and cresting the edge of her bodice, he murmured, “Indeed, but Evangeline sounds . . . angelic, and we both know you’re no such thing.”
“Pardon?” She stiffened, trying to shove away from him. “I don’t under—”
His head descended again. “Say it, or I’ll trace your ear with my tongue.”
He grinned as her breath hissed from between clenched teeth. She stumbled, her fingers digging into his shoulder and hand. A very becoming flush swept across her face.
“Will you cease?” Her worried gaze careened around the room. “We’re being watched.”
Voice husky, he said, “Say my name, sweeting.”
Giving her a gentle squeeze, he started to dip his head, caressing her elegant neck with his hot breath.
“Ian, your name is Ian,” she gasped breathlessly, twisting her head away.
Did she know how sultry her voice sounded? A chuckle rumbled through his chest. He’d no doubt his smile reflected his satisfaction.
“ Bostaris ,” she mumbled beneath her breath. She tried to wrench away again.
Bostaris ? He was sure that wasn’t a compliment. His smile widened. He splayed his hand across the gentle slope of her spine, holding her firmly against him. His wife was a sensual thing. He’d but breathed in her ear, and she’d nearly melted onto the floor.
Vangie tilted her head upward. “Please, you’re holding me too tight. I can’t breathe.”
Ian immediately relaxed his embrace. Her gaze was fixed on his jaw.
“My equipage lost a wheel yesterday.”
She met his gaze for a moment before hers skittered away. “You are unharmed?”
“Except for this scratch.” He angled his scraped jawbone at her. And a nasty bruise on his thigh where he’d slammed into the side of the livery wagon. Never thought he’d be grateful for a pile of manure and straw. Convenient too, to drop a wheel in front of the livery. They tended to his horse, while the blacksmith next door repaired the wheel.
The music ended, and Stapleton claimed Vangie for the next set. Ewan McTavish, the Viscount Sethwick, and Ian’s close friend, made his bow to Yvette. They too made their way onto the floor. Soon the room was full of happy couples, stepping and turning to the lilting music.
Leaning against a marble fireplace mantle, Ian watched his bride. Tonight, there was no gay smile on her pink lips while she danced. His mouth skewed into a humorless smirk. He’d kept his vow all right. He shook his head, at the incongruity of it.
Vangie would dally no longer. He’d not tolerate fast behavior from his wife. God only knew how many others had enjoyed her favors, but he’d make it perfectly clear where her affections better lay from this point forward. He’d be claiming no by-blow as his.
His gaze never straying from her, Ian permitted himself a moment of cynical musing. It was outside of enough. He’d gotten shackled with that Jezebel, because he’d suffered a lapse in judgment, allowed a moment’s tenderheartedness.
When had he become such a cod’s head?
But her lips were blue .
Yes, and look at where that landed him? Forced to marry the chit whose undoing he’d intended. Was God laughing? For the devil certainly was.
It was fortunate she was pleasing to look upon, quite exquisite if he were wholly forthright. Her figure was nicely rounded in the appropriate places. His new wife was a passionate woman too. He sensed it, though it galled him to think how many men had already explored her luscious curves.
After that tantalizing dance, Ian was keenly anticipating their wedding night. Theirs would not be a marriage of convenience. It would be consummated. He needed an heir. Why the continuation of his family line was suddenly of such importance to him remained a puzzle. One he didn’t want to explore, let alone solve at present.
How to keep his bride from sharing her favors was easy to remedy. Closet her at Somersfield with strict directives as to her mobility and the company she’d be permitted to keep. Once she’d
“Pardon?” She stiffened, trying to shove away from him. “I don’t under—”
His head descended again. “Say it, or I’ll trace your ear with my tongue.”
He grinned as her breath hissed from between clenched teeth. She stumbled, her fingers digging into his shoulder and hand. A very becoming flush swept across her face.
“Will you cease?” Her worried gaze careened around the room. “We’re being watched.”
Voice husky, he said, “Say my name, sweeting.”
Giving her a gentle squeeze, he started to dip his head, caressing her elegant neck with his hot breath.
“Ian, your name is Ian,” she gasped breathlessly, twisting her head away.
Did she know how sultry her voice sounded? A chuckle rumbled through his chest. He’d no doubt his smile reflected his satisfaction.
“ Bostaris ,” she mumbled beneath her breath. She tried to wrench away again.
Bostaris ? He was sure that wasn’t a compliment. His smile widened. He splayed his hand across the gentle slope of her spine, holding her firmly against him. His wife was a sensual thing. He’d but breathed in her ear, and she’d nearly melted onto the floor.
Vangie tilted her head upward. “Please, you’re holding me too tight. I can’t breathe.”
Ian immediately relaxed his embrace. Her gaze was fixed on his jaw.
“My equipage lost a wheel yesterday.”
She met his gaze for a moment before hers skittered away. “You are unharmed?”
“Except for this scratch.” He angled his scraped jawbone at her. And a nasty bruise on his thigh where he’d slammed into the side of the livery wagon. Never thought he’d be grateful for a pile of manure and straw. Convenient too, to drop a wheel in front of the livery. They tended to his horse, while the blacksmith next door repaired the wheel.
The music ended, and Stapleton claimed Vangie for the next set. Ewan McTavish, the Viscount Sethwick, and Ian’s close friend, made his bow to Yvette. They too made their way onto the floor. Soon the room was full of happy couples, stepping and turning to the lilting music.
Leaning against a marble fireplace mantle, Ian watched his bride. Tonight, there was no gay smile on her pink lips while she danced. His mouth skewed into a humorless smirk. He’d kept his vow all right. He shook his head, at the incongruity of it.
Vangie would dally no longer. He’d not tolerate fast behavior from his wife. God only knew how many others had enjoyed her favors, but he’d make it perfectly clear where her affections better lay from this point forward. He’d be claiming no by-blow as his.
His gaze never straying from her, Ian permitted himself a moment of cynical musing. It was outside of enough. He’d gotten shackled with that Jezebel, because he’d suffered a lapse in judgment, allowed a moment’s tenderheartedness.
When had he become such a cod’s head?
But her lips were blue .
Yes, and look at where that landed him? Forced to marry the chit whose undoing he’d intended. Was God laughing? For the devil certainly was.
It was fortunate she was pleasing to look upon, quite exquisite if he were wholly forthright. Her figure was nicely rounded in the appropriate places. His new wife was a passionate woman too. He sensed it, though it galled him to think how many men had already explored her luscious curves.
After that tantalizing dance, Ian was keenly anticipating their wedding night. Theirs would not be a marriage of convenience. It would be consummated. He needed an heir. Why the continuation of his family line was suddenly of such importance to him remained a puzzle. One he didn’t want to explore, let alone solve at present.
How to keep his bride from sharing her favors was easy to remedy. Closet her at Somersfield with strict directives as to her mobility and the company she’d be permitted to keep. Once she’d
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