The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (36 page)

If something happened to that curmudgeon before Nathan could win his approval, he knew he would never forgive himself.

Fearing the worst, he broke the plain wax seal and devoured the letter’s carefully penned words.

“What is it?” Talbot asked. “Bad news?” He must have read the concern on Nathan’s face, for he dropped his insistent demand to pay for seduction lessons. He leaned over and tried to read the letter. Even young Harlow lifted his head long enough to grimace with concern.

Feeling a little baffled, Nathan quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket.

Apparently Iona had woken up this morning more resolved than ever to continue her scandalous lessons.

Which made Talbot and Harlow’s abject interests in her only more dangerous. If he were to deny her wishes, she might recklessly rush into either Talbot’s or Harlow’s less than worthy clutches.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said absently as her prettily penned demand waltzed through his head.
Meet me this afternoon at precisely three in the grotto to discuss the circumstances of our next lesson
. She’d not signed her name but had scrolled an ornate
I
.

So she wished to meet him at the notorious grotto, did she?

“Are you sure you are well, m’lord?” Freddie asked. “You look flushed.”

“Am I?”

After last night, he convinced himself that she’d not want to see him again. What she wanted from him was madness. It was pure madness that could only lead to scandal, a scandal that would assuredly drive an irreparable wedge between him and his father.

So why, why was he smiling?

Chapter Six

“Ah, poppet, you look lovely today,” the Duke of Newbury said as he strolled into the townhouse’s front foyer. He patted Iona’s golden hair as if she were a favored pet.

Seeing how he had picked her future husband with the same care he would a mate for Matilda, his hunting hound, Iona couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he viewed her as nothing more than an interesting pet. Which wasn’t a charitable thought. It pained her that she’d even think such a thing about her father in the first place.

“And where are you heading off to this afternoon?” he asked.

It was a devilish task to meet his gaze. “I have several baskets I wish to deliver. Mrs. Tuftly is in bed with the ague again. And you know how the widow Pulteney so enjoys my company. I plan to bring her this bouquet of posies.” She pointed to the basket at her feet that was piled with flowers.

None of what she’d said was quite a lie, she assured herself as she settled her wide-brimmed gypsy hat on top of her head. She did intend to deliver the fresh blooms to the ladies she visited regularly and, if time allowed, spend an hour or so sketching the centuries-old statue of Minerva that had recently been unearthed near the King’s Bath before traipsing off to Sydney Gardens.

“You have such a kind heart, my dear. Lovington will be lucky to have you.” He drew a neatly folded piece of foolscap from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “This arrived from him today. He included a short note to you, expressing his pleasure with the match.”

The letter burned in her palm like a glowing firebrand. She quickly set it on a side table. “I will read what he has to say later,” she said and then gave her father a hard look.

There had to be some way she could make her voice heard. Dynastic pairings had gone out of style with powdered wigs and beauty marks. Such marriages were barbaric echoes of the past. They had no place in modern society.

She cleared her throat. “Papa,” she said. Several years’ worth of reading feminist writings spurred her courage. “Must I marry Byron? Can we not sit down and discuss my future? You making this lifetime decision for me seems so hasty.” She gave a deep sigh. Her father had always doted on her, had always praised her for her easy manner. Her years of obedience, of putting others before herself, should account for something. “To be honest, Papa, I do not wish to marry anyone at all. I—”

“We have already had this discussion and I will not have it again.” The glimmer of warmth drained from his eyes. “It appears I have sheltered you too well. You don’t understand the ways of the world.” He cupped her chin. “I’m not trying to punish you, poppet. In time you will understand…you will see how this marriage will be the best thing for this family and for you.”

“But Papa, you must listen to me. I only wish to—”

“No, Iona.” He drew his hand away. “Spend your time resigning yourself to what your future can be instead of chasing a fantasy that will never happen. Promise me you will at least try.”

She couldn’t make that promise for there was no way she would gladly accept marriage to her cousin. Why wouldn’t her father listen? Why couldn’t he accept that she wasn’t going to be his obedient little pet in this?

