The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (38 page)

“When and where shall we meet tonight?” Iona asked, breaking into his straying thoughts. “I have plans to attend a musicale but I could fall victim to another megrim, if need be.”

“No, not tonight.”
Never, actually
. “I need time to make plans. I will send a note.”

“I do not wish to wait long,” she warned and slipped away, leaving him standing alone alongside the canal.

Her hasty departure suddenly dampened his cheerful mood. It felt as if a dark cloud had descended between him and the bright sun.

He’d wanted her to leave, to run back to her family, hadn’t he? Already a few heartbeats into his loneliness, he wasn’t sure. Her antics would eventually lead both of them into ruin.

But for the moment, Nathan couldn’t seem to care.

Chapter Seven

Iona had tried to sketch all afternoon. Yet whenever she touched her graphite point to the page, no matter what lines she drew, they formed the same image. With an angry scribble, she scratched out the laughing eyes that stared up at her from her sketchbook and tried to turn her thoughts to something else.

Anything else.

She pressed her nose to the drawing room window. Was that Lord Nathan riding by on a chestnut-colored horse?

“Why the sudden fascination with the outdoors, Iona?” Lillian asked, glancing up from the letter she was penning.

Amelia, who was seated opposite of Lillian at a small gold and ebony writing table with growling lions at the base of its feet, looked up and smiled.

“Your sister is lovesick,” she offered not unkindly. “Has he truly not tried to contact you since the fancy dress ball?”

“Pish-posh,” Lillian said, “my sister would be foolish to have a real interest in a bounder like Lord Nathan. Have you heard what they are saying about him now?”

“I will not listen to idle gossip, especially not about him,” Iona said, turning her attention to the sketchbook on her lap. “Lord Nathan is a dear friend. And with all due respect, Amelia, I am not lovesick.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Amelia said and returned to write in her diary.

Two letters had arrived for Iona in the morning post. They sat open on the cushion next to her. One was from her dearest friend, the former May Sheffers, now Viscountess Evers. May, once an independent spinster, gushed for several paragraphs over the joys of marriage and pleasures of motherhood. Now over a year into her marriage and few months after the birth of her first son, May’s letters were glowing testaments to the bonds of matrimony—a stark contrast to her original scorn of that singular institution.

Iona sighed. May had also written in her letter that she wouldn’t be able to visit until the end of the summer. Unfortunately Iona needed her friend’s advice now.

She needed it most desperately thanks to the second letter. It was from her cousin, Byron Lovington. Though addressed to her father, Byron had included a few short, very business-like paragraphs to Iona in which he asked her to write to him and describe her wishes for their wedding day.

Her fingers ached with a wicked need to write him back, telling him in very clear language that since she didn’t wish to marry anyone, her only plan for her wedding day was to run as far and fast away from him as possible.

A delightful fantasy…

As delightful as her recent hunt to find herself.

It was depressing to realize that no one else had ever bothered to look. Even her cousin, Lord Lovington, seemed more interested in earning her father’s regard than pursuing hers. Beyond his brief inquiries regarding her wishes for the wedding, he hadn’t expressed any curiosity regarding her views or interests. Or whether she wished to marry him in the first place.

He was like all the others, only enthralled with her family name—not
her
.

Iona pressed her nose to the window again. Was that Lord Nathan? The gentleman on the chestnut horse had pulled to a halt in front the Marquess of Portfry’s rented townhouse and hadn’t moved. He simply sat there, hesitating a long moment before swinging his leg to the ground.

Why hadn’t he sent for her? It had been nearly three full days since their meeting in the garden. Just yesterday, she’d sent him a note, urging him to write her.

In May’s absence, Nathan was the closest thing she had to a trusted friend. Perhaps she should open up to him and tell him the truth about her cousin. He could offer her some advice. Besides her ears ached for the soothing sound of his voice. Nothing seemed to upset his cheerful nature for long. And she could dearly use a dose of that for herself right now.

Her cousin Byron was due to arrive in Bath in a week’s time. Upon his arrival, their betrothal would be announced.

