Her Only Desire (23 page)

“I noticed you haven't asked me about your brothers,” he remarked, watching the play of emotions on her face as she tried to come to grips with her new reality.

His choice of subjects jerked her head up. “You saw them?” She leaned forward anxiously in her seat. “Oh, what news, my lord? We were separated at Bombay. The last I saw my brothers, they were fighting off a bloodthirsty horde of Marathas! Did they—survive?”

“Yes,” he said with a firm nod. “Both of your brothers survived. Gabriel sustained a wound that could be rather serious,” he warned, “but as strong and fit as he is, we must have faith, and expect his full recovery.”

“What happened?”

“I'm not sure,” he said vaguely. “Derek was unscathed, though, and was taking care of Gabriel. I spoke with him before I left. It was he who told me the name of the ship on which you were sailing. Above all, your brothers' main concern was for you, Georgiana. They send their love and they want you to know they'll be joining us as soon as they can. Till then, they've asked me to look after you.” He gave her a smile like an intimate caress. “I promised them I would.”

She returned his stare with her hand pressed to her heart in sheer relief to hear the news that her brothers were alive. She closed her eyes with a fleeting prayer of thanks.

“More brandy, darling? I daresay you look like you could use it.”

Opening her eyes again, she smiled ruefully at him. “No, thanks.” The talk of her brothers had made her homesick. Ian studied her for a long moment.

“I have a particular message for you from Derek.”

She perked up. “Yes?”

“He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry for what he said to you on the road leaving Janpur. He did not relate the details of your quarrel, but he wanted me to tell you that he didn't mean a word.”

“He said that?” she echoed.

He nodded.

She smiled wryly at him and raked her hand through her hair. “Actually, Ian, what we fought about was you.”

“Me?”

“I was telling Gabriel that I was interested in you—”

“Oh, really?” he purred interrupting.

She chuckled at his pleased grin. “Yes. But then Derek came along and opined that you'd have to be
mad
to involve yourself with me, after seeing the sort of trouble I get into. Isn't that mean?”

“Well, there might be a hint of truth to it.”

“Hey!” she protested as his green eyes danced.

“Come here,” he teased, grasping her wrist and tugging her onto the opposite seat beside him. He draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her near, kissing her temple as he let her snuggle up close beside him. “At least life with you, Georgiana, will never be dull.”

She snorted, but it was so wonderful to be close to him, and all her future prospects suddenly seemed so much brighter, that she couldn't hold her scowl, and joined him in laughter.

“Where are your little ankle bells?” he asked all of a sudden, noticing their absence as he tugged her partly onto his lap.

“I threw them away.”

“What?”

“I tossed them in the ocean.”

He looked askance at her. “What did you do that for?”

She sighed rather unhappily. “Because I mean to change, Ian.”

“Change, how?” he asked with a frown.

“Be more careful, more circumspect. More like Meena and Lakshmi.”

He arched a brow. “Shall I keep you in a harem?”

“No! Don't jest, you rogue, this is very serious. I mean to be more dutiful, more cooperative. More as I should.”

“I see,” he murmured with a grave nod, not making much effort to hide his amusement.

“What?” she exclaimed.

He shrugged. “I liked your bells. Your wearing them expressed a part of who you are. A part I liked,” he added, slanting her a knowing look. “Ah, well, I suppose it's too late now.”

Startled, she furrowed her brow and mulled his words.

“At any rate,” Ian continued, “let us move along to the practicalities, shall we?” His arm rested comfortably around her shoulders. “You'll be happy to hear that I brought along several traveling trunks full of your gowns and things from your family's home in Bombay.”

“You did?” She twisted around to face him with a quizzical look.

He nodded. “Your housekeeper packed them while I was off making the arrangements for the voyage.”

“Oh, Ian, you think of everything!”

“Yes, well, life is in the details,” he said dryly.

She threw her arms around his neck and merrily covered his cheek with pecking kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! My own gowns, my shoes! I shall be human again!”

“Everything is ready and waiting for you over at Knight House, which is where we're headed now,” he continued with a chuckle at her exuberance. “We'll be there in a trice. It's just around the block.”

