Lady Iona's Rebellion Page 3

  Chapter 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, pr
etending 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.

  More’s the pity.

  He turned a corner, thinking he was steps from the center of the maze and discovered he’d reached a dead-end.

  “Are you lost?” a sunny voice asked.

  He whirled around.

  Iona, pretty as a spring flower in the nearby garden beds, blinked up at him. Her peacock blue dress shimmered in the afternoon sun as if it had been sprinkled with dew. A smile lit her face. She tilted her head and studied him without a blush of shame.

  “Where is your gaggle of friends?” he asked. He looked beyond her shoulder and saw no one.

  “They took a different path. I made a small wager with the others that a group couldn’t find their way to the center of the maze before an individual.”

  He glanced at the dead-end alcove where they were both standing and then back to her. “It appears you are about to lose your wager.”

  She took a bold step toward him. “I never wished to win in the first place.” She took another bold step, closing the distance between them. It was improper for an unescorted maiden to stand so close to him, a renowned rogue. “I wished to steal a few moments alone with you.”

  “With me?” He swallowed hard.

  He couldn’t think of one reason a proper lady would want to meet with him alone—unless that lady was overly bold and in search of a dalliance.

  Good Lord, could it be true? Could women be seeking him out thanks to his reputation? Not that he had any trouble picturing the lovely Lady Iona sprawled out underneath him. Naked. Willing. And eager to please.

  That was probably one of her most alluring traits. She had an eagerness to please others. Every member of the ton knew how she’d sacrificed her happiness time and again for her sister’s benefit. Once he convinced her to become his wife, he’d reward her eagerness to please by filling her nights with sensual bliss.

  The bodice of her peacock blue walking dress was cut daringly low, as the latest fashion dictated. His gaze was drawn to the exposed tops of her plump virginal breasts. He fiddled with his tan gloves feeling every inch the big bad wolf society believed he’d become.

  It would be easy enough to act on the urges that were suddenly banging around in his head. With a few carefully worded compliments, he could easily lure her away from prying eyes.

  But blast it! This was Lady Iona, the paragon of propriety. Did she truly wish to—

  “Surely you’re jesting.” He retreated from her until his backside was pressed into the prickly hedge. A branch snapped.

  If he were to take advantage of her desires—or his—he’d destroy any chance at repairing both his reputation and his relationship with his family. No. No. No. Not even for a chance to sate his long-repressed hungers would he take such a risk.

  “I rarely jest,” she said softly. She reached out and placed her slender, lacy-gloved hand on his chest.

  He raised a brow. He didn’t enjoy feeling like a fox being run to ground. “Why are you seeking me out like this?”

  “I have a request.” Her chin jutted upward. “You and I have grown as different as the East is from the West.”

  “We have,” he agreed, unwilling to guess the nature of her request. Guessing was only getting him overly hot. To do any more would only lead to trouble—the kind that generally ended up with him staring down the barrel of a revolver.

  “I wish to—” She paused and blinked heavily, turning her gaze skyward. Her lips twitched and she looked ready to burst out into a puddle of tears. She drew a loud, steady breath. “You have lived your life, Lord Nathan.”

  “Some would say I’ve lived it too heartily.”

  “Indeed,” she muttered.

  “What is it that you wish, Lady Iona? Have you come in search of that kiss I failed to steal from your lovely lips two days ago?”

  A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “No,” she said without hesitation. “No, I wouldn’t dream—I mean, I apologize for insulting you. I wish to make amends. In fact, I want to renew our friendship.” She let out a huff. “Two years ago, we successfully conspired to help our friends find love. Lord Nathan, I come to you now with a similar task.”

  “You wish to play matchmaker again?” He laughed at the thought. It came out sounding bitter. Two years ago he’d helped his friend, the crusty Viscount Evers, find his heart and nearly lost his own in the process. “I am sorry, my lady. I cannot help you.”

  “You misunderstand me,” she said and grabbed his arm before he could skirt around her. “I want you to help me recapture that feeling of excitement when we were plotting and scheming.” She sighed and added breathlessly, “And truly living each day. In short, I want you to teach me how to be more like you.”

  He stared at the delicate hand curling around his arm. He tried to convince himself that the warmth he felt, radiating out from where she was touching him, was because the day was warm and nothing else. “You don’t understand what you are asking.”

  She licked her glossy lips. Her pale blue gaze pierced his heart. “I think I do.”

