Seducing the Viscount (18 page)

At last it was not his logic that made the decision. Hardly shocking. When did he ever allow logic to make his decisions? Instead it was his soul's craving for the promise of a new, exciting adventure.

His poor, tortured brain might not be capable of comprehending his father's suspicious transformation, but it did understand that he had endured a stomachful of dark, smoky card rooms and meaningless couplings with women he could barely recall the next morning.

Whether he was getting old, or merely bored, he was beginning to suspect that it was past time to retire his role as Casanova.

Why not discover if this investment scheme suited his taste? He slowly turned to face his father.

“What would it involve?” he demanded.

Norrington's lean features were unreadable. “I have the necessary wealth, but not the time to devote to discovering which investments might offer a lucrative reward for success. You could be an invaluable source of information.”

“I know nothing of business.”

“No, but you possess a rare talent for calculating odds. You also are capable of mingling among the dockworkers to determine if a ship and its crew are as reliable as they promise,” his father pointed out. “Or discovering if the gentlemen involved in the investments are addicted to gambling or other unsavory vices. Even those consortiums that are formed with the best intentions can be undone by a gentleman in sudden desperate need of funds.”

Ian offered a thoughtful nod, realizing that he might indeed possess the sort of skills that would be useful. He possessed an uncanny sense for spotting a rook. Why would business be any different from cards?

“Yes, I can well imagine.”

“And if you are truly interested, I would be happy to share what I have learned of business over the years. In time, you would be able to take over the majority of the work necessary.”

“I—” Ian broke off his words, not yet prepared to accept the hovering anticipation. Not until he had the opportunity to sort through the barrage of unfamiliar sensations. “I will give it some thought.”

As if prepared for Ian's wary suspicion, Lord Norrington offered a dip of his head.

“Of course.”

Ian set aside his glass, in desperate need of fresh air to clear his scattered thoughts.

“If you will excuse me, I think I will take a turn through the garden before dinner.”

Offering a bow, Ian turned and bolted through the door as if the devil was on his heels.

 

 

Ella slipped from the shadows of the marble statues that lined the hallways as Ian charged from the library and headed toward the staircase. From the poor boy's grim expression, it was impossible to determine if he were deep in thought or merely furious.

Unable to stand her agonizing curiosity another moment, Ella darted across the hall and entered the library to regard her brother with a concerned frown.

“Well, Norry? Did you speak with Ian?” she demanded.

Moving with that smooth elegance she had always admired, Norrington seated himself at his desk and leaned back in the leather chair.

“I promised that I would, Ella.”

She barely resisted the urge to stomp her foot. Really, Norry could be the most aggravating creature.

“Do not keep me in suspense. What did he say?”

“He is considering my offer.”

“Oh.” Ella could not hide her disappointment.

She had been so certain that this was a perfect means of assisting Ian without his pride being injured.

Over the years, she had offered small gifts and tentative loans that had been sternly rejected. Ian would not consider taking his aunt's money. Not even if he were in desperate straits.

And of course, there was no means for Viscount Norrington to share any of his numerous estates with a mere bastard. The entail would never allow such a thing.

When Norry had mentioned his latest investment, Ella had hoped that this might be the means to allow Ian to discover a means to secure his future without the danger of the gambling hells.

And perhaps, just as importantly, a means to feel more a part of his family.

To have Ian working side by side with Norry . . . well, it was a dream that Ella had always nurtured, even when Ian could barely force himself to visit Rosehill.

“He is intrigued,” her brother soothed.

“Yes, but I had hoped—”

“I believe in the end he will agree to my scheme, Ella.”

A portion of her tension eased. “Do you really, truly believe?”

He chuckled softly. “I really, truly believe.”

“Thank you, Norry.” Moving forward, Ella halted directly beside the desk. “I know that this will not be easy for you.”

“That was my initial thought as well.” Her brother glanced toward the stack of papers upon his desk. “Now, however, I find I am quite anticipating a partnership with Ian.”

Ella blinked at the soft words. She better than anyone understood Norry's solitary nature and his dislike for having others intrude into his privacy.