“Oh, but must we go there now?” she protested, easing back a bit, but keeping her arms linked loosely around his neck. “Please, can't we be alone together—just for a little while longer, please? I've missed you so.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured as he grazed her cheek with one knuckle. “It's already two in the morning.”

“I'm not tired. Are you?”

         

Not anymore,
Ian thought as he stared into her eyes. He was acutely aware of her delicate fingers at his nape, toying with the back of his hair. Her light touch made him shiver. He did not think he had ever experienced such overt affection before.

“Please, Ian?” she cajoled him with a pretty little pout. “It's not that I don't
want
to meet my relatives, but this is a special night for us, isn't it?” As she gazed at him so sweetly, the elated glow in her eyes made all his weeks of agonizing over the decision so gloriously worthwhile. “Can't you take me to their house tomorrow?”

He touched her face with a gentle caress, but his heart was pounding. “You want to stay with me tonight?” he whispered, and he quivered as she nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

He hesitated, debating with himself. Of course, it was not proper, and he had a duty to shield her reputation, but he fully intended to marry her, and besides, he had never wanted any woman like this. She had no idea of how he had been dreaming of this—literally dreaming.

Night after night, making love to her in sweat-drenched realms of fantasy.

It was so much better than the nightmares surrounding Catherine's death.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured with a smoldering gaze that let her know exactly what would happen if she came home with him tonight.

“I'm very sure,” she whispered with a fever in her eyes that matched his own.

God, how she intoxicated him. How could he deny her, especially when it was what he wanted, too? It was impossible to say no to Georgiana, so fair, so soft and willing, with her arms wrapped around him. The sensual young beauty robbed him of any will to resist.

Just like she had in the prayer cave.

“Very well.” He bent his head and pressed a soft but urgent kiss to her lips. At once, she cupped his jaw in heated response, returning his kiss with all the ripe willingness of a hot-blooded virgin eager to please and so ready for her initiation.

He shivered with longing, marveling at her power to drive him mad. All of a sudden, he could hardly wait to get her to his bed. He couldn't wait to show her everything that a man and a woman could share—couldn't wait to find out what she'd be like under him, sampling it all for the very first time. He had his suspicions, of course. If he was any judge, the little hellion would prove to be a tigress in the sack.

He couldn't wait to find out.

Ending the kiss with a glittering stare, Ian rapped on the side of his carriage and informed his driver of their change of plans.

CHAPTER

         
TEN
         

I
nstead of going to Knight House, they drove around to the other side of Green Park to Ian's residence.

When the coach glided to a halt before his tall, stately townhouse, he alighted first and glanced around at the gracious avenues, making sure no one was watching. They were in the heart of fashionable London now, where gossip could spread like a fire out of control. A young lady could not afford to be careless, especially if she was the Hawkscliffe Harlot's niece. Pending nuptials or otherwise, it would not do for Georgiana to be seen coming home with him in the dead of night.

Given the hour, however, the streets were as empty as they were dark. There was no moon, and the corner streetlamps glowed but feebly. Determining that the coast was clear, Ian helped her down from the carriage, exchanging a smoky glance with her like a delicious secret just between the two of them. He pointed out Knight House on the far end of the park, and then hurried her up to the front entrance of his townhouse, faced in Portland stone, and let her in the burgundy-painted door.

The dimly lit entrance hall welcomed them with all its empty grandeur, from the large round Roman-style mosaic in the middle of the floor to the Corinthian marble columns standing sentry all around. In the center of the cavernous space, the spectacular double staircase with its fanciful iron banister swept up to the first floor, the
piano nobile.
On the wall behind the stairs stretched a glittering glass triptych of three magnificent arched windows. In the morning, the grand windows filled the space with light; up and up the ceiling soared, two stories tall, a full fifty feet above the staircase and the hall.

“Oh, Ian, your home is beautiful,” Georgiana murmured, glancing around shyly.

He locked the door behind them and then joined her, clasping his hands behind his back as he admired it with her. “Our home,” he reminded her softly.

A beaming smile lit up her face, as though he had surprised her all over again.

He gave her a wink. “Come.”

Just then, his butler, Mr. Tooke, came bustling in to take their cloaks. A kindly old fellow of short and portly proportions, he had a mostly bald pate, a neat white mustache, and twinkly blue eyes. Tooke's face was always wreathed in smiles, but never more so than when Ian informed him who Georgiana was.

