THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  “Yes,” Ivy said.

  “Excellent! Good day.” Lady Baker tugged on her husband’s arm and they continued on their walk.

  “Willow—”

  “Please, Ivy. I am fine.” Willow’s lip trembled.

  “You are not! How dare he do this? How quickly the man changed his mind. I would love nothing more than to give Lieutenant Beaufort a verbal lashing he will not soon forget!”

  “Not on my account, I hope,” Willow said pitifully.

  Ivy sighed. “Have you decided Beaufort is the one for you?”

  Willow shrugged and then nodded. “I think so. I do not know what do to! What am I going to tell Grandmother?”

  “Nothing, yet. You have to land him first, and then we will break the news to her. You know, when Cy thought I was receiving undue attention from Lord Caldwell, he swooped in, angry and jealous.”

  “And got himself entangled in a duel and was nearly killed in the process.”

  Ivy playfully nudged her sister. “Give Beaufort some competition. Once he sees you flirting outrageously with other men, he will no longer be able to maintain his distance. Stop looking wounded. Shine, Willow. It will drive him daft and bring him back to your side.”

  Willow’s blue eyes were suddenly hopeful. “Do you really think so?”

  Ivy nodded. “I do, but Willow, if he does not realize how wonderful you truly are, then he does not deserve your tears.”

  Willow smiled, grasped her sister’s hand and said, “Thank you.” Then she changed the subject. “Has anyone seen Caldwell?”

  Ivy shook her red curls. “No. It makes Cy quite angry knowing the man is still out there on the loose. He could show up at any moment and cause more trouble.”

  They were well into their sandwiches when Miss Fitzgerald and Lieutenant Beaufort ambled towards them.

  “Smile,” Ivy gritted out to Willow, who somehow managed to paste a charming smile onto her face. Ivy did the same.

  “Good afternoon,” Beaufort said cordially. Miss Fitzgerald’s arm was linked through his, but his eyes were on Willow.

  “Good afternoon,” Ivy replied, feeling a sense of triumph. The man was staring at her sister! “Are you enjoying your outing?”

  Miss Fitzgerald fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up at Beaufort, apparently failing to notice his inattentiveness to her. “We are having a marvelous time, are we not?”

  Beaufort turned his head and smiled down at Miss Fitzgerald. Was it Ivy’s imagination or was his smile strained?

  “Marvelous,” he agreed.

  “Let us not keep you from continuing on your way,” Willow said in prim dismissal.

  “Are you expecting anyone to join you, or is this a cozy picnic just for two?” Miss Fitzgerald asked snidely.

  “My fiancé is joining us soon,” Ivy interjected before Willow could snap out a retort. “And perhaps a few of his eligible friends who are quite taken with my sister.” Ivy was pleased to note Beaufort’s nostril’s flaring in suppressed anger. She took it one step further. “She has her hands full trying to juggle all her suitors vying for her attention.”

  “How does she manage to remember all their names?” Beaufort asked tightly.

  Willow smiled brightly, playing along. “I make notecards, and I list all their wonderful attributes.”

  “Clever,” Beaufort snapped.

  “Beaufort,” Miss Fitzgerald said in annoyance. “Can we be on our way?” She tugged on his arm.

  Beaufort inclined his head in farewell.

  “You were perfect!” Ivy said.

  “Me? What about you?” Willow gushed with a laugh.

  “Did you notice Beaufort’s reaction when you mentioned notecards? It was priceless!”

  “You were right, Ivy. Perhaps Beaufort needs a little reminder that I will not be unattached for long.”

  “Careful, darling sister. Do not let your head inflate too much, lest it float away.”

  They laughed and Willow reached for a plum tart. “I am suddenly famished.”

  “Trapping a suitor works up the appetite,” Ivy commented, reaching for her own.

  ***

  Emily slid a bottle of thirty-year-old brandy in front of her butler and asked, “Have you learned anything new?” It was a good thing he was easily bribed. How else was she to learn anything?

