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Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency

Dangerous to Love (21 page)

BOOK: Dangerous to Love
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She was sweet and delicious, and he wanted to devour every piece of her. He drew her harshly to him, pressing her hard against his arousal. God, but he needed her! He had to have her!
The kiss ended and they broke apart, both of them gasping for breath. That was not the end, however, but only the beginning. Ivan ran one hand down her back, roaming past her slender waist to the enticing curve of her derriere. When he heard her involuntary groan, he pressed his advantage.
He’d known from the first that she had a mighty capacity for passion. It had been too long hidden, too long tamped down. But he would release it, as she likewise released his.
“I want to eat you up, Lucy. To taste you. To lick you. Here,” he said, nibbling at her earlobe while his hand encircled her right breast.
“Here,” he murmured, trailing kisses down her neck, while his other hand pressed between the back of her thighs. He pushed one of his knees between hers, forcing her to straddle his leg.
“Here,” he whispered, thumbing her taut nipple while his thigh rubbed urgently between hers.
“Ivan,” she whimpered, caught in the throes of her tumultuous desires.
To hear her moan his name that way raised him to new heights of arousal. “Lucy,” he murmured, returning his mouth to hers. “I burn for you.”
When she thrust convulsively against his thigh and into his hand, he added, “Do you burn for me?”
“Yes.”
He barely heard her answer, for she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild abandon. It was the culmination of his every fantasy since the night she’d danced with him in the downstairs parlor. He wanted her and he would have her.
He swept her up in his arms and, without breaking the kiss; somehow found her room. With one kick the door flew open. With another it slammed shut.
Then still holding her, he fell back on her bed, rolled over, and trapped her beneath him.
She was probably a virgin, and he tried to remember that fact. But it was hard. While he raised her skirt with one hand, he freed her hair with the other.
She was no less’ occupied, for she managed to loosen his cravat while threading her fingers through his hair and kissing him everywhere else she could reach. His mouth. His ear. His throat. Her tongue made tentative forays, then bolder ones. Her fingers did the same.
When she slid one hand inside his coat, he helped her tear it off him. When she freed two of the buttons of his waistcoat, he ripped the garment off, sending the other buttons flying.
Then he bent over her again, his eyes devouring every inch of her delectable body. Flushed cheeks, pale thighs. Her dark hair in tangled disarray on the cream-colored counterpane. She was the ultimate picture of what a woman should be. Soft and yet strong; sweet and yet spicy. Smart and beautiful, and his.
He kissed the edge of her bodice, then moved the kiss lower, until he felt the aroused bud of her nipple through the fabric.
He circled it with his tongue, and when her breaths came faster, drew it between his teeth. One of his hands roamed lower, sliding along the bare skin of her thighs, and slipped between them to where she was hot—and wet.
He wanted to kiss her there too. He wanted to kiss her everywhere, and bring her to shuddering climax.
Then the door crashed open and, like ice water, the flame was doused.
“Dear God in heaven!” his damned, interfering grandmother exclaimed. “What is going on here?”
 
“
W
hat is going on here?”
If the situation had not been so utterly dreadful, Lucy would have laughed at such a ridiculous question. What was going on? Lady Westcott had been married. Surely she knew the answer to that.
But the situation was dreadful. It was humiliating. Unbelievable. Disastrous.
Ivan jerked upright and spun around, trying to shelter her from prying eyes. Lucy scrambled to sit up, though she feared that did nothing but draw attention to her bared legs and tangled petticoats. Worse, when she sent a guilty look at the door, she discovered more than merely one set of shocked eyes upon her. Lady Westcott led the way, but behind her stood Sir Laurence and Elliot Pierce.
Blood rushed, hot and telling, to her face. Dear God in heaven! What madness had possessed her that she would abandon all good sense in this way?
The answer was obvious. Ivan Thornton. He was the madness that possessed her. He seemed able to convince her to do anything. She’d nearly given in to him. The truth was, she
had
given in to him. It was only by chance they’d been interrupted.
“I’ll thank you to give us a little privacy,” Ivan growled.
“You’ve had too much privacy already,” Lady Westcott snapped. “I’ll thank
you
to get out of Miss Drysdale’s bedchamber.”
Lucy was behind Ivan, and though mortified beyond belief, she gave him a nudge. “Go. Just … go,” she whispered.
He turned to face her and for a few seconds their eyes held. He wanted her still. The truth of that burned in his eyes. But it was over, she realized with an awful certainty. She would be dispatched back to Somerset in disgrace.
Then his gaze fell to her bosom and she realized in horror that he’d left a damning wet spot in a prominent location on her bodice.
Dear God in heaven!
Her hand flew to her breast, while her heart plummeted to her feet. “Just go. Please,” she mouthed to him. Then she turned away, walked to the window, and stared blindly out into the night.
