A Bluestocking Christmas

Monica Burns

Copyright 2012 by Kathi B. Scearce

This digital book is a revised and expanded reissue of a publication by Monica Burns, first published in December 2006.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This digital book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This digital book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at monicaburns@monicaburns.com.

Copyright 2012 by Kathi B. Scearce

Cover Design for Reissue: P&N Graphics

Copyeditor: Rosie Murphy

Kathi B. Scearce DBA Monica Burns

P.O. Box 74788

Richmond, VA 23236

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Publishing History

Digital 1.0 edition / December 2006

Digital 2.0 edition / November 2012

1892

Chapter 1

“I want to know why.”

Simon’s voice was like a whip cracking in the air, and Ivy turned away from him. His angry demand didn’t surprise her. She’d known ending their liaison would not please him. She was certain no woman had ever dared to discard him as she was doing now.

His betrayal had only made it easier for her to end things between them. Ivy’s heart clenched painfully in her breast at the realization that Simon had no comprehension of how he’d betrayed her. In his arrogance, he’d brought the one person she never wanted to see again into her home. If he’d even bothered to ask, she would have vehemently objected to his intentions when it came to his seeking out her cousin.

Ivy swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She had no one to blame but herself. If she had kept her own counsel, he would never have thought to seek out Caroline. When her cousin had entered the salon a short time ago, the past had rushed up to assault her senses with the sharpness of a kitchen blade.

The constant reminders of her inferiority to the nobility, the rejection by her mother’s family, and the painful humiliation had rushed at her like a wall of water threatening to drown her. Worse than that was the memory of Caroline’s betrayal. Ivy’s hand pressed against the fluttering in her stomach. It only intensified the pain of her heart breaking with each breath she took.

“Damn it to hell, Ivy. Answer me.”

The fierce command made her mouth tighten with resentment. She’d never taken orders well from anyone, least of all a member of the peerage. It was a remnant from the days of her childhood when she’d been treated like a servant. Suppressing her anger, she squared her shoulders and slowly turned to face him. The sight of him made her throat close until it was difficult to breath. A tall, dark angel could not have looked more dangerous.

“What do you want me to say, Simon?” she asked quietly. “I thought I made it perfectly clear. I no longer wish to see you.”

“And I asked you why.”

Again the demand for an explanation. Ivy’s fingers tightened on the swag of material that hugged her hips as she prepared to weather the storm brewing about her. That she was facing his anger with a serenity she didn’t feel amazed her. More importantly, she could tell her calm manner was only increasing his ire. But she wasn’t about to reveal her heart, and the real reason for breaking off their liaison.

“Sometimes there isn’t a reason,” she lied.

“There’s always a reason,” he snarled. “Is it because of my title? I know how highly you think of the peerage.”

“If you’re suggesting our different social standings are of little consequence, might I remind you that you deemed me unsuitable for Anthony because you thought I was hoping to catch a nobleman for a husband.” At her bitter accusation, Simon frowned darkly.

“Goddamnit, that was before I knew you,” he exclaimed in a harsh voice.

“Still, it changes nothing, and today only confirms that in my mind.”

“Other than your treatment of Caroline a few moments ago, what does she have to do with this?”

“She means nothing to me.” The lie scraped across her heart. Seeing her cousin enter the salon had only emphasized how much she’d lost since leaving Parkland Manor.

“No? For a commoner, your condescending snub was worthy of even the most elite member of the Marlborough Set.” His words sliced through her, and her skin grew cold as he emphasized the difference in their social status.

“You should never have brought her here.” She instantly regretted the bitterness in her voice as he narrowed his gaze at her.

“I thought it would please you.” His rough explanation made Ivy’s heart skip a beat before she extinguished the brief spark of hope in her breast.

“You were mistaken. But it doesn’t matter. My decision is final. I have no wish to continue our liaison.”

“I don’t believe you,” Simon said with the impatience he always displayed when things weren’t to his liking.

“Believe what you like. I’ve already made plans to go to the country next week.”

It was a half-truth, but it would prevent him from trying to stop her from leaving for Italy the day after tomorrow. If she were to stay in England, he would find her. That she couldn’t risk. Her heart wouldn’t be able to bear it. A flash of what might have been fear flickered in his silver eyes, but she immediately dismissed the possibility as a familiar arrogance swept across his face.

“Change your plans.” The imperious command made her mouth tighten.

As usual, the man refused to take no for an answer. But isn’t that what you want, Ivy. Don’t you want him to fight for you? Don’t you want him to say your social standing is of no consequence to him? The voice in her head taunted her. More importantly, it frightened her because she knew it was precisely what she wanted. But she wanted Simon to do so for the right reason. She wanted more than the passion he felt for her.

“I can’t. The arrangements are already in place.”

“Can’t or won’t.” His clipped response made her swallow hard. He was making this far more difficult than she’d imagine.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes,” he snarled. “And if you think I’m going to let you go so easily, then you’re mistaken.”

The determination on his face made her heart pound violently in her chest. She needed to find a way to end this conversation. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to prevent herself from throwing herself into his arms and letting her emotions overrule her head. She wouldn’t be able to snap the invisible cord that connected her to him. If he were to break her resolve, she would be as vulnerable as a newborn babe. Her breath hitched at the thought. She didn’t have the strength to risk such a possibility.

“No, Simon. You’re the one who’s mistaken. There’s nothing more to say, and I want you to leave.”

Ivy turned away, afraid her true feelings would show on her face. She couldn’t bear it if he knew the truth. It would give him the power to keep her with him, and that was something she couldn’t afford to do. A second later, Simon’s strong hand gripped her arm as he forced her to face him.

Startled, she blinked in surprise as she stared up into his gray eyes. Once more, she saw the odd flash of emotion in his gaze, but it was gone before she could identify it, and angry frustration replaced it. Aware of her perilous condition, Ivy tried to jerk away from him. She didn’t succeed, and flinched at the determination darkening his face.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I have a lot more to say. But I don’t intend to use words.”

With a swift tug, Simon pulled her tight against him and covered her mouth with his in a searing kiss. The heat of it stirred her senses into a whirlwind of desire. A strong hand slid up her waist and then over the top of her breasts. She moaned with the need to feel his skin against hers one more time. Just one more moment of passion for her to remember.

Without thinking, she melted into his arms as her body and heart ignored the frantic warnings sounding in her mind. Familiar sensations tingled across her skin as his kiss deepened into the seductive caress that had always sent her pulse skittering wildly. She offered up no protest as he guided her toward the loveseat, his muscular legs pressing into hers. Almost instantly, the apex of her thighs was wet with desire, and she ached for him to assuage the need only he could fill.

The cool air brushed against her legs as he pushed her skirt upward over her stockings. A strong hand caressed her thigh, and her body instinctively arched upward. Warm fingers stroked her skin before they dipped into her wetness. Wild and wanton sensations held her hostage. They blinded her to everything but this moment and his touch. Nothing else mattered except for the overwhelming taste, scent, and feel of him.

Shuddering beneath his touch, desire drove her body to thrust up against his hand, while the need for him to complete her burrowed its way along every nerve ending in her body. Since the first time he’d touched her, she’d always been eager for his touch. Today was no different except that it would be the last time her heart would ever beat again.

The sobering thought pulled back the curtain of desire blinding her, and she uttered a soft cry of fear. Dear Lord, with just a single touch he’d managed to drive every sane thought from her head. Her hands splayed against his chest to push him away, but he suddenly retreated of his own accord. Bewildered, she watched him rise from the couch to stand over her. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flash of anguish in his eyes before they became cold, dark silver.

“Perhaps you’re right, Ivy. If this is all we have then there really is nothing more to say, is there. ” With jerk, he straightened his coat and the steely frost of his gaze bored into hers. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t overstay my welcome, but a mere commoner is the last thing I can stomach at the moment.”

Ice sluiced across her skin at the brutality of his words as stared up at him in horror. If someone had cut out her heart, the pain in her chest could not have been any worse. One hand pressed against the base of her throat, she struggled to breathe. Something akin to regret furrowed Simon’s brow, and he took a step toward her. Instinctively, she recoiled. With a scowl of what she was certain was contempt, he wheeled about sharply and stalked out of the salon.

Stricken by both his words and departure, Ivy gripped the back of the sofa as she pulled herself upright. Fingernails biting into the dark mahogany trim of the green velvet couch she stumbled to her feet and staggered a few feet toward the salon door.

“Simon.”

His name was barely a whisper as she called out to him. Seconds later, the sound of the front door crashing shut reverberated through the room. The reality of her situation slowly forced its way into her mind. With a soft sob she swayed and pressed her hands into the hard arm of the sofa as she fought to remain on her feet. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

She needed to go after him. No. That was impossible. She’d just rejected him. The last thing Simon Carlton, Viscount Wycombe wanted from her was apology or explanation. An explanation she wasn’t willing to give. And why should she apologize? He was the one who’d resurrected her past, brought Caroline to London. She flinched at the thought as she remembered the sound of his voice when he’d said he done it to please her.

One hand pressed to her brow, she closed her eyes against the thought and tried to push it out of her mind. Had she been wrong? Did he care for her? The memory of his parting words sent a throbbing ache through her body. No. Simon had made it quite clear that he was her better. Desperate for air to ease the tightness in her chest, she sucked in a sharp breath.

Fresh and clean, the scent of the decorated fir tree in the corner of the room drifted across her senses. She looked at the small tree sitting so prettily on the table in the corner of the salon. It provoked a mixture of happy and painful memories. As a little girl, she remembered her father lifting her up on his shoulders to place the star on the top of their Christmas tree. Her mother laughing at them both. All that had changed when her parents’ ship had been lost at sea.

Christmas Eve. For the first time since she was that little girl watching Caroline’s parents shower her cousin with gifts, Ivy had been looking forward to the holiday. It was supposed to be a happy time because this year was going to be different. Simon would be a part of the holiday. But that hope was shattered.

Her stomach fluttered, and she pressed her hand against her belly as despair cascaded over her. It chilled her far worse than the snowy weather outside. As painful as Simon’s contempt for her had been, it was far easier to accept than to watch him walk away if she told him the truth. Blinking back tears, she failed to prevent the escape of one teardrop. Hands clutched in front of her, she moved toward the Christmas tree.

Sweets and several glass ornaments gaily decorated the green branches. Dazed, she lightly touched one of the gingerbread cookies dangling from a red silk ribbon. Simon liked Mrs. Morris’ sweets, and the cook had made the ornaments especially for him.

Beneath the tree, she saw the carefully wrapped present she’d picked out for Simon. He was fond of quoting Marcus Aurelius, and she’d searched the city to find a book of the Roman emperor’s sayings. Next to his gift lay a velvet-covered box with a bright red ribbon tied around it. A note card was tucked under the ribbon with the words do not to open until Christmas imprinted on it.

It must have arrived yesterday while she was with her solicitor. Her fingers caressed the square box. Without thinking, she untied the ribbon and opened the lid. A sob rose up from deep inside her as she stared down at the necklace. Diamonds and sapphires sparkled brightly in the lamplight of the room. The gems were embedded in small stars attached to finely-spun gold filigree that formed an oval in the jewelry box.

Simon had once roguishly said he intended to see her wearing nothing but diamonds and sapphires. He’d obviously remembered. Ivy brushed her fingers over the hard, but beautiful stones as tears welled up in her throat. If only she’d remembered the lessons of the past when she’d first met Simon. She’d known they came from two different worlds, and yet she’d not listened to her head. Her gaze focused on the necklace again, and she choked back the tears. The necklace represented the miracle of a Christmas she’d hoped for, but would never have.

With a sharp flick of her hand, she snapped the box closed. It would go back to the jewelers the day after tomorrow, and she would leave England for a warmer climate. In Italy, she’d forget these past few magical months. She’d forget Simon. She’d forget everything they’d shared together. It was a lie, and she knew it. With a shudder, she wrapped her arms about her waist and bent her head. She’d had her head in the clouds for even daring to think Simon might be coming to care for her. If only she’d never met him—never fallen in love—she would have been far better off.

Do you really believe that, Ivy? Is there not some part of him that you can hold close to you heart, even now?

The gravelly male voice behind her was as clear as the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and she whirled around with a gasp of fear. All that greeted her was a quiet, empty room. A shiver raced down her back, and she rubbed her arms in an effort to warm herself. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

Whatever she’d heard was her imagination. She was distraught about Simon, and her mind was challenging her—telling her she’d made two mistakes today. She dismissed the thought. Once more, she looked at the Christmas tree, tears tightening her throat. She couldn’t stay here. Not tonight of all nights. Another tear trailed down her cheek, and she angrily brushed it away.

Crying served no purpose. What she needed was to find someplace else to lick her wounds. Staying here, in the town house, would only make things more difficult for her. There were too many memories here. The library. She would go to the library. It was almost six o’clock and everyone would be gone—gone home to be with their families for Christmas.

Blowing out a sharp breath, she grimaced. Enough self-pity. She would go to the library and work. It would be a source of comfort to her. The warm, musty smell of old books would dim the memory of Simon’s rugged scent. In the peace and quiet of the bookracks she might be able to forget, if only for a short time.

Her decision made, she pulled a handkerchief from the side pocket of her day gown to dry her wet cheeks then quickly left the salon. In the main hallway, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall’s mirror and stared at her appearance in dismay. Behind her, Morris cleared his throat.

“Your pardon, Miss Ivy, but is there anything I can do for you?”

The deep baritone note held a distinct note of concern, and a small measure of comfort brushed across her senses. For all his austere mannerisms, Morris had the quiet habit of looking after her as a father might. She’d be a fool to think he’d not been privy to Simon’s furious departure.

The entire household must have heard as well given the crash of the front door when Simon had stormed out of the house. She flinched. All the more reason to flee to the library. Her staff had been with her for years, and they’d developed an affinity for protecting her.

But it was Christmas, and she’d given them time off to spend with their families. If they thought she needed them, they would sacrifice their holiday to stay with her. She wasn’t about to let that happen. She forced a smile to her lips and turned to face him.

“Actually you can, Morris. Would you summon a hansom cab for me and fetch my cloak, I’ve decided to work at the library this evening.”

Tall and portly, the butler gave a slight start. He hesitated for a second, his gaze watching her closely. When she frowned at him, he quickly went to the front door to step outside and hail a cab. Ivy turned back to the mirror and quickly tried to repair her appearance. Fingers trembling, she pulled out the pins holding her hair in place and hastily rearranged her hair.

Staring at herself in the mirror when she finished, she blinked back another onset of tears. No, she refused to cry. There was no point. A moment later, Morris reappeared at her side with her hat and cloak. He waited patiently as she set the hat on her head, before settling the cape on her shoulders. The gentle brush of his hands on her shoulders as he dusted off imaginary flecks of dust was a comforting feeling. With a jerky movement, she picked up her gloves off the small table under the mirror. With precision, she tugged them on before carefully smoothing each finger making the soft leather cling to them.

“And will Lord Wycombe fetch you from the library, Miss Ivy?” At the question, she lifted her gaze to look Morris in the mirror. She shook her head.

“Actually, I won’t be seeing Lord Wycombe anymore, Morris. I’ll find a hansom cab when I’m ready to return home.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve, Miss Ivy,” Morris exclaimed in an appalled voice. “It will be most difficult to find a hackney in St. James Square later this evening.”

“Thank you for your concern, Morris. But I’ll be quite all right. I won’t have another opportunity to visit the library before I leave for Italy.”

“I do wish you would reconsider, Miss Ivy.” There was an underlying hint of disquiet in Morris’s words, and she was certain he wasn’t referring to her visiting the library.

Avoiding the servant’s gaze in the mirror, Ivy stared at her reflection. Was that stricken expression really hers? It was the same look she’d seen on her face the day Caroline had betrayed her so long ago. It was with relief when Morris informed her the hack was at the front door.

She knew the butler was worried about her, and the longer she remained in his presence, the stronger the likelihood that he would stay through the holiday. Not meeting the butler’s gaze, she swept past him and climbed into the small vehicle as Morris paid the driver her fare. With great care, her servant picked up the blanket on the cab’s seat and laid it carefully across Ivy’s knees. As Morris closed the door of the cab, she forced a smile to her lips and touched his hand on the top of the door.

“Happy Christmas, Morris. I expect you and Mrs. Morris to enjoy the holiday with your family. Be sure to let the rest of the staff know they’re not to return until late tomorrow evening.”

Ignoring the deep concern on the butler’s face, she looked up at the small window in the vehicle’s roof and ordered the cabbie to drive on. The vehicle jerked forward and she sank back into the cab’s leather seat. Despite her warm clothing and the blanket across her legs, the frosty night air bit into her skin. Darkness had fallen on the city a short time ago, and it only emphasized the bleakness weighting down on her.

Her sigh blew out a soft cloud of warmth from her lips as she numbly watched last-minute shoppers hurrying out of few shops still open at this late hour. Two days ago, she’d been one of those customers, happily calling out season’s greetings to strangers as she’d hurried home to wrap Simon’s present.

Why on earth did she persist in torturing herself like this? It was over. Finished. There was no going back now. One could never go back. Her cousin might have been quite resourceful when it came to Thornton Whitby, but not even Caroline could turn back the clock.

Whitby. He’d been the first man to pay any attention to her, and she’d fallen quickly for his smooth compliments and false promises. He’d even said he loved her. When he’d demanded she prove her love, she willingly given her body and heart to the man.

Ivy knew now that her submission to Whitby’s caresses had been born out of a need for someone to love her. But she’d not realized that at the time of Caroline’s betrayal. All she’d known then was that the one person who’d said they’d loved her had stolen Ivy’s chance for happiness. Perhaps she should forgive her cousin. After all, Caroline had saved her from a miserable life with Whitby. Ivy released a soft, scornful laugh.

At the time, if Whitby had known about Ivy’s inheritance he would no doubt have offered for her. Instead, he married Caroline. Looking back, she now saw the man for the overbearing boor he’d been, but it didn’t make her cousin’s betrayal any less painful. Caroline deserved to find herself a penniless widow with three mouths to feed.

Wincing at the bitterness of her thoughts, Ivy burrowed deeper into the cab’s warm wool blanket. When had she become such an embittered woman? Ivy released another breath that clouded white in front of her. Even the frosty air blowing across her face wasn’t as frigid as the ice that had sluiced through her veins the moment Caroline had entered the salon. Bile rose in her throat, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Caroline or her children.

An image of three small girls forced their way into her thoughts. Their sweet smiles made it impossible to dismiss the memory. Especially little Ivy. When the child had raced forward to hug her—Ivy quickly banished the thought. Why would Caroline name her youngest daughter after her? It had to be a ploy of some sort. A way to atone for her betrayal. Ivy bit down on her lip as bitterness welled up inside her. If Caroline hoped for any redemption from her, then her cousin was sorely mistaken. The woman had made her choice a long time ago. Ivy could never forgive such a brutal betrayal.

But the children. She winced. Simon had been right to take her to task about sending them away. They’d looked so thin in their threadbare clothes. Still their smiles had been sweet and cheerful. Euripides had said that the gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children. Were Caroline’s children responsible for their mother’s sins? Could she abandon them to poverty so easily?

The hack rolled to a stop and interrupted her chaotic thoughts. Throwing the blanket aside, Ivy gasped softly at the loss of heat. The library wouldn’t be much warmer. Perhaps Morris had been right. It might have been a mistake to come here. She shook her head. No the library had always been a haven for her. A place of quiet solitude. The driver, having jumped down from his seat, opened the door.

She gave a start as she stared into his weathered face. There was something so familiar about him that it made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he was an old friend she’d not seen in a long time, and it made her want to impulsively reach forward and touch his face. The outrageous notion held her in place for a moment as she struggled to place him. She immediately shook off her fanciful thoughts. No doubt, she’d been one of his customers in the past and remembered the kind, avuncular air about him.

“It don’t seem right leaving ye ‘ere all alone, miss,” a frown crossed the man’s face. “Why not let me take ye home.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be perfectly safe inside.”

“Do ye plan to stay long, miss?” The driver jerked his head toward the library, a worried expression on his kind, but aging, features. “I could fetch ye in a couple of hours. Not too late mind ye, I need to be getting home early, seeing ‘ow’s it’s Christmas Eve and all.”

The man’s offer was too tempting to reject, and Ivy accepted his hand to alight from the black hansom cab. With a smile of gratitude, she nodded.

“That would be extremely kind of you. Would nine o’clock be too late?”

“Not at all, miss. Ye’ll be my last fare for the evening.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said as she moved up the steps of the library and inserted the key into the door’s lock. “I promise not to keep you waiting.”

“Don’t mention it, miss,” the driver said as he climbed back up to the high seat of the cab and the door of the library creaked opened. “Hopefully in there ye’ll find the courage to forgive yer cousin. Would be a shame fer ye to let the past deny ye a lifetime of happiness. But then maybe your visitor will help ye.”

The driver’s words sent shock waves rippling through her. How did he know about Caroline, and what visitor was he talking about? Fear trickled down her spine, and she jerked around to confront the man, but the hansom was already rolling away down the street at a decidedly fast clip.

Suddenly frightened that she had made a terrible mistake in coming to the library, Ivy quickly passed through the building’s front entrance then locked the door behind her. For a long moment, she stood with her back pressed against the door in the cold, dark foyer pondering the man’s words. He’d said visitor. What if he were to try and break into the library with an accomplice. Ridiculous. What would anyone want from the library at this late hour?

As for her cousin, the man couldn’t possibly know about Caroline. How could he? She tightened her lips in self-disgust. It was nothing more than her subconscious trying to convince her to forgive her cousin and seek Simon’s forgiveness. Bitterness became a knot in her throat. Simon and Caroline were the ones who needed to seek her forgiveness.

The sudden notion of offering her cousin the opportunity to atone for her sins flitted through Ivy’s mind. Perhaps there was a way for Caroline to earn Ivy’s forgiveness. Ivy would take the children and raise them as her own if her cousin agreed never to see her daughters again. It would hurt Caroline as deeply as Ivy had been hurt all those years ago. She was certain of it. She would see to it that little Ivy and her sisters would want for nothing.

An image of her aunt’s vitriolic expression flooded her mind. The picture was so real that she flinched. With a shake of her head, she rejected the vengeful idea. No, she wasn’t that heartless. No matter how deeply hurt she’d been by Caroline’s betrayal or her aunt’s obvious contempt, Ivy refused to become like them. She remembered all too well the loss of her parents. It would be cruel to tear her nieces away from their mother. It didn’t matter that Ivy would never treat them as she’d been treated her. She might despise her cousin, but she couldn’t extract such a torment on three innocent children.

The day after tomorrow, she’d send word to Barnabas, her solicitor, to see to it that the girls received a warm house to live in, food on the table, and warm clothing. But she’d ensure that Barnabas would administer the funds. She would do nothing for Caroline. Her cousin was quite adept in using her charms to find a suitable husband, and it had been painfully obvious this afternoon that Simon had a great deal of sympathy for Caroline. Her cousin would use that to her advantage.

Ivy’s stomach lurched at the thought, and she reached up to twist the small key-like knob of the gas light on the wall beside the door. For the first time she realized it was almost as cold in the library as it was outside. In all likelihood, the fireplaces throughout the building had been allowed to die down to nothing but embers.

Moving across the foyer to the circulation desk, she removed her hat and cape and laid them on the counter. A large stack of books rested at the end of the marble surface waiting for someone to shelve them. Scooping up as many of the texts as she could carry, Ivy examined their labeling then turned to the book stacks. She turned up the gas light attached to one of columns that marked the end of each book aisle then moved down the aisle to replace the first volume.

She’d shelved at least four books to their rightful place when she heard the wood floor creak slightly as if someone were walking toward her. With a jerk, Ivy whirled around to stare down the empty aisle. In the back of her mind, she heard the cab driver’s words again. She sniffed in self-disgust.

Blast it, she was allowing her imagination to run wild. She resumed the shelving of the books tucked in the crook of her arm and moved into another section of the book stacks. Again, a board creaked, and her heart thudded frantically in her breast. Ivy set down her books and peered through the bookshelves to the other side of the shelving.

“Hello, is someone there?”

Although she hadn’t expected a response, her heart was still racing with fear. When there was no response, she picked up her books and turned to continue down the aisle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something sparkle in the soft rays of the gas light. Ivy turned her head and froze in shock. The necklace dangling like a bookmark from one of the shelved volumes made her suck in a sharp breath.

Stunned, she could only stare at the diamond and sapphire jewelry. How had it gotten there? In her dazed state, had she brought the necklace with her? No, of course she hadn’t. It couldn’t possibly be the same one. Her fingers curled around the cool jewelry and lifted it to examine it more closely. The stars encrusted with diamonds and sapphires twinkled like a constellation in her hand.

Ivy’s heart fluttered as she realized how much it looked like the necklace that lay underneath her Christmas tree. Even the detail of the finely-spun gold filigree appeared to be identical to the one she’d touched earlier. Ivy released a small sound of incredulity. She was being a fool. One of the library’s patrons had absent-mindedly left his wife’s Christmas present on the shelf while searching for a book. An act she was certain the poor man would regret tomorrow, if he weren’t already on the verge of an apoplectic fit trying to remember where he’d misplaced the precious object.

Ivy stared at the necklace a moment longer before stuffing it into her skirt pocket. She’d make sure it was returned to its rightful owner. She retrieved her books and was about to move down the aisle when the whisper of a sound echoed behind her. Frightened, she whirled around to stare down the empty aisle.

“Do you really think he would have bought a necklace for you that wasn’t uniquely of his own design?”

The man’s voice reverberated in her ear, and a warm breath caressed her cheek as if someone. A soft cry of fear escaped Ivy’s lips, and the books she carried crashed to the wooden floor as she ran toward the front of the library. She’d only gone a few steps when the necklace she’d put in her pocket materialize in front of her. Heart pounding in fear, she took two quick steps backward, her gaze never leaving the necklace as it swayed in mid-air.

“Who’s in here? Show yourself,” she croaked.

“As you wish.” The deep, gravelly voice came from the end of the aisle, and Ivy turned to see a swirling white mist moving toward her.

Dear lord, a ghost. No one had ever mentioned anything about a ghost in the library before. She trembled as a shape took form in the pearly cloud of air moving toward her. Slowly, the mist evaporated to reveal an elderly gentleman. The man’s hair and beard were neatly trimmed and white as the snow falling outside.

He wore a black suit coat with two rows of buttons down the front, a pair of striped pants, and white material layered over the tops of his shoes. A cane completed his unusual appearance. While he looked exceedingly dashing with his neatly trimmed white hair, Ivy couldn’t remember ever seeing any man dressed so oddly. The elderly gentleman leaned on his cane, his gnarled fingers curled over the silver wolf cane top. Arching a white eyebrow, he smiled.

“Well, do I meet with your approval?” The question made Ivy start.

“You’re not real,” she muttered as she braced herself against the nearest bookshelf. “Either that or I’ve gone mad.”

“No, my darling, Ivy, I’m as real as you.” He smiled before something like pain crossed his face. “You wished that you’d never met Simon. If after our travels tonight, should you still wish to forget Simon, I shall grant you that wish.”

There was a courtly manner to the man as he closed the distance between them. She recoiled from him, but not quickly enough. To her amazement, his touch was warm as lifted her hand and brushed his mouth against the back of her hand. She shuddered. How could a ghost’s hand be so warm?

“I don’t understand,” Ivy shook her head and tried to pull her fingers free of the man’s grasp. For someone her imagination had conjured up, he had a strong grip.

“You will in time, my dear,” the elderly man said as he squeezed her fingers. “Come, there’s a great deal at stake. I only have a few hours to show you how much you love Simon.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she exclaimed bitterly as she tried to jerk her hand free of the man’s incredibly strong grip. “I don’t love him. I’m through with him.”

“I find that difficult to believe, but if after our journey you still wish to forget Simon, I will help you do so.”

The man’s hand tightened on hers and Ivy gasped as the mist she’d seen moments ago reappeared and swiftly engulfed the two of them. In an instant, the library was gone and she was floating in nothingness.

Chapter 2

The newspaper in Simon’s hands rustled like a noisy wind in the quiet of the London Library. He’d already read the daily once today, but the pretense of reading allowed him to observe Miss Ivy Beecham undetected. A soft growl of aggravation rumbled out of him. He’d found it necessary to rearrange his entire morning schedule because of Miss Beecham.

In fact, if it were not for Anthony’s wayward behavior, he’d most likely be enjoying a sparring match at the club. Instead, he found himself lodged here in the library’s scholarly setting simply to put an end to Anthony’s outrageous notion of marrying beneath his social station. This was his nephew’s second unacceptable infatuation in less than a year, but this time the boy had gone too far. A dalliance with a commoner was one thing, but marrying one was an entirely different matter. He was ready to thrash the boy. As his nephew’s guardian, Simon took his duties seriously, but Anthony was growing exceedingly tiresome when it came to heeding Simon’s advice.

In a word, it was exasperating. Damned exasperating. Anthony routinely protested Simon’s interference in his personal affairs, but it was clear his nephew needed supervision. The boy was reckless when it came to considering his family’s social status, especially where his heart were concerned. As the Earl of Claiborne, Anthony needed to be more discrete when it came to his romantic liaisons.

With a grunt of displeasure, Simon turned the page of his newspaper and adjusted it so he could look over the top of it, while appearing to be engrossed in the paper’s content. He enjoyed reading, but this dry, musty mausoleum was the last place any of his friends would expect to find him.

The comforts of his personal library were far more preferable for reading than this academic fortress. His gaze swept toward the stacks of books he could see from the main reading area. Tomes of every shape and size filled the shelves that disappeared into the depths of the building. Although the London Library held a large number of valuable books and papers, Simon’s personal collection of rare books and documents was of equal value. One of the things he loved most in the world was a quiet hour in front of the fire reading a book.

His gaze swept around the large reading area. Wing backed chairs of dark red leather were placed in either isolated locations or small groups with squat mahogany tables nearby. Flames in the large fireplace that heated the room crackled softly in the silence of the large room. The pristine marble columns encircling the circulation desk and adjacent reading area only reinforced the austere nature of the library.

In truth, this was the last place he’d expected Anthony to encounter an unsuitable woman. When he’d suggested that the boy take up an intellectual activity within this tomb, Simon had thought the boy would be free of distractions. Of all the conceivable possibilities, the thought of Anthony meeting a woman of undesirable character here had been the furthest from Simon’s mind. Frowning, he returned his gaze to the woman behind the circulation desk and grunted his displeasure.

Why the devil couldn’t the boy find a woman his own age to dally with and preferably in the same social sphere? Ivy Beecham appeared closer to Simon’s age, making her at least five to ten years older than his nephew. Simon growled his displeasure again. Across from him, a library patron rustled the paper he held and shot Simon a glare of irritation. Arching his eyebrow, Simon returned the man’s hard stare. White eyebrows furrowing to form a straight line, the older gentleman uttered a barely audible harrumph before burying his head back in his paper.

Soft laughter drew Simon’s attention back to the woman behind the circulation desk. A soft pink flushed her cheeks as she handed an elderly man a book. The patron grinned as he took the leather volume, then caught her hand and brushed her fingertips with his lips. The red in her cheeks deepened as she shook her head in reproach. With a laugh, the dapper gentleman shrugged with amusement and walked away.

Something about the scene irritated Simon. It was easy to see how the woman had seduced Anthony into thinking he was in love with her. Even from here, she presented an enticing picture. Sunshine streamed in from one of the windows above her to reveal auburn highlights in the dark brown of her hair. Skin the color of an unripe peach still possessed a rosy hue as she assisted another patron.

Tall and with abundant curves in all the places Simon liked the most in a woman, Ivy Beecham was a tempting sight. The high neck of her white shirtwaist was clearly meant to give her the appearance of a serious academician, but all it did was emphasize the voluptuous curve of her full breasts. Of its own accord, his cock stirred in his trousers. Irritated at the way his body reacted, he clenched his jaw as he fought to control his arousal.

A moment later, she completed another book transaction and smiled at the gentleman in front of her. Simon inhaled a sharp breath. Bloody hell. No wonder Anthony had succumbed to the witch’s charms. She had the smile of a siren, and even a well-seasoned gentleman would find her silent entreaty difficult to resist.

Ivy Beecham was most definitely trouble. The sooner he disposed of this matter the better. He shifted in his seat as his quarry moved out from behind the circulation desk to head down one of the book aisles. Tossing his paper aside, he stood up and followed her into the depths of the library.

Ahead of him, she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Determined not to lose his chance to speak with her away from prying eyes, Simon increased his pace. As he rounded the bookshelf where he’d last seen her, a glimpse of her voluptuous curves vanished down another aisle. Damn, but the vixen was quick.

Lengthening his stride, Simon charged after her with determination. He made a sharp right into the aisle she’d round seconds ago only to come to an abrupt halt. The woman arched her eyebrow at him in a matter-of-fact manner as she narrowed her gaze at him.

“Is there some reason you’re following me, sir?”

Soft and husky, her voice caressed him with the silky indulgence of a midnight lover. Immediately, his groin tightened in a primal response. The fact irritated him.

“Are you Ivy Beecham?”

“Yes.” She frowned with puzzlement. “May I help you in some way?”

“I’m Lord Claiborne’s guardian.”

“I’m sorry, whose guardian?”

This time a frown furrowed her delicate brow as she tilted her head to one side. The movement exposed the lovely line of her neck, and he imagined his lips nibbling on her. The faint scent of lilies whiffed its way beneath his nose. She smelled delectable. Would she taste as luscious as she smelled? A sudden image of her beneath him filled his head, and his jaw tightened as he acknowledged his attraction for the woman. Aware she was staring at him with just a touch of irritation, he struggled to control the effect she was having on him.

“Anthony Dardnay, the Earl of Claiborne,” he said in a tight voice.

Recognition lit her face as she smiled at him. It was the most bewitching smile he’d ever scene, and his body stirred to life at the sight of it. Annoyed at his inability to remain unaffected by her, Simon clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a detached expression. He refused to allow Ivy Beecham’s exquisite body or smile deter him from the task at hand.

“Oh! You must be Lord Wycombe.” Her smile surprised him. It wasn’t the false simper he’d expected, and she seemed genuinely happy to meet him, nothing more. He frowned as she extended her hand to him. “Anthony has spoken of you often. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Simon glanced down at her outstretched hand, struggling with the tempting thought of touching her. Something primal flooded his senses as he stared at her long fingers. He could easily see her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping his flesh until he expelled his seed in a rush of pleasure. Simon swallowed hard as sanity reclaimed his thoughts.

Deliberately, he refrained from raising her fingers to his lips. The snub made her flinch, and the flash of pain darkening her sapphire eyes sent a twinge of regret through him. He ignored the sensation. Ivy Beecham was dangerous. She was a threat to the family and Anthony’s future. The woman needed to be dealt with swiftly.

“I’m afraid this is far from a courtesy call, Miss Beecham,” he said in a cold voice.

“I don’t understand.” She gave a slight shake of her head as an expression of wariness crept over her lovely face.

“I’m here to instruct you to stay away from my nephew. He’s young and too easily swayed by a pretty face.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her bewilderment emphasized how much her voice was like the call of a siren. He gritted his teeth to avoid answering its seductive promise.

“I realize you had hopes of a more permanent relationship with my nephew, but that is out of the question.”

“Permanent relationship—”

“Forgive me, Miss Beecham, but I’m well acquainted with women of your ilk, and I have no intention of letting Anthony marry you.”

“Marry?”

The shocked and horrified look on her face made him hesitate. Was he mistaken about her? No, of course not. No woman of respectable means or social standing would be working in the London Library. It was the perfect setting to ensnare a rich, doddering old fool looking for a young wife or mistress.

“While I’m sure it would be a step up for you financially and socially, I cannot allow him to marry a commoner.”

Simon barely missed the sting of her hand as she took a swipe at him. Dodging the blow, he captured her wrist in a tight grip and jerked her toward him. The softness of her body curved into his, and he drank in the soft, exotic fragrance of lilies. In a split second, his body tensed with an anticipation he’d not felt in a very long time.

Damnation. Perhaps he’d be better off making the woman his mistress instead of ordering her not to see Anthony again. Not only would it destroy the boy’s affections for the woman, but he was certain it would be an enjoyable pastime to soak himself in Ivy Beecham’s hot honey. He immediately rejected the idea.

Anthony might think he was in love, but Simon knew firsthand the pain of someone destroying his illusions about a woman. Even if it had been for his own good, the devastation that had followed the brutal revelation had still been a crushing blow. He could never hurt the boy like that. He cared too deeply about Anthony and his nephew’s happiness. Yet as he stared down into Ivy’s brilliant blue gaze, he almost forgot why he’d come here in the first place. He clenched his teeth with irritation.

She’d gone still in his embrace, and the outraged expression on her features was an extraordinary performance. The indignant glare she directed at him seemed so genuine it gave him pause for a several beats. Could he have been wrong? No, Anthony had been quite clear about his intent toward Miss Beecham. The woman was simply an excellent actress intent on deceiving him as to her real intentions when it came to his nephew.

“Release me, my lord,” she said quietly. The frigid tone of her voice was icy enough to freeze the Thames in the spots where it wasn’t already bearing a layer of ice. “Now.”

The single word was emphatic, and he did as she asked, although his body protested the loss of her warm curves. She took a step back to study him in silence, anger flashing in her blue eyes. Again, he questioned his assumptions about her before discarding them just as quickly.

“I came here today—”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I have no intention of marrying Anthony or anyone who’s a member of the peerage.” Her obvious contempt startled him before he narrowed his gaze at her.

“That is a comforting thought,” he said with wry skepticism. “But to ensure that you don’t change your mind where my nephew is concerned, I’m prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for your word to break off all association with Anthony.”

The gasp of horror that escaped her proved as surprising as everything else in their conversation up to this point. With a look that labeled him little more than a lowly insect, she wheeled away from him and stalked down the aisle. Stunned, it took him several seconds to stride after her. The instant Simon caught her by the elbow and drew her to a halt, she jerked away from him. The movement forced her to press her back against a row of books.

“If you touch me again, my lord, I’ll scream.”

The quiet fury in her voice furrowed Simon’s brow in aggravation. This wasn’t going at all like he’d envisioned. Frustrated by her obstinate behavior, Simon glared at her. The sooner he made her understand he intended to keep her away from Anthony, the better.

“Name your price, Miss Beecham. I’m sure I can afford it.”

“I don’t want your money,” she snapped. “And I don’t want to marry Anthony.”

“Are you saying he’s unsuitable?” he asked with a sudden sense of amusement. He felt his mouth quirk as he stared down into a pair of sapphire eyes that glittered brightly with anger. Would passion make her eyes sparkle as brilliantly?

“Anthony is little more than a boy,” she said with a sniff of disgust.

“Agreed. But I’m not a youth,” he drawled as an idea took shape in his head. “Perhaps alternative arrangements could be made.”

“Alternative…you’re despicable,” she snapped as she tried to move past him.

Simon immediately braced one hand on the bookshelf behind her to block her path. For the first time he was beginning to enjoy himself. If she wanted to play games, he was more than willing. In fact, he was certain that playing with Ivy Beecham would be an exceedingly pleasurable diversion. He tilted his head to study her profile as he trailed his forefinger across her cheek.

