“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
He tipped his chin down so that he could better see her and brushed a stray lock of golden hair off her cheek. “I was thinking how wise I must be to have known within minutes of meeting you that you were wonderful.”
She chuckled, thinking his words were teasing flattery. “How soon did my qualities become apparent?”
“I’d say,” he thoughtfully replied, “I knew it when you took sympathy on Galileo.”
She’d expected him to say something about her looks, not her conversation or her mind. “Truly?” she asked with unhidden pleasure.
He nodded, but he was studying her reaction with curiosity. “What did you think I was going to say?”
Her slim shoulders lifted in an embarrassed shrug. “I thought you would say it was my face you noticed first. People have the most extraordinary reaction to my face,” she explained with a disgusted sigh.
“I can’t imagine why,” he said, grinning down at what was, in his opinion—in anyone’s opinion—a heartbreakingly beautiful face belonging to a young woman who was sprawled across his chest looking like an innocent golden goddess.
“I think it’s my eyes. They’re an odd color.”
“I see that now,” he teased, then he said more solemnly, “but as it happens it was not your face which I found so beguiling when we met in the garden, because,” he added when she looked unconvinced, “I couldn’t see it.”
“Of course you could. I could see yours well enough, even though night had fallen.”
“Yes, but I was standing near a torch lamp, while you perversely remained in the shadows. I could tell that yours was a very nice face, with the requisite features in the right places, and I could also tell that your other—feminine assets—were definitely in all the right places, but that was all I could see. And then later that night I looked up and saw you walking down the staircase. I was so surprised, it took a considerable amount of will to keep from dropping the glass I was holding.”
Her happy laughter drifted around the room and reminded him of music. “Elizabeth,” he said dryly, “I am not such a fool that I would have let a beautiful face alone drive me to madness, or to asking you to marry me, or even to extremes of sexual desire.”
She saw that he was perfectly serious, and she sobered. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That is the nicest compliment you could have paid me, my lord.”
“Don’t call me ‘my lord,’ ” he told her with a mixture of gentleness and gravity, “unless you mean it. I dislike having you address me that way if it’s merely a reference to my title.”
Elizabeth snuggled her cheek against his hard chest and quietly replied, “As you wish. My lord.”
Ian couldn’t help it. He rolled her onto her back and devoured her with his mouth, claimed her with his hands and then his body.
* * *
“Haven’t I tired you out yet, darting?” Ian whispered several hours later.
“Yes,” she said with an exhausted laugh, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, her hand drifting over his chest in a sleepy caress. “But I’m too happy to sleep for a while yet”
So was Ian, but he felt compelled to at least suggest that she try. “You’ll regret it in the morning when we have to appear for breakfast,” he said with a grin, cuddling her closer to his side.
To his surprise, the remark made her smooth forehead furrow in a frown. She tipped her face up to his, opened her mouth as if to ask him a question, then she changed her mind and hastily looked away.
“What is it?” he asked, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting her face up to his.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said with a funny, bemused expression on her face. “When we go downstairs . . . will everyone know what we have done tonight?”
She expected him to try to evade the question.
“Yes,” he said.
She nodded, accepting that, and turned into his arms. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said with a sigh of contentment and gratitude.
“I’ll always tell you the truth,” he promised quietly, and she believed him.
It occurred to Elizabeth that she could ask him now, when he’d given that promise, if he’d had anything to do with Robert’s disappearance. And as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it angrily away. She would not defame their marriage bed by voicing ugly, unfounded suspicions carried to her by a man who obviously had a grudge against all Scots.
This morning, she had made a conscious decision to trust him and marry him; now, she was bound by her vows to honor him, and she had absolutely no intention of going back on her own decision or on the vow she made to him in church.
“Elizabeth?”
“Mmmm?”
“While we’re on the subject of truth, I have a confession to make.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs, and she went rigid. “What is it?” she asked tautly.
“The chamber next door is meant to be used as your dressing room and withdrawing room. I do not approve of the English custom of husband and wife sleeping in separate beds.” She looked so pleased that Ian grinned. “I’m happy to see,” he chuckled, kissing her forehead, “we agree on that.”
31
In the weeks that followed, Elizabeth discovered to her pleasure that she could ask Ian any question about any subject and that he would answer her as fully as she wished. Not once did he ever patronize her when he replied, or fend her off by pointing out that, as a woman, the matter was truly none of her concern—or worse—that the answer would be beyond any female’s ability to understand. Elizabeth found his respect for her intelligence enormously flattering—particularly after two astounding discoveries she made about him:
The first occurred three days after their wedding, when they both decided to spend the evening at home, reading.
That night after supper, Ian brought a book he wanted to read from their library—a heavy tome with an incomprehensible title—to the drawing room. Elizabeth brought Pride and Prejudice, which she’d been longing to read since first hearing of the uproar it was causing among the conservative members of the ton. After pressing a kiss on her forehead, Ian sat down in the high-backed chair beside hers. Reaching across the small table between them for her hand, lie linked their fingers together, and opened his book. Elizabeth thought it was incredibly cozy to sit, curled up in a ;hair beside him, her hand held in his, with a book in her lap, and she didn’t mind the small inconvenience of turning the pages with one hand.
