An Earl by Any Other Name

by Lauren Smith

  “Why don’t you see if Miss Pepperwirth would like to dance?” Mr. Leighton nodded toward the frowning lady. A ghost of a smile flitted across his mother’s face before she hastily masked it. She was playing the game well, and Leo did not like it.

  He did as suggested, however, and approached Mildred.

  She raised a dark brow, her lips pinched. “Yes?”

  “I thought you would like to dance.” He held out a hand. Her eyes dropped to his palm, and she curled her lips in a sneer. Even when she was furious, she was still lovely. It was a pity he didn’t feel anything romantic toward her; it would have made the prospect of proposing to her so much easier.

  “Dancing so close together is unseemly. I will not. One should not take such delight it.”

  The retort that came readily to his lips died as he sucked in a breath and cooled his temper. “Mildred, there is nothing wrong with dancing. Your parents are dancing.” He waved toward the viscount, who moved sedately across the floor with his viscountess.

  “I do not care for it.” Even as she said it, though, he thought he glimpsed a fracture in her disdainful demeanor, a momentary view of a woman who longed for dancing and love, a woman whose heart was shielded by a fortress of ice. Leo wondered if he would ever break through that ice, or if perhaps another man was destined for such a task. He forced himself to ignore that thought. He would marry Mildred and he would try to woo her as best he could to make their match a decent one. It would never have the fiery passion he wished for in a marriage, but it would be stable and that was more important. Protecting Hampton was his duty. He could not run across the countryside after a wild raven-haired beauty no matter how much his heart wished for him to.

  Leo took a chair and sat down beside her. She seemed a little startled by his choice to remain with her. It was not out of desire but out of his sense of obligation.

  “Who is that woman? I’ve never heard of her before.” Mildred watched Ivy with such intensity Leo was surprised Ivy didn’t feel the focus of her gaze and look their way.

  “I don’t know her well myself. She and my mother are good friends.” He watched Ivy like a dying man would watch the gates of heaven as they parted before allowing him entrance. The sway of her full hips, the gleam of the headband made of diamond-studded stars nestled in the crown of her black hair, drew him helplessly in. He ached to touch her, to thread his fingers through her hair. Her bell-like laugh stirred long-buried emotions awake. It had been years since he’d had the occasion to laugh like that, and he missed it.

  “With her coloring and dubious background and an English mother no one knows, I quite wonder at your mother’s invitation for her and her father. He’s one of those nouveau riche at best. A servant playing as a lord. He hides his accent well, but he’s certainly an imposter.”

  Leo balled his fists and shifted in his chair. “Being foreign does not make him an imposter. He doesn’t claim to be anyone other than himself. He’s self-made. Gentlemen like him do not like discussing their personal histories to avoid judgments like you have just passed. Excuse me.” He stood and walked away before he gave in to the temptation to utter something that would ruin his relationship with the cold harpy he’d convinced himself he needed to marry. He almost missed the look of resignation and regret on her face before she carefully masked it.

  When the orchestra finished the waltz and prepared to play another, Leo politely inserted himself between Owen and Ivy.

  “May I?” He held out his hand, shouldering Owen aside. The other man huffed, but there was little he could do to stop Leo. Ivy’s startled gaze darted between the two of them, and then with a red glow in her cheeks, she took Leo’s hand. He was barely aware of his friend walking away. The only thing that mattered was her palm touching his and the warmth that filled his chest.

  The pianist and the string players started up again, and Leo slid his arm around Ivy’s trim waist. The fabric of her gown was smooth and warm beneath his fingers, the way he knew her bare skin would feel. He cupped her hand in his and pulled her close. He had always enjoyed dancing, but he’d never appreciated it until now. It gave him the chance to breathe in the sweet scent of flowers and oranges of the woman in his arms.

