by Sahara Kelly
“Well then. What have we here? The chaperone left out of the fun? Little Miss Nobody lacks a partner, I see.”
The slick and unpleasant tones of Albert Streatford sounded in her ear, and she turned, surprised to discover he’d approached her without her realising it. She must have been more preoccupied than she thought.
“I am catching my breath, Mr Streatford,” she replied politely, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.
A vain hope, of course. Instead, he sat down next to her, pulling a chair closer than she liked. It was a flagrant violation of polite behaviour. He’d not been invited, nor encouraged.
“Saving your energies, I’d wager,” he sneered. “Giving the Duke a bit of exercise later? After little Miss Perfect Prudence is tucked away in her bed?” He laughed, giving Ivy a face full of liquor scented breath. “So how is his Grace as a lover? Any good?”
Ivy sucked in a breath of shock. “Mr Streatford, I find your assumptions and your language as unpleasant as your presence. Please leave before I summon Lady Maud and ask her to remove you.” She snapped her fan shut, her pulse pounding with anger.
“Touched a sore spot there, did I?” He snickered. “Thought so.”
She rose, glaring down at him. “Sir, you are rude, and probably intoxicated. I shall assume the latter, because otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” His lips curved unpleasantly. “You’ll cry?” His lips turned down as he imitated a childish pout. “Stamp your foot? Have yourself a little tantrum?” He snorted. “That would be a bit out of character for the Duke’s whore, don’t you think?”
His eyes travelled over her in a leer that made her skin crawl. “I have to assume you’re a decent fuck, because you’re not much to look at.”
Ivy’s fury rose, choking her. Without a thought, she lashed out with her fan, catching the dishonourable Albert across the cheek.
He hissed in a breath and grabbed her dress. “For that, Miss, you’re going to pay.” He pulled hard on her gown, tipping her off balance as it ripped, and making her stagger. Taking full advantage, his other hand found her leg and darted upward beneath her skirts so fast she gasped and winced as something sliced her skin.
“Get your hand off me,” she cried out, trying to free herself.
“The lady made a request,” came a cold voice.
Suddenly, Ivy was free, a dart of pain running over her leg. She choked back a whimper and fell into her seat, blinking back tears as Albert was physically torn away from her by a pair of strong hands.
The Duke stood over him, fists clenched. “You are a disreputable lout, unfit to be in the presence of ladies.”
Albert, revealing his utter stupidity, assumed his usual sneer. “She’s no lady.”
That, obviously, sealed his fate, and the punch to the jaw that knocked him flat was well-deserved, in Ivy’s opinion. And she said so. “Thank you, your Grace. A fine blow.”
He glanced at her, his lips tight, his eyes ablaze. He looked like an avenging God in those few moments, and her heart thudded extra fast at the heat lurking behind that fierce blue gaze.
Then his expression changed. Ignoring the moaning lump of Streatford on the floor, he knelt in front of Ivy. “You’re bleeding.”
She looked down as he gently lifted the torn fabric of her dress above her knee. Sure enough, there was a gash down the inside of her leg, and a small trail of blood leading to her ankle. Her stocking was hanging around her ankle, and her garments damaged enough to reveal a slender white thigh.
“Dammit. He must be wearing a ring. I felt something sharp…”
“Oh my God…good heavens…”
The shocked cry of Lady Celchester brought a stampede of onlookers, and within seconds what had been a quietly resolved private dispute became a public scandal.
Ivy closed her eyes and sighed.
“He’s got his hand on her leg…”
“Look, that man is unconscious…”
“What happened?”
“The Duke is holding Miss Siddington’s leg. Beneath her skirts…”
Lady Maud and Hobson arrived and made their way to the couple at the centre of the buzz. She glanced at Albert Streatford, who had raised himself into a seated position and whose eye was rapidly blackening.
One look at Ivy’s face, and Maud took over.