She slapped his hand away, but he noticed her breathing had hitched slightly. That boded well for the future. He’d been without a mistress almost a year now, and Ivy appealed to his carnal nature in a way that surprised him. Yes, Ivy Beecham was proving to be not only intriguing, but exciting as well.

“Despicable?” His gaze locked with her angry glare, and his mouth curved in a mocking smile. “Then I’m in excellent company, my sweet Ivy.”

“I am not your sweet anything,” she bit out fiercely. “I find you contemptible.”

“Do you,” he murmured.

Simon bent his head toward her. He could almost feel the tension seizing control of her body. It was like an electric pulse between them, and it set his heart racing. He was so close to her as to feel the warmth of her sweet breath against his mouth. The urge to capture her lips in a slow, leisurely kiss made his body stiffen with a need for satisfaction. Tempering the impulse, Simon brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, and it pleased him to see a small shudder ripple through her.

“You’re quite lovely, Ivy. I can see why Anthony finds you so captivating.”

“I…I didn’t give you permission to use my name,” she said in a breathless voice. The husky sound tightened his groin muscles as he fought to keep from pinning her against the shelf of books and crushing her mouth beneath his. Damnation but the woman was a seductive mix of experience with an elusive sense of innocence.

“Ah, but I like how the sound of your name rolls off my tongue,” he said with an honesty that surprised him. “I’m beginning to realize why my nephew is so fascinated by you. Seducing him must have been quite easy for you.”

“I did not seduce Anthony,” she gasped.

The way her blue eyes widened in horror made him even more appreciative of her acting talent. God, but she would be magnificent on the stage. Even more magnificent in his bed. Once more, she tried to dart past him, and he immediately blocked her path by caging her against the shelves with his outstretched arms.

“Come now, Ivy. I’ve been watching you all morning, and it’s understandable why men find you so fascinating.” Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across earlobe. “Even I am quite willing to be seduced by you.”

Delicate pink lips parted in a soft gasp, and again he had to restrain himself from stealing a kiss. This was neither the time nor the place to dally with her. Not when he was certain he would want much more from her when he finally did kiss her. No, Ivy Beecham was going to be his—one way or another. That decision had been made for him the moment he’d heard that siren’s voice of hers. He just hadn’t realized it at the time. Anthony would have to be handled with care, but he would find a way to let the boy down easily. The question was—how hard would it be to convince Ivy to switch her attentions from his nephew to him?

“I can assure you, my lord, I have no intention of letting you seduce me. I’d just as soon kiss a toad. Now release me this instant.”

He didn’t move for a long moment. There was something about the way her pulse was beating wildly at the side of her neck that contradicted her adamant statement. His cock throbbed with need inside his trousers. Damn, but he wanted to bed her this instant.

With great reluctance, he took a step back. Her retreat was immediate as she sidled away and put several feet between them. The frosty glare she directed at him was meant to cut him down to size, but it merely served to amuse him. She’d issued a challenge, and it was one he intended to accept. Ivy Beecham was about to learn the difference between seducing a boy and a man.

He smiled. She might rage against the idea, but if there was one thing he knew, it was women. This one might act as though she wanted nothing to do with him, but if the price were right, he had no doubt she would welcome his attentions as long as he rewarded her well. It was simply a matter of letting her set the pace of their seductive dance, but in the end, the result would be the same. She’d be no different from any of the other women who’d come and gone in his life. She would succumb to him just like all the others.

“You’re even lovelier when angry.” Folding his arms across his chest, he laughed quietly as she stalked away from him. It was all part of the dance. She had only gone two feet when she whirled back around to face him.

“Exactly how much did you intend to offer me, my lord?” Her features were unreadable, and a flicker of disappointment lashed at him as he pondered her question. His emotional response surprised him, but then everything about his reaction to Ivy Beecham had astonished him.

“Perhaps you had a price in mind?” He narrowed his gaze as he waited for her to name a figure.

A part of him had hoped it would have been more difficult than this to acquire her charms. He was a fool even to have considered the remote possibility. No matter what their age or station in life, women could always be relied upon to find the highest bidder for whatever it was they had to sell. At least women outside of his social station were more honest about it.

“No, I simply wanted to know what price you were willing to put on your nephew’s affection for you.” She arched an eyebrow and eyed him with contempt worthy of the Queen herself. “The minute Anthony hears how you propositioned me, I have no doubt your relationship with him will suffer more than you realize.”

“What the devil!” he snapped. “If you think to threaten—”

“It’s hardly a threat, my lord.” She lifted her chin in a defiant manner. “The truth is, Anthony does listen to me, and I doubt you’ll earn his gratitude for insulting me as you’ve done here today.”

“By God, woman. If you make the boy more difficult to handle, I’ll see to it you’re out on the streets without a penny to your name.” The tables hadn’t been so neatly turned on him in quite some time, and it infuriated him. His anger only strengthened as she offered him a sweet smile of satisfaction.

“You are most certainly welcome to try, Lord Wycombe.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “But that might be more difficult to achieve than you think. After all, as you said, Anthony fancies me, and you’ve done little of late to endear yourself to the boy. Perhaps all he needs is a wife to support and believe in him.”

Without batting an eyelash, she wheeled about and disappeared around the corner of the bookshelves. As she vanished from view, Simon stared after her in disbelief. The witch had as good as said she intended to marry the boy.

“Christ Jesus.” His fist slammed into a row of books. Damn the boy for getting himself mixed up with this conniving female.

If she got to Anthony before he did, there was no telling what his nephew would do. The boy had become extremely belligerent of late. Not even Anthony’s mother had been able to make him see reason. If the boy married this penniless hussy, it would break his sister Abigail’s heart.

Well aware that he had not a moment to lose, Simon stalked out of the book stacks toward the exit. As he passed the circulation desk, he saw Ivy watching him with a cold look on her features. Glaring at her, he bumped into a gentleman in his path.

As he apologized, he glanced back at his nemesis. A confident smile curved her mouth, and for the first time in his life, Simon wondered if he’d met his match. Not about to consider that possibility, he strode out of the library and headed for home.

The walk from St. James Square to Mayfair was a short one, but it would allow him time to formulate a plan to keep Anthony from making a terrible mistake. Marriage to that woman would leave the boy heartbroken and destitute in less than a year. He was certain of it. Simon was even more certain he’d move heaven and earth to prevent that very thing from happening.

~~~~

“He was quite arrogant then, wasn’t he?” The ghost’s rueful observation made Ivy clench her teeth as Simon’s lean, muscular body swirled and vanished in a misty cloud.

“He was a contemptuous bastard,” she said as she glared at Simon’s vanishing image.

“And yet you were still attracted to him.”

There was a note of hopefulness in the phantom’s voice that made her scowl at him. Deep in the back of her mind, she recognized an expression on his aging features that looked like sorrow, but it barely registered as she remembered how insulting Simon had been that day in the library.

“No,” she exclaimed vehemently.

“Surely, you can confess to a small amount of attraction.” The ghost’s expression had grown somber, and she frowned at what could have passed for disappointment shimmered in his silvery gaze. The look compelled her to tell the truth, despite her desire to deny it.

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “Despite his beastly behavior, he excited me.”

“Perhaps he’d even captured a small part of your heart at that point.” The phantom’s voice was gentle yet probing, and she shook her head as she was forced to blink back tears.

“No, not then,” she whispered then shivered at the painful ache making its way through her body. “It was later. The day he apologized. It was his way with words that captured my heart.”

Ivy turned away from the ghost wanting desperately to escape this terrifying world her imagination had created. It was the only explanation. She’d lost her mind and was trapped in a nightmare of her own making. She closed her eyes and silently offered up a prayer that the man beside her would vanish and she would be back in her salon grappling with her loss. The man sighed softly before he reached out to clasp her hand in his.

“This is not a dream, Ivy. And I’m not a figment of your imagination.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” she asked with a rising sense of panic. She didn’t think she could bear to be shown anything more.

“You wished you’d never allowed Simon into your life. I can grant you that wish and erase all memory of him from your mind. But before I have the power to do that, or anything else…” He paused slightly, an odd look of dread flashing across his wrinkled features. “I have to show you what you are giving up.”

“How can I give up something I never had,” she whispered in a broken voice as she stared into the white cloud of nothingness that surrounded them.

“We shall see,” the ghost said in a tone that was both strange and yet vaguely familiar to her at the same time. “Come, we only have a few hours until the midnight hour.”

Ivy didn’t object as the old man grasped her hand firmly in his. It was pointless to protest anyway. The ghost’s determination rivaled Simon’s, and without a way back to her own world, she had no other choice. With a small tug, the phantom pulled her back into the swirling mist. The dense cloud brushed across her skin like a cool breeze, and her heart sank as the phantom hurled them through the mist toward a memory she was certain would prove painful to watch.

Chapter 3

“Simon!”

Anthony’s shout of fury pierced the study’s tranquility and Simon closed his eyes in resignation. Ivy had gotten to Anthony first. Rising to his feet, Simon rounded his desk and moved to the center of the room. Patiently, hands clasped behind his back, he waited for his nephew. The study door flew open and struck the wall with a resounding crash.

The vicious crack of wood against wood only served to emphasize the strength of his nephew’s fury. Simon frowned slightly then arched an eyebrow as Anthony charged into the room. With the speed of a mad dog, his nephew closed the distance between them. Before Simon realized what was happening, Anthony planted his fist into the side of Simon’s jaw.

“Bloody hell,” Simon growled as he reeled backward from the force of the blow.

The unexpected assault forced him into a defensive posture, and it was only years of discipline that kept him from instinctively returning the blow. His jaw throbbing, he glared at his nephew. He’d expected anger, but this physical contact was completely out of character for the boy.

“You bastard.” Anthony was panting as if he’d run the entire distance from the library. “If it were still legal, I’d call you out for insulting Miss Beecham the way you did.”

Flexing his sore jaw, Simon frowned at his nephew. There was a new maturity to Anthony he’d not seen before. Although his nephew had hit him, the boy stopped short of instigating an outright boxing match. It was the action of a man intent on defending a woman’s honor, yet showing restraint in doing so. When had his nephew become a man? And where in the hell had he learned to throw a punch like that? Simon shifted his jaw again, working the muscles to prevent them from locking up.

“I hardly call it an insult to speak bluntly with a woman of her stature.”

“You know nothing about her,” his nephew snarled.

“Enough to know she’s not suitable for you.” Simon scowled at the tall youth in front of him for being so shortsighted. “And I might add that she threatened to blackmail me.”

“You’re lying.”

His anger easing, he turned away from Anthony and walked to the fireplace to stare into the flames. He hated to destroy the boy’s illusions, but it was time his nephew faced facts. Simon had no doubt Ivy would make the perfect mistress, but marriage was out of the question. If he were to agree to such a proposal, it would lead to nothing more than a miserable existence for Anthony and any children the marriage yielded. And if there was anything he understood, it was how a commoner would make for a poor wife and mother.

He released a low grunt of disgust. The only bearing the past had on this conversation was convincing Anthony his current infatuation wasn’t worth his emotional outburst. The important thing was to explain that fact while doing everything he could to spare his nephew’s feelings. Particularly when Simon intended to make Ivy his mistress at the earliest possible moment.

The sudden image of a pair of vibrant sapphire eyes and auburn hair filled his head. His body instantly tensed at the memory of how her anger had made her even more beautiful. Beneath that prim, straight-laced manner of hers, he was certain a fiery passion lay hidden only to be discovered. There were fires burning deep inside Ivy, and he intended to see them consume her when he made love to her. Turning to face Anthony, he shook his head as he met his nephew’s furious gaze.

“No, Anthony. I’m not lying,” he said quietly. “When I offered to pay Miss Beecham to end your liaison, she told me she didn’t want my money.”

“As Miss Beecham tells it, she simply asked what price you were willing to put on your relationship with me,” Anthony bit out. Simon grimaced at the accusation in his nephew’s gaze.

“I don’t deny offering her money to stay away from you. As your guardian, it was the appropriate action to take. The truth of it is Miss Beecham made it clear she didn’t want my money. Instead, she indicated that perhaps what you needed was a wife.”

“Maybe I do,” Anthony snapped. “But that’s my business. Not yours.”

“Until you come of age, it is my business.” Simon studied his nephew for a moment, reluctant to dredge up his own past simply to make a point. He drew in a sharp breath then exhaled it. “And I don’t intend to let you make the same mistake I almost made when I was younger.”

“Your mistake?” Anthony directed a baleful stare at Simon.

“When I was your age, I thought I was in love.” Simon’s body tightened as the past pushed its way out of the dark place where he kept all the humiliation of that time in his life. It still stung even after all these years. “She was a tradesman’s daughter, and when I proposed she accepted. The moment my father learned of our engagement, he made it a point to illustrate the difference between a commoner and someone of our station. I never forgot that lesson.”

“I’m not you, Simon, and you—”

“The matter is not up for discussion,” Simon snarled.

Tension knotting his muscles, he brushed past Anthony to stalk toward the sideboard, where he poured himself a stiff bout of whiskey. It was way too early in the day to indulge in spirits, but he didn’t care. Simon tossed the amber liquid down his throat and coughed slightly as the fiery liquid burned its way down into his chest.

It had been a long time since the anger and pain had flooded his limbs as it was doing at this moment. Images of his father and Elizabeth rose up out of the past to taunt him. His conviction that Elizabeth was beyond reproach had been so strong that he’d challenged his father to find fault with her. His father had done just that. The bastard had bedded Elizabeth and deliberately allowed Simon to stumble upon the two of them.

“Damnit, Simon, you can’t judge Miss Beecham or any other woman based on their position in society.” Anthony’s belligerent tone made Simon whirl around to face his nephew.

“I can, and I will, because my father taught me how easily a commoner’s daughter can be bribed. He made a settlement on the woman I thought loved me, and he bedded the bitch,” Simon said with contempt as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His father had taught him a valuable lesson, but he’d never forgiven the bastard for being his tutor.

“Bloody hell,” Anthony exclaimed in a hushed voice.

“I understand your fascination with Ivy Beecham. She’s an enticing morsel, but marriage is out of the question,” Simon bit out.

“I have no desire to marry her,” Anthony said with quiet, steely precision.

Frowning, Simon studied his nephew’s face for any sign of deception. For a man so in love, the boy was giving the woman up far too easily. He couldn’t remember the number of times the boy had waxed poetic about Ivy Beecham’s charms. The lad had given the woman his highest accolades, calling her lovely, pleasant, amusing, and kind. There had been more than a dozen different descriptions of the lovely Ivy’s charms.

“Did you hear me, Simon?” His nephew’s gaze was harsh and cold as their eyes met.

Simon expressed his satisfaction at Anthony’s announcement with a sharp nod. Relief sailed through him at the boy’s sudden about-face. At least his nephew wouldn’t be crushed when Simon made Ivy his mistress. And if there was one thing he was certain of at the moment, it was that he intended to have Ivy in his bed within the week. If only to prove to Anthony and himself that Ivy was no different that Elizabeth had been.

“I’m delighted to see that you’ve come to your senses.”

“I never lost them you arrogant bastard,” Anthony snapped. “I was never in love with Miss Beecham. She simply helped me find the means of writing poetry to Olivia.”

“Who in the hell is Olivia?” Simon stared at his nephew in amazement.

“The woman I intend to marry. In two months, I’ll be of age, and we’ll be married a few months afterward.”

“Where the devil did you meet this woman?” Simon glared at his nephew. “The very fact that you’ve not mentioned her before makes me believe you’re worried your mother and I will disapprove of her.”

“Olivia is more than suitable, which is beside the point. Mother needs to learn her place when it comes to my personal matters as do you, Simon. Would you allow me to meddle so liberally in your own affairs?”

Anthony arched his eyebrow with obvious disdain as he calmly met Simon’s gaze. Again, the youth demonstrated a maturity Simon hadn’t seen before. And the boy was right—no one would dare to interfere with his personal matters. He frowned with displeasure. It didn’t change things. He was still Anthony’s guardian, and he was determined to make sure the boy would make a match appropriate to his station in life.

“We’re not discussing me. We’re talking about you and the fact that the family has yet to meet this Olivia of yours. We know nothing about her, whether she’s suitable or not.”

“I’m more than capable of determining whether Olivia is suitable for me to marry,” Anthony said calmly. “And you and mother will meet her when I deem it appropriate.”

“When you deem—”

“Yes, Simon. When I think it’s the right time.” Anthony’s expression wasn’t that of a stubborn boy hell bent on having his way. Instead, the look on his nephew’s face was that of a man resolute in his decision. “I refuse to let you intimidate Olivia the way you did Miss Beecham.”

Simon almost laughed out loud at the comment. Ivy Beecham hadn’t been afraid of him. She’d been ready to roast him and serve him up for supper.

“I can assure you, Anthony, your Miss Beecham was far from intimidated by me.”

“No, you’re correct on that score. I can’t see her being all that overwhelmed by your presence,” Anthony said with a nod, and a small smile touched his lips before his expression hardened. “I expect you to apologize to Miss Beecham.”

“Apologize.” Simon stared at his nephew, caught off guard by his authoritative demand. “Why the devil would I apologize for doing my duty as your guardian? What was I supposed to think about your Miss Beecham when you so profusely shared your admiration for the woman over and over again?”

“Don’t be a horse’s ass, Simon,” Anthony growled his impatience. “You thought the worst and didn’t even bother to discuss the matter with me. Now you’ve insulted my friend, and that’s all she is, a friend.”

“I’m still not convinced Miss Beecham was only eager to be your friend.” Simon’s jaw tightened at the growing realization that he might have actually misjudged Ivy.

“Miss Beecham did nothing more than help me research poetry at the library so I could impress Olivia.” Disgust darkened Anthony’s expression. “She was quite helpful, nothing more.”

“I’m certain she was.” Simon found it impossible to keep a note of cynicism out of his voice. “I imagine she saw you as the fatted goose all trussed up for the taking when it came to your finances and social stature.”

Once more, Simon experienced a nudge of misgiving when it came to Ivy’s motives. Perhaps he’d been too hasty. Doubt took a small bite out of him. What if Anthony was right? What if Ivy had simply been acting in the way a good friend would? He dismissed the notion immediately. Anthony was blind to the possibility that Ivy Beecham was without flaws. He didn’t like the idea of having made a mistake where she was concerned. It would mean an apology was in order, and he’d never been very good at apologies.

Turning away from his nephew, Simon picked up a stack of invitations from his desk. The woman might have thought to seduce his nephew, but she was about to have the tables turned on her. He would enjoy seducing the avaricious, but tempting, Ivy. Behind him, Anthony uttered an expletive.

“Miss Beecham was right, Simon. Your attempt to seduce her was the height of arrogance.” Anthony’s comment made Simon smile with satisfaction. So Ivy Beecham had realized seduction had been his intent. It meant she’d been disturbed enough by him to label their encounter a seduction attempt. The thought pleased him. He shot a brief glance over his shoulder at his nephew.

“So the esteemed Miss Beecham thought I was attempting to seduce her simply because I offered her a settlement to stay away from you. She was foolish not to accept the money if she knew your affections lay elsewhere.”

With a silver letter opener, Simon slit open the note card he held. As he pulled the parchment out of the envelope he stared down at the note, his mind focused on Ivy. Why hadn’t she taken the money? This time the probability that he’d misjudged her was far too strong a possibility to easily discard the thought. His fingers tightened on the delicate notepaper and it crumpled slightly beneath his grip. Behind him, Anthony uttered a small oath of disgust.

“For your edification, Miss Beecham doesn’t need your money. She’s wealthier than the two of us put together.”

“If that’s true, why is she working in the London Library?” Simon snorted with disbelief as he turned to face his nephew.

“Because she loves books. It’s her passion.”

Anthony’s voice was fierce as he defended the woman. It was difficult to fault his loyalty. He wouldn’t have Carlton blood running through him otherwise. As for passion, Ivy was going to realize there were other things besides books to be excited about.

His mind immediately conjured up the image of Ivy standing naked before him. The picture in his head wasn’t just pleasurable—it was arousing. Soon, quite soon, he’d make that irresistible image a reality. Anticipation nibbling at him, he returned his attention to the conversation at hand

“And this passion for books, I suppose Miss Beecham told you this.” Simon folded his arms across his chest and directed an arched look at his nephew.

“Actually it was Lord Asterly who told me.”

“Exactly why would Lord Asterly tell you such a thing?” Surprised by Anthony’s response, he frowned.

“Because I mentioned I’d like to supplement her salary with a gratuity. The old man nearly laughed himself into an apoplexy. He said Miss Beecham was Neville Beecham’s sole heir.”

“Neville Beecham,” Simon exclaimed, “The shipping magnate who died in shipwreck just off the Dover coast two years ago?”

“Beecham was her uncle.” Anthony nodded. “As Asterly tells it, Beecham didn’t know about her until she was of age. He’d been estranged from his brother for years, and learned of Ivy by happenstance.”

Simon winced at this new information. It left him in a decidedly prickly position given his behavior this morning. His jaw tightened at his behavior in the library. He’d insulted Ivy, and it wasn’t one of his better moments. Anthony was right. He’d assumed the worst and not bothered to investigate the woman extensively before rushing forward with his attempt to protect his nephew. Even his servants had never been treated with such disparaging behavior. Regret bit its teeth into him, and he found himself wishing he’d handled the matter more diplomatically.

His behavior would make it difficult to find his way back into Ivy’s good graces. Worse, it would make it damned difficult to bring her to heel. But then he’d not realized he would be making the woman his mistress when he’d made a point of offering the woman a bribe. He pinched the bridge of his nose in self-disgust. Without the lure of money, he’d need to find something else with which to pique her interest. Damnation, it would have been much easier for him if she’d been poor as a church mouse.

“And exactly how did Miss Beecham manage to finagle her way into the London Library?” he asked as he lifted his head to meet his nephew’s disgusted look.

“Apparently she made a sizable donation conditional on the library board allowing her to volunteer at the circulation desk.” The admiration in Anthony’s voice was difficult to miss.

“I imagine she caused quite a stir.”

Simon bit back a smile at the image of Ivy storming the bastion of the London Library. Given his encounter with her earlier, it didn’t surprise him she’d overcome any of the board’s objections to her presence. His problem was going to be how to overcome her resistance to his advances. Not only did he have his own behavior to overcome, but Ivy’s substantial financial portfolio was another issue altogether.

An inheritance of such magnitude always attracted fortune hunters. It would make her all the more guarded where he was concerned even in spite of his own wealth. In short, she was going to be a challenge. But then he’d never been intimidated by challenges. Quirking an eyebrow at his nephew, he shook his head.

“I’ll see to soothing Miss Beecham’s ruffled feathers, and you are to consider introducing the family to your Olivia.”

“I’ll consider it, but don’t expect me to change my mind until I’m good and ready,” Anthony said as he headed toward the study door.

“Perhaps, but for your mother’s sake, I hope you’ll give the matter a great deal of thought.” Simon frowned as his nephew sent him a steady look over one shoulder.

“And I suggest you apologize to Miss Beecham by tomorrow, uncle.”

“I’ll see to it that your Miss Beecham finds me most agreeable when I call on her.”

As Anthony bobbed his head sharply, Simon glanced down at the ivory envelopes on his desk. He picked up the invitation he’d laid aside moments ago, a plan formulating in the back of his mind. If Ivy’s passion was books, then he had just the thing to make her fall into his arms and his bed.

Chapter 4

Curled up in her favorite chair by the fireplace, Ivy jerked her head up with alarm as the murmur of voices in the foyer interrupted her reading. Guilt spiraled its way through her at the thought of someone catching her with the book she’d borrowed from the library without permission. With a quick movement, she slid the bulky book into the crevice of the chair.

Tugging a black lace shawl off the back of the wingback chair, she tossed it over the arm of the chair as if casually dropped there. Her heart pounding, Ivy managed to conceal the book as a sharp knock preceded Morris’s entrance into the salon. Careful not to disturb the shawl, Ivy rose from her chair with a gasp at the sight of the extremely large bouquet of flowers her butler carried. Mary Rose, the downstairs housemaid, followed in the butler’s footsteps carrying a large vase.

“Good heavens, Morris, where on earth did these come from?” she asked as she rose to her feet.

“A young boy delivered them just now. He said there was a card enclosed.”

There were yellow chrysanthemums, orange marigolds, red dahlias, and rich looking amaryllis of the deepest pink with delicate Queen Anne’s lace threaded throughout. Lush and beautiful, the arrangement was a perfect collection of blooms from an autumn garden. Given the time of year, the bouquet was extravagant and must have cost a fortune. Ivy crossed the floor to where Mary Rose was arranging the flowers in the vase. She leaned forward and drank in the fragrant aroma of the blossoms.

Anthony must have sent the bouquet as a way of apologizing for his uncle’s abysmal behavior. She smiled. Her friend had been furious when she’d told him about Lord Wycombe’s conduct toward her. No doubt, the young man was attempting to make amends for his uncle’s boorish behavior. The sudden memory of the way the viscount had caressed her cheek made Ivy’s heart skip a beat.

With just one touch, he’d stirred an unexpected response in her. It was a reaction that had excited and alarmed her in the space of a brief instant. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered how her chest had tightened until it had been difficult to breathe. Immediately, she chastised herself for her response to the man.

He’d done nothing but insult her, and she never wanted to see the viscount again. The man was an arrogant, handsome boor. Exasperated with herself at even admitting her attraction to the man, she turned her attention back to the bouquet. Gently her fingers parted the blooms in the floral arrangement. With a soft sound of triumph, she withdrew the small envelope from the flowers and opened it. The card inside bore simply one word.

Wycombe.

Stunned, she stared at the card for a long moment. Butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach, while her pulse accelerated to a frenetic pace. She flinched at the excitement stirring inside her. What in heaven’s name was she thinking? The man saw her as a commoner— beneath him. Indignation swept through her. Not only was Viscount Wycombe a member of the peerage, the man had insulted her in a reprehensible manner.

If he thought a simple offering of flowers could atone for his offensive behavior he was sadly mistaken. His behavior yesterday was unforgiveable. Fingers trembling with anger, she shoved the card back into the envelope with a furious movement before stalking to the window. Ivy pulled back the sheer curtain to look out at the street.

On the sidewalk opposite her townhouse, the Viscount was studying a pocket watch before he pushed it back into his vest pocket. Almost as if he sensed her stare, he looked up and saw her at the window. With a smile, he immediately bowed in her direction before straightening to flash a smile in her direction. Her immediate response was another quickening of her heartbeat, and she released a sound of anger at her physical reaction.

The arrogance of the man. He was insufferable. Whirling away from the window, she moved swiftly back to the flowers and snatched them out of the vase. Water dripped on the ruby red silk of her day gown and then the carpet as she thrust the flowers toward Morris.

“The man who brought this bouquet is waiting outside. Please return these to him.”

“Am I to relay a message, Miss Ivy?” Confused, the butler accepted the suddenly bedraggled looking bouquet.

“Tell him…tell him…oh blast,” she exclaimed as she looked down at the crumpled card in her hand.

Furious, she hurried to the small secretaire near the window. Flattening the crinkled paper, she reached for her pen. Quickly, she wrote out a phrase of George Eliot’s then picked up the card to read her writing.

Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.

It was unlikely the man would even recognize Eliot’s words let alone understand them. But at least it gave her the satisfaction of offering him a rebuttal to his flowers and arrogance. With a sharp thrust of her hand, she gave Morris the card.

“Give the Viscount this card when you return his flowers,” she snapped.

The butler didn’t even flinch as he accepted the crumpled card and hurried from the room with Mary Rose on his heels. Ivy clenched her teeth. Even if the Viscount didn’t know the author of the quote, perhaps he might actually glean some small measure of knowledge from Eliot’s words.

She snorted softly at the idea the man might be chastened by her message. Impossible. Wycombe was a member of the Marlborough Set. He wouldn’t even know what the inside of a book looked like. As a general rule, the nobility simply pretended to be connoisseurs of the arts. Rarely did they attempt to master the subject.

Her anger still holding her hostage, her foot tapped a rapid beat on the room’s Moorish rug. She’d never met such an irritating man before. Not even the most condescending member of the library’s Board, Lord Montague, was as arrogant as Lord Wycombe. With a flounce, she sank down into her chair. She refused to let the man ruin her afternoon.

Still angry, she pulled her book from its hiding place to glare at the leather-bound volume. Lord Wycombe was a pompous jackass. When he’d cornered her in the book stacks yesterday, she’d thought he was another in a long list of fortune hunters.

In many ways, she wished he had been. It was always easy to deal with men seeking to marry her simply for her wealth. But Lord Wycombe was different. His insults had stung. His callous behavior had made her remember the past with vivid clarity. Then to suggest that he was willing to be seduced by her—it was…it was ridiculous. The absurdity of the idea made her bite down on her lip as an unwelcome thought flitted through her mind like a bumblebee.

Her fingers trembled against the leather binding of the book she held. She’d be lying if she said the man hadn’t affected her on a base level. Worse, he’d made the invitation to sin a tantalizing one. Even now, the memory of his voice stirred her senses in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. It had been as if a hot, summer breeze had whispered across her skin as his mouth had grazed her ear.

The deep husky sound of his voice had conjured up images that were dangerous and reckless. The pictures fluttering through her head again sent a shiver skating along her spine. Awareness teased its way through her body until her skin tingled in a delicious, yet oh so treacherous, manner.

Determined to push the viscount out of her head, she opened the book in her lap. She’d found The Golden Lotus buried deep in the recesses of the library. It had been tucked behind a row of books related to the history of Scotland. Her first instinct was to believe it had been misfiled. The lack of a catalog label on the book’s spine had puzzled her until she opened the thick volume. The first page had clarified exactly why the book had not been shelved appropriately. The scandalous drawings had shocked her, but she’d been unable to stop turning the pages.

Curiosity had made her brazenly carry the book out with several others she’d set aside to borrowed from the library. Ivy’s only moment of trepidation had come on the way out the door. Lord Asterly, one of the library’s board members, had a habit of teasing her about her selection of books. The elderly gentleman often offered her possible selections she might enjoy and would inquire regularly what books she was reading. She had no doubt that Lord Asterly would have stridently objected to her reading the book let alone take it home.

Her intent had been to read the book from an academic point of view, but the volume was far from academic. In polite circles, it would be deemed lascivious and obscene. While shocking at times, the stories were beautifully written. The words flowed across the page in a lush, lyrical way. Still, it had not kept her from gasping at the erotic writing or drawings.

The stories and the pictures had made her belly tighten and her skin hot. It reminded her of the first time she’d met Whitby. She stiffened in her chair as she closed the book with a snap. It had been a long time since that name had found its way into her head. What she’d thought had been desire had been nothing more than a girl’s longing to be loved.

A girl who gave her body to a man who thought it would be amusing to initiate her into what happened between a man and a woman. The experience had been severely lacking in both tenderness and satisfaction. It had left her feeling horrified, bruised and worthless. She released a harsh breath. That memory was as unpleasant as it was unwelcome.

Even more distressing was the way Lord Wycombe had made her feel yesterday. He’d ignited sensations inside her that she’d never experienced when she’d been with Whitby. The thought made her heart slam into her chest. Dear lord, what was she thinking? It was a wide chasm to jump when acknowledging Anthony’s uncle was handsome to admitting desire for a man she didn’t know.

Voices in the hall made her glance at the salon door. Tucking the book back under the shawl, she stood up and went to the door. As she stepped into the foyer, she saw Morris holding another bouquet in his hands, this one smaller than the last, yet still extravagant. The expression on the butler’s face was one of bemused consternation as he stared at the flowers. She smiled. No doubt, this one was from Anthony.

“Miss Ivy, I’m—”

“It’s all right, Morris, let me read the card first,” as she pulled the white envelope out of the nosegay of chrysanthemums, asters and marigolds. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the handwriting. Slowly she pulled the card out to study the message.

Oscar Wilde says always forgive your enemies—nothing annoys them so much. — Wycombe

For a long moment, she stared at the card, dumfounded. It wasn’t unexpected that Wycombe would know the popular playwright’s work. She simply found it amazing the viscount could quote the man. She bit back a smile. Lord Wycombe’s ability to quote Wilde’s work was a small point in his favor, especially since she adored the famous playwright’s profound wit.

The viscount’s witty response illustrated he understood how much he’d angered and offended her. At least he was somewhat repentant. Perhaps she should forgive him. Horrified by the thought, she frowned. Lord Wycombe might be clever, but it didn’t make up for his abysmal behavior. As her butler took a step in the direction of the kitchen to dispose of the flowers, she touched his arm.

“I think not, Morris. Just a moment.”

Returning to the salon, she crossed the room and peeked out the window, taking care to do so from where the curtain met the wall. Lord Wycombe was still standing in the same spot, but his stance was now one of impatience. She watched as his hands roughly brushed across first one coat sleeve and then the other. Ivy smiled with satisfaction. The man obviously wasn’t used to a woman refusing to succumb to his charms. Stepping away from the window, she went to the secretaire and reached for her pen. The wood of the Waterman fountain pen warmed her fingers as she scratched out her reply on the back of Lord Wycombe’s card.

Nevertheless, the esteemed Ralph Waldo Emerson said God may forgive sins, but awkwardness has no forgiveness in heaven or earth.

She studied the simple statement for a long moment and smiled. That would put an end to the man’s blatant attempts to ease his way into her good graces. She had no intention of furthering her limited acquaintance with the man, even if the memory of his voice was warm enough to tighten every one of her nerve endings.

Even now, the memory of his mouth teasing her earlobe made her body quiver with something undefinable. Appalled, Ivy straightened upright with a jerk. Quickly sliding the card into its envelope, she hurried back out to the foyer. Irritated that she’d allowed herself even to think his touch had been pleasurable, she jammed the note back into the floral arrangements.

At the rough treatment, two of the flowers snapped and drooped downward. She took pleasure at the sight of the limp blooms, although a small part of her regretted the destruction of something so lovely to look at. Immediately dismissing the rueful thought and Morris’s startled look, she glared at the flowers.

“Return these to the gentleman across the street, Morris. And instruct him not to send any further protestations of his apologies.”

“Yes, Miss Ivy.” The butler frowned with worried confusion, and Ivy patted his arm.

“It’s all right, Morris. You’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. “I simply don’t wish to accept Lord Wycombe’s apologies.”

Ivy whirled away and returned to the salon. As she closed the door behind her, she congratulated herself for having rid herself of the arrogant nobleman. She gave the viscount credit for being well read, and his witty attempts to apologize. A tiny voice inside questioned her inability to forgive the man. Was it not important to be charitable in forgiveness? She viciously dismissed the idea.

She’d learned a long time ago that the nobility thought anyone below their station in life deserved nothing more than contempt and scorn. The viscount’s apology simply meant he wanted something from her. The harsh reality was that people she’d thought loyal and loving had taught her not to let anyone of the nobility into her life. She flinched at the thought of Caroline and how her cousin had stolen Whitby from her.

With a snort of disgust, Ivy picked up her pen. Caroline’s betrayal had actually been a good thing. Whitby had proven himself a wastrel prone to extensive gambling and drinking. Caroline had actually done Ivy a favor by marrying the man. Over the last year she’d spent behind the circulation desk at the London Library, Ivy had been privy to several conversations about her one time lover.

When the man had died, every conversation had focused on the poor plight of her cousin and the children. The sudden thought of her cousin left alone and penniless made Ivy wince. She had so much and Caroline had so little. Surely, her cousin’s parents had left her with some type of stipend. Everything could have been so different if Caroline had not taken Whitby from her. The old pain sliced through her.

She no longer cared that she’d lost Whitby, but it was Caroline’s betrayal that had cut so deep. Ivy had confided in her cousin about Whitby, and Caroline had betrayed that trust by marrying Whitby. What her cousin had done was unforgivable. Ivy blew out a harsh breath of anger. She was tired of thinking about Caroline.

It only resurrected painful memories she’d buried long ago. Memories best left buried to save her heart from breaking all over again. Her gaze fell downward to study the menu for Saturday night’s festivities. Mrs. Marsh had proposed an ambitious meal, and Ivy found little fault with the different courses the housekeeper had proposed. She seldom gave dinner parties, but the annual London Library fundraising event was a special occasion. The library was always in need of funds to improve the building and acquire new books.

Although she preferred not to socialize with the aristocracy, a periodic sacrifice was necessary to ensure the continued welfare of the library. Despite her aversion for the Marlborough Set at large, there were some members of the Set she’d come to like and respect. It was why her supper party had quickly swelled from a select group of five or six people to a group of twenty. There was still much to do beforehand. Just one more reason why she shouldn’t have been reading The Golden Lotus. Ivy glanced over her shoulder at where the book lay hidden beneath her black shawl. She scowled at the book.

The sudden jangle of the front doorbell made Ivy jump. Surely, Lord Wycombe hadn’t decided to make a house call. She dismissed the idea. Morris would have made it quite clear to the viscount she wanted nothing to do with him. Perhaps Lady Effington had come to call on her. The woman had the habit of making unexpected house calls on a routine basis. Still, what if it wasn’t Lady Effington? Ivy’s throat closed at the prospect it was Viscount Wycombe.

Her dress rustling loudly in the room, Ivy jumped to her feet and raced to the window. She relaxed slightly as she saw her nemesis still standing across the street with a look of frustration on his face. Ivy smiled slightly. In some way, he reminded her of a little boy denied his favorite toy. A knock on the salon door made her turn away from the window as Morris entered the room carrying a small nosegay. The butler’s expression told her exactly who had sent the flowers. In silence, she removed the card from the flowers.

Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.

Good heavens, the man had read Mark Twain. She laughed before she could swallow the sound. She glanced at Morris, but her butler’s expression was unreadable. Ivy looked back at the card in her hand. It was clear the man was trying to make amends. Would it hurt to forgive him simply for Anthony’s sake?

The moment she considered the idea, she stiffened. Lord Wycombe was a member of the Marlborough Set. It had taken several months for Anthony to earn her trust. His uncle was sadly mistaken if he thought to gain her trust, let alone forgiveness, in a few short hours with flowers and witty quotes. Slowly, she returned to her secretaire with Wycombe’s card in her hand.

Despite her antipathy for the viscount, she had to admit he was pleading his case well and with increasing heartfelt remorse. A reluctant smile curved her lips. The first floral delivery had been wildly extravagant, and his card had displayed simply an arrogance that the flowers would serve as an apology.

When she’d returned the bouquet, the subsequent ones had grown smaller until the current nosegay was almost penitent in nature. What surprised her was his intelligence and wit. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. After all, he’d only been trying to protect Anthony. Her lips tightened. That was precisely what the man had been doing. He’d been ensuring one of the lesser mortals didn’t enter the hallowed sanctum of the nobility.

It was a refrain she remembered well from her childhood. Her aunt and uncle had ensured she never forgot her father had been a commoner. All she’d wanted was love, and they’d answered that wish with disdain and contempt. She flinched at the memories. No, she wasn’t going to let the man’s wit and flowers sway her opinion of him.

Lord Wycombe wasn’t just a scoundrel—he was a nobleman. She doubted the man was penitent at all, and the more distance she put between them, the better. It was time to end this ridiculous game of words. With quick, bold strokes, she wrote her reply on the back of the viscount’s card.

Samuel Johnson said, the true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good. We are both familiar with your true feelings regarding commoners of the avarice and manipulative sort, and while your pleas are somewhat amusing, they are falling on deaf ears.

The learned man’s words were an excellent reply to Lord Wycombe’s attempts to earn her forgiveness. Perhaps the quote would remind the viscount that great men could also come from humble beginnings. She stared down at the words for a moment, a small part of her reluctant to end this exchange of wit. The thought made her spirits drop as she quickly shoved the card back into the envelope and handed it to Morris.

“Return the flowers, Morris.”

“And is there a message I should convey, Miss Ivy?”

“No,” she said quietly as she moved to stand at the window to study Lord Wycombe’s striking figure across the street. “I think my note will suffice in convincing his lordship to stop sending flowers.”

“Very well, Miss Ivy,” Morris said with a hint of skepticism, and Ivy turned her head to look at him.

“You sound doubtful on that score, Morris.”

“It’s simply that…” the butler’s voice trailed away into silence before he straightened his shoulders. “May I speak plainly, Miss Ivy?”

“Of course. You know I have always valued your counsel.” Ivy smiled at the man. The butler had been in her uncle’s employ for years and his allegiance had easily switched to Ivy when she’d inherited her uncle’s fortune.

“Lord Wycombe seems a man of great determination. Perhaps it would be best to simply ignore the man’s attentions.”

The man’s words made Ivy hesitate. Was it possible she was allowing her own sense of injustice to guide her attempts to chastise the viscount? She dismissed the possibility as quickly as it popped into her head. With a shake of her head, she smiled at Morris.

“I think once you return this last arrangement of flowers, his lordship will end his pursuit.”

“Very well, Miss Ivy.” A look of doubt on his face, Morris left the salon.

Determined to forget Lord Wycombe, Ivy glanced at the black shawl draped over the arm of her reading chair. She needed something to preoccupy her, and The Golden Lotus was exactly the thing to take her mind off of Anthony’s uncle. Curling her legs up beneath her, Ivy opened the book and inhaled a sharp breath of shock.

The erotic drawing made her eyes widen and her heart pounded violently in her chest. Despite being scandalized by the drawing, she couldn’t suppress her fascination with it. The man in the drawing was naked, his body hard, lean and muscular. Strong arms stretched out to caress the hair of the woman in the picture. In contrast to the man’s steely strength, the woman in the picture was soft and plump, her derriere pushing upward in the picture as she bent over the man. Intense pleasure tugged at the man’s features, as the woman’s mouth engulfed his phallus.

Was the act as enjoyable for the woman as it obviously was for the man? Would he find such an act pleasurable? She stared at the picture and realized it was Lord Wycombe’s face she was imagining she saw there. Appalled, she slammed the book closed. Dear Lord, what was she thinking?

Ivy leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed, as she tried to think of something else. But the illicit thought returned to tease and tempt her. Would such an act please the viscount? Horrified, she shook her head. She’d lost her mind. How could she possibly even have such a thought? And why him of all men?

It was the book. There was no other explanation for why she would even think such a thing—and especially when it came to Lord Wycombe. Frantic with the need to dispel the carnal image in her mind, she sprang to her feet and dropped the book into the chair.

Pacing the floor, she tried to forget how her body had quivered when he’d leaned into her at the library. She’d tried to retreat, but there had been nowhere to run. Ivy gulped with trepidation and something undefinable as she remembered how close he’d been to her. Heat curled its way over her skin. He’d been close enough that if she’d turned her head even the slightest bit his mouth would have covered hers.

Almost as if he were in the room with her, she could smell the bergamot he wore. There was something wicked about him, and just thinking about him made her mouth go dry. Once more, the image of the viscount stretched out naked in a chair flooded her head, and she moaned softly. Dear lord, she was mad to have brought that book home. Madder still to be thinking of Lord Wycombe in such a carnal way. She would return the book first thing tomorrow. Anything to rid herself of thoughts so carnal in nature with a man she knew better to associate with.

Chapter 5

Simon gritted his teeth as he accepted the small nosegay from the dour-faced butler with an abrupt nod. His fingers curled around the stems of the flowers as he watched the servant climb the steps of Ivy’s townhouse and retreat behind the blue door.

Damnation, but the woman was determined to make him beg for her forgiveness. He stood on the sidewalk feeling like a lovesick suitor rejected once more. With a grimace, he looked down at the flowers and saw the white card tucked in the wilting blooms. A smile tugged at his lips. Ivy Beecham might be determined to make him pay for his insults yesterday, but she was doing so in a way he found exceedingly entertaining.

Other than his sister, Simon couldn’t remember any woman ever being able to go toe to toe with him when it came to literary repartee. With an eagerness that alarmed a small part of him, he pulled the envelope out of the flowers then tossed the blooms aside. The card freed of its holder he flipped it over to read her script. Ivy’s words made him expel a harsh breath. He really had put the goose fat in the fire with her.

“Goddamnit, Wycombe,” he rasped quietly. “You’re losing your touch.”

He grimaced. Ivy Beecham was proving to be unlike any other woman he’d ever met. It was still hard to believe she wanted nothing to do with him, but her handwriting was strong and crisp on the card he held. Simon glanced at the window where he’d seen Ivy earlier, half expecting her to be standing at the window with a self-satisfied smile on her lovely features.

When he didn’t see her, Simon experienced a disappointment he found irritating. It said he was too invested in this challenge he’d undertaken. He studied the card again trying to construct a new strategy to gain him entrance into Ivy’s house and ultimately Ivy herself. His gaze swept across the words only to halt abruptly at a small phrase.

“While your pleas are somewhat amusing,” he murmured. “Why do I think you’ve enjoyed our battle of wits, Miss Beecham?”

With an upward glance at the façade of Ivy’s house, a smile curved his lips. Where Ivy Beecham was concerned, he would need to adjust his efforts to win his way into her affections. Words were how he would win her and coax her into his bed. He stiffened. She was a spinster, and a virgin at that.

It was a problem he’d not considered. Was he so eager to prove his point to Anthony that he could so easily compromise her? He frowned. He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. For the moment, he needed to storm the castle to test those waters. Simon walked away from Ivy’s house to make his way back to the florist. He would enjoy the challenge of seducing her with words.

Simon had never seduced a woman in this manner before, and he found it a refreshing idea. His sister, Abigail, was the only woman he knew who could match him in his knowledge of the classics. It was unusual to find an intelligent woman as opposed to one with a vacuous mind. Ivy Beecham was proving to be a delightful combination of beauty and intellect.

In the back of his head, a voice whispered a warning. Ivy Beecham was a dangerous combination. It would be easy to fall into her web. Simon laughed at the thought. Experience had taught him better. He was the one who posed the greatest threat in any relationship he indulged in with Ivy.

Amused, Simon walked into the floral shop around the corner from Ivy’s house. The question now was what to offer Ivy next? Humility wasn’t his strong suit, but he was willing to concede his behavior yesterday called for it. He’d been a brute, and his apology needed to be sincere if he was to win his way into Ivy’s salon. With a grimace of chagrin, he selected a single white rose.

The color was the fashionable way to admit one to apologize, and it would also serve as a white flag. Something told him the silent message would please Ivy, and that it would gain him access to her faster than anything else. At the counter, he paused for a long moment, pondering what to write on his card. Of all the quotes he’d written so far, this one needed to be exceedingly humble, yet amusing as well. Simon searched his mind looking for just the right quote.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud then laughed again at the shopkeeper’s surprised expression. Ignoring the poor woman’s startled look, Simon quickly wrote out Catherine Fanshawe’s words, taking a small amount of poetic license with the quote.

Wycombe…’T was whisper’d in heaven,’t was mutter’d in hell, And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell.

He stared down at the words and grinned. If that didn’t make Ivy laugh then he’d been wrong about her quick mind. He snorted at the idea as he shoved the note card into its envelope and paid for the rose. Ivy would understand his surrender as easily as he’d understood her attraction to him.

The memory of her pressed into the bookshelf and the flutter of her heartbeat made his groin tighten with anticipation. He had no doubt Ivy was attracted to him, and capitalizing on that fact was going to be a pleasurable exercise in seduction. Rose in hand, he returned to Ivy’s house and climbed the steps to announce his arrival with a hard press to doorbell. Behind the door, he heard the sharp sound of the bell jangling, and he smiled. Confidence bolstered his spirits as the door opened. The butler eyed him with a hint of dismay, and Simon capitalized on that fact.

“I’m expected,” he lied in a bored drawl. “Please convey this humble token of my esteem to Miss Beecham. I’ll await her reply in the foyer.”

The tall man in front of him hesitated before taking the card and rose from Simon. The man looked decidedly uncomfortable as he opened the door wider to allow Simon into the house. With a smile of satisfaction, he stepped into the large foyer to await Ivy’s response to his latest message.

As the butler crossed the floor into what Simon presumed was the salon, he stared around the front entrance. The quiet elegance of the entryway made him clench his teeth. Anthony had been right. Ivy had no need of money, and it was quite possible the woman might view him as a fortune hunter. He scowled at an exquisite statue sitting on a small table.

The knowledge made him question his shameless assumption that the Voltaire Papers would intrigue her enough to give him the chance to woo her. The sudden sound of laughter made him jerk his head toward the door the butler had passed through. A small smile of triumph curled his lips as the butler emerged from the room and held the salon door open to allow him entrance. That was one battle one, but there were more to win if he was to win the war.

Simon walked into the salon and halted just a few feet inside the door stunned to find himself feeling a bit awkward. Yesterday she’d presented the appearance of a straight-laced spinster, but today she was a seductress in her red gown. At first he thought she was completely unaffected by him. Her serene expression made him grit his teeth. Had he overestimated his ability to make this woman fall into his arms?

His gaze skimmed over her and the way her fingers fidgeted with the skirt of her gown made him certain that behind Ivy Beecham’s calm appearance was a woman on edge. Certain she would not come to him, Simon crossed the room to stand in front of her. He bowed slightly and waited for her to offer him her hand.

Tension filled the air, and Simon looked up to see her sapphire eyes dark and stormy with anger and something else. He frowned. He’d done more than anger her. His actions had wounded her. Remorse crashed through him. Ivy jerked back away from him then gathered her skirts and swept around him with an abruptness that took him by surprise. As she passed him, his nose caught the scent of her. Yesterday she’d smelled like lilies, today it was crisp and sweet like citrus. Desire rose inside him, and he quelled the sensation. All in good time. Simon straightened upright then turned to face her.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly. “I insulted you yesterday, and I regret that.”

“My lord, is there some reason why you called on me today?” Her expression was cool, but he saw the fire in her eyes.

“I thought we might make a fresh start between the two of us.” He placed his hands behind his back as he studied her.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I see little point in doing so.” The slight hitch in her breath made him smile.

“I would have to disagree.” He narrowed his gaze at her as he watched her heartbeat flutter erratically on the side of her neck. His hand itched to brush his fingers over the spot. He smiled at her in a congenial manner, his hands fisted behind his back.

“You can disagree all you like, but I see no reason why we should become better acquainted as our paths are not likely to cross in the near future.” She sniffed with indignation and glared at him as if she could burn him at the stake.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I intend to see you quite a bit. In fact, I even plan on taking you to the library gala this Saturday.”

“Me. To the fundraiser?” She snapped. “What on earth makes you think I would go anywhere with you?”

Biting back a laugh, he closed the distance between them. Ivy didn’t retreat, but the tension between them went up several notches as he drank in her tart scent. Every inch of him hardened as he ached to pull her close and taste her mouth. The image of him slowly undressing her made his mouth go dry. Christ Jesus, he’d drive himself insane with want if he continued to let his imagination run away like this. He swallowed hard.

“Because I have something you want.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against her ear. Fire singed his mouth as he fought not to pull her into his arms at that very moment. He nibbled at her earlobe with his lips. Her soft gasp made his cock stiffen, and he nipped at her ear in a playful manner.

“Has anyone ever told you how lovely your ears are?”

His words caused her to jump away from him, and his groin started to ache at the look on her face. Ivy’s lips parted slightly as her breaths came in short, frantic gasps. Her beautiful eyes were wide with panic, and there was awareness shimmering in her gaze that told him her panic wasn’t because she was afraid of him.

Her fear was that of a woman coming to grips with her desire for something she hadn’t realized she’d wanted until this moment. It was the most enticing, seductive look he’d ever seen. Again, his cock stirred in his trousers. As he studied her face, he saw her regroup and a haughty expression settled on her face.

“I can’t think of anything you have that I might possibly want, my lord.” At her cold tone, he quirked an eyebrow and smiled with a sense of pleased satisfaction.

“Not even the Voltaire papers?” His blithe statement made her stare at him in disbelief.

“I don’t believe you,” she exclaimed when she recovered her equilibrium a moment later. “An anonymous buyer bought the papers at a private auction several years ago.”

“Yes, they were, and they cost me a king’s ransom too.”

“I doubt you even know what the Voltaire papers are let alone being able to determine whether or not they’re the originals,” she said in derisive tone which smarted almost as badly as her glare of disbelief. “They’re most likely forgeries.”

“You underestimate me, Ivy,” he said stiffly. It was the first time his knowledge had been questioned by anyone, and he didn’t like the sensation. “The papers are quite genuine and written in the man’s own hand. France has never seen such a writer or satirist, than Voltaire, and I think it’s time others share in my bounty.”

“If I were to believe you—if, mind you—what do the Voltaire Papers have to do with me?”

“I’ll agree to give the London Library the papers, providing you agree to let me escort you to the library’s social function this weekend.”

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped as she stared at him obvious horror.

“Oh, I’m quite serious.” He said with a satisfied smile. “I admit, it’s unusual for me to resort to bribery to obtain the pleasure of a lady’s company, but I’m certain it will be a worthy sacrifice.”

“But why? Why would you do such a thing?” Completely befuddled, her lips moved as if she wanted to argue but didn’t know what to protest.

“Because I’m intrigued by you, Ivy.” When she remained silent, he pushed his advantage. “So we’re agreed then?”

“Aren’t the Voltaire Papers a rather steep price for the privilege of escorting a mere commoner to the library benefit?” she said in a withering tone of voice. “What will people say?”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said quietly as the full impact of her scathing contempt rolled over him. His words yesterday had cut deeper than he’d expected. Regret sailed through him. “I admit I could have been less rude, yesterday, but I won’t apologize for keeping my nephew’s best interests at heart.”

Apologies never came easy for him, and he refused to grovel. Impatiently, he waited for her reply. The moment she nodded her agreement, triumph settled in his limbs. He’d won the first battle, but there were others to fight. For a moment, they watched each other in silence, and she was the first to look away.

A delicate blush crested over her cheek as she turned her head so he could only see her profile. She was like an ingénue with a hint of maturity that suggested she wasn’t quite as innocent as she seemed. He frowned. Seducing an innocent was hardly the mark of a gentleman, but if Ivy held true to his expectations, he didn’t expect her to be an innocent. He glanced about the salon and noted the numerous shelves of books.

“You’re an avid reader.” His comment made her jerk her head back to him, and something akin to trepidation swept over her features.

“Yes…I enjoy all types of literature,” she murmured as she slowly walked toward where he stood by the fire.

“Name your favorite author.” He watched her come to a halt as she eyed him with surprise. She tilted her head for a moment clearly thinking through her answer before she answered him in an emphatic tone.

“Alexander Dumas, I think. He has a masterful way of telling a story.” She smiled at him, and Simon’s chest tightened at the effect it had on him.

“Based on the authors you quoted, it’s obvious you’re well-read for a woman.” He grinned at the way she bristled.

“Is it your habit to insult people simply to prove your superiority?” There it was again, that pained note layered beneath a note of stiff indifference.

“No,” he said soothingly. “Something about you brings out the worst of me.”

“Then perhaps we should reconsider our agreement about Saturday evening,” she said in a hopeful tone as she sidled toward the chair near the fire.

“A valiant effort to escape the inevitable, my dear Ivy, but a hopeless one nevertheless.” He watched her nervously toy with the skirt of her gown, and her gaze flitted toward the chair, then back toward him. His gaze followed hers, and he caught sight of the bound book tucked into the crevice of the chair. Ivy rushed forward to grab the book, but Simon reached it first. As she tried to take it from him, he held it up out of reach.

“Return my book to me this instant,” Ivy snapped her expression one of embarrassment more than fright.

Simon arched his eyebrow and looked at the book he was holding out of her reach. The moment he read the title, his muscles hardened with a lust he’d not experienced in a long time, if ever. His gaze returned to Ivy, and she blushed deeply.

“How much of the book have you read, Ivy?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Golden Lotus—how much have you read?” he asked quietly as he pinned her with his gaze.

“That’s none of your business.”

The manner in which she tilted her chin upward at a defiant angle told Simon she’d read quite a bit of the book. Instantly his cock stiffened, forcing him to turn away from her to hide his arousal. The thought of her reading The Golden Lotus made him rock hard. As he’d suspected, Ivy Beecham wasn’t quite the paragon of virtue his nephew thought.

The knowledge disappointed him as he realized he’d been hoping he was wrong about her. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to show her how pleasurable the erotic moves depicted in The Golden Lotus could be. Controlling his lust with supreme effort, Simon cleared his throat and turned back to Ivy. His gaze never leaving her face, he moved forward to stop mere inches from her. A shudder rippled through her.

“Why do I think you’ve obviously read a great deal of the book,” he murmured as he glanced down at the leather bound volume in his hand.

“I am studying the book from an academic viewpoint.” Although her demeanor was still one of defiance, there was a distinct quaver in her voice.

“Are you, indeed,” he drawled with amusement. “And exactly what is your opinion of the book based on your reading to date?”

“I…I found it to be…enlightening,” she finished with a gasp.

Simon’s body brushed against hers as he leaned past her to drop the book into the chair behind her. The barely audible moan passing her lips stirred a dark lust in the pit of his stomach. God, he couldn’t wait to have her in his bed.

His hand cupped her chin as his thumb pressed down on her bottom lip forcing her mouth to part. Another tremor wracked her body and vibrated its way into his fingers. Gently, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lip and took pleasure in the way the plump flesh quivered beneath his touch. Like a violin responding to a bow, she swayed toward him.

Slowly, he pulled her close. Her eyes had a sleepy look as if she’d just woken up from a long night of passion. Christ Jesus, she was lovely, and her mouth was made for kissing. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The faint scent of chocolate filled his nostrils from her sweet breath, and he immediately thrust his tongue into her mouth to taste her.

The flavor of hot chocolate dashed across his tongue. It held the promise of something sweet and delectable. His cock grew stiff and ridged in his trousers, and he longed to drag her hand off his chest down to his hard erection. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found a woman who tasted so good. His fingers brushed along the silky skin of her neck and over the spot throbbing with the frantic pace of her heartbeat.

The racing pulse beneath his fingertips sent a surge of triumph through him. He’d been right. There were fires banked deep inside Ivy that when they emerged would consume her when she came to his bed. His fingers trailed downward across the material of her high-necked dress to just above her breasts.

Frustration lashed at him. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to touch him. A small moan whispered in his mouth. It made him realize he was on the verge of losing control. If he didn’t release her, he might drag her to the floor and make love to her at that precise moment. Shaken by the need she created in him, Simon released her quickly.

His heart was racing, and every inch of him demanded he bed her right now. He drew in a deep breath. No. Ivy wasn’t like other women. He would have to woo her if she were to come to his bed. And she would come to his bed. The sultry expression on her face and her ragged breathing confirmed his belief of that fact.

“That was most enlightening,” he murmured. “What time shall I call for you on Saturday evening?”

“I…I am having a small supper party before the ball. You may join us if you wish. Supper is at seven.”

“Then I shall be here at seven.” Simon captured her hand and carried it to his lips. When she tried to tug it free of his grasp, he tightened his grip and turned it over to study her palm. “Have you ever had your fortune told, Ivy?”

“No, I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense.”

“Is it?” He gentle stroked the inside of her palm with his free hand as he bent his head as if studying her palm intently. When he raised his head, he smiled at her transfixed look. “In the not too distant future, Ivy, you’re going to discover a world of pleasure. I intend to be your guide into that world, Ivy. And I promise you, it will be even more enlightening than that book you’ve been reading.”

She uttered a sharp gasp as his mouth warmed her palm. Simon quickly released her hand and took a quick step back. Bowing slightly, he smiled at her then left the salon before she could gather her wits and order him out of the house or worse, renege on their agreement.

