Free Lady Iona's Rebellion by Dorothy McFalls Page A

One that nearly ended with a trip to the altar. He couldn’t have set up a situation riper for scandal even if he’d tried.
    Perhaps scandal came to him so naturally now that he didn’t have to try anymore.
    Instead of listening to his own instincts and sense of honor, he’d let Iona drag him into this madcap scheme and had let her countermand all of his honorable decisions.
    Which begged the question, what power did Iona hold over him?
    Mere friendship?
    Good Lord, no. But if not friendship, then what?
    Certainly not love…
    * * * * *
    The next morning, Nathan prowled within his stuffy apartment feeling more and more cramped and uncomfortable with each step. And his ears were fast growing sore from listening to his valet fret and scold, all because Nathan had returned home late last night with his clothes and boots ruined.
    He had told his valet to toss the damned garments out. It wasn’t as if he wanted to keep around reminders of having seen a nearly naked Lady Iona. Freddie had insisted he could salvage them. But not apparently without uttering a score of complaints first.
    Which was sorely trying Nathan’s patience. Overnight, the weather had turned blaring hot and humid. With all this blasted heat and his sleepless night—thanks to his recalling only too well how perfectly Iona’s plump little breasts fit in the palm of his hands—his first inclination was to escape from these cramped rooms and go to the Pump Room, a popular morning social venue.
    Many of the summer residents visited the Pump Room to drink the medicinal sulfur waters that bubbled out of an ornate marble vase, after being pumped in from one of the many hot springs located in and around the town. Others came to promenade within the handsome portico, listen to the musicians set up on the southern side of the room and socialize with friends.
    Iona often accompanied her mother and sister to the Pump Room. And Nathan was most anxious to discover how her nerves were faring after last evening’s adventure. Not that it would be proper to approach her, considering how he’d so thoroughly fondled and kissed her. If he were any kind of gentleman, he would do well to stay far, far away from her.
    She probably didn’t wish to see him again. He imagined that his plan to suitably frighten her back to her safe, albeit dull, lifestyle might have worked only too well. She was likely cursing his name and vowing to never again traipse off alone with a notorious rake.
    But to never see Lady Iona again? A pit of dread sank into his stomach. Never ? That wouldn’t suit his plans at all.
    If he were going to use a prim and proper marriage to the paragon of grace and propriety to get back into his family’s good books, he would have to woo Iona in a very public and staid manner. So why wasn’t he rushing over to the Pump Room to do just that?
    Because of his father, that’s why. The old goad would be marching around the marble interior, barking commands at the attendants while downing six glasses of the sulfur waters, instead of the recommended three, for good measure.
    And his father would try to block Nathan’s interest in any respectable lady, fearing that Nathan might sully the Wynter family name yet again.
    If Nathan had any hope of winning Iona’s hand and society’s nod of approval, he would be wise to act without his father’s knowledge. Which made visits to the Pump Room quite off-limits. Still, he couldn’t stay in this sweltering heat and listen to his valet’s complaints a moment longer.
    “I believe I will take breakfast at Sydney Hotel this morning,” he said abruptly, interrupting Freddie’s grousing mid-sentence. He stopped his pacing, took a peek in the gilded mirror that hung beside the front door and adjusted the Gordian knot of his cravat.
    Mercifully, Freddie remained silent long enough to help him don a snug-fitting olive-colored single-breasted frock on over a sky blue-and-white-striped waistcoat. The round little valet then