With a physical effort Elizabeth forced her eyes open and looked at him; what she saw made her heart beat almost painfully harder. In the candle glow his face was hard and dark with pa.s.sion, and the eyes gazing at her upturned face were blazing with it-and yet there was as much tenderness in them as there was desire. The combination made her ache with sudden yearning to make him feel all the exquisite things be was making her feel, but she didn't know how. Instead, she did the one thing she knew he liked. Spreading her fingers across his smoothly shaven jaw, she gazed unashamedly into his eyes and achingly whispered, "I love you."

His eyes darkened, but instead of speaking be caught her wrist and drew her hand to his chest. Elizabeth knew a moment of disappointment at his silence-and then she realized what he had done. He had pressed her hand against his heart so that she could feel its violent pounding and know that he was as wildly aroused as she. Her eyes filled with wonder, she gazed at him, and then, because she was suddenly filled with an urge to really look at him, she lowered her eyes to his broad, muscled chest with its light furring of dark hair. In the dim light his skin glowed like oiled bronze; his shoulders and arms were hard with bunched muscles. He was, Elizabeth thought, incredibly beautiful. She started to move her fingers, then hesitated, not certain if it was proper to touch him, and raised her questioning eyes to his.

Ian saw her uncertainty. "Yes," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. Elizabeth realized that he was dying to be touched, and the knowledge filled her with a mixture of delight and pride as she slid her hands over the rigid muscles of his chest, watching as they flinched reflexively in pa.s.sionate reaction to her feathery touch. He felt, she thought, like bunched satin, and she brushed a kiss near his arm, and then with more daring she kissed his nipple, touching her tongue to it, feeling his sharp intake of breath, the reflexive clenching of his hands on her back as she continued sliding her hands lower. In fact, she was so engrossed with the pleasure she was deriving from pleasing him as she pressed languid kisses down his chest that it was several seconds before she realized that his hand was no longer sliding up and down over her hip, but that it was forcing insistently between her legs.

Helpless to stop the instinctive reaction, Elizabeth clamped her legs together, her stricken gaze flying to his as nameless panic shot through her. "Don't, darling," he whispered thickly, his hot gaze on her while his fingers toyed amid the springy hair, stroking. "Don't close against me." Hiding her face against his chest, Elizabeth drew a shaky breath and forced herself to obey, then moaned with pleasure, not humiliation or pain, while the stroking continued and became increasingly intimate, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him when at last his finger slid deeply into her wet warmth. "I love you," she whispered fiercely against his neck, and the sweetness of her yielding was almost Ian's undoing.

Shifting her onto her back, he covered her mouth with his and began to increase the deep thrusts of his finger. When her hips started to move instinctively against his hand he eased himself between her legs, his rigid shaft poised at her entrance. Desperate to sheathe himself in her and simultaneously dreading the pain he was going to cause her, he lifted her slim hips to receive him. "I'm going to hurt you, sweetheart, because there's no other way. If I could take the pain for you, I would."

She did not turn her face away from him or try to twist free of his imprisoning grasp, and what she said made Ian's throat ache with emotion. "Do you know," she whispered with a teary smile, "how long I've waited to hear you call me 'sweetheart' again?"

"How long?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely. Putting her arms around his shoulders, Elizabeth braced herself for whatever pain was coming, knowing as he tensed that it was going to happen, talking as if she could calm herself. "Two years I've waited and w-"

Her body jerked and a sharp gasp tore from her, but the pain was gone almost as quickly as the sound, and her husband was already easing deeper into her tight pa.s.sage until she was filled with his heat and strength, holding him tightly to her, lost in the sheer beauty of the slow, deep strokes he was beginning to take. Guided by pure instinct and a wealth of love, Elizabeth willingly molded her hips to his and began to match his movements, and in doing so she unwittingly drove Ian to unparalleled agonies of desire as he held himself back, determined to ensure her climax before he had his own. He began to quicken his deep thrusts, circling his hips, and the young temptress in his arms matched his movements, clasping his pulsing shaft in her tight warmth.

Elizabeth felt something wild and primitive building inside her, racing through her veins, jarring through her body. Her head moved fitfully on the pillow as she waited for it, sought whatever it was that Ian was trying to give her as he drove into her again and again and then it exploded, making her gasp against his mouth and cry out.

His shoulders and arms taut with the strain of holding back, Ian thrust into her in short sharp movements, matching the spasms shaking her and pulling at him. The instant they subsided he tightened his arms around her and drove into her full length, pouring himself into her, startled when the groan he heard was his own. His body jerked convulsively again and again, and he clasped her to him, breathing in deep pants against her cheek, his heart raging in frantic tempo with hers, his life merging into hers.

When a little of his strength returned he moved onto his side, taking her with him, still a part of her. Her hair spilled over his naked chest like a rumpled satin waterfall, and he lifted a shaking hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her sweetness and unselfish ardor.

Several minutes later Elizabeth stirred in his arms, and he tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you are magnificent?"

