“And when Mortimer wakens?” Iona tasted her punch and wrinkled her pert nose.
She was so damned gorgeous, Gerard hoped Azmin had photographic plates left. He wanted a picture large enough to frame and hang over his mantel. Iona was the siren of his dreams, the unobtainable goddess he’d never thought to have—and the wicked wit to match his own.
He’d rather carry her off to a bedroom than stand here arguing, but he knew they couldn’t escape the festivities this early. Better to soothe Iona’s rightful wariness. She had to guess how close he was to the brink of losing everything.
The woman he’d chosen wouldn’t fall into a romantic fantasy about knights in shining armor. She knew him too well. Which oddly made him even happier. “Mortimer will wake on a ship sailing to Africa. He might eventually find his way to Egypt or India, if no one kills him for his cheating. Saves him from the thugs here, at least.”
To his relief, she nodded agreement. The throng descended on them, and there was no privacy for more.
While Lady Dare set up her photographic equipment, his cousin Max slapped him on the back, ignoring Gerard’s wince. “This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you!”
It was the happiest he’d ever been, he realized. And the most terrified. The den of thieves hadn’t scared him as much as Iona’s possible rejection. He’d hoped he was doing the right thing. He still couldn’t tell.
He’d find out when he took her to Wystan and explained how he’d spent most of his reward and couldn’t fix the roof and they’d have to look for a new place for the library.
He watched as Iona’s twin wept on her shoulder. Were those good or bad tears?
“The other one can be the Craigmore countess now, since you just made the eldest your countess.” Rainford handed him a glass of fizzing bubbles.
Titles had not even counted on Gerard’s growing list of concerns. “Does it matter?”
Musicians warmed up in the gallery. Ah, an opportunity to have Iona to himself again.
“It will matter to the queen.” Rain insisted on bursting his bubble. “They’re scheduled to meet with her and the Lord Chancellor this week.”
Well, damn. “Take Isobel. Iona can send a letter politely declining the title.”
“You don’t think your wife would like to meet the queen?” The marquess studied the happy crowd congratulating the bride.
“They’ve had a season. They’ve met the queen. They’ll probably only see Old Gruff Face over formalities this time. Besides, the title was for Arthur’s sake and doesn’t matter any longer.” Still, he’d have to ask. Wystan could wait, he supposed.
The important part was prying his bride from her celebrating friends and cementing this marriage so no one could take her away.
“Have you learned how to choose a wife then?” Rainford asked gloomily.
Gerard recalled the night they’d discussed this while watching a ballroom swirling with tempting feminine confections. He considered the question, but it didn’t take long.
“You want the woman who will bring out the best in you.” He smacked Rainford’s arm and left him pondering this impossible piece of wisdom.
He had a wedding night ahead. He couldn’t remember ever anticipating anything so much. For one whole entire day and night in his life, he would say to hell with his family, his estate, and his duties.
Twenty-six
Iona posed again for Lady Dare’s camera while nervously studying the celebrating crowd. Was it time to leave yet?
The punch bowl was empty. Dancers teetered precariously as they swung and hopped around the great hall to increasingly raucous music. Their host must be keeping the musicians well-oiled with whisky. Max Ives liked a good party as much as his wife did, apparently.
Iona covertly watched as her groom handed their host’s studious son Bakari a coin. The boy grinned and raced off to do his bidding. Her heart pattered a little faster.
She was still furious with Gerard, of course. A woman deserved to know who she was going home with after her wedding.
But the bored earl had disappeared, replaced by a happy fellow who grinned and endured back slaps from his fellows despite his injury. He danced her around the room as if to show the world she was beautiful and all his. This was the earl she knew, the one brimming with curiosity, desire, and spikes of temper and delight, all concealed beneath that insouciant, gentlemanly demeanor. She feared breaching his defenses might be a little like opening Pandora’s trunk.
