The Dangerous Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  And examining his own behavior—or rather, contemplating his many sins—was all he did for the next three days. He certainly didn’t go anywhere near his long-suffering wife. For God’s sake, what could he say to her that would excuse his earlier arrogance? The very thought of her tortured his conscience. So what would the sight of her do to it?

  Now it was late afternoon on the day before New Year’s Eve, and he was in a quandary. The day after tomorrow, they’d return to London. What was he to do about Felicity?

  Pacing his study restlessly, he paused to glance out the window, then started when he saw the object of his thoughts standing in the garden below and jotting down notes in a tablet. What was she planning? To improve the garden? Or level it and put in a pond? Hard to know with his darling wife.

  Regardless, it was such a domestic action it briefly salved his conscience. Too briefly.

  He turned from the window to stare blindly about the impressive study, a veritable bastion of masculinity, thanks to Father’s decorating preferences and Ian’s own lack of time to oversee its redecoration. Mahogany furniture and velvet hangings and ancient bronze lent it a dark, almost gloomy air. He hated it.

  But not only for its appearance. My God, that massive, ugly desk—how often he’d hunched over it while Father laid into his backside with a cane. Not that the canings had hurt his ass any more than those he’d routinely suffered at Eton, but they’d tortured his pride. He’d hated having them administered by the man he wanted most to please. He’d despised being forced to submit against his will. Most of all, he’d been humiliated the few times his father had wrung tears from him.

  Ian had always regarded it a matter of pride not to cry, and Father had always regarded it a matter of pride to make him do so. No one understood their private duel. His mother had wanted Ian to shed fake tears to end the caning. Jordan had said he was insane to hold back the real ones. But every time Ian had outlasted his father’s whipping arm without crying, he’d considered it a triumph over the whole degrading process.

  From that he’d learned that physical force didn’t work, that manipulation and strategy were the keys to getting what you want, because his father’s canings had never done anything but stiffen his resistance.

  Now Felicity had taught him something else—there were more kinds of force than physical, and they were just as destructive. Unwittingly, she’d taught him that in countless ways. Her tears in front of Sara, which had apparently been genuine. Her horror at his threats to make her marry him. Most of all, the way she’d refused him her bed after the wedding. If you force this upon me, you’ll have to force the other upon me as well, she’d said, and he’d been so arrogant he’d ignored her legitimate complaint.

  Instead, he’d acted exactly like the long string of so-called gentlemen before him, the Pelhams and the Faring-dons and all the other bastards. He’d browbeaten her. Taken advantage of her. Seduced her. The list of his offenses was so long, he choked on them.

  He’d still succeeded in making her willing, or as willing as a woman can be whose pride has been trampled on, whose energies have been exhausted by the fight. He’d won without giving in one whit to her simple request for the truth about his past.

  How hollow was his triumph.

  Because eventually she would learn the truth—if not from him, then from another. Someone would make a random comment or Uncle Edgar would tell her just to spite him. Then she’d have reason enough to leave him, since the truth would surely break any bonds of duty he’d managed to make her feel for him.

  He gazed out the window again. She looked so fetching, so perfectly at home in his garden. He could grow used to having her always in his sight. Which made the thought of her leaving him all the more terrifying. What good was winning the fight against his uncle if she weren’t here? Or worse yet, if she stayed, despising him with every breath? The very thought made him ill.

  No, he must heed the call of his conscience. He’d made a mistake by forcing her into this marriage—he saw that now. But Fate had kept her from bearing his child just yet, thus handing him the chance to undo his mistake.

  So he must seize that chance and offer her back what he’d taken from her—her pride, her independence, and yes, her freedom. After all the indignities she’d suffered at the hands of men of his kind, she deserved that much from him.

  Even if he had to cut out his heart to do so.

  “Good evening, milady,” Ian’s butler, Spencer, greeted Felicity as she entered the dining room and took her usual place.

  Milady. She always wanted to look around for the stately and elegant personage to whom they surely referred.

  Spencer bent over her place to pour her a glass of burgundy. “His lordship sent word that he will not be dining this evening, milady.”

  A keen disappointment seized her. She’d dressed with such care, looking forward to telling Ian that her courses had ended. “Oh.”

  The elderly butler hesitated. When she glanced at him, he said, “If you should need the master, however, he’s in his rooms.”

  She brightened. “He told you to say that?”

  “No, milady. I merely thought you might find the information of interest.”

  Her spirits fell once more. “I do. Thank you.”

  He motioned to the footman to serve her the first course—a consommé. She stared into the bowl, but her mind was elsewhere. Ian’s absence at dinner for the past three nights had garnered even the servants’ attention. No doubt they’d also noticed his avoidance of her. The promised visit to the tenants hadn’t materialized. He’d sent word that he would be too busy with other affairs to carry her round and introduce her.

  She detested that phrase—“sent word.” Ian forever “sent word” to her. That he couldn’t accompany her into the village. That he would be out all day inspecting his properties. That he wouldn’t be at dinner. She only wished the wretch would “send word” about why her behavior the other night had made him avoid her.

  “Milady?” Spencer asked.

