Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Colonel Shelby informed his long-suffering fiancée that due to his injuries during the war, he did not think it fair of him to hold her to their engagement.
But when the faithful woman said she loved him for his heart alone, he gladly relented.
The wedding will take place on Candlemas at St. Martin-in-the-Fields.
Ian could tell from Felicity’s incredulous expression that he’d surprised her. What else could he expect? He’d bloody well shocked himself.
“Wh-What did you say?” she stammered.
“I said we should marry.”
He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. He certainly hadn’t intended to propose when he’d come up to her room an hour ago. He’d meant only to scare her a little, make her see she couldn’t continue this battle between them.
Then she’d put on that damned dressing gown, the bit of lace that showed more than it concealed.
He should never have watched her undress.
He should have revealed his presence before then.
But three days away from her had made him hungry, even after reading her inflammatory column.
Three days and three nights of remembering their searing kisses had made him want a glimpse of her body, and she’d obliged him so quickly he’d been powerless to end it by revealing his presence in the room.
Still, he didn’t regret a minute. Nor did he regret proposing marriage. True, his decision had been hasty and his reasons complex and tangled even to him. Felicity, with her love of rumor and her unbounded curiosity, was the last person he should marry.
Yet he wanted her in his life. No other woman could match him tactic for tactic and forever surprise him. Marriage to her would be anything but boring.
He watched as she swung around and walked to the fireplace. Lambent light bathed her slender body, and her damnably flimsy wrapper clung greedily to her very attractive derriere. Lust bolted through him anew.
With a groan, he admitted the truth to himself. He didn’t only want her in his life—he wanted her in his bed. That was the trouble—he wasn’t thinking with his head or at least not the one with a brain. Otherwise, he’d never be considering marriage to this clever miss with her penchant for gossip.
But he’d made up his mind. He needed a wife—why not have one he’d enjoy? God knows he would enjoy her. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from stripping her naked and acting on all the carnal impulses her winsome body inspired.
Two things had prevented him. The first was her status as a respectable virgin.
It went against his moral code, such as it was, to deflower that sort of woman.
The second—and perhaps more compelling—reason was the sure knowledge that a single night with her would never satisfy him, and she’d never allow him more.
He might seduce her once, but his self-righteous gossipmonger would cut her throat before she’d consent to being any man’s mistress.
Besides, he didn’t need or want a mistress. He needed a wife. And if he married her, they could have as many nights in bed as their passions allowed. The very thought made him hard again.
“Well?” he bit out impatiently when she lifted the brass poker and stoked up the fire in apparent distraction. Sparks danced in the cold air about her tempting body.
“You’re asking me ... to marry you.” She stumbled over the words, as if they still seemed alien to her.
“It’s not such an odd idea, is it?”
“I-I don’t know. I mean, yes, it is. You’re a viscount.”
“Now that’s an astute observation,” he muttered, garnering a frown from her. He made a dismissive gesture. “It has nothing to do with anything.”
She set the poker aside and faced him. “Doesn’t it? I’m a nobody. Why would you want to marry me?”
Deliberately, he trailed his gaze down from her welter of rich cinnamon hair, past the delicious breasts he’d pleasured to the part of her he wished he’d also pleasured and tasted and sampled ...
When his gaze snapped back to her face, he saw she understood.
“I want to marry you for the same reason any man marries a woman he desires.”
Scarlet color stained her cheeks, and it occurred to him that he seldom saw her blush. It was becoming, especially on her. He’d have to make her blush frequently once they were married.
“But men of your sort—”
“Be careful, Felicity. I tire of your generalizations about ‘men of my sort.’”
She eyed him with disbelief. “You can’t tell me you don’t care at all that I have no family connections or great wealth or—”
“Why should I? I have enough for both of us. That’s not what I want in a wife.”
“Yes, I forgot.” Her fingers clutched at the edges of her wrapper as she struggled to keep it closed. She looked suddenly very young and tormented, her eyes bleak with dismay. “You want a woman to bear your heir.”