  “I found out where your father went the other morning,” Cartwright said.

  Emily shrugged. “He told me he had a business meeting.”

  Cartwright shook his head. “He went to the Earl of Stanton’s home.”

  “What? Why?”

  Cartwright took a long moment to examine one of his fingernails before answering, “It seems the Earl has his suspicions about who started the nasty rumor that is circulating.”

  Emily’s face paled. “Am I a suspect?”

  Cartwright shook his head and Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “That is not the most interesting piece of news.”

  Emily’s ears perked up and she leaned forward in her desire for new information. “Go on!”

  “The debt was to the Duke of Cavehill. The Duchess told Stanton that if he married her granddaughter, he would not have to repay it.”

  Emily shook her head as anger raged inside her. “Why would he choose to marry that red-haired witch when he could have married me! My dowry would have covered any substantial loan.”

  Cartwright raised a skeptical eyebrow and said, “The Duchess was willing to offer him a dowry, as well as forgo the debt. Double what your father was giving, you see.”

  She grinned spitefully and said, “Stanton may have managed to quash the rumor, but I doubt his fiancée will be able to ignore the real reason he is marrying her. I cannot wait for Lord and Lady Stanhope’s masquerade this evening!”

  Chapter XVI

  London, England

  Willow was wearing a heavy velvet gown of dark blue that brought out her eyes. The trim was gold, and at her throat was a simple blue ribbon choker that was sure to draw a man’s eye to her neckline. Her hair was pulled back into a golden hair net studded with ornate beads. She looked like a lady at court in the reign of King Henry VIII.

  “I feel quite unlike myself. I am excited for the masquerade.” Willow smiled. In her hand was a decorative gold colored mask on a well-crafted handle that would cover roughly half her face.

  “You look perfect. Positively stunning. Lieutenant Beaufort will not be able to stop staring at you.”

  “Ah, the only goal I have for this evening. Just do not tell Grandmother.”

  Ivy was dressed in a gown made of champagne colored tulle layers with gold trim. On her feet were a pair of matching ballet slippers with soft soles, and gracing her head was a champagne colored tulle flower with three iridescent pearls at the center. The color of her dress should have washed her out, but it was pale enough that it accentuated the flush of her cheeks and emphasized her loosely pulled back molten waves. Her mask was similar to Willow’s.

  “Can you believe your wedding is only a week away?” Willow asked.

  Ivy shook her head. “No, I cannot.”

  She was nervous about the wedding though she refused to admit it to anyone. Lately, when Cy came to see her, he was distracted and when she asked him about it, he became closed off, his tone clipped. She hoped he was not having second thoughts about their marriage. She loved him, but she had not professed her feelings, holding out hope that he might feel the same way about her.

  “Come, it is time to leave,” Ivy said shaking off her thoughts.

  “How can you refuse to wear a costume to a masquerade?” Willow demanded of their grandmother when they reached the foyer. The Duchess was holding a black mask not completely ignoring the spirit of the night.

  “When you are a duchess, you can do almost anything,” she replied imperiously.

  Ivy stifled her laughter behind her hand, and Willow’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

  Lord and Lady Stanhope’s ballroom was a sight to behold. The gold chandelie
r in the center of the room glimmered with hundreds of candles. Along the walls, sconces were well lit, and their light revealed majestic carpentry of the highest craftsmanship.

  Ivy had never seen such a crush. Lords and ladies adorned in colorful masks and elaborate costumes graced the dance floor. It was going to be a splendid night. They had just descended the stairs when Cy found them. He was in black formalwear and did not even bother with a mask.

  “Apparently, being an earl gives you freedom, too,” Willow joked to Ivy.

  “You are ravishing this evening,” Cy stated as he took Ivy’s hand and brought it to his warm lips. “Will you dance with me?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Cy glided her towards the dance floor, and only after he had her in his arms did she say, “You realize you did not say one word to my family.”

  He grinned wryly. “You make me forget myself.”

  “That is a wonderful compliment.”