~~~~

“Ahh, so this is when you fell in love with him.” The elderly gentleman at her side gently tapped her arm. The light touch sent a flood of warmth through her as the cool white fog surrounded them once more.

“Yes.” Ivy nodded reluctantly. “That’s when I fell in love with him. He was impossibly arrogant, but the way he used words to plead his case held me spellbound. But none of this changes anything. He’s no different than Whitby.”

“Are you so certain of that? Deep inside you knew Whitby only wanted you for your money until he discovered the truth of your heritage. We both know Whitby didn’t really love you.”

“That’s not true. He would have married me if it hadn’t been for… if he hadn’t been told I was a commoner.”

“Sometimes it’s convenient to hide from the truth when it makes the pain easier to bear. But we both know the truth about Whitby.”

There was a harsh note in the elderly man’s voice, and she looked up at him with a frown. For some odd reason, it seemed as if some of his wrinkles had faded. Ivy scoffed at the idea. She was already mad and delusional. Why would she be surprised to see the man’s face changing? Besides, it was obvious he knew nothing of her life at Fairfield. He knew nothing about how miserable her childhood had been after the deaths of her parents.

She’d gone to live with her mother’s family, only to be met with scorn and condescension. Her aunt and uncle’s treatment of her had magnified the grief she’d borne for her parents. The daughter of an earl, her mother’s elopement with a tradesman had been a scandal, but it was Ivy who’d paid the price of her mother’s rebellion. She glared at the old man.

“I have no wish to pursue any further discussion on Whitby, and if you insist on showing me images from my recent past, then do so or take me back to where I belong.” Bitterness echoed in her voice, and the man studied her defiant stance carefully.

“I am beginning to understand why Simon found it so difficult to convince you of his love for you. You’ve never been able to let go of the past.”

“Enough. Show me what you must or leave me be.”

“Very well,” he said with a soft sigh. Pulling her arm through his, the elderly gentleman guided her back into the fog.

Chapter 6

Ivy stared at herself in the mirror. What had she done? She bit down on her lip as the thought of Lord Wycombe attending her supper party, and then his escorting her to the ball. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to accept his proposal of being her escort tonight in exchange for his donating the Voltaire papers to the library? Elbow on the dressing table, she rubbed her forehead.

Tonight would be a disaster. She should never have agreed to his proposal. Nervously, she returned her gaze to the mirror as she remembered the way Lord Wycombe had kissed her. Nothing had prepared her for the wild emotions that had raged inside her. One glance in the mirror reflected that the memory of his touch was plain to see on her face.

Her eyelids were weighted downward in a sultry look, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth looked as though she were longing for his kiss. She released a breath of disgust. Lord Wycombe’s calling cards had been entertaining, but she wanted nothing to do with the man. Nothing at all. A voice in the back of her head called her a liar. She swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of the way her skin was feeling feverish.

She sprang to her feet to pace the floor. The soft rustle of her dress against the Persian carpet beneath her feet echoed loudly in the quiet room. What was she going to do this evening? Ivy scoffed at the question. She was going to do exactly as she agreed. Lord Wycombe would escort her to the ball and then she’d return home.

What was the possible harm in that if it gained the library the Voltaire Papers? She stopped her pacing to face her dressing table mirror. The woman staring back at her wore a gown the color of an evening sky when the last bit of daylight had faded from view. Covering the material was a thin sheen of netting laced with miniature stones that glittered in the room’s soft light. The dress’s shoulders were nonexistent, and the neckline plunged downward in a scandalous fashion.

Only a fool would believe something wouldn’t happen tonight. Instinct had guided her hand when she’d selected her gown, and she knew she’d chosen it to entice him. Ivy’s mouth went dry at the thought. Why would she have done such a thing? The answer followed close on the heels of the question. She wanted him. The realization tugged a soft gasp from her.

God help her. How could she possibly want a man who represented everything she despised? Ivy closed her eyes and wished the evening were over, but safety was still several hours away. Tonight she would tolerate the man’s presence then cast him out of her thoughts in the morning. A scornful laugh escaped her lips.

The man had already declared his intention to initiate her in the pleasures she’d read about in The Golden Lotus. Did she really believe she would escape his pursuit so easily? When she’d agreed to let him escort her to the ball this evening, it had seemed a harmless proposition. Spending a few hours in the man’s presence in exchange for the Voltaire Papers had seemed a small price to pay for such a treasure. But she’d made that decision before he’d kissed her.

