My Lady, My Lord (29 page)

As odd luck would have it, the first people she encountered were her father and his new countess.

“Corinna?” he said. “I am surprised to see you here. We did not know you meant to attend or we would have brought you.”

“Oh, it was a last-minute decision.” She didn’t even know if she had an invitation. She probably did. The most foolish women of the
ton
continued to invite her to their events solely based upon her fame as a salon hostess.

“Are you feeling better?” Concern colored Charlotte’s eyes. She had been vexed with Ian for leaving the wedding breakfast, and all solicitude for Corinna. The gnawing in Corinna’s stomach had grown particularly nasty at that moment.

“Yes, yes, but—” She could not ask if they’d seen him. She could not bear to answer more questions. She needed to speak with him, to look into his beautiful eyes and see that what she desperately hoped was true.

A part of her, a large part, knew it couldn’t be. She had told him more about her feelings than she had ever told anyone anything in her heart, and in return he said hurtful things. But this time she would be more direct, and she would demand a direct response. Her heart could not ache any worse than it did now, after all. “Do you know the direction of the card room?”

Her parents looked mildly surprised. Her stepmother gestured toward a corridor.

She started off. Would he speak to her? Of course he would, if only to say horrid things.

She rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Amabel Weston. The tabby’s gentian eyes narrowed.

“Lady Corinna Mowbray,” she purred. “Looking for someone?”

“Certainly not you.” Where had that come from? Jealousy.
Insane
jealousy. She tried to move around the beauty. Lady Weston’s heel came down on her instep.

“Ouch! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She dragged her foot out from beneath the baroness’s and flexed it gingerly.

“What do you think
you
are doing?” the widow repeated. “You look ridiculous in that bag.” She gestured contemptuously to the black gown. “If Mirina Newhart knew you entered her home looking as though you were attending a funeral she would throw you out.”

“That is all well and good.” Corinna again made to move past her. “But I haven’t the time now to discuss my fashion choices. Good evening.”

“I’ve just had him.”

Corinna froze. Her head turned slowly and she met the cat’s slitted gaze.

Lady Weston smiled wickedly. “He was delicious.” She licked her red lips. “But how would you know anything about that?” She laughed, a tinkle of cruel chimes. “How would a spinster like you know anything about how to please a man?”

Corinna’s stomach churned. She regretted only one thing about her night with Ian: she wished she could have given back to him what he gave to her, some experience she could have taken into the bedchamber for his benefit. He was a generous, marvelous lover, and she was a novice of the worst sort. She had only enthusiasm and hints gleaned from ancient texts. Amabel Weston, she suspected, had a great deal more.

“Oh,” the widow cooed, “you’re disappointed. I’m so sorry, my dear. But how could you ever think a man like Chance would be interested in a woman like you?” Her golden lashes fluttered. She lifted a lacy white fan to her chin and her rosebud mouth made a little
moué
of false sympathy.

Corinna’s insides fused together into a lump of misery. How could she hope to compete with this?

But Ian was more than this. This could not be all he wanted. She could not believe it of him. Not any longer.

She pushed back her shoulders. “If you have finished making empty boasts, my lady, I’ll be on my way.” She started off.

A hard pinch on her arm held her back. Good heavens, the woman was physical.

“You hope to entice him to the altar, don’t you?” she hissed in her ear. “Well, if you do you’ll be marrying a scoundrel and a cheat. Everyone knows it.”

Heat shot through Corinna. She rounded on the baroness, breaking her hold. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

A single brow rose on the beauty’s face. “Don’t I?”

“No, you airheaded widgeon, you don’t.” She stepped toward her. “Ian Chance is a good man. A great man. He is generous, kind, thoughtful, and a devoted son, brother, and friend.”

Lady Weston’s eyes widened.

“Furthermore,” Corinna sucked in a breath and her tongue flew, “his servants are dedicated to him, which is always a sign of an honorable man. His innate honesty cannot be matched. He is extraordinarily talented at the activities he pursues and yet humble about his successes, which speaks volumes about his character. He is also quite an astoundingly wonderful lover.”