Soon, she was so engrossed in her book that it was a full half-hour before she noticed how swiftly Ian turned the pages of his. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched in puzzled fascination as his gaze seemed to slide swiftly down one page, then the facing page, and he turned to the next. Teasingly, she asked, “Are you reading that book, my lord, or only pretending for my benefit?”
He glanced up sharply, and Elizabeth saw a strange, hesitant expression flicker across his tanned face. As if carefully phrasing his reply, he said slowly, “I have an—odd ability—to read very quickly.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth replied, “how lucky you are. I never heard of a talent like that”
A lazy glamorous smile swept across his face, and he squeezed her hand. “It’s not nearly as uncommon as your eyes,” he said.
Elizabeth thought it must be a great deal more uncommon, but she wasn’t completely certain and she let it pass. The following day, that discovery was completely eclipsed by another one. At Ian’s insistence, she’d spread the books from Havenhurst across his desk in order to go over the quarter’s accounts, and as the morning wore on, the long columns of figures she’d been adding and multiplying began to blur together and transpose themselves in her mind—due in part, she thought with a weary smile, to the fact that her husband had kept her awake half the night making love to her. For the third time, she added the same long columns of expenditures, and for the third time, she came up with a different sum. So
frustrated was she that she didn’t realize Ian had come into the room, until he leaned over her from behind and put his hands on the desk on either side of her own. “Problems?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“Yes,” she said, glancing at the clock and realizing that the business acquaintances be was expecting would be there momentarily. As she explained her problem to him, she started shoving loose papers into the books, hurriedly trying to reassemble everything and clear his desk. “For the last forty-five minutes, I’ve been adding the same four columns, so that I could divide them by eighteen servants, multiply that by forty servants, which we now have there, times four quarters. Once I know that, I can forecast the real cost of food and supplies with the increased staff. I’ve gotten three different answers to those miserable columns, and I haven’t even tried the rest of the calculations. Tomorrow I’ll have to start all over again,” she finished irritably, “and it takes forever just to get all this laid out and organized.” She reached out to close the book and shove her calculations into it, but Ian stopped her.
“Which columns are they?” he asked calmly, his surprised gaze studying the genuine ire on her face.
“Those long ones down the left-hand side. It doesn’t matter. I’ll fight it out tomorrow,” she said. She shoved the chair back, dropped two sheets of paper, and bent over to pick them up. They’d slid beneath the kneehole of the desk, and in growing disgust Elizabeth crawled underneath to get them. Above her, Ian said, “£364.”
“Pardon?” she asked when she reemerged, clutching the errant sheets of paper.
He was writing it down on a scrap of paper. “£364.”
“Do not make light of my wanting to know the figures,” she warned him with an exasperated smile. “Besides,” she continued, leaning up and pressing an apologetic kiss on his cheek, loving the tangy scent of his cologne, “I usually enjoy the bookwork. I’m simply a little short of sleep today, because,” she whispered, “my husband kept me awake half the night.”
“Elizabeth,” he began hesitantly, “there’s something I—” Then he shook his head and changed his mind, and since Shipley was already standing in the doorway to announce the arrival of his business acquaintances, Elizabeth thought no more of it.
Until the next morning.
Rather than use his study again and disrupt his working schedule, she spread out her books and papers at a desk in the library. With her mind fresh and alert, she made quick progress and, within an hour, she’d gotten the answer she’d been seeking yesterday and double-checked it. Positive that £364 was correct, she smiled as she tried to recall what Ian’s wild guess had been yesterday. When she couldn’t recall it, she looked among her papers for the one he’d written his guess upon and found it tucked in between the sheets of the book.
With her own answer in one hand, she looked at what he had written . . . Shock sent her slowly to her feet, the paper with Ian’s answer clutched in her other hand: £364. Trembling with an uneasy emotion she couldn’t identify, she gazed at the answer be had calculated in his head, not on paper, in a matter of seconds, not three-quarters of an hour.
She was still standing there several moments later when Ian walked in to invite her to ride with him. “Still trying to find your answer, sweetheart?” he asked with a sympathetic grin, mistaking the cause of her wary stare.
“No, I found mine,” she said, her voice unintentionally accusing as she thrust both pieces of paper toward him. “What I would like to know,” she continued, unable to tear her gaze from him, “is how it happens to be the same answer you arrived at in a matter of moments.”
His grin faded, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the papers in her outthrust hand. His expression carefully impassive, he said, “That answer is a little more difficult than the one I wrote down for you—”
“You can do this—calculate all those figures in your mind? In moments?”