Her first wild adventure last night only supported what she’d suspected to be true—that her path to happiness was intertwined with her path to independence.

As Mary Wollstonecraft prescribed in her
Vindication of the Rights of Woman
, Iona was working on becoming her own person. In order to do that, she had to stop letting the men in her life treat her as if she were naught but a child, unable to make her own decisions. She needed to begin thinking for herself. Which made Lord Nathan’s lessons all the more invaluable. He’d broken free from the expectations his family had placed on him. He lived outside society’s constraints and seemed to be blissfully happy.

And she would too.

That is, as soon as she could figure out how to get her family to listen.

“I-I should go,” she said and worried her fingers with the bow on her bonnet instead of giving her vow to obey his wishes. “The ladies are waiting for me.”

She donned her gloves, picked up her basket and was rushing toward the door when her father, a frown furrowing his brows, called out to her. “Is Lillian not accompanying you?”

“No, Papa, Lillian is spending the day with Miss Harlow. But do not worry, I have a maid as a companion.”

In truth, Lillian had not been invited. Her sister was the last person she wished to have come along. No, that wasn’t quite right. Her cousin Byron was the absolute last person in all of England she’d wish to accompany her on this scandalous errand or anywhere else, for that matter.

At three o’clock, Lord Nathan would be waiting for her somewhere near Bath’s secluded mossy grotto. Her heart skipped a beat with anticipation. In that stolen moment when they’d hide in the shadows, plotting their next adventure, his lips might seek hers. Her lips might answer.

Thanks to an overflow of such heated thoughts last night, sleep had eluded her. She’d risen early this morning, feeling more alert, more alive than she’d felt in ages, with her body still tingling from the exquisite way Lord Nathan had stroked and caressed her.

Anticipation spiked through her veins as she plotted how to set up her next lesson, plotting that included her need to slip past Lillian’s notice. Her sister had already blistered her ears for doing something so utterly reckless, something that might tarnish the shiny family name.

“And where would that get
me
when I am ready to take a husband?” Lillian had scolded first thing that morning. “You must consider the rest of us before you go and do something so rash again.”

Iona had spent a lifetime acting cautiously and fulfilling the desires of others instead of listening to her own heart. She was tired of watching others find their paths to happiness while she dutifully sat with her mother’s friends and sedately sipped her tea.

It was time she did something for herself.

So without a glimmer of hesitation or guilt, she gave her father a curtsy, wished him a pleasant afternoon and rushed out the door with her basket of flowers on her arm and her maid on her heel, toward what she hoped would turn into a delightfully scintillating and scandalous outing.

She felt wondrously wicked.

* * * *

The dainty watch hanging from a pin attached to Iona’s dress read nearly a quarter after three by the time she reached Sydney Gardens. After directing her maid to wait for her on a bench near the front of the gardens, she hurried on her way, hoping Lord Nathan had waited for her.

Thankfully he had, though not precisely where she’d instructed.

She spotted him pacing alongside a flowerbed bursting with pale pink candytufts and golden marigolds in a shady area near the labyrinth. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him dressed in a corbeau-colored coat that was so dark the green appeared nearly black and a pair of form-fitting sage green kerseymere pantaloons.

His beaver hat had been discarded on a nearby bench and his dusty blond hair was delightfully mussed from the breeze rustling through the trees.

She hung back and watched him as he strolled with an air of a man without a care in the world. It made her heart ache as she longed for a piece of his languid self-assurance for herself.

He wandered among the plants looking no more dangerous than the tiny black kitten that had sneaked into the cook’s pantry that morning. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could believe he would lure a young lady into ruin. Vicious gossips and lies, there couldn’t be any truth to what she’d heard about him. She refused to listen to a word of what was being said about the playful gentleman she’d learned to trust while the two of them had conspired, shamelessly matchmaking their friends, May Sheffers and Viscount Evers.

A special fondness, one she’d never felt toward any other gentleman, warmed her cheeks as she watched him. Which wouldn’t do.