  The chandelier lights reflected like stars in her cinnamon eyes. Their depths were endless, and he was lost in the vast play of emotions flashing through them. Fear, desire, longing. She seemed as surprised as he was by the undeniable pull between them. He tightened his grip on her waist, and they fell into a perfect tempo. The rhythm of the dance cast a spell over him as he became aware of the curious sense that Ivy felt like more than a waltz partner. There was the way she responded to his gentle urging, obeying him but not blindly. He was not entirely in charge, as he usually was when dancing, but rather it was as though he were part of a team with her. He suspected that should they reverse the roles of the dance, she could lead him just as well.

  Equal. The word floated up from the depths of his mind, tugging an irresistible smile about his lips. She was a suffragette and believed in equality. Was it any real surprise that even her subconscious beliefs would transfer to her dancing? No. What was surprising was how he didn’t mind. Women shouldn’t vote, but…an assertive, yet trusting partner in his arms was certainly agreeable.

  “Now it seems you are the one amused at my expense,” Ivy teased, light flashing in her honey-brown eyes as she stunned him with a luscious smile.

  “I was merely thinking.” He paused as they continued to whirl slowly about the room. “You could lead me, couldn’t you?”

  “Are you suggesting I’m fighting with you to lead the dance?” Her brow furrowed.

  “On the contrary, you are following perfectly, but I sense no hesitation in your steps. Only confidence. I approve.” He bent his head, the small action bringing his face close to hers.

  Outside of her, he was losing a sense of the others. There was only Ivy and the way she felt in his arms. A man could easily forsake the world when offered an opportunity like this. For the first time in many years, he wanted to laugh, to grin, to live the way he used to. He pulled Ivy against him, relishing the little gasp and flash of fire in her eyes.

  “Leo!” she hissed softly. He loved the way she said his name, even in exasperation, as though they were intimate, as though she’d known him for years. It made his body go taut and his blood pound in his ears.

  “Are you coming on the shoot tomorrow?” he asked.

  She gave a little nod, a blush creeping along her nose and the curve of her fine, feylike cheekbones.

  “Good.” He maneuvered easily, their bodies drifting in the wondrous flow of the waltz’s steps. For an instant he was flying, and Ivy was with him. No burdens, no responsibilities, just dancing with a lovely young woman who was everything he wanted and couldn’t have.

  “I suppose I ought not to admit this.” Her admission was breathless. “But I rather like the way you dance. Mr. Hadley was…well, I did not like how much his hands tried to wander.” She laughed softly. It wasn’t the first time a gentleman had tried to see how far he could go without getting caught.

  Leo’s eyes narrowed as they continued to spin effortlessly. “Be careful around him. I love him like a brother but if he thinks he has a chance with you, he’ll pursue you until you’re too tired to run.”

  “Like a fox run down by hounds?” Ivy asked, shuddering at the image.

  “Er…yes, something like that.” Leo wished Owen wasn’t so damned desperate. He might do something foolish, and the last thing Leo wanted was for that foolishness to be directed at the woman he intended to seduce.

  He was still grinning like a fool three hours later when he eased himself into a brocaded chair facing the fireplace in the picture gallery. The momentary happiness of thinking of Ivy slipped away when he realized he’d much rather have her in his arms. Memories made for colder bedfellows. The other guests had all retired for the evening, but Leo was unable to sleep. A restlessness had stirred to life in him, like the spirit of a dra
gon slowly uncoiling from its cramped confines. He embraced the accompanying sense of melancholy at being alone.

  Moonlight burst through the tall windowpanes, which stretched down the gallery behind him. Opposite the windows was a wall of faces. The illustrious Hampton line—three centuries of history. Even his father, a man genuinely disliked by most who met him, held a place at the end of the hall.

  Someday Leo would be immortalized on a canvas and encased in a gilded frame. His children would run through the gallery, toys in hand, as they chased each other and played, the oak-paneled floors echoing with their light steps. He raised his brandy glass to his lips and sipped, imagining his children. They were dark-haired and honey-eyed like their mother. A rueful smile twisted his lips as he realized he’d been picturing Ivy and not Mildred. They would be beautiful children if they were Ivy’s. But would they face ridicule and closed doors for their exotic looks?

