Chapter 20 #2
They tried the handle outside and Ian slammed back against the door. “Go away!” he hissed at the door, but his eyes ate her up.
And she reveled in the wicked thrill that shot through her as his gaze raked every inch of her naked body. This was reckless, audacious in the extreme. She ought to be ashamed of herself. But she wasn’t. It served him right to suffer a little of the torture he’d put her through yesterday.
“At least have the decency to use the screen,” he bit out.
“All you have to do is close your eyes.”
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely.
In truth, he seemed frozen, the very picture of a frustrated male as he leaned against the door and drank up her every move, the rest of his body as rigid as the thing inside his small clothes.
Raising an eyebrow, she held up one stocking, then lifted her foot and propped it on the bed so she could put the stocking on.
From his vantage point, he had to have an excellent view of a certain area of her anatomy.
A strangled noise, a cross between a groan and a curse erupted from him. She tied the stocking with a garter, then put down her foot and reached for the other stocking.
“Enough!” he roared. When she lifted an eyebrow at him, he straightened.
“Two can play this game, you know. Continue displaying your assets, querida, and I will describe exactly what I wish to do with you. Loudly. We might as well give your brothers an education as long as they’re listening in on the other side of the door. ”
She hesitated. Indeed, it had become very quiet out in the hall, and she knew her brothers too well to think they’d left. “You wouldn’t.”
His eyes narrowed. “That little patch of skin above your garter? I want to take my tongue and run it up—”
“All right, all right!” Scooping up her clothes, she darted behind the privacy screen.
His sigh of relief echoed in the room. She dressed quickly, and when she came out from behind the screen, it was to find him donning his shirt and pantaloon trousers with a scowl.
He’d propped a chair under the door knob, but had clearly relinquished any further plans to bed her this morning, especially since the boys were making such a clatter outside the door that it was clear neither of them would get any peace until it was opened.
As she hurried past him, however, he caught her by the arm and pulled her close enough to whisper, “Tonight, my teasing wife, there won’t be any boys pounding on our door.”
A shiver skittered along her spine. Perhaps her method of revenge hadn’t been such a good idea after all. “Tonight, I’ll have my own bedchamber.”
“For sleeping only.” His roguish smile made her skin come alive. “In fact, I want you to repeat this morning’s stunning performance in the privacy of my bedchamber at Chesterley.”
She lifted an earnest face to him. “Gladly. As soon as you tell me what I wish to know, Ian, I’ll be happy to join you in your bedchamber.”
His smile vanished. “Do you never quit?”
“No. I’d rather forego the many pleasures of your embraces than spend one moment in your bed knowing it’s nothing to you but a mating.”
For a moment he looked as if he might say something. Then his jaw tightened and he glanced at the door. “You’d best open it before the little hellions break it down.”
No doubt about it, he’d married a wanton, Ian thought sullenly as he sat in the parlor where the Taylor Terrors eviscerated a score of wrapped boxes and packages.
His gaze was fixed on his new wife—in truth, he’d been unable to turn it anywhere else since her little stunt in the bedroom.
Her hair mantled her shoulders like a rumpled velvet cape, and a fresh, sweet smile curved her mouth every time her brothers opened one of his many presents.
Seated on the floor with her body hidden behind mounds of shredded paper and tangled ribbons, she might have been mistaken for just another of the children.
But not by him. My God, this morning when she’d slipped out of her drawers ...
He groaned. She was a piece of work. The image of her naked body, drenched in sunlight that kissed the high, small breasts and the tempting curls between her legs, was still emblazoned on his memory.
As were all her come-hither-but-not-now smiles.
If he hadn’t taken her virginity himself, he’d doubt her virtue, but apparently her provocative instincts were as natural to her as writing gossip. She’d be the death of him yet.
A self-mocking smile touched his lips. And yesterday, he’d had the arrogance to think this would be easy!
Nothing was easy with Felicity. She had wanton urges, yes, and perhaps more potent urges than most women.
But this morning she’d demonstrated that she could find a way around them while at the same time teasing him as casually as he’d teased her yesterday in the carriage.
