Chapter Eighteen
Ian had come home to claim his bride. Grace had insisted that she’d never willingly come to his bed, but Ian had never agreed not to try to seduce her, to change her mind, one sweet kiss at a time. Passion was a tantalizing form of persuasion.
When he saw that her bedchamber was empty, he’d experienced a pang of panic. Had she left him? No, she wouldn’t. She was too proud, too stubborn to flee. He’d pushed his fears aside and searched for her. After looking in the dining room, drawing room, and study, he’d found her in his library.
He halted at the vision before him.
She was sitting in his desk chair, nestled in the supple black leather. She had changed from her wedding gown into a garment designed to tempt a man and make him lose his mind. Soft cotton caressed the curves of her breasts and hips, and the hem had ridden up to reveal a fair amount of shapely leg. She had removed her stockings and her bare feet were propped on the corner of his desk. Her hair was loose and slightly disheveled. Dark locks brushed her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Even more surprising than when he’d found her asleep at his desk was finding one of his ledgers open and resting low on her hips. Other open ledgers were spread out across his desk in a haphazard manner.
She’d been busy in his absence.
He should be concerned, even angry, at her invasion of his privacy. Instead, he grew hard and tight in his new tailored trousers. He’d bathed at the club and had come home to his bride, but he’d never expected to find her like he had. The sight of her asleep, dressed in the tantalizing shift was as unexpected as it was arousing.
He wanted to make love to her in his chair. On his desk. On the thick Aubusson carpet by his prized books. He’d known his fair share of temptation at the club. He understood the illicit draw of the crack of the dice across the green baize of the hazard table, knew the mesmerizing spin of the little white ball in the roulette wheel, even recognized the alluring innuendo of a masked woman’s invitation for dalliance. But the sight of his wife here…now…was beyond compare. She was a siren’s call to lure any red-blooded man to her side.
She blinked, focused her gaze, then struggled to sit upright in the chair. “Ian, what happened to your face?”
He touched his swollen eye, his black-and-blue chin. No doubt Brooks’s handiwork would appear worse before it improved.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a hoarse tone.
She glared at him. “I was told you were not to return tonight.”
Her voice was laced with censure. He couldn’t blame her. He was truly a blackguard for ruining her wedding day. If he could take back the conversation with the dowager at the wedding breakfast he would do so in an instant. He’d never intended to hurt her in such a fashion.
Not entirely true.
He’d had no intention of selling his casino. He just didn’t want her to learn of his plans so soon or in such a cruel fashion.
He was uncomfortable with his strong attraction to her. It made him feel powerless, and he hadn’t felt that emotion in a long, long time. “It seems my intrusion has interrupted your clandestine activities.”
She leaned forward in the chair. The sleeve of her garment slid a tantalizing inch down her shoulder to reveal a sliver of creamy skin, more tempting to him than a courtesan’s artfully displayed décolletage.
“I won’t apologize. I came here to read but discovered these,” she said, motioning to the club’s books spread across the oak surface. “The ledgers weren’t hidden or locked in your desk.”
“I shall have to remember to protect my privacy in the future.” He was sounding surly. It was difficult to keep his focus when all he had to do was reach out and give a slight tug to her sleeve to reveal her breast to his hungry gaze.
“You are a wealthy man.”
Her comment was unexpected, and his gaze snapped to her face. “You knew that.”
“Ah, yes. But not the extent of your fortune.”
A corner of his mouth twisted upward. “Are you pleased then to be my wife?”
She ignored his question and responded with one of her own. “Do you have a bookkeeper?”
Once again, she’d surprised him and he marveled at her ability to switch topics. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. You need one.”
“I do it myself.”
She regarded him from where she sat in his chair. “Why? I would think you would like the help of a bookkeeper or a secretary. Accounting takes an incredible amount of time.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“What about Brooks?” she asked.
“Only him. But he does not have a head for figures.”
“You should reconsider retaining a bookkeeper. You’ve made mistakes.”
That got his attention. “Mistakes? Where?”
“Here.” She pointed to the open ledger that had rested on her hips when he’d first walked into the room. It now sat on the desk before her.
He leaned down and the top of her hair tickled his nose. He inhaled the scent of her soap, lavender. The fragrance was one of the first things he’d noticed about her when she’d first come to him at his club. His gaze dropped to the luscious swell of her breasts above her gown. The top of one pink nipple was barely visible. He grew stiffer in his trousers, a feat he didn’t think was possible.
Christ. He needed to gain control. He wasn’t a randy boy of seventeen. He was in his thirties, the owner of the Raven Club where all kinds of vices could be found.
“I don’t see a mistake,” he said.
She tapped her finger at one of the tiny figures. “Right here. Column C, Row G. You printed four thousand, three hundred, twenty-two pounds. It should be four thousand, two hundred, twenty-two pounds. You lost a hundred pounds.”
He stared, his mind struggling to focus on the figures and not the desirable woman seated before him, distracting him effortlessly.