Soon she’d be tied to a man before ever having much of an opportunity to stretch her wings and test out her newly found independence.

What was keeping Nathan from sending for her?

“Have you heard anything about Lord Nathan from your brother?” Lillian asked Amelia in a voice loud enough for Iona to clearly hear. “Miss Frances Cuthbert told me that she heard from her brother how Lord Nathan has been flirting shamelessly with an actress.” Lillian lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “It is said he spends his nights with her as well.”

It couldn’t be true. Iona pressed her fingers to her lips. He wouldn’t do something like that to her. He was her friend. He wouldn’t betray her by running off to some strumpet’s bed.

“Oh my,” Amelia said. She flicked a worried look in Iona’s direction. “I had not heard. James is overly protective sometimes. He rarely tells me anything important.”

“You should press your brother to share this gossip with you,” Lillian said. “Frances says this actress has a by-blow that is the image of Lord Nathan. I would dearly like to see the child for myself. Wouldn’t you?”

Iona rose from the window seat. The steadying breath she drew shuddered in her chest.

“I understand you don’t approve of Lord Nathan, Lillian.” Iona managed to keep the budding quiver of tears from her voice as she spoke. “I also understand you do not want me to associate with him for fear of what others might think. But know this, the gossip surrounding him is untrue. He has always acted the part of honorable gentleman around me. Confoundingly honorable.”

“You call luring you away from the Lower Assembly Rooms in order to do heaven knows what to you, honorable? You are lucky you still have your—”

“Lillian!” Amelia gasped.

“Reputation,” Lillian finished. “I was only going to say she is lucky she still has her reputation. What? What is the matter, Amelia?”

Amelia had turned white as a sheet. She was covering her mouth with both hands and staring wide-eyed at the parlor door.

Iona’s heart leapt up to her throat as she turned around slowly. It was useless to do otherwise. Sooner or later, she would have to face whoever was standing at the door.

“Mama,” Lillian said and rose from her velvet chair. Smiling benignly, she clasped her hands in front of her chest. “How is Mrs. Buckley? Is her temper as foul as usual? You have returned earlier than usual.”

Their mother compressed her lips tightly together. Surely it was her mother’s dove gray gown overlain with a sleeveless black lace zephyr cloak that made her expression look unduly severe.

“Amelia, Lillian, please finish your correspondences later. I wish to speak with Iona alone.”

The two young ladies rushed to gather up their pens, inks and papers. With their arms full, they scampered quietly from the room. The Duchess’s gaze followed as they disappeared down the hall.

“Please, take a seat,” the Duchess said to Iona. She entered the room and closed the parlor door behind her with a snap.

Iona did as she was bid, perching on the edge of an orange velvet sofa. “I do not wish to marry Byron,” she said before her mother could scold her. “I am not pleased with the match you and Papa have made for me and, dash it all, I believe I am of an age to be making these kinds of important decisions on my own.”

The Duchess’s lips thinned further, nearly disappearing from her face. “Instead of dreaming of marriage, you imagine yourself becoming a sculptress? Oh, do not look so surprised, Iona. I have noticed your growing interests in the arts these past few seasons. Hardly a day goes by that you have not visited some obscure art gallery or perused a thick volume of the great masterpieces, or scribbled in one of your battered sketchbooks.”

With the grace of a queen, the Duchess settled in a lace-covered armchair. The tense silence that filled the room threatened to bring tears to Iona’s eyes. She wished her mother would shout, wail, scream. The Duchess almost never favored stony silences over horridly dramatic displays.

Seeing her do so now was frightening.

“Mama—” Iona started to say.

“I know,” her mother said at the same time. “I know you wish to make a love match. But your father is convinced this marriage will make you happy and I stand by him in his decision.”

“Papa is wrong,” Iona insisted. “Byron is like my brother, I simply cannot picture him being my husband. I do not love him. And honestly, I’m not ready to marry anyone.”

“You and Byron are friends though?” the Duchess asked.

“We have always rubbed together well enough. But I do not love—”

“Love will come later. Remember this always—the strongest relationships are built from a foundation of friendship. It was this way with your father and me. And it will be the same for you.”