The memory of his kiss sent a shock wave through her. Her hand flew up to her face in an effort to cool the fire in her cheeks. She would have to find a way to keep the man at bay. The scornful laugh she released as she stared at her reflection made her wince. How could she keep the man at arms distance when she found it so pleasurable to be in his arms? At the alarming thought, Ivy whirled away from the mirror and moved toward the door. Tonight was the first and last time she would spend time in Lord Wycombe’s company. When the evening was done, they would part ways. As she left her room, a voice in the darkest reaches of her mind whispered the word liar. She ignored it and hurried downstairs to greet her guests.

~~~~

Stepping out of his carriage, Simon ordered his driver to return later then turned to stride up the steps to Ivy’s house. He was certain handing over the Voltaire Papers in exchange for Ivy’s company this evening would be well worth the expense. When he’d made his proposal to her the other day, it had been a spur of the moment action, but his decision to do so had been the right one.

He’d guessed correctly that Ivy wouldn’t be able to resist acquiring the Voltaire Papers for the library, even if it meant spending an entire evening in his company. What she didn’t realize was that he had no intention of letting this one occasion be their only time together. Tonight he intended to intrigue and tantalize the woman until she fell eagerly into his arms.

With a tug of the doorbell, he waited for the front door to open. The moment it did so, he stepped inside and removed his coat. As he handed his outerwear to the butler, he noticed the man eyeing him with a severe expression. He arched an eyebrow, causing the retainer’s frown to deepen.

Amused by the man’s silent disapproval he bit back a grin. It seemed Ivy had another champion besides Anthony seeking to protect and revere her. Quiet voices echoed out of the salon, and Simon moved toward the room. From the doorway, his gaze scanned the guests gathered in small clusters throughout the spacious room. Their conversations were a quiet murmur as he recognized several men from his literary society. But it was Ivy who captured his attention. The sight of her sucked the wind out of his chest as he watched her from afar. She looked radiant.

As he watched her from across the room, a laugh parted her full lips, and she fluttered a peacock-feathered fan in front of her in a leisurely movement. There was an elegance and grace to her manner that few noblewomen could match. If Anthony had brought her home without revealing her background, no one in the family would have known she was a commoner. The notion made his jaw clench. The woman was destroying every one of his beliefs about commoners.

He watched her tip her head to one side as she gave the man standing at her side her complete attention. The sight irritated Simon. He wanted her to focus solely on him and no one else. No. What he really wanted was to take her away from all of these people. He wanted to spend time alone with her. First, he’d bed her and then he’d immerse himself in learning everything he could about her. He scowled in Ivy’s direction.

Damnation, he’d not been this enthralled with a woman since Elizabeth. Images of his father fucking the woman he’d wanted to marry blinded Simon for a brief moment before he buried the memories. He moved out of the salon’s doorway to lean against the wall and continued to watch Ivy. A quiet sensuality filled her every movement in a way that said she was without artifice.

Simon’s gaze slid over her in the same fashion he wanted to do using his hands. He wanted to explore every silky inch of her with his hands and his mouth. For the first time in a long while, he found himself excited at the thought of seducing a woman. His seduction of Ivy was something he’d never tried before. In the past, he’d simply whispered a few sweet nothings into the ear of the woman he wanted and they eagerly acquiesced to his advances. Ivy was different and required a unique strategy.

Simon would have to use words to seduce Ivy—words that intrigued and excited her. Her intelligence and quick wit would demand nothing less. It was why he’d spent practically all day researching various works of literature to use when the moment presented itself.

Her love of literature was obvious given her work at the library, but it was also clear that her tastes weren’t limited in any way. The fact that she’d been reading The Golden Lotus was evidence of that. A smile curved his mouth as he recalled finding the erotic book in her reading chair. Discovering the book in her possession both stunned and delighted him. It meant she was adventurous, and that was something he thoroughly enjoyed in a woman.

His gaze roved over her voluptuous body. The gown highlighted the sensuous line of her neck and lovely shoulders. Even more tempting was the way the gown plunged toward the valley of her breasts. They were full and lush, just like the rest of her.

The other day she’d had the look of a siren disguised as bookish spinster. Tonight she was an alluring temptress inviting him to taste her, seduce her. She exuded the aura of a woman who would take pleasure in her lover and give back in equal measure. An urgent hunger gripped him, and he struggled to control his physical response to her. Almost as if aware of his struggle, he saw her stiffen then reach up to touch the back of her neck. Instinct told him that she knew he here.

Slowly, she turned her head, and his gut tightened with need at the mysterious look on her features. Her sapphire eyes met his, and he immediately saw awareness tighten her body. No matter how much she might deny the fact, Ivy was attracted to him. It was visible in the way her cheeks flushed a soft pink and how she gripped her fan. She smiled graciously at the man she’d been conversing with then moved toward Simon. The moment she reached him, she hesitated briefly, a wary expression in her eyes, before she offered him her hand.

“Good evening, Lord Wycombe.” He didn’t hesitate to accept her hand and bow in her direction as he kissed her fingertips. When she tried to pull free, he kept her hand firmly in his grasp.

“My name is Simon.”

“And what am I to take away from this revelation.” She arched an eyebrow at him in an expression of disinterest, but he could feel the tension flowing through her body and into her hand. With a smile, he squeezed her fingers slightly.

“Say my name, Ivy.”

“I hardly think—”

“If you don’t, I promise to do something that will leave your guests scandalized.” He smiled as she glared at him before nodding sharply.

“As you wish—Simon.”

Not yet ready to release her, Simon straightened upright and carried her hand to his mouth once more. A slight shudder trembled through her down to her fingertips. He smiled.

“You look enchanting.”

“If you seek to flatter me, my lord, I should warn you that I’m immune to such platitudes.”

“Would you have me lie to you?” He released her hand as her lovely mouth tightened into a firm line.

“I prefer blunt honesty to flattery.” The tartness of her tone made him laugh.

“Since you prefer honest observations, I can assume you demand nothing less of yourself.”

“Of course.” She sniffed with indignation.

“Then convince me you weren’t thinking about me when you selected your dress for this evening.” He grinned as her eyes widened with surprise. An instant later, her surprise turned into glare.

“That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”

“Evading the issue is far from being honest. Admit it, Ivy, you thought about me when you picked out this dress.”

The expression on her face made him smile as he watched consternation, frustration, and irritation slide across her lovely face in quick succession. She was like a cornered cat, ready to hiss and scratch at the first sign of trouble.

“Just because you happened to be on my mind when I pulled this dress out of my wardrobe doesn’t mean I chose it as a means of pleasing or enticing you.” A serene smile curved her lips as she set her chin at a stubborn angle. The remark was worthy even of Disraeli and he smiled.

“Come, my beautiful liar, I think it’s time you introduced me to some of your guests.” Cupping her elbow, he guided her forward. “It would seem we’re causing quite a stir.”

Dismay darkened her eyes as she allowed him to lead her deeper into the room. They stopped at the closest group of guests, where Ivy introduced him to the Countess of Effington. A tall, dour woman, the Countess peered at him through a monocle that hung on a long pearl chain around her neck.

“Lord Wycombe. I knew your father. A devilishly attractive man and a bit of a reprobate. I hope you don’t take after him.” The woman’s deep voice echoed with self-importance as she eyed him with disapproval. Simon bit back a scathing retort and smiled instead.

“I’m worse, Lady Effington. Far worse.” He watched as the Countess registered his words and a glint of amusement sparked in her eyes.

“Well done, my boy. I deserved a far harsher reply and you chose not to eviscerate an old woman.” Lady Effington smiled at him and tapped his arm with her fan. “I understand from Miss Beecham here that you’re to be my escort into dinner. I trust you’ll have something interesting to say over our meal.”

With a sharp glance at Ivy, he saw mischief flash across her face before her smile steadied into polite serenity. The little minx. She knew full well their agreement meant he was to spend the entire evening at her side. Turning his full attention on the older woman, he directed his most charming smile at her.

“It will be my pleasure to try and entertain you during dinner, my lady.” With a quick glance at Ivy, he grinned. “A discussion of famous literary texts, perhaps? If I recall, Miss Beecham had one such text in her possession the other day. Perhaps she could offer up the name of the volume for our discussion.”

“Well, Miss Beecham? What’s the name of this book Lord Wycombe is referring to?” The Countess turned toward her hostess a look of curiosity on her aging features. With her eyebrows arching upward, the old woman waited for Ivy to respond. Under the Countess’s inquisitive, bird-like gaze, Ivy was clearly disconcerted.

“I… Forgive me, my lady, but I don’t recall the name of the book.”

“Don’t recall the name of the book.” The older woman scoffed. “Poppycock, you’ve never forgotten the title of a book since I’ve known you.”

“Something to do with flowers, wasn’t it, Miss Beecham?” Simon said in a helpful manner. The moment he spoke, Ivy’s cheeks flushed bright with pink. She shot him a furious glare before returning her attention to the tall lady in front of her.

“For the life of me, Lady Effington, I’ve completely forgotten the book’s title.”

“Perhaps you’re flustered by the company you’re keeping.” The noblewoman arched an eyebrow at Ivy then deliberately looked at Simon. Avoiding the old lady’s gaze, he suppressed a grin as he saw Ivy’s cheeks deepen to an even lovelier hue. She cast him a quick glance as she shook her head.

“It would require someone of importance to cause forgetfulness on my part, and I’ve not met anyone of any significance lately,” Ivy said with a smile of satisfaction as she gave him a pointed look. “I confess my hostess duties have been most distracting for the past week.”

“Of course, that must be the reason you’ve forgotten the title of the book, my dear Miss Beecham. I know how exhausting these social events can be to plan.” Lady Effington’s voice held more than a trace of amusement, and Ivy’s smile faltered slightly before she regained her composure.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should ensure that supper is on schedule. I’m certain Lord Wycombe will prove adequate company this evening, my lady.”

Not waiting for a response, Ivy moved away from them with a quiet rustle of silk. Her back was straight as she walked away, and he knew she was furious with him at the way he’d teased her. A raspy chuckle echoed from the woman next to him. He turned his head and met the woman’s amused gaze.

“That woman, my boy, will lead you a merry dance.”

“I have no doubt of that. But I’m confident it will a pleasurable one,” he said with a smile.

Lady Effington laughed again, her fan tapping playfully against his arm as she sent him a broad wink. The woman was right. Seducing Ivy was one thing, taming her was going to be an altogether different matter.

Chapter 7

Ivy kept her gaze fixed rigidly on scenery outside her carriage window as a crisp silence filled the vehicle’s interior. Lady Effington had been relentless at supper with her efforts to get Ivy to confess the name of the book she’d been reading. She closed her eyes in self-disgust. What in heaven’s name had made her think pairing Simon with Lady Effington was a good idea? She gave a small start of surprise as she realized Lord Wycombe had suddenly become Simon in her head.

“You’re angry with me.” The amusement in Simon’s voice infuriated her. With a hiss of fury, she jerked her gaze away from the window to glare at him.

“And why shouldn’t I be? Lady Effington hounded me all through supper about that blasted book. I’m certain she knows it’s something thoroughly wicked.”

Before she could protest, Simon quickly changed seats to sit beside her. The moment he was next to her, Ivy’s chest tightened until it became difficult to breathe. The faint aroma of sandalwood drifted beneath her nose, and as much as she tried to ignore the scent of him, his nearness made it impossible to do so. She jumped again as his fingers trailed along the edge of her jaw. Her breathing escalated as she jerked away from his touch.

“I doubt Lady Effington thinks any such thing,” he said with laughter in his voice.

“Don’t underestimate the woman.” Ivy glared at him but when he refused to look repentant, she looked away. “The Countess is far more astute than most people give her credit.”

“I’m sure she is, but Lady Effington’s literary tastes don’t interest me. I’d much rather discuss your personal reading preferences.”

“Why must you insist on teasing me this way? Reading that book was a mistake.”

He laughed and the sound sent desire spiraling through her. Ivy turned her head to meet his gaze directly. The close proximity of her mouth to his made her draw in a quick breath. Appalled at the way he was weakening her defenses, she immediately reminded herself that he was of the nobility and couldn’t be trusted. Determined to prevent his obvious intent to seduce her, Ivy returned her gaze to the landscape outside the window. Silence filled the carriage for a long moment, and Ivy felt Simon retreat from her.

“Curiosity is never a mistake, Ivy.”

“Perhaps not, but in this instance I should never have brought that book home. I should have left it in the obscure spot it had been placed.”

“But then you would never have known its contents. You would never understand what it can be like between a man and a woman.”

“I am all too aware of what it’s like to be with a man. It brings nothing but pain and disappointment,” she snapped. Simon’s sharp intake of air made her realize she’d spoken her thoughts out loud. Dear lord what had she been thinking to reveal something so intimate. She froze as she waited for his scorn to wash over her.

“Tell me his name, Ivy. I’ll have the man horse whipped,” Simon’s snarled.

Startled by his unexpected reaction and the ferocity of his words she turned her head to look at him. There was a fiercely protective expression on his face, and the sight of it sent warmth spiraling through her. The way he appeared ready to do battle on her behalf made Ivy swallow hard. She quickly looked away, her body rigid with tension.

“It was a long time ago,” she said stiffly. “It would be dishonorable to lay all the blame at his feet.” Ivy winced at the admission. It was true. She’d given herself to Whitby freely. A strong hand captured hers.

“Whoever he was, the man was a fool to let you go.”

Ivy glanced down at the large hand holding hers before she looked up to see the sincerity in his gray eyes. The man was a conundrum. He’d declared her unfit for his nephew, but suitable for a liaison with him. And yet, here he was attempting to reassure her she was worthy of something better than Whitby’s treatment of her.

“You surprise me, my lord. I thought as a commoner I was unworthy of anything but disdain.” She winced slightly at her icy words.

“I confess my assumptions about you may have been misguided,” he said in a rueful manner. “Tonight you illustrated why breeding is not always a good indicator of grace and respectability.”

This time Ivy was more than surprised, she was astounded, and she stared at him with her mouth open. The chagrin on his handsome features made her believe he meant every word. Uncertainty swept through her. Maybe she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. Perhaps she needed to believe he’d changed his mind if only to validate her belief that she was worthy of the same respect a member of the peerage was. When she didn’t say anything, frustration darkened his features.

“Damn it to hell, Ivy. I practically threw myself on the fire just now and you have nothing to say. Even something scathing?” he muttered. His reaction to her silence made her want to laugh, but she refrained from bruising his pride further.

“I take it that apologies are not your strong suit,” she said with restrained amusement.

“No,” he said with a grimace then smiled. “But you cannot fault me for doing what I believe is right.”

“I suppose not,” she said as she accepted he was a man of conviction. “I know you care for Anthony a great deal. He speaks very highly of you.”

“Actually I was referring to you and my efforts to earn my way back into your good graces. Although it’s clear, I shall be broke inside of a month if I find myself giving up other valuable literary works from my private collection.” The playful note in his voice made Ivy laugh.

“At least your efforts will expand the quality of the library’s offerings.”

“I’m sure they will. I have at least two books that rival The Golden Lotus in their erotic content that I am more than willing to part with…for a price.”

“You’re absolutely wicked,” she said with exasperation.

“True, but in order to be good, I must first be quite wicked.”

Unable to help herself, Ivy laughed. He’d moved closer without her realizing it, and his close proximity sent tension rocketing through her. She shook her head slightly.

“You’re an incorrigible beast.”

“Then tame the beast, Ivy.” With a mock growl, he leaned into her and nipped at her ear with his teeth.

“I…don’t know what you mean.” The pace of her breathing doubled as she suppressed a moan at the heat of his breath brushed across her earlobe.

“Oh, I think you do,” he whispered.

In the shadows of the carriage’s soft candlelight, Simon’s gray eyes were the color of dark pewter. The desire flaring in his gaze made Ivy’s heart stop for a brief moment before it resumed its frantic pounding. They’re gazes locked, and she shuddered as she fought to control the overwhelming need to touch him. He didn’t reach out for her. Instead, he put space between them.

Silently, he watched her, doing nothing to coerce her to lean into him. When she did so, it was of her own freewill. The moment her mouth brushed across his, he tugged her hard against him. Heat throbbed its way through her holding her hostage to a sensation she’d never experience before. Fire skimmed across her skin as he kissed her with a hungry intensity that frightened her almost as much as it thrilled her.

When he’d kissed her the other day, she’d known his caress was potent and dangerous. It was only now that she realized just how precarious a position she was in. The man has told her to tame the beast, but she wasn’t sure it was possible. Passion, wild and out of control blazed its way through her as Simon pulled her deeper into his arms.

In seconds, he’d unfastened the short evening cape she wore, and his mouth etched its way along the edge of her jaw to the side of her neck. The exquisiteness of his mouth burning a trail of fire against her skin made her tremble violently as his finger grazed the edge of her bodice. Without thought, her head fell back against the leather squabs of the seat as desire engulfed her with each kiss he left on her skin.

The moment his finger dipped into the cleft between her breasts, she gasped softly. The intimate caress only made her long for something more. In the next breath, his tongue danced in the small hollow mimicking another more intimate act. She hadn’t thought her heartbeat could go any faster, but his touch dispensed with that notion.

Caught up in the throes of something she didn’t understand, she moaned as he continued to tease her with the slow stoke of his tongue against her flesh. Not even Whitby had ever excited her to this degree. This man’s touch stirred a wild and wanton creature inside her. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel.

The sudden jerk of the carriage coming to a halt made Simon retreat from her. The sound of his harsh breaths reassured her that he was aroused as much as she. Dazed she could only stare at him. Although passion still blazed in his eyes, a slow seductive smile curved his lips.

“That’s a start, Ivy. But’s it’s just a taste of the pleasures awaiting us both,” he murmured in a husky tone.

A shiver of pleasure rippled across her skin at the promise. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she’d given way to something that could easily consume and destroy her, just as it had done with Whitby. The thought sluiced ice through her veins, and she swallowed hard as she fought to regain her composure. She met his gaze for a moment before she glanced away. Her mind raced for a response that would put some distance between him and the passion he’d aroused in her. With a shake of her head, Ivy fumbled with the frog loops of her evening cape.

“Even the best of plans often come to naught, my lord.”

“But I don’t expect to fail, Ivy. In fact, I plan to be quite successful.”

There was a steely note in his voice that alarmed her, but she didn’t have a chance to respond as the door to the carriage opened. While she quickly did the best she could to repair her disheveled appearance, Simon stepped out of the vehicle then offered her his hand.

The moment her hand slid into his, another wave of heat swelled over her. Gray eyes of molten steel studied her as she descended from the vehicle. Hot and blazing, his gaze held a promise of things she desperately wanted to experience, in spite of the warnings wailing like a banshee in her head. Alarmed by the sensations still tying her to him, Ivy averted her gaze and climbed the steps of Clarendon House with Simon at her side.

Inside the Earl’s house, the air was already hot and stuffy despite the crisp winter air. As she removed her cape, Simon’s fingers discreetly brushed against her skin as he lifted the garment off her shoulders. The light caress made her shiver, and she instinctively glanced over her shoulder at him.

The look of desire in his eyes made her heart pound against her ribs. The passionate exchange between them in the carriage had been a silent offer. He wanted to be her lover. She jerked her gaze away from him. It would be unwise to experience the pleasure he offered. They were from two different worlds. And she had no wish to acquaint herself with his world any more than she already was.

Every fiber in her being was conscious of his nearness, and she desperately sought to find a safe harbor from the tension layering its way around her like a spider web. The moment she spied Lord Asterly with the Earl of Clarendon she quickly moved forward, allowing Simon too follow. Both of the distinguished gentlemen welcomed her presence with a smile as she drew near. Offering her hand to first one man and then the other, she smiled back at them.

“My lords, how lovely to see you this evening,” she said a bit too brightly, which tugged one corner of Lord Clarendon’s mouth upward as he looked over her shoulder then bowed over her hand.

“Miss Beecham, you’re looking particularly lovely this evening. There’s something different about you that I can’t quite put my finger on,” she earl said in a quiet voice as he glanced up at her in amusement.

Heat filled Ivy’s cheeks as she met the man’s gaze. Dear lord, did she look as though she’d just been thoroughly kissed by the Viscount? Dismayed, she forced a smile to her lips and accepted the compliment with a quiet word of thanks. As the earl straightened, a tiny frisson skated over her skin telling her Simon was directly behind her. Lord Clarendon extended his hand with a congenial smile.

“Wycombe. It’s been too long since our last discussion on the finer aspects of architecture.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Simon shook the earl’s hand while Lord Asterly distracted Ivy by carrying her hand to his lips.

“My dear Miss Beecham, a delightful pleasure as always,” Asterly said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I understand you’re responsible for the library’s most recent acquisition.”

“Actually, my lord, it was Lord Wycombe’s idea. I was simply the catalyst.” Beside her, she caught Simon’s soft chuckle.

“A catalyst, indeed, Miss Beecham.” Her skin tingled. Despite the formal way he spoke to her, there was a note of intimacy in his voice that teased her senses.

“We’re decidedly grateful for your contribution, Wycombe,” Lord Clarendon’s said with an arched eyebrow. “I should have known you were the one to acquire the papers. You’re the only person I know whose love of Voltaire’s work would allow for the payment of such an exorbitant sum.”

“The Frenchman’s wit is of particular interest to me.” Simon glanced at Ivy, and instinct told her to review Voltaire’s work at the earliest moment possible.

“I am grateful as well, my dear boy. The Voltaire Papers will be the crowning jewel in our collection. Personally, I’m astonished you allowed Miss Beecham to wheedle them out of your possession.”

“One wins the victory when one yields to a beautiful woman,” Simon said with a smile. His response pulled a loud laugh out of both men.

“I do believe the boy is paraphrasing Sophocles,” Lord Asterly said with a chuckle as he nudged the earl and nodded toward Simon. “Is it possible our dear Miss Beecham has met her match in her knowledge of the classics?”

Ivy darted a glance in Simon’s direction and found him watching her with a spark of devilment in his eyes. The rogue was testing her. Daring her to match him in another battle of words, but this time in front of others with no time to consider an appropriate response. Well, she wouldn’t do it.

Every time she entered into a verbal duel with him, she found herself in his arms. But then you like being in his arms, don’t you, Ivy. She ignored the voice. No, she didn’t like it. She didn’t even like the man. Liar. With an inward sigh, she shook her head.

“My lords, I confess I am at a loss as to how to respond to such flattery. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see Mrs. Simpson and must say hello.” Smiling, she nodded in their direction and made ready to retreat. As she turned her head, she caught the gleam of mockery in Simon’s eyes, which made her lose her tongue.

“Oh, and I must mention that despite that old saying to the victor belongs the spoils, I am far from defeated when it comes to a battle of wits, my lord.”

Not waiting for a retort, she sailed away from the three of them laughing in her wake. She spent several moments with Mrs. Simpson before walking with the woman toward the wide staircase leading up to the ballroom. As the other woman stopped to speak with someone, Ivy continued to climb the stairs all too aware that she was trying to escape Simon. A now familiar frisson skimmed across her skin as a firm hand cupped her elbow.

“If you think to escape me, Ivy, I suggest you run faster.”

“I was not running.”

“Walking fast then,” he said wryly. Unable to help herself, she laughed.

“You are irredeemable, my lord.”

“Simon.” The quiet command made her glance up at him in surprise.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s highly inappropriate.”

“Now, Ivy.”

Determination echoed in his soft command as he blocked her ability to continue up the stairs. Pressed into the banister by the crush of the crowd and Simon’s unyielding body, she watched a number of people eye them with curiosity and amusement as they passed by. For not the first time this evening, Ivy’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Good heavens the man wanted everyone to believe they were far more intimate with each other than was the case.

The thought made her bite down on her lip as she realized it was only a matter of time. It was impossible to deny that there was something intangible between them. Eventually she would surrender to the desire she felt, despite her conviction that there could be only one outcome given their social stations.

Her heart fluttered, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from excitement or dread. Perhaps it was a bit of both. She shook her head in protest. She darted a quick glance at the couple passing them on their way up to the ballroom. Were they close enough to hear their conversation? Her gaze flew back to Simon.

“Please, if someone heard me…” Ivy’s voice trailed off as she saw his mouth become a hard, firm line of determination.

“Now.”

“Simon,” she hissed. “There. Are you happy with yourself?”

“Quite. I simply want you to become accustomed to the sound of it.” He leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "Because in the near future, I intend for you to cry out my name as Kate did for Petruchio.”

Although she was certain no one had heard him but her, she still glanced wildly around her. Satisfied that she was still safe from savage gossip, she lifted her gaze to look at him. Amused complacency curved his mouth upward and she glared at him. Mad. The man was stark raving mad.

“As I recall, Shakespeare had Kate throwing things at Petruchio while screaming his name.”

“Ah, but that was before he tamed her and made her his.” Simon grinned. “A remedy I intend to administer in the very near future, my sweet.”

“If you persist in this behavior, people will begin to talk.” Ivy glared at him.

“And exactly what will they talk about, Miss Beecham?” The sardonic arch of his eyebrow made her grit her teeth. “I think the only thing they’re likely to comment on is the fact that I danced with you quite a bit this evening.”

“Well, I’ve not agreed to dance with you yet, you arrogant beast.”

“But you will, my sweet Ivy. You will.”

Laughing, he pulled her hand through his arm and guided her up the stairs to the ballroom. The confidence in his voice irritated her, but she refused to say another word, as he was far too quick with his retorts. Despite his arrogance, Simon was the most intelligent and amusing man she’d ever met, and she liked him. It annoyed her to admit it, because she wanted to dislike him.

She wanted to despise him for the way he’d treated her in the library. She wanted to view him with contempt because he was of the nobility. But she couldn’t. As much as she detested the notion of the peerage and what it stood for, she’d seen the love he bore for his nephew in his actions and words.

Fortune hunters were the bane of her existence, so she understood Simon’s fears that Anthony might have fallen in love with someone who loved him for what he could provide, not who he was. She could hardly fault him for that.

“So deep in thought. I wonder what mischief you’re plotting in that quick mind of yours.” His voice was husky as he spoke. The teasing note of it grazed over her skin in a sensual caress of sound.

“Emma’s Mr. Knightly said that vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief. However, I am far from weak headed or vain.”

“True, but you are quite lovely.”

The sincere note in his voice alarmed her, and her entire body warmed as her gaze met his. She turned her head away from him as they entered the ballroom. Filled to capacity, the dancing had already begun. One of the library’s patrons saw them from several feet away and pushed his way through to greet them.

“Good evening, Miss Beecham, Wycombe. Bit of a crush this evening wouldn’t you say?” Oliver Chestertop pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at his brow. Not waiting for a response, he offered his arm to her. “Now then, Miss Beecham. I believe you promised me your first dance of the evening.”

“I’m certain I did so, sir. Shall we?” With a laugh, she accepted Mr. Chestertop’s arm. As she pulled away from Simon, she heard his soft growl of displeasure. With a quick glance back at him, his frown of frustration made her smile. Although she knew it shouldn’t, it pleased her that he was unhappy about her departure.

More than an hour later, she found herself whirling around the dance floor with another of the library’s patrons. Laughing at something her partner said, she caught a glimpse of Simon standing on the edge of the dance floor. There was a sharp line of determination to his jaw. She watched as he stepped out onto the floor just as her partner whirled her past him. To her amazement, he tapped the older gentleman on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. May I cut in.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command, and her partner blinked with surprise.

“Well, I—”

“Thank you.” Without waiting for the man to finish his sentence, Simon pulled her into his arms and left her dance partner standing in the middle of the floor.

“That wasn’t very kind of you,” she murmured as he skillfully guided her around another dancing couple.

“I’m feeling far from kind at the moment. I agreed to hand over the Voltaire Papers to the library in exchange for one evening with you, and I’ve spent less than an hour in your company.”

“Very well, I shall spend the rest of the evening with you.”

“You’re damn right you will.”

With another swift turn, he danced her off the floor near a row of French doors that had been opened to provide fresh, cool air to the guests. As she moved out of his arms, he suddenly grasped her hand and tugged her out into the darkness. The shock of the cold air against her skin made her shiver.

“I don’t think this is the type of weather where we can take a stroll through the garden,” she said with a touch of irony. “It’s far too cold for my liking, so may we please go back inside.”

Not bothering to answer her, he tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her along the stone balcony toward the wide steps that led down into the gardens. Fallen leaves rustled beneath their feet as they charged deeper into the gardens. Wherever they were going, he seemed certain of their destination. In any other man’s company, she’d be alarmed at his outlandish behavior. The truth was, a part of her liked the masterly way he commanded her and others to do his bidding. Stumbling slightly as she struggled to keep up with his long, quick stride, she realized the chill in the air had diminished some due to her exertion.

“Simon, where on earth are we going?”

“Someplace where I won’t have to deal with another one of your elderly suitors showing up at your side.”

“All right then, but could we at least walk there,” she huffed. “I’m having to take two steps for every one you take.”

“We’re almost there.” His soft chuckle danced through the crisp winter air.

“Where?”

“Here.” He tugged her around a tall hedge toward a large hothouse. “This is the one place we can be warm, while ensuring there will be no interruptions.”

As they entered the heated building, Simon released her from his grasp. Rubbing her bare arms to ease the chill on her skin, she looked around her. The brightness of the full moon overhead illuminated the hothouse almost to the point of daylight. A profusion of flowers filled the structure, and the scent was intoxicating. From where she stood, a gravel path wound its way deeper into the building.

Enchanted, she followed the path into the heart of the conservatory, stopping every few feet to press her nose into a flower. All the time, she was acutely aware of Simon’s presence behind her. Even with a modest space between them, her body ached for the heat of him to embrace her. As she breathed in the fragrance of a rose, she remembered the look in his eyes in the carriage.

The desire in his gaze had excited her. She knew what he wanted of her, and the hunger stirring in her blood urged her to accept his proposal. Her innocence had been lost long ago, and the liaison Simon was offering would involve no commitment, only pleasure. Could she accept a liaison that she knew would put her heart at risk? She drew in a sharp breath the scent of the rose filling her senses as she straightened and continued along the path. The fact she’d even asked the question meant she was already in danger.

The soft sound of water splashing against rocks caught her ear, and as the path curved around into the center of the building, she gasped. The path opened up into a small sitting area to reveal two other paths veering off into other parts of the hot house. On her left, a miniature waterfall was nestled in a bed of climbing ivy and tropical plants.

The water tumbled off the handcrafted granite that contained several steps for the water to flow over. Captivated, she stood still and drank in the beauty of it all. She’d never seen anything quite like it. She needed to commission something like this for herself. It would be the perfect place to sit and read. Whoever had designed this building loved their work.

“Do you like it?” The quiet sound of his voice broke the peaceful silence, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Yes, very much. It’s beautiful. I was just thinking I’d have to ask Lord Clarendon the name of the architect.”

“I’m the architect.”

“You built this?” Startled, she whirled around to face him.

“I designed and oversaw the construction of it.” He smiled. “You’re surprised.”

“No—well, yes.”

“It’s a hobby of mine.” He shrugged his shoulders almost as if he were embarrassed by her appreciation of his talent. “I built one at my family’s estate two years ago. Clarendon saw it and immediately demanded that I build one for him.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she looked around her.

“Shall I build one for you?” There was something about the question that puzzled her. It sounded almost as if he was asking her something entirely different.

“I would like that very much. I can pay you well for your time.”

Sleek, dangerous, and beautiful, he was like one of the black panthers she’d seen on display at Regent’s Park. As their gazes locked, his gray eyes devoured her as if she were an afternoon snack. Swallowing the disquieting lump of nerves threatening to close her throat, she didn’t move as he skirted her to stand behind her pressing his body into her back. The light touch of his fingers across her shoulder made her tremble. The moist heat in the building had settled on her skin, making it slightly damp.

“But will you pay me in the currency I want, Ivy.” As he spoke, his warm breath heated her skin.

“I don’t understand,” she lied.

Another tremor shot through her as his tongue swirled a hot circle on her shoulder. The tantalizing caress caused her stomach to lurch erratically as she struggled to remain still. Sweet heaven, she wanted his hands on her, touching her, enticing her to enjoy all the wanton acts The Golden Lotus had depicted. Her body swiftly took charge as his mouth nibbled at her skin, and she sank back into his chest. She didn’t want him to stop.

How long had it been since a man’s voice, words or touch had sent her pulse racing or her blood flowing so hot? Never. Simon was the first man to fill her thoughts in such a wicked manner. Tonight, she was more than willing to be seduced. It didn’t matter that they came from two different worlds. She didn’t care that it would only end painfully. Nothing mattered except the delicious sensation of his mouth on her skin and the way he made her feel. Tonight she would accept his offer and tomorrow she’d grapple with any repercussions.

Chapter 8

Simon licked the tangy dew off Ivy’s shoulder. Drinking in the soft exotic scent of her, he enjoyed the way her back pressed against his chest. Nestled against him like this, he had a pleasant view of her full breasts. The way they rose and fell so quickly convinced him that she was excited by his touch. The fact pleased him in a way that surprised him. It wasn’t just desire that made him long to see her excited by his touch, something deeper stirred in him. He scoffed at his fanciful thinking.

“You say you don’t understand what I want in the way of payment for my designing you a conservatory, Ivy. Yet I think you know exactly what I mean.” He lightly nipped at her shoulder, one hand stealing around to caress her throat as she turned her head away from his mouth. “Tell me why you were reading The Golden Lotus.”

“I… I thought it would be…I wanted to read it for academic purposes.” Beneath his hands, her shoulders went rigid with tension.

“And did you find it academic in nature?” He tried desperately to keep his amusement out of his voice. Despite their short acquaintance, he knew she’d retreat from him if she even thought he was laughing at her.

No…I mean yes. It was very...very….” The sound of her breathing had become soft pants. He kissed her shoulder once more.

“I think arousing is the word you’re searching for, Ivy.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder to allow his hand to caress her throat and the tops of her breasts. The heat of her skin warmed his fingers. “In fact, I’m certain your nipples were quite hard while you were reading the book.”

“I…no…I…”

“Tell me your nipples aren’t hard right now.” Slowly, he glided his hands along the edge of her bodice. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

This time her gasp was more of a whimper, and her body relaxed into his as he slipped a finger between her corset and her breast. His finger brushed over a hard nipple. Damn, but she was a bewitching siren. Just the sound of her quick breathing had been enough to make him painfully hard. Gently, he eased first one breast and then the other upward so her nipples pushed over the edge of her corset. With his thumbs, he brushed over her stiff peaks, then gently circled them, teased them.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

“This is only the beginning of pleasure, Ivy. There are more ways than you can imagine for us to please one another.”

With a gentle movement, he caught her wrist and pulled it back behind her to rest on his cock. She jerked slightly, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her closer to his body. Although she didn’t move her hand, she didn’t retreat either and the warmth of her touch melted through his trousers. If possible, he grew harder. Without thinking, he rubbed himself against her hand.

Christ Jesus, he was more than ready to drive into her hot depths. She was making him so hot he wasn’t sure whether he could continue this slow seduction without taking her quick and hard. He swallowed the desire pounding through him and brushed his mouth over her shoulder before kissing the nape of her neck.

“Do you remember the picture in The Golden Lotus of the woman using her hand to please a man?”

As she nodded her head, a tremor shuddered through her. To his delight, her hand stirred against him. They were tentative strokes but without any coaxing from him. The touch of her hand on him felt good. Damn good.

But he wanted her to hold him in the palm of her hand, to pump him until he spewed his seed from the pleasure of her touch. His mouth went dry at the image, and he quickly released his cock from his trousers. The moment her fingers brushed over the tip of him, she jerked her hand away. Turning her around to face him, he guided her hand back to his engorged staff.

“Wrap your hand around me, Ivy. Hold me tight,” he rasped as her fingers singed his skin. He was ready to explode. “Now slide up and down. Yes, that’s it.”

Friction tugged at him, and he groaned from the pleasure of it. Even more than that was her willingness to satisfy his need. His gaze boring into hers, he watched the desire stirring to life in her brilliant sapphire eyes. She was going to be the most delightful creature he’d ever had in his bed.

Her thumb rubbed across the cap of his engorged length, brushing against the sensitive spot beneath it. Closing his eyes, he threw his head back and rocked his hips against the tight grip of her hand. There was a slight rustle of her skirts and she suddenly released him. No. Not now. Why the hell had she stopped? Intense pressure tightened in his groin as he opened his eyes.

The sight of her kneeling in front of him made him go rigid. He swallowed a shout as her tongue flicked out and stroked his erection. Sweet Jesus, where the hell had she learned—the book. She’d gotten more than halfway through the book. The sensation of her tongue swirling around the tip of him, made him jerk. His hands grasped her shoulders in an effort to steady himself.

A moment later, her mouth closed over him. God Almighty. It had been a long time since he’d had his cock sucked, and Ivy was exceedingly adept at pleasuring him. The light scrape of her teeth over his shaft was about to push him over the edge. Base need took over as he shuddered under her delicious caress. He was ready to explode. Barely able to think straight, he tried to remember where his handkerchief was. He didn’t want to spill his seed all over her.

Groaning, he tried to pull away from her, but her mouth tightened on him as she increased the pace of her mouth pumping over him. Damn, he needed to pull away, but her mouth on him was incredible. The build up inside him was at the breaking point when her fingernails gently scraped across his ballocks.

“Bloody hell,” he cried out as he came inside her mouth. He throbbed beneath the heat of her sweet lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a sweet hot pleasure. She’d actually swallowed his seed. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined her performing such an erotic act. Slowly, she released him from her tempting lips. The leisurely touch of her tongue laving his skin made him shudder again.

Gathering his wits, he bent to lift her to her feet then stepped away from her. Quickly adjusting his clothing, he stared at her with appreciation and a desire that still raged inside him. His need should have abated by now, instead it had only been intensified by the manner in which she’d just pleasured him. In the moonlight, he saw the blush tingeing her cheeks. She was the most beautiful, wanton woman he’d ever seen. The moment she turned her head away from him, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Don’t be ashamed, Ivy.”

“I’m…I’m not ashamed.” There was just a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she averted her gaze. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms.

“That had to be the most astounding thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

“I thought you might like it,” she whispered against his shoulder.

“I enjoyed it a great deal. If you were acting on your academic review of The Golden Lotus, I heartily approve.” He kissed the tip of her ear. When she didn’t answer, he cupped her chin to tilt her head back. “In your research, did you read about the lotus petals?”

“I don’t recall any such phrase in the book.” The frown of puzzlement on her brow made him grin.

“Come, sit down on the bench over here, and I’ll explain what they are.” Taking her hand, he led her toward the hand-carved bench. Once seated, he bent over and lifted her foot into the air.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Hush,” he murmured. “Be patient.”

He removed her slipper and dropped it onto the walkway. In a leisurely fashion, he explored the top of her foot with a gentle stroke of his fingers. It was a beautiful foot, smooth and elegant looking in the black silk stockings she wore. Simon pushed aside the dark material of her skirt to study her ankle. Like her foot, it too was lovely.

Gently resting her foot on his thigh, he pushed the hem of her gown upward to reveal the calf of her leg. Immediately, his mouth watered at the erotically tempting picture she made with nothing more than one leg exposed to his gaze. He looked up to see a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity on her sweet features. Other women would have been displaying arousal at this point. Instead, she quietly watched him with a questioning gaze that stirred something deep inside him. The woman was bewitching.

Taking his time, he explored the curve of her knee with his fingers before he slid closer to her, stretching her leg across his lap. The silk layers of her midnight blue gown frothed up past her thigh, giving him a glimpse of what he sought. He glanced up at her face to see anticipation glowing in her eyes. She quivered as he stroked her thigh with one finger.

“Simon?”

“Yes?” He raised his head to see her blushing, and he smiled.

“I am not inexperienced, but my knowledge is somewhat limited.”

“Which is why you were reading The Golden Lotus.” He watched her frown slightly as he continued to trace a circular pattern over the top of her thigh. A soft gasp parted her lips as his hand moved toward the top of her thigh.

“I was curious.”

“And has the book satisfied your curiosity?”

“No…yes,” she whispered as her eyelids drooped slightly as a sultry expression of desire swept across her face as his fingers found her garter and the bare skin above it.

“You seem unsure.”

“It’s only that you make me feel uncertain about everything.”

A fierce blush invaded her cheeks but it was the vulnerability on her face that made his fingers go still against her leg. As if suddenly comprehending she’d revealed something significant about herself, Ivy quickly turned her head away from him. His fingers grew still as he studied her with surprise and assessment.

This woman was a far cry from the social climber he’d believed her to be just days ago. He’d begun this seduction believing he would simply have her in his bed for a short time before moving on to the next conquest. Now he wasn’t sure it would be easy to do that.

There was something special about Ivy, and the realization made tension harden every muscle in his body. She wasn’t like any of the other women he’d had liaisons with. She was intelligent, principled, and an enigma all wrapped up in a sultry body created for lovemaking.

The point in fact was that Ivy was affecting not only his base instincts, but something deep inside him that he didn’t want to believe, let alone accept. He buried his thoughts in the recesses of his mind as the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips forced its way into his consciousness.

“I like that I disturb you that way. It tells me that our liaison will be quite pleasurable.” His fingers trailed their way across the inner portion of her thigh, and the sharp breath she drew sent satisfaction through him.

“The lotus petals…they’re…”

The way her tongue flicked out to wet her lip shot a bolt of excitement surging through him. Leisurely, he moved his hand upward to the slit in her woolen drawers. The curls there were already damp with moisture, and he smiled.

“We both know what the lotus petals are, Ivy. And we both know that I intend to fill those petals with my cock when I can do it properly.”

Simon laughed softly at her gasp of shock then leaned toward her and captured her mouth with his. As he slid his tongue into the heat of her mouth, he gently stroked the edge around her slit until her hips thrust upward in a silent plea for more.

He released her lips, and feathered her cheek with kisses as he sought the plump mounds of her breasts. Gently he pushed aside the folds of her sex to find the small bud that waited for his touch. Cream coated his fingers as he applied pressure to the nub of flesh. A cry of pleasure flew from her mouth, and she bucked against the touch. Already she was slick with heat from just a few caresses. When the time eventually came for her to wrap her silky core around him, she was going to feel incredible between his legs.

Chapter 9

“Oh, dear lord.” The husky sound of her voice barely registered in her ears as she raised her hips and exposed more of her body to Simon’s seductive caresses. Her experience with Whitby had been quick, clumsy, without pleasure and lacking in even a small amount of affection. It had certainly never been this erotic or sinfully pleasurable.

In contrast, she would never forget this moment or Simon’s touch. The thought sent a shudder streaking its way along every nerve ending in her body. Sanity tried to tug her back from the brink, but failed as her eyes closed, and she gave herself up to his wicked touch. How it happened, she wasn’t sure, but seconds later, her back was pressing into the seat of the bench. Startled, she looked up to see Simon studying her with a gaze of hot steel. It set her blood on fire and pulsated its way through her body, heating every pore of her skin.

“I like seeing you all hot and slick for me, sweetheart. My cock is already hard and ready for you.”

The coarse words shocked her, but not because he’d used them, but because she liked hearing him say it. The dark rasp in his voice said he was as aroused as she was. It made her insides tighten as he applied pressure to the sensitive spot between her legs. Even more shocking was the sudden image of him kissing her there much in the way she’d pleasured him. The thought made her gasp. Staring up at him, she saw his eyes narrow with astute assessment.

“Tonight isn’t the right time for me to slide into your hot, tight core, sweetheart. But for right now, I think what you want is for me to taste you, lick that hot cream off your sweet cunny and suck on you until you explode in my mouth.”

“I don’t think... Oh God, Simon,” she cried out as he quickly lowered her head and singed her sex with his tongue.

The heat of his mouth against her made her blood run hot as molten lead as his tongue swirled around the bud of flesh between her legs. His teeth gently nipped at it, and her entire body shuddered at the sensation. With long strokes, his tongue teased and tempted her until she craved a release. It was the most sinful act she’d ever encountered, and it was exquisite in its intensity.

This was a completely different experience than her first introduction to sex. Whitby had cared nothing for her satisfaction, only his own. But this…this was the skilled caress of a master of seduction. The pleasure he provoked with his tongue was blinding. A moment later, she shuddered violently as wave after wave of delight rolled over her.

Slowly, the explosion of wild sensations ebbed away until she lay still on the bench as Simon caressed the inside of her thighs with his mouth. Lost in a blissful state of subsiding pleasure, Ivy remained still, her eyes closed.

The soft rustle of her gown covering her legs forced her to look up at Simon. A smile of satisfaction on his face, he wrapped a strong hand around her arm and gently pulled her upright.

“From your reaction, it appears you enjoyed yourself.” With a long, elegant finger, he traced the outline of her lips, and taste of her desire was easily discernible. Drowsy and relaxed, she smiled.

“Yes, very much.”

“And you’re fully instructed on the pleasures related to lotus petals?” His grin was filled with wicked glee.

“Yes.” She laughed. “I would say that my knowledge is now complete.”

“Complete? No my sweet Ivy, there are far greater pleasures to enjoy. Delights I intend to share with you at the earliest possible moment.” With a hot look, he leaned forward and kissed her hard. “Come, I imagine our absence has caused some raised eyebrows. I’m certain the library’s patrons prefer Miss Ivy Beecham maintain her reputation as a starched librarian.”

She rose from the bench and repaired her appearance. When she’d finished, he caught her hand in his and led her out of the hothouse. As they hurried through the garden, she pondered his words. Starched librarian. Is that what everyone thought? That she was a stiff and inflexible bookworm? But then what else were they to think? She’d done everything to cultivate that image. She’d worked hard to build a shell around her to keep people out.

It enabled her to keep fortune hunters and other men at a distance, but Simon wasn’t most men, and already she knew she had a problem. Tonight she had given and experienced true pleasure. The terrifying part was that she wanted more, and that meant allowing Simon to break through her carefully erected barriers. As tempting as that thought was, it wasn’t without great risk. For years, she’d avoided just this type of hazard simply because it was so dangerous. But this man made her want to forget everything but the pleasure she knew she would find in his arms.

~~~~

Simon entered Ivy’s salon and saw her quickly rise from her chair. Without saying a word, he strode across the room and swept her into his arms. Although he didn’t give her time to protest, she came willingly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her deeply. His cock was immediately hard as her tongue danced with his. Bloody hell, the witch had him twisted into more knots than a sailor had rope. An insatiable hunger stirred inside him and settled into every inch of his body. The abandon with which she responded to him only increased the desire barreling through him. God, he needed to get a hold of himself and maintain some self-control where Ivy was concerned. His mouth left hers to caress her cheek and he drank in the scent of lemons off her skin.

“You taste delicious.”

“As usual your flattery is an exaggeration,” Ivy said with a laugh.

“Well, perhaps you’re correct. I have to admit that tasting your cream last night was the sweetest delicacy I’ve enjoyed in quite some time,” he growled softly as he dragged his finger along the edge of her jaw. Heat flooded her cheeks as she averted her gaze from him. With a chuckle, he released her from his embrace.

“I’ve brought you a present.”

Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a narrow, satin-covered box. He’d had a devilish time finding a jeweler willing to open his shop on a Sunday. It was only his willingness to pay an exorbitant amount of money in addition to the cost of the jewelry that enabled him to secure this particular present.

Women always enjoyed receiving jewelry. Every mistress he’d ever had in his bed had been fanatical in their pursuit of diamonds and other stones. Watching her closely, he handed over the slim case. Puzzlement arched Ivy’s eyebrows as she accepted the gift. As the box snapped open, the delight on her face filled him with mixed emotions.

He’d been certain that she’d like the bracelet, and the excitement on her face sent a rush of satisfaction through him. But deep inside, he was disappointed to find that she was no different from any other woman. It had merely been a matter of finding the right currency. From her obvious delight, a jeweled trinket could easily buy Ivy’s attention and gain him entrance to her bed.

“Oh, Simon. It’s beautiful.” Her fingers rubbed over the stones. “I’ve never seen anything so exquisite.”

“Here, let me put it on you.” Disillusioned, his jaw muscle flexed with raw tension as he reached for the box from her hand. To his surprise, she snapped the box shut and returned it to him then took a quick step back.

“No. I can’t accept it,” she said with a vehement shake of her head.

“Of course you can. You just said you like it,” he said with a frown.

“Well, of course I do. Any woman would, but I can’t accept such a generous gift.”

He stared at her in amazement. It was a game. She wanted to make him think she didn’t want the bracelet, but if he pressured her enough she’d accept it.

“I’m sure I can convince you otherwise. Stop being stubborn and at least try it on.”

“No, Simon,” she said in a quiet, firm voice. “I’m sorry that you think I’m being stubborn, but I cannot and will not accept such a gift.”

“Any other woman would be more than happy to take this present,” he said with frustration. Her features took on a mutinous expression as she glared at him.

“Perhaps, but what happened between us last night was not done with the anticipation of payment in any form, including jewelry. Last night was a pleasant interlude completely devoid of expectations of any sort.” Ivy’s voice was stiff with injury, while her eyes had deepened to a chaotic, stormy blue.

Stunned, he simply stared at her. She thought he was paying her for last night. Wasn’t he? Isn’t that what he’d always done with the women he bedded? Those women had expected his gifts. But here was a woman who wanted nothing in return for giving herself to him freely and openly.

The knowledge had him floundering as he realized he’d insulted her again. It had never been his intent to make her feel like a whore. His jaw tightened as he recognized the truth for what it was. His entire purpose since first laying eyes on Ivy had been to have her in his bed. There had been no thought of even making her his long-time mistress. All he’d wanted was to prove she was like Elizabeth.

His eyes focused on the diamond and sapphire bracelet dangling from his fingers. The devil take it. The bracelet only emphasized the callousness of his behavior. He’d never bungled his actions with a woman so badly or consistently.

With a quick movement, he returned the jewelry to its box and tucked it back into his coat pocket. Now he had to find a way to undo the damage he’d done and ease the tension between them. Clearing his throat, the muscle in his jaw grew taut.

“It would seem that only by folly am I able to acquire any common sense at all,” he said through clenched teeth. Ivy’s widened with surprise at his words, before the storm in her gaze soften with amusement.

“First Catherine Fanshawe, now Melville? I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone continually apologize to me with such panache,” she said with a laugh.

Relief swept through him with the force of a high wind, surprising him with the intensity of the emotion. Damnation, if he didn’t take care he’d find this woman leading him around by the nose. He scoffed at himself. Such a possibility seemed quite remote. If things went as he planned this evening, he would be doing the leading. Biting back a smile, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hard.

She was soft and pliant beneath his touch. An ache wrenched through him as his body reacted to her voluptuous curves. He wanted to undress her and explore every inch of her this minute. All too quickly, her eager response made him harder than steel, and he immediately broke away from her. Now wasn’t the time, he wanted to woo her with words not with mere passion. An idea took shape in his head. The library. It was the only place where he could seduce her completely with words in a way that would make her come undone in his arms.

“No matter how much you resist me, I will see you wearing diamonds and sapphires. That and nothing else,” he said with a wicked grin. “Now then, I have something special planned for us tonight. I want you to meet me at the library this evening at nine.”

“The library? What on earth are you up to, Simon?” The bemusement on her face made him grin as he captured her chin and gave her a quick kiss.

“Come to the library this evening and find out.” Turning sharply around on his heel, he strode toward the salon door. Behind him, the sound of her disgusted exclamation widened his grin.

“Blast you, Simon.” Her irritation made him laugh softly. Tonight, Ivy Beecham was going to cry out his name in a much different tone when he was done with her.

Chapter 10

The cold air made soft clouds of her breath as Ivy stepped out of the hack. Despite the fact that it was only a few weeks before Christmas, the weather had brought an unusual amount of chilly temperatures. Slowly, she climbed the steps up to the door of the library.

There was no light coming from within, and she turned to look up and down the street. Perhaps Simon was late. The only person on the quiet street was a night watchman heading quickly in her direction. Reaching into her bag, she pulled her key out and turned to open the door.

“Good evening, miss, might you be Miss Beecham?” The man’s question made her glance over her shoulder, as she nodded at the watchman. “Well then, miss, the gentleman asked me to give you this.”

Accepting the white envelope, she thanked the man and entered the library. Closing the heavy door behind her, she flipped the latch and locked it. The cool vellum paper between her fingers could mean only one thing—Simon wasn’t coming. Ivy’s stomach lurched with disappointment as she hesitated to pull the note out and read it. Dismay quickly followed as she realized how easily her attraction for Simon was spiraling out of control. Whether it was the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, or the way he looked at her, the man set fire to her senses every time they were in the same room.

Even the mere thought of him made her skin tingle and pull her body into a high-pitched state of arousal. That was something Whitby had never done. She shuddered. Once before she’d allowed her emotions to control her body. Whitby had broken her heart all in the space of a month. It had taught her a brutal lesson in betrayal. No. Whitby had simply made a fool of her. Caroline had been the one to teach her what true betrayal was. Cramming the past back into its tiny compartment in her head, she shook her head. As exquisite and pleasurable as last night had been, it had been nothing more than an exercise in temptation.

Did she really think the man could have been serious when he’d instructed her to come to the library at this hour? Blast! All of this self-examination was pointless. With a sharp shake of her head, she blew out harsh breath of disgust. She had no intention of playing Viscount Wycombe’s game, whatever that might be. About to turn and leave the building, Ivy realized for the first time that the main entryway of the library wasn’t as dark as it should be.