“I’ll be damned.” She was right. He often worked late at night after working at the club, or very early in the morning. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in a state of fatigue.
“It’s a simple mathematical error. If you had another person double-check your figures, you could minimize mistakes.”
He forced his gaze away from the creamy expanse of her neck and eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know all this?”
She turned away from the ledger to look up at him. “I’m not ignorant.”
“I never thought you were. But these figures are complicated. How?”
Her face closed, as if guarding a secret. She shrugged a shoulder, and her shift dipped a fraction of an inch lower. “I was always good with mathematics.”
“So are my croupiers, but they could not simply open my books and decipher the columns and rows so quickly. What else are you not telling me?”
“What makes you think I’m not being truthful?
“You make a horrid liar.”
“Unlike you?”
His jaw tightened. “I suppose I deserve that, but I still want to know. Most people would enter this room and select a book. You didn’t. You chose to study business ledgers and find mathematical mistakes. Why?”
She stirred uneasily in the leather chair, then let out a long breath. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you the truth now. I worked for a milliner.”
“In the shop?”
“No. A widowed proprietress who needed help with the books after her husband’s passing. I handled her accounting needs for months. She’d pay me for my work. I needed the income to run my father’s household. The baron’s creditors have grown less forgiving and more demanding over time.”
He stared at her with renewed interest, and heightened desire. He came home intending to seduce his wife, to make love to her and consummate their marriage, to ensure she couldn’t easily dismiss him. Instead, he’d discovered she was far more shrewd, intelligent, and perceptive than he’d ever imagined.
Nothing was going as planned.
He’d known about her financial troubles, of course. It’s what had first brought her to him. Selfishly, he was glad her difficulties had forced her to seek him out, and that they’d made their arrangement. But he’d never fathomed that she’d taken other action to help herself and her household.
She was a fighter, a survivor. And there was nothing Ian admired more than a survivor. They were similar in that regard. His father had turned his back on Ian. In essence, Grace’s father had done the same to her.
They’d both survived.
“You are disappointed.” Anxiety shone from the depths of her eyes.
Disappointed? Hardly. Her spirit and beauty were a drug, clouding his brain, stealing his logic.
“No. I’m fascinated.”
Her eyes rose to his. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly. You didn’t cry, throw hysterics, or lock yourself in your room. You didn’t roam London for the closest relative and impose yourself upon their good graces. You used your God-given talents to improve your situation on your own. I know men who aren’t as strong.”
Her beautiful blue eyes shone bright in the candlelight. She swallowed, and his gaze was drawn to the slender column of her throat. He wanted to kiss and lick the silky skin, tug her shift down, and suckle her magnificent breasts.
“You may not be fascinated when you hear what else I have to say about your other mistakes,” she said.
My mistakes.
He’d made many in his lifetime, but marrying Grace wasn’t one. He needed to show her.
She doesn’t want me in her bed.
He was more determined than ever to have her…to keep her. But how? He’d never forced a woman into his bed, and he wouldn’t start with his wife. He shifted his feet, forcing his gaze back to hers.
“I’m intrigued. Tell me,” he said.
“They are not mistakes so much as ways to improve your profitability. The roulette table is the most lucrative, as I’m sure you know. Next are the hazard and vingt-et-un tables. But the whist and quadrille games are least profitable. I venture to guess it is because those games of chance are more commonly offered at supper parties and balls. If you removed one of those tables and replaced it with one of the three most popular ones I mentioned—such as roulette—then you could double your weekly profits.”
He stared at her stunned. Not only was she mathematically inclined, she was brilliant.
“I thought you hated gambling.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I do. Studying your books hasn’t changed my opinion, but I cannot help but analyze the figures this way. It is a curse or a gift depending on how one views my abilities.”
“It is a gift.”
She hesitated and licked her lips. “There are other reasons I felt compelled to study the rest of your books for profitability.”
“Such as?”
She lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me you use the club’s income for charitable purposes? You are the anonymous donor for the Orphan Children’s Relief Society, aren’t you?”
He’d admired that she’d discovered the information. He never spelled out his charities, just made brief notations. “What makes you believe that?”
“The initials of the charity combined with the precise amount. The donation was discussed in depth at our last meeting. Do you deny it?”
Why bother? She was shrewder than he’d even thought. “No.”
“Why donate to the orphanage?”
He shrugged. “I have much. Through no fault of their own, they have very little. Also, my mother is a member of your group.”
“I accept that reasoning, but what of the others?”
“What others?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized his mistake. His denial was useless. He was beginning to acknowledge the extent of her talents.
She glowered at him. “The books do not lie. There are a dozen or so other charities. All for the benefit of children and women.”
He remained silent. His ledgers were a secret portal into his innermost soul. He’d never feared anyone could decipher them.
Until now.
He’d told her part of the truth. He had amassed more wealth than he would ever need. There were many less fortunate, many who had been like him. There were other reasons, deep-seated ones, that he never spoke of.