Iona bit her lip and looked away. “I cannot imagine being happy with Byron, or with any man. Why can you not understand that?”

“You are unable to imagine your happiness only because you have never loved, my dear.”

Iona refused to accept that answer. She knew she could have more than a safe, proper future with a safe, proper gentleman who showed more passion for his business than for her. If only she knew how to fight for what she wanted out of life. A week was not enough time for her to completely change her personality. She needed more time. And more of Nathan’s lessons.

The rustle of skirts alerted her to her mother’s approach. A soft hand brushed her cheek.

“You are still young, Iona, but well past the age when you could honestly argue that you are not quite old enough to marry. Byron is presently looking for a wife and your father dearly wishes you to fill that role,” the Duchess said softly. She stepped in front of Iona and placed her hands on either side of Iona’s face. “Your father should have been firm with you years ago. Alas, he was not. So brood all you want, Daughter. Spend your days crying within your room. I will not harass you about your actions this week as long as you stay away from Lord Nathan Wynter.”

“You misunderstood Lillian, she—”

The Duchess shook her head sharply. “I do not need Lillian to tell me that you have been spending time with him. Mrs. Buckley saw you kiss the bounder in the middle of Sydney Gardens.”

“Lord Nathan is my friend. What Mrs. Buckley saw was a friendly peck on the cheek,” Iona protested even though she felt her cheeks growing hot.

“Stay away from that rogue,” her mother warned. “He is a danger to young ladies.”

“Those are merely ugly rumors. He is above reproach and—”

“No, Iona, I happen to know from his father that the unpleasant whispers circulating in the tearooms about him are true.”

“That cannot be right,” Iona whispered.

“The Marquess has told me himself how, a good number of years ago, Lord Nathan seduced a young lady, a lady who was barely more than a child herself. A few months later, when it was revealed that she was in a delicate condition and unmarried, thanks to him, the unfortunate lady did what any proper girl in her position would do. She killed herself. Please, believe me when I say this, he is not your friend. He is simply a wolf looking for an opportunity.”

“No…” Tears flooded Iona’s eyes. He was not a wolf. None of what her mother was saying could be true. He was honorable. He would never take advantage of an innocent lady. Nor would he do anything that would hurt her.

If only she could have some time alone with him, to talk with him so she would be able to figure out why such wicked rumors existed in the first place. Once she had a little more information, she could defend him.

He truly needed to send for her, and soon.

* * * *

How could he?

Nathan ground his jaw as he pounded on the front door of the Royal Crescent townhouse. The wooden panels shuddered in their frames. He had been working so damned hard to repair his reputation and regain his father’s respect.

How could his brother be so careless?

Of course Nathan already knew the answer to that question. He didn’t need to come to his father’s home to ask for it. He knew only too well how his brother could do something so utterly thoughtless, so vividly stupid.

Edward was a bounder. A cad. A blackguard.

And selfish…

“The Marquess is presently resting,” Rogers, the family butler, drawled. His long nose wrinkled like an overstuffed sausage as he gave a hearty sniff. “You may as well take yourself off. He will likely remain within his chamber until evening.”

In no mood to be dissuaded, Nathan took hold of Rogers’ shoulders and lifted his father’s snob of a butler, moving him from where he stood blocking the entrance and setting him down in the foyer. He then very carefully straightened the man’s rumpled lapels.

“I am on the hunt for my dolt of an older brother, not my father. And do not give me one of your vacant stares, Rogers. I plan to toss open every damned door in sight until I find him so you might as well tell me where he is hiding.”

“The drawing room would be a prudent place to begin your search, lad,” Rogers grumbled as Nathan started up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. “I do ask that you strive to keep your voice down. The Marquess is indeed fatigued this afternoon. And having to hear you fight with your brother would stress him fiercely.”

“You won’t hear a word from me,” Nathan vowed. What was a little restraint after the lengths he’d already gone through to protect his father and the cursed Portfry name from his brother’s reckless deeds?

A blinding anger bled into his strangled tone. “Not a blessed word.”