He wouldn’t take her like this. He wasn’t that kind of cad. But he pushed her skirts up, rubbing his thumb along the fine linen of her drawers. He would buy her silk, if he could.
At the intimacy of his caress, she didn’t shove him away but arched into him, almost begging for the caress he craved as much as she did.
All the voices in his head stilled as he located the slit of her drawers and rubbed her where she was wet and willing. It would be so very easy. . .
Gerard steeled himself, refusing to take advantage of an innocent who had no clear idea of what she was doing. Kissing her, he used his fingers to teach her, until he was muffling her screams and holding her as she bucked into his searching hand.
He continued to hold and kiss her as she melted and went limp. He let her skirts fall back in place. Once she merely leaned into him, shuddering slightly, he stepped away.
“That is only a sample of what a husband can give you. Do not throw yourself away,” he warned, stepping over to the washbasin to clean up and steady himself.
When he turned back to her, he saw a tear streak down her cheek, but she was already straightening her attire. She swung to check her hair in the mirror, rubbing surreptitiously at her eyes.
“I will find lovers,” she said boldly. “I will be like a man and take what I want.”
“Women have babies.” The thought of her in a brute’s arms caused him to run cold, but he had no right to dictate her future. “Women cannot behave like men.”
“Your aunts will welcome me at Wystan,” she taunted. “They love babies. And they will teach me how not to have them. Why should I be tied down to one man?”
He could see it now—she was entirely right. He might go to Wystan one day and see her coddling another man’s baby, and his tenants cooing over it as if it were their own.
“Because you are loyal and loving and being tied down happens. Come along, we need to take you to the school before it’s dark. I have to meet Rainford.” Gerard picked up the cloak and helped her into it.
She silently fastened the hood and waited for him to grab her satchel. She refused to take his arm as they stepped into the corridor. “I’ll meet you at the train station.” She walked rapidly toward the servants’ door.
The entire hall smelled of sex to him, but at least her cold taunt had made it possible for him to move without crippling himself.
The philosophical soldier in his head remained silent.
Iona sat as far from Lord Ives as the hansom allowed. She was a wanton. She should be thoroughly ashamed of herself—but she had enjoyed every second of that marvelous encounter and wanted more. If just touches could produce such exalting sensations—what would actual coupling be like? She grew up on a farm. She knew there had to be more.
But Lord Ives was an automaton with clockwork control of himself. She ought to be glad of that. If he controlled everyone else the way he did himself, he’d succeed at obtaining the reward and setting her free.
That was almost a depressing thought. She knew money wasn’t the end of her problems. But her time with Lord Ives had taught her a great deal. She’d needed to learn who she was, what she wanted, and she was gradually coming to understand herself. Almost.
She simply had to forget her irrational longing for a man she couldn’t have—an automaton she shouldn’t want. So she had a few lessons to learn yet—like how to control her roiling emotions the way he did.
At the school, he introduced her to Phoebe’s aunts. The older women were complete opposites of each other. Lady Agnes was short and welcoming, and Lady Gertrude was tall, stout, and formidable. While they exclaimed over her likeness to Isobel, they reminded her of the ladies at Wystan, and she felt at home.
Iona allowed herself to be swept into the world of women without a second look back at the dashing Lord Ives, who held her future in his hands.
For once in her life, she had to trust someone other than herself. She couldn’t think of any better place to start than a man who could turn off his emotions like a spigot.
In ill humor, Gerard descended the crumbling stone stairs to the ill-lit interior of the Old Rooster tavern. He knew he’d done the right thing by leaving Iona untouched and taking her to the ladies at the school. But afterward, she’d treated him as if he were an old coat she’d discarded.
Far better that way, he realized. They needed distance before they committed an irrevocable act. Logic didn’t improve his humor.
Rainford was already there, commanding a table, wearing his evening tails and appearing the glamorous and fabulously wealthy lord that he was. Young Viscount Drummond was with him, gathering players he’d apparently met on the previous evening. Gerard hated gambling, but he’d donned his dinner clothes to look the part of dissipated aristocrat with gold to waste.
The players all slapped him on the back and steered him toward a chair in a prime location in the gas-lit, whisky-stench of the ancient cellar.
Rainford held him back for a minute to murmur, “I’ve met with the Queen’s secretary. He’s located the lady’s request and will expedite it through the committee. It will give one of the twins some amount of legal power once this all falls out.”
“Brilliant, thanks.” Gerard pounded the slender marquess on the back and shoved him into his chair.
Rainford had done all the work. Gerard felt like a sponger—until Arthur White and the