“Hobson. Remove this…person. Find Lady Streatford and ask her to remove her son and herself at the earliest moment. Neither will be welcome at Sydenham House again. Ever.”
Silence fell as Maud’s words rang firmly across the gaping throng.
“Then ask Ellen to bring water and bandages to the small study. I believe Miss Siddington may have sustained some injury from that man’s ill-advised treatment.” She rested a hand on the Duke’s shoulder. “I will have a care of her, your Grace.”
He nodded and released Ivy’s leg. She felt the chill replace the warmth of his hand and sighed with regret.
“But…” Lady Celchester frowned. “Maud, I’m sure his Grace was concerned, but even so…his hand…he was touching her…”
There was a murmur from the guests, even as Lydia and the others were trying to push through and get to Ivy.
The Duke stood. “You need have no cause to worry, Ma’am.” He turned his frosty gaze on Lady Celchester. “Miss Ivy has done me the honour of accepting my offer of marriage. Although we have not publicly announced our union, you may rest assured that her behaviour and my own are quite in keeping with our current status.”
For a second or two, Ivy could have sworn there was no air in the room as each guest sucked in air and left her dizzy. She wanted to slap her ears to see if they were working, because she was as astounded as everyone else.
She blinked at the Duke. “Your Grace…” she whispered, her throat clogged with shock.
“Hush, my dear.” He leaned down and took her hand in his. “Lady Maud will tend to your wound.”
“Yes, but…” She saw Prudence’s eyes, wide and surprised, and realised that Lydia, Rose and Judith had arrived in time to hear the Duke’s announcement.
She had no idea what to say or do. So she opted for the easiest way out of what was a momentously and shatteringly unexpected turn of events.
“Very well. Thank you, Lady Maud.” She released the Duke’s hand and reached for Maud, trying to control the shudders she could feel building deep in her belly.
“Come along, my dear. Let’s get you sorted out.” Maud’s hand was there, her arm around Ivy’s shoulder. “Girls, if you want to join us, I believe your presence would be of help to Ivy…”
Lydia, Judith and Rose were there, with Prudence right behind.
Ignoring the servants who were manhandling a slightly unsteady Albert from the room, and what sounded like a shriek of disgust from the foyer—where Lady Streatford was obviously being escorted from the house—Ivy simply went where she was led.
The small study looked like heaven, since it was empty of curious faces with greedy eyes.
She plopped down onto the sofa, let Ellen look at the long scratch, and raised her face to her friends as the little wound was cleaned.
“Did that just happen?” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Did the Duke just say we were engaged?”
Maud nodded. “He did.”
“No two ways about it,” endorsed Lydia.
“Very firmly too,” muttered Rose.
“Everyone heard it,” Judith sighed.
Prudence, to the Ivy’s surprise, was smiling broadly. “Isn’t it grand?” Everyone’s head turned to look at her. “It’s the best thing that could have happened.” She sat next to a stunned Ivy and took her hand. “I’m so very, very happy, Ivy. I’ve been really hoping that the two of you would realise the strength of the affection between you.” She leaned over and kissed Ivy on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, dear soon-to-be-aunt.”
Ivy closed her eyes. Oh God. What has he done?
Chapter Six
Ivy awoke the following morn
ing in her own bed, with a head that felt as if it was filled with wool. It took a few moments for her to recall that she now had a fiancé, a Duke no less, and also a sore leg where a man’s poorly designed signet ring had left its mark.
She might bear a little scar, Ellen had warned her, but overall the physical damage was minimal. The damage to her heart and mind, however, was anything but.
Once tucked away into the nether regions of Sydenham House, she’d not had chance to speak with the Duke at all. Prudence had been in transports of joy, apparently deaf and dumb to the shock on her chaperone’s face, or what that expression inferred—both of which were evident to the others.
Lydia had merely raised her eyebrows and hugged her. “We’ll talk very soon, love. Don’t worry.”