She heard Ivan leave. He snatched up his coat and waistcoat and stalked to the door.
For those awful, endless seconds, Lady Westcott remained silent. But Sir Laurence muttered continuously under his breath. “In his own house … Innocent girl … Outrageous …”
Then Elliot spoke, something low that Lucy couldn’t make out.
“I’ll have your hide for this!” Ivan growled an immediate response to his friend.
Lucy spun around to see the two men glaring at one another. They stood in the hall just outside the door, Elliot the picture of arrogant nonchalance, Ivan rigid, with fists knotted at his side.
“Just name the place and time, Thornton. I’ll be there.”
“No!” Lucy cried. She stared at them both. Though she did not understand the cause of their animosity, she knew it was somehow on account of her. “He has nothing to do with this, Ivan. Nothing. I will not have you fighting one another like hooligans when you are as close as brothers.”
“Thank you, Miss Drysdale,” Elliot said, smiling and inclining his head.
“Enough of this!” Lady Westcott snapped. “Ivan, I will see you in the library directly after I speak with Miss Drysdale.”
The men left and the door closed with an awful, accusing thud. Lady Westcott stared at Lucy across the silence. “Well.” She moved across the room, carrying her crystal-headed cane. “I blame myself for this.”
“You blame yourself?” That was the last thing Lucy expected from her. She’d practically ruined the woman’s plans to pair Ivan and Valerie. She expected the woman to rant and rave and throw her out. Certainly she had every right to.
“I should have kept a closer watch on him. And on you,” the dowager countess added, shooting Lucy a sharp look.
“It’s hardly your fault,” Lucy muttered. “You hired me to chaperone Valerie. I certainly should have known better. I do know better. The fault is entirely mine.”
Lady Westcott tapped her foot. “By teatime tomorrow everyone will know. We will have to act fast.”
Lucy nodded. “I’ll pack immediately. Should I … Will you … Can Simms have someone deliver me to the coaching inn?”
“The coaching inn? If you expect to ever circulate in polite society again—even polite country society—there is only one solution, Miss Drysdale. And retreat is not it.”
Lucy stared at the older woman blankly. “Surely you’re not saying I should stay on as Valerie’s chaperone. To brazen it out for my own self is one thing. To do so as Valerie’s chaperone would attach scandal to her name. You can’t mean to do that.”
“I mean to make this matter right in the only way possible. I mean for you to wed my grandson, and as soon as possible. There will be talk, of course. But once you are wed, this peccadillo will be charged to the grand passion you share. Now,” she went on without pause. “I suggest you write a letter to your brother and mother directly. I’ll send a messenger tonight to Somerset to inform them of the upcoming nuptials. They may stay here if they do not have a city house available to them on such short notice.”
She broke off and stared expectantly at Lucy. “You
do
want your family here for the wedding, don’t you?”
Lucy had been staring at her, mouth agape, unable to quite comprehend the enormity of what the woman was saying.
Upcoming nuptials? Hers and Ivan’s?
She shook her head, trying to make sense of it. “Lady Westcott, I fear that is not possible—”
“It most certainly is. You have ruined all my plans, young woman. Seducing Ivan when you knew I had other intentions for him. The least you can do now is make things right. There’s more than
your
reputation at stake here, you know. You’ve been selfish long enough. I’ll not allow you to behave so one minute longer.”
So saying, she turned and stalked out of the room, much as Ivan had done just minutes before, shutting the door sharply behind her.
Lucy was so stunned by the massive upheaval of her entire life that she could think of no response but one.
“Ivan will never agree to this,” she shouted at the closed door. “He won’t agree! And neither will I.” This last was muttered in frustration, punctuated by the stamp of her foot. But the tall door muffled her voice and the carpet muffled her angry gesture.
Still, Antonia heard the girl’s brave vow. She just did not believe it.
A smile lit the old woman’s face and her eyes gleamed with triumph as she made her way to the library. She was very close to getting what she wanted. Very, very close. Against all odds, this last-ditch plan of hers had worked. She had only to land Ivan now, and if his level of frustration were any indication, he was ready to leap by his own accord right into the boat.
But not if she appeared too eager.
Antonia paused outside the library. She smelled tobacco smoke, but heard not a thing. They were all there, probably glaring at one another. She drew a slow breath. She had to pick her way carefully and choose her words well. But she was up to the task.
Ivan would not thwart her. Not this time. She’d baited her hook too well.
 
Ivan sprawled in a massive leather chair and watched the smoke from the cigar he held. He’d lit it to annoy Lord Dunleith—and also to occupy his hands so that he didn’t strangle Elliot. He’d see the man in hell before he let him get anywhere near Lucy again. And he knew just how to do it.