But Gerard endured hugs and kisses with good cheer, lifting her twin so Isobel could kiss his cheek, hugging his cousin Phoebe, laughing at Lord Dare—and he wasn’t in the least drunk like the rest of the guests. Iona didn’t think he’d even noticed he wasn’t holding a glass.
As if by magic, her groom was suddenly at her side. He held out his hand. She took it. He lifted her ring to his lips and kissed her finger just below the symbol of their totally inappropriate marriage. She shivered in anticipation.
“Lady Ives.” He gestured at the floor clearing for the last dance.
“Lady Iona,” she decided.
“Iona Ives.” He chortled, leading her out as the audience formed a ring around them. “I’m heir to a marquess, so sorry, my dear, it’s Lady Ives, a farmer’s beekeeping wife.”
“A historian and parliamentarian’s apiarist countess. We’ll be very poor.”
“I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams if I have you.”
She longed to believe that.
He swirled her into the waltz. Her husband’s strong arms held her properly. Gerard danced with more skill than she but led her so capably that she felt as if she floated.
She had no urge to run and hide. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful, like a countess, as if the world might actually be filled with miracles just waiting to happen.
She was married—and she most definitely wasn’t running from her marriage bed.
Hooting and hollering, their wedding party followed them as Gerard swept her from the great hall. Lydia waited for them near the stairs, handing Iona her wedding bouquet.
Too excited and anxious to think, Iona tossed it from the landing—directly into the hands of her twin.
Leaving their laughing guests, they fled up the main stairs. The old castle was a warren of rooms and corridors carved from larger chambers and partitioned off over the centuries. Iona wasn’t entirely certain she could find her way out again when Gerard opened the door to their bridal suite.
While he turned to bolt the door, Iona nervously studied her wedding chamber. Overcome by all the ups and downs of this day, she let tears leak at the carefully prepared sight.
Her meticulously detailed husband had probably found the only room in the castle decorated in her favorite gold and browns. They weren’t popular colors, but they reminded her of her bees, and she cherished them. She relaxed a fraction in the warm comfort of her surroundings.
Candles lit every corner—that’s what he’d paid Bakari to do. She wiped at more tears.
Hot house roses scented the air. A confection of shimmering gold silk lay across the ivory damask coverlet. On top of it lay a velvet jewelry box. It had been years since anyone had done anything special for her, and even then, it had never been such a grandiose gesture. After he’d given her the beautiful wedding ring, she was afraid to touch the box.
Her new husband circled her waist from behind and leaned down to kiss her ear. “You didn’t leave me a lot of time to plan. And just so you know—I’m hoping you’ll wear that gown in the morning. Right now, I wish to see all of you.”
He removed her veil, kissed her nape, then started on her buttons.
A hot flush heated her better than the fire in the grate.
“We really should wait until we’re at Wystan,” she said, nervously. “I should consult with my queen before doing anything drastic.”
He halted and turned her to face him. Crossing his arms, he raised one eyebrow and waited.
She didn’t like that. She squ
irmed. “I am not hiding.”
He waited some more. He looked so commanding, so very. . . magnificent.
Iona rubbed the ring on her finger and studied the waves of white lace covering her shoes. “It’s not hiding to need confirmation that I’m doing the right thing.”
He tilted her chin so she had to meet his forceful dark eyes and taunted. “I can sense it, y’know. Your head and your heart know what is right. Your bees only confirm what you already know. To back away and say you may consult with them is hiding.”
“I. . .” But the damned man was absolutely right. All her life, she’d fled to her hives for comfort—and to escape her unhappiness. The bees had been her confidants when Mortimer raged through the house or stole the coins she’d hidden.
She wasn’t unhappy now. Mortimer was out of her life. In his place stood an arrogant honorable lord who wanted to please her—who admitted to sensing her mood. And she was too stupid to know how to react.
At her silence, he asked worriedly, “Are you sorry we did this?”
