More or Less a Marchioness

by Anna Bradley

  “Yes. She left him when he was a boy—ran off with a Scotsman and never came back. There are rumors he has half-brothers there, a pack of wild Scots born on the wrong side of the blanket. His father died a few years after his mother left, and Lord Huntington was left to the care of a distant guardian, who promptly sent him off to Eton and left him there. It couldn’t have been easy on him. Boys are cruel. I’m sure you can imagine what he endured, given the scandal about his mother.”

  Iris thought about what he’d said that day, when she asked him if he’d ever raced as a child, and her throat closed.

  I was never a child.

  For a moment she couldn’t speak, or catch her breath, because of the fist squeezing her heart.

  Because he had been a child, just a child, left alone—

  “It’s remarkable, really, he became the man he is.” Lady Annabel’s voice was quiet.

  “Yes. It is.”

  Lady Annabel patted her hand, then rose and walked to the door. “You have a decision to make. I saw Lord Huntington ride off with Captain West and Lord Derrick before I left the breakfast room, and Lady Honora and your sister went for a walk. I’ll tell Charlotte you need a bit of quiet in here, shall I?”

  “Yes, thank you. You’re very kind, Lady Annabel.”

  Lady Annabel made an impatient noise in her throat. “No, I’m not kind. I do this only for my own amusement, Iris.”

  Iris smiled at that, but once the room was still, she wondered if all the quiet in the world would be enough, and her smile faded.

  * * * *

  It was dark by the time Finn made it back to Hadley House. Captain West and Derrick had returned hours ago, but he’d followed Wrexley all the way to Alton before he turned his horse’s head back toward Winchester.

  He couldn’t rest easy until he was certain Wrexley was gone for good.

  His steps were weary and his heart sank as he made his way into the house and stopped in the silent entryway. He could think of nothing but Iris, but she’d have gone to bed long ago, and all the things he wanted to say to her—all the words he’d rehearsed on his solitary ride back to Hadley House—would have to wait until tomorrow.

  “She’s in Lady Hadley’s sitting room.”

  The hair on Finn’s neck rose in warning, but when he turned he saw it was only Lady Tallant. She appeared to be waiting for him.

  “I’ve done all I can to help you, Lord Huntington.” Her slender figure detached itself from the deep shadows surrounding the stairwell. “I do hope I haven’t wasted my efforts.”

  Finn was unable to account for her sudden appearance, and too exhausted to make sense of her words. “I don’t understand you, Lady Tallant. Help me with what?”

  “With Miss Somerset, of course. I consider myself indebted to you on Lady Farrington’s account, you see—she was a dear friend of mine, and I always settle my debts.” She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “But despite my best efforts you’ve managed to make quite a mess of things, haven’t you?”

  Finn stared at her, still not sure what to make of this strange conversation. “You knew Lady Farrington?”

  “Lady Farrington, her daughter, and the part you played in saving Miss Hughes from ruin. I’ve related the story to Miss Somerset.” She pointed down the hallway, in the direction of the library. “You’ll find her behind that closed door, and I believe she’s ready to listen to whatever you choose to say. A word of advice, Lord Huntington? Make the most of this opportunity. I can’t do everything for you, after all.”

  She began to mount the stairs, but turned back to face him again before she reached the landing. “Miss Somerset is a remarkable young lady, but I suppose you know that already. It’s why you’re in love with her, isn’t it?”

  It didn’t occur to Finn to deny it, or refuse to answer, or to tell Lady Annabel it was none of her concern how he felt about Miss Somerset. He simply told the truth, without hesitation. “Yes. She’s…extraordinary.”

  His quiet voice was nearly swallowed into the silence of the still, empty space, but Lady Tallant heard him. “Ah. Perhaps there is hope for you after all, Lord Huntington.” With that, she resumed her climb until she disappeared into the darkness at the top of the stairs.

  Finn didn’t waste any more time, but hastened down the hallway and eased open the door to Lady Hadley’s sitting room. He half-expected to find Iris asleep, but when he entered the tiny room she was curled into a corner of a large sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes wide open. A book lay in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. She was staring into the fire.

  He stood for a moment to admire the way the dying embers cast a glow around her and turned her hair a deep gold before he came the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him.

  The soft click made her turn, and when she saw him her breath caught in her throat, and Finn closed his eyes for a moment to savor that tiny gasp. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, and his heart leapt with hope.

  “It’s late.” He settled onto the other end of the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them. He already ached to touch her, and he was determined not to tempt himself further by sitting too close to her. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

  She kept her eyes on her lap as she fiddled with the pages of her book. “I was worried about—that is, I couldn’t sleep.”

  Finn hesitated. He needed to tell her Wrexley was gone and wouldn’t return to Hadley House, but if Iris really did love the villain, as Wrexley claimed she did, she wouldn’t thank Finn for his interference, and he didn’t think he could bear to see any coldness in her blue eyes when she looked at him.

  Not now. Not tonight.

  Finn cleared his throat. “Lord Wrexley is—”

  “I wasn’t worried about Lord Wrexley.”

  This time it was Finn’s turn to catch his breath. Had she been worried about him?

