The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (43 page)

Though the threat had Iona’s insides quivering, Nathan didn’t appear to be concerned in the least. With one fluid motion, he drove the knife deep into the gaming table, reached into the villain’s pocket and retrieved Iona’s money.

“Come now, Varner. You can’t possibly hold a grudge against me or the lad when everyone here knows you use a marked deck of cards.” Dipping a mock bow and with a playful smile tripping over his lips, he bid the man a good night.

Iona’s watery legs were barely able to support her as Nathan led her down the narrow back stairs. When she would have liked to bolt from the building with a rabbit’s speed, he held her back.

“Let’s not create any more scenes right now,” he whispered and put his hand on her lower back to help her keep a steady, calm pace. His voice sounded hard again. Cold.

They made their exit from Goldsmith’s, stopping only long enough to retrieve their hats and gloves from the attendant.

Once they were out of the club, Nathan picked up his pace. His jaw muscles tightened. He urged her to trot alongside him down the street until they reached a gravel walk. Their boots crunched over the stones. The walk led them into the Orange Grove Park where a stone obelisk hiding in the shadows of the gothic Bath Abbey greeted them.

For a moment Iona had a devil of a time catching her breath. She leaned up against a fat tree trunk. “These-these men’s clothes are certainly accommodating for running away from villains,” she said, panting lightly.

Nathan shook his head. “Yes, I suppose they are deuced useful considering how you decided to take on one of the meanest coves in Goldsmith’s tonight.”

“Deuced useful,” she echoed.

In the breathless moment that followed, his gaze trapped hers.

“He wanted to take you to his bed?” he asked. His voice was as hard as the pebbles beneath their feet.

She didn’t want to answer him. She didn’t want to admit that she’d let herself get that far in over her head. The whole purpose of visiting a gambling hell had been to prove that she could hold her own—that she didn’t need her father or a husband to watch out for her or take care of her. But she’d failed. Miserably.

If not for Nathan…

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to hold back the tears that threatened. In her first attempt at independence, she had nearly fallen prey to two scoundrels. Her heart sank into her boots.

Nathan swore softly and pulled her into his arms. “I should never have let you out of my sight.”

He had no reason to feel as if he’d let her down. She’d been the one who had allowed Lord Grainger to lead her away.

“I admit that I should have never lost my temper and confronted Mr. Harlow…or you,” she said but poked her finger in his chest all the same. “But if you think you are going to school that young fop on ways to seduce me, you better think again.”

“You, for one, should know I would never—”

“Of course you will never—” she shouted over his protest, which was a surprise. She never shouted.

“Shush, love.” Nathan clamped his hand over her mouth and chuckled. “You’ve already caused not one but two scenes tonight. Let’s not try for a third.”

A smile relaxed her lips. She pushed his hand away. “It was rather outrageous how that gentleman tried to cheat me. For a moment I thought I must have been playing with Lillian!”

“Oh my, like playing with Lillian?” His eyes sparkled despite the darkness. “That must have been harrowing.”

“Yes,” she whispered and collapsed against his warm, inviting chest, shuddering with laughter.

“In the future, pray do not abandon me like that again. I-I believe I desperately need you,” she said and pressed her head against him. “You’re such a dear friend.”

From one moment to the next, something in the air shifted. The laughter was replaced with a tension charged with a heat that made her head feel light. His arms encircled her waist, effectively trapping her. He nudged her chin with his.

Her gut tightened as she realized her mistake. The laughter in her throat disappeared. Goodness, she would have been much safer in the clutches of that knife-wielding card monger at Goldsmith’s than in Nathan’s arms right now. Somehow she—or rather her unfettered emotions—had allowed him to gain the upper hand.

It was almost more than she could bear. His fiery stare felt as if it could burn straight through her, threatening to singe her until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes on the gravel walk. She drew a deep breath while listening to the thump-thump of her heart and wondered if he could hear her thundering beats.

A whispered sigh brushed against her cheek and sent shivers tiptoeing down her spine. She drew a deep breath and held it. Her eyes slipped closed as she waited for him to kiss her.