Having already hinted to his longtime, trusted servant that there might be a Particular Significance in Miss Knight's arrival in London insofar as his house-hold was concerned, Tooke had grasped his meaning at once in astonishment—their long-solitary master meant to take a wife!—and now the man effused over Georgiana like some sort of mother hen.

“Oh, my dear, dear,
dear
young lady, is there nothing that I can get for you, nothing at all? Are you hungry, my lady? Have you supped? A cozy cup of chocolate, perhaps?”

She laughed with delight at his outpouring of warmth and thanked him, but declined.

Accepting her answer with a bow worthy of a courtier, Tooke whisked her ragged cloak away with Ian's fine one, then sped out of the entrance hall to leave the two of them alone, too discreet a captain of this sophisticated household to raise an eyebrow at the impropriety of their unchaperoned, late-night visit. He knew his master to be a man of the world.

Tooke did not fail, however, to send Ian a discreet nod of lavish approval on his choice of brides.

Ian, in turn, cleared his throat, picked up the candelabra that Tooke had left for them, and escorted Georgiana up to the main floor.

Though a bit more restrained in its ostentation than Knight House, Ian's home reflected his lofty rank as well as his worldly tastes. The staterooms throughout the first two floors had been carefully laid out to accommodate his function as a diplomat, and the size and scope of the home were easily up to the task of entertaining foreign dignitaries in style.

In everyday life, though, he had to admit, its grandeur somehow emphasized its hollowness. It was equipped for large receptions, but hardly anyone besides the staff was ever here.

As a child, when it had been his father who was the marquess, he had innocently assumed that everyone lived the way he and his best friend Robert did, in eight-story mansions with walled sculpted gardens, gilded ceilings thirty feet tall, and marble busts unearthed from the Hellenistic age on display.

By now he knew better than that, thank God. He had long since learned how blessed he was in life, and he took seriously all the responsibility that came with so much privilege.

After he'd led Georgiana past all the pomp of the public regions, they ascended to the third floor and walked through the intimate private gallery. The long, narrow room ran along the back wall of the house, overlooking the garden.

The front portion of the floor had been divided in half, creating two large and sumptuous private apartments, one for himself, the other designed for the lady of the house. The latter had long stood empty.

Each suite contained a spacious bedchamber, a sitting room, an enormous closet and dressing room, as well as a bathing alcove and water closet with all the most modern accoutrements.

The two apartments adjoined, of course, for the usual marital visits, while the common sitting room along the back of the house had always been intended as a private family space.

As he escorted Georgiana across the long, narrow, family parlor, he could remember his mother sitting in here with his sister Maura, teaching her fancy sewing. He remembered himself as a boy, lying on his stomach on the blue carpet, playing with his pet cat's whiskers and trying to memorize his Latin passages from the Stoic philosophers that his father had raised him on, half-listening all the while to his mother's gossip disparaging the latest escapades of “that woman,” their neighbor, the scandalous Duchess of Hawkscliffe.

The first Georgiana.

Mother would not have approved of this match, he mused sardonically. Mother had believed in cold and dignified marriages, preferably unhappy.

No wonder it was Mother who had campaigned so hard with him for Catherine.

Taking both of Georgiana's hands, he backed into his bedchamber, drawing her slowly into the room with a reassuring smile. Then he closed the door on all those old memories, and locked it.

         

Georgie was beginning to wonder if the blush that had invaded her cheeks half an hour ago was becoming a permanent feature, for it showed no signs of going away. If anything, her face glowed even more hotly as she dwelled upon the knowledge of what Ian and she had come here to do.

It seemed strange to her that she had zero misgivings about letting him seduce her. Then again, she had total trust in the man. He had always made her feel safe—not surprising, since he had saved her life in the very first moments of their acquaintance. To that lovely safety she now added a truly warm affection and a comforting sense of belonging. She knew that she belonged with him, and it made what they were doing feel very natural.

Still, though, that didn't mean she wasn't nervous. Her heart was racing with anticipation, and she slipped him a self-conscious little smile as he locked the bedroom door.

“Come in,” he murmured with a suave gesture toward the room. “Make yourself at home.” Then he turned away, crossing the cavernous space to set the candelabra on the distant lowboy.

