The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie(52)
“He’s used to me disappearing. I always turn up again. He knows that.”
Beth studied him. “Why do you disappear?”
“Sometimes it gets too much for me. Trying to follow what people say, trying to remember what I’m supposed to do so people will think I’m normal. Sometimes the rules are too hard. So I go.”
Beth traced his muscular arm with her fingernail. “Where do you go?”
“Most times to the wilds around Kilmorgan. It’s a vast place, and I can lose myself for a long time. You’ll like it there.”
She ignored this. “What about other times?”
“Courtesans’ houses. As long as I pay, they leave me be. I don’t have to think of conversation there.”
Beth had grown used to Ian’s bluntness, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear about his being with other women. She imagined that courtesans were happy to give Ian sanctuary whenever he wanted it. He was rich, had the body of a god, and possessed devastating charm, especially when he smiled. Even his sideways look gave him a roguish quality. If she were a courtesan, she’d give Ian a special rate.
“Anywhere else?”
“Sometimes I take a train to a place I’ve never been or hire a horse and ride into the countryside. To find somewhere I can be alone.”
“Your family must go wild with worry.”
Ian propped himself on his arm and drew his finger between Beth’s breasts. “They did at first. Hart never wanted to let me out of his sight.”
“But he eventually did, obviously.”
“He used to be furious when I went. Threatened to have me locked up again.”
Beth’s anger stirred. “His Grace the duke sounds a great bully.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “He realized I was going, no matter what. Curry took my side. Told Hart to fuck himself.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “And Curry is still alive?”
“As you see.”
“Good for Curry.”
“Hart worries, that’s all.”
Beth frowned. “He let you out of the asylum and got your commission of lunacy reversed. Why, so you could help him win at high finance?”
“I don’t much care why he did it. I only care that he did.” Beth grew suddenly angry with Hart. “It’s not fair. He shouldn’t use you so.”
“I don’t mind.”
“But—“
Ian put his fingers on her lips. “I’m not a servant. I help when I can but take something for myself.”“Like when you disappear for days at a time.” “Hart could have let me rot in that asylum. I’d be there now if not for him. I don’t mind reading his treaties and moving around his stocks if that’s what it takes to pay him back.”
Beth twined her fingers through his. “I suppose I can be grateful to him for letting you out, at least.”
Ian stroked the backs of her fingers, not listening. His warmth covered her like a blanket, and his breath burned as he kissed the line of her hair. “Tell me about your husband,” he murmured.
“Thomas?” Now? “Why?”
“You loved him desperately. What was that like?” Beth lay quietly, remembering. “When he died, I thought I would die, too.”
“You hadn’t known him very long.”
“That didn’t matter. When you love, especially with all your heart, it comes upon you so fast, you don’t have time to resist.”
“And then he died,” Ian said. “And you can never love that deeply again.”
“I don’t know.”
Liar. Beth knew she was falling stupidly in love with Ian, and she had no idea how to stop herself. What is the matter with me?
She answered her own question when Ian suddenly gave her a bruising, punishing kiss. Her tension dissolved and she gladly slipped her arms around him, holding him close. Ian made it evident he didn’t want to talk anymore. He shoved her legs apart with a strong hand and pushed his way inside her again, no argument.
Mrs. Barrington would say that only a very loose woman would let a man have his way with her without protest. Beth rocked back on the pillows and spread her thighs, happily violating Mrs. Barrington’s strictures in every way. Beth slept again. When she woke, the window was a dim gray square. Ian stood to one side of it, looking out. Rain still beat down, but the thunder had abated. Ian was naked, and he rested one hand on the wall, his glorious backside half turned to her.
In the gloomy light that played on his powerful muscles, he reminded Beth of the perfect male sculptures she’d seen in the Louvre. But those sculptures had been marble and alabaster; Ian was like living bronze.