The old witch made her entrance, stiff and erect. Determined. Ivan watched her with a detached eye, something he’d never been able to do before.
She was a cold-hearted bitch with nerves of steel. She tried to control the lives of her family the same way she controlled the vast properties her son had refused to manage. For that Ivan grudgingly gave her credit. She’d done a commendable job with the family estates and investments, better than most men could have done. But she failed miserably when it came to manipulating people.
For a moment he wondered what his father’s life had been like with her for a mother. Had his complete inadequacy as a man been due to her, a son’s only way of rebelling?
He frowned. He didn’t give a damn why his father had been a spineless ass. It was enough that
he
would never fall into that role.
She paused just inside the door and glared at him. “Had I known you planned a debauchery tonight I would have devised a completely different guest list.”
“I trust I would still have appeared on it,” Elliot remarked.
“Now see here, young man!” Lord Dunleith sputtered. “We’ll have no insolence—”
“You would be at the top of the list,” Lady Westcott snapped. “Second only to my amoral grandson, of course.”
“I congratulate you, madam,” Ivan interjected. “You have the sensibilities of a first-rate procurer. If I ever plan an orgy, I’ll consult with you firsthand.”
“Now see here!” Lord Dunleith repeated. He pushed himself to his feet. “You will not insult Antonia this way. Nor shall you get off scot-free from tonight’s embarrassment.”
He faced Ivan, shaking his knotted fist. “Since Miss Drysdale has no one here to defend her honor, I will take that responsibility for myself. Make an offer for her, Westcott. Make an offer for her now, else I will be forced to issue you a challenge!”
Ivan took a slow drag of the cigar, then blew out a perfect circle of bluish-gray smoke. “You will challenge me?” He grinned at the angry old fellow. “Swords, I presume?”
“Don’t think I can’t skewer you,” the old man swore.
“And if by chance you don’t succeed, I will,” Elliot drawled.
In an instant Ivan’s fury returned. If Elliot thought he could play the role of savior to Lucy and thereby win her affections for himself, Ivan was more than ready to disavow him of that notion. He put the cigar down and stared coldly at the man he’d so long considered his friend. “I believe it falls to the challenger to name the time and place?”
“There will be no dueling!” Lady Westcott interrupted. “I will not have it.”
“Your wishes are immaterial, madam. They always have been,” Ivan bit out.
She stared at him in utter contempt. “My God, but you are even worse than I imagined. You’ve toyed with the affections of every heiress you’ve met, yet refuse to offer for any of them. Now you embroil yourself in a tawdry affair with one of the chaperones.”
“If she’s respectable enough to be your godchild’s chaperone, you’d think she is respectable enough for me.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t respectable. Quite the opposite. She might not possess a title nor have much of a dowry. But at least she had one thing of value: a sterling reputation. But now you’ve stolen even that from her. You’ve ruined a perfectly respectable young woman. And why? Just to spite me. If you were even—”
“I have no intention of ruining Miss Drysdale.”
“You already have!” she cried. “Do you think this can be kept quiet?”
“I certainly hope not,” Ivan replied. He shifted his gaze to Elliot and glared a warning at him. “I want to make certain everyone knows that I am marrying Lucy Drysdale. That she is
my
wife and therefore off limits to anyone else.”
Their individual reactions to that surprising announcement were interesting to watch. Elliot gave him a considering look then grinned. Whether he mocked Ivan or concurred with him, though, was impossible to tell.
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t believe him. Then slowly a look of relief crept into her lined face. Could it be that her concern for Lucy was even greater than her wish to settle him with young Valerie?
Only Lord Dunleith frowned. “What did you say? What did he say, Toni? I couldn’t make it out.”
“He said he’d marry her,” she answered the man. But she watched Ivan. “You, married to Lucy Drysdale.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should be relieved that at least one of you is being sensible about this.”
Ivan resisted the urge to frown. “Am I to assume from that obtuse remark that one of us, namely Lucy, is not being sensible?”
She shrugged. “The last thing she said to me was that marriage to you was not possible.”
Of all the replies she might have made to him, that one was the worst. Though outwardly Ivan maintained the appearance of calm, inside he cringed as if from a blow to the gut. He flicked off the ashy end of the cigar. “Not possible? Unless she is already wed—in which case I am off the hook—anything is possible.”
“Perhaps she isn’t pleased by the prospect of marriage to you,” Elliot mused. “Maybe her affections are otherwise engaged.”
Ivan fought the urge to wipe the smirk from Pierce’s face with his fists. “I believe I know better than any of you where Lucy’s affections lie. Her affections are the reason we are even having this discussion.” He stood up. “I believe Lucy and I need a few moments alone.”
BOOK: Dangerous to Love
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