Rose and Judith had expressed much the same sentiments. They all knew why the Duke had made such a declaration and understood the implications.
In spite of Lydia’s advice, Ivy worried.
What the devil was she supposed to do now?
She couldn’t cry off. Not yet, anyway. Obviously they would have to break the “engagement” at some point, because there had been no indications at all that they were in any way developing a tendre for each other.
Ivy turned restlessly on her pillow, acknowledging that she might easily have been on the verge of such a thing—since his Grace was nothing if not attractive, and a great deal too close to the man of her dreams for her comfort.
But although she was a Siddington, a name that was well-respected and bearing a solid history within the aristocracy, she could bring little to the match but a somewhat rundown castle that was rumoured to be haunted.
A Duke, especially one in Maidenbrooke’s position, needed a wife with land. The more of it the better. And a whopping dowry probably wouldn’t come amiss either. No, any way she looked at it, she was not a suitable bride for his Grace.
Much as she’d like to be.
Stop that. She chided herself, and turned again on the pillow, doing her best to dismiss the images of how life might be as Maidenbrooke’s wife.
His eyes featured in her dreams; she remembered the heat she’d seen burning in their depths last night and wondered if they would look thus when he loved.
Restless, she finally rose, sitting on the side of the bed, hearing rain patter against the windows. A suitable response from the weather, at least.
A tap on the door and Elvina’s head appeared. “Well, you’re awake. I’m so pleased, since I understand we have much to discuss.” She grinned at Ivy. “That’ll teach me to retire before you arrive home.”
“Oh dear. You heard.”
“My darling, everyone has heard. But before we get to that, I must ask how your leg is doing…” She walked into the room, and bent over Ivy’s knees. “Let me see what that brute did…”
“It’s only a scratch,” Ivy muttered. “Nothing to make a fuss over.” She lifted her nightgown and extended her bare leg, showing Elvina the long mark from just above the inside of her knee to halfway down her calf.
Elvina winced. “You’re right. ‘Tis only a shallow scratch, but I’ll wager it stung like a dozen bees…”
“It did when Ellen put salve on it,” nodded Ivy. “But it’s fine now. I barely know it’s there.”
“Sadly, everyone else knows it’s there.” She frowned. “That oaf should be shot on sight.”
“I will agree on that point, certainly.” Ivy swallowed. “But I’m rather embarrassed to be at the centre of such a silly fuss.”
Elvina crossed the room and fetched Ivy’s robe. “I think you’d better tell me all about it from the start,” she said. “Breakfast will be ready in a few moments. Tea and food will help.”
“I’m in a mess, Elvina,” sighed Ivy. “Such a dreadful mess.”
The older woman was silent, her head tilted to one side as she watched Ivy shrug into her robe.
Then she smiled. “No Siddington ever escaped this life unscathed by messes, my dearest. It’s part and parcel of your heritage. This is quite minor compared to the war one of your ancestors nearly started…”
Ivy blinked. “Oh. Really?”
“Yes, really. You should ask your grandmother to tell you about it.”
“Oh dear God.” Ivy put her head in her hands. “Grandmother. D’you think she knows?”
Elvina shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m sure she will hear soon, if she hasn’t already.”
“This day is going to get progressively worse, I predict,” said Ivy gloomily. “Better make that a large pot of tea.”
*~~*~~*
The Duke of Maidenbrooke was experiencing some of the same misgivings as he awoke in Hartsmere House.
After the events that had resulted in his rather rash declaration, Ivy had been whisked away to be tended to, and there had been no chance to speak with her again. That annoyed him, since he’d seen the stunned shock in her eyes when he’d announced their engagement.
He admitted he might have worn the exact same look had their roles been reversed, but upon review, he accepted that there was no other course of action.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror as he shaved…a task he preferred to perform himself, which was fortunate since he had managed to avoid having a valet. An idiosyncrasy, perhaps, but he preferred doing for himself in personal matters. A footman took care of his clothes and he did the rest. Or had done up until now. Things might be changing as far as the household was concerned, once he had a woman’s hand on the helm.