Another woman might scold and accuse him of arrogant presumption, but Iona knew better. He’d known she’d never choose her own wants and desires over what was best for others. He understood her, just as she was learning to understand him. He was a man people relied on because he did what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant or difficult. They were not terribly different.
But this marriage—he was actually doing for himself because he was braver than she was. He was doing it because it felt right, not because it was logical or practical or all those things they normally did.
“I am terrified,” she whispered as she toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat. Her husband had unbuttoned his tailed coat hours ago. “I’m so excited and happy that I may be delirious. And that terrifies me too. Like my queen, I flee when startled and fly elsewhere when threatened. What I feel right now—is overwhelming.”
Gerard caught her hand and kissed the knuckles, then picked up the jewelry box and held it out. “I know I was hasty and arrogant in believing you feel as I do. But I do know it. You were the one who taught me to heed the energies people emit. And for that, I wanted to thank you.”
Uncertainly, she released her hold on his waistcoat to open the box.
“My pearls?” she asked uncertainly, smelling the love on the luminous beads, unable to believe it was possible. “You bought back my mother’s pearls?”
He closed the box and set it aside while kissing her hair and temple. “I had Max ask your sister. I hope I found all of them.”
Closing her eyes, Iona swayed, feeling almost as faint as her twin. She clung to his waistcoat and let the love well up inside her, a love she hadn’t felt in so very long. . . And still hadn’t the words to say. “I cannot thank you. . . It’s too much. Your reward money. . .”
“Money is not as important as convincing you that I am the best husband for you. I didn’t spend it all. I can patch the leaks. The library is safe for a while longer. I don’t know how else to show you that we will be good together.”
His hint of uncertainty pierced her heart. She wanted him to be confident that she could be his countess. “We are attuned to each other, my lord. I never doubted that.”
His waistcoat fell open beneath her fumbling fingers, and Iona tentatively flattened her palms against his hard torso, as she’d wanted to do so many times. She drank in his odor of integrity and desire, steadying her quaking nerves.
He covered her hand with his, letting their paired senses read the moment. “Your queen doesn’t flee your drones, does she?” He teased kisses across her brow and down her nose. His big hands encompassed her waist and found the ties for her train.
Drones, oh my. That was plain enough. “We’ve already performed our mating dance?” If they talked, perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so aware of the hard beat of his heart.
Her train fell to the floor. With shaky fingers, Iona unknotted his cravat and cast it aside so she might start on his shirt studs. She really needed to see his chest naked again. Joy and desire pushed aside doubt and fear.
“Is that what bees do? Perhaps this can be our mating dance.” He spun her around and nimbly started on the tiny pearl buttons at her back.
“A little less. . . primitive. . . perhaps.” She suppressed a moan as he let her bodice and chemise fall and released her corset ties.
She tried to grasp all the fabric falling off her, but with masculine strength, he spun her back around again.
Gulping, she fastened her gaze on her husband’s face as he unwrapped her like a gift more precious than her pearls. She was nervously left standing nearly naked from the waist up. Gerard’s worshipful expression reassured her, along with his scent of lust and. . . expectation? She thought he trembled as much as she did when he pushed aside her gauzy undergarments to lift her bare breasts from her underpinnings.
“I’m feeling very primitive.” His voice was a low rumble that stirred all her nerve endings.
He lifted her and put his mouth to the aroused crest of one breast. Iona cried out with the intensity of her need.
He kissed her then, kissed her with such all-consuming passion that Iona was scarcely aware when her gown fell off and the rest followed, all except the gauzy final garment.
But she was very aware when her bare shoulders hit the bed linen, and she looked up to see Gerard fling his shirt and coat to a chair.
Muscles rippled everywhere she looked, and she stopped breathing all over again. When he reached for his trouser placket, she had to force herself to study the bandage on his shoulder so she did not expire of fear and excitement.
