

Their father thrashed in the middle of his giant canopy bed. Displaying a ghastly shade of greenish-gray, he gasped a weak breath that appeared to be his last and had become very still. His eyelids dropped open to let his cloudy eyes stare fixedly at the ceiling.

A death stare.

Nathan curled his hands into fists, thinking he’d arrived too late. Minutes late but late all the same.

His mother was kneeling beside the bed, keening softly. Her cheeks stained from a steady flow of tears.

So the old codger was to leave the world, Nathan thought, just like that, without even a word of goodbye or a plea for forgiveness. What a great joke. Had his father ever even tried to love him, the younger son? Was there truly nothing left over after heaping all that affection on his firstborn?

“Damn you,” he spat out. The curse left Nathan’s lips without thought. After a moment’s consideration, he repeated it, louder and with much more conviction.

“Damn you!”

The Marquess’ seemingly dead eyes shifted.

“You…dare…curse…me?” Like a death rattle, the words rumbled from the Marquess’s thin lips. He drew a ragged breath.

Time seemed to stop and wait. The Marquess drew another breath, deeper and steadier than the first. Nathan’s mother pressed her hands to her lips. Edward’s jaw dropped.

The Marquess lifted a shaky finger and pointed it toward Nathan. “A bitter disappointment.” Color flooded his wan cheeks. “I’m ashamed to claim you as my seed.”

His eyes fluttered closed then and the old man slept. He slept through the night, waking the next morning in a terrible temper. But alive.

Too angry with his youngest son to die, Nathan supposed.

Now, more than a year later, Nathan was only too glad to help his father settle in Bath for the summer. He lowered his panting father, who’d quite literally wasted his breath with his fussing, into an overstuffed brocade chair in the townhouse’s front parlor. One servant rushed off to fetch a pot of tea and another in search of a lap blanket.

Nathan’s mother, Lady Portfry, and Edward’s wife, Maryanne, arrived in the second carriage. They swept into the brightly decorated cream-and-red-striped front parlor and immediately took over the Marquess’s care. Maryanne literally pushed Nathan out into the hallway.

“Go find Edward,” she ordered. “He should be here with our father, not
you
. Lord knows what you must have said to my husband to run him off like this.”

Satisfied he was leaving his father in good hands, Nathan offered his sister-in-law a brisk nod. With a sunny smile, he scooped up his hat from a mahogany side table and escaped into the bright afternoon sun. Edward was a smart cove. He could find his own way home.

So instead of setting out in search of his older brother, Nathan started toward the center of town and home. He’d rented a small apartment a few blocks away on the busy Lansdown Road.

The weather was excessively pleasant that summer day. The sun winked at him from behind a sprinkling of high, fluffy clouds. The green lawn of the adjacent Crescent Fields sparkled as if they’d been encrusted with emerald dust.

Since he was in no hurry to return to his cramped living space, he veered across the road to wander through the greenery. There, in the distance, he caught a glimpse of a peacock blue skirt swirling in the light breeze.

Lady Iona
. She and her two companions were strolling at an utterly proper and sedate pace on the gravel walk that cut through the grassy Crescent Fields. They appeared to be headed toward the heart of the city as well.

A tinkling of laughter rose in the air. And Nathan couldn’t help but pause and stare when Lady Iona tilted her head back and smiled at one of her companions.

A man would be hard put to find a paragon of grace and virtue like her in all of England. Such a lady would fit into his plans for Bath quite nicely.

He jammed his shiny beaver hat onto his head and took off in pursuit. He wouldn’t harass the lady. Oh no, that wasn’t his style. He’d only take a closer look—for now. A scheme of this importance would naturally take time to accomplish.

This conquest would be much different from any other he’d ever attempted. And the task much more difficult thanks to his already scathing reputation. For the first time in his life he was on the prowl—not for a mistress—but for a wife.

Ch
apter Two

“Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Wollstonecraft! If I hear you quote one more thing by that fool woman, I vow I will scream,” Lady Lillian said, her voice rising with a shrillness that quickly stilled Iona’s tongue.

Iona knew from harrowing experience how her younger sister’s threats were often acted upon and the bustling Great Pulteney Street that they were strolling along toward Sydney Gardens was certainly not a proper place for a duke’s daughter to lose her temper.

She gave a nervous glance toward Miss Amelia Harlow, a young giggly lady Lillian had invited to be a summer guest in their Bath townhouse. Amelia had forged a few steps ahead of them to greet her brother, Mr. James Harlow. Neither appeared to take any notice of Lillian’s outburst.

“I am simply saying a woman’s fulfillment doesn’t need to come from her husband,” Iona said softly. Too late. And to the wrong ears.

“Oh!” Lillian howled. “You’re quoting that woman again.”

“Please strive to keep your voice down,” Iona scolded, her voice softer than before. She hooked her arm through Lillian’s. Thankfully her sister knew nothing about her recent wedding engagement. If no one were to know…well, perhaps she might still be able to find a way to please her father without actually having to marry her cousin.

“You cannot possibly believe what you say, Iona,” Lillian said. Her shrillness had fortunately subsided. “Ladies such as ourselves are expected to attract the finest bachelors and make grand marriages. This talk of independence will only bring you trouble.”

For once Lillian appeared utterly serious. She lowered her voice to a near whisper and slowed her step as she turned to face Iona. “Ladies are beginning to talk. After six seasons on the marriage mart this stubbornness of yours has set tongues to wagging. Is there a man out there you are secretly holding out for? The entire
ton
is wondering.”