The notion of Ivy Siddington as the Duchess of Maidenbrooke was, on the surface, not the most terrible of mismatches. The Siddingtons were probably possessed of a greater lineage than the Maidenbrookes, since they’d been around for what seemed like centuries. So there would be no untoward gossip this morning about how Miss Ivy had ensnared herself a Duke by guile or cunning. And the Duke would be viewed as having made a mostly appropriate, though unexpected, selection of a bride.
He knew the topic of this morning’s gossip would be focussed on the manner in which he’d made the announcement. Pretty much while holding Ivy’s slender thigh in his hands.
For a few moments that image, followed by one of Ivy in his bed, flittered across his brain, and he cursed as he nicked his chin. Holding a handkerchief to the tiny wound, he took a breath and accepted that the notion of having her, taking her, stripping her naked and making her his wife in fact—well, it was certainly not an unpleasant vision at all.
He’d made himself hard just considering it—imagining all that hair spread out on the pillow and those green eyes full of light and passion glazing over, those white thighs around him as he took her to her peak…
The bolt of yearning, mixed with a savage wave of lust, was enough to completely rattle what was left of his composure.
“Ouch.” His hand shook once more and he sighed, putting down the razor lest he cut his own throat before any such event could take place.
As he dried his chin and carefully blotted the tiny wounds, he reviewed his liquor intake of the night before.
None. So he wasn’t experiencing the aftereffects of cheap brandy.
He glanced at himself in the mirror once more…and stilled as the vague outlines of a face drifted before his eyes.
Her red hair floated around, her lips parted, and her tongue darted from between them leaving a sheen on the full redness…
The Duke of Maidenbrooke realised he was either losing his mind, having some kind of mental fit…or there was actually something appearing in his mirror. He felt the prickle as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in shock.
He blinked, hard, squeezing his eyelids together. And when he opened them again, the vision was gone.
Letting out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, he shook his head at himself. This whole business was getting much too far out of hand. Time to set aside any fixation he might be developing, and focus on practical matters of importance.
He had, to all intents and purposes, proposed to
Miss Ivy Siddington last night.
Well, so be it. This morning he needed to pay a call to Vine Place and make sure that she understood where the current situation had let them. They were engaged. He would need to take care of the formalities, an announcement in the Times and so forth.
Slipping into his shirt, he realised while buttoning it that he’d also have to pay a call on Ivy’s guardian—most likely her grandmother, unless someone else held the reins over the Siddington family. He couldn’t think of anyone, so that was another task to add to his list.
Never one to shirk his duties, he summoned his footman, let the happy fellow help tie his cravat since this was an important visit, and prepared for what would be quite a busy morning.
Ready to face the world, he paused at the doorway to his chambers and glanced back.
Someday perhaps his bed would be tumbled by more than a night’s sleep. And perhaps he’d be leaving his wife sleeping beneath the covers. With that bracing thought in mind, he left the room to confront the day.
And Ivy.
*~~*~~*
The knocker sounded just before ten o’clock at Vine House, and the imperious clang told Ivy exactly who was calling.
She gathered her wits about her as best she could and waited for the Duke of Maidenbrooke to be announced.
“His Grace the Duke of—”
“Yes, yes, Malvern. Thank you. I will see his Grace immediately.” Ivy rose before her butler could complete the introductions.
“I rather thought you would,” said the Duke, striding over the threshold and up to her, looking down into her eyes. “Are you all right? No problems with that injury of yours?”
His tone was intense, his expression matched it, and Ivy raised an eyebrow, wondering if he’d ask to actually see her leg.
She nodded. “I am quite recovered, thank you. Such a fuss about something so minor.” She waved Maidenbrooke to a chair. “Tea?”
