Read Lady Iona's Rebellion for Free Online

“Tell me he tried to harm you. Just say the word.”
    “Stop this!” Iona squeezed between them and held up her hands. Her rounded backside pressed up against Nathan. He groaned.
    Grainger must have noticed the flare of lust. His frown grew and he began to swing his fist.
    Iona held up her hands. “There will be absolutely no hitting in my presence.”
    Not quite the defense Nathan had hoped for from her. She had sought him out, after all. Still, relief swept through him. In no way did he wish to become embroiled in a public brawl.
    “I shall call him out on your behalf,” Talbot proclaimed and whipped off a glove. “I shall champion your honor.”
    Nathan rolled his eyes. This popinjay was laying his bravado on a little thick. He knew Iona. She wouldn’t appreciate any man dueling because of her. Duels weren’t proper. In fact, they were downright illegal.
    She’d never stand for such a thing…he hoped.
    She held her tongue longer than Nathan thought wise. A killer’s gleam had begun to darken Talbot’s features. The man slapped his glove against his thigh. Was this what she wanted? Surely she didn’t understand that blood and death were frequently the outcome of duels.
    Needless trouble, duels were, foolish endeavors all too often pursued by cuckolded husbands.
    “You have no claim on Lady Iona,” Nathan said. “You have no right to champion her.”
    “Enough of this idiocy,” she ordered just as Talbot opened his mouth to argue. “I hear Lillian approaching. I’ll not have her involved in a scene.” She took Talbot’s arm, swung him around and gave his back a goodly shove toward her sister.
    “I will hold you to your word,” she tossed over her shoulder as she followed Talbot, her slender hips swaying.
    Nathan remained in the alcove. He closed his suddenly gaping mouth.
    “Was that Lord Nathan?” he heard Lillian ask, as the trio turned a corner. “Please vow to me he didn’t turn wild and try to ravish you.”
    Nathan groaned. It seemed he’d let society paint a sordid picture of his character for far too long. With all the members of the ton wary of him, winning Iona as a bride promised to prove much more difficult than he initially imagined.
    * * * * *
    Several hours later, Nathan tossed back a shot of whiskey and nearly toppled out of the wobbly wooden chair. Or perhaps it was the floor that wobbled? No matter, he didn’t plan on going much further than the rug at his feet anyhow. The young Mr. James Harlow had already collapsed onto the deep-hued Aubusson rug and was snoring loudly.
    “Drink up,” Lord Grainger Talbot slurred. He splashed more single malt whiskey into both their glasses. Quite an obliging chap, that Talbot.
    Not more than an hour ago, Talbot and Harlow had showed up at the small apartment Nathan had rented. The two men had barged inside without a by-your-leave, fully prepared to bash Nathan’s head into the floorboards.
    He would have been a bloody lump of bones and flesh if the two hadn’t gotten themselves into an argument over which one had the right to defend Lady Iona’s honor. Harlow insisted Iona harbored a secret passion for him, which had sent Talbot into a rage.
    Thanks to Nathan’s quick thinking and the bottle of fifteen-year-old whiskey he’d produced from his private stash of smuggled spirits, all violence had been averted.
    Nathan raised his cup and studied the distorted setting sunlight as it streamed through his cramped parlor’s spotless window and curled like a colorful rainbow of orange and red hues through his finely cut crystal glass. “Lady Iona needs to marry,” he said.
    “Yyyess,” Talbot drawled. “The gel is too damned stubborn for her own good.”
    “Doesn’t matter.” Nathan slammed his glass onto the table. A goodly portion of his drink sloshed onto the already sticky desktop. “A woman with her partenagg…partenshash…umm…pedigree could serve a man well.”
    “A man like you, I suppose?”
    “She could do worse,”