by Lucy Monroe
She twisted the tie of his dressing gown in her fingers. “It is accepted for a husband and wife to sleep apart among the ton. I know it is probably horribly wanton of me, but I don’t want to. Thea and Drake share a bedchamber. She keeps her clothes in the connecting room for propriety’s sake, but they sleep in the same bed. I suppose Drake doesn’t mind because she was raised in the West Indies. Aunt Harriet is always making excuses when Thea does something original saying it is due to her being brought up in the wilds of the British Empire. Thea says that’s nonsense. That some things are just silly the way the ton does them and she won’t follow suit.”
Irisa stopped speaking long enough to take a breath and he kissed her to prevent any more rambling on her sister’s habits. For the first time that he could recall, Irisa did not respond to his lips against hers. She held herself stiff in his arms and after a few seconds of him moving his mouth over hers, she actually sucked her lips into her mouth.
He pulled his head back. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’ve stopped liking my kisses.”
She released her lips and it was obvious she’d bitten them to keep from responding. “I don’t want to give you a disgust of me.”
“Is that what you believe you have done?” How could she be so ignorant of the pleasure he had found in her, of how much he wanted her now?
“You didn’t want me to sleep with you tonight.” She said it as if that fact explained everything.
“You were sore,” he reminded her.
She blushed, but nodded.
“I wanted you again and I knew that if you slept with me I would take you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
It was as if the sun rose in her eyes. She beamed at him. “I truly didn’t disappoint you?”
“How could you doubt that I enjoyed our time together?” She had been there. She had felt him come inside of her, had witnessed his loss of control.
“I got worried. I thought maybe I had failed my first test as your wife.”
He stared at her. “There aren’t any tests you have to pass, little one.”
She shook her head. “Never mind. Does this mean I get to sleep with you?”
“Yes.”
***
Sleeping with his new wife and not touching her had been every bit as difficult as Lucas had imagined, particularly when she rubbed her soft little bottom against him in her sleep. He woke with a raging erection and contemplated how best to disentangle himself from her womanly curves without waking his wife or further aggravate his desire to claim her.
He carefully lifted the small hand resting on his chest and started to slide his body away from her, slowly extricating his shoulder from under her head and his legs from hers. She made a sound of sleepy protest and wrapped her calf over his thigh, her knee coming precariously close to doing damage. He stifled a groan.
Then that little leg moved in a tantalizing caress, brushing his manhood in a very dangerous, but pleasant way. “Good morning, Lucas.”
He turned his head and met her sleep softened gaze. “Good morning, little one.”
He still held her hand in his and she brushed her thumb against his palm. He felt the sensual jolt all the way to his manhood.
So did she if the sweet smile of satisfaction on her face meant anything. “You moved again.”
He laughed although the sound ended on a strangled moan when she brushed her knee against his hard flesh a second time. “You’ve got to stop that.”
He didn’t really want her to. He wanted more than anything to finish what she had started.
“Why must I stop? Is it wrong for me to touch you?” She sounded genuinely worried.
“No. It is just dangerous right now.”
“Really?” She pulled her hand from his in a wholly unexpected move and soon he felt hot little fingers curled around him.
He arched into her hand without conscious thought.
“Oh. Do you like that, Lucas?”
“Very much,” he said through gritted teeth. “Caress it, little one. Please.”
The words were out before he could stop them, though they would only increase his torment.
She lightly brushed his shaft down to the hilt and up to the head again. “Like this?”
“Yes. Just. Like. That.”
Suddenly he could take no more and he pulled her hand away. Coming up on his elbow, he loomed over her. “Are you sore?”
She blinked up at him, her little owl eyes going wide.
“Answer me.” He needed to know now.
If she was still too sore for making love, he hoped he had enough self-control to leave the bed. He was not entirely sure he did.
She blushed, but her smile was as old as Eve, “I want you to love me.”
The words broke through the last of his resistance and he took her mouth in a hungry kiss, demanding admittance for his tongue and receiving it without protest. Unlike the afternoon before, Irisa had no fear and was not content to let him set the pace. When he attempted to be gentle and go slowly, she wouldn’t have it. She tore off her nightrail and threw it from the bed in a move that left him panting.
She wanted to touch him all over and she did, to devastating effect. If she had not been so responsive, she would not have found her satisfaction because his came so quickly. However, she did even as he was shooting into her and her screams were like the loveliest of sonatas to his ears.
They spent the rest of the morning exploring their passion and Lucas made sure that this time Irisa had no doubts about the delight he found in her uninhibited responses. When a maid came to ask if they wanted lunch served in his chamber like dinner the night before, Lucas left the warmth of Irisa’s body reluctantly. It could not be helped. He had several matters to attend to, some of which involved seeing to her protection.
As he’d promised Jared, Lucas had devised a strategy for investigating the peers on Irisa’s list. It started by visiting his club and encouraging something he usually abhorred...gossip. It was a sound plan and would attract less notice than visits to each gentleman would do, but even club gossip would help little in identifying whether or not Cecily Carlisle might be involved.