  A door clicked open and a figure appeared at the end of the gallery. The figure clothed in the blue and yellow chiffon gown moved out of the shadows, moonlight revealing it to be Ivy, the very woman he’d been thinking of. She didn’t see him as she swept in. The jeweled headband glinted and winked, like stardust kissing her hair as she walked in his direction. She rubbed her bared arms to warm herself. The whisper of the train of her dress on the wood heightened his senses. Leo wanted to kiss her again, needed to kiss her again. I’m not my father. Just one more kiss wouldn’t damn me, would it?

  When she was close enough for him to speak softly and be heard, he stood.

  “Miss Leighton—” he began.

  She jumped, one hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. He rushed over, settling his brandy on a side table before he caught her by the shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to startle you.”

  “What did you expect when you emerged from the dark like that?” she gasped, eyes wide. “I thought I was alone. You should have announced your presence.”

  “You’re right.” He attempted to look chagrined, but he was too pleased to be with her.

  She giggled, the sound light and sweet. “I think you did that on purpose,” she accused. A ghost of a twinkle warmed her eyes and a bolt of heat shot straight through his body, searing his insides with desire.

  “I’ll admit to not speaking out at first because I was caught up in admiring you, but I really did not mean to startle you.” It was the truth; her vision of loveliness had struck him speechless.

  She wrinkled her nose and then smiled. “Very well. I will take you at your word. What are you doing here so late?”

  He arched a brow. “I could ask you the same question.”

  Her lips parted, but whatever she’d been about to say, she swallowed and shrugged.

  “I was too restless to dress for bed. During dinner, your mother mentioned the gallery, and I decided to come and see it myself.”

  “In other words, you were hoping a visit to my ancestors would put you to sleep.” It was so easy to tease her.

  She scoffed in mock outrage. “I never said that!” She titled her chin and shot him a saucy look that punched him in the stomach. There was something there, at the edges of his memory, so faint, like the first breath upon waking. What was it about Ivy that ensnared him? Colors seemed deeper, sounds clearer, his heart beat like a wild rabbit’s, and he lived from moment to moment just to be close to her. A primal urge to catch her, keep her close, filled his being. He knew she was the answer, but he didn’t know what the question was. He sought memories he couldn’t place, so distant and long ago, they were just out of reach, like he was chasing phantoms of his youth.

  Ivy stepped back, her eyes leaving his face as she studied the fire, and shivered.

  “Who are you, Ivy?” he whispered, cupping her chin and turning her face toward his.

  “If you do not know, I cannot tell you,” she replied, and then with a little chuckle she added, “Našti garaves muca ande gono, lake vundžja ka-sitjaren-pe.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked. The words had been another language, soft and rhythmic. The effect on him was hypnotic. He could have listened to her speak like that deep into the night.

  “It’s Romani for ‘the truth will eventually reveal itself.’ My father is Romani. I am half Romani.” Her hushed response sounded like a confession.

  “Your mother?” he prompted, gripped by curiosity. He’d assumed she was possibly Italian but a Gypsy? Definitely not. It did explain her unique but beautiful coloring, though.

  “English,” she replied. “Does it shock you, my lord? To have two Gypsies under your roof?” Her tone turned frosty. “Will you have Gordon counting the silver and locking it away now that you know what we are?”

  A prickle of irritation stung his skin. He didn’t give a damn that she was half Romani. Her father was rich, and he had brought Ivy up in society to be an intelligent and fierce woman. There was nothing wrong with that. Leo may have been a traditionalist in many matters, but never about men making a life for themselves. If anything, he wished to commend Mr. Leighton on his success. But the last thing he wanted to think about in that moment was her father. All he wanted was to hold her in his arms and kiss her, the way he’d been longing to from the moment she’d descended the stairs for dinner and he’d been captivated by her radiant smile and honey-brown eyes.

  “What you are…is my guest,” he answered.

  Her lips parted, no doubt to protest with that all-too-sharp tongue of hers, but he didn’t give her a chance. He held the back of her neck with one hand and slanted his mouth down over hers in a possessive, silencing kiss.

