Lady Iona's Rebellion by Dorothy McFalls

thawing. Because she didn’t.
    He’d burned, tossing in his lonely bed all night after being ignited by her inexperienced but all too honest kisses. Her searing passions had licked his body, leaving him aching and as temperamental as a rutting stallion.
    “You have to agree, Wynter, that stubborn gel has been a virgin for far too long,” Talbot said, making himself a very tempting target for punching. “It isn’t healthy. Or fair to us men. You said it yourself yesterday, she needs to marry. A beauty the likes of hers shouldn’t be hoarded, except by her husband, of course. What she needs is a thorough seduction.”
    “A seduction?” Nathan’s voice grew tighter.
    “No one in all of England is more skilled at seducing the ladies than you. At least that is if we are to believe your reputation,” Harlow said.
    “We do believe your reputation,” Talbot assured him as if Nathan cared what either man thought of him. “I’ve seen him in action with my own eyes, Harlow. He is quite skilled.”
    “And what is it you want from me? Seduce the lady for you?”
    “No! Nothing like that,” Talbot said, clearly shocked by such an outrageous idea. “What we need are lessons.”
    “Lessons?” First Iona and now Talbot and Harlow? Good God, perhaps he needed to consider opening a school. An institute for the edification of aspiring adventuresses and hopelessly bungling lovers.
    As amusing as the idea sounded, it wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever.
    “No. Now go away.” He grabbed Talbot’s wrist suddenly and gave it a vicious squeeze. “And stay the blazes away from Lady Iona.”
    He’d burn in hell before he’d help either man try and seduce his Lady Iona. Especially considering how she was firmly set in his own matrimonial sights.
    Talbot, trying to twist away from Nathan’s crushing hold, doggedly offered to pay for such unusual schooling while Harlow pouted. The whole affair was on the verge of tipping over into the ridiculous when Freddie showed up at the table, huffing and wheezing and with a nervous twitch in his eye.
    “I beg your pardon, m’lord,” he said as he struggled to catch his breath. His poor out-of-shape valet must have trotted the entire distance. “I don’t mean to disturb your breakfast, m’lord, but this just arrived by messenger. The lad said it was dreadfully urgent.”
    Nathan released Talbot’s wrist and snatched the folded foolscap from Freddie’s stubby fingers just as his heart plummeted straight into his stomach. He stared at the flowery handwriting, frightened of what news the letter might give.
    The circumstances suddenly felt too similar to that horrible night a little over a year ago when an urgent message had been rushed to him in the widow Sharpes’ bedroom.
    His father . Something was wrong with his father.
    The old man had overtaxed himself. Nathan should have been more forceful with him, despite his father’s grumbling. He should have been more determined to coddle him, to protect him against growing ill from the exertion of his travels. The Marquess was still weak from his illness and had no business marching about after such a long trip. Nathan should have probably carried the old man into the Royal Crescent townhouse himself.
    If something happened to that curmudgeon before Nathan could win his approval, he knew he would never forgive himself.
    Fearing the worst, he broke the plain wax seal and devoured the letter’s carefully penned words.
    “What is it?” Talbot asked. “Bad news?” He must have read the concern on Nathan’s face, for he dropped his insistent demand to pay for seduction lessons. He leaned over and tried to read the letter. Even young Harlow lifted his head long enough to grimace with concern.
    Feeling a little baffled, Nathan quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket.
    Apparently Iona had woken up this morning more resolved than ever to continue her scandalous lessons.
    Which made Talbot and Harlow’s abject