The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (33 page)

“Ho, there,” one of the men in the small group leaned over the railing and called out just as Iona emerged, sputtering for breath, from under the water. “What’s going on down there?”

“Are you trying to murder me?” Iona’s raspy voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“We have company,” Nathan whispered back.

Iona took one look, sucked in a deep breath and dove back under.

“I say,” the man hanging over the railing called out louder this time. “What’s going on down there?”

“Got a little top-heavy from the brandy and tumbled in. Drat my luck,” Nathan shouted back while guiding the twisting and kicking Iona toward the colonnade that covered one side of the bath, doing his earnest best to keep between her and those prying eyes above them.

She fluttered her arms in a flurry each time she started to float to the surface. Thanks to the darkness, she seemed to stay far enough under the water that her white chemise and fair skin remained hidden from view. The daisies that had adorned her hair one by one bobbed up to the surface all around Nathan.

“Do you require assistance?” one of the ladies asked. “There seems to be quite a lot of splashing. I daresay you are not about to drown, are you?”

He wasn’t in any danger of drowning but if he didn’t get Iona up for a breath soon, she would be. He prayed that in her panic she hadn’t swallowed a lungful of water.

“Go on, I beg you. Leave a man to wallow in his foolishness alone,” he shouted.

Thankfully, the steps were only a few feet away and shadowed. Without a backward glance to see if the audience they’d attracted was still watching, he tossed Iona out of the water and onto a stone ledge.

She remained in a motionless heap for a harrowing moment before lifting her head and coughing up a puddle.

He pulled himself out of the bath and found the cloak he’d used to secret her away from the Assembly Rooms. With a quickening breath, he returned to her side and crouched beside her. The poor gel looked miserable. He quickly wrapped the cloak around her sodden chemise.

“Are they gone?” she asked and broke into another fit of coughs.

“I believe so.” He used one corner of the cloak to dab her face dry and then drew her dripping body into his arms. Her heart thrummed like a frightened rabbit’s against his chest.

“Consider ourselves lucky. That group of gadabouts could have spotted you floating around in all your—” He choked on the memory, breaking out into a fit of coughing himself. “All your glory.”

Her glassy blue eyes widened. “Oh my,” she breathed.

“Oh my, indeed,” he answered, feeling suddenly somewhat breathless himself. “You were very brave to hold yourself under the water for such a long time.”

Dark shadows rimmed her unusually bright eyes. The curls, in her once expertly coiffed hair, drooped in hopeless disarray about her face. She dripped worse than a sodden kitten. A frown wrinkled her brows as she chewed her full, lower lip.

She’d never looked more tempting.

Oddly, she’d transformed so many times this evening that it left his head spinning. First she had been all schoolgirl innocence, then she’d tossed off her virginal gown and floated in the water like a siren with the power to seduce a man to his doom.

Yet neither the pure innocent nor wanton seductress appeared as attractive as the soggy Iona he held now in his arms. With all pretensions washed away, she was simply a woman.

An incredibly desirable woman.

And he was a hot-blooded man.

His lips sought hers. The heat growing in the shrinking space between their bodies seeped into his core.

Ah, but those lips weren’t his to take. She was the Duke of Newbury’s daughter, he reminded himself. And she was at her most vulnerable, damp and as close to ruin as he hoped she’d ever be. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking a taste.

His lips gently brushed hers. The finest silk couldn’t have felt softer. The sweetest honey couldn’t have tasted sweeter. Even so, he tried to pull away and failed.

She reached out and wound her cool, wet arms around his neck, making it nearly impossible to stop what he’d foolishly started. When her lips parted slightly with a sigh, his conscience lost the battle against his lust. He deepened the kiss, planning to devour her lips like he would a sweet confection.

With agonizing care, he moved. The press of her lips against his sent a spiraling tremor boring deeper and deeper into his essence until every inch of his body throbbed with desire. Their tongues touched just as his roaming hand found the peak of her perfectly rounded breast.

He teased the nipple into a tight nub and lowered her to a stone ledge.

Two years ago, he’d dreamed of kissing her like this. Two years ago, he’d fantasized how she’d move under him. She had utterly charmed him with her quiet grace, a trait his family had claimed he woefully lacked. Her impeccable manners had called to him like an oasis in a desert. Two years ago, he had followed her from Bath to London like a besotted swain, hoping their brief friendship might bloom into something more romantic. Hoping he might finally grasp the one thing he needed to gain his family’s respect.

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.

Chapter 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.