  “After our talk in the stables today, I spoke with Lady Tallant, and she told me…I was wrong about him. The wager, and his part in Lady Beaumont’s appearance in the garden that day. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen to you. I was wrong about you, and I—I beg your pardon, Lord Huntington.”

  Relief rushed through Finn then—a relief so powerful he felt dizzy with it—but there was one more thing he had to know before he could put the question of Lord Wrexley behind them forever. “Do you…are you in love with him?”

  Her blue eyes were soft as they rested on his face. “No.”

  Finn’s eyes drifted closed as her whispered word washed over him. With that one small word, she’d managed to fill that lonely, cold space inside him he’d despaired of ever reaching.

  She didn’t love Wrexley, and that meant there was still a chance for them. “Iris, I need…I want to…” He trailed off, because whatever he said, whatever words he chose, he knew they wouldn’t be enough, and in the next moment he was beside her, so close his knee brushed against hers when he reached for her.

  Finn wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but she held him back with a gentle hand on his chest. “I’ve been in here all day, thinking about our betrothal, and how I jilted you, and I need to tell you—”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He wrapped his fingers around the hand on his chest and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. “None of that matters now.”

  “It does matter. I need to tell you the truth, Lord…Finn. I lied to you when I told you I jilted you because of the wager, and because of Lady Beaumont, and because you didn’t kiss me that day in Lady Fairchild’s garden. Those were never the reasons. I thought they were, but they were excuses, just as you said the day we first came to Hadley House. I lied to myself, just as surely as I lied to you.”

  She looked into his eyes, and the pleading look in hers nearly broke his heart in two. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, tha
t she didn’t have to say anything more, but if they were going to move forward from this moment, they had to do so with nothing but the truth between them.

  Finn cupped her cheek in his hand. “All right, sweet. I’m listening.”

  “I was afraid—” Her brows drew together and she broke off with a slow shake of her head.

  He stroked her cheek. “What were you afraid of?”

  She drew in a deep breath, as if to help her push the words out, but when she did speak, her voice was a whisper. “I was afraid if I married you I’d become the lady I pretended to be during our courtship. I was afraid…” Her voice caught, and her gaze dropped to her hands. “I was afraid I’d lose myself, and I’d never become anything more than who I am right now.”

  Finn’s throat went thick with words, with denials, because she said it as if who she was now was nothing special.

  Didn’t she know? Didn’t she see how remarkable she was?

  No, she didn’t, and why would she?

  He hadn’t.

  But now he did, and there was no going back from it.

  “I’ve never admired fair hair.” He reached for a loose lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, then brushed his fingertips across her cheekbone. “Blue eyes, either. I’ve always preferred ladies with dark coloring.”

  She blinked once, twice, then her brows pulled down in a frown. “Yes, ah….well, every gentleman is different.”

  “Or pink lips.” He touched a finger to the center of her bottom lip. “Especially when they hide such a sharp tongue, as yours do. You’ve a temper, for all that your lips look like rosebuds, and I’ve never wanted a lady with a temper.”

  The rosebud lips pressed into an irritated line, and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away from her face. “If you’ve quite finished—”

  “I haven’t.” He slid his fingers to the back of her neck and held her, a half smile on his lips as his gaze touched every part of her face, and this time, he didn’t think about it before he said it. This time, he didn’t worry he’d stumble over his words, or say the wrong thing. He didn’t try to deny it, or reduce it to something less than what it was. “I never wanted any of it, until you. I want you, and it’s not because of Wrexley, or because the ton will gossip about us, or because I feel an obligation toward you. I want you because I’m in love with you, Iris.”

  Her fingers went slack around his wrist, and she stilled.

  He brushed a gentle kiss against her mouth, then trailed his lips across her cheek to whisper in her ear. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted, and everything I can’t live without.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Finn held his breath and waited with burning lungs as a dozen different emotions chased each other across her face. Shock, confusion, doubt, even anger, until at last something soft emerged and turned her eyes a dark, midnight blue.

  Tenderness.

  She raised herself to her knees so her face was level with his and she could look him in the eyes. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. She remained silent for so long, in fact, the back of Finn’s neck began to burn with embarrassment. Why didn’t she say something? He didn’t expect her to say she loved him in return—he hadn’t earned her trust yet—but surely he was owed more of a response than resounding silence.

  Finn’s nerves were on the verge of snapping like taut violin strings when at last she made a pleased humming sound in her throat, and touched her finger to the middle of his chin. “I like touching you here.”

  Finn was shocked to hear a low groan break from his chest when she dipped the tip of her finger into the tiny dimple. It was his chin, for God’s sake, not his cock, but it seemed her hands on any part of his body were enough to make him wild with desire.

  “I thought about touching it when we were betrothed. Touching it, and tasting it,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on her own finger caressing his face, as if she were mesmerized. “May I?”

  She didn’t wait for permission, which was just as well, because Finn couldn’t have spoken a word as he watched her draw closer, her thick lashes dropping to half-mast over burning eyes.

  He drew in a sharp breath when her warm lips touched his chin, but his gasp turned into a moan when the tip of her tongue—dear God, her tongue—darted into the small indentation.