Servant’s gossip could be both the bane to an investigation and a blessing. He was hoping in this case, it would be the latter. However, he first had to determine which of his servants could be trusted with the job. That would require consultation with his valet, a man who had been in Lucas’s employ since his days as a spy for the Crown.
***
He stopped first at Whites. The gentleman’s club betting book would be an excellent place to determine if the blackmailer had made good his threat to reveal the Langley’s secret. He experienced a certain grim satisfaction when he saw Owlpen, one of the ton’s most accomplished gossips, seated near the fireplace in the main room. If the betting book showed no evidence of rumors related to his wife, but such rumors existed, Owlpen would know about them.
And Lucas knew how to extract such knowledge.
Perusing the book elicited no signs that the Langley’s secret had become known, but there were a few entries of interest.
Lord R bets Lord Y £3 that The Saint will announce his engagement to Lady I before the end of the Season. Dated a week before Lucas had proposed to Irisa. Evidently his careful courtship had still led to a certain amount of speculation.
Lord O bets His Grace, Duke of C £5 that the wedding date between The Saint and Lady I will be set at least six months into the future. Dated a two days after the formal announcement had come out in the London papers.
Lord Y bets Lord G £10 that The Saint will call off his wedding to a certain notorious lady seen driving in the park with a former actress and His Grace, Duke of C bets Lord K that Lord L will disown Lady I before the end of the Season. Both dated the afternoon of Irisa’s infamous drive in the park.
F, Esq. bets Lord Y £2 that Lady I will cry off from her engagement to The Saint now that she’s met C de B. Dated the day after Irisa had taken Clarice for a drive.
The bets in themselves were nothing extraordinary. Gentlemen among the ton bet on anything and everything, from the expected color a Diamond of the First Water might wear to a particular ball to how soon a gentleman would be expected to come up to scratch once his courtship of a certain lady became known. No, the topic of the bets did not surprise Lucas at all.
Nor was he particularly surprised that His Grace, had participated in two of the bets. His dislike of her was well known. However, the fact Yardley had been discussing Lucas on at least three occasions in the past three months and those discussion had led to bets being made was very interesting.
Being The Saint had its advantages. Advantages Lucas had worked very hard to cultivate, the most important being that his life was so unremarkable he was rarely the subject of speculation. So why had Yardley found him so worthy of gossip this past Season?
“Anything interesting going on?” asked a familiar voice from behind Lucas’s left shoulder.
Lucas turned to find both Ravenswood and Drake both waiting for an answer to the question. He didn’t say anything out loud, but pointed to the different entries. His brothers-in-law came forward and leaned over the betting book to read what he indicated.
Ravenswood swore under his breath. “Who the hell is this Lord Y? I’ll teach him to make bets about my sister.”
Lucas almost laughed. Ravenswood’s lack of Town polish didn’t offend him at all. He wouldn’t mind pounding Yardley into the dirt himself, but it would have to wait. He wanted the other men’s opinion of the pattern he’d spotted.
Drake frowned. “Let’s find someplace to discuss this.”
So he had noticed the relationship between the bets as well.
Drake turned as if to go, but Lucas stopped him. “In a moment. I want to chat with Owlpen.”
Ravenswood scowled. “Why the hell do you want to talk to that old gossip?”
“Because he’ll know if there are rumors about your parents’ marriage circulating among the ton.”
“He’s an old campaigner. He might even know the source,” Drake added.
Ravenswood nodded. “Then let’s talk to him.”
At first, Lucas didn’t think the discussion with Owlpen would elicit anything more than confirmation that Yardley seemed inordinately interested in Lucas’s activities.
But then the older man rubbed the side of his nose and looked piercingly at Lucas. “Most gentlemen wouldn’t have left their house so soon after the wedding, Lord Ashton. Your being here leads to a certain amount of speculation.”
Lucas concealed the irritation that remark caused and affected nonchalant amusement. “What speculation might that be?”
“It’s no secret that your lady behaves rather scandalously for the wife of The Saint.”
Lucas could not let that slide. “My wife’s behavior is above reproach.”
He did not allow the cold steel to enter his voice that he would have liked. He wanted to keep Owlpen talking.
The older man snorted. “Perhaps for a woman of her birth.”
Lucas felt the familiar sensation of imminent discovery he had often experienced when conducting intelligence investigations. “She’s the daughter of an Earl. Her birth is in perfect accord with her exemplary behavior.”
Owlpen nodded his head with quick agreement, but his expression remained shrewd. “Yes. Yes. The daughter of an Earl, but perhaps she has more natural aspects to her character than one might at first suspect.”
Lucas could sense Ravenswood’s mounting fury as the meaning of the other man’s words became clear. Owlpen had very cleverly played on the word natural often used to describe the illegitimate offspring of a member of the ton. He had couched his comments in such a way that Lucas would be hard pressed to issue a challenge without first acknowledging the slight against his wife’s honor. Lucas shot Ravenswood a look meant to warn the other man to retain his composure. Ravenswood acknowledged it with the barest inclination of his head.
Lucas turned back to Owlpen. “My wife’s character appears to be of interest to you and perhaps other members of the ton. Would it be too much trouble for me to inquire who they might be?”