He nodded curtly, and when Elizabeth continued to stare at him warily, as if he was a being of unknown origin, his face hardened. In a clipped, cool voice he said, “I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at me as if I’m a freak.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open at his tone and his words. “I’m not.”
“Yes,” he said implacably. “You are. Which is why I haven’t told you before this.”
Embarrassed regret surged through her at the understandable conclusion he’d drawn from her reaction. Recovering her composure, she started around the desk toward him. “What you saw on my face was wonder and awe, no matter how it must have seemed.”
“The last thing I want from you is ‘awe,’ ” he said tightly, and Elizabeth belatedly realized that, while he didn’t care what anyone else thought of him, her reaction to all this was obviously terribly important to him. Rapidly concluding that he’d evidently had some experience with other people’s reaction to what must surely be a form of genius—and which struck them as “freakish”—she bit her lip, trying to decide what to say. When nothing came to mind, she simply let love guide her and reacted without artifice. Leaning back against the desk, she sent him an amused, sidelong smile and said, “I gather you can calculate almost as rapidly as you can read?”
His response was short and chilly. “Not quite.”
“I see,” she continued lightly. “I would guess there are close to ten thousand books in your library here. Have you read them all?”
“No.”
She nodded thoughtfully, but her eyes danced with admiring laughter as she continued, “Well, you’ve been quite busy the past few weeks—dancing attendance on me. No doubt that’s kept you from finishing the last thousand or two.” His face softened as she asked merrily, “Are you planning to read them all?”
With relief, she saw the answering smile tugging at his lips. “I thought I’d attend to that next week,” he replied with sham gravity.
“A worthy endeavor,” she agreed. “I hope you won’t start without me. I’d like to watch.”
Ian’s shout of laughter was cut short as he snatched her into his arms and buried his face in her fragrant hair, his hands clenching her to him as if he could absorb her sweetness into himself.
“Do you have any other extraordinary skills I ought to know about, my lord?” she whispered, holding him as tightly as he was holding her.
The laughter in his voice was replaced by tender solemnity. “I’m rather good,” he whispered, “at loving you.”
In the weeks that followed, he proved it to her in a hundred ways. Among other things, he never objected to the times she was away from him at Havenhurst. To Elizabeth, whose entire life had once been wrapped up in Havenhurst’s past and future, it came as something of a surprise to realize very quickly that she rather begrudged much of the time she had to spend there, overseeing the improvements that were getting under way.
To avoid spending more time there than was absolutely necessary, she began bringing home the drawings the architect had made, along with any other problems she’d encountered, so that she could consult with Ian. No matter how busy he was or who he was with, he made time for her. He would sit with her for hours, explaining alternatives to her in a step-by-step fashion which she soon realized was evidence of his inexhaustible patience with her, because Ian’s mind did not reason in step-step fashion. With awesome speed, his mind went straight from point A to point Z, from problem to solution, without needing to plod through the normal steps between.
With the exception of the few times she had to stay at Havenhurst, they spent their nights together in his bed, and Elizabeth quickly discovered that their wedding night had been but a small preview of the wild beauty and primitive splendor of his lovemaking. There were times that he lingered over her endlessly, lavishing her senses with every exquisite sensation, prolonging their release, until Elizabeth was pleading with him to end the sweet torment; other nights, he turned to her in hunger and need and took her with tender roughness and few preliminaries. And Elizabeth could never quite decide which way
she liked best. She admitted that to him one night, only to have him take her swiftly and then keep her awake for hours with his tender attentions, so that she might be better able to decide. He taught her to ask, without embarrassment, for what she wanted, and when shyness made her hesitate, he taught her by example that same night. It was a lesson Elizabeth found incredibly stirring as she listened to his husky voice grow thick with desire while he asked to be touched and caressed in particular ways, and when she did, his powerful muscles jumped beneath her touch, and a groan tore from his chest.
Toward the end of the summer, they went to London, although the city was still somewhat deserted, the Little Season having not yet begun. Elizabeth agreed because she thought it would be convenient for him to be nearer the men with whom he invested large sums of money in complex ventures, and because Alex would be there. Ian went because he wanted Elizabeth to enjoy the position of prestige in society she was entitled to—and because he enjoyed showing her off in the setting where she sparkled like the jewels he lavished on her. He knew she regarded him as a combination of loving benefactor and wise teacher, but in that last regard, Ian knew she was wrong, for Elizabeth was teaching him, too. By her own example, she taught him to be patient with servants; she taught him to relax; and she taught him that next to lovemaking, laughter was undoubtedly life’s most pleasant diversion. At her insistence, he even learned to look tolerantly upon the foolish foibles of many of the ton’s members.
So successful was Elizabeth in this last endeavor that they were, within a matter of weeks, rather a favorite couple, much sought after for every sort of charitable and social event Invitations arrived at the house in Upper Brook Street in large numbers, and together they laughingly invented excuses to avoid many of them so that Ian could work during the day and Elizabeth could occupy her time with something more interesting than social calls.