“Caldwell?” he asked getting down to the matter at hand.
“Bound and gagged and on his way to America,” Langley said with a smile.
“It is only half of what he deserves,” Willow said with disdain.
“Agreed,” Cy said. “I would have liked to break one of his legs.”
Everyone murmured agreement at his sentiment.
“At least he is gone,” Ivy said.
Cy looked at the Duchess. “I prefer if Ivy and I did not have to wait a week for the wedding.”
“That may be our best course of action. Ivy’s absence from the ball was duly noted.” The Duchess sniffed.
“Caldwell dragged Ivy into the garden maze. If that bastