But would that be enough? Ian shook his head as the question rose in his mind. Enough for what? Good God, all he was looking for was a mutually satisfying affair. Perhaps it was her very naiveté that put such thoughts into his head. Hero Conagham wasn’t the sort to fall into bed with a man she didn’t care for.
Would that be so bad? Another question he pushed aside, putting the blame on long, lonely nights on the battlefield, and raised her hand to his lips. Nudging up the cuff of her sleeve with his thumb, he pressed another kiss to the inside of her wrist. With a flare of satisfaction, he felt her pulse race beneath his lips. “Good morning, Lady Ayr. Of course I am eagerly anticipating our day. I ate an early breakfast so that I might get some work done, thereby allowing myself the reward of your uninterrupted company.”
“Did you?”
Truthfully, he’d spent a sleepless night, riddled with sexual frustration, and he wondered if she’d been left as unsatisfied by their abbreviated encounter as he. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you,” she responded blithely. “The State Room is a lovely bedchamber.”
Ian inwardly groaned. For all that Hero had given him reason to hope that she might welcome advances from him, it was clear to see that either she hadn’t a clue how strongly she affected him or she was simply too inexperienced to appreciate the state she’d left him in. There was little he could say on the matter, however, with her father by her side. “I’m sorry you were unable to resume residence in your old rooms.”
She laughed then, her eyes twinkling. “It would hardly be proper for me to inhabit the marchioness’s chambers when they are attached to your own.”
Yet I would love to have you there, so near,he thought. With a rueful chuckle, he acknowledged that it was better that Hero was far removed from him at night. Such temptation so close at hand would be too much to bear. It had been hard enough picturing her across the hall.
Aware of Hero’s father eyeing him curiously, Ian turned to the duke with a bow. “Good morning, your grace. Did you sleep well?”
“Who are you?” Beaumont asked with a frown.
“Papa, this is the marquess. You met him yesterday when we shared his carriage,” Hero said patiently. “The Marquess of Ayr.”
“Your husband?”
“No, Papa, my husband died last year. Don’t you recall?”
“How sad.” The duke studied him intently for a moment. Whatever troubles the duke pondered must have faded away, for a smile replaced the worried frown. “Did you try the porridge at breakfast, sir? I thought it most outstanding.”
“It was, indeed, your grace. Perhaps the finest porridge I’ve ever had,” Ian agreed. “I believe we have your daughter to thank for the fine meals served at Cuilean. She was the one who engaged the cook.”
The duke patted her hand affectionately, leaning in to whispersotto voceto Ian. “She’s a very clever girl.”
“Aye, she is.”
“Very pretty, too.”
Ian turned to find Hero’s cheeks blossoming a becoming shade of pink. “Aye, she is indeed.”
“Papa, really!” she chided before addressing Ian. “Pay him no mind, my lord. He’s just teasing.”
“Then I am not to agree with him?” Ian asked with raised brows. “How can I not? You are most fetching this morning. Though perhaps pretty is not the word I would choose.”
Hero’s lips parted then before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and Ian grinned roguishly, aware that she’d nearly taken his invitation to fish for compliments. Instead, she blushed once more and glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You shouldn’t toy with me so, my lord.”
“Who’s toying?” he asked with an innocent shrug. “You are as lovely as this glorious day. And I thought we had agreed that you would call me Ian.”
“Ian?” Beaumont cut in with a joyful smile. “I once had a cousin named Ian whom I liked quite well. His hounds were the best I’ve ever seen.”
Ian couldn’t help but smile at the older man’s enthusiasm. “It pleases me that my name rouses such happy memories, your grace. Perhaps you might help me to convince your daughter to address me as such.”
“You should, Daughter,” the duke said immediately. “We don’t want to be rude. I’ll even let him call me Harry. No one’s called me Harry since I was a young lad.”
“I would be honored, Harry.” Ian bent in a slight bow and grinned devilishly at Hero, who just rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Papa, I shouldn’t …”
“Harry,” the duke insisted of her as well.
“Papa, really,” Hero sighed in frustration but Beaumont just crossed his arms over his burly chest and scowled at her. She shook her head once more in resignation. “Harry.”
