The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie(66)

His words died and he began to rub his temple, frustration glinting in his eyes. Beth put her hand over his. “Don’t think of it.”

“It plays over and over and over again, like a melody that won’t stop.”



Beth softly rubbed his temple, his hard fingers beneath hers.

He pulled her close. “Your being with me makes it stop. It’s like the Ming bowls—when I touch them and feel them, everything stops. Nothing matters. You are the same. That is why I brought you here, to keep you with me, where you can please make . .. everything . . . stop.”



Chapter Fifteen



Beth stared up at him, her blue eyes wet. “Tell me how.” He held her face between his hands, her beautiful face that had jolted through the clamor in his head at the Covent Garden Opera House. She’d been the only thing real to him in Lyndon Mather’s box; everything else had been shadowy and wrong.“Stay with me.”

“We’re married,” she whispered. “Of course I’ll stay.” “You could decide to leave me.” He leaned his forehead to hers, remembering the horrible day that he’d gone to Mac’s house with the farewell letter Isabella had written. Ian had never forgotten Mac’s devastation when he’d realized that Isabella was gone.

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I have promised. I do promise.”

Her voice rang with sincerity, her eyes wide and lovely. He kissed her lips so she wouldn’t keep giving him reassuring lies. Isabella had loved Mac desperately, and yet she’d left him.

“Stay with me,” he repeated.

She nodded into his kiss. He drew her body against his, fingers finding the buttons of her bodice. Her chest came into view, and he leaned down and kissed it. She made a soft noise, and he suckled her skin, branding her yet again.



He felt her hands parting his clothes, burrowing past the layers of fabric to find him. She put her mouth to his chest just below the hollow of his throat, and he inhaled sharply. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, driving him a little bit mad.

Ian pulled her up to him and kissed her, parting her lips, pressing his thumbs to the corners of her mouth. She was his wife, and he wanted her. For now, for always. He swiftly unbuttoned the rest of her bodice, then untied her stays in little jerks. He pushed them from her body, then unfastened her chemise, catching her bare breasts as they tumbled out. She arched back as he kissed her again, pressing her nipples tight against his palms.Unlacing and pushing away her skirts and bustle and petticoats took some time, and he became impatient, tearing fabric while she squeaked a protest. He lifted her and carried her to the bed, then pulled off his own clothes with the same impatience. He climbed up with her, not bothering to pull back the bedclothes. When she started to speak, he silenced her with a deep kiss.

He pushed her legs apart and entered her, finding her plenty wet for him. Beth lifted her hips and met him thrust for thrust, already used to what felt best to her. He rode her quickly, then slowly, his arms braced on either side of her. He kissed her with swollen lips, put love bites on her neck, licked her sweating skin.

Once his initial frenzy was over, he became gender, more playful. He draped her long hair over his body, stroking it, fisting it, kissing it.

He kissed her and loved her in utter silence. Nothing else existed but this twilit room with Beth under him—not Hart, not Fellows, not the murders.

He sensed her trying to make him look straight into her eyes, but he evaded her. If Ian looked directly at her, he’d get lost, and he didn’t want to distract himself from the physical reality of thrusting into her.

He loved her until the sky brightened, the short night rushing past. She smiled sleepily at him as he withdrew the final time, and he kissed her before dropping onto the bed beside her.

He slid his arm around her warm abdomen and spooned her back against him. Her shapely backside fit nicely against his hips, giving him ideas for the next round of loving. He looked at his large, strong hand covering her slim waist, his arm brown against her white skin. Ian would keep her safe with him here, so safe she’d never, ever want to leave. When Beth woke, she found the covers pulled around her and Ian still with her. Before she could ask about breakfast, his smile turned predatory. He pressed her back into the pillows and made love to her again, swift and hard, until she was breathless with it.

“We should get up now,” she whispered when he lay still again, on top of her, idly kissing her neck. “Why?”

“Won’t your brother expect us for breakfast?”

“I told Curry to serve us in here.”

Beth stroked his cheek. “I certainly hope you pay Curry high wages.”