  “I cannot wait to marry you,” he admitted fiercely.

  “And I cannot wait to become your wife.” Her tension evaporated, his words putting her at ease.

  Off the dance floor, Willow was busy collecting as many admirers as she could. It was not difficult for she was young, vivacious and witty, not to mention beautiful. Men fell over themselves to fetch her punch and cookies.

  “To win a smile from you makes me feel like a knight of old, jousting for my lady’s favor,” one suitor prattled.

  Such was the picture that greeted Beaufort upon his entrance to the ball with Miss Fitzgerald on his arm. His temper frayed upon seeing other men surrounding the woman he wanted. He was on his last nerve. Luckily, he would not have to play Miss Fitzgerald’s escort much longer, as there was only one more week until Stanton’s wedding. Then Beaufort would be free to pursue Willow again. He did not care if this charade had ruined his chances; he would make her see they were perfect for one another. The object of his thoughts caught his gaze, lowered her mask and then threw him a dazzling smile.

  Hot desire pierced him like a spear, and he yearned to shake off Miss Fitzgerald’s simpering, wretched claws. He wanted nothing more than to rush to Willow’s side and whisk her away from every other man in the room.

  “She certainly is playing court,” Miss Fitzgerald said contemptuously.

  He did not respond to the envious female next to him. “Come, let us dance,” he finally said. Anything to take his mind off of Willow and the lust rolling through him.

  ***

  When the waltz ended, Cy escorted Ivy off the dance floor and out into the well-lit garden. Other couples sought solitude, whispering in far off shadows, but Ivy and Cy did not stray too far from the welcoming light of the ballroom.

  “Would you care for some champagne?” he asked as he leaned close to Ivy’s ear. His warm breath swept across her skin and caused her to shiver. She nodded and smiled at him.

  “Your smallest wish is my command,” he teased.

  She watched him walk away until he disappeared from sight into the throng of guests. Ivy turned around and surveyed the immaculately groomed gardens, loving the tall, hedged maze. She could imagine stolen moments alone with Cy in the labyrinth, and she quivered in delight.

  She was alone for less than a minute when she heard a smooth voice from behind her purr, “May I say how delectable you look this evening?”

  She knew the owner of the voice, and it made her skin crawl.

  Lord Brandon Caldwell.

  She turned slowly, the torchlight of the garden revealing half his face. The other half was in shadow, but no amount of darkness could conceal his blatant perusal of her form.

  The man had disappeared for weeks after he nearly killed Cy, and now he had reappeared at a social event as if nothing had transpired. Only a vile man would wait until a woman was alone and then have the gall to pounce, but Caldwell was like a weak lion, afraid to go in for the kill until there was no competition.

  Without thinking, Ivy flew at him and managed a swift kick to his shin, though her slipper did little damage. She cursed the soft sole. She pounded him with her ineffectual fists that he quickly trapped in his larger hands.

  She raged verbally instead. “How dare you! You deceitful coward! You almost killed him, and then you ran away you…you…evil snake!”

  Something dark moved in Caldwell’s blue eyes, and at once Ivy was afraid, her anger vanishing instantly. She tried to tug her hands out of his, but he gripped them tighter.

  “Such loathsome language from such a beautiful lady.”

  She prayed for Cy to return. “Why you came back, I will never know. You should have stayed away. Cy will surely kill you when he sees you.”

  Caldwell gazed at her, unperturbed by her threat. “I am surprised Stanton would leave you alone for even a moment.”

  “He is procuring me a glass of champagne.”

  Caldwell smiled, but it was filled with mocking irreverence. “Ah yes, of course. No doubt to toast your impending nuptials. Though I doubt you will be in such a celebratory mood once I share a bit of information with you.”

  “Nothing you can say will provoke me.” She attempted to shake him off again, but his grasp was unyielding. He was hurting her, but she refused to cry out.

  “Care to know the true reason the Earl of Stanton broke his engagement to Miss Fitzgerald?” he taunted.