If he didn’t take care, she’d have him blurting out not only all the secrets about his past, but a thousand others, anything to regain the privilege of spreading those supple white thighs and—
Bloody hell. Time for a new strategy. But what? Overt attempts to seduce her merely roused her determination to resist, and covert attempts made her respond in kind, only to stop short of the act.
William bounded toward him, dragging behind him the hobby horse he’d received from “Father Christmas,” an elaborate affair with real horse’s hair that Ian had picked out with William especially in mind.
George and Ansel had already darted out the door to try theirs on the stairs, and James sat beside his sister beaming at a set of woodcarving tools.
But William approached Ian with a shy smile. “Look, Lord St. Clair, it has leather reins and everything!”
The boy’s excitement banished any lingering resentment he’d felt toward the lads for ruining his plans for his honeymoon. “You know, William, now that I’ve married your sister, you and I are brothers. So why don’t you call me Ian?”
William beamed. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Ian lifted the boy to sit on his knee, surprised at the flood of familial affection that possessed him. “And when your sister and I return to town next week to bring you and your brothers to Chesterley, we’ll see about buying all of you real ponies.”
“’Odsfish!” William threw his arms about Ian’s neck. “You’re the best brother ever!”
“Or at least the richest,” Felicity quipped. When Ian grinned at her undaunted over William’s head, she added, “You’ll spoil them if you keep that up.”
“I’m merely looking for ways to keep them occupied in the early morning hours, so they don’t go about knocking on people’s bedroom doors.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, you overshot your mark.” She swept her hand around the room. “You—I mean, Father Christmas—has been far too extravagant.”
“I should hope so. He seems to have bypassed the Taylors lately, so he owed them more than usual, don’t you think?” He jiggled William on his knee. “Do you mind Father Christmas giving you so many presents at once, my boy?”
The answer was predictably a loud “no.”
“You see?” Ian continued laughingly. “The males of this family have no trouble agreeing on anything. You’re the only naysayer.”
“Because I’m the only sensible one.”
“Does that mean you don’t want the gift I bought for you?”
Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “You bought me a gift?”
“Of course. You’re my wife.”
Averting her face from his, she stammered, “Y-Yes, but I haven’t got one for you ... that is ... there was no time—”
“And no money. It’s all right.”
He set William aside, and the boy dashed from the room to join the other two triplets, shouting, “Guess what, Georgie! Ian’s gonna get us real ponies!”
Ian stood, then walked to the window and retrieved a stack of presents from behind the curtain. Returning to where she sat, he handed them to her. “I don’t need anything. You do.”
Her eyes shone with delight as she took the packages. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Open them before you say anything. You might not like them.”
Indeed, he found himself tensing as she reached for the small rectangular box on top.
He hadn’t given many gifts to women, but somehow he’d assumed she wouldn’t be like his few paramours and wish for baubles and frills and lace.
Now he reconsidered. He might have been wrong.
She might hate it. But it was too late to do anything about it.
Opening the box, she withdrew a silver-plated cylindrical object. She turned it over in her hand in perplexed concentration.
James had come to sit cross-legged beside her on the floor, and now he peered over her shoulder at the object. “What is it?”
“It’s a fountain pen,” Ian explained. “A man named John Scheffer obtained the patent on it last year. It makes the ink pot unnecessary.” He took it from her and demonstrated how it worked, pushing a little button that triggered the release of ink to the nib.
“I’ve invested in Scheffer’s company. I think it’ll be a great success.
I asked him to make this one specially for you after we returned from the Worthings last week.
See here? It’s engraved with your initials. ”
After using a scrap of wrapping paper to wipe off the little bit of ink that had collected on the nib, he handed it back to her.
She clasped it so silently, his throat went raw.
She hated it. Damn. He should have bought her more of the fripperies in the other boxes, instead of risking such a foolish gift.
A pen was too commonplace, not passionate enough for her wild nature. But what did he know about buying gifts for a wife, especially one as unusual as Felicity?
At her continued silence, Ian muttered offhandedly, “Go on and open the others. The pen is more an experiment than a gift anyway. I thought you could use it and tell me if it works right.”