She started to shake her head, then suddenly remembered that he had told her she was magnificent once before, and the recollection brought poignant tears to her eyes. "You did say that to me," she amended, brushing her fingers over his smooth shoulder because she couldn't seem to stop touching him. "You told me that when we were together-"

"In the woodcutter's cottage," he finished for her remembering the occasion as well. In reply she had chided him for acting as if he also thought Charise Dumont was magnificent, Ian remembered, regretting all the time they had lost since then. . . the days and nights she could have been in his arms as she was now. "Do you know how I spent the rest of the afternoon after you left the cottage?" he asked softly. When she shook her head, he said with a wry smile, "I spent it pleasurably contemplating tonight. At the time, of course. I didn't realize tonight was years away." He paused to draw the sheet up over her back so she wouldn't be chilled, then he continued in the same quiet voice, "I wanted you so badly that day that I actually ached while I watched you fasten that shirt you were wearing. Although," he added dryly, "that particular condition, brought on by that particular cause, has become my normal state for the last four weeks, so I'm quite used to it JIOW. I wonder if I'll miss it," he teased.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, realizing that he was perfectly serious despite his light tone.

"The agony of unfulfilled desire," he explained, brushing a kiss on her forehead, "brought on by wanting you."

"Wanting me?" she burst out, rearing up so abruptly that she nearly overturned him as she leaned up on an elbow, absently clutching the sheet to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Is this-what we've just done, I mean-"

"The Scots think of it as making love," he interrupted gently. "Unlike most English," he added with great scorn, "who prefer to regard it as 'performing one's marital duty."

"Yes," Elizabeth said absently, her mind on his earlier remark about wanting her until it caused him physical pain, "but is this what you meant all those times you've said you wanted me?"

His sensual lips quirked in a half smile. "Yes." A rosy blush stained her smooth cheeks, and despite her effort to sound severe, her eyes were lit with laughter. "And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do it with me... was this...?"

"Among other things," he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek.

"If I had known all this," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm certain I would have asked for additional concessions."

That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she'd realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. "What kind of additional concessions?" he asked, his face carefully expressionless.

She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. "A shorter betrothal," she whispered. "A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony."

A fresh surge of tenderness and profound pride swept through him at her sweetness and her candor, and he wrapped his arms tightly, protectively around her, smiling with joyous contentment. He had realized within minutes of meeting her that she was rare; he had known within hours that she was everything he wanted. Pa.s.sionate and gentle, intelligent, sensitive, and witty. He loved all of her qualities, but he hadn't discovered the one he particularly admired until much later, and that was her courage. He was so proud of the courage that had enabled her to repeatedly confront adversity and adversaries-even when the adversary was him. Without it she'd have been lost to him long ago; she'd have done what most of her s.e.x did, which was to find the first available male they could stomach and let him deal with life's unpleasantness. His Elizabeth hadn't done that; instead she'd tried to cope, not only with him, but with the terrible financial burdens she'd carried. That reminded him of how thrifty she was, and he promptly decided-at least for the moment-that her thriftiness was one of her most endearingly amusing qualities.

"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 embarra.s.sed 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 G.o.ddess.

"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 a.s.sets-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 gla.s.s 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 s.e.xual 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 t.i.tle."

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, darling?" 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 grat.i.tude.

"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."

Chapter 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 woD1an, 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 t.i.tle-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, he linked their fingers together, and opened his book. Elizabeth thought it was incredibly cozy to sit, curled up in a chair 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 comer 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 pa.s.s. 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 he was expecting would be there momentarily. As she explained her problem to him, she started shoving loose papers into the books, hurriedly trying to rea.s.semble 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'U have to start allover 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'U 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 sc.r.a.p 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 he 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 impa.s.sive, 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."

Embarra.s.sed regret surged through her at the understand. able 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 embarra.s.sment, 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 ent.i.tled 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.

For Ian that was no problem at all; he was always busy. Elizabeth solved her problem by agreeing, at the urging of some of the ton's most influential old guard, including the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Hawthorne, to join in a charitable endeavor to build a badly needed hospital on the outskirts of London. Unfortunately, the Hospital Fund Raising Committee, to which Elizabeth was a.s.signed, spent most of its time mired down in petty trivialities and rarely made a decision on anything. In a fit of tired frustration, Elizabeth finally asked Ian to step into their drawing room one day, while the committee was meeting there, and to give them the benefit of his expertise. "And," she laughingly warned him in the privacy of his study when he agreed to join them, "no matter how they prose on about every tiny, meaningless expenditure-which they will-promise me you won't point out to them that you could build six hospitals with less effort and time."

"Could I do that?" he asked, grinning. "Absolutely!" She sighed. "Between them, they must have half the money in Europe, yet they debate about every shilling to be spent as if it were coming out of their own reticules and likely to send them to debtors' gaol."

"If they offend your thrifty sensibilities, they must be a rare group," Ian teased. Elizabeth gave him a distracted smile, but when they neared the drawing room, where the committee was drinking tea in Ian's priceless sevres china cups, she turned to him and added hastily, "Oh, and don't comment on Lady Wiltshire's blue hat. "

"Why not?" "Because it's her hair." "I wouldn't do such a thing," he protested, grinning at her.

"Yes, you would!" she whispered, trying to frown and chuckling instead. "The dowager d.u.c.h.ess told me that, last night, you complimented the furry dog Lady Shirley had draped over her arm."

"Madam, I was following your specific instructions to be nice to the eccentric old harridan. Why shouldn't I have complimented her dog?"