  Despite herself, she was intrigued, and her curiosity surpassed her fear. Unable to hide her interest, she asked, “What do you know about it?”

  “It is fascinating what one can uncover regarding someone like Stanton, who just happens to be the talk of the town.”

  “Spare me the dramatics, please,” Ivy spat.

  “So willful,” he murmured and licked his lips lasciviously.

  Her stomach rolled in distaste.

  “Miss Fitzgerald has been gracious enough to share some information with me. It seems the Earl's father incurred a debt. Your fiancé and the Duchess struck a deal. If he marries you, you see, he will not have to pay back the astronomical debt. Rumor has it, it is so large it would financially cripple almost anyone.”

  The blood drained from her face. “I do not believe you,” Ivy whispered though her words lacked conviction. She tried to reject the idea, but needles of uncertainty pierced her.

  “No? Then perhaps we should seek out Miss Fitzgerald so you may hear the words from her own lips.”

  “Miss Fitzgerald is upset because Stanton broke their engagement, and she had her heart set on becoming a countess. I would not believe anything she says.”

  “Then perhaps you will believe me when I tell you the Duchess gave Stanton a dowry worth the amount of the debt. Not only did Stanton not have to repay it, but he also became rich from his engagement to you! The Earl was nearly destitute!”

  She could no longer disregard Caldwell’s words. They were hurtful, and she knew he was trying to rile her, but they rang of truth. She loved a man who did not love her; her fear of becoming her mother was obsolete. Ivy was even more pathetic.

  The voices from the party were nothing more than a soft hum in the background. Ivy was so obsessed with her thoughts that she did not notice Caldwell pulling her deep into the garden maze. When she realized what he was doing, she dug her heels into the ground, but her shoes were soft and flat, and she lost them in the struggle.

  How could she have forgotten about Caldwell’s sordid nature? She had to get away from him, or die trying! She began to scream, uncaring who heard, only wishing that someone would find her before it was too late. She would not hope it would be Cy; he did not care about her at all. It had been an act on his part. Her tortured heart twisted in confused agony, and beat harder every second as fear of what Caldwell might do to her began to sink in. The view of Stanhope manor had long disappeared, as well as the warm sight of torchlight.

  But she was no match for Caldwell’s determined strength. While she fought, he placed an arm around her body like an iron manacle, and clamped his other hand over her mouth. She sank her t
eeth into his meaty palm. Caldwell cursed and snatched his hand free. The arm he had around her tightened fiercely, cutting off her ability to breathe, or scream for help.

  “You will regret that,” he promised menacingly.

  “Why are you doing this? What will you gain by hurting me?” Her words came in pants, her breathing labored, her voice shallow and strained.

  “Hurt you?” he said with a touch of humor. “What makes you think I would hurt you? You are a glorious creature.”

  Her pulse raced, a solid drumming in her chest. She realized his intentions. A ripple of fear coursed through every vein in her body, and she remembered what Cy had said about Caldwell’s fiendish pleasure in abusing women.

  “Must you really ask why I have drawn you away from the ballroom?” Caldwell asked in a seductive whisper. “I want to shower you with passion and feel your sweet body press against mine.”

  His tone and words sent a jolt of terror down her spine. She began to shake.

  Mistaking her trembling as a sign of pleasure, he chuckled and roughly turned her towards him so that her face was mere inches from his. With a quirk of his lips, he began to lower his head.

  ***

  “Get away from her,” Cy commanded, stepping out from behind the bushes, hot rage erupting in him like a volcano. The bastard had his hands all over Ivy’s soft, tender skin. Her eyes were wide in her pale face while she was busy shooting Cy silent accusations. She knows, then, about it all, he realized resolutely.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and soothe the pain he had caused her, but for the moment, he needed to focus on the cowardly scoundrel holding the woman he loved.

  Ivy’s gold mask dangled from Cy’s fingers. He had returned to the garden with two glasses of champagne only to find Ivy gone, her mask scattered on the ground. He dropped the flutes, and they crashed to the stone, as he dashed deeper into the garden.