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BOOK: Dangerous to Love

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T
he dining room glittered with light. The two candelabras had been lowered, cleaned, and now gleamed with the flames of a hundred candles. Every wall sconce, lamp, and candlestick contributed to the glow, and the sweet smell of beeswax competed with the savory scents of the meal just completed.

The table was crowded with people. His family, Ivan realized, as he gazed in turn at each of them. From being alone to being surrounded by family—more family than he sometimes wanted—he’d come a very long way in the past five years. And all on account of his Lucy.

He stared down the long table at her and his heart swelled with love and pride. She was beautiful, both inside and out, and she’d brought him a contentment he could never have foreseen. Even this, a dinner in honor of his grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday, could not dim his happiness.

“A toast to long life,” Sir Laurence said, rising with some effort to his feet. He lifted his glass and so did everyone else.

“Here, here,” Sir James said. He and Valerie sat side by side, as they always insisted they must. Ivan had never seen Sir James tipsy before, and he chuckled at the sight of the somber scholar grinning like a fool.

Lucy’s brother and his family were here, the nieces and nephews each with their own glass of wine. Derek and Stanley would soon be as tall as their father, and in the past year Prudence had matured into a lovely young woman. But Lucy would not be the one chaperoning her in town next spring when she had her first season. He had no intention of giving his wife up for so long a period of time.

Alex had come from town for tonight’s party. He was a favorite with the dowager countess, so Lucy had insisted. Giles was here too, though Elliot could not get away. That was just as well, for Ivan still felt a twinge of jealousy whenever the man greeted Lucy. Elliot was not a man to trust with any woman, even his best friend’s wife.

And no wonder, for what a wife she was. Tonight, with her hair swept up, her gown cut low, and her favorite shawl—his shawl—draped across her shoulders, she was a sight that would give pleasure even to a blind man.

A tug on his sleeve drew Ivan’s attention and he looked down at Raphael, who sat to his right. “May I make a toast, Father? May I?”

Ivan grinned at the image of his four-year-old son struggling to cover a yawn. It was well past his normal bedtime, but tonight they’d made an exception. He rumpled the boy’s dark hair. “Of course you may.” He tapped his knife against his wine goblet, then helped Rafe to stand on his chair.

The boy raised his glass of apple cider as he’d seen the adults do. He grinned at his father and then down the table at his mother. Finally he turned his impish attention on his grandmother, who sat in the middle of the table opposite him.

“Happy birthday to the best great-grandmother in the whole wide world.”

Amidst the laughter and shouts of “Hear, hear!” Ivan waited for the familiar bitterness to set in. He hadn’t wanted his son to love her. He hadn’t wanted a child of his to have anything to do with the old crone. But Lucy had insisted and he had relented. Now he couldn’t deny the true affection that lay between the old woman and her innocent great-grandchild.

When the dowager countess smiled at the boy, however, what little there was of Ivan’s bitterness melted away. She loved his son, almost as much as he did. For that matter, the old woman seemed to love Lucy too. And she would undoubtedly love the new child growing beneath his wife’s heart.

He lifted his glass in response to his beloved son’s toast and drank with the rest of his guests. Happy birthday to the best great-grandmother in the world. For as terrible a grandmother as she’d been, even he had to admit that she’d proven to be a doting great-grandparent.

Around him the room resounded with happy chatter. Servants moved about, refilling glasses. Derek and Stanley begged to be allowed a second glass of wine, and with a shrug their father agreed.

But Ivan’s eyes were drawn to his wife’s brilliant gaze. Twelve feet of polished mahogany, glittering crystal, and shining silver separated them, but he read the message in her eyes. She had seen his raised glass. She’d seen him quaff the remainder of his wine. And somehow she knew that he’d made peace with his past.

Then she smiled and the warmth of it flooded him, as always, with love—her love, and as a result, the love of this big, noisy family. Yes, the past was past. Lucy had seen to that. He would never be able to thank her enough.

“Come, give me a kiss, lad,” Antonia called to Rafe, and the boy jumped to do his bidding.

Ivan watched him go. He saw how the feeble old woman embraced his son. Then she looked up at him and for a moment their eyes held.

It lasted only a moment, for Rafe said something to her and her gaze shifted back to the child. But it was long enough for Ivan to know that she regretted the past. She’d told him as much, but that look said so much more. A title was convenient. Wealth was most definitely an asset. But family was everything.

A lump lodged in his throat and he sought Lucy once more with his eyes. She was smiling at Rafe in his great-grandmother’s arms. But as if she felt the touch of his gaze, she looked back at Ivan.

I love you
, she said in that silent way she had of communicating with only her eyes and a smile.
I love you.

And yes, family is everything.

St. Martin’s Paperbacks titles by Rexanne Becnel

HEART OF THE STORM
THE MAIDEN BRIDE
DANGEROUS TO LOVE

Passionate praise for the novels of Rexanne Becnel

THE MAIDEN BRIDE

“Becnel spins an absorbing, sexually charged tale of revenge and redemption in twelfth-century England.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A masterfully told story by skillful and inventive author Rexanne Becnel. She has imbued her medieval romance with just the right amount of drama and sweet poignancy to capture a reader’s heart and mind.”

—
Romantic Times

“THE MAIDEN BRIDE pulled me into the medieval period with the force of a whirlpool, and held me prisoner until the end.”

—
Rendezvous

“Ms. Becnel spins a fascinating story of customs, marriage, and love in twelfth-century England. Her characters are intense and vibrant, their lives complex.”

—The Time Machine

HEART OF THE STORM

“Great characters, a riveting plot and loads of sensuality … a fabulous book. I couldn’t put it down!”

—Joan Johnston, author of
Maverick Heart

“Tempestuous and seductive, this winner from Rexanne Becnel will enthrall from the first page to the last.”

—Deborah Martin, author of
Stormswept

WHERE MAGIC DWELLS

“A passionate, compelling story filled with engaging characters.”

—
Library Journal

A DOVE AT MIDNIGHT

“A non-stop read. Rexanne Becnel understands the medieval mindset, and beguiling characters’ passions and adventures will hold you enthralled. Once more, Ms. Becnel demonstrates that she is a master of her craft.”

—Romantic Times

DANGEROUS TO LOVE

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

eISBN 9781250011138

First eBook Edition : September 2011

St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition/November 1997