  She looked up to find him at her elbow. “Yes?”

  “Is there…something wrong with the soup?”

  She’d been staring into it for several minutes. “No.” She shoved back her chair. “I’m not hungry, I’m afraid. I believe I’ll do without dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, milady,” he murmured, bowing.

  She stood abruptly, took a fortifying gulp of wine, and then set the glass down and headed for the door. She’d had enough of this nonsense. She’d seen less of Ian in the past three days of married life at Chesterley than she had in one day of unmarried life in London. It wasn’t like Ian to sulk simply because her courses had prevented him from bedding her. But why else could he be avoiding her?

  Well, she would find out. They were married, for pity’s sake, and if he thought being married meant ignoring his wife when he couldn’t bed her, he was very much mistaken. It was time she informed him of that fact.

  When she arrived at Ian’s bedchamber, she was relieved to find the door open and Ian clearly visible inside. He must have just come from his bath, for his hair was still damp and he wore a dressing gown of figured silk tied at the waist with a sash. He stood at the foot of the bed, directing his valet who was…

  Packing an open trunk.

  “Where are you going?” she asked sharply from the doorway.

  His valet looked up in surprise, but a quick nod from Ian toward the door was all it took for the servant to slip past Felicity and off down the hall.

  “To London,” he answered.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She entered the room with unsteady steps, closing the door behind her. “I thought we weren’t returning to London until the day after tomorrow.”

  He continued where his valet had left off by tossing a pair of drawers into the trunk. “There’s been a change of plan. You’ll want to attend Lord Stratton’s New Year’s Eve ball, won’t you, so you can write about it in your column? That means leaving tomorrow. I’d planned to tell you th
is evening.”

  “Oh.” She wished he’d asked her about it first. The ball wasn’t nearly as important to her as consummating their marriage, and now there would only be tonight before her brothers were with them again.

  Still, she only needed one night. Feeling a bit nervous, she strolled to the bed and sat down on the edge. “I…I came to tell you that my courses are finished.”

  He obviously didn’t miss the significance of that. His hands paused in the act of reaching for something in his bureau. “I see.”

  She waited for him to say more…to look at her or kiss her…anything at all. When he returned to packing, she couldn’t believe it. What had happened to him? Three days ago, he wouldn’t have left her alone on his bed for more than a second after such a pronouncement. “Ian, that means there’s no reason for us not to—”

  “I know what it means.” His profile was to her, the taut muscles more unyielding than marble. “It means we should have left for London today.”

  She stared at him in utter bewilderment. “Whyever for?”

  “Felicity.” His voice cracked a little on her name. He straightened as if steeling himself for an unpleasant task. When he faced her, his expression was grim. “We’re going to London early for another reason as well.”

  This didn’t sound good, not good at all. “Oh?”

  “I sent a message off today to a solicitor, requesting an appointment for tomorrow. I think he’ll oblige me.” He paused. “This particular solicitor specializes in annulments.”

  She jumped up, her heart lurching sickeningly in her chest. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze locked with hers. “It’s time we acknowledged this was a mistake.”

  A mistake? He was seeking an annulment? How dare he! “Why? Because I took so long to let you bed me again?”

  “Of course not! But thanks to our abstinence, you aren’t yet pregnant. Under the law, the marriage hasn’t even been consummated. We should take advantage of that and obtain an annulment while we still can.”

  “I don’t want an annulment!”

  He sighed. “If it’s the money you’re worried about, be assured that I’ll settle on you an allowance that will provide handsomely for you and your brothers.”

  “Damn you, Ian, it’s not the money! I don’t care about money—I never did! I care about you! I don’t want an annulment, and you don’t either!”

  “What I want is of no importance.” Eyes of deepest obsidian stared earnestly into hers. “I once thought it was—that my need for a wife superseded any claims of morality or conscience or even simple courtesy. I wanted a wife, so I set out to get one. And I fixed upon you. When you refused me, I seduced you. When you balked at marrying me to save your reputation, I made it so you couldn’t refuse. And all because I wanted you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that she’d wanted him as well, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “Now I find that my conscience plagues me. The only solution is to annul this farce of a marriage.”

  And she’d expected to seduce him tonight. “Drat it, Ian, why must you choose now to repent your sins?” Now that I love you so dearly.

  “Better late than never, don’t you think?”

  “No, I do not! I don’t want you heeding your conscience if it means ending our marriage. I didn’t marry you for your conscience!”

  “You didn’t marry me for anything at all—I forced you to marry me!”

  “The devil you did! Remember that conversation we had in the church vestibule? If I’d wanted to be rid of you, I’d have turned you away then. But I didn’t!” Should she tell him why? Would he withdraw into himself if she did? She must take that chance. “It was love that kept me from turning you away, damn it. I knew it even before I arrived at the church. I married you because I love you, Ian!”

  The words visibly shook him. Although he didn’t offer the same, she gained encouragement from his expression, which showed uncertainly, not disgust. Surely that was a good start.

  Averting his gaze from hers, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine why,” he said finally.