“You are not simply attempting to make me feel better?” she demanded.

He templed his fingers beneath his chin, a thoughtful expression on his handsome countenance.

“Actually, I am not at all certain why I did not consider such an offer before this,” he confessed. “Ian's connections with the less savory aspects of London society will offer an invaluable insight to those gentlemen who approach me with various opportunities. And, of course, once he has mastered the basic concepts of business, his sheer nerve will allow him to become a far more successful investor than myself.” An unexpectedly proud smile curved his lips. “There are few gentlemen more suited for this particular career.”

Ella was careful not to react to her brother's rare display of emotion. It would only discomfort him.

Instead, she heaved a small sigh, her thoughts turning to the young man who had forever altered the destiny of Rosehill. Whether he would ever know the truth or not.

“All I desire is for him to be happy.”

Norry's lips twisted. “A rare gift.”

“Rare indeed.”

 

 

For nearly an hour after dinner, Mercy searched through the darkened gardens, and even the hedge maze, before the faint scent of cheroot smoke led her down a narrow path to the elaborate gazebo that overlooked the lake.

More than once she warned herself to turn back. She had no reasonable excuse to be chasing after Ian at such a late hour. Especially after he had gone to such an effort to be alone.

Stupidly, her compulsion to be near him would not be denied.

Throughout the evening, he had been distant—not angry, but more . . . distracted. As if he were contemplating some great puzzle. And then with a muttered apology he had slipped from the parlor into the garden.

She needed to assure herself that he had not disappeared into the gathering fog.

“Ian?”

There was the sound of a footfall, and a dark shadow abruptly appeared in the doorway of the gazebo.

“I am here.”

She pressed a hand to her suddenly racing heart. In the glow of the torches set throughout the garden, his smoldering beauty seemed harder, more potent. Dangerous.

“Oh.”

Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb he regarded her with a brooding frown.

“It is late, Mercy. What the devil are you doing roaming the grounds?”

His overt lack of welcome should have sent her back to the comfort of her rooms. It was obvious that his strange mood had not improved.

Her feet, unfortunately, seemed to take on a mind of their own, and rather than retreating, she found herself climbing the shallow steps of the gazebo.

“I came in search of you.”

His aquiline nose flared, as if drawing in her scent as she neared. “Why?”

Why? Well, that was the question, was it not?

Thankfully, she had no interest in pondering the compulsion that had led her on his trail. Not when she could pretend that it was nothing more than common human charity that had prompted her search.

“I was . . . concerned.”

A dark, disbelieving brow arched at her explanation. “For me?”

“You were very quiet this evening. I thought perhaps something was troubling you.”

His lips twisted, the golden eyes the color of aged whiskey in the flickering light.

“I suppose you could say that I have something upon my mind.”

Halting close enough that she could catch the scent of sandalwood and clean male skin, Mercy studied his grim expression.

“Unpleasant things?”

“I have yet to decide.” He cast a glittering gaze over her upturned face, his hand lifting as if to cup her cheek before abruptly pulling back. “You should return to the house. Your parents would not be pleased to discover you are alone in the dark with a bastard.”

Her heart gave a sharp squeeze of disappointment at his withdrawal. Was it concern for her parents that halted his touch? Or was there something else?

“My parents are soundly asleep.” She took another step forward, needing the heat of his body to ward off her sudden chill. “No one knows that I am out here.”

She heard the sharp intake of his breath at her soft words, his lean body hardening with a sudden tension.

“A rather dangerous confession, my sweet.”

Attempting to ignore the awareness shivering over her skin, Mercy concentrated on the memory of his coiled restlessness that had plagued him throughout the evening.

“Will you tell me what is troubling you?” she said, her voice as soft as the occasional wisps of fog.

He studied her in silence, as if debating the wisdom of ignoring her question. Then, turning to regard the ornamental lake, he heaved a faint sigh.

“My father has offered me a business proposition.”

Mercy studied his rigid profile, wondering if she perhaps had misunderstood.