Instead Nathan muttered another curse. “You’re hurt.” It sounded like an accusation. He cradled her hand in his. “You’re bleeding, dammit. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Her hand had been stinging but not enough to cause concern. Yet, even in the dim light she could see the blood oozing from where Varner’s blade had bitten into the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger. The blood was staining her glove.

“I’ll kill him.”

The cold conviction in his voice frightened her. This wasn’t her tame, harmless friend who had the power to lure away her heart. He was as dangerous as the card mongers in Goldsmith’s. More dangerous since she cared for him and didn’t want him getting into trouble thanks to her mad schemes. And more dangerous even still since she suspected this more unpredictable Nathan had the power to snatch away her heart whether she wanted him to or not.

She touched his sleeve and felt the tension in his hard muscles. “Please,” she said, “it’s merely a scratch.”

“That blade was filthy. Your so-called scratch is likely to fester. We need to get it cleaned up.” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’ll have to wait and deal with Varner later.”

He kept his hand on her lower back as he guided her down the street, presumably taking her back home.

“For future reference,” he said tightly, “not that you’ll need it if I have any say—when a gentleman is sitting alone at a gaming table, avoid him. There’s a reason no one is playing cards with him.”

If not for that blasted nick on her hand, she’d still have her back pressed up against that smooth tree and him making love to her mouth. She wasn’t a total innocent. She knew when a man was on the verge of kissing a woman. And Nathan’s lips had been so close to hers that she could still taste the promise of his kiss.

Confound it! She wasn’t ready to go home. Not yet, not when her body was shouting for something to happen. But what? That nagging ache growing between her thighs was seeking a completion she didn’t quite understand.

He should be taking her home. But his apartment was closer. At least that’s what Nathan told himself as he led Iona up the short flight of steps and into his apartment’s tiny front parlor.

He held his breath, waiting for her to sneer at the sight of his modest living arrangements. His rented rooms weren’t a fit place to bring a wife—or future wife—or even a future, future wife. And Iona was accustomed to the most expensive comforts only those living at the most exclusive addresses could afford.

Though he was by no means impoverished, a large chunk of his income was being used to pay for his bastard nephew’s care and to keep Miss Darly silent. And then there were his worries over his father’s estate. He feared he might soon need to bail his brother out on that front as well. If not for his father’s fragile health, he’d stop covering for Edward’s mistakes and force him to start taking some responsibility for his actions.

But his father was still weak and covering up for Edward had almost become second nature to Nathan. Despite all that, he despaired that he couldn’t show Iona that he could take care of her in a manner she would expect. Seeing how he lived, she’d surely forever scorn the thought of marriage to him.

Graceful as ever—even with a frazzled wig, a cockeyed beaver hat and false mustache pasted to her upper lip—she wandered through the parlor with a serene expression pursed on her lips.

“This is where you live?” she asked, not giving any of her thoughts away.

He gave a nod. “I know it’s not much but it’s only temporary. As you know, before my father’s illness I spent most of my time in London.”

“Ah.” She ran her long fingers across the back of a worn stuffed chair as her gaze tripped over the walls cluttered with artwork that had been gifted to him from various London artists he’d made loans to over the years. Her lips curled into a faint smile. “It’s quaint.” She blinked up at him. “I like it.”

“You do?” He closed the front door and leaned against it. With his arms crossed, he watched as she continued to explore the parlor, touching and caressing the furniture. Her beautiful cornflower blue eyes grew wide as she drew her hand across the large, intricately carved oak desk that took up most of the room. His body tightened.

“The desk doesn’t fit with the rest of the furnishings. It’s rather out of place, isn’t it? Too fine, too large for its surroundings. Is it yours?” she asked.

He nodded. His thoughts were on anything but that desk. It took all his willpower not to sweep her up and show her another piece of furniture, a bed he’d set up in the middle of the room adjoining this parlor. A luxurious bed waiting for them, only a few steps away.