The older man shifted nervously in his chair and hastily set down the cup of tea he had been lifting to his lips for a drink. “I do not wish to cause a lady grief by bringing her name to your attention, particularly when she was merely passing on comments raised by others.”
“I assure you that although I find the passing on of gossip abhorrent, in this instance, it is the originator of such speculation who interests me.” Lucas almost smiled when Ravenswood crowded his chair closer to Owlpen and nodded in agreement.
Owlpen swallowed nervously. “Perhaps my wife could assist in naming such a person.”
Lucas nodded. “I would appreciate that very much. In fact, such help would mitigate the implied criticism of my wife and negate the need for a dawn appointment, if you take my meaning.”
Owlpen’s head was now bobbing like an apple in a barrel on All Saint’s Eve. “I’ll go right home and ask her.”
“Send word to my townhouse as soon as you hear.”
For the first time, Lucas entertained the notion that the blackmailer might be a woman. He should have considered the possibility all along. Hadn’t he seen firsthand how women could easily match men for deviousness during the war with Boney?
Before he would let Owlpen leave, Lucas added, “Perhaps you would be so good as to remind those who wish to participate in unwarranted speculation about my wife how I responded to such actions regarding my mother.”
Owlpen’s eyes had gone round and he agreed readily before dashing from the club, not at all filling the role of the dignified purveyor of tittle-tattle he usually played.
Drake smiled. “That was well done, Ashton.”
Ravenswood asked, “How did you respond to gossip about your mother?”
“I issued challenges and kept dawn appointments.” He had put bullets in three men’s shoulders before the ton had figured out that the Saint did not tolerate scandal associated with his family’s name.
“You can be a bloody cold bastard when you want to be.” Ravenswood’s lips curved in an approving smile.
They agreed to meet at Lucas’s townhouse that evening to discuss the entries in the betting book and any information Owlpen’s wife had managed to provide.
A visit to Tattersall’s was the next item on Lucas’s agenda before returning home. He wanted to buy Irisa a wedding present. The visit turned out to be profitable in more ways than one. He found Irisa a pretty little curricle with matching bays to pull it. Not as liberal as Drake, Lucas had no intention of buying Irisa a high-perched phaeton like Thea’s.
When the gentleman selling the first set of horses Lucas looked at made a comment to the affect that providing a high-spirited lady like his wife with her own conveyance might be the act of an overly-indulgent bridegroom, Lucas had the opportunity to make his stand regarding his wife clear to another interested party. The man had made a hasty apology before any challenges could be issued.
All in all, it had been a very productive hour.
***
Irisa had exhausted the afternoon touring her new home and becoming acquainted with her household. She now assisted Pansy in going through her garments looking for those that needed mending or updating according to the newest Belle Assemble, the arbiter of fashion for ladies among the ton. She had already discussed the condition of the staff’s livery with the butler, the housekeeper, and the cook. She had also let each of them know that she wished to meet the staff under their supervision individually over the coming days.
Lucas had left the house right after lunch, saying he intended to visit his club.
She made a discovery about him during the tour of the townhouse conducted by the housekeeper. He built ships in bottles. She had remarked on the beauty of one gracing the library mantle and the housekeeper had informed Irisa that Lucas had built it. According to the housekeeper, it took Lu
cas sometimes more than a year to complete one model.
Irisa wondered if he would be willing to do a replica of Drake’s first ship as a gift for her brother-in-law. She could not wait to see the others the housekeeper had told her about, displayed in Lucas’s study at Ashton Manor.
Because of the many things vying for her attention, it took her several hours to realize two important facts. The first was that Lucas had clearly given instructions to the staff regarding her safety. She had not been alone for a single moment since he left the townhouse. The other salient truth was that no one had come to call. Although one might expect the ton to leave a new bride and groom in privacy, the fact still worried her.
Had the blackmailer made good his threats?
She refused to let the prospect ruin her disposition. She would not give up the sensation of happiness that had cloaked her since waking in Lucas’s arms that morning. That had to be one of the greatest pleasures she had ever known.
Even if he had been trying to sneak out of bed.
His motives for doing so had become clear when he asked with obvious desperation in his voice if she were sore. She smiled at the memory. Lucas had lost control and she had loved it. He had also told her repeatedly that he enjoyed her wantonness. Recollection of his words and her wild behavior that precipitated them made her blush, but her heart was filled with contentment.
It seemed that in some areas her husband, The Saint, did not wish to be married to a proper lady at all.
And that filled her with hope. If Lucas did not expect perfection in all things, he would not be as difficult to please as her parents. His love would not be so impossible to maintain.
Her bubble of happiness burst when Jenny entered the room carrying a salver with three envelopes on it, two of them addressed to Irisa and one addressed to Lucas. The white envelope in the center had become all too familiar and with unhappy certainty, she knew it was from the blackmailer. The other one addressed to her was in a lavender envelope, sealed with the Langley crest. The handwriting looked like Mama’s.
Coward that she was, she could not decide which to open first. She did not think she would like the message in either one. Forcing her hand to pick up the two unwanted missives, she asked Jenny, “Was the white envelope delivered by a street urchin?”