The baroness’s face went blank.

“You, on the other hand,” Corinna pointed a finger, “are a thorough ninnyhammer with more hair than brains. You are a person of no intelligence and apparently little integrity as well.” She shook her head. “Why on earth am I listening to anything you say?”

“Because he wanted me and he does not want you.” Lady Weston’s voice sounded rushed.

“That verb tense in your case is revealing.”

“Verb what? You don’t make a jot of sense. But that’s just as well. You and your cheating earl can—”

Corinna slapped her. Hard, across the mouth, with a great snapping thwack that resounded throughout the corridor.

And because it felt so fantastically good, she slapped her again.

To prevent herself from a third act of chastisement, she backed away, only then becoming aware of her audience. At least a dozen people stood about, wide eyes all trained on her upraised hand. She lowered it.

Lady Weston mewled. “You— you wretched
nobody
. Who do you think you are, striking
me
?”

Improbably, her mouth curved into a grin. She curtsied with a flourish of her black hem. “Corinna Mowbray, bluestocking extraordinaire.”

She fled.

She found a door off the corridor to a small parlor that led into an antechamber of some sort. Both were in shadow, not intended for guests. Corinna threw herself into a chair and covered her face with trembling hands.

Good heavens, she’d just ruined herself. Serious, sober, sophisticated Lady Corinna Mowbray, salon hostess, confidante to great men and women in politics, science, and the arts, did not do things like that.
No one
did things like that. Her life as she knew it was over. She may as well truly move to Paris now. The French weren’t so distressed by public displays of passion. She might even be a great success there.

A floorboard creaked. She leaped up and the breath left her.

Ian stood in the doorway.

“I’ve just heard the most extraordinary rumor.” His voice sounded odd.

“Oh? What was that?” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face nonchalantly. Her fingers quivered.

“I was on my way out, to go home”—he gestured toward the door to the corridor—”when someone stopped me and—” He peered at her closely.

“And what? Do continue.”

“Are you wearing one of those awful black gowns again?”

“Yes. What of it? I like black.” She glanced at his inky hair. Her stomach hurt.

“Corinna, did you slap Amabel Weston just now and say—” He broke off, his eyes bright. “Did you?”

“Did you make love to her today? Tonight?”

“What? No.”

“She said you did.”

“She says a great many things that defy truth.”

“When were you last with her?”

“Corinna.”

“When?”

“Before the exhibition opened. Before—” He paused. “Is that why you slapped her?”

“She said something I didn’t like.”

“What something?”

Corinna chewed the inside of her mouth. “She insulted you.”

He stared for many moments, an eternity, it seemed.

“And you defended my honor?” he finally said.

“Something like that. I’ve done it before, after all. Well, my honor— er— I suppose, to be precisely accurate.”

He shook his head in wonder.

“Don’t look at me like that, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, the tight cord around her emotions unravelling. “It felt marvelous to strike someone again. Twice!”

His mouth twitched up at one side, his beautiful, perfect mouth she longed to attach herself to forever.

“In the future,” he said, the crease in his cheek deepening, “remind me not to misspeak in your presence.”

“I would, but it wouldn’t make a difference. You will insult me and I will insult you back and we will quarrel until we are both dead, I have no doubt of it.”

“I don’t wish to quarrel with you any longer, Corinna. I wish to make love with you.”

“Don’t say that!” Pain hurtled through her, acute and humiliating. “I told you already, I won’t be with you again, Ian. I cannot abide your notion of intimacy, your loose, take-pleasure-where-you-will attitude. I admire you a great deal for many reasons, but I don’t like that about you and I never will.”

“In twenty-nine years, Corinna, you haven’t changed. You still only hear what you wish.”

“I have changed.” The keening ache in her middle attested to it.

“Then, damn it”—his eyes looked suddenly stormy—”listen to what I’m saying.”

But it hurt too much. “All right.”

“I love you.”

“No.”

“No?
No?
You cannot respond
no
to that statement, Corinna. It is not open to discussion. You do not have the privilege of deciding whether or not it’s true.”