* * *
Gerard had planned on seducing his bride with fine words and gentle caresses. He knew how to do those things, and Iona deserved all his attention for this night. He knew his duties didn’t often allow him the leisure for pampering a wife. But for one night—
And he was ruining it all. He was so desperate to touch her that he nearly ripped off her clothes. She was a virgin, but he’d suckled her breasts as if she were an experienced courtesan. He was fortunate his brave Iona didn't faint.
And now he had her flat on her back, those big golden eyes watching him as if he were Atlas, and she was a sacrifice to the gods. And damned if he didn’t feel like a god. If he revealed himself as aroused as he was now, she was likely to flee off the other side of the bed.
He leaned over to turn off the oil lamp on the bedside table. The candles might allow him to see the splendor of his bride—
Her delicate hands halted him. “Don’t. I want to see what passion looks like.”
“If you’ve seen animals, then you know it isn’t pretty,” he said gruffly, hoping to spare her.
“Animals don’t know desire. Or love. We just vowed to love one another. Doesn’t that start with seeing each other for who we are?” She caressed the bulging placket of his trousers. “If I can’t hide, neither can you.”
“I’m going to regret saying that for the rest of my days, aren’t I?” He pried off his shoes.
Trousers still on, he blew out the candles, then lay down beside her in the light of the single lamp. She instantly sat up enough to explore his bare chest, as he’d hoped. This business of going slow was about to cost him a new pair of drawers. He’d been very careful dressing this morning.
“I do not need coddling,” she informed him.
“Of course you need coddling. Everyone should be coddled occasionally, and I intend to see that you have your fair share.” He desperately wanted to keep that promise, but Wystan’s eventual demise loomed in their future.
He’d work something out—just not now, while Iona continued exploring him, and he was gripping the sheet to control his need to roll her under him.
“I have married a barbarian who believes he need only take what he wants.” She kissed his jaw and throat to soften her words. “I know better than to believe you’ll change. I have insanely agreed to accept your flaws for a lifetime. And because I can sense the
man you hide from others, I know you won’t hurt me, not intentionally. So let me learn what you really want.”
She kissed his chest and suckled his nipples the way he had her. Gerard nearly lifted off the bed.
Apparently responding to what she sensed, she carried her kisses down the thread of hairs over his abdomen. He had to dig his hands into her hair and drag her back up to his mouth so he could kiss her—and finally cover her with his weight to prevent further migration to parts she wasn’t prepared to see.
She responded hungrily. She let him invade her mouth and maul her breasts like the barbarian she’d called him. He generally paid ladies the courtesy of going slow, but she dug her fingers into his arms and bucked against him and drove him wild with her desire.
He could feel her vibrations. Desire apparently felt differently than anger. He’d have to learn all her tunes.
He tore off the final bit of gossamer covering her breasts and nipped the tightly furled peaks. She cried out as she had earlier, then performed the trick he loved so well and wrapped her leg around his buttocks.
Kissing the beautiful bosom that had tantalized him all evening, he unfastened her frail silk drawers and slid his hand over her bare hip. She rose into him, begging for a touch he’d only showed her once.
Daringly, he kissed lower, sliding off her drawers as he went. She dropped her embracing limb and spread herself for him. He growled at the wispy blue garter on her thigh, licked and kissed her there, and compelled by her high keening, applied his mouth to virgin territory.
Holding her rump, he plied her until she came apart in his hands.
Only then did he shed his trousers and drawers, just enough to rise above her and take the plunge that made the beekeeper his countess forever and a day.
Man and wife, lord and lady, richer or poorer, they became one.
Twenty-seven
Satiated, eager to please Gerard as he had her, Iona clung to the muscled torso of her husband as he entered her. His lust and desire aroused her, but she also felt. . . his concern, like a warm loving blanket. She kissed his shoulders to let him know she wasn’t another one of his duties but cried out once he breached her barrier. He hesitated, although she sensed how difficult it was for him to halt.
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