Would it really be so wrong? Waking her up to the wonders waiting for her in the marriage bed might even give Iona the push needed to bend her blasted resolve against marriage. True, breaching her maidenhead before making her his wife would only prove that he was the rogue society had painted him out to be.

Out of reach from the room’s pale flickering candlelight, he continued to watch her while he leaned against the now closed and locked door. Even wearing that blasted wig and mustache, she was beautiful and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman. Slender as a wren and yet as bold as a tigress, Lady Iona was an uncommonly rare find among the
ton
. Remembering how she’d accepted him despite the dastardly reputation he’d heaped all around him made his heart thud even harder in his chest.

Regardless of her wishes concerning marriage and whether she wanted to become his wife or not, he desperately wanted to take her to his bed. And that made him feel exactly like the worst kind of lone wolf. One who lurked in the shadows, waiting for an innocent to fall into his clutches.

“It suits you.”

“What?” he asked, not at all sure what she was talking about. Surely she hadn’t seen past his closely guarded expression and read his thoroughly inappropriate thoughts.

“The desk,” she said and quickly licked her pearly lips. “It suits you.”

Their gazes met and for a heart-stopping moment he knew with a certainty that she wanted him as badly as he ached for her. Not knowing what he intended to do, yet fearing it would damn him forever to hell, he took a step toward her.

The narrow side door to the parlor slid open and Freddie, Nathan’s tireless valet, poked his head in the room.

“Will you be needin’ anything before bed, my lord?” Freddie asked around a wide yawn. His dark eyes landed on Nathan, who’d suddenly frozen in place.

Freddie knew Nathan’s stance and could read the look of predatory lust in his employer’s gaze only too easily. Fortunately he’d had enough practice over the past few years to know when to be discreet. He started to back out of the room.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” he said quietly, without even flicking a look in Iona’s direction. “I see you have everything you need for the night already.”

“Just a moment, Freddie.” Nathan needed to clean Iona’s wounded hand. That was the reason he’d brought her to his apartment in the first place. Not seduction. Though seduction might come later, her health came first.

Seemingly unable to help himself, Freddie looked up, his beady gaze drifting over to where Iona was standing. Of course he saw exactly what the blind fools in Goldsmith’s had seen—a lad.

His brows shot up.

“You-you and your…um…um…friend certainly wouldn’t be needin’ me for anything tonight?” Freddie asked, his drawl roughening and his throat working overtime.

Dash it all. Clearly Nathan’s valet’s already poor opinion of his thoroughly debauched employer just dropped a few rungs.

“Sir Percival Crumps has injured his hand,” Nathan explained through gritted teeth while silently cursing the depths he’d sunk to.

It was lowering to realize that even his trusted valet would jump to the worst conclusions about him. He wouldn’t be surprised if all of Bath would be talking about his out-of-control lusts that had him taking anything and everything into his bed—including impossibly shapely and awkwardly dressed lads.

“An injury, my lord?” Freddie’s voice trembled.

“There was an unfortunate incident with a knife at Goldsmith’s. I will need some strips of clean cloth and a basin of hot water to clean the wound,” Nathan said.

“Of course, my lord. A knife fight, my lord. Very clearly a logical reason to invite a youngster like Sir…um… Percival into your parlor. You couldn’t let him stumble home alone after finding himself on the wrong end of a knife. How very noble of you and—”

“The basin of water, Freddie,” Nathan urged.

“Of course.” Freddie rushed back toward the tiny kitchen, relief flowing through his voice and the color returning to his normally ruddy cheeks. “Right away, my lord.”

While they waited for Freddie’s return, Nathan focused his energies on taking care of Iona’s hand—and trying to forget about his desire to strip her naked. Oh, what pleasure he’d take in administering his attentions to not just her injury but to her entire body. With a muttered curse, he shook the thought away.

In the glow of the set of candles Freddie always lit in anticipation of Nathan’s return, he carefully peeled off Iona’s glove and turned her hand over in his own. The flow of blood had stopped. And though the gash needed to be cleaned, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had feared. She hadn’t been downplaying the injury. It was only slightly worse than a nick.

He whooshed out a breath of relief.