“And that does not please you?”

“It astonishes me.” His harsh laugh echoed eerily through the still night. “Lord Norrington has publicly condemned me as a wastrel who would end his days in the gutter. You can imagine my surprise that he abruptly decides that I am just the sort of gentleman he desires as a partner in his various investments.”

Her heart squeezed. Ian's tone was sardonic, but he could not entirely hide his bitter cynicism. His father had always expected the worst in him, and that was precisely what Ian had offered.

Now he was clearly suspicious of his father's motives.

“Perhaps he realizes that he has misjudged you.”

His expression revealed a hard disbelief. “Why now?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why would he suddenly decide that I am worthy of his trust?” He turned his head to stab her with a haunted gaze. “It is not as if I have changed my wicked ways.”

Without thought, she reached to touch his arm, stepping so close that she could feel the hard thrust of his thighs. There was something so heartrendingly vulnerable deep in those eyes. A lingering wound she desperately wanted to heal.

“It could be your father who has changed,” she murmured. “People do, you know.”

The grim expression slowly eased as a prickle of awareness stirred the air between them.

“What of you, sweet Mercy?” he murmured, his voice husky as he trailed a finger down the curve of her throat. “Have you changed?”

She shivered, her heart racing with that delicious excitement she craved.

“Changed?”

“Have you brought an end to your desire to punish me?” His finger continued downward, tracing the line of her bodice. “Is that why you followed me?”

Ian watched the emotions that flitted over Mercy's delicate features. Outrage, uncertainty, and at last . . . a startled acceptance.

She might not have considered her reasons for pursuing him through the dark. Certainly it had not been a logical decision to seek him out and seduce him.

He possessed high hopes, however, that a secret part of her was anxious to finish what they had started in the attics earlier in the day.

Mercy darted out her tongue to wet her lips, sending a shock of hunger through Ian.

He had sought out the gazebo to be alone with his thoughts. Even three hours after his father's unexpected proposition, he was grappling with the discomforting sensations that continued to plague him. Now any desire to be alone with his broodings was seared away by the soft scent of vanilla and satin skin beneath his searching finger.

“I—” She sucked in a shocked gasp as his finger dipped beneath the edge of her bodice. “I was not attempting to punish you.”

“No?” He growled deep in his throat as his finger slid over the slope of her breast. That powerful ache in his loins was once again stirred to life, his erection pressing painfully against the flap of his breeches. “Then God forbid you ever do. I have suffered quite enough, I assure you.”

Her lips parted in a soft sigh as his finger slipped beneath her corset to discover the hardened pebble of her nipple.

“Oh.”

He wrapped a rough arm around her waist, hauling her close to his trembling body. Whatever his reasons for coming to the gazebo, he had only one thought upon his mind in this moment.

A most welcome distraction, he acknowledged, his head lowering to brush his lips over her temple.

“What of you, Mercy?” he breathed against the pulse that muttered wildly beneath her skin. “Have you suffered ? Do you ache for my touch?”

Her lashes drifted downward as she clutched at his shoulders. “Ian.”

“Tell me.” He blazed a path of kisses over her cheek, pausing to nibble at the edge of her mouth. “Say the words.”

She moaned softly. “What words?”

“That you want me.”

“I . . .” With an obvious effort, she tilted back her head to regard him with a bemused gaze.

“The truth, my sweet,” he commanded softly.

She shivered against his tense muscles, her eyes dark with a stark need that slammed into him with brutal force.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I want you.”

A consuming fire spread through his blood. Christ, but she was a natural temptress. A woman seemingly born to lure him to madness.

“Thank God,” he muttered.

“Of course, I am not at all certain it is wise.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I stopped being wise the moment I discovered a wood sprite luring me into a daisy-filled meadow.”

A small, tantalizing smile curved her lips, her body deliberately arching to press her soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest.

“You must be easily lured, Mr. Breckford. I was doing nothing more than sitting on a rock.”

He grunted, feeling as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. The devil take it, how had he come to such a pitiful state?

The woman had only to be near to cloud his mind and clench his body with a need that was positively indecent.