Georgie scanned her surroundings by the low lights burning in the vast room. The space was conceived on a grand scale with gravity and dignity, pomp and splendor, as if deliberately to remind her that she was about to be bedded by A Lord. The colors were soothing dark blue and reserved brown, a bit of sophisticated black, with touches of gilding and splashes of red. Creamy walls stretched between oak floors cushioned by dark Persian rugs and a coved ceiling with painted medallions.

Off to her left, a cheerful blaze crackled in the fireplace beneath a pristine mantel of snow-white limestone. Around it, elegantly strewn, sat a sleek grouping of gilded ebony furniture in the Roman style, as though this were the retiring room of Caesar himself.

To her right, however, Ian's giant bed loomed in the shadows. Georgie gulped silently as her stare traveled over it.

Four towering Corinthian columns served as bedposts, holding up a crown of heavy velvet drapery. The coverlet was lustrous chocolate satin and the sheets, thoughtfully turned down by a servant, were of creamy cotton. A mound of tasseled pillows were piled against the ebony headboard. In all, they presented a prospect both intimidating and deliciously inviting.

Across the room, her darkly charming host slipped off his black evening coat and hung it on the doorknob to a closet.

As he headed back toward her, the firelight cast a ruddy halo over his dark hair and glimmered all along his powerful V-shaped silhouette. Her heart skipped a beat. A part of her wanted to lose her nerve and run, but she had waited and wanted and wondered about The Act for too long to back out now. Tonight her only desire was to let the man of her dreams satisfy all her sensual curiosity. Tonight she resolved to follow her heart, explore her instincts, find the secret to this mystery she had puzzled over for so long, and follow Ian's lead.

After all, she thought as she slowly began peeling off her gloves, the man would soon be her husband. The thought of it brought a nervous, giddy, and yet joyful laugh bubbling up to her lips while Ian approached in his white shirt-sleeves and gray pin-striped waistcoat.

“What are you giggling at?” he demanded in a velvet murmur as he gently took hold of her elbows and stroked her arms in a soothing fashion.

“Sorry, I just can't believe this is really happening!”

“Too sudden for you?” he murmured.

“No.” She moved closer to him, tilting her head back. “I'm happy.”

He slipped his arms around her waist and smiled at her. “Me, too.” Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

If she had any underlying doubts, they vanished when his lips brushed hers with silken care. Georgie couldn't stop smiling as she returned the kiss, caressing his iron-hard arms through the crisp lawn of his shirt.

All of a sudden, he lifted her off her feet without warning; she laughed aloud as he carried her toward the fire.

“Um, Ian?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“You're going the wrong way,” she pointed out, clasping her hands behind his neck in girlish delight.

“Mm?”

“The bed's that way,” she whispered in his ear.

“So impatient,” he chided her with a smoldering glance of pure wickedness.

“Ah, you have a plan?”

“Always.” Arriving near the fireplace, he set her gently on her feet again. “Now you won't get cold when I undress you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, but she recovered her usual daring rather quickly. “Or—when I undress you,” she countered, reaching up to pluck at his impeccable cravat.

He bent to kiss her again, so smooth and sure of himself that she barely noticed that when his arms encircled her, he was in fact unbuttoning the back of her gown. He distracted her from his true intent with a nuzzling kiss on her cheek. “You're not scared, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. I'll be gentle.”

When she realized what his clever fingers were doing behind her back, she decided that turnabout was fair play, and she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat. She was nowhere near as deft as he, fumbling her way through the job, but he completed his task and glanced down fondly, enjoying her eagerness if not her lack of expertise.

At last, she parted the silk halves of his waistcoat and pushed it down off his big, wide shoulders. He loosened her bodice with a casual air, sending wild thrills crashing through her body. How hard it had been to get him to kiss her back in the prayer cave! she mused. Now that he'd made up his mind about her, it seemed there was no stopping him.

Nevertheless, he maintained a slow, leisurely air to avoid upsetting her with too much passion, kissing her shoulder as his efforts now bared it, kissing his way up one side of her neck. He threaded little tickling kisses across her hairline and then down the other side of her cheek, her earlobe, her neck, down low to the other shoulder, delighting and relaxing her with his lover's play. Georgie was throbbing all over.