The room was feminine and luxurious but practical as well. The décor of the dressing room was a direct compliment to that of the bedchamber. The walls were the same green, the curtains, moldings, and fireplace similar but far more elaborate. A plush Persian rug of green, gold, and rust covered the wood floors. Numerous gold-framed paintings filled the walls, a display of Hero’s love of art. An embroidery hoop stood next to a comfortable chair near the fireplace. All around the room were things that told the tale of Hero Conagham, but Ian noticed all those things only peripherally, for all his attention was ensnared by the bed that dominated the room.
It was a large four-posted rosewood bed with simple yet elegant carvings on the posts and headboard. A canopy arched above it dressed in a tailored green that matched the walls, while the curtains and bed coverings matched as well, with pillows adding splashes of pattern and muted color. But for the fringe along the edge of the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, there were no frills and no lace to be seen. Simple. Elegant. As was Hero herself.
He didn’t know what side she’d slept on or whether she slept in the middle. All he knew was that if he shared that bed with her, they’d explore all corners of it before collapsing in each other’s arms, their passion spent.
Similar fantasies of her surrender haunted his nights. Her luscious skin brushing against his, her breasts in his hands, his mouth on her body, while his body demanded that he take, that he devour. She would be beautiful in her passion, he wagered.
Arousal, ever lingering these days, stirred anew at the thought. She’d met his kisses with such abandon last night. It had caused him physical pain to walk away knowing she was ready and willing. He could have her. Take her. Slake his lust and ease his pain.
Her question was a valid one. What was he waiting for?
Ian knew the answer before the thought finished echoing in his mind. He wanted not only her body but her heart as well. Her mind. For the first time in his life, he refused to take one without the other.
Rolling his eyes skyward, he nearly choked on the thought, fighting the truth of it. Hero was coming to care for him, true. When he looked into her brilliant mosaic eyes, there was more than desire. There was affection growing. Respect. Perhaps even blossoming love.
He wanted that along with her passion in his bed. One of the two simply would not do.
Courting. Ian almost chuckled now as the word crossed his mind once again. He’d given the idea a lot of thought since he had voiced his intentions so rashly to Hero in the music room. He had wondered at himself, wondered how he’d traversed the battleground between the abstract concept of possessing Hero and taking her for his own to unconsciously acting on it. It hadn’t taken a fraction of a moment since then for Ian to admit to what he wanted and to plot his course. What had lingered vaguely in the back of his mind had become more intentional.
Aye, he’d marry, but not Daphne and not purely for the sake of the marquessate. A much more appealing option awaited him. An option that would grant him a lifetime of divine exploration, if a lifetime would even be enough.
A cacophony of drums, cymbals, and organs broke the silence of the night.
“What the bloody hell?”
It took a minute for him to realize the distorted sound was music. But from where? Had a full orchestra descended upon Cuilean at midnight?
Running back through the dressing rooms, he flung open his bedroom door and froze at the sight of Hero emerging from the State Room across the landing. She was tying the sash on a peacock blue silk dressing gown as she looked up and stiffened at the sight of him there as well.
Given the seductive images that had been dancing through his mind, the sight of her in her bedclothes with her dressing gown tight around her hips, her golden hair loose about her shoulders, brought them all flooding back along with the arousal. He wanted nothing more than to draw her into his rooms, watch that slippery silk slide from her shoulders and puddle on the floor and enact them all.
Regrettably it was a difficult fantasy to entertain or sustain with the loud chamber music floating up from below.
“It’s the orchestrion,” she said in response to his unasked question, adding with a shrug when he continued to stare, “Papa.”
With a snort bordering on a chuckle, Ian followed her around the landing to the head of the stairs and took her hand as they descended. “What makes you think it’s your father?”
“Who else could it be?” Hero grinned as they reached the ground floor, circling around the oval hall to the rear of the castle and into the music room next to the billiards room. “He must have noticed it last night and gotten curious.”
The volume crescendoed until Ian was hard pressed not to cover his ears upon reaching the music room. The half dozen servants gathered in the hall in various states of undress outside showed no such restraint. Boyle yelled to Hero with his fingers still stuck in his ears, “We thought it best to wait for you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Boyle.” She patted the butler’s arm and with a deep breath, plunged into the pandemonium. She shouted to Ian as he followed, “I told you it was not well-suited to such a small venue.”
The laughter escaped him this time. “No, it is not.”
Their smiles faded as they found the duke standing in the center of the room wearing nothing but a nightshirt. Even his feet were bare. His fingers were also in his ears and he was yelling at the top of his lungs over and over again, “So loud! So loud!”
Hero rushed over to the hulking monstrosity of horns and cymbals that stood against one wall and bent, reaching under the thing for a moment before coming up with a small plug hooked about one finger. Air whooshed from beneath the beast and the cacophony of instruments whimpered to a halt with one last pitiful sigh.
The sound was echoed in everyone’s sigh of relief, but the duke still bellowed, “Loud! Loud! Loud!” Ears plugged and eyes closed tightly, Beaumont looked on the verge of apoplexy. Ian reached his side just as Hero did, but she was the one to grab his hands first.
“Papa,” she shouted right into his face with no response. She shook him and screeched desperately, “Papa! Look at me.”
Beaumont stopped and opened his eyes, suddenly looking very calm when just seconds before he’d looked ready to burst. “I thought I told you to call me Harry.”
Hero sagged with a strangled sound, covering her face with her hands, but this time Ian knew it wasn’t laughter or amusement that choked her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her to a chair and sank down to his haunches before her. “Are you all right?”
She peeked up at him and he saw the tears glistening in her eyes and knew he’d been correct. It hadn’t been a chuckle but a sob she’d bitten back. The duke’s panic clearly frightened her. Turning, Ian waved away the crowd at the door. “Back to bed, all of you. The show is over.”