“Mercy, you are a very dangerous young woman.”

She blinked, utterly unaware of the power she possessed over him. “Whatever do you mean?”

His sigh rasped through the night air. “I believe it would be easier to demonstrate, my sweet.”

Not taking his gaze from her delicate features, Ian swept an arm beneath her knees, his other arm holding her back steady as he turned to enter the gazebo, kicking the door shut behind them.

At once the heated perfume of her skin reached out to wrap about him, and he choked back a groan. The maddening, wonderful minx had truly stolen his wits.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the candlelit interior of the gazebo with its scenic wall panels and exquisite Italian furnishings.

“Oh, yes, astonishingly beautiful.” His tone made it clear he was not discussing the gazebo as he gently laid her upon the wide, cushioned bench. Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with light fingers. “You are a masterpiece of nature.”

Her lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath. “Ian.”

Of its own accord, his hand lowered, drifting down the front of her bodice as he swiftly tugged loose the ribbons that held it in place.

“You are wearing too many clothes, my sweet.”

He felt her tremble as she peered at him from beneath her tangle of lashes.

“Am I?”

His heart slammed against his chest as he tugged down the aggravating gown to reveal her slender body outlined by her tight corset and shift. She was sweet ivory skin drenched in vanilla. And he if he was not in her soon, he might very well explode.

“Mercy, if you knew what you do to me.”

Without warning, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. “And what do you think you do to me? I never knew... I never understood the power of desire.”

A tangible, branding awareness seared the air between them as their gazes locked and held. Her eyes were wide, darkened with need, and despite her innocence there was no fear to be found in the shimmering depths.

He was drowning.

And he did not give a damn.

“Neither did I,” he muttered, lowering his head to sweep a soft kiss over her lips. “I thought I knew everything there was to know of women, but you have taught me that I was a fool.”

His kiss deepened, urging her lips open to accept the thrust of his tongue.

For a heartbeat, Mercy was bewildered by his surge of raw hunger, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. Ian groaned, but before he could leash the savage need pounding through his body, she was tangling her tongue with his, meeting his every thrust with a ready enthusiasm.

Ian fell to his knees beside the bench, worshipping at the altar of the exquisite woman.

This was what men searched for their entire lives. It was what toppled kings, destroyed empires, and made reasonable men commit murder.

And if he had the least amount of wits, he would be fleeing as if the imps of hell were nipping at his heels.

Instead he impatiently tugged at the knots of her corset, vaguely realizing his hands were trembling as he pulled aside the stiff garment and peeled the thin shift from her slender body. Leaning back, he gazed down at her ivory perfection, his breath wrenched from his lungs in awestruck wonder.

Flushing beneath his heated gaze, Mercy shifted uneasily on the cushion. “Is something wrong, Ian?”

“God, no.” He reverently cupped the soft mounds of her breasts. “You are perfect.”

Too perfect, he inwardly groaned, lowering his head to capture a rosy nipple in his mouth.

She gave a keening cry as his tongue circled the hardened peak. The sound echoed deep within Ian, stirring a primitive, possessive part of him that he had never even realized existed.

This woman was
his
. The knowledge was as clear and unmistakable as the swift pounding of his heart.

His brief moment of stunning clarity was forgotten as his erection pressed against the button of his breeches. Later he could consider the strange sense of utter rightness that filled his heart. For now he simply desired to savor each touch, each caress.

Teasing the sensitive bud, Ian slid his hands beneath her back, arching her upward to meet his seeking lips.

Mercy moaned, her fingers plunging into his hair with a restless urgency, guiding his lips to her other breast. Turning his head, he suckled her with a dizzying pleasure.

He felt parched. As if it had been years, not a handful of days since he had held a woman in his arms.

Or perhaps it was simply the realization that he had not held the
right
woman in his arms.

With a swift motion he was off his knees and lying beside her on the narrow bench. Gathering her into his arms, he scattered heated kisses across her countenance.

“Is this what you truly want, Mercy?” he breathed. “There is no going back from this moment.”