“There are two to the mental asylums. Why?”
She was getting too close. “I told you. They are helpless, just like the children and women.”
“I see,” she said, but he knew she could not.
“Would it change anything between us if you knew?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she said softly. “But I haven’t forgiven you for your deception.”
He couldn’t blame her for her mistrust, but he didn’t want what had happened to taint what was going on here, now, in this room as they unearthed both of their secrets to each other. Secrets that were revealed in his ledgers and her ability to decipher them.
He knelt by the chair and took her hands. A pencil smudge marred two fingers of her right hand. It only served to heighten his attraction. “Grace,” he said softly. “If I could take it back I would.” He turned her hands over and pressed a hot kiss in the center of each palm.
Her lips parted. “Ian, I—”
His lips traveled to brush a kiss on the sensitive skin at her wrist. “Do you want to know what I think?”
She nodded.
His dark gaze lifted to hers. “I think you’re a highly intelligent lady. Gifted.”
Something flashed in her eyes, relief? gratitude? before her gaze shuttered and it was gone. “There are men who would consider it unattractive in a woman, especially a wife.”
“I am not one of them. Your intelligence has the opposite effect.”
“And what effect is that?”
He leaned forward on his knees until his lips were a hairbreadth away from hers. “It arouses me.”
She inhaled sharply. “Ian—”
He lifted her chin and forced her eyes to his. “Would you have me lie? You already believe me to be dishonest.”
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
“I suppose not, but after learning what I have about you tonight I have a request.” The thought had come to him after learning of her secret, her mathematical and business genius, and hope had blossomed in his chest.
“A request?” she asked.
“I want you to visit the place.”
“Visit what place?”
“The Raven Club.”
Her mouth parted, but he placed a finger on her lips. “Shh, love. Please listen. I want you to visit as my guest. You were only there twice, once to meet me and once for us to come to our arrangement. But you have never visited it for pleasure.”
“Why would I do that? You know how I feel about gambling.”
“You think of it only as a hell, a place people like your father feed their addictions and cause pain to their loved ones.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Yes and no. But there is more. Much more. The club offers escape for those who need it—men and women. It also offers salvation for some.”
“You mean through your charitable donations? Or for you?” Determination shone in her eyes. But something else as well.
Curiosity.
His hopes lifted. “Both. Say you will let me escort you.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been there already.”
“Ah, but that was before. We barely knew each other. You are now my wife.”
He felt her shiver at the words. She may have said she wanted a marriage in name only, but her body was saying something else.
“Will you allow me to show you where I’ve spent the past ten years of my life?”
Her lips parted and he held his breath. There could be hope for him, for them, if he could show her how much the place meant. Could he make her understand?
She let out a deep sigh. “Yes. A tour. But do not think it will change my mind.”
Satisfaction coursed through him. She’d agreed. He didn’t know what it meant, if indeed it would mean anything. But she’d agreed.
He cradled the side of her face, and her eyes widened at the contact. “You have no idea how much you have pleased me. I want to kiss you, Grace. Just like last time. Remember?”
“I remember.”
He moved forward on his knees, pressed between her thighs. He was desperate to taste her. He hovered over her lips, then claimed her mouth. She tasted like sweet brandy, heady, intoxicating and oh so tempting. He slanted his mouth against hers, slowly exploring the softness, the lushness. When her lips parted on a sigh, he slipped his tongue in to explore the recesses of her mouth. Heat leapt to his groin when her tongue tentatively met his own.
She leaned forward in the chair, the leather creaking, until her chest grazed his. He was afraid to move, afraid she’d push him away. He needn’t have worried. Her fingers grazed his arms, then reached up to grasp his biceps. With a low growl, he slid his hand around her neck, and caressed the tender skin there as his mouth covered hers hungrily. He touched her with only one hand and his lips, yet lust consumed him.
He pulled her closer until she sat on the very edge of the chair. Her hands rose and her fingers dug into his hair. She made a sexy mewling sound deep in her throat that drove him wild.
He could no longer stop himself from touching more of her. He reached for her, one large hand curving around her ankle and trailing a palm up her calf to stop at her knee. He reveled in the touch of her satiny skin without her stockings. Her legs were slim, and the exposed flesh tempted him, drew him to touch her. “Your legs are lovely. Long, slender, and perfect. Like you.”
He became urgent. His hands ran up her legs, bunching the cotton fabric higher, and he pressed himself between her splayed thighs. Before he could go farther, she tugged on his hair and pulled away.
The fringe of her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks in the candlelight. “Wait. I need to know. Why did you come home?”
“For you.”
“For me?” Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin cotton, and he wanted to bury his face in her breasts. To worship her flesh until she begged him not to stop.
“It’s our wedding night,” he said.
“Have you forgotten what I said?” she whispered.
She still intended to keep him from her? Impossible.
“No, love. Have you forgotten what I said? I never agreed not to try to seduce you.”