  “Can’t you?” She strode up to stand in front of him, wanting him to look at her. “You’re generous and patient with my brothers. You listen to me when I talk, unlike other men who think that anything a woman says must necessarily be stupid. You’re considerate to your servants as well as to me.”

  “That’s only one side of me. You’ve already seen a little of the other side—the one that manipulated you into marriage. But I assure you, if you really knew the blackness in my soul, you wouldn’t be speaking of—” His voice grew choked. “You’d be begging to leave this marriage.”

  Ah. So that was his real reason for wanting an annulment. The thorn in his heart. She’d finally brought it to the surface, and he not only refused to let her pluck it out, but insisted on driving her away from him before she saw it.

  Well, it wouldn’t work. She’d fought too hard for him and loved him too much. Maybe he couldn’t speak of it yet, but he would eventually—and when he did she’d be here, not off in London living separate from him. “I know you better than you think.”

  “Do you?” His gaze shot to hers, black eyes snapping. “Did you know I’d lied to you all along about my reasons for marriage?”

  She willed herself not to react. He wanted to drive her away, and she wouldn’t let him. “How so?”

  “I need an heir because if I don’t sire one within two years, I’ll lose Chesterley and most of my income. I’ll be a viscount, but very little more.”

  She gaped at him. “How can that be? Surely your estate is entailed—”

  “No. My grandfather died when my father was but a boy. So although the estate was entailed upon my father, he had no one to force him into continuing the entail to me. And since Father had peculiar ideas about inheritance, he chose to hold the estate over my head until I came of age and married. Thus there was no legal document protecting my right to it when I left home for the Continent.”

  His lips thinned into a line. “That’s when Father apparently decided I should only inherit under certain conditions. His will states that I must have an heir by the end of my thirtieth year, or my uncle will inherit it all.”

  “Your uncle!” she said in horror.

  “Yes. And having seen evidence of his character, you realize what would happen then. He would crush this estate under his heel until it was no more than a stain upon the shire.” He turned away from her, bracing one hand against a bedpost. “So you see, Felicity, when you accused me of seeking a ‘brood mare,’ you were very close to the truth. I reached twenty-nine last month, so I have this year and the next to sire an heir. That’s why I forced you to marry me.”

  “I see. What you’re telling me is that you had even more compelling reasons to force a marriage than I realized. You weren’t simply being your usual autocratic self; you were desperate. And I should blame you for that, despise you for that?”

  “You should blame me for lying to you about it! I could have told you the truth—laid the entire story before you. But I couldn’t risk your refusing to be my ‘brood mare,’ so I did as I always did with you—seduced and manipulated and deceived you.”

  She chose her words with care. “I forgave you for that long ago, just as you forgave me all my misjudgments of you. I don’t care anymore that you lied to me about your reasons for marriage. It wasn’t much of a lie. You’d already made it clear you were marrying me for practical considerations. Learning that those considerations were more urgent than I’d guessed makes little difference, and it certainly is no reason to seek an annulment. Nor does it change my feelings for you one bit.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “It should.”

  “It doesn’t. I’m not foolish enough to believe that one small mistake defines a man’s character.”

  He rounded on her, eyes glittering darkly. “You don’t know my character, damn it! Those years on the Continent—what do you think I was doing?
I was a spy, Felicity, and that means I lived a life of constant deception and betrayal. Because I wasn’t just a spy, I was a good spy. Do you know what it takes to be a good spy?”

  The vehemence behind the question caught her off guard. All she could do was shake her head mutely.

  “It takes not giving a bloody damn what happens to you or what you do. Morality has no place in your actions—you do whatever your government deems necessary. Back then I felt that the world had turned its back on me, so I did the same. I turned my back on my family, on Chesterley, on everything I held dear. I taught myself not to feel, not to let my emotions get the better of me. I relied on intellect instead, and it carried me far. My superiors soon discovered I would take on any task as long as it was dangerous enough to make me forget—”

  He broke off, his face tortured. “No matter what Wellington said, the things I did were nothing to be proud of. Yes, I found out information no one could. Yes, thanks to my coloring and my talent for languages, I insinuated myself deeply into the ranks of Napoléon’s army in Spain. Do you know how many French and Spanish ‘friends’ I betrayed to do that? How many lies I told?”

  “But they were the enemy—”

  “That was my excuse, too. But they weren’t all the enemy. There were Spanish camp followers and civilians and—Spying is a nasty business. It spills over very quickly into all of life. You can’t possibly know how many things I did that I now regret.” He spoke the words with such sharp self-contempt it wrenched her heart.

  “The fact that you regret them only proves your good character. It’s one of the many reasons I love you, Ian.”

  “Stop saying that! You couldn’t possibly love a man like me!”

  Talking would clearly not convince him. So she moved closer and said, “Then I see I must prove that I love you.”

  And before he could stop her, she looped her arms about his neck and dragged his head down for her kiss.

  Chapter 23

  New Year’s Eve promises many enticing amusements, among them the fireworks display at Vauxhall, Mr. and Mrs. Locksley’s entertainment, Lord Stratton’s annual ball, and His Majesty’s lavish dinner at Frogmore-lodge. There will be something for every level of society, so the night is sure to be enjoyed all round.