Her hands skimmed downward, awkwardly tugging free his cravat before working on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“This is what I want,” she said with absolute certainty. “You are what I want.”

Ian possessed a brief flare of guilt at the realization that this woman was offering a gift that should be treasured by a man far more worthy than himself, but as her fingers slipped beneath his shirt and over the rigid muscles of his chest, his thoughts were shattered by a lightning bolt of pleasure.

Christ, who cared why the woman would choose a debauched rake to be her first lover? It was far too late to halt the inevitable.

“Do not stop, my sweet,” he moaned, his breath catching as her fingers found his sensitive nipples. “Dear God.”

“I am not certain what to do,” she whispered.

“Just keep touching me.” His voice was a hoarse croak, his lips nuzzling down the curve of her throat. “I will take care of everything else.”

She growled, her fingernails scraping lightly against his skin. “Why are you still attired?”

“I wanted to give you a last opportunity to change your mind.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Now I realize it is already too late. I am lost.”

“Ian,” she muttered, her hands impatiently pulling his jacket. “I want to see you.”

Oh . . . yes. God, yes.

Surging off the bench, Ian hurriedly yanked off his confining clothes, his hands shaking so badly that he tore the expensive linen of his shirt as he wrenched it over his head.

It was only when he was completely naked that he came to a halt, vividly aware of Mercy's darkened gaze sliding over his hard angles and planes before settling on the large erection he could not hide.

As if aware of his throbbing need, Mercy lifted herself onto her elbow and with a tentative hand reached out to lightly touch the tip of his cock.

Ian bit back a shout of bliss, savagely battling against his looming climax.

As if pleased by his response, Mercy allowed her magical fingers to skim down his throbbing shaft.

“Teach me what pleases you.”

Unable to resist temptation, his hand curled about hers, pressing it against his erection.

Never had torture been quite so exquisite.

Mercy was fascinated by the sensation of his hard arousal beneath her fingers.

His skin was so soft, so warm. Like satin over steel.

Reaching the heavy sack at the base of his arousal, Mercy had barely started her exploration when he had clutched her wrist to firmly pull her hand away.

“No more, my sweet,” he growled.

With a frown, she glanced up to discover his features set in grim lines, a dark stain of color crawling beneath his skin.

“Did I do something wrong?”

His sharp laugh echoed through the gazebo as he lowered himself onto the bench next to her.

“I have been unmanned by a virgin,” he husked, his hands running a restless path of destruction over her shivering body. “I want you too much for such a delightful game.”

Mercy was not certain what game he was speaking of, and as his head lowered to suckle her throbbing nipple she realized it did not matter. Not when her entire body was being stroked to a fever pitch by his tender touch.

She had not followed Ian for this purpose. Or at least, not consciously. Now that she was here, however, she realized that she had been aching for this since they were interrupted in the attic.

Whatever the warnings whispering through the back of her mind, she wanted this night. Just a few magical hours in the arms of a gentleman she desired beyond bearing.

Her parents' arrival had been a brutal reminder that time was slipping away. If she did not grasp this opportunity, she might never know the true meaning of being a woman.

Surely her vague worries could not compare to a lifetime of regret at denying herself her one chance at genuine passion?

Continuing to tease at her breast, Ian allowed his fingers to skim down the curve of her stomach, his touch sending a jolt of heat directly between her thighs.

Her low moan filled the gazebo, but Ian refused to be rushed. With a seeming fascination, he explored her body, gently parting her legs to dip his fingers between her inner thighs.

Mercy squeezed her eyes shut as she arched toward his touch. The storm was gathering within her, but she was not yet prepared to have it end so swiftly. She wanted . . . in truth, she did not know precisely what she wanted; she only knew that it included the heavy weight of Ian lying on top of her.

Lifting her hands to thrust them in the softness of his hair, Mercy tugged his head up to meet her frantic gaze.

“Please, Ian,” she rasped.

His eyes were molten gold in the candlelight, smoldering with a raw desire that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I need you eager for me, my sweet,” he muttered.