Frowning, her gaze noted a soft light spreading its way across the floor from a behind the large rotund pillar shielding the circulation desk. Dear lord, the library was on fire. Ivy raced forward hoping the flames were confined to one of the wastebaskets behind the counter. As she rounded the column, she saw a single candle burning in a brass holder. Confused, she stared at the light then at Simon’s bold handwriting across the crisp, white parchment. She scowled at the missive in her hand then tore it open to read the note. Quickly scanning the words, she uttered a small noise of exasperation. The man was testing her again.

Pierre Corneille wrote, “How delicious is pleasure after torment!” If you wish to end our torment and surrender to pleasure, Ivy then find the note left for you where Corneille is housed.

Still irritated, Ivy studied the message on the note card. What sort of game was the man playing now? She tapped the note against her fingertips for a moment then shoved it into her drawstring bag. Ivy tugged her cape from her shoulders then draped it over the circulation desk. Candle in hand, she walked toward the book stacks. It had been a while since she’d read Corneille, and she bit down on her lip trying to remember where the author’s books were in the library. The memory of Lord Lansdowne requesting a particular volume of Corneille’s triggered a vague recollection that she would find what she was looking for on the second floor of the book stacks.

One hand wrapped around the cold iron banister of the spiral stairs leading to the second floor, she glanced upward. Was Simon waiting for her upstairs? Suddenly eager to find out, she gathered her skirts and hurried up the metal stairs.

Disappointed that Simon wasn’t waiting for her close to the stairwell, she scowled at the empty air at the top of the stairs. The man was making her throw every caution to the wind. She should be running away as fast as her feet could carry her. Instead, she hurried toward the spot where Corneille’s books were shelved at the end of the second aisle. In seconds, she was running her fingertips over the worn leather of Corneille’s literary works. Her search finally revealed the white edge of a card peeking out from between two of the author’s books. Triumphantly, she pulled the envelope out from its hiding place and quickly opened it.

I promised you pleasure, and the Bard himself said

pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Tonight,

time will fly because I intend to pleasure you in ways

you have yet to fathom.

The words on the note card made her inhale a sharp breath. Erotic and sensual, the note shot a bolt of anticipation through her. She’d been right in thinking she should be running away as fast as she could. It was madness not to flee, but this game of words Simon had devised was not only intriguing it was intoxicating.

The Bard had to be a reference to Shakespeare. Amused excitement had her running toward the back of the second floor stacks to the classic English literature section. Her fingers trailing across the leather bindings, she saw the white envelope lying on top of two books. As she reached for the card, she laughed. Never had she met a man with such a clever wit. Pulling the envelope from the books, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the note.

“Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships,

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?”

Helen of Troy. She frowned at the words. Now the game had taken a deliciously wicked step up in difficulty. Homer’s poem, the Iliad, was about Helen, but these weren’t the words of the Greek storyteller. They were far too modern for the Grecian era. No. These were someone else’s words. But who? Closing her eyes, she repeated the words from the card over and over.

The author’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite remember it. It was worse than not knowing what might be in a Christmas present. Christmas—Christopher. That was it. Christopher Marlowe. His books were downstairs.

Eager to find her next clue, Ivy hurried through the book aisles and down the spiral iron stair case. No one had ever been so creative in their dealings with her before, and she liked it. She liked it very much. Reaching Marlowe’s works, she eagerly opened the envelope lying on top of the open shelf beside the books.

“Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul.”

While this is a true statement, I find it vastly over-rated. Perhaps he should have said the art of pleasure

is food for the body, mind and soul.

Smiling she shook her head. For all his rakish charm, he was almost as much of a bookworm as she was. Food for the soul. Was that Plato or Socrates? It didn’t matter, they were both in the Greek philosophy reading area, and she only hoped the game was close to ending as his words were seducing her almost as quickly as his touch had seduced her last night.

Adding the note to the other clues in her purse, Ivy ran toward the philosophy section where Plato and Socrates were housed. Something told her she was almost at the end of this clever scavenger hunt, and her excitement was building with each step she took. As she turned the corner and entered the classical Grecian era section of the library, she caught the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. At the end of the row of books, a soft light flickered against the wall. A light that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Simon. He must be in the small reading room in the back of the library. Smiling she hurried past the rows of dusty volumes to the end of the aisle. Light filtered out into the darkened library from behind the partially open door of the reading room. The door allowed just enough candlelight to shimmer out into the book section. She shivered as she put her hand on the door and pushed it wide open.

The sight in front of her made her suck in a sharp breath. Stretched out on the floor on a bed of soft furs, Simon smiled at her. It was a deliciously wicked smile, but it was his nakedness that stunned her. The maleness of him set every nerve ending beneath her skin on fire.

One leg bent, his arm rested nonchalantly on top of his knee. The confidence he displayed with the revealing pose sent her pulse skidding out of control. Even if she wanted too, she was so transfixed it would be impossible to flee from the room. Her breathing ragged, she pressed one hand to her throat as she took in every hard line of his body. Everything about him shouted raw male power. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how much she wanted him. She wanted to glide her hands over him in an exploration that would help her memorize every inch of him. She was certain his shoulders would be hard and muscular while his beautiful arms would feel as sinewy with power as they looked.

But touching wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to taste him. Press her lips against the sculpted muscles of his chest. It wasn’t fair that he could affect her this way. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry simply from the heat blowing through her. Unable to help herself, her gaze skimmed across the hard muscles of his chest before it followed the thin line of hair that dove toward his erection.

His hard length jutted upward to brush against his stomach, and she swallowed. The sudden dampness between her legs told her that she was as aroused as he was. Wild, wanton sensations flooded her senses. The sight of him made her want to do things she’d only contemplated in the privacy of her own mind.

“Are you ready for our evening of pleasure, Ivy?”

She swallowed the knot in her throat with great difficulty as she nodded and continued to stare at the splendor of him. Tonight would be one she would never forget—she was certain of it. The real question was whether she would emerge unscathed. At the moment, she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was explore his magnificent body and enjoy his touch in return. She watched his smile deepen into one of skilled seduction.

With a lithe movement, Simon sprang to his feet. He reminded her of a sleek, powerful jungle cat as he moved toward her with a slow, leisurely stride. Heart pounding, she sucked in a quick breath as he pulled her into the room then shut and locked the door behind her. She shuddered as his warm hand caressed the nape of her neck before he pressed his hand into her back and gently urged her forward.

Excitement slid through her as he circled her to face her again. He was beautiful. Strong, hard and all male. His touch light, Simon brushed his fingertips across her lips then leaned forward and feathered her lips with a whisper of a kiss. The touch served only to increase the desire growing inside her.

She’d never experienced this craving tightening her belly with Whitby. All thought of her past was obliterated as Simon kissed her again. With a soft moan, she leaned into him wanting more, but he pulled away and his lips curved in a wicked smile.

“Not just yet, sweetheart. Pleasure isn’t something to be rushed. It’s to be slowly savored, and we have all night.”

He circled her, the beautiful strength of his naked body outlined in every step he took. From the sculptured curves of his chest and arms to the sinewy line of his legs, he tempted and teased her senses simply by his mere presence. A shiver trickled down her spine when he stopped directly behind her, and the heat of his breath stirred the stray hairs on the back of her neck.

Sweet heaven, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stand this excruciatingly slow seduction. She wanted to be in his arms, touching him and enjoying the pleasures of his touch in return. The intoxicating scent of him flooded her senses. It was a tantalizing mix of bergamot and something else. It was spicy and male, just like him.

Ever so lightly, he kissed the nape of neck as his fingers slowly undid the back of her dress. He didn’t say a word, and the silence between them thickened and grew hot. Trembling, she gasped as his mouth nibbled at her back, and he slipped her gown off her shoulders until it pooled at her feet.

~~~~

The tips of his fingers stroked the inside curve of Ivy’s thigh as Simon gently explored the bareness of her skin. Raising his gaze to meet hers, his fingers slid upward to the opening of her combination garment. She shuddered under his touch, and the intensity of her response to his touch hardened his erection until it stretched in a painful, yet oddly pleasurable way. Ivy didn’t say a word, but hunger filled her blue eyes. A hunger for him. The knowledge filled him with triumph.

As he rose to his feet, a sigh passed her lips. It was a sound of disappointment. Desire thundered through his veins with a strength that stunned him. Struggling not to drag her down onto the bed of furs he’d arranged on the floor, he reached out to begin unlacing the combination garment she wore. He’d promised her a night of pleasure, and he was determined to remain on his charted course.

Seducing Ivy with words was no longer just about seeing her come apart in his arms. It was about seducing her in a way that would bind her to him for a very long time. The thought stirred something deep inside him that made his hands grow still against her corset. He dismissed the emotion and continued unlacing her undergarment.

When she reached out to place her hand on his chest, he flinched at the heat searing its way into every inch of his body. If possible, his erection grew even harder. Christ Jesus, if she could excite him so easily with just a touch, what the hell would he feel when she clenched her body around his cock as he thrust into her.

He tossed her corset aside unprepared for the primal, possessive reaction he experienced. The air in his lungs evaporated, before he sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of her. The thin, fragile chemise covering the upper half of her body was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen. It revealed all and yet held him at bay like a thin cloud shielding the sun. Her gaze met his, and again he fought not to take her at that very moment. Instead, he forced himself to follow through with his plans. Certain that touching her would be his undoing he focused his attention on her hair and slowly removed the pins from her dark locks.

“You remind me of Corinna in Marlowe’s translation of Ovid’s Elegia Five,” he rasped. With measured movements, he slowly removed the pins in her hair. “Do you know the poem, Ivy?”

“Yes,” she said huskily. Sultry and hot, the single word response made his mouth go dry.

“Then came Corinna in a long loose gown, her white neck hid with tresses hanging down.” Ivy’s hair tumbled downward as his fingers threaded through the satin like locks. Sheer silk wouldn’t have been any softer. “Tell me the next line, sweetheart.”

“Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed, or Layis of a thousand lovers sped,” she whispered with a note of hunger in her voice. He closed his eyes for a brief instant as he fought to keep his control.

“I snatched her gown, being thin, the harm was small, yet strived she to be covered therewithall.”

It was impossible to resist doing exactly what the poem stated. Firmly, yet gently, he tore the thin, delicate chemise off her body. Gasping, she instinctively tried to cover herself, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he growled. “I want to look at you.”

His desire held him rigid as his gaze devoured her. The sharp throb of his cock violently demanded for release. Bloody hell, he’d never wanted a woman so much in his entire life. Not even Elizabeth had sent his body into such a hardened state. The need to pull her into his arms battled with his need to make her experience the same dark level of desire grasping him so tightly. Determined to succeed forced himself to breathe.

“And striving thus as one that would be cast, betrayed herself, and yielded at the last. Stark naked as she stood before mine eye, not one blemish in her body could I spy.” His hand brushed across her shoulder, his will power fighting his body. “What arms and shoulders did I touch and see, how apt her breasts were to be pressed by me.”

Her nipple was a hard pebble beneath his thumb and a dark moan escaped her as she arched her body toward him. The heat of her skin sent a white-hot heat barreling up his arm and into his chest. She swayed toward him as he cupped her breast to suckle her. God almighty, he’d never tasted anything so sweet or intoxicating. He gently nipped at her rigid nipple, and her moan was a soft sob over his head.

“Oh God, Simon, please. I—” He ignored her plea and resolute in his determination to finish the poem.

“How smooth a belly under her waist saw I,” he rasped as he stroked her stomach and moved his hand downward. “How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh.”

The moment his hand reached her sex, he experienced an emotion so sweet and intense it sent shockwaves through his body. He couldn’t identify the feeling. He simply knew it existed whenever she was near. She moaned, and the scent of lilies mixed with the musky fragrance of her desire. From his first encounter with her in the library, he’d always known he’d make her his. But he hadn’t expected his own response to her to be so strong and fierce. Eager to feel her honey against his skin, he slowly parted the soft lips beneath her wiry curls.

“To leave the rest, all liked me passing well, I clung to her naked body, down she fell, judge you the rest, being tired she bade me kiss.”

Shock rippled through him as a slick wetness damped his fingertips. Slowly, he slid one finger up inside her heated passage. Christ Jesus. If mere words had made her this creamy, what would happen when she was wrapped around his cock? Her fingers dug into shoulders, and as he watched, her head fell backward and her eyes closed as she thrust her hips against his hand. The moment he found the small nub within her folds and caressed it, a violent tremor rocked her body.

“What do you desire, sweetheart?” he choked out.

“You,” she sobbed in a voice that echoed with the dark craving he needed her to feel. “I want you.”

Restraint no longer within his means, he tugged her down onto the fur blankets he’d had brought in for this very occasion. The feel of her silky skin against his only fueled his desire as his mouth sought her nipple again. A keening cry poured out of her as he tried desperately to hold onto his seed. His mouth went dry as he suckled her then moved his mouth upward to kiss her shoulder then the side of her neck. He’d reached his breaking point, and rolled her onto her back to hover over her.

“Tell me what you really want, sweetheart,” he rasped.

“I want you inside me.” Her sapphire eyes darkened with a hunger that clenched at his stomach. “I want you to fill me completely. Now.”

Without a word, he buried himself inside her slick, velvety core. Instantly, she uttered a cry of intense pleasure, her body arching upward to meet his thrust. Damn, she was tight. Hot and tight around his cock. Slick with heat, her body clung to him as he slowly retreated then pressed into her again. Lowering his head, he flicked his tongue out over a taut nipple. Another ripple shook through the sultry core of her, gripping him like hot vise.

Quickly the rhythm of her strokes matched his as he plunged in and out of her. With each stroke, he pulled her to a higher peak. This was what he’d longed from the moment they’d first met—this intense pleasure. The strength of it tugged him into a wild frenzy as his body pumped into hers with a pounding need that consumed him. Beneath him, she sobbed her pleasure as he drove into her one last time. With a guttural cry he throbbed inside her, while her body clenched his cock with an intensity that stunned him.

~~~~

The sensations pouring over her skin were like a blazing fire as it cooled and became glowing embers. His face buried in the side of her neck, Simon’s breathing was as ragged as hers. Eyes closed, she savored the warm, heavy feel of him on top of her. Bergamot, mixed with the musky scent of hot skin and subsiding desired, teased her senses.

Ivy stroked the ridge of his shoulder, her fingers lazily tracing a path downward along his arm. As she reached his wrist, Simon entwined his fingers with hers and rolled onto his side with her hand in his. Silver eyes stared at their clasped hands with an intensity that puzzled her.

The silence stretched between them for several long peaceful moments all the while Simon studied their entwined fingers. Content to lie next to him in silence, she studied his preoccupied look. It was as if he were contemplating a weighty dilemma. When his gaze drifted to hers he arched his eyebrow at her. A wicked gleam of amusement glittered in his eyes, and she frowned.

“Something amuses you, my lord?”

“My lord?” Simon chuckled softly as he released her hand to gently tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I think we’re beyond such formality, Ivy. After all, as I promised you, I made you cry out my name quite loudly.”

“I’m delighted I amuse you,” she snapped as the realization of what had actually happened sank in. She’d allowed a man she barely knew to bed her. And in the library of all places. Ivy winced at the thought.

“I’m not laughing at you, Ivy.” A strong hand cupped the side of her face. “I was thinking about something Oscar Wilde said in the club the other day.”

“I see.” She eyed him with skepticism. “And what did the esteemed man say?"

“He said he could resist everything except temptation, and I have to agree on one point. You’re the one temptation I couldn’t resist, Ivy Beecham.”

She wasn’t certain how to reply. This was new territory to her. Whitby had been a brief encounter, but Simon was her lover. A lover she couldn’t afford to lose her heart to. Pushing the thought aside, she rested her hand against his hard chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the steady beat of his heart.

“Perhaps we should take heed of another of Mr. Wilde’s observations on temptation. The only way to rid oneself of temptation is to yield to it. ” She glanced away from him as she spoke. “Since we’ve yielded to desire, I think it might be best if we free ourselves of its entanglements after tonight.”

Warm fingers caught her chin in a firm grip as he forced her to look at him. Assessment narrowed his steel-gray eyes as he studied her intently. Dear lord, what in heaven’s name had possessed her to say anything. In all likelihood, the man would think she was attempting to obtain a commitment from him. Under Simon’s intent scrutiny, Ivy averted her gaze.

The sudden movement of his head swooping downward caught her by surprise as he captured her mouth in a hard kiss. With skill, he teased her lips apart until his tongue tangled with hers in a swirl of heated passion. Seconds later, he lifted his head, his expression one of resolute determination.

“If you think to rid yourself of me, Ivy, think again. Tonight is only the beginning of temptation. Something I intend to make you yield to over and over again.” Simon’s silvery gaze locked with hers as his hand cupped her breast. The touch tugged at her body and she arched up into his hand. Passion flared in his eyes as her nipple hardened beneath his thumb. His swiftly growing erection pressed into her thigh, and her stomach lurched as she gave herself up to the pleasure of his touch once more.

~~~~

Soft thunder echoed in Ivy’s ear as she stirred from sleep. It was a soothing sound, and it took her a moment to comprehend where she was. The strong arm wrapped around her waist and keeping her backside snug against a hard, muscular body reminded her. A wild happiness streaked through her veins as he stirred slightly to press his body more tightly against hers. The coal stove in the corner of the room had apparently died as a slight chill filled the room.

She didn’t mind. Between the heat of Simon’s hard flesh and the furs that covered them, Ivy was quite warm, even a bit drowsy. She could easily grow accustom to the sensation. The thought made her heart skip a beat, but she didn’t have time to consider it any further as Simon’s mouth caressed the back of her neck.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” he murmured. With a smile, Ivy pulled herself out of his arms to sit up and glance at him over her shoulder.

“Yes, quite.”

“Good, because I don’t intend on letting you sleep. I’ve not had my fill of you yet.”

She reached for the glass of wine he’d poured her earlier. Goblet in hand, she pulled up one of the furs to cover herself. A second later, Simon tugged it off her.

“No, I like looking at you,” he said arrogantly.

“And I’m cold.” Ivy scowled at him as she pulled the fur blanket around her.

“I more than capable of correcting that problem.” His voice was soft as he slid his hand under the blanket to caress her leg.

Ivy shivered as his fingers slid upward to stroke her inner thigh. The suddenness with which her body responded to his touch alarmed her, and she quickly pushed his hand away then wrapped the fur tightly around her body.

“Behave,” she scolded.

“I am behaving,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’m behaving exactly as any man would when looking at your beautiful body.”

“You’re impossible.” She laughed as he pulled her back into his arms until she cuddled up against him. Gently pressing her finger into his chest she met his amused gaze. “I think you enjoy being wicked.”

“I do.” He shrugged as his smile widened to a grin. “Even as a child I managed to get into more trouble than my sister ever did, and Abigail was always in trouble.”

“Were you that reprehensible?”

“Not as bad as that, but I did make our nanny quite frustrated at times.” A reflective look on his face, he stared up at the ceiling.

“What about your parents? I suppose they despaired of you on a regular basis?” Her words made him stiffen slightly.

“My mother died when Abigail and I were young.”

“Oh,” she gasped softly as she realized she’d caused him pain. “I’m sorry Simon.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“And your father?” At her gentle question, his mouth became a thin, harsh line of contempt.

“My father was a bastard.”

The cold, brutal statement made Ivy’s heart ache at the pain lying beneath the ferocity of his response. Whatever had happened between him and his father had left Simon angry and bitter. They were emotions she understood only too well. A warm hand swept a lock of hair off her face.

“And what of your childhood, Ivy? Did you misbehave?”

“Sometimes,” she murmured.

When her parents were alive, whatever her minor transgression, she’d been scolded and nothing more. It wasn’t until she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle that she’d learned how cruel people could be. Her independent nature had earned her more than one slap in the face. It had taken only a few missteps for her to learn that defiance or a simple mistake always came at a price.

The physical punishments, while painful, had never compared to the cold, icy rejection her aunt and uncle had shown her. The painful memories tightened her throat, and she struggled to breathe. They’d punished an innocent child for her mother’s sin of marrying a commoner.

“And what criminal offenses did you commit?” he teased. She forced a smile.

“The usual transgressions,” she said with a shrug. “Caroline and I were always into something we shouldn’t have been.”

“Caroline? I didn’t realize you had a sibling.”

“I don’t. Caroline is my cousin.” Her short, impassive response made Simon shift his position until he was up on one elbow staring down at her.

“Do you ever see her?”

“No, I’ve not seen her since…” Ivy’s voice trailed off. She’d not seen Caroline since the day her cousin had left on her honeymoon. A knot welled up inside her until she was ready to choke on the pain and sorrow.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It was long ago and a story hardly worth telling,” she lied with a small shrug. The back of his hand swept its way gently down the side of her face.

“And yet it sounds as though you cared deeply for her.” The quiet statement ripped her heart open as she nodded.

“Yes, very much,” she whispered fighting to hold back the tears suddenly threatening to spill down her cheeks. “She made life with my aunt and uncle bearable.”

From the moment Ivy had arrived at Parkland Manor, Caroline had become the sister she’d never had. The two of them had been inseparable. On more than one occasion, her cousin had been her staunchest of champions. It was one of the things that had made Caroline’s betrayal so painful. Ivy had given her heart and body to Whitby, and Caroline had known that. It had made the sight of her cousin in his arms all the more devastating.

The old pain welled from deep inside her to pound away at every inch of her body. Ivy had not had the strength to confront her cousin. Instead, she’d locked herself in her bedroom for two days, refusing to allow anyone to enter. Not even her aunt’s imperious demands for entry had moved Ivy to open the door.

A dim memory of Caroline sobbing softly outside Ivy’s door in the middle of the night rose up to haunt her. Her cousin had never been prone to crying, and at the time, she thought it the sound of guilt. She remembered little of her cousin embraced in Whitby’s arms except for the agony it had sent spiking through her. It was the first time she’d ever considered the possibility her cousin might have been not as willing as Ivy had thought. She quickly dismissed the thought.

“Bearable?” Puzzlement echoed in Simon’s voice. “We’re you unhappy there?”

“It was…Caroline was the only one who loved me. My aunt and uncle…”

“They were unkind to you.” There was a fierce anger in his voice that made her heart skip. Like Caroline always had, he seemed ready to take on those who’d hurt her. The thought warmed her heart.

“Yes.”

“Family is important, Ivy. Without them you’re alone,” he said quietly.

There was an emphatic note in his voice that stressed how deeply he believed his affirmation. He almost had her believing she could put the past behind her where Caroline was concerned. Ivy’s heart skipped a beat. She’d revealed too much to him, which was a dangerous thing to do.

Unwilling to bare her soul to him any further, Ivy pushed against him until he was on his back and she was saddled across his hard thighs. She leaned forward to press her lips against his breastbone. Lifting her head, Ivy smiled at the crystal flame that sparked in his eyes. Almost instantly, his erection pressed hard against the apex of her thighs.

“I thought tonight was about surrendering to temptation?” she said in a husky voice.

“No,” he rasped. “It was about me teaching you the arts of pleasure.”

“You seem to have forgotten, I’ve read The Golden Lotus.”

She smiled as she shifted her hips and rubbed her sex over the tip of him. The sharp breath he sucked in filled her with satisfaction. He was not the only one who could incite desire. In a leisurely gesture, she circled the tip of his nipple with her finger then lowered her head to bite gently down on his flesh. With another hiss of breath, he quickly grasped her hips, but she held him at bay as she tugged his hands off her body and pushed them down into the fur beneath.

“You’re far too eager, my lord,” she said with a smile as she shifted her body against him once more.

“Christ Jesus,” he choked out as she shifted her body against him once more. “How much of that bloody book did you read?”

“I’m afraid I was incredibly wicked and read the entire volume.” She reached behind her and stroked the sacs at the base of his erection. The dark growl in his chest reverberated beneath her fingers. “Tell me what you want, my lord.”

“You.”

The word was little more than a guttural sound rolling out of his throat. It swept its way through the air to skim across her skin like a hot summer breeze. His erection jumped against her as she positioned her sex against the tip of him then quickly sheathed herself over him. The heat of him pulsed its way into every fiber of her being.

Her hands pressed against his chest as she slowly rocked her body against his. A primal expression darkened his features as his hands gripped her hips and he locked his gaze with hers. Intense and powerful, a dark passion blazed in his eyes. It matched the raw need holding her hostage as her body gripped his as pleasure engulfed her body. With each beat of her heart, desire sped through her veins until a fire consumed her entire body.

Piercing in its intensity, the ferocity of the sensation frightened her, but she couldn’t resist its calling. Their bodies beat out a wild rhythm as they raced toward a fevered pitch of something she couldn’t define. With a sudden jerk, her head fell back as she released a cry of intense pleasure and shattered over him.

Less than a second later, his hips arched upward, and his hoarse cry mixed with hers. Her breathing ragged, Ivy fell forward to rest her forehead on his chest. Like her, Simon’s breathing was harsh and fast. As the sharp edge of desire eased to a warm, pleasure throb in her veins, she released a sigh.

Slowly, Simon rolled her off him then rose up slightly to stare down into her face. Something indefinable darkened his eyes, and the intensity of his look made her heart race. A large hand cupped the side of her face, and he kissed her. Without saying a word, he simply pulled her tight against him. Uncertain what to make of his behavior, Ivy closed her mind to everything but the pleasure warming her body. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Chapter 11

Outside, snow was falling lightly. From her seat at the fireplace, she could see the large flakes sticking against the windowpanes before sliding downward as they melted. With Christmas less than two weeks away, the snowfall only added to the beauty of the season.

For the first time in years, she was excited about Christmas. She knew Simon wouldn’t be with her for the entire holiday, but he’d already mentioned coming for supper on Christmas night. Over the past few weeks, they’d been almost inseparable during the nights. They’d been glorious moments, each one more exquisite than the last. Her days at the library, once so short now dragged on interminably until she was in Simon’s arms. She was certain their relationship would end eventually, but for now, she was content to enjoy the pleasure of his caresses.

Simon’s attentions seemed far from waning, but they never discussed the future. Even if they had, she would reject the idea of a permanent relationship. As a peer of the realm, Simon lived in a world completely different from hers. It would always be a chasm they could never bridge. A tiny objection whispered through her head, but she crushed the protest.

The bell at the front door rang and Ivy jumped. A small smile twitched at her lips. Ever since Simon had caught her reading The Golden Lotus, she still experienced guilt no matter what she was reading at the time. Laying her book on the side table, Ivy rose to her feet as Simon entered the room. The unexpected visit widened her smile.

“I hope whatever you were reading was educational and completely sinful.” Simon grinned as he crossed the room.

“Now how do you know I’ve been reading?” she asked as he pulled her into his arms.

“Because you’re wearing the same guilty expression you did the day I caught you reading The Golden Lotus.” A strong knuckle lifted her chin so he could capture her lips with his.

A wave of heat cascaded over Ivy as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his. Eagerly, she laced her tongue over his mouth. The dark growl rumbling past Simon’s lips sent a tremor through her as he probed the inside of her mouth. Their tongues mated with each other in a familiar dance that somehow continued to remain new and exciting each time they kissed.

Sharp and sudden, the need to feel his skin against hers made her reach for his tie. The silk easily came undone from its knot, and in seconds, her fingers were reaching for the buttons on his shirt. The tangy male scent of him filled her nostrils as she slid her lips along the side of his jaw then down his throat to where his shirt splayed open. Playfully, she slid her hand over his groin, noting the way his erection jumped then grew long and hard beneath her fingers.

With her lips pressed to his chest, the low rumble echoing out of him was a certain sign she was pleasing him. She wanted him. Waiting until tonight would be interminable. All they had to do was lock the salon door. No one would disturb them, and the fire would keep them warm enough afterward.

“Simon, I want you,” she murmured against his throat. Her fingers undid one of his trouser buttons and reached inside to caress him through his underclothing. “I want to please you just as I did that night in the hothouse.”

The groan he released was dark with frustration. His hands grasped hers as he gently pushed her away from him. In three quick strides, he’d put several feet of space between them. The bulge in his trousers clearly indicated his state of arousal, and Ivy stared at him in puzzlement. Even his hands were unsteady as he hastily repaired his appearance. Passion darkened his expression as he thrust his hand through his dark, wavy hair.

“Damnation, I can’t think straight when I get close to you.”

The statement and his expression made her heart skip a beat. What did he mean? Was he coming to care for her? A tremor sailed through her. No, that wasn’t possible. They both knew their place. Enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company was one thing, but she had no wish to change things between them. He couldn’t care for her. It wouldn’t do. Uncertain as to how to respond to his words, she pressed a hand to her stomach.

“I’m flattered, but I can hardly believe you’re so easily disconcerted by me.”

“You underestimate yourself, Ivy.” He returned to her side, his hand capturing her chin. “I find you most distracting. So much so that I finally gave way and agreed to my sister’s demand that you attend our family gathering this evening.”

Turning away from her, he shoved a hand through his hair again. The action left his dark locks tousled, enhancing the air of danger that always surrounded him. At first, she didn’t comprehend his words. He’d mentioned her and a family gathering all in the same breath.

Amazement slowly gave way to something more painful as his words echoed over and over again in her head. Given way to his sister’s demands—that was precisely what he’d said. It had been his sister who’d asked for her to come this evening. Simon hadn’t proposed the invitation. He’d merely succumbed to pressure from his sister. Inhaling a sharp breath, she stiffened.

Deep down, she’d always know Simon would never bring a commoner into his house. It was one thing to dally with the lower class, but for one to associate with his family was a different matter altogether. Still the thought was a knife slicing into her heart. She bit back a gasp as the razor edged its way along her nerve endings. He’d made it clear from their first meeting how he felt about commoners marrying up the social ladder.

Well, she had no desire to marry a peer, least of all Simon. She tightened her mouth at the mocking laughter echoing in the back of her head. She didn’t want to marry anyone. She was quite happy with her life right now. The first time she’d ever even considered taking a lover was the day Simon had entered her life. But now that she’d made that choice, she recognized the freedom such a relationship offered her.

There had never been any expectations spoken between them that would lead either one of them to consider their arrangement permanent, but declaring her unfit to meet his family rankled. She had blue blood running in her veins as well. It might not be pure as his, but it was there all the same.

“Thank you for the invitation, my lord, but I’ve already made plans for the evening.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he snapped.

“It means just what I said. I’m otherwise occupied this evening.” She straightened her shoulders and tipped her head at a dignified angle. “If you expected me to be enamored by your social status, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“My social—” He glared at her. “This isn’t about my perspective on class, Ivy. It’s yours.”

“Mine,” she snapped furiously. “Don’t you dare try to cover up your prejudice by suggesting the fault lies with me.”

“Damn it, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He strode across the carpet to grasp her by the arms and give her a slight shake. “I know how you feel about the social circles I come from. I know how uncomfortable you are when you’re surrounded by the nobility, and I didn’t want to feed you to the lions if I could help it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She tried to tug free of his hold, but failed. “You don’t know me that well. We’re lovers, and beyond that you know very little about me.”

“Oh, I know you, Ivy. I know you almost as well as you know yourself. I don’t fully understand why, but you despise the aristocracy. I’ve seen it in your eyes every time you’ve interacted with the nobility, even the patrons at the library. Your back becomes straight and rigid the moment a peer of the realm speaks to you. Even with me, you sometimes have a distant air, and all because of my social rank. It’s there in that polite, serene mask you wear whenever you’re conversing with one of us.”

The stark words made her freeze in his grasp. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t possibly act that way. How could she? It would make her no better than—the harsh reality of his observation shamed her. She was no better than any peer who’d snubbed her.

Even worse, she suddenly realized how much like her aunt and uncle she had become. The only difference was the situation was reversed. Horrified by the realization, she flinched and tugged free of his hold.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize…”

“Tell me why you despise us, the peerage, so much.” The gentle note in his voice only increased the shame flooding through her.

“I can’t….please don’t ask it of me,” she said with a shake of her head. At her response, he pulled into his embrace then lifted her chin so she was staring into his piercing gaze.

“As you wish, but understand this, Ivy. I won’t let you use our social standings as a way to keep me at a distance,” he bit out. “I want you more than any woman I’ve ever known, and I’m not about to give you up in the foreseeable future.”

The possessive note in Simon’s voice alarmed and thrilled her. They were the words of a man determined to have his own way and damn anyone who tried to stop him. Still reeling with the knowledge of how much like her aunt and uncle she’d become, Ivy swallowed hard. How could she protect her heart now when he’d diminished the gap between them with his invitation and his observation? Her eyes met his silver gaze.

“I have no desire to distance myself from you,” she whispered.

“Then say you’ll come to supper this evening. Once Abigail’s curiosity about you has been satisfied, she’ll leave us alone to do as we please.” A wicked smile curled his beautiful mouth. “Although, I won’t be a bit surprised if she takes to you as easily as her son and brother.”

Heat filled her cheeks at the compliment as she remembered the first time they’d met and his initial opinion of her. He’d changed since then. But had she? Slowly she accepted his invitation with a nod of her head. A pleased expression settled on his face and he grinned at her. He looked almost like a boy in a candy shop.

Ivy nibbled at her lip. Meeting Simon’s sister was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable evening. Her gaze swept across the contented look on his face. She was certain it was insanity to do as he asked, but she wanted to make him happy. If attending this small supper party achieved that, then nothing else mattered.

Chapter 12

Ivy stepped out of the carriage and stood on the sidewalk staring up at the façade of Lady Claiborne’s home. Why had she agreed to come this evening? She wanted to turn around and climb back into the carriage. Beyond that door was the potential for the same type of humiliation she’d endured growing up.

Avoiding the Marlborough Set was something at which she’d become quite adept. Now, here she was feeling like Daniel about to enter the lion’s den. She was certain Simon’s family would find her sadly lacking just like her aunt and uncle always had. Inhaling a deep breath, her fingers gripped her purse more tightly. She was no longer a child. If she found the evening too unbearable, she was capable of leaving.

Her fingers turned the handle of the doorbell, and the moment the bell jangled on the other side of the door she almost did run back to the carriage. Instead, she squared her shoulders and waited with bated breath for the door to Claiborne House to open. Seconds later a tall, cadaverous-looking butler’s gaze skimmed over her with something akin to disdain. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze steadily.

“I’m Miss Beecham. I believe I’m expected.”

“Of course, miss. Welcome to Claiborne House.” Opening the door wide, the butler invited her inside with a small bow. “Allow me to take your cape.”

Undoing the frog loops of her cloak, Ivy shrugged it off her shoulders and handed it to the servant along with her purse. Without her cape, she felt naked, exposed for any member of the Set to ravage her with insolent barbs and asides.

“The family is in the drawing room, miss. If you’ll follow me.”

As the butler moved forward, Ivy hesitated, frozen in place. She didn’t belong here. It wasn’t safe. If she moved quickly, she could grab her things and be gone before the man opened—the double doors of the salon slid apart as the butler announced her arrival in sonorous tones.

Her mouth went dry with fear as she slowly crossed the entry way and stepped into the salon. The first person she saw was Simon. The familiar tilt of his dark head made her heart skip a beat. Heat coursed through her body at the sight of him.

His gaze locked with hers. She recognized the flash of desire in his silvery eyes, but something else tempered his expression. Warm reassurance softened the harsh planes of his features as he silently offered her encouragement. His unspoken approval eased the fluttering in her stomach. At least one person here did not find her lacking. Ivy saw him take a step forward, before Anthony uttered an exclamation of pleasure and crossed the floor to her side.

“Miss Beecham, I’m delighted my uncle was able to convince to you to join us this evening.” Her hand clutched in his, Anthony pulled her toward a woman sitting on a scrolled back sofa talking with a young lady. “Let me introduce you to my mother.”

As they approached, the woman rose to her feet to greet her. Although plain in features, the woman’s brown eyes danced with merriment, and when she smiled, it was clear she was Simon’s sister.

“Mother, allow me to introduce you to Miss Beecham. Miss Beecham, my mother, Lady Claiborne.”

“Miss Beecham, how lovely to finally meet you. Anthony has spoken of you often, as has Simon.” Her hostess clasped her hand in a warm welcome. While curiosity and assessment filled her gaze, there was no hint of condescension in the other woman’s voice or manner. Warm and genuine, the woman’s welcome put some of her fears to rest.

“It was kind of you to invite me.”

“I can only say how grateful I am that you finally agreed to visit. It’s the rare occasion that I am able to convince Simon to take supper with us anymore.” The woman’s amusement was plainly visible as she looked first at Simon then back at Ivy.

“Then I am certain you’re one of the rare few, Lady Claiborne, who is able to convince Lord Wycombe to do anything at all.”

For a long terrible moment, Ivy thought she’d made a horrific error in judgment as Simon’s sister stared at her in open-mouthed surprise. Her breath caught in her throat, Ivy tried to think of how to apologize when peals of laughter suddenly broke past Lady Claiborne’s lips. Relief made Ivy weak as Simon’s sister linked arms with Ivy.

“My dear Miss Beecham, I do believe you and I are destined to be close friends,” Lady Claiborne said with another laugh. “Simon told me you were a quick wit, but he failed to mention that you are clearly well acquainted with his stubborn nature.”

“A trait that is prolific in this family, Abigail. It happens to be one of your more endearing characteristics.”

Simon said in a modulated voice, but his face revealed his annoyance. Ivy wasn’t sure whether he was irritated with her or his sister. Laughter dancing in her eyes, Lady Claiborne tossed her brother a smug look.

“Perseverance is often mistaken for stubbornness, dear brother. And we both know how easy it is for me to persevere.” Lady Claiborne didn’t wait for Simon to respond. Instead, she turned to the young woman seated on the sofa who quickly rose to her feet.

“This is Olivia Hunter, Anthony’s fiancée.”

Stunned, Ivy’s gaze flew toward Simon. Had he actually given his approval for Anthony to marry a commoner? No, he wouldn’t have done such a thing. The man had been so adamant that day in the library about commoners marrying into his family. As if he could read her thoughts, he arched his eyebrow at her in his usual, arrogant manner.

Why had he asked her to come? She’d been quite content with the current state of their relationship. She didn’t like the idea that he was manipulating her. A shiver skimmed down her back at the thought before she focused her attention on the young woman in front of her. Olivia Hunter was a beautiful as Anthony had said. There was also a bright gleam of intelligence shimmering in her wide hazel eyes. Instantly, she knew Anthony had made an excellent choice in wives. Shyly, Olivia shook Ivy’s hand and smiled.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Miss Beecham. I’ve heard so many lovely things about you from Anthony.”

“And I you, Miss Hunter.”

“I think my Anthony is a very lucky young man. Olivia will provide a steadying influence on him,” Lady Claiborne said as she smiled at her future daughter-in-law.

Once again, Ivy’s eyes met Simon’s from across the room. The quiet assessment in his gaze puzzled her. The man was looking incredibly mysterious this evening, more so than normal. The fact that he’d agreed to Anthony and Olivia’s engagement was astonishing. What had Anthony done to bring about such a miraculous change in his uncle? With Simon so adamantly opposed to a commoner marrying into his family, it was only logical to assume that Lady Claiborne had felt the same way.

But Anthony’s mother seemed quite happy with her son’s choice. Ivy frowned and glanced in Simon’s direction. He was saying something to Anthony, his expression one of amusement as his nephew shook his head. Ivy wasn’t sure how, but something had changed between her and Simon. It was a shift in their relationship that quickened her heartbeat. Her instinct was to bolt, but the opportunity fled as Simon’s sister grasped Ivy’s elbow in a light yet firm touch.

“You already know Simon, so we’ll move on to the others.”

With his sister’s cavalier dismissal, Ivy saw Simon’s mouth tighten with irritation, and Lady Claiborne winked at her as they moved toward an older couple. Dear lord, did the woman know about her relationship with Simon? The thought made her stomach churn with embarrassment. Desperately, she struggled to maintain her composure as Lady Claiborne introduced her to an elderly couple.

“Allow me to present the Earl and Countess of Marston. They’re old and very dear friends of the family.” As the older couple greeted her, Lord Marston kissed her hand and winked at her.

“I doubt you remember me, but I met you quite a long time ago when I visited your aunt and uncle at Parkland Manor. You were still a child at the time.” There was a conspiratorial air about him that was vaguely familiar. Ivy stared at the man for a long moment then laughed.

“I do remember. You managed to sneak me several bon-bon treats after my aunt told me I couldn’t have any.”

“Ah, so you do remember.” He chuckled.

“I never had the chance to say thank you. It was a kind gesture, and not one I forgot either. So I shall thank you now.”

“It was my pleasure, young lady,” the earl said. Standing next to the older couple was a handsome gentleman. For a fraction of a second, Lady Claiborne’s fingers bit into Ivy’s elbow.

“And this is their son, Viscount Halstead.”

“A pleasure, Miss Beecham.” Ivy offered her hand to the Viscount, who kissed her hand. “I understand from Abigail that you’re quite skilled in word games.”

Perplexed, Ivy looked at Lord Halstead in puzzlement, while beside her, Lady Claiborne laughed. Patting Ivy’s arm, Simon’s sister shook her head.

“Do forgive me, my dear Miss Beecham. I told Royce that with you as my partner I was certain to defeat Simon in a round of the Name Game tonight.”

“I’m sure I’m not nearly as skilled as Lord Wycombe,” Ivy murmured as trepidation streaked through her. If Simon had brought her here to humiliate her, she’d walked without hesitation into the trap.

“Nonsense. I have a feeling you are as consummate as my brother. He would not have mentioned your abilities otherwise.” The twinkle in the woman’s brown eyes warmed her plain features as she shot her brother a glance of amusement. “In fact, with you as my partner, I’m certain we shall royally trounce Simon—something that rarely happens.”

“Although Miss Beecham is accomplished in a great many ways, having her for a partner will not save you from defeat, Abigail.” The good humor in his voice was reserved for the others in the room. But it was the fiery passion in his eyes that said he was thinking something completely different when it came to touting her accomplishments.

“I would be honored to be your partner, Lady Claiborne. The great Bard himself said that pride must have a fall, so we must hope Lord Wycombe will suffer only a gentle injury should he lose to us this evening.”

“I am certain of it now, Miss Beecham.” Laughter lighting up her face, Lady Claiborne wagged her finger at her. “Especially when we team him with Anthony. Lord and Lady Barton have always refused to take part, but Olivia and Royce can partner with each other.”

“Anthony and I shall fare quite well I’m sure,” Simon retorted as he scowled at his sister.

“It seems Abigail has been plotting your downfall, Simon.” Lord Halstead chuckled. “I would take care, old man. If Miss Beecham is as knowledgeable as she is beautiful, I think she’ll make you a most impressive opponent.”

“Miss Beecham and I have waged battles with our words before, and in the end I emerge the victor.” Confidence threaded through his voice as his steel gray eyes met hers. Something possessive flared in his eyes as his gaze met hers. Before she could think of a suitable rebuke the butler announced supper. Without missing a beat, Lord Halstead offered his arm to Ivy.

“Allow me to escort you in to supper, Miss Beecham.”

The invitation caught her by surprise, and she hesitated as she caught the look of pain on Lady Claiborne’s face. Anguish disappeared from the woman’s features as she became aware of Ivy’s gaze. A brilliant smile on her lips, Ivy’s hostess nodded.

“What an excellent idea, Royce, especially since Miss Beecham will be sitting next to you at supper.”

It was impossible not to miss the tension in Lady Claiborne’s body as the viscount offered his arm to Ivy. Sliding her hand through the crook of Lord Halstead’s arm, she met Simon’s gaze from across the room. Even from where she stood, she could see the muscle in his jaw flex and the flash of anger in his eyes.

She recognized that look of possession. It was the same expression he’d had the night of the library ball when he’d dragged her outside to the hothouse. The memory of that night and the others that followed made her breath hitch. She was not his possession, and yet his belief that she was his alone sent a small thrill through her.

Supper was a lively affair with the conversation ranging from current politics to a discussion on the differences between the philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche, Plato, and Voltaire. The stilted proper conversation she’d expected never matured. The meal was clearly a family gathering, and Ivy realized this was what her life would have been like if her parents had lived. It created a bittersweet longing inside her.

After their meal, the small gathering returned to the salon where they paired off to play the Name Game. Blindly pulling a famous individual’s quote from a container, she was required to offer up the least amount of clues so that Lady Claiborne could name the renowned person. It had been a challenge, but Simon’s sister had proven herself an excellent partner, and they’d soundly beaten everyone at the game. With the last round played, Lady Claiborne smiled triumphantly at her brother.

“I do believe you’re frowning, Simon.”

“No, but you’re most certainly gloating.” With a chuckle, he shook his head.

“So I am,” Lady Claiborne said with a laugh as she patted Ivy’s hand. “You were brilliant this evening, Miss Beecham. It gives me great pleasure to beat Simon at this game, something that rarely happens, I might add.”

“I confess I am enjoying our victory as well.” Ivy smiled at the woman’s gleeful triumph.

“We must do this again.” Lady Claiborne patted her arm then released a gasp of excitement. “I know. You must come celebrate with us on Christmas Day.”

The unexpected invitation startled Ivy, and she bit her lip. Tonight had been such a happy experience. So wonderful that she didn’t want to leave. But she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a part of Simon’s world any more than he was of hers. It would have been so much easier if his family hadn’t been so nice.

“Thank you for such a lovely invitation, but I’m not certain what my plans for the holiday are at the moment.”

“Nonsense.” The woman sniffed and brushed Ivy’s objections aside. “Simon, you must convince Miss Beecham to spend the day with us.”

“I’ve learned from experience that Miss Beecham does not like to be coerced,” he said with a slight smile. “However, I will do my best to convince her to come.”

“I can only say, we shall see.” Unwilling to subject herself to any further persuasion, Ivy rose to her feet. “For now, I must say good night as it is growing late.”

“I’ll see you home then.”

“There’s no need. I’m certain there is a hansom available as it’s early yet.”

“I insist.”

There was an inflexible note in Simon’s voice that Ivy recognized, and she knew it was pointless to argue with him. As Ivy said her goodbyes, Simon moved to stand at the salon doorway as if to ensure she didn’t escape without him at her side. Linking her arm with Ivy’s, Lady Claiborne walked with her out into the hallway.

“Now, you must come for Christmas, Miss Beecham. I really do insist.” The woman squeezed Ivy’s hands. “If you don’t, Simon will make me pay for this evening, so my fate is in your hands.”

With a laugh, she shook her head at Lady Claiborne. The woman was every bit as determined as her brother when it came to getting what she wanted.

“I promise to give serious consideration to the matter.”

“Simon?” Arching her brow at her brother, Lady Claiborne’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Surely, you’re not about to tell me that your persuasive powers have evaporated into thin air.”

Despite his scowl, Simon refused to take his sister’s bait as he snatched Ivy’s cloak from the hands of the butler. His movements swift, he crossed the floor and settled the cape on her shoulders. There was something in the look that passed between the siblings that sent her heart racing. Abigail was referring to something completely different than Simon persuading her to visit Claiborne House for Christmas. Whatever it was, he was looking decidedly irritated. Hastily pecking his sister on the cheek she offered him, he grasped Ivy’s arm and pulled her toward the door.

“Come, Miss Beecham, before my sister tries to persuade you into doing something else.”

Abigail’s pleasant laughter trailed after them as Simon pulled her out into the cold night air toward the carriage waiting at the sidewalk.

Chapter 13

“You didn’t expect to like them so much, did you?” The quiet words echoed through the mist as the images in front of her faded.

The statement chilled Ivy as she turned her head toward the gentleman at her side. There was a flash of something in the man’s gaze that startled her. For the briefest of moments, she thought she’d seen fear. But he was right. She hadn’t expected to like Simon’s family so much. She’d gone to Claiborne House expecting them to treat her with condescension simply because she was a commoner.

Instead, they’d greeted her with a warmth and kindness that had made her feel more welcome than anywhere else she’d ever been. Worse than that, it had made her imagine the possibility of a future with Simon, a future she’d been afraid to hope for. It had made her realize the inevitable had happened. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought.

“This was the first time you admitted that you were in love with Simon, wasn’t it?” There was a tender note in the man’s voice as emotion swelled tightly in her throat.

“Yes.” Ivy swallowed hard.

“And being with his family made you see how wonderful life could be with him.”

Blinking back tears, she nodded. “It was the first time I allowed myself to imagine such a thing. But falling in love with him was the worst thing I could have done.”

“You seem so certain of that, and yet I sense something else inside you. Love is really quite simple, my dear Ivy. It’s when we throw up obstacles in its path that it becomes difficult.”

“Why are you doing this? What is the purpose of this examination of my relationship with Simon?” she bit out. Hands clasped in front of her, she squeezed her fingers together until her knuckles were white from the painful grip. The alternative was to feel the intense pain of her aching heart. A gentle hand lightly touched her arm.

“You called me here with your wish, Ivy.”

“Then give me what I wished for,” she snapped bitterly. “Make me forget Simon. He will forget me quite easily. I’m simply a commoner who shares his bed. Nothing more.”

“Christ Jesus, your stubbornness will be your undoing as well as his. What if you’re wrong? What then?” The ghost’s harsh exclamation made Ivy jerk her head toward him. A flash of something so familiar filled the man’s expression as she stared at him. Had his features become smoother as if he were younger?

“I’m not wrong.”

She turned away from him to stare out into the white mist that surrounded them. What did she know about betrayal? The apparition was actually suggesting she might be wrong about Simon. The ghost was mistaken. Simon had betrayed her in the worst sort of way. He’d made her long for a life she could never have then brought back the past to show her it was all an illusion. A vise wrapped around her chest, tightening until she didn’t think it possible to breathe any longer.

“Sometimes, Ivy, we see things that aren’t really there.”

“If you’re referring to yourself, I understand completely.” The irony of the situation threaded her voice with just a hint of humor. Although she could find nothing humorous about her current state of affairs.

“You have always had a quick wit,” the ghost chuckled before his voice softened, “Sometimes the obstacles we believe are real don’t really exist.”

Grasping Ivy’s hand, the man pulled them back into the white mist. As the fog engulfed them, Ivy glanced toward the ghost and drew in a sharp breath. No, it wasn’t possible. How could it be? There was no time to think as the now familiar mist carried them to another point in time.

Chapter 14

The silence in the carriage had stretched so thin Ivy’s nerves were taut. Simon had not spoken a word to her since helping her into the vehicle. The evening had been so pleasant, and now he seemed angry with her. Did he regret asking a commoner to join his family for supper? The memory of Olivia Hunter being treated as one of the family this evening by everyone including Simon was ad odds with the question.

Simon seemed genuinely happy for his nephew. He’d escorted Olivia into supper, and Ivy had noted his relaxed, almost affectionate demeanor with the younger woman. His conduct toward the younger woman had twisted something dark in Ivy. An emotion she didn’t dare acknowledge. One day, Simon would look at another woman just the same way, and it wouldn’t be her. The realization squeezed at her heart until the pain was physical.

“I can’t imagine the evening was so miserable that you have nothing to say.” The harsh note in his voice made her quickly turn her head toward him.

“It wasn’t miserable at all,” she said. “Your sister was extremely kind and welcoming.”

“And what about a certain Viscount,” Simon snapped. He was angry because she’d not paid more attention to him.

“Spending too much time in your company this evening would have given everyone the wrong impression.”

“I’m not talking about me,” he growled. “I’m talking about Halstead and your coquettish behavior around the man.”

Floored by his accusation, Ivy simply stared at him in astonishment. She had realized from the start that Simon’s sister was in love with Lord Halstead. To have flirted with the man while Lady Claiborne looked on would have been coldhearted and cruel. Hurting someone like that was the last thing she would ever do.

“I did not flirt with Lord Halstead, and you are in no position to accuse someone else of flirtations given your attention to Miss Hunter.”

“Jealousy?” Something in his voice alerted Ivy she was treading in dark waters.

“Why am I not surprised you might think something so preposterous,” she snapped. “You can’t bear the thought of a woman enjoying your touch without feeling anything more than lust.”

Simon grew still beside her. Like a predator watching its quarry, his eyes narrowed to thin slits as he studied her. It was obvious she’d injured his pride, and her heart skipped a beat as the only sound in the carriage was the clip clop of the horse. When Simon leaned toward her, Ivy jumped.

“Is that a challenge, Ivy? Are you daring me to make you fall in love with me?”

The words sent an icy chill rolling over her skin. It would be a pointless exercise when she’d already succumbed to his charms. Ivy’s fingers curled into her palms as the painful truth slowly slid its way into her consciousness.

It wasn’t possible. She’d done everything she could think of to keep her heart insulated from him. Yet it was true. She loved him. Dear lord, what had she done? They merely had an arrangement between them. Nothing more. How could she have been such a simpleton to fall in love with him? She inhaled a sharp, ragged breath. Tonight had been nothing more than illusion. A beautiful glimpse of something she would never have. If tonight had taught her anything, it was that her happiness would be short-lived. The thought sent her stomach lurching as the carriage rolled to a stop.