“That would be one of your duties, yes.” When she went rigid, he added, “But children are the usual result of indulging one’s desires, and as I recall, you find that particular activity appealing.”
Her gaze shot to his, shadowed with embarrassment. “You said there was nothing wrong with feeling desire.”
“I meant it,” he reassured her, remembering how ashamed her eager response to his caresses had made her. “But admit it—marriage makes desire far more convenient.”
He realized he’d said the wrong thing when her pretty chin quivered.
“Yes, marriage would make it convenient, for you as well as me. After all, why rely on two separate women for all your needs—one to bear your children and the other to satisfy your ... your manly urges?” Her voice grew bitter.
“Think how convenient it would be to have only one woman serve both purposes. What a revolutionary concept.”
“I’ve never wanted more than one woman at a time,” he ground out, wondering how this discussion had gotten so quickly out of hand.
“And yes, I prefer to have a wife I can desire. Although I’d previously resigned myself to a comfortable, if passionless, marriage, I now realize I can have more. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“I don’t know.” She stuck her chin out. “What would Miss Greenaway think?”
The air crackled between them, fraught with sudden tension.
He should have seen the question coming.
If he’d been this dense during the war, he would have got himself neatly killed half a dozen times.
That he hadn’t anticipated her objections was a testimony to how much she and her adorable body had disconcerted him.
Carefully, he weighed his words. “Her opinion is of no matter.”
“Oh? Then what role will she play in this marriage?”
“None at all.” Sheer exasperation sharpened his tone. “I told you before—the woman is not my mistress. I’m helping her and her son, nothing more.”
“You still expect me to believe that fairy tale about her brother being your soldier friend?” When he glowered at her, she added, “I realize you told the truth about fighting for England—I can hardly ignore the assertions of a man like Wellington. But I know you’re lying about Miss Greenaway’s connection to you. I’m not a fool, you know.”
“Of course not.” Sarcasm edged his words. “You’re much too intelligent to believe in my generosity or loyalty to a friend.”
A pained expression crossed her face. “I deserve that, I suppose, but you’re wrong—I can believe many good things about you.
What I can’t believe is that Miss Greenaway would have refused to set me straight concerning your kindness.
Any woman in her position would have defended you at once.
Or gone to the Gazette after the article was published to demand a retraction. ”
Why must the woman be so bloody logical? “Miss Greenaway understands, as you do not, that I prefer to keep certain aspects of my past out of the newspapers.”
“And secret from your prospective fiancée?”
He groaned. “Damn it, Felicity—”
“I want to know what she is to you.” Hurt dulled her green eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I-I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request, considering your proposal to me.”
It hit him then. My God, the woman was jealous! Though that absurdly pleased him, it also complicated matters. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth and put an end to her foolish concerns.
But that would require more than a simple explanation of how he knew Miss Greenaway.
He’d have to explain why he was helping the woman, why she was necessary to his plans for his uncle, and why he and his uncle were enemies.
He’d have to entrust London’s most notorious scribbler with the scandalous details of his life.
And he’d have to do it without even being sure it would gain him her hand.
No one in their right mind would agree to that.
Still, he wouldn’t let her jealousy stand between them.
He advanced on her with grim determination.
“I’ll tell you what Miss Greenaway is not.
She’s not my mistress nor any temptation to me.
Her son isn’t mine, or I would have claimed him long ago.
Most importantly, what she is to me has nothing to do with you.
She will never have any influence over our marriage. That’s all you need to know.”
Anger flared in her face. “You won’t even tell me how you met her?”
“No.” He paused a few feet from her, deliberately softening his tone. “Trust me, there’s no reason why her mere existence in a house that I own should concern you.”
“And that’s your final word on the subject?”
“Yes.”
“Then my answer is no.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your answer to what?”
“Your offer of marriage. I can’t marry a man who won’t be honest with me.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re refusing me because you’re jealous of some woman I’m helping?”