She wasn’t looking to fall in love. And she certainly didn’t need another man in her life.

Her cousin Byron was one too many already.

A smile graced Lord Nathan’s lips when his gaze met hers.

“You are unforgivably late,” he said, mocking the words she’d used in place of a greeting the previous evening. He didn’t appear to be the least bit upset though. With a flourish generally reserved for royalty, he scooped up his beaver hat and dipped into a deep bow. “Late or otherwise, I am humbled at the sight of you, my lady adventuress.”

His ridiculous feint of gallantry so surprised and pleased Iona that she returned his bow with a playful curtsy of her own. “I would have been here sooner but one of the ladies I regularly visit was feeling worse than usual and wanted me to stay by her bedside while she quizzed me ruthlessly about a rosy glow she seems to think has suddenly appeared in my cheeks.”

Nathan crossed the distance between them. Without warning, he cupped her chin in his large, warm hand and tilted her head up so he could take a better look.

“Hmmm,” he said.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his signature scent of honey and pine thrilled her senses.

“This sharp-eyed lady is correct. There is an extra flush of color this afternoon. I daresay the King’s Bath did wonders for that wan complexion of yours. I recommend you consider taking regular dips though perhaps at a more reasonable hour.”

She pressed her cheek into his hand and sighed like a besotted ninny while her lips trembled, begging for his kisses.

She blinked. He was gazing down on her with a look of satisfaction. A crooked grin graced his lips—lips she had trouble ignoring. She jerked her head away from his seductive touch and stepped back.

“I survived last evening,” she said crisply. “No one, other than my sister and Miss Harlow, knows anything about our secret liaison.”

She whipped open her pagoda parasol and gave it a whirl. “I survived despite that little trick you pulled. I gather you suggested a dip in the King’s Bath hoping I would run away from you with my tail tucked between my legs.” She gave him a hard stare. “But I am not running, Lord Nathan. I have no intention of letting you scare me away so handily.”

“Indeed?” he said and crossed his arms, his arrogantly crooked grin holding firm. “I admit I was a trifle confused by the demanding little note you sent this morning. After having a door slammed in my face last night, I had thought you might never speak to me again, what with your stubborn mind set against men and marriage and all.”

If not for her father’s insistence that she marry her cousin fueling her resolve, she would have probably found herself trembling in her kid boots just now. She was in over her head with Lord Nathan. He wasn’t like the overeager gentlemen who followed her around every blasted tea and soirée for the past six seasons, tripping over their own toes to please her.

Lord Nathan, she was learning, wasn’t nearly as predictable. Something about his manner—perhaps it was the way he seemed only too aware of her every movement—made her wary. And all the more conscious of her own body and how she used it.

Lawks, she’d flown with a moth’s eagerness directly into his flame. She was lucky her wings hadn’t been singed off. If she were acting reasonably, she would be wishing Lord Nathan, with his dangerous reputation, a good day and thanking the stars that she’d survived the previous night with her virtue and reputation intact.

That was what any proper lady would do.

But what had a lifetime of reasonable and dreadfully thought-out decisions gotten her? A betrothal to her cousin and her father’s deaf ear, that’s what.

She mimicked Lord Nathan’s easy stance, crossing her arms over her chest while letting her bold thoughts lend her smile a wicked tilt. “My thoughts on marriage are of no account,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“No?” He raised a brow. “Even the most hardened rogue eventually realizes he must one day settle down, or at the very least, slow down.” He leaned in closer. She could almost feel the heat of him brushing her skin. “What is it about marriage that frightens you?”

His question, or rather the implication that she might be frightened by the more intimate consequences of marriage, caused a shiver of anticipation to prickle her skin and bring a blush to her cheeks.

“Very little frightens me,” she assured him, using her chilliest, haughtiest tone. “I would think last night would have unquestionably proven my courage.”

“I’m not sure whether I’d consider what you did last night a mark of courage or a streak of madness,” he drawled. Mischief sparkled in his blue eyes. “Besides, if you are so courageous, my dove, why do you blanch whenever I speak of marriage?”