~~~~

The moment the carriage came to a halt in front of Ivy’s townhome, Simon stepped woodenly out of the vehicle. Every bone in his body ached. The last time he’d felt this battered—he couldn’t even think of a time. Watching Ivy flirting with Royce this evening had been one of the most painful things he’d ever endured.

Royce was one of his best friends, and yet tonight he’d wanted to rip the man’s heart right out of his chest. He offered his hand to Ivy to help her leave the carriage. The moment he clasped her hand in his, a bolt of electricity shocked him. It sent a sharp vibration of energy streaking through his body

Bloody hell, what was the woman doing to him? As soon as she was on the sidewalk, he tugged her up the steps to her front door. Clearly rattled, she fumbled in her evening bag for her key. When she found the key, he pulled it out of her hand and opened the door himself.

Inside the foyer, he jerked her cape off her shoulders and tossed it carelessly on the hall table. She stood only a foot away from him pulling her gloves off with a slow precision that only irritated him more. Fuck, she was acting as if nothing had happened this evening. If she were any other woman he would have thought her detached and unmoved, but he saw the way her hands were trembling.

No. His challenge had left her shaken. It had left its mark on him as well. Simon grimaced. He wasn’t sure he liked the sensation or the way Ivy was skillfully hiding her emotions from him. Concealing her feelings was something Ivy did exceptionally well. The only time he was certain her emotions were fully exposed was in the heat of their lovemaking. Simon tightened his mouth and jerked the gloves out of Ivy’s hand and pulled her up the staircase toward her bedroom. He’d visited her room many times before, only tonight was different. Tonight he was going to make her understand she would never belong to anyone else but him. She was his and no one was ever going to take her from him. As he dragged her into her bedroom, he closed and locked the door behind them.

Leaning against the hard wood paneling, Simon narrowed his gaze to study the irritation on her lovely features. What the hell was wrong with him to be this upset by Royce’s attentions to her? Something whispered in the deep recesses of his mind, but he pushed it aside.

There was a defiant, mutinous twist to her sensual lips, and he saw her sapphire eyes flicker with an indefinable emotion. With a measured step, he approached her. She didn’t retreat, but once more, he saw a flash of emotion in her gaze. It irritated him that he couldn’t define it. “You’re mine, Ivy,” he said as he reached out to caress the side of her face. God, but she had the most beautiful skin of any woman he’d ever met. “You’re mine, and I have no intention of surrendering you to Halstead or any other man who thinks they can take you from me.”

“I should have said arrogance, not pride, must have a fall earlier this evening. To presume you own me is the height of arrogance,” she snapped.

Anger flushed her cheeks, and her lovely breasts rose and fell rapidly as his forefinger lightly traced a path from her ear down to her neck, his gaze following the trail he made.

“There’s a difference between owning and possessing, Ivy. It’s your body I possess.” He smiled as she turned her head away from him. Pleasure shot through him at the way she trembled beneath his fingertips as he traced a path across the top of her silky shoulder. “See, sweetheart, your body responds to me at the slightest touch. We both know neither Halstead nor any other man can excite you the way I can.”

Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth against her shoulder. Lilies scented her skin, and he breathed in the exotic fragrance of her. She smelled good enough to eat. The thought made him smile. That was exactly what he was going to do to her tonight. He wanted to hear her cry out his name over and over again, as he pleasured her with his mouth. The thought of tasting her on his tongue made his cock grow hard in seconds. Another shudder broke through her, and he straightened to stare down into her vivid blue eyes. They flashed with desire as she brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.

“And what about you, Simon?” The sultry sound of her voice tightened his chest as an odd sensation sailed through him. “Is there any other woman who can make you feel the way I make you feel?”

“No,” he growled as desire flared inside him. Damnation, but she’d bewitched him. If she were to ask him for the world at this moment, he’d gladly give her his promise to deliver it to her.

To his surprise, she stepped back from him. He watched in delight as she reached behind her and undid her gown in silence. With the dress undone, she slowly eased one short sleeve down her arm. A moment later, the other sleeve followed suit. If she meant to seduce him, she was doing it superbly. Not even Elizabeth had ever come this close to holding him as transfixed as Ivy was doing right now.

Her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, and his groin tightened with a sharp, tug. Christ Jesus, she was seducing him. He swallowed hard as she slowly began to unlace her combination corset. The laces slipped through her fingers like ribbons in the breeze. They fluttered downward until the garment was completely undone.

Not once did her gaze leave his face as she removed the combination corset and casually tossed it aside. His mouth went dry at the way her chemise clung to her breasts. Kicking her slippers off, Ivy’s foot pressed into the soft cushion of the bed’s mattress as she lifted the hem of her petticoat to reveal her well-shaped legs encased in black silk. At the top of her thigh, a red garter held her black stockings in place, and Simon’s cock swelled even tighter in his pants. He wanted to pick her up and take her to bed where he intended to keep her for the remainder of the night until he made her confess everything to him. The moment he started to unbutton his coat, Ivy uttered a soft rebuke.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

An odd look crossed her face, and a twinge of foreboding tried to pierce its way through the desire holding him hostage. The sensation fled as he watched her unhook her garter then roll the stocking downward at a pace that was maddening. He took a step toward her, but she gestured for him to stop. A seductive smile curled her lips as she tossed the stocking aside and proceeded to remove the other stocking. Another groan rumbled in his chest, and she smiled as she discarded the second stocking.

“You’re right, Simon. There is no other man who excites me like you do,” she said in a husky whisper that pulled every one of his muscles taut with need.

Slowly, she undid the front of her chemise and slid it off her body until she stood naked in front of him. She was beautiful. Firelight from the hearth made the auburn in her brown hair shimmer in the room’s dim light, while her skin was the palest shade of a newly picked peach. Unable to think straight, he eliminated the distance between them and pulled her into his arms.

The sweet taste of Madeira wine teased its way across his tongue as he probed the warmth of her mouth. Her tongue danced with his as she pressed her hand against his hard length. He jerked at the touch. She pushed her way out of his embrace, giving him the chance to remove his clothing. His breathing ragged, he fumbled with the tie around his neck as their gazes locked. The smile on her face said she knew how aroused he was. As he tugged the tie off his neck, he watched as a sultry expression settled on her beautiful features. She was a beautiful, voluptuous siren. Her eyelids drooped slightly as she ran her fingertips across her breast and then downward to the apex of her thigh where she stroked herself.

“Christ Jesus,” he choked out.

“Don’t you think it’s time you undressed?” she asked softly.

Ripping his jacket off his shoulders, he threw the garment aside as his eyes devoured her across the short space between them. God help him, but the woman had him twisted in knots. The remainder of his clothing quickly fell to the floor until he was free of all constraints. With a growl of need, He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Laying her on the coverlet, he hovered over her, his arms braced on either side of her.

“Tonight you’re going to forget the name of every man you’ve ever met, except for one,” he murmured. “Mine.”

“As long as you forget all the women you’ve ever known,” she whispered in retaliation.

“The only woman I see is a beautiful librarian.”

He lowered his head to nibble at the side of her neck. Slowly, he worked his way downward until his lips gently clamped down on her breast. With a flick of his tongue, he released her nipple and kissed his way to her belly.

“You have a beautiful body, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.” As his mouth moved downward to kiss the inside of her thigh. She bucked against his touch with a soft whimper. “Tell me what you want, Ivy.”

“Please…”

“Yes?” he murmured with satisfaction.

“Oh God, Simon, I…”

Her hips thrust up against his hand as he parted her folds with his thumb to find the nub of her sex. The gentle pressure against her sensitive flesh made her cry out, and he increased the pressure of his thumb against the small nub then slid two fingers inside her. Another sob of pleasure escaped her, and the sound made his cock tug hard its demand for gratification. He suppressed the urge and continued to apply pressure to her sex while stroking her velvet warmth.

“Simon, please…”

“Tell me, Ivy,” he rasped. “Tell me how I should pleasure you.”

Satisfaction spread its way into every one of his muscles as he stared at the expression of wanton abandon on her face. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against the inside of her thigh. The moan pouring out of her signaled her imminent surrender.

“I want…” Her fingers spiked through his hair as her sweetly curved bottom came up off the bed. “I want your mouth on me, Simon.”

“Like this?” He whispered as his fingers parted her folds, and he slid his tongue up into her heat.

Gently, he sucked on her sensitive flesh, his hands gripping her thighs as she writhed beneath him. The musky scent of her desire filled his nostrils, and the bite of her hot cream crossed his tongue as she shuddered against his mouth. Christ Jesus, but she tasted sweet. Eagerly, he licked and sucked at her hot folds. With each stroke of his tongue, she shuddered harder.

Suddenly, she released a sharp cry, and liquid heat filled his mouth as she arched upward then collapsed into the mattress her body rippling with tremors. Deep inside, an unknown emotion snagged at him as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and listened to her ragged breathing. There was a beauty to the sound that lightened his heart. Her hand stroked the top of his head in a lazy gesture that declared she was spent from her desire.

With a smile, Simon kissed the top of her thigh. There would be no rest for the wicked, and it was time to satisfy the demand of his cock. Rising up on to his knees, he skimmed his hand over her leg. Gently, he bent her leg and lifted her foot to his mouth. As he nibbled at the inside of her foot, she uttered a breathy laugh. With one more nip at the sensitive area, he grinned.

“It seems I’ve discovered one of your sensitive spots, which tells me you have more.”

“You’re far too wicked for your own good, my lord,” she said in the husky voice of a siren.

“Then join me in sin, my sweet, because with you I find being wicked immensely satisfying.” Raising her leg higher, he rested it on his shoulder. Her eyes widen with confusion.

“Simon, what are you…”

With one quick thrust, he slid into her velvet heat. She gasped in surprise before her body clenched tightly around his cock. The unusual position intensified his pleasure as he filled her completely. He growled deep in his throat. A glove could not have been more snug. Slowly, he retreated then slid into her once more. With each rhythmic thrust, he savored the way her body clung to his. She was slick with heat—and tight.

Her insides clutched at him like a vise, tightening his ballocks up into his groin as his engorged flesh cried out for more friction. It demanded more heat. Pumping himself into her, he caught the musky scent of her passion as she shattered over his cock. The rippling spasms of her hot insides grew even hotter with the cream she spilled over him as her back arched, thrusting her lovely breasts upward. With one last thrust, he buried himself inside her heat, and a shout of pleasure roared out of his throat as he came inside her.

Time stopped as he throbbed inside her silky depths, content to remain sheathed inside her warmth. He gently lowered her leg, and smiled at the afterglow of passion on her face. The sapphire eyes looking up at him shimmered with an emotion that made his gut knot up tight. She was his. He’d known she would be from the first time he’d seen her, heard her voice. He simply hadn’t expected to become entangled so deeply.

His lips grazed the inside of her leg as he guided it down to the mattress. Utter contentment curled her mouth upward. It was a seductive, enticing smile. Sapphire eyes, glowing with the remnants of passion, darkened slightly. The emotion flicking in her gaze vanished so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d even seen it. Falling forward, Simon placed a possessive kiss to her shoulder then fell backward into the mattress.

As she snuggled into him, heat spread its way along every muscle in his body. The strength of it surprised him, but he liked the way it made him feel. Lazily, he ran his hand down her arm before it came to rest on her hip. The feel of her soft body against his stirred an unfamiliar emotion inside him.

It made him realize he never wanted to let her go. No matter what it took, he’d keep her at his side. His heart slammed into his chest as he realized where his thoughts were taking him. For almost three months, his ability to concentrate on anything other than Ivy had been impossible.

Every waking minute was filled with the scent, taste, and feel of her. And then there was the sound of her siren voice that always clutched him firmly in its grasp until he couldn’t think of anything else. Even in his dreams, he couldn’t escape her. He was preoccupied to the point that one would think him obsessed. Maybe even in love.

Simon froze as he struggled to comprehend the thought pounding loudly in his head. What the devil was he thinking? He couldn’t be in love with Ivy. It wasn’t possible. It was simply a physical arrangement that suited them both. Stunned by the revelation, he stared up at the ceiling. It explained everything. The incredible had happened.

He loved her.

Over the course of their time together, he’d come to realize social rank mattered for little if one was happy. On the heels of that thought came the realization that he faced an uphill battle. Ivy’s contempt for the nobility would make it difficult to convince her of his love let alone to marry him. The gentle sound of her breathing said she’d fallen asleep, and he closed his eyes as happiness rushed through him. This was where he belonged. Where she belonged.

The sharp edge of a sword pierced his heart. What if she didn’t feel the same way? Then it wouldn’t matter. She’d never agree to marry him. He shoved his fear aside as he remembered the flash of emotion he’d seen in her eyes just moments ago. It gave him hope. She felt something for him. He was certain of it. The question was whether or not her feelings for him were strong enough to overcome her prejudices. They had to be. He wouldn’t accept anything less.

~~~~

Simon crossed the marbled floor of the London Library to sit down in one of the wing-backed red leather chairs situated near a massive fireplace. The warmth of the blazing fire in the hearth was nothing compared to the heat of the emotions that had passed between Ivy and him since his acknowledgement that he loved her. There had been a subtle, yet distinct, change in their lovemaking.

The passion they shared had taken on new depths as he’d silently declared his love for her with each touch. He wasn’t sure if she recognized the change in their relationship, but the sweetness of her surrender to him had softened, leading him to believe she was coming to care for him as well. The desire between them was still strong, but he knew the change in their lovemaking could easily be deceiving.

Yet he continued to hold back from declaring himself. He didn’t like admitting fear kept him from telling her he loved her. The thought of losing her scared the hell out of him. Simon picked up the morning daily, and it rustled loudly in the small reading area. For the better half of the morning, he’d spent his time sparring with almost half a dozen partners in an attempt to work through that fear.

A fear that he might be making a misstep by reuniting Ivy with her cousin. After that night they spent here in the library, he’d been unsuccessful in making Ivy reveal more of her past. He’d even spoken to Lord Marston trying to learn more about Ivy’s childhood at Parkland Manor. The earl’s impression had been that Ivy’s guardians had treated their niece worse than the lowest ranking house servant.

Marston’s observations had given Simon insight into Ivy’s contempt for the nobility. Hadn’t his experience taught him to make similar assumptions about commoners until he’d met Ivy? It would explain Ivy’s resistance to associate herself with members of the peerage. If her aunt and uncle had treated Ivy with the virulent contempt Marston had described, it would be understandable if she shielded herself from further rejection.

He frowned. Perhaps he’d made a mistake orchestrating the reunion between Ivy and her cousin. For a long moment, he contemplated the thought then discarded it. He’d made the right decision. Until Ivy put her past behind her, he knew there was little hope of convincing her to marry him. Whatever had happened between the two women, he firmly believed the breach between them was mendable.

When all was said and done, family was the rock on which one could cling to. And he wanted to have a family with Ivy. The thought of her growing round with his child stirred his heart in a way he’d never thought possible. Glancing toward the circulation desk, he watched her conversing with a patron over an open book between them. Her head bent over the open book, she pointed to one of the pages in the tome on the counter. She murmured something and smiled as she looked up at the man opposite her.

With a nod, the patron closed the book and retreated back to one of the worktables. The light accentuated the auburn tint of her hair, making it shine. His mouth went dry as he remembered how lovely her nipples were beneath the starched white shirt she wore, the way she always arched upward into his mouth whenever he suckled her. Of all the women he’d ever been with, she was the only one who had ever responded to him with such wanton abandon and heated passion.

He was certain her passion was rooted in deeper feelings for him, whether she realized it or not. It was that belief that made him determined to do whatever it took to bring those emotions to the surface. From his seat in the reading area, he studied her closely until she turned her head to meet his gaze. A surprised look swept across her face. Barely nodding his head in the direction of the book stacks, he rose to his feet. With a slight shake of her head, she silently argued with him. Not about to let her thwart him, he headed toward the circulation desk with a purposeful stride.

As if aware he wasn’t past creating a small altercation, she gathered up a small stack of books and headed for the book stacks at a quick pace. Grinning, he remembered the first time he’d chased her through the aisle of dusty volumes. She disappeared around a corner, and he followed her into the depths of the library. The last time she’d been quick to avoid him, but this time he wasn’t about to let her flee so easily.

Lengthening his stride, he walked through the book stacks and peered through the thin space that existed between a row of books and the shelf above them. On the other side of the shelving, he saw her almost running down the aisle.

They both reached the end of the row at the same time, and as she tried to dart away from him, he caught her wrist and pulled her to a halt. She didn’t protest as he pulled the books from her grasp. They landed with a soft thud on an empty shelf behind him. His hand gently grasped her elbow, and he pulled her deeper into the book stacks.

“This way, Miss Beecham. I have a small matter I wish to discuss with you,” he said quietly.

“So help me, Simon,” her words were a fierce whisper as they moved to one of the more secluded sections of the building. “If you do anything to make the Board ban me from the library, I’ll…I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he chuckled as he tugged her into his arms and captured her mouth in a hard kiss.

She whispered protests against his lips as he pressed her close. Desire surged through him as his fingers brushed over her throat and down to her breasts pushing up softly against her white shirt. With a groan, he lifted his head and pressed his forehead against hers.

“You, Miss Beecham, are the most enticing creature I’ve ever met. You have no idea how tempted I am to lock us in the reading room and pleasure you until you scream out my name.”

Blue eyes darkened with need as her fingers brushed against his mouth. With a seductive smile, she shook her head. “There’s always tonight. Is it really that long of a wait?”

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, I can’t come to you this evening. I’m leaving town on business for a few days.” Dismay and perhaps a glimmer of fear passed over her lovely features. The stark expression warmed his heart. She would miss him. Perhaps there was a chance for him yet. “I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“Will you be gone over Christmas?” It was obvious to him she was trying to hide her disappointment, and there was a forlorn note in her voice.

“I promise you, Ivy. I’ll be back in time for the holiday. Do you believe me?” When she hesitated, he cupped her face with his hands. Slowly, she nodded. Satisfied, he kissed her again and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip.

She was so precious to him. He wanted to declare himself now, but he needed time to formulate a plan. If he’d been less of a fool, he would have realized how much she meant to him sooner. Then he would have been able to woo her until she had no other choice but to accept him. Marry him. With one more kiss, he released her and walked away.

~~~~

“You doubted him.” The ghost’s observation whispered through the mist like an accusation. When she didn’t respond, his cane hit the ground making a loud crack in the air around them. “You doubted him, didn’t you, Ivy.”

“No,” she exclaimed as she jerked her head toward him. A flicker of something familiar brushed against her senses before guilt swept over her. Ivy didn’t know why, but the disappointment she saw on his face pained her greatly. She swallowed hard. “Yes. I doubted him.”

“Even though he gave you his word.” This time there was a distinct hard edge to the specter’s voice. Ivy stiffened. Where had she heard that sound before? She shook her head as the thought, like an elusive memory, slipped away. Her gaze met the ghost’s accusatory look.

“I…I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t dare hope that he cared for me. It was too hard.”

“Why?”

The simplicity of the question struck her as preposterous. For a long moment, she stared at the ghost. There were so many reasons why it had been so hard to believe Simon, reasons wrapped up in her past as well as the present. She’d willingly chosen to be his lover, expecting nothing more than a pleasurable interlude. Her head had dictated her actions, but it was her heart that demanded more than she was certain he was willing to give. Fear had driven her to resist trusting him.

“I can’t give you a simple reason,” she said with a shrug as she looked away from the ghost’s penetrating gaze. “It’s far too complicated.”

“Is it possible you misjudged him?”

This time there was no mistaking the disappointment in the ghost’s masculine voice. A voice that seemed to have gained strength since their initial meeting. It seemed less scratchy. Almost the voice of a younger man. She dismissed the idea as she turned her head to glare at him.

“Honor among the nobility has always been in short supply,” she bit out fiercely. “My cousin was proof of that.”

“Ah, yes. Caroline.” A weary sigh escaped the ghost, and Ivy frowned as he met her gaze steadily. “Did you ever give your cousin a chance to explain?”

“There was nothing to explain.” Ivy said coldly as she looked away from the specter.

She’d easily dodged his query and shame nagged at her. In sidestepping his question, she realized she’d not wanted to listen to her cousin’s explanations. Ivy’s chest tightened at the sudden, vivid memory of Caroline sobbing softly outside her bedroom door, pleading with Ivy to let her in. Had she been wrong not to let her cousin explain what had happened?

Ivy bit down on her lip for a long moment before brushing her doubt away. Caroline’s explanations would not have changed anything. Her cousin had still betrayed her. Raw pain edged its way deep into Ivy’s heart as a tremor rocked through her. What if she had been wrong? A stark horror gripped her, and bile rose in her throat at her sudden doubt. Afraid to consider the possibility she’d made a mistake, Ivy quickly smothered her uncertainty. No. She couldn’t have been wrong. She had seen Caroline in Whitby’s arms.

Hands clasped in front of her to hide the way they shook, she flinched at the bitterness twisting her stomach into knots. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to discuss Caroline or Simon with anyone. All she wanted to do was forget. Forget that she’d ever cared. That she’d ever dared to hope for something more. It was too painful.

“Forgetting can be arranged, but before that happens, there’s more I wish to show you,” the ghost said in a gentle, even tender, voice. Instinctively, Ivy turned toward him with the expectation of something she couldn’t name. Her eyes widened with surprise as she realized the ghost’s eyes had taken on a familiar shade of gray. Ivy didn’t have time to comprehend what her mind was telling her before a warm hand took hers and pulled her across another deep void as the white fog thickened around them like a cocoon.

Chapter 15

Laughter parting her lips, Ivy stepped out of the milliner’s shop as she wished the shopkeeper happy Christmas. People scurried to and fro along the street, their cheerful mood thrumming through the air with an almost tangible force as she crossed Bond Street and walked toward the apothecary.

Even though she missed Simon terribly, she found it impossible to resist the cheerfulness that surrounded her. It had been almost a week since Simon had said goodbye to her in the library. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she had to believe he would keep his promise to return in time for the holiday. A sliver of doubt tried to push its way into her consciousness, but she quickly crushed it. He would come back. He’d promised. Ivy picked her way across the slippery cobblestones to the sidewalk where the scent of lemongrass soap wafted its way through the door of the apothecary.

About to enter the shop, a frisson skated along her spine, and she turned her head. The sight of Simon stepping out of a carriage in front of the jewelers sent her pulse racing. He was back. Why hadn’t he come to see her or at least send word of his return? Puzzled, she took a step in his direction then stopped as she saw him offer his hand to someone inside the carriage.

The air left her lungs as she realized he was with another woman. She immediately chastised herself. He’d simply taken his sister shopping. Ivy took another step toward him then froze where she stood. The cold December air bit through her clothing as if she were standing naked in the street. It wasn’t Abigail.

This woman was much more petite than Simon’s sister, and Abigail’s hair was as dark as her brothers, not the pale gold of wheat. Something about the woman was vaguely familiar, and Ivy’s heart banged a frantic rhythm. It wasn’t possible. Caroline. How had he found her cousin? Worse, why had he brought Caroline to London? Trembling, Ivy quickly stepped toward the apothecary doorway and used the wood frame to support her as she watched Simon from the shadows. Pain sliced through her as she saw him brush Caroline’s hand with a kiss then tuck her arm through his as they entered the jewelers together.

Pain lashed its way into every inch of her body, and she bent over double in the apothecary doorway. Desperately, Ivy willed herself not to faint, while loud voices of concern echoed behind her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and a large man half carried her to the back of the shop. Seconds later, a cup of hot tea was placed in her hands. Grateful for the opportunity to regain what little self-control she still possessed, Ivy closed her eyes fighting back tears.

It was pointless to cry. She had only herself to blame for letting things get this far. She’d always known her time with Simon would end, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Not even in her darkest nightmares had she ever thought things would end this way between them. She needed to go home, but not by way of Bond Street.

The possibility of seeing Simon and Caroline was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. She wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. Her only escape was the alley. Hot tea splashed out of the cup onto the saucer, and the china rattled violently as she set the cup aside with trembling hands. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up into the worried expression of the apothecary’s wife.

“Well now, Miss Beecham. You’ve got some right better color in those cheeks of yours. I near thought you were going to faint if it hadn’t been for my Lawrence being there at your side.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bailey,” she said with a weak smile at the buxom woman hovering over her. “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

“Well, you just stay right here.” The woman clucked over her like a worried mother hen. “You need to take better care of yourself seeing as to your condition and all.”

“I’ll be quite all right, Mrs. Bailey. Thank you for your kindness.” Grateful that her voice betrayed none of her pain, she swallowed hard. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave through your back door.”

“Oh, Miss Beecham, no.” Appalled, the large woman shook her head. “It’s not fittin’ for you to walk through the mews.”

“Nonetheless, I prefer that exit. There are…there are people…” Tears welled up against in her, and she turned her head away. A gentle hand patted her shoulder.

“There now, Miss. If you’ve got your heart set on it, of course you can. Come along, now.”

With the woman guiding the way, they wove their way through crates and barrels until they reached the shop’s back door. As she stepped into the fetid alley, Ivy touched the woman’s arm. “Thank you, Mrs. Bailey, and if you would be so kind, would you please send my usual order to the house.”

“But of course, Miss Beecham, of course I will. You take care of yourself. It’s not just yourself you have to worry about now you know.”

Nodding, Ivy lifted her skirts and hurried along the narrow mews toward Brook Street. Blindly, she stumbled out into the main thoroughfare and into a solid shoulder. Strong hands steadied her as she excused herself and moved away.