  Let her argue with this.

  The swell of triumph was quickly consumed by his own desire to lose himself in her and the lingering spell of her lips. After her initial shock, she gave in and curled her arms around his neck. He drew her backward until the backs of his knees bumped into a chair. He settled down and pulled her crossways onto his lap. Her gown rustled as it fell over his legs. She felt good, so bloody good in his arms. He continued to explore her mouth; then he left little kisses along her jaw and down to where her neck met her shoulder.

  Her elegant, slender fingers threaded in his hair, lightly tugging on the strands as she responded to his attentions with delightful abandon. The crack and snap of the logs in the fire were the only sounds aside from their shared breathing. The warmth of the flames heated Ivy’s back and Leo’s hands as they traced her spine. Everything about holding her, kissing her felt right. No doubts intruded on this perfect kiss.

  God, please never let this end. He murmured the silent prayer over and over in his heart.

  * * *

  “Leo,” she breathed in his ear. “I feel so strange,” she confessed before pressing a kiss to his chin.

  He didn’t let up but pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her skirts, tracing her stocking-covered calf.

  “Strange?” he asked as he twirled his fingers in the ribbons that held her garter up.

  The touch of his fingers burned her skin and made her tingle in secret places.

  “Light-headed, hot and cold all over.” As she spoke, a little shiver moved through her. He kissed her neck and then her shoulder and collarbone, only increasing her physical symptoms.

  “I’m doing something right, then.” He kissed her mouth and she smiled, delighted anew at the feel of their lips melding together.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “I…uh…” She did trust him. She always had. Sixteen years away hadn’t changed that. Leo was a man she would follow anywhere if he asked her to.

  “Let me pleasure you, please?” With gentle but determined hands, he explored her undergarments. Every rational thought screamed at her to deny him what he sought, but every carnal desire and instinct led her back to one gasping reply.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God.” He inched her closer and parted her legs with his hands. She gave him better access but jerked when he touched her.

  “Easy, love
, easy.” His gentle shushing soothed her. She tried to absorb the shocking sensation of his fingers as they stroked over her tender flesh. It took all of her control not to clamp her thighs together at the sudden rush of wetness.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She realized her eyes had closed. With a little sigh, she met his gaze. Fires burned in his eyes, the searing heat of his own desire an almost tangible caress.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” The tips of their noses touched as he continued to stroke her. When his thumb swept over the bundle of nerves, she jolted as though from an electric shock.

  “You are beautiful, Ivy, so beautiful it makes me ache.”

  She had never cared before about having an effect on a man. Beauty was often a curse because men would see only her face and care so little for what was in her mind, but Leo was her real weakness. If he thought she was beautiful, then she was. It did funny things to her heart and scared her witless.

  His fingers between her legs became more insistent, and she shifted restlessly against him. He held her, moving with her whenever she twisted and writhed as though they were fashioned of the same body and soul. If she withdrew, he followed; if she pressed toward him, he gave way, like one connected being.

  Their mouths joined again, and she dug her hands into his hair, trying to attach herself to him, press into him as much as she could. A tightness coiled in her belly and a ripple of fear followed. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as her body started a furious flight toward the sky, yet she didn’t leave Leo’s lap.

  “Let me see your eyes.”

  The primal sound jarred her and spurred her those last few gasping breaths to a place she’d never experienced. Her eyes locked with his, and she clung to him as the tension in her body exploded in a blinding wave of pleasure. She was dying. Surely nothing so powerful, so wonderful could exist on earth. The captivating gleam of his eyes absorbed her soul, consuming her. Moonlight and firelight shared space in his spellbinding stare. His lips were parted and his warm breath fanned her face. The past held no power to what lay between them in that moment. He wasn’t a young man, and she wasn’t the girl called Button anymore. The distance of time that once separated them was gone. They were simply lovers, exploring carnal desires and lost in the ecstasy. How was it possible to feel such intimacy with a man she hadn’t seen in so many years?