She bit her lip hard. “You despise everything about me. You always have, and don’t try to tell me otherwise just so that you can have your way with me again. I have already fallen as low as I possibly can tonight. Don’t make it worse.”

He took a step forward.

“You listen here, Lady Knows Everything. I have loved you my entire life.” His hands fisted at his sides. “I loved you when I climbed that tree to impress you, then fell out of it, and you said all those things about distance and velocity of descent, and I was so ashamed that I wished you would tell me the science of sinking into solid ground so I could disappear.”

He moved closer, his shoulders rigid. “I loved you that Christmas when you showed everyone your insect collection, and when you were lying in the ditch crying and it was the worst moment of my life because I had caused it. I loved you when I came home from university and you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen but I couldn’t manage to say it right because being near you never failed to tangle my tongue. I loved you at my father’s funeral when I should have been thinking of my responsibilities but all I could think of was you, and when you were away traveling for years and I missed you like air, wanting you to come home just so we could quarrel again. And I loved you when I was in your body and couldn’t touch you the way I ached to.”

He took a hard breath. “I love the way you feel and think and your infernal mouth. I love the curve of your throat, the resilience of your mind, and your laughter. Being with you makes me a better man. So don’t think you can use your superior intellect to try to convince me that I don’t love you. You’ve never convinced me of anything before, Corinna Mowbray, and it won’t begin now.”

She gaped. “You are only telling me this
now
?”

“I’m tired of lying to myself. So you may as well know it too.” His jaw was taut. “Now, have at it. Deride me. Tell me how I’ve stooped to a new level of idiocy, not to mention dishonorable behavior. I have never declared myself to a woman betrothed to another man before. Then again, I have never declared myself to any woman except you.”

Corinna’s throat was thick. “I am not betrothed to Lord Fitzhugh.”

Nothing seemed to move, a moment suspended.

“You aren’t?” he said.

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

Ian’s brow creased. “Dear God, Corinna, don’t cry.” He looked physically pained. “He’ll come around. Give him a speech on the latest Corn Laws and smile at him as you do, and he’ll beg your hand in a heartbeat.”

“He did beg. I refused him.”

His chest rose upon a short breath. “You refused him.”

“You see, I’ve been thinking.” She stepped forward, dashing tears from her cheek. “You don’t want the publishing company, but I cannot allow your honor to be tarnished by breaking your word to Lord Pelley and selling it to me. So I have devised a solution.”

Her foot moved again and she was within touching distance. She peered up through damp lashes. The raw hope in his eyes stole her breath.

“Lord Pelley could not possibly fault you if you continued to own the company but allowed your wife to manage it. Could he?” she said unsteadily. “Then you wouldn’t be breaking your word. Not precisely, at least.”

“My wife?”

She placed a tentative palm upon his chest. Given what he had just said to her and the way he looked now, she was unreasonably nervous. But rational thought invariably flew out the door when she was anywhere near Ian Chance. It always had.

He grasped her hand. Beneath their joined fingers, his heart beat fast and hard, but his lips curved into a slow smile.

“I see.” His thumb stroked her palm. “Since you know a great deal more about the business than I, perhaps you could recommend someone for the post. Have you any particular lady-publisher in mind?”

“Well, me.”

“Rather mercenary of you, isn’t it? Sacrificing yourself on the altar of marriage merely to gain your coveted company?”

“A woman of intellectual integrity does what she must to further her interests.”

His arm wrapped around her waist.

“And what else do your interests include?” He bent his head and feathered a kiss onto the corner of her lips. She leaned into him, their hands trapped between her breasts, and she breathed in his nearness.

“You,” she whispered, and turned her mouth to his. His kiss was tender and wonderfully eloquent. A tear tumbled down her cheek. She sniffled and smiled. “I love you, Ian. Madly. I’m fairly certain I always have.”

He chuckled and stroked a fingertip along her cheek. “I suppose fairly certain will have to do.”

“The evidence certainly points in that direction. In my entire life I’ve never been particularly horrid to anyone but you, and with such wretched consistency. It must have been love.” Her smile radiated from the joy inside her. He kissed it.