“Miss Beecham?”

The deep voice calling her name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lord Halstead moving toward her. Dear heaven, if it wasn't bad enough that Simon had brought Caroline to London, now she had to endure conversing with his friends. She forced a smile to her lips as she turned to face him.

“Lord Halstead, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Are you feeling well, Miss Beecham?” The penetrating look he sent her forced her to stiffen slightly.

“I’m quite…well, thank you.” She swallowed hard at the stern frown on his face.

“I don’t believe you. You’re quite pale, and most women don’t venture off the main streets into the mews alone.”

“I’m sorry, you see…” Ivy looked frantically around her. “I really do…please forgive me, my lord. I must go home.”

Not waiting for his reply, she whirled around and hurried down the street. She’d only gotten a few feet when a strong hand stopped her. She flinched and recoiled from the man as he turned her to face him.

“It’s obvious you’re unwell, so I’ll see you home all the same.”

The man didn’t wait for her agreement as he gently, but firmly, pulled her toward a waiting carriage. Once they were seated inside, the vehicle rocked forward and Ivy kneaded the leather drawstrings of her purse. Staring out the window, she tried to focus on the moment at hand to disguise her true state of anguish.

“Let me help you.”

They were simple words, but the strength and kindness behind them nearly pushed her over the edge of rational thought. With a shake of her head, she straightened her shoulders as she turned toward him.

“Thank you, but I’m fine, really. I’m simply feeling a bit peckish. I should have eaten before I left home.” She forced a smile to her lips, and the muscles in her face ached from doing so.

“I’m not unfamiliar with the circumstances of a woman’s delicate condition. I’m an uncle three times over.” Again, the kindness in his voice touched her. She shook her head as she met his look of assessment.

“No, really. I…”

The image of Mrs. Bailey’s rotund figure warning her that she had to worry about others besides herself bolted its way through her mind. Inhaling a sharp breath, her chest tightened as the reality of Lord Halstead’s words sank into her consciousness. A woman’s delicate condition. Simon’s child. She was carrying Simon’s child.

Closing her eyes, she shuddered as she frantically counted backward. They’d been lovers for less than three months, and the last time she’d had her monthly cycle was a week or two before Simon had made love to her in the library. The irony of it all lashed through her with the sting of a whip. Warm fingers closed over her icy hand, and she looked at the man seated opposite her in the carriage. There was no judgment in his dark eyes, only concern.

“I think perhaps I should call a doctor when we reach your house. You’re not looking well at all.”

“No thank you, my lord. I simply need to rest.” The knot in her throat tightened as she shook her head. “I have actually been contemplating visiting a warmer climate. I have always found London so cold during the winter.”

“Is there nothing I can do…no one I can—”

“No.” She jerked her gaze away from his sympathetic eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but I…there is no need to concern yourself with me. I shall be fine.”

As she stared out the window, she heard his sigh of resignation, but she ignored it. This was her problem and hers alone. A short time later, the carriage came to a halt, and Lord Halstead immediately stepped out of the vehicle and offered his hand to her. When she was on the sidewalk, he escorted her up the steps of her townhouse. At the door, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“I wish you would allow me to fetch the doctor,” he said with a hint of frustration.

”No. Thank you just the same, my lord. I’ll be quite all right after I rest.”

“I can see why Abigail took to you so quickly.” With a shake of his head, he smiled at her with open amusement. “You’re as stubborn as she is.”

“Thank you again, my lord, for your kindness.” Turning away from him, she entered the house and closed the door behind her.

Her back pressed into the wooden barrier, she stood there for a long moment. Eyes closed, she tried to stop her head from spinning as the reality of her situation began to sink into her consciousness. First one tear and then another streaked down her cheeks until she was sobbing softly. The sound of footsteps coming toward her from the kitchen sent her racing up the stairs. She had no wish for anyone to see her like this. The last thing she wanted from anyone, including her staff, was pity.

~~~~

Sunshine streamed through the salon window, warming Ivy’s cheeks as she read through a set of documents her barrister had sent her earlier. When she’d returned home yesterday, she’d allowed herself the luxury of tears for only a few hours before she realized she’d been right when she’d told Lord Halstead she needed to leave the country. The sooner she left England the better.

She’d immediately sent word to her attorney that she had decided to travel to Italy the day after Christmas instructing him to make the proper arrangements. Now, as she reviewed the travel plans outlined in the paperwork, a sense of calm settled over her. No matter how much her heart and body ached for Simon, she had to focus on the baby’s welfare from this point forward. Nothing else could take precedence.

Picking up her pen she signed the documents then returned them to the stiff envelope for delivery back to the attorney’s offices. The scent of fresh greenery teased her senses as she pressed her fingers against her forehead. Christmas Eve. The thought made her close her eyes, as she swallowed the sudden onslaught of tears threatening to pour out of her.

Fists clenched with determination, she inhaled a deep breath and concentrated on controlling her emotions. She’d almost succeed in regaining her composure when the front bell rang. She jerked at the loud jangle. Seconds later, she recognized Simon’s deep voice and tension laced every muscle in her body. Why had he come? She didn’t want him here. Intent on locking him out, she sprang to her feet. She’d only take a couple of steps when the door swung open.

The sight of him took her breath away. His smile was brilliant as he closed the distance between them and caught her hands in his. The warmth of his touch raced over her skin until she was on fire. Shaken by the strength of her feelings, Ivy tugged her hands free. The frown furrowing his brow forced her to straighten her shoulders as she silently met his steely gaze.

“Something’s wrong.” Quiet certainty threaded through his words. It was an understatement, and a sharp laugh passed her lips.

“Not at all. I’m simply surprised to see you.” The serenity in her voice sent relief coursing through her body. She simply had to withstand being in his presence for just a short time longer. He’d explain the purpose of his visit and they would part company. Narrowing his eyes, he studied her for a long moment before he shook his head.

“No, that elusive air of yours is back. The one that shuts me out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed with a wave of her hand and turned toward her secretaire, but he jerked her to a halt and settled his large hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me,” he snapped. “I’ve been gone less than a week, and you’re acting as if we’ve just met.”

“Has it been that long?”

She heard the slight crack in her voice, but she managed to keep her expression nonchalant as she struggled with the way her body was responding to his presence. Fire raged through her blood at being so close to him, the heat of him burning through her clothing to warm her skin. She wanted it to be the way it had been before he left. Before Caroline.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed as he glared down into her eyes. Then in a movement so quick she couldn’t escape, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

The sweet passion of his touch wilted her willpower to refuse him. Clinging to him, she trembled against the solid strength of him. If only for a few short moments of heaven, she was willing to endure the years of hell without him. The moment of pleasure was all too brief as he broke away from her. A flash of what she thought might be relief sprinted across his features as he smiled at her.

“That response, sweetheart, explains everything. You’re angry that I’ve been gone so long. But there was an excellent reason. I went to find you a Christmas present. One I think you’ll like very much.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. Was it possible she’d been wrong? Had she perhaps imagined she’d seen him with Caroline? Confused, she shuddered as he moved quickly toward the salon door and gestured for someone to enter.

First one little girl, then another entered the room. They were lovely children, their eyes bright with excitement. Smiles heightened their sweet features, and as they saw her, they offered her a curtsey. Who on earth were they? The poor dears wore clothes that, although neat and clean, were threadbare and worn. Had Simon suddenly taken to fostering orphans? For that was what they looked like.

A moment later, a third child entered the room. Rocked by the young girl’s appearance, she swayed on her feet as she stared at the child in front of her. Blond curls framed her angelic features, and the green eyes watching her threw her back into a past she preferred to forget. It was as if the Caroline she’d known as a child had stepped into the room. She was beautiful. As beautiful as her mother had been at the same age.

Pain nipped at every nerve in her body, and her stomach churned violently. What had he done? Surely, he hadn’t thought to bring Caroline here. He wouldn’t be that cruel, that heartless. She saw him glance over his shoulder at her and frown slightly. Then the moment she feared the most happened. He had brought her cousin to her house. The moment Caroline entered the room, she hurried across the floor toward her.

“Ivy.”

Horrified, she shuddered at the smile on her cousin’s face. The woman was here to gloat. To rub salt into the open wounds of her heart. To point out that the nobility were far superior to mere commoners. The moment Caroline took her hands and kissed both her cheeks, Ivy jerked away from her and stumbled toward the window. This was by far the most malevolent thing anyone had ever done to her.

One hand braced against the window jamb, she pressed her other hand against her stomach in an effort to stop the nausea roiling in her belly. Eyes closed she could only stand at the window in silence, desperately trying not to completely lose what little composure she still possessed.

“Go away,” she uttered in a hoarse whisper.

“Ivy, please. You never gave me a chance to explain.” Caroline’s soft voice scraped across her skin like a branding iron. Each word seared her cousin’s betrayal deeper into her soul. She didn’t need an explanation that was nothing but lies. Did the woman think she was stupid? Caroline had married Whitby without any misgivings whatsoever.

“I have no need of any explanations, my lady. The past is dead. There’s nothing in it that I care to remember.”

“Don’t say that,” Caroline exclaimed sharply. “We were like sisters. I loved you. I always have. I wanted to explain, but when I came back to Parkland, you were gone. No one would tell me where you were or allow me to find you.”

“You would have found me no more forgiving then than you do now. If you came here expecting to vindicate yourself, you’ve wasted your time.” Ivy glared at her.

“No, I came because Lord Wycombe told me it would give you pleasure to see me again after all these years.”

At Caroline’s response, she quickly turned her head toward Simon. The scowl on his face infuriated her. How dare he act as if she were the one who had committed a sin? Did he expect her reaction to Caroline’s visit to be a giddy one?

She’d only spoken of her childhood that night in the library after his coaxing, and now he’d betrayed the trust she’d placed in him. He’d said goodbye to her, only to return with a part of her past that was tearing her to shreds. Discovering her innermost secrets, he’d recklessly chosen to bring her face-to-face with demons she had no wish to ever see again.

“I also came because it was my hope that I could make things right again between us, and I wanted you to meet your namesake.”

Caroline’s soft words made her drag her gaze away from Simon’s face as she turned to see her cousin coaxing the youngest girl toward them with a wave of her fingers. Hands on her daughter’s shoulders, Caroline introduced the child. “Ivy, darling, this is your Aunt Ivy.”

With the impulse of a child, the girl stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her waist. The loving gesture sent a cold chill through her as she remembered the similar manner in which she’d greeted her aunt when she’d arrived at Parkland. The pain of her aunt’s rejection was the only thing that prevented her from shoving little Ivy away from her now. Swallowing hard, she gently brushed her hand over the child’s head.

“You’re quite pretty, Ivy.” Her whisper was hoarse as she forced a smile to her lips and looked at the child. Had there been that much trust in her eyes the day she’d arrived at Parkland? The day she experienced her first lesson in rejection and betrayal.

And why would Caroline name her daughter after her? She didn’t know the answer, nor did she care to. With a kind, but firm touch, she urged the child to return to her mother’s side. If Caroline thought to use her children as a means to ingratiate herself back into her good graces, then the woman was sadly mistaken.

“Forgive me, but I would like you to leave now,” she said quietly as she turned away and took two unsteady steps to her desk.

“Is there nothing I can say to you that will make you listen,” Caroline pleaded. “You have one of most loving, giving hearts of anyone I’ve ever known. If you do not have it in your heart to forgive, could you at least not listen to what I have to say?”

“I cannot, Lady Whitby. We both know that noblesse oblige is reserved for peers, not commoners such as me,” she said coldly.

Caroline’s gasp of shock emphasized how cruel the words were, but it was the incoherent oath of disgust Simon uttered that made her wince at her insensitive remark. Even now, despite his breach of trust, his opinion of her mattered. Unable to look at him, she remained still as out of the corner of her eye she saw him ushering Caroline and her daughters out of the room. With the door closed behind them, a wave of nausea rolled over her. Grabbing the back of the desk chair, she fought to remain on her feet.

She wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out. But she couldn’t. She had to remember that she was no longer alone. She had to think of her child. Slowly pulling the chair out from her secretaire, Ivy sank down into the hard seat then laid her head and arms on top of the desk. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. The day after tomorrow she’d leave all of this pain behind.

~~~~

Ivy wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the afternoon light had faded to a soft purple. Rubbing the sore muscles in her back, she rolled her head around her shoulders as she stood up. At the soft click echoing in the salon she jerked her head in the direction of the door. The sight of Simon leaning against the room’s only exit pulled the air out of her lungs. Arms folded across his broad chest he simply stood there watching her. Why was he still here? Hadn’t he tortured her enough by bringing her past back to haunt her so vividly? Raw fury swept through her, and she eyed him with contempt. Despite her glare, Simon simply narrowed his gaze at her.

“I want you to tell me just what the hell happened in here this afternoon.” Despite the calm note in his voice, she heard the suppressed fury beneath the words.

“You were present. What exactly wasn’t clear to you?”

With a violent move, he shoved himself away from the door and crossed the space between them in three strides. Caught off guard, a soft cry broke past her lips as he grabbed her by the arms and gave her a sharp shake.

“Goddamn it, Ivy. That woman is as poor as a church mouse. It took me two weeks to convince her that you would be happy to see her and what do you do? You humiliated her, in front of her children no less.”

“I didn’t ask you to bring her here,” she said viciously as she twisted out of his grasp and put several feet between them. “If anyone’s to be blamed, it's you.”

“Was it so wrong of me to want to please you?”

“What happened in here earlier was far from pleasure, my lord,” she bit out the words with a sharpness that made him wince. “If you’re interested in giving pleasure, might I suggest you consider pleasuring my cousin. I’m certain you’re infinitely suited for one another.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” he snarled. “I don’t want your cousin or any other woman for that matter. I want you.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re about to be disappointed, my lord, because our association is finished.”

“Like bloody hell it is,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“I want to know why.”

Ivy turned her head away from the stark fury on Simon’s face. He’d betrayed her, and he still couldn’t see it. In his arrogance, just like Caroline, he’d betrayed her trust. Although their liaison hadn’t required her trust, she had given it nonetheless. Breaching that confidence, when she had so little to give, was the most brutal of all betrayals.

Even if she tried to explain it to him, how could she possibly make him understand that they came from two different worlds, that it would always be a barrier between them? Her cousin had claimed background accounted for nothing, but Caroline’s actions had revealed her true feelings. When Caroline had entered the salon a short time ago, the past had rushed up to assault her senses with the sharpness of a kitchen blade. The rejection, the humiliation, the constant reminders that she was inferior to those of the peerage.

No. The chasm between her and Simon was too wide to cross. It was a barrier that would also hinder their child. The thought etched its way through her with a pang. She was capable of forgiving him anything, but this afternoon had proven how far apart the rift between them was. Sorrow enveloped her like an icy blanket. Swallowing hard, she inhaled a sharp breath before looking at him again.

“Sometimes there isn’t a reason.”

~~~~

White mist obliterated the scene before her, and tears slid down Ivy’s cheeks. The ghost had brought her full circle. Relief skimmed through her as she realized she wouldn’t have to relive Simon’s cruel words or the look on Morris’ face as she’d fled the house to come here—to the library. If that’s where she really was. Reality had slipped away from her the moment the specter appeared to her in the book aisles.

“Was the chasm between you and Simon really that wide, or were you simply afraid to take a leap of faith in him and yourself?”

“You know nothing about me,” she said bitterly.

She jerked around to face the ghost and froze. The pounding beat of her heart was all she could hear in the still of the mist. The specter was Simon and yet it wasn’t. It was as if the Simon she’d fallen in love with had aged at least twenty years. Ivy tried to swallow but her throat was closed tight. When she didn’t say anything, a sad smile curved the spirit’s lips.

“I know you almost as well as you know yourself, Ivy.” The words seared their way across her heart. Those were Simon’s words.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

“This is insane,” she exclaimed. “You’re not real. This is all a nightmare.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple,” the ghost said quietly.

“Oscar Wilde.” She barely breathed the word. Only Simon had ever tested her with unexpected quotes.

“Yes, Wilde. His words emphasize how easily one can miss a real and pertinent truth. It takes courage to face the truth, sweetheart.”

The endearment held such tenderness that another tear slid down her cheek. Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to cry. It wasn’t Simon. She was dreaming. It was nothing but her heart wishing for something she could never have. Swallowing the misery inside of her, she shook her head.

“The only truth you’ve shown me this night is that the two people I loved the most in the world betrayed me with their actions,” she whispered as her heart shattered in her breast.

“Are you so certain you didn’t betray them by not giving them the chance to convince you how much you were loved?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t,” she exclaimed in horror.

Ivy shook her head vehemently as the reality of the ghost’s words sank their way into her mind. It was true she’d never allowed Caroline to explain. She’d refused to listen. And Simon. He’d tried to give her a gift of the heart. A present bought with nothing but his time and desire to please her. In seeking to give her family back to her, he’d given her a piece of himself.

“My time with you grows short. Watch.”

The familiar arrogance she was so familiar with echoed in her ear. Like a curtain pulled back to reveal the sun, light spilled into the small area of fog the two of them stood in. The scene in front of her was almost idyllic. On a lawn of green, Simon played with a young boy, while Caroline’s daughters played with a small toddler in the grass. A large house sat graciously on top of a nearby hill. The scene wrenched at her heart. It was a home, just like she’d always imagined in her dreams, a home where love and happiness was in great abundance.

With a laugh, Simon picked up the boy and carried him like a satchel on his hip. Squealing with laughter, the boy kicked his legs, demanding to be put down. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she’d known Simon would make a good father. No doubt, he would find happiness with Caroline. The thought squeezed her chest until she had trouble breathing. It was then that she saw Simon turned toward her. It was almost as if he could see her in the mist. His smile was welcoming and filled with love.

“This could be yours, Ivy.” Simon’s voice filled the air next to her and filtered its way into her head. “Caroline never betrayed you. You betrayed her by not giving her a chance to explain how Whitby forced himself on her and how her parents hastily married her off to the man.”

The words crawled across her skin with insidious repulsion. Could it be true? Had she misjudged Caroline? The painful truth lashed out at her, and her heart cried out from the agony of it. The memory of her cousin pounding on her bedroom door forced the air out of her lungs as tears streamed down her face. How could she have been so wrong? She’d turned her back on Caroline when she’d needed her most.

“Open your eyes, Ivy. Have I shown you anything but the truth this night?” The spirit’s voice was a harsh rasp, and she jerked her head in his direction. The ghost was no longer old. Instead, it was Simon staring back at her with a look of desperation on his face. “Don’t let me go, sweetheart. Come back to me.”

“Simon,” she cried out in anguish. Ivy stretched out her hand to him as he shimmered and faded slowly away. “Simon.”

The mist fell away from her, and her salon came into focus. The scent of evergreen told her she was home. The Christmas tree was still there. Her hand was still outstretched as if to pull Simon back into the world of the living. Oh god, had something happened to him? The salon door opened quickly and Morris stood there with a look of deep concern on his face.

“Are you all right, miss?”

“His lordship, Morris,” she gasped frantically. “Did you see which way his lordship went?”

“No, miss. I only heard the slam—”

Ivy darted past the butler and out into the hallway intent on following Simon out the front door. She was almost at the front door when it crashed open. Determination etched on the hard planes of his face, Simon strode toward her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Stubbornness darkened his silvery eyes as he stared down into her face.

“I don’t give a fuck that you’re a commoner, and I don’t give a damn what you think about my title,” he bit out between his teeth. “I love you, and I intend to marry you no matter how much you object. As for your cousin, you’re going to apologize. The woman has suffered enough, and once you hear her story, you’ll be begging her forgiveness.”

“Yes, Simon,” she breathed softly as she traced his beautiful features with her fingers.

The harsh expression on his face faded slightly as something akin to relief flared in his eyes. With a fierce scowl, his gaze didn’t leave her face as he addressed the butler.

“You heard her, didn’t you Morris? The woman agreed to everything I just said.”

“Yes, my lord. She most certainly did.” Neither of them bothered to look at the butler as he coughed slightly.

“And I trust you’ll exercise your usual discretion when my nephew sends someone looking for us.” Simon stated as he swept Ivy off her feet and climbed the stairs toward her bedroom.

“But of course, my lord. Happy Christmas to you both.” Ivy heard the relief in the old retainer’s voice and she glanced over Simon’s shoulder and mouthed the words Happy Christmas. The smile on Morris’ face warmed her almost as much as Simon’s declaration of love.

~~~~

“You’re looking quite pleased with yourself, given the misery you’ve caused me and others today,” he growled as he struggled to disguise the raw fear that still held a tight grip on him. He’d come so close to losing her that he was still shaking on the inside. “Your cousin didn’t betray you. Nor did I.”

“I realize that now.” Her fingers lightly touched his face in a penitent fashion. “I’ve been a fool.”

“Yes you have. A bloody little fool,” he snapped. Regret blistered its way across his tongue as she flinched, and tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I’m so sorry,” she buried her face in his shoulder and shuddered as her tears soaked his jacket. Simon halted just inside her bedroom and bent his head to kiss her cheek.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. All is forgiven.” At his words, she shook her head.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she choked out. “I was beastly to both you and the way I hurt Caroline...”

“What I want to know is why.” Gently, he set her down, and she walked away from him to stare out the window for a long moment. When she finally turned to face him, her expression was so forlorn that it took every bit of will power not to cross the room and sweep her into his arms.

“I’m not sure I can make you understand.”

“Try me.” At his command, she flinched then nodded.

“I was only eight when I lost my parents and went to live with my aunt and uncle. All I’d ever known was love, and suddenly I was living in a place where I reviled. Caroline was the only one who cared about me.” Her voice trembled, and Simon took a step forward, but she waved him to stop. Swallowing hard, she averted her gaze.

“My aunt and uncle never missed an opportunity to stress I was a commoner and beneath them. I wasn’t even good enough to have a decent bedroom, and if not for Caroline, I would never have been allowed to eat with the family.”

She faltered in her story, and a tight band of pain lashed its way around Simon’s chest as he watched her struggle to maintain her composure. Her profile reflected a wounded look of vulnerability that made his heart ache for her. For the first time since they’d met, she was opening herself up to him, and he could see how difficult it was for her to do so.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and keep her there until she understood how much he loved her, would always love her. But she needed to finish her tale. This final barrier between them needed to collapse. He understood that now.

Everything that had confused him before made sense in this moment. If he went to her and held her, she might never have the courage to completely open up to him in the future. She needed to know she could trust him implicitly. Muscles rigid, he didn’t move, despite his urgent need to hold her in his arms and comfort her.

Hands clenched tightly in front of her, the drawn look to her features made his decision not to touch her that much harder. She swallowed hard as she looked away from him.

“When Whitby rejected me, I was devastated. It only reinforced what my aunt and uncle had been saying for years. And in the end, it made me despise everything the nobility stood for.” She inhaled a deep breath.

“But when I learned he was to marry Caroline, I became convinced she’d been the one to tell him I was a commoner. I believed she’d done so simply so she could have him for herself, because she knew he wouldn’t want me as I was. In my eyes, she’d stolen the one thing that had brought me happiness.”

She paused and looked at him again. The anguish in her face wrenched at his gut with the force of a misplaced blow from a sparring partner. Her mouth trembled as she met his gaze.

“But that wasn’t what hurt the most. We’d been like sisters, and yet I believed she’d betrayed me. How could she really love me, a commoner, if she was willing to betray me… so easily?”

The crack of her voice drove him forward. It was impossible not to gather her into his arms and hold her. Absorbing the warmth of her into his body, he held her close, saying nothing as she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

Lilies. The scent brushed his senses as his face pressed into her hair. Her scent. Anywhere he went the fragrance would always bring her into his mind. Tonight she’d opened herself up to him with an honesty that humbled him. She’d exposed her heart to him, and it was all the proof he needed to know she loved him. Slowly, her shudders and tears eased into silence. When she lifted her head, she brushed away the dampness on her cheeks and sniffled.

“I must look a sight.”

“You’re beautiful.”

A flush of pleasure blossomed across her face as she offered him a small smile. The sight turned him upside down. God, with just one look she had him ready to get on his knees and worship her. Gently, he cupped the side of her face.

“I love you, Ivy. Marry me.” He held his breath as she hesitated for briefest of seconds.

“Yes,” she said as she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Because?” He studied her intently as he waited for her answer with bated breath.

“Because I love you,” she whispered and a sweet smile of seduction curved her tantalizing mouth. “And I don’t want to live without you.”

Simon didn’t move as Ivy’s hands slowly undid his tie then the buttons of his shirt. Almost as if she knew it would drive him mad with desire, she took her time undoing each button. She pushed his shirt aside and leaned forward to brush her mouth over his chest. Her touch rocked him with a need so strong he knew breathing would be difficult if she ever left him.

Quickly, he pulled the pins from her hair and slid his fingers through the dark auburn silk tresses. Cupping her head in his hands, Simon crushed her mouth beneath his. Desire took over as he probed the sweetness of her mouth, tasting her, drinking in the warm, soft flavor of her. Damn but he wanted her. Now. No soft strokes, no sweet caresses, only the tight feel of her wrapped around his cock as he pounded his body against hers until he exploded inside her.

His mouth still locked with hers, he tore his jacket off and then his shirt. Equally eager, she panted her frantic need as she tugged at her own clothing. Together they tugged and pulled each other’s clothing off in a frenetic tangle of limbs. She tossed her dress and corset to one side, and he uttered a groan as her breasts spilled out into his hands. The sight of her taut nipples made him harden with an agonizing ache that was exquisite in its intensity. His thumbs rolled over the stiff peaks, triumph sailing through him at her cry of excitement. A quiet moan echoed over his head as he suckled first one nipple and then the other. Her silky, fragrant body pressed into his, and the soft scent of her desire drifted up to him.

“Oh God, Simon, please. Love me.”

The urgency in her husky voice drove him over the edge as she pulled him with her to the bed. She sat down on the mattress then leaned over to take him in her mouth. The seductive way her lips and tongue stroked his cock made his balls draw up tight against his groin. He groaned with regret as he made her stop. With a gentle push, he forced her to lie back on the mattress with her legs dangling over the edge.