  “Iris.” His hands shot to her hips, but before he could ease her away—yes, of course, that’s what he intended to do—she pressed a final kiss to his chin and slid her mouth higher, so her lips brushed against his.

  It was a shy kiss, an innocent kiss, but it felt to Finn as if an entire lifetime had passed since he’d kissed her in the stables, and as soon as her mouth touched his, his blood raced in his veins, and his body shuddered with pleasure. He dug his fingers into her hips to pull her closer and opened his mouth under hers.

  Not a demand, but an invitation.

  She hesitated, and Finn forced himself to keep still and wait for her to decide, but he couldn’t restrain his groan of triumph when her tongue crept out and traced his lower lip, then slid deeper inside his mouth to meet his in a slick, hot stroke that left him panting for breath.

  One kiss, and he was ready to devour her.

  A dim warning penetrated the fog of desire in his brain. Her scent, her sweetly curved body, her mouth against his, the taste of her—she was driving him mad. He was one stroke of her tongue away from losing control and taking her on Lady Hadley’s soft leather sofa.

  She was his, but she was also an innocent, and he was an honorable gentleman.

  Most of the time.

  “Iris. Listen to me, sweet.” He slid his hands from her hips to her waist to ease her away from him. “We can’t—”

  She let out a protesting growl that made his cock strain against his falls, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, so her breasts were crushed against his chest. “I know gentlemen enjoy kisses, Lord Huntington.”

  He touched his fingertips to her mouth to hush her, a grin curving his lips. “Not Lord Huntington anymore, Iris. Finn. I can’t be Lord Huntington to a lady who’s kissed my dimple.”

  “I’m vastly relieved, then, that I’ve never heard another lady call you Finn.” Pink colored her cheeks when she said his name, but she looked pleased.

  “Now, tell me about these gentlemen who enjoy kisses.” He shouldn’t encourage her to talk about kisses when he had a full, eager erection, but he couldn’t bring himself to send her off to bed, either.

  “Philander and Horatio, you mean?”

  Finn blinked. Philander and Horatio? Who the devil were Philander and Horatio?

  Iris laughed at his puzzled look. “The heroes of Dialogues between a Lady and her Maid. Then there’s Roger, from School of Venus, and Charles from Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.”

  Finn’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You’ve read all three?” Jesus. She might be an innocent, but she was a remarkably well-educated one.

  “I haven’t finished the third one yet, but it…well, it’s more of the same, I think.” She peeked at him. “Isn’t it?”

  “I—ah, the same as what?” He stifled a groan when her fingers sank into the hair at the back of his neck. He couldn’t think about the books, or about anything but burying his face in her throat and drowning in her subtle jasmine scent.

  She gave his hair a gentle tug, a tiny admonishment. “The other two books are about relations between men and women, and, ah…well, about how to make a gentleman…how to give him pleasure. Isn’t that what Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure is about, too?”

  Finn closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the sofa. He was treading on dangerous ground. He was so aroused his thighs were shaking, and the woman he loved—a woman whose simplest touch hurled him headlong into a vortex of desire—was gazing at him with her enormous blue eyes, her lips still swollen from his kisses,
calmly asking about erotic literature.

  “Lord Hunt—that is, Finn?”

  Her soft, warm palm landed on his neck, and Finn opened his eyes and raised his head to find her nibbling on her plump lower lip.

  A defeated groan fell from his lips. He intended to marry her, and soon. She was curious and eager, she’d read enough about a man’s body and lovemaking not to be shocked when certain things, ah…sprang up, and damn it, he wasn’t a saint. He wanted her, and he could see by her flushed cheeks and breathlessness she wanted him, too.

  He let his hands drift down her back, his fingertips stroking her spine before his palms came to rest on her waist. “What about a lady’s pleasure? Don’t your books say anything about that?”

  Her eyebrows pinched together. “Now you ask it, her pleasure does seem to be rather incidental to the gentleman’s. That is, she has pleasure—after the initial pain—but the point of the business seems to be more his pleasure than hers.”

  “And therein lies the cause of frustration of ladies all across England,” Finn muttered, with a disgusted shake of his head. “Ignorance—or worse, laziness—on the gentleman’s part.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Finn leaned forward to kiss the tiny frown between her eyebrows. “Did you feel any pleasure when you read the books, Iris?”

  Her wide-eyed gaze met his. “I—yes.”

  His mouth went dry as he watched the color rise from her chest to her throat until it bathed her cheeks in a tempting wash of bright pink. “Where did you feel it? Show me.”

  She stared at him, her lips parted, but he saw the uncertainty at war with her desire before her heavy lashes swept down and hid her eyes from him.

  Too much, too fast.

  Finn shed his coat and tossed it onto one end of the sofa, loosened the buttons on his waistcoat, and then held out his arms to her. “Come here, sweet.” His hands were firm on her waist as he lifted her onto his lap. He turned so his back was against the side of the sofa and arranged her legs on either side of his thighs, with her skirts covering her. “My pleasure is tied to yours, as surely as yours is to mine. Will you let me show you?”