  “I couldn’t.” He peeled her fingers from his forearm, caressing each one in turn before releasing her hand. With large strides, he took several steps down the narrow passage and away from her.

  “I suppose then I will simply have to ask either Mr. Harlow or Lord Grainger to teach me their roguish ways.”

  Nathan froze in his step. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I will if I must,” she said. Her voice had hardened with resolve.

  He was acquainted with both men though he’d not call either friend.

  Harlow was a fop, a young one with absolutely no sense at all. He’d muddle things, leading the reserved Iona into a situation that would surely ruin her reputation.

  Talbot, on the other hand, was older and more careful. Iona might escape an encounter with the rogue with her reputation unscathed, for he’d be discreet. But Nathan wouldn’t trust Talbot alone with an innocent like her. He’d seduce away her innocence and leave her heartbroken. Much like himself, Talbot was a wolf, naught but a wild animal that should never be trusted with the sheep.

  Nathan grabbed Iona’s arms. “No,” he said. “You won’t pursue this crazed idea with any gentleman. I will pay a visit to your father if forced.”

  Fire flashed in her cool gaze.

  “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t know what it feels like to temper every action, to be the obedient one.”

  She might as well have slashed him with a sword. She represented everything he wished to become. She was the daylight to his perpetual nightmare. Ladies like her were to be protected, shielded from the darker side of life.

  But if she wanted to spend time with him, even for such a nefarious purpose, perhaps he could use her folly to his benefit.

  “Very well,” he managed to dredge out from behind his clenched teeth. “However I will choose how the lessons go—”

  “What is this?” Talbot’s voice boomed just before a large hand grabbed Nathan’s shoulder and turned him around. “When you failed to reach the labyrinth’s end I grew concerned, Lady Iona. That concern, I see, was not unfounded.” Talbot curled his right hand into a fist and drew it back. “Tell me he tried to harm you. Just say the word.”

  “Stop this!” Iona squeezed between them and held up her hands. Her rounded backside pressed up against Nathan. He groaned.

  Grainger must have noticed the flare of lust. His frown grew and he began to swing his fist.

  Iona held up her hands. “There will be absolutely no hitting in my presence.”

  Not quite the defense Nathan had hoped for from her. She had sought him out, after all. Still, relief swept through him. In no way did he wish to become embroiled in a public brawl.

  “I shall call him out on your behalf,” Talbot proclaimed and whipped off a glove. “I shall champion your honor.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. Th
is popinjay was laying his bravado on a little thick. He knew Iona. She wouldn’t appreciate any man dueling because of her. Duels weren’t proper. In fact, they were downright illegal.

  She’d never stand for such a thing…he hoped.

  She held her tongue longer than Nathan thought wise. A killer’s gleam had begun to darken Talbot’s features. The man slapped his glove against his thigh. Was this what she wanted? Surely she didn’t understand that blood and death were frequently the outcome of duels.

  Needless trouble, duels were, foolish endeavors all too often pursued by cuckolded husbands.

  “You have no claim on Lady Iona,” Nathan said. “You have no right to champion her.”

  “Enough of this idiocy,” she ordered just as Talbot opened his mouth to argue. “I hear Lillian approaching. I’ll not have her involved in a scene.” She took Talbot’s arm, swung him around and gave his back a goodly shove toward her sister.

  “I will hold you to your word,” she tossed over her shoulder as she followed Talbot, her slender hips swaying.

  Nathan remained in the alcove. He closed his suddenly gaping mouth.

  “Was that Lord Nathan?” he heard Lillian ask, as the trio turned a corner. “Please vow to me he didn’t turn wild and try to ravish you.”

  Nathan groaned. It seemed he’d let society paint a sordid picture of his character for far too long. With all the members of the ton wary of him, winning Iona as a bride promised to prove much more difficult than he initially imagined.

  * * * * *

  Several hours later, Nathan tossed back a shot of whiskey and nearly toppled out of the wobbly wooden chair. Or perhaps it was the floor that wobbled? No matter, he didn’t plan on going much further than the rug at his feet anyhow. The young Mr. James Harlow had already collapsed onto the deep-hued Aubusson rug and was snoring loudly.

  “Drink up,” Lord Grainger Talbot slurred. He splashed more single malt whiskey into both their glasses. Quite an obliging chap, that Talbot.

  Not more than an hour ago, Talbot and Harlow had showed up at the small apartment Nathan had rented. The two men had barged inside without a by-your-leave, fully prepared to bash Nathan’s head into the floorboards.