His hands grasped her bottom as he lifted her slightly then buried himself deep inside her hot, satiny folds. The moment he entered her, she released a sob of pleasure. Tight and slick, her muscles clenched at him with such raw intensity he wasn’t sure where she began and he ended. With each hot stroke, she bucked against him, matching his furious rhythm. She was his, now and for always.

~~~~

It was wild and passionate. He filled her and treasured her with every inch of his body. The desire pouring out of him into her was unlike any lovemaking they’d shared before. The frenetic pace between them escalated every sensation skimming its way along her senses. The feverish intensity of it reached a high pitch as she cried out her release. The intensity of her climax made her body clench tightly around him, and her body surrendered completely to his hot strokes. A heartbeat later, he cried out her name as he drove into her one last time and throbbed violently inside her.

They remained connected for several minutes before Simon withdrew from her. She murmured as he retreated, but a moment later he’d pulled down the bed covers and was tucking her under the sheets before sliding in beside her. The harshness of his breathing eased as they lay quietly in each other’s arms. Aware they had one last secret between them, she sighed.

“Simon?” Pushing herself up on one elbow, she brushed her hair out of her face.

“Umm.”

Eyes closed, he wore a look of contentment. She hesitated upon seeing his expression. Would he be terribly angry with her? Her silence made him open his eyes, and she bit her lip at the curiosity glittering there.

“Do you want children?” For a moment, he just stared at her, curiosity giving way to surprise, then wariness.

“Do you?” He asked cautiously.

“Oh yes, very much.” She nodded as she tried to read his expression. A smile curved his lips, and he trailed his forefinger down her throat and across her breasts.

“Then I suggest we take all night ensuring your wish is granted.”

“Actually,” she paused to swallow as he arched an eyebrow at her. “We’ve already accomplished that.”

Amazement, excitement, and happiness crossed his features in swift succession. Rolling her over onto her back, he hovered over her.

“Do you mean to tell me you’re with child?”

“Yes. And I’m certain there will be talk,” she murmured in a hesitant voice.

“Not by anyone who matters, sweetheart. But to save you any pain, I’ll make you respectable within the week.” The love in his eyes warmed the deepest corners of her heart. “My only regret is not having you to myself for much longer. But as for the boy, I’m delighted.”

“How do you know the child will be a boy?”

“I’m not sure.” With a shrug, he shook his head. “It’s as though someone just whispered it in my ear. I just know you’re carrying our son.”

A smile tugged at her lips. Simon’s ghost. She frowned. Had it all been a dream? No, it had been too vivid for a dream. Without another explanation, she had no choice but to believe what she’d seen. One day she would tell Simon of her experience, but for now, she was content to keep her own counsel. Curling her body into his, Ivy sighed with happiness. Simon’s arms tightened around her.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he murmured as he kissed the top of her head.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispered.

Outside, darkness had fallen, and there was the soft sound of carolers making their way from door to door. She was the most fortunate of women. The power of Simon’s love had reached out to her from across the years. She didn’t know how, but the ghost had shown her the way to true love and happiness. As the fire in the hearth flickered then died to a soft glow, she burrowed her way deeper into Simon’s arms and sighed with contentment. It truly was a Happy Christmas.

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And keep reading for a three-chapter excerpt of Obsession, now available.

Chapter 1

London, 1888

The inside of Chantrel’s was quiet as a tomb as Sebastian Rockwood, Earl of Melton stepped through the establishment’s front door. Popular among men of the peerage, the exclusive brothel’s unique offerings were well known. Chantrel, the establishment’s sole proprietor, trained her girls to speak and act like women of nobility except in the bedroom. There, her pupils performed with an enthusiasm that was often lacking in the lives of most noblemen.

Sebastian handed his top hat and cane to the footman on duty. Beside him, his friend Devin Morehouse, Viscount Westbrook did the same. The servant quickly accepted their belongings then hurried off to fetch Chantrel as Sebastian had instructed. When the man disappeared, Sebastian turned to survey the empty parlor opening off the foyer. It seemed quite odd the brothel would be so quiet at this time of night. His friend cleared his throat.

“Where the devil is everyone?” Devin muttered as he stepped toward the vacant drawing room. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Caleb was quite explicit as to the young lady’s whereabouts.”

“What did he say the girl’s name was?”

“Georgina Bainbridge.”

“Well, if she is here, the next question is whether or not she’s been harmed already.”

Devin’s concern was one Sebastian had already considered. For the girl’s sake, he could only hope she was untouched. With a sharp nod of agreement at his friend’s observation, Sebastian frowned as he studied his surroundings. The occasional mistress easily addressed his needs, and his knowledge of Chantrel’s was by reputation only. In fact, the only reason he’d even agreed to visit the place tonight was to keep his younger brother from doing something rash.

Earlier this afternoon, in typical Rockwood fashion, Caleb had burst into Sebastian’s office like a man possessed. Rash, impetuous behavior was a common family trait. The Rockwoods were well known for their impulsive natures and their daring escapades with the exception of Sebastian. He’d learned a long time ago to control his emotions. He could only wish his siblings would do the same.

“Caleb was quite certain she was here, so let us hope she’s not been compromised,” Sebastian said quietly.

“Couldn’t you have contacted Inspector McBride? As I recall, he resolved Percy’s small problem last year quite admirably.”

“I suggested that, but Caleb said he’d already been to Scotland Yard and the man wasn’t available. The sergeant on duty said they had more serious cases to pursue.”

“The murders in Whitechapel, I’d imagine,” Devin said with a note of disgust in his voice. “Bad business that.”

“Quite.” Sebastian took a couple steps into the empty parlor, his gaze surveying the room for any clue that might explain its barren state. “From the lurid details in the newspaper this morning, the Chapman woman’s body was eviscerated.”

“Bloody hell,” Devin exclaimed quietly. “What sort of bastard would do such a thing?”

“A madman I expect.” Sebastian turned to face his friend. “However, my biggest concern at the moment is Caleb. The last thing I want him to do is complicate matters. I’m fortunate he was willing to listen to reason and allow me the opportunity to investigate the girl’s disappearance. Like the rest of the family, he’s far too impetuous.”

“Unlike his older brother’s controlled, more methodical manner, of course.” Wry amusement threaded his friend’s words, and Sebastian arched his eyebrow in response to the jibe.

“There’s a great deal to be said for exercising restraint in all matters. The girl should have never tried to investigate the matter herself.”

“Headstrong women are quite often the bane of a man’s existence.” There was a rueful note in Devin’s voice that made Sebastian turn his head to eye his friend with curiosity. The Viscount immediately looked away to survey their surroundings. “Why is Caleb convinced his ladylove is here?”

“Apparently, the girl uncovered evidence of brothels kidnapping innocent young women and selling them against their will. Caleb said the last time she was seen, she was entering this establishment.”

With several turns of his head, Sebastian studied his surroundings closely. The silence in the brothel wasn’t just unusual it made him uneasy. Something about this place set his teeth on edge, and for the first time since Caleb had burst into his study, he realized his brother’s worst fears might well be true. It was quite possible his brother’s young lady was in grave danger. Leaning toward his friend, Sebastian tipped his head in the direction of the blue and gold salon adjacent to the foyer.

“At this point, I’m beginning to wonder if we’re even in a brothel given the decidedly nonexistent selection.”

“I agree,” Devin murmured with a nod. “Usually a fellow can expect at least one or two birds available for the unexpected customer. Is it possible the murder in Whitechapel, yesterday, is affecting business?”

Sebastian considered the possibility. Although the murder of the Nichols woman had been more brutal, he found it unlikely the slaying would threaten Chantrel’s daily business. If this were any other house of ill repute, he might think business was bad, but this wasn’t just any brothel. The exclusivity of it set the house apart from any other of its kind. There had to be another reason why the parlor was empty.

He shrugged then turned his head at the sound of a door opening. A statuesque woman appeared in the hallway and walked toward them with a quick, confident stride. She sailed into the entryway reminding Sebastian of a ship and its figurehead. Swathed in red taffeta, her gown brazenly proclaimed her for the madame she was with its gold fringe trimming, decadent sleeves and low cut bodice. The gown’s material rustled softly as she moved toward them.

“Lord Melton, you honor me with your presence. What may I do for you this evening?”

Madame Chantrel greeted them with a pleasant smile, but Sebastian saw the guarded look in her eyes. Accepting the hand she extended to him, Sebastian’s lips brush the air over Chantrel’s knuckles.

“My friend and I were hoping for some special entertainment this evening. Naturally, I thought of you and your ability to offer us something…unusual?”

As he straightened, he watched the woman’s face. Hesitation and avarice flitted across her features. Avarice won out as her eyes narrowed slightly. The hesitation was enough to increase his concerns. Damnation, if Caleb were correct, it would not be easy finding the girl or proving the brothel was involved in selling women against their will.

“Actually, my lord, we have a most unusual form of entertainment tonight.” Chantrel smoothed the taffeta wrapped snugly around her waist. “My guests this evening are my most select patrons, but there is always room for fine gentlemen such as the two of you. Won’t you come this way?”

With a practiced sweep of her hand and the skill of any noblewoman, Chantrel ushered them into a large salon. Red and gold couches, divans and chairs littered the room serving as seating for the twenty some men lounging about. Dark cherry walls, trimmed with gold molding, gave the room a heavy, decadent air.

Studying the room’s occupants, Sebastian only recognized two or three men. The others were strangers to him. To his disgust, he noticed the Marquess of Templeton standing in one corner of the room. A notorious gambler and womanizer, the man’s luck was exceeded only by his bad temper.

The last time Sebastian had met the man, it had been across the card table. It had been a pleasurable experience beating the man at cards, but he’d made an enemy as the result. The marquess hated to lose.

“Templeton,” he muttered to Devin who stood at his side. “If he’s here, we can expect something perverted.”

The brothel owner had excused herself and moved to stand at the foot of a small dais shrouded by a burgundy velvet curtain. Clapping her hands, the woman smiled at her patrons.

“Gentlemen, my lords, if you please. I’m delighted you could join us this evening as we have something highly unusual and quite special for your enjoyment.” The woman turned and nodded her head at a tall, slender man standing at a nearby door who immediately tugged on a gold rope. A smile on her face, Chantrel turned back to the men in the room. “Tonight, I’d like to offer up for auction a virginal flower, ripe for the picking.”

As the brothel owner spoke, the curtain behind her slowly parted to reveal a woman seated on a gilded chair of immense proportions. A flowing, white silk chemise barely covered the woman’s lush body. To Sebastian’s surprise, his cock stiffened at the sight of her.

Seated in the chair with her legs slanted to one side, her figure was luxuriant, exotic and tempting. The delicate chemise, deliberately cut to reveal a long expanse of leg, hinted of more treasures beneath. Even from a distance, the woman’s enticing legs looked soft as silk.

Red color heightened the fullness of her mouth, and it tugged at him, filling his head with images of her pleasuring him with those delectable lips. Lustrous locks, the color of uncut wheat, tumbled down over creamy shoulders in soft curls. The thought of entwining his hand in her hair, while his other hand traced the sensuous curve of her thigh, was more than just a pleasurable thought. It excited him. The prospect of being the first to introduce this siren to the decadent and erotic delights of sex was intoxicating. His thoughts only served to make every muscle in his body taut with need.

He swallowed hard. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d come here in search of Caleb’s woman, and he certainly wasn’t so jaded as to buy a woman simply to be the first to bed her. Despite reminding himself of his reasons for being in the brothel, it was impossible not to notice the succulent fullness of her breasts.

Barely hidden by the transparency of her white chemise, his palm itched to cup her. The thought of suckling on those dusky peaks produced a knot in his throat, which he immediately tried to swallow. Once again, his cock stirred in his trousers. Damnation, he was hard as rock. It had been a long time since he’d been this aroused simply by looking at a woman.

Determined to regain control of his senses and lust, he focused his attention on the woman’s face. He frowned as he studied her lovely features. There was something oddly familiar about her. Mentally, he shook his head in repudiation of the thought.

Sebastian’s gaze moved to her red, sensuous lips and the way they parted in such an inviting manner. The thought of tasting the sweetness of her mouth shot another bolt of desire through him as he focused his full attention on the woman’s eyes. His desire vanished.

The revulsion in her wide green eyes said her participation in tonight’s event wasn’t by choice. The seductive pout she wore was an illusion. Yet she didn’t try to escape. She simply sat on the dais’ throne with a mixture of panic, disgust, and a blazing anger glowing in her luminous eyes.

“Who’ll start the bidding for one night with this rare creature, gentleman? Who will be the first to introduce her to the art of lovemaking? Do I hear a starting bid of twenty-five pounds?”

“Fifty pounds,” a stout man shouted.

“Seventy-five,” another voice called out.

“Good God,” Devin growled beneath his breath. “Caleb was right about the auctions.”

Sebastian’s stomach knotted in anger. The disgust in Devin’s voice matched his own inner turmoil. Thank God, he’d convinced Caleb to let him investigate the matter. The moment this auction started, his brother would have begun tearing the place apart without any thought to his safety or anyone else’s.

Somehow, he needed to discover whether Caleb’s young woman was still in the brothel. He needed information before he could take any action. There was little doubt in Sebastian’s mind that Chantrel wouldn’t let anything jeopardize her illegal, yet lucrative, side business. If the brothel madame suspected she was on the verge of exposure, she would remove any incriminating evidence, including Caleb’s love interest.

Chantrel wouldn’t be the first madame to hold a woman prisoner and sell her to the highest bidder. But the laws had changed, and this type of crime carried a stiff penalty. Was Chantrel involved with other brothels in this scheme or was she practicing this unsavory business alone? And the woman? His gaze returned to the tempting vision in white. What was her story?

“Two hundred pounds.” Lust and something else filled Lord Templeton’s voice. Sebastian turned his head to study the man as the marquess licked his lips in a lascivious manner. Sebastian had never cared for the man, and now he understood why. There was something malevolent about Templeton.

“I’ve seen enough. I’m leaving,” Devin muttered in outrage as the bidding continued.

Sebastian didn’t answer as Templeton raised the stakes one more time over another bidder. The way the bidding was going, the Marquess would soon subject another woman to his debauchery. Sebastian’s gaze returned to woman on the dais. Something about her tugged at him—prevented him from leaving. How could he possibly leave here without saving her from a fate worse than death? Templeton’s tastes for sordid sexual acts were well known, and the idea of leaving her to the Marquess’s mercy twisted Sebastian’s insides.

“Five hundred pounds.” The marquess’s bid drew a gasp from the men, and the room went silent.

“Five hundred pounds, gentlemen. I have five hundred pounds to Lord Templeton. Do I have any other bidders? Five hundred going once, twice—”

“Six hundred.”

Sebastian couldn’t believe his ears. He’d actually placed a bid on the woman. Had he lost his mind? The back of his neck tingled with the weight of censorious eyes. He didn’t have to turn around to know what his friend thought about his behavior. Tightening his mouth, he slid a glance toward Templeton. The man was livid. So, he’d managed to unbalance the marquess. He savored the pleasurable sensation. Chantrel, extremely pleased by the renewed competition, smiled broadly at Sebastian.

“Six hundred pounds to Lord Melton, do I hear any other bids? Going once, going twice—”

“Eight hundred,” Templeton snarled.

“One thousand.”

Silence filled the room at Sebastian’s quiet bid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the marquess. The other man’s face was beet red with fury. Sebastian remained silent, taking care to keep his own features impassive. A moment later, Templeton shook his head at Chantrel.

“I have one thousand, do I hear more?” The brothel madame glee’s was evident as she glanced about the room. “Going once. Going twice. Sold to Lord Melton for one thousand pounds.”

The room erupted into a loud frenzy of conversation. At his side, Devin hissed. “For God’s sake, Sebastian. Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

“Yes.”

Devin stared at him in open mouth astonishment, but Sebastian turned away to watch Chantrel approach. Steeling himself for the matter at hand, he bowed as she stopped in front of him.

“My lord, you surprise me. I expected Helen to enchant everyone, but for you to pay so much for her, I never would have guessed it.”

Studying Chantrel’s jaded features, he frowned. Something about her reminded him of a well-fed cat expecting to indulge in consuming the mouse once it finished playing with the creature. Forcing himself to smile, he bowed. “Might we discuss our business arrangement in private?”

“But of course, my lord.” The woman laughed, her eyes gleaming with calculation. With a grim smile, he followed her out of the salon. As they walked down a narrow hallway, the train of her gown forced him to stay at least three feet behind her. Entering a private office, he took a seat in front of a large oak desk as Chantrel skirted the furniture to sit before him. The room’s lack of ornamentation was a clear indication of the seedier side of the woman’s business.

“Now then, my lord, shall we discuss the matter of payment?”

“Of course, I believe the bid was one thousand?” he said quietly.

“Yes, my lord, and I know you’ll find it money well spent.”

“I’m sure.” He nodded with derision. “Naturally, you’ll allow me to pay another thousand to take the creature off your hands permanently.”

The brothel owner started violently, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not sure I understand, my lord. The auction was for one night with Helen and nothing more.”

“Of course, but no doubt you’re an astute businesswoman, Chantrel. I’m sure you’ll agree that for an additional one thousand pounds, you’ll give—Helen, did you say— into my care permanently. I’d hate to see you lose any money over such a lucrative transaction as this.”

“I’m not sure how I could possibly lose any money, my lord.”

“Don’t you? I’m certain a business such as yours relies heavily on the discretion of its clientele when it comes to special events.” Sebastian flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the black broadcloth of his jacket before sending the woman a hard look. “It would be a tragedy if one of your patrons disclosed unsavory information to the authorities.”

He arched his eyebrow as anger twisted the woman’s face into an ugly mask, but there was a glint of fear in her eyes as well. When she didn’t respond, he pulled a wallet from inside his jacket. Removing a calling card, he leaned forward and picked up the quill on Chantrel’s desk. With fluid strokes, he wrote his marker on the back of the card and slid it across the desktop toward her.

“Have Helen and all her possessions placed in my carriage immediately.” He rose to his feet and headed toward the door.

“It appears you leave me with little choice, my lord.” Chantrel snapped.

Ignoring the woman’s bitterness, he left the office, the door closing quietly behind him. He moved down the corridor to the front hall at a furious pace. He was acting completely out of character tonight. What was he thinking to buy a woman like a prize mare? Devin was waiting for him in the foyer, and Sebastian quietly demanded his overcoat from the footman at the door. As the servant scurried away, he turned his head to study his friend’s grim features.

“So have you settled your account?” Devin sent him a look of disgusted disappointment.

“Yes.” Sebastian nodded. He chafed at the expression on his friend’s face. It wasn’t as if he intended to bed the woman. An image of her in his bed tantalized his thoughts for only a brief moment before he closed himself off to the idea.

“What the hell were you thinking to bid on the woman like that?”

“I couldn’t bloody well let Templeton have her, could I?” Sebastian glared at his friend. Retrieving his favorite watch from his vest pocket, he examined the face of the timepiece then snapped it closed.

“But what happens to her after tonight? I just learned the auction was for only one night with the woman.”

Ignoring his friend’s grim disapproval, Sebastian accepted his hat, cane and gloves from the footman. “The auction might have been for one night, but I bought her freedom.”

His friend stared at him with his mouth agape. Somehow, Devin’s stupor rankled deeper than he thought possible. Did people really think him devoid of compassion? Simply because he was meticulous and methodical didn’t mean he couldn’t feel sympathy for those in need. In all good conscience, he couldn’t have just left the woman for Templeton.

Angry, he scowled at his friend and the footman who was curiously watching their exchange. His behavior in the past hour had been irrational and impulsive—the exact opposite of his usual conduct. It was infuriating.

“And now that you’ve bought her freedom, what do you intend to do with her? You can’t just throw her out onto the street,” Devin snapped.

“Damn it, man, it’s not as though I’m completely without sympathy for the woman’s situation.” He tugged his white evening gloves on in a deliberate fashion and kept his eyes averted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my newly acquired charge. Although heaven knows what I’ve gotten myself into.”

The last sentence he muttered beneath his breath as he strode out the front entrance of the brothel. Descending the steps, he paced the sidewalk as he waited on his carriage. Damnation. What had he been thinking when he’d bid on the woman?

Templeton. He’d been thinking about how pleasurable it would be to steal the man’s coveted prize out from under his nose. And it was quite understandable why the marquess had wanted the woman. Images of a voluptuous thigh and full breasts teased his thoughts. Christ Jesus! Had he really bought the woman out of pity or because he wanted to rut with her? His body tensed at the erotic images darting through his head. Suppressing a groan, he tried to think about where he could send the woman. A place where she’d have the opportunity to make a respectable living.

The sound of his shoes scraping against the stone walkway grated on Sebastian, much in the way the entire day had. Attending to the woman’s needs was the first order of business, then he needed to formulate a plan to see if Chantrel was holding Caleb’s ladylove hostage. He’d gone into the brothel tonight to find one woman and had come out with a different one. Sebastian released a weary sigh and frowned as the face of the woman he’d just bought filled his head. There was something very familiar about her. Where had he seen her before? He shrugged with exasperation. It was unlikely he’d ever seen her before.

His pacing ceased at the sound of carriage wheels rumbling over cobblestone. What had happened to the self-control he prided himself on? The rest of the Rockwoods were habitual in their irrational behavior, but not him. Not since childhood had he succumbed to such illogical or unexpected deportment. Behind him, the door to the brothel snapped open. Sebastian immediately turned his head to see Devin leaving the establishment. The memory of his friend’s censure still stung. Irritated, Sebastian didn’t look at his friend as the man stopped at Sebastian’s side.

“Sebastian, I owe you an apology for questioning your intentions. I should have known better. You did right by the woman.”

“Perhaps,” Sebastian replied gruffly without looking at his friend. “Then again, perhaps not. We both know what sort of man I am, Devin. I’ve never had much patience with women, and I’m too old to start now.”

“Good God, Sebastian.” Devin laughed. “You’re only thirty. Hardly a doddering old man.”

“Then why the hell do I feel so Goddamn old?” Far from feeling humorous about his present situation, he opened the door of his carriage as it halted in front of him. “I’m not equipped to deal with a female guaranteed to wilt at the sound of my voice.”

Without waiting for Devin’s reply, he climbed into the vehicle and threw himself onto the padded leather seat. Across from him sat his high-priced acquisition. He barely cast a glance in her direction before staring out the window. What in blue blazes was he going to do with her?

He sighed wearily and closed his eyes. With the woman’s addition to his household, his schedule would be in shambles tomorrow. Louisa would no doubt attempt to take his new charge under her wing, which meant explanations. Then there was the problem of seeing to her clothing, determining what skills she possessed, and finding her employment. Why the devil hadn’t he just contacted the police? Then the woman would be someone else’s problem. The answer irritated him. He didn’t want her to be someone else’s problem.

Annoyed with himself, Sebastian clenched his jaw at the thought. No, he’d simply not been thinking clearly at Chantrel’s. Lust and a desire to thwart Templeton had driven him to buy her. But he was in his right mind again. Sebastian’s gaze shifted back to the woman opposite him. A veil obscured her features. He clenched his jaw as he acknowledged the fact that it made her even more enticing than when she’d been on display at the private auction.

She hadn’t moved since he’d climbed into the carriage. Come to think of it, she’d not even uttered a sound. What was wrong with her? Something inside him stirred. He wanted to see that succulent figure of hers again. See those wide green eyes. See if she truly was worth the one thousand—no, two thousand pounds he’d paid.

“Lift your veil,” he commanded. When she didn’t move, Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek. Didn’t she realize he was trying to help her? “Helen, is it? I simply want to see your face when I talk to you.”

Still she didn’t stir. She could have been a statue if not for the soft flutter of her veil from her breathing. Outside, the clouds parted and moonlight suddenly streamed through the carriage window. The cape she wore had fallen open to reveal her barely covered voluptuous curves, and he sucked in a sharp breath as the glow of the moon poured over her.

Up close, Helen’s body was every bit as sensuous as he remembered. Sebastian’s gaze lingered on the rose-colored tips of her breasts. They were stiff beneath the sheer fabric, and his fingers itched to touch her. Would those delicious nipples taste hot against his tongue? Instinctively he knew tasting her right now would give him more pleasure than he’d had in a long time. Far too long. It had been months since he’d parted with his last mistress.

That’s why Helen had captured his interest. She intrigued him. Tempted him. Christ Jesus, how she tempted him. Just the sight of her sitting across from him wearing next to nothing made him rock hard. His gaze dropped to the apex of her thighs and the dark curls visible through the sheer white fabric of her chemise. The sudden thought of filling her with his cock made his mouth go dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one.

Mesmerized by the erotic visions flashing through his head, Sebastian stretched out his hand toward her. Lightly, his fingertips brushed across one nipple. A second later, he jerked back. Bloody hell, he’d lost his mind. He’d rescued her from Templeton to spare her this exact behavior. Now he was acting no better than the marquess. Angered by his lack of control, he gritted his teeth. With a sharp movement, he pulled the veil away from Helen’s face.

A cloud passed over the moon, casting her features into the shadows. When moonlight drifted through the window once more, he stared at her face. Society would never deem her a classic beauty, but there was something compelling about her large, almond-shaped eyes. Familiar eyes. Where the devil had he seen her before? Outrage glistened in the deep green of her eyes, and he waved his hand in a gesture of exasperation.

“I’m not going to eat you.”

Although that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to slide his mouth over every inch of her. He longed to suckle her nipples until she cried out with pleasure. Stroke that tender nub between her folds until she coated his fingers with hot cream. He swallowed hard at the images flooding his head.

With greater difficulty than he was accustomed to, Sebastian pushed the images out of his mind and waited for her to speak. Frustration evident in her luminous eyes, a single tear trickled down a pale cheek. Bloody hell, she was going to cry. The memory of the auction made him grimace. He supposed it was to be expected.

She reminded him of his sisters when they were upset. How many times had he wiped tears off Louisa’s cheek in particular? Every time a woman cried, he wanted to leave the room until they stopped wailing. It was damned uncomfortable listening to them sob. He abruptly stretched out his hand to wipe the tear away.

Fury and frustration flared in the woman’s eyes, but she didn’t flinch or turn away from him. The expression in her eyes made him frown. If she didn’t want him touching her, why didn’t she simply smack his hand away? Sebastian stared at her for a long minute before he closed his eyes at his stupidity. She’d been drugged. Chantrel had used sweet vitriol or some other narcotic to immobilize her prize. The moment he found a way to rescue Caleb’s beloved, he’d bring the brothel madame to her knees and her business along with her.

Flinging himself back against the black leather seat, he folded his arms. He was struck by the fact that her eyes told him more than he ever thought possible. Outrage remained, but hope flickered in the beautiful eyes fixed on his face.

“Damnation!” Out of habit, he pulled his watch from his white vest and flipped it open. The feel of the gold pocket watch against the pads of his fingers always soothed him. Noting the time, he tucked it back into his pocket. “It appears Chantrel’s drug has rendered you immobile and speechless. Can you possibly blink your eyes?”

Relief lit her gaze and he saw her eyelids blink once. Satisfied they were finally getting somewhere, he nodded sharply. “Excellent. One blink is yes, two is no. Understood?”

Another blink of her eyelids answered his question.

“You’re quick. I like that.” He nodded and bit back a smile at the irritation that flared in her eyes. “I must admit, I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a fortunate position before. That is—being in the company of a woman who doesn’t talk, for whatever reason.”

This time he couldn’t keep from smiling at the anger in her eyes. It made her green eyes dark as the thick summer’s grass at Melton Park. Sebastian raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and shook his head. “Fair enough, I’ll restrict my comments until you’ve regained use of your tongue.”

Contempt flashed in her gaze and the moonlight reflected the gold sparks in her eyes. The look she gave him would have been lethal if it had been a weapon. It didn’t matter. He enjoyed watching the entrancing sparks of outrage illuminating her eyes. Sweet Jesus, he’d truly lost his senses if he were comparing her eyes to grass with gold sparks. Maudlin rubbish is what it really was. He needed to remain focused on the business at hand

“Helen. That is your name, correct?” He paused. The affirmative response allowed him to proceed. “Do you have family?”

The fear in her eyes made him frown as her single blink told him she had family. He eyed her with curiosity.

“Mother?” Two blinks. “Father?”

Once more, she blinked twice. Her agitation increased, and Sebastian saw her lips twitch, which told him she was desperately fighting the drug that controlled her. A garbled sound tumbled from her lips.

“Eh..erd”

“What? I don’t understand.” Panic flickered in her eyes as she silently pleaded with him to comprehend. He grimaced. It could be hours before she was coherent. “It’s all right. The drug should wear off by morning. We’ll sort everything out then.”

The coach jerked to a halt and Sebastian climbed out of the vehicle. The lights of Melton House were a soft glow on the side of the carriage as he leaned back inside and lifted Helen into his arms. As Sebastian strode up the steps into the town home, he tried to ignore the way her body warmed his in all the wrong places. The sooner he found a safe haven for Helen, the better. If he waited too long, his prized control might easily slip with this woman. And that was unacceptable.

Chapter 2

Helen stirred beneath a warm blanket. A fierce thumping pounded her head with vengeance, and she moaned. Raising a hand to her throbbing brow, she forced herself to sit up. The pain forced her to keep her eyes squeezed shut as she gently massaged her aching temples.

“Oh, miss! You’re awake at last.”

Startled by the unexpected sound of another’s voice, Helen’s eyes flew open to see a young girl at the foot of the bed. Confused, she blinked. Where was she? Strange, jumbled images flooded her head, and she moaned again. Dear lord, but her head hurt almost as much as her back. She moved stiffly to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Where am I?” Her voiced sounded so hoarse. It was almost a croak.

“Melton House, miss. His Lordship asked that you be shown to the library by nine this morning.”

Melton. Where had she heard that name before? Last night. She’d heard it last night when Madame Chantrel— Oh, dear God, it hadn’t been a nightmare. She really had been bought and sold. He’d bought her. Of all the images mixed up in her head, his face was the only one that wasn’t a blur.

Tall and broad shouldered, he had stood out amidst the small crowd of men last night. Those black eyes of his, blazing with fire in the dim light. It had been as if he’d wanted to devour her. Helen swallowed hard as she remembered exactly why the man had bought her.

“Come along now, miss, his lordship don’t like to be kept waiting.” The petite maid clucked as she urged Helen to her feet.

“Lord Melton…this is his house?”

“That it is, miss. Although the man does have his hands full what with all of his sisters living here with him. It’s a good thing his brothers have their own livings over near Bond Street.”

“Is there a Lady Melton?” The moment she asked the question, she winced. If the man was married, it wouldn’t bring home a prize he’d won in a brothel auction.

“Oh, heavens no, miss. His lordship don’t have the patience for women. He says he’ll never marry.” Busy shaking out a blue silk gown, the maid laughed then draped the dress over a beautifully carved, wood folding screen. “It’s a great pity though. Handsome man he is. And those eyes, mercy me, they’re enough to make a girl melt right where she stands.”

Helen bit her lip. The maid was right. Lord Melton’s eyes were hypnotic. In the carriage last night, his eyes had caressed her the way a lover might. Then, as if he’d suddenly realized he’d revealed too much, he’d retreated behind a mask of indifference. But even in those brief moments, she’d seen a glimmer of what she hoped was amusement and kindness.

“The earl is a real stickler for time, miss, so I’ll go get your breakfast while you freshen up. I’ve brought you one of Miss Louisa’s gowns. I’m sure it will fit you since the two of you are about the same size.”

“Miss Louisa?” Helen used the heel of her palm to apply pressure to the spot just above the bridge of her nose. Lord, but her head throbbed like a church bell. It was as if Uncle Warren had beaten her senseless.

“Yes, miss. She’s the youngest of the Rockwoods. And the most mischievous of the lot. His Lordship’s had a devil of a time with her over the last year.” The maid looked at a small watch pinned to her bodice. “Lord, love me. His lordship won’t be happy with me if I don’t have you downstairs in less than an hour. Go on now, freshen up and I’ll be back shortly with your breakfast.”

Helen got out of bed as the girl darted from the room. For the first time since waking, she took in her surroundings. She liked the simplicity of the bedroom. White gauze draped softly from the bed’s canopy, its filmy transparency echoed in the window’s curtains. Next to the dressing screen stood a washstand, while a dressing table with a mirror reflected her image back at her.

She grimaced at her tousled hair. Brushing out the knots would take time. To the right of the bed was a small fireplace with a marble mantle. Except for a small clock, the mantle was devoid of any ornamentation. The sight of the timepiece reminded her of how particular the maid had been about being on time. Clearly, the earl ran a precise household. Her mouth tightened with pessimism. A man who was concerned with time would most likely be devoted to rules. Rules that inflicted pain. It was the reason she’d fled Mayfield with Edward. That and Cousin Albert. She shuddered at the memory of her cousin. If it hadn’t been for Edward, she would have…

“Dear God, Edward.”

Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Sinking down onto the mattress, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. How could she have forgotten her brother until now? Where was he? Had the earl sent for him? She needed to know Edward was safe.

With a sharp movement, she sprang to her feet and hurried to the washstand. The cool water chilled her as it splashed over her skin. It was a vivid reminder of the icy fear sluicing through her veins. In short order, she was throwing her night rail over the wooden screen and retrieving the undergarments the maid had provided.

As the silk chemise whispered over her shoulders, she waited for the fire to flare over her back. Despite the soft fabric, it scraped painfully at the fresh, vicious welts on her back. The marks had even appalled Madame Chantrel. At the time, Helen thought the woman was being kind. Now she was certain the woman had only been concerned that the wounds might detract from the price she expected Helen to bring.

Swallowing the urge to cry out from the pain the garment inflicted, Helen clenched her teeth and waited for the fire to subside into a familiar raw throb. A quiet knock on the door made her jump, her pain ebbing slightly as dread slashed through her. Had Lord Melton come for her himself? The anticipation skimming through her body shocked her.

Dear lord, perhaps her uncle had been right about her all along. Helen whirled around to see a young woman step into the room. The girl, her dark brown hair gathered up on top of her head in style that flattered her heart shaped face, tilted her head and smiled.

“I thought I’d come help you dress since I know Mary has gone to fetch you breakfast. It’s Helen, isn’t it?” The young woman didn’t wait for Helen’s nod. Instead, she smiled cheerfully and brushed past Helen, carelessly grabbing the blue dress off the folding screen. “I’m Louisa. Or at least I will be until Sebastian learns I’m here and not at the family estate in Scotland. It won’t surprise me in the least to hear him call me something quite different.”

With a merry laugh, Louisa gathered up the skirt of the gown and moved forward to slip the silk dress over Helen’s head. Before Helen could even object, Louisa spun her around do up the button on the back of the gown. The girl’s audible gasp echoed over her shoulder, causing Helen to grow rigid. Because the whip marks were still so tender, she’d forgone wearing the corset the maid had left her. From the other girl’s shocked outburst, the ugly wounds had to be clearly visible through the thin chemise covering her back.

“Who did this to you,” Louisa exclaimed with suppressed fury.

The question didn’t surprise her. Not looking at the young woman, Helen shook her head. She had no desire to explain the circumstances she and Edward had left. Uncle Warren had contacts among members of London’s society. The slightest bit of information could easily lead him to where she was.

“It is of little consequence,” she said with stoicism.

“Little consequence,” the girl behind her bit out. “I think you should have your head examined. These marks are barely healed. Have you had a doctor look at these?”

“There’s no need,” Helen said quietly as she reached behind her to button the dress.

A gentle hand squeezed hers as Louisa pushed Helen’s hands aside and resumed closing the back of the gown. The silence hanging in the air was heavy with Louisa’s unspoken questions, and Helen trembled. She wanted to forget the past. Forget the way Cousin Albert constantly tried to trap her in a dark corner to steal a kiss or worse. She shuddered at the unpleasant memory. Then there was the sting of her uncle’s riding crop against her back. She didn’t want to remember any of it. Determined to avoid any further questions, Helen turned to face the other woman.

“Thank you for the loan of your dress, it’s very generous of you.”

“I’m pleased we’re about the same size,” Louisa said. The young woman’s voice reflected a compassion Helen had longed for so often over the past twelve years. Louisa smiled at her. “Besides, it gave me the excuse to meet you. Everyone is in a dither over your mysterious arrival last night. Polly, my maid, was all agog about how romantic it was.”

“It was far from romantic, I assure you,” Helen said in a stilted voice.

Last night had been a nightmare. Heat burned Helen’s neck and cheeks as she vaguely remembered Lord Melton carrying her into the house.

Even rendered powerless by drugs, her nerve endings had tingled at the man’s touch. Helen swallowed the knot suddenly swelling in her throat and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. It was almost nine. She could not afford to irritate the earl. It was quite unlikely Madame Chantrel would have released Edward as well as herself, and she would need the earl’s help in rescuing her brother.

“Oh dear, I’m awfully sorry. I’m being nosy again. Sebastian dislikes it enormously when I pry into someone else’s affairs,” Louisa said as she moved around to eye Helen with a gleam of speculation in her warm, hazel eyes. “Still, I must say, my brother’s behavior is extremely unusual. I can’t remember the last time he even looked at a woman, let alone brought one home. But then, Sebastian has always worked hard to bury the romantic side of him.”

Another knock echoed in the room, and the maid entered with a breakfast tray. The smell of eggs and kippers drifted into the room, immediately making her feel queasy. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was eat. It would be impossible to do anything at all until she knew Edward was free of Madame Chantrel’s grasp. Without hesitating, she walked toward the door.

“Where on earth are you going?” Louisa stopped Helen with a gentle tug of her arm. “You haven’t even eaten yet.”

“I’m sorry, but I must speak with his Lordship.”

“Of course, but Sebastian can wait.” Louisa dismissed her brother with a wave of hand, but Helen shook her head firmly.

“His Lordship might be willing to wait, but I cannot.”

“As you wish,” Louisa replied, eyebrows arched in curiosity. “But I must warn you, Sebastian is not someone you want to face on an empty stomach.”

The sincerity in Louisa’s voice made her hesitate. The earl was most certainly intimidating, but she’d faced far more daunting inquisitions from her uncle than anything the Earl of Melton could inflict on her. Edward’s visage entered her mind’s eye once more, and she responded with another firm shake of her head.

“No, I must speak with his Lordship now.”

“Very well,” Louisa nodded with a perplexed smile. “Beth, will you show Miss…”

“Rivenall,” Helen said when Louisa sent a questioning look in Helen’s direction.

“Show Miss Rivenall to the library, where I’m certain my brother is enjoying his morning paper.” As Helen followed the maid out of the room and down the hall, Louisa’s voice rang out behind her. “And remember, his bark is worse than his bite.”

Despite her deep concern for Edward’s safety, the puckish remark made Helen’s mouth curl upward slightly. Following Beth down the hallway, Helen heard the soft whisper of her dress against the carpet. The blue dress was lovelier than anything she’d ever worn. The two dresses she owned were threadbare and marked with darning. No. She no longer owned any dresses. Madame Chantrel had her clothes and Edward. Guilt lashed out at her like the whip her uncle owned. How could she even begin to take pleasure in the dress she wore, while her brother’s fate had yet to be determined. A shiver skimmed down her back. She could only hope the earl would help her a second time.

With the petite maid in the lead, they turned the corner of the hallway and moved down an impressive staircase. Melton House had a completely different air from Mayfield. The creamy colored walls were starkly different from the dark, oppressive interior of Uncle Warren’s house.

Even the ancestral portraits didn’t stare down at her with stern, critical eyes as they did at Mayfield. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beth had reached the foot of the stairs, and she moved quickly to catch up with the girl. If the earl was as rigid as her uncle, she had no wish to be late for their appointment. She needed his help and that meant being as conciliatory as she could be.

Chapter 3

Sebastian tossed his morning newspaper aside, and leaned back in his chair. Fingers rubbing against his chin, he considered Caleb’s visit bright and early this morning. His brother was forcing his hand in how to deal with Chantrel’s establishment. Sebastian had intended to report his suspicions about the woman’s illegal actions to McBride this morning and go with the Inspector to the establishment this afternoon in his efforts to find Georgina.

While his brother agreed to give McBride until midday to answer Sebastian’s summons, Caleb had made it quite clear that he wouldn’t wait much past the noon hour to launch a rescue. Worse, Caleb had bluntly declared he would do whatever was necessary with or without Sebastian’s help. It left Sebastian no choice but to agree to his brother’s demands.

Sebastian understood his brother’s concern for Georgina. If they waited too long the girl could easily be hurt, perhaps worse. God help him if McBride didn’t arrive soon. Without the inspector, Sebastian’s only recourse would be to plan the woman’s rescue and inform the police after the fact. Damnation. Why couldn’t his family control their emotions like him?

He’d learned at an early age how to hold himself in check when it came to his impulsive nature. Unintentionally, his gaze swung to his mother’s portrait above the fireplace. Pain lanced its way through him as he remembered the sound of her laughter. If only he hadn’t— He buried the memory deep in his head as he picked up his discarded newspaper.

Frowning, he read the sensational headline Terror in the East End. The brutal second murder in Whitechapel had been fodder for the scandal sheets all week. They fed off this type of tragedy. He skimmed the article and frowned. Considering the barbaric manner the madman had butchered Annie Chapman, he needed to arrange for a few precautions.

Louisa would have to be told not to go anywhere without one of the footmen, and Sebastian would see to it the men were armed. Although the murdered woman had been a prostitute in an area far removed from Mayfair, Sebastian wasn’t willing to take chances with any of the women in his care. And that included Helen. The thought of his newly acquired charge made him close his eyes for a moment.

He’d slept little last night, and when he had finally fallen asleep, wild, erotic images of Helen entwined in his arms and riding him with wanton abandon had filled his dreams. With a groan, Sebastian leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk and clutch at his head.

Deeply ingrained, his self-control was a trait he valued and took great pride in. It was something he’d learned at an early age. But it had been years since anything had challenged his self-discipline with such intensity. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The impulsive nature of his siblings was something he’d learned to avoid at all costs. To find his self-imposed restraint tested so easily was troubling. How could one woman drive him to such distraction without having spoken one word to him? It was the most frustrating experience he’d encountered in a very long time.

God help him, but he needed to find a way out of this mess he’d gotten himself into. Focus, he needed to focus on where he could send her. He should have done something other than bring the woman here. But he’d not even considered the possibility last night. He’d been too intrigued by her to think of anything else. And if he were being honest, he didn’t want to send her anywhere. He wasn’t ready to give her up just yet. The confession tugged a dark groan from him.

Determined to send his thoughts in a new direction, Sebastian gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the mail lying on the table. Opening the envelope from the dressmaker, he grimaced at the total. Louisa had gone shopping again. He needed to give serious consideration to finding her a husband or he’d be in debtor’s prison before he was forty. With a sigh, he set the bill aside for his secretary to handle. The next envelope knotted his stomach as he recognized the familiar handwriting. Aunt Matilda.

With great reluctance, he opened the letter. Seconds later, he winced at his aunt’s announcement that she and his sisters would be returning to London sooner than expected. He thought he had another two months before she barreled through the front door intent on seeing him married off to one of the American heiresses so popular with the Prince of Wales.

Sebastian tossed the letter down onto the desk with a weary groan and slouched backward in his chair once more. There had to be some way to keep his aunt from hounding him on the subject of marriage. Of all the women he’d ever met, Aunt Matilda was the most logical and serene of creatures. She should understand his reasons for not marrying. He grimaced. She’d understand, but it wouldn’t stop her from parading potential brides in front of him.

Perhaps a lengthy stay on the continent would give him some respite from her badgering. No, that wouldn’t work. There’d be no one to ensure his siblings didn’t get into trouble during his absence. And knowing Aunt Matilda, she’d have a bride waiting for him at the dock the moment he returned. He frowned.

If there was any woman in the world who could manipulate him, it was Aunt Matilda. She could do so without him even recognizing it until it was too late. Whatever he intended to do to ward off her matchmaking schemes, he needed to do it quickly. The soft click of the library door opening jerked his head up.

She was here.

“Miss Rivenall, your lordship,” the maid announced.

Inhaling a deep breath, Sebastian rose from his chair, but remained silent as Helen entered the room. The blue dress she wore accented her curvaceous figure and full breasts. The memory of a dusky rose nipple made him dig his fingers into his palms. He had one of two choices. He could find somewhere else for Helen to live or he needed to find himself a mistress—quickly. One or the other. No, that wasn’t quite true. He had a third choice—but he wasn’t Templeton.

Content to watch her approach in silence, he noted the amazement flitting across her face as she studied the books lining the walls. Preoccupied with the shelves stocked with all manner of literature, she walked toward the fireplace as she surveyed the room. As he watched her, Sebastian noted the way her hand caressed the leather binding of a book on top of a stack he’d let pile up on a nearby table. The sudden overwhelming desire for that hand to touch him in the same way made him stiffen and clear his throat.

“Since you’re walking, I can assume the sweet vitriol has worn off, or are you still unable to speak?”

Helen immediately jerked around to face him, and he grimaced at the immediate regret he experienced. Determined to regain his self-control, Sebastian reached for the pocket watch he always carried. He barely glanced at it before he snapped it shut and tucked it back into his waistcoat. Sebastian’s gaze returned to Helen’s face as he studied her for a long moment.

She was tall for a woman, but even from where he stood, he knew he towered over her by at least a foot. Helen’s gaze swept over him, and he could see the appraisal in her gaze. Suddenly uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of such a detailed assessment, Sebastian arched an eyebrow at her. Helen immediately blushed as color darkened her cheeks. She looked adorable. He was a fool. Muscles pulled painfully tight in his face, he struggled to keep his expression from revealing his thoughts.

“Is the drug still affecting your tongue?” Sebastian tried not to wince at the harshness of his tone. Anger flashed in her blue eyes before she averted her gaze

“I am fully capable of speech this morning, my lord.”

“Excellent. Last night, our conversation was a bit one-sided, but I did manage to learn that your given name is Helen, and from the maid’s announcement a few moments ago, I gather your last name is Rivenall.”

He rounded the desk and walked toward her. The moment she took a quick step backward, he came to an abrupt halt. Damnation, he didn’t mean to scare the woman. But then considering what she’d been through could he really expect her not to be a little afraid? The only thing she knew about him was that he’d bought her in an auction and brought her home with him. Not a good way to build trust. Helen’s eyed him warily, her expression wavering between her desire to keep her distance and something else.

“My lord, I must know what you’ve done about Edward.” The frantic note in Helen’s voice that made Sebastian frown.

“Edward?”

“My brother. Edward. I was hoping you’d secured his freedom from Madame Chantrel just as you did me.”

“Since I didn’t even know you had a brother until this moment, how in the blue blazes could I do anything?” Exasperation edged Sebastian’s tension up another notch. What the hell had he gotten himself into? The last thing he needed was for Melton House to become a home for foundlings.

“But last night…in the carriage. I said Edward’s name. It’s one of the few things I do remember.”

“I can assure you, Miss Rivenall, no sane person would have been able to interpret the name Edward out of that garbled noise you made.” Indignation made his answer sharper than he intended, and for a second time regret surged through him as she flinched.

“I can’t leave him there,” she murmured as if speaking her thoughts out loud. “I have to go back for him.”

“That’s one thing you won’t do.” His command made her lift her head in a clear gesture of defiance. Gone was the demure woman who’d entered the library. In her place was a woman filled with determination. He held back a groan. Helen’s expression was a familiar one. Whenever one of his sisters stubbornly refused to give way, he knew a battle was at hand.

“I refuse to leave my brother in the hands of that woman,” she snapped.

“Miss Rivenall, your freedom cost me two thousand pounds last night, and I have no desire to pay for your freedom a second time. You will not go back to that brothel.”

“Two thousand pounds?” Helen stared up at him in shock.

“Yes,” Sebastian bit out with irritation. The woman had no comprehension of the danger she’d be putting herself into if she tried to go back to Chantrel’s for her brother.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“A thank you will do for the moment,” Sebastian said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he contemplated this newest development. In the next instant, his entire body tightened with awareness as Helen closed the distance between them to clutch at his arm.

“Please, I can’t leave my brother there. He’s not quite twelve and if Chantrel…he’s just a boy.”

Her face pale with fear, the pleading look on her lovely features tugged at him to pull her close and reassure that everything would be all right. He crushed the urge, while his irritation with his irrational behavior was growing by the second, If he continued in the vein, his prized self-control would be in shambles, and he refused to let that happen.

“Perhaps you should have been more careful in the selection of your friends.” The hard note in his voice made her jerk away from him.

“Friends,” she spat with vehemence. “That woman wasn’t my friend. She lied to me. She promised me employment and that Edward could stay with me.”

“And yet you trusted her,” he said quietly, and her anger immediately dissolved into despair as she looked away from him.

“Desperation leads one to trust others where in different circumstances that trust would not be so easily given,” she murmured.

“Clearly in this case you should have thought more deeply on the issue.” He clenched his teeth at the pompous sound of his voice.

“Please. I have nowhere else to turn. I can’t leave him there.”

Sebastian closed his eyes for a second at the helpless note running beneath her request. She’d been through hell, and he wasn’t helping things by making her beg for his help. People made mistakes. He knew that from the wild antics of his younger siblings, all of whom were constantly coming to him with this difficulty or that.

Caleb was his latest challenge in problem solving. Based on Helen’s explanations, everything Caleb’s sweetheart had suspected seemed to be true. Chantrel was undoubtedly tricking young women into thinking they would find gainful employment with her. Only when they were at Chantrel’s mercy inside the brothel did the women understand what was really expected of them.

Perhaps it would be a good thing if McBride didn’t answer Sebastian’s summons until later in the day. If he wanted to get the girl and boy out of Chantrel’s grasp, the inspector’s presence might hinder things when it came to coming to an arrangement with the brothel madame.

Somehow, he didn’t think Chantrel would part with Georgina or Edward without expecting something in exchange. And McBride could hardly standby when Sebastian paid off the brothel owner. Without McBride present, he could easily report Chantrel for her illegal activities after he’d resolved his current dilemma. Still that didn’t solve the problem of how to stage a rescue.

It would be easy to enter the brothel. The difficult part would be forcing Chantrel to give up the boy and Caleb’s sweetheart. Based on the footmen he’d seen last night at the auction, it could prove to be a sizeable problem. Still, he wasn’t about to stand aside and let the brothel owner do as she liked. With a slight shake of his head, he turned around and strode back to his desk.

“It seems I have little choice but to see to the boy’s rescue,” he muttered as he kept his gaze firmly on the top of his desk. He didn’t want to see the relief and gratitude on her face.

“Thank you. I don’t know how, but I will find a way to repay you,” she said fervently. “I promise you that.”

Sebastian nodded as his fingers toyed with the letter from his aunt. Another problem to solve after he arranged for Georgina and Edward’s release. If he could find a way to distract Aunt Matilda…his head snapped up as he fixed his gaze on Helen. It might just work. She was lovely enough, and she was clearly gently bred. Surely, he could make her into a fashionable lady before his aunt arrived from Scotland. The grateful expression on her face changed to one of puzzlement. He immediately focused his attention on the papers on his desk.

“Naturally, I’ll require your agreement to my proposition before I rescue the boy.” Sebastian raised his head, and the moment he saw her expression he clenched his jaw at his callous statement. When in the hell had he become such a bastard?

Buy the Book

Other Titles by Monica Burns

Love’s Portrait

Kismet

Pleasure Me

Dangerous

Free Dangerous Epilogue PDF

Mirage

Order of the Sicari Novels

Assassin’s Honor

Assassin’s Heart

Inferno’s Kiss

About the Author

An award-winning author of erotic romance, Monica Burns penned her first short romance story at the age of nine when she selected the pseudonym she uses today. Her historical book awards include the 2011 RT BookReviews Reviewers Choice Award and the 2012 Gayle Wilson Heart of Excellence Award for Pleasure Me. She is also the recipient of the prestigious paranormal romance award, the 2011 PRISM Best of the Best for Assassin’s Heart. From the days when she hid her stories from her sisters to her first completed full-length manuscript, she always believed in her dream despite rejections and setbacks. A workaholic wife and mother, Monica believes it’s possible for the good guy to win if they work hard enough.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Thank you

Obsession Chapter 1

Obsession Chapter 2

Obsession Chapter 3

Other Titles by Monica Burns

About the Author