Was there a man somewhere in the world who could make her heart thrum and the days feel too short? Iona had often wondered, had often dreamed of meeting such a man, and had once thought that maybe…

But it was too late for such lovely fantasies.

She closed her eyes and tried to draw a calm breath.

“Don’t be silly, Lillian,” she choked on the words. “Why, Mama didn’t marry until she was five-and-twenty.”

“It took Papa that long to come to his good senses,” Lillian finished. “But you haven’t even one prospect. You’ve spurned every man to show an interest in you. Two summers ago I thought you’d developed a fondness for Lord Nathan. A shame about him. I vow he will soon come to a bad end.”

Iona gritted her teeth. “I’m sure we cannot believe everything we hear about him.” Still, the memory of her recent encounter with the wicked lord quickened her heartbeat. What had changed him? They had once been friends. What had made him turn feral and dangerous?

“Come along, Amelia is outpacing us by at least a block. We wouldn’t want her to finish the labyrinth before we were even to begin.”

After making their way through the popular Sydney Hotel, which stood at the entrance, they entered the fragrant gardens. Sydney Gardens, like Vauxhall in London, was a subscription pleasure garden that offered a brilliant array of entertainments, musical and theatrical. Unlike Vauxhall, the actual plantings in Sydney Gardens boasted a dizzying variety of flora and colors.

A lazy serpentine path drew Iona forward into the flowering canopy of a copse of black poplar trees. She adored the untamed feeling of wandering beneath the trees. Distinct from the stark order imposed on most English gardens, Sydney Gardens celebrated the wilderness, albeit in a safe well planned-out manner.

Iona and Lillian found Amelia and her brother, Mr. James Harlow, waiting for them not far from the entrance. They were standing under a shady bower of flowering Catalpa trees with another gentleman Iona recognized immediately.

“Lord Grainger.” She inclined her head in the dark-haired gentleman’s direction. He was dressed in the most fashionable manner, with fawn-colored pantaloons, shiny riding boots, a red-and-white-striped waistcoat that matched the nearby camellias, a flowing cravat and an olive-colored single-breasted coat that fit like a second skin.

“Ladies.” Lord Grainger Talbot bowed with a Corinthian’s flair. As he rose, his silver gaze latched onto Iona’s. “Perhaps I might be permitted to join in your stroll through the labyrinth? I am a great lover of all beauty, you see.” There was a laugh in his voice.

He’d playfully pursued Iona’s hand all season in nearly the same manner. She rarely took him seriously. Yet his sudden appearance in Bath caused a niggling of doubt to flare. When most of the Fashionables summered in Brighton, enjoying an endless string of routs and balls, had he chosen the much more reserved Bath because of her?

She nearly blurted out how her hand was already spoken for—nearly.

“The more the merrier,” she said instead, took his arm and led the group down a pathway that meandered through a bed of waving snapdragons alive with tiny yellow butterflies.

In one week and five days all of England would know of her fate.

Unless…

No, she must obey her father’s wishes. That long night of tears after she had openly defied her parents had made her realize one important thing. Keeping her parents’ love was more important than chasing after the flighty hope that she might one day stumble upon her heart’s passion.

Unless…

Was it her imagination? She glanced over her shoulder when the path led them around another wide corner to take a second look. Was that the wicked Lord Nathan on the path behind them? She licked her lips as she wondered what mischief he could be searching for in Sydney Gardens.

There was the secluded grotto, rumored to be a popular spot for lovers. Would he dare attempt a dalliance in broad daylight? But why shouldn’t he? He had a particularly clever and scheming head on his broad shoulders. Besides, even if he were caught, how would it hurt him? Iona couldn’t help but think how a tattered reputation such as his must be terribly freeing.

Her spotless name had left her locked in a gilded cage. Oh bugger, why had her father come up with his brilliant idea that she marry her cousin the same day she had finally gathered enough courage to tell him of her plans for independence? Perhaps she should take lessons from the wicked Lord Nathan.

“What is that mischievous look?” Lillian asked, her pretty forehead creasing. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing,” she said. She freed her arm from Lord Grainger’s.

“Lady Iona plotting?” Lord Grainger said, causing the group to laugh.

Lillian naturally turned the subject back to fashion by the time they entered the labyrinth. Never had Iona acted impulsively or in a manner that would raise an eyebrow. She was after all, as she’d overheard whispered on several occasions, an utterly obedient and dreadfully dull young woman.

If only there was some way she could change that.

Gentlemen flocked to Iona like flies to honey. Why shouldn’t they? Her sunny smile and delicate complexion had captured the breath in Nathan’s throat the first time they’d formally met.

This afternoon, he followed her through the twisting green labyrinth like a besotted puppy. Every so often he’d catch a glimpse of her. He rounded a corner and once again spotted her through an opening in the labyrinth’s hedge.

This time she noticed him too. She turned and stared right back at him. A curious look of determination sparked in her eyes.

He crossed his arms and held his place, half expecting her to direct the attentive Lord Grainger Talbot or Mr. James Harlow to march over and warn him off on her behalf. But she didn’t. Her pink lips curled into a wry smile. She dipped her head in a mock bow and, sending the hem of her blue gown fluttering, disappeared.

Encouraged, Nathan picked up his pace. He had to guess at the turns to take in the blasted leafy labyrinth, not at all sure what he would do if he caught up to Iona and her group of friends. They would surely give him the cut direct, pretending to not notice his presence. That’s what proper young women were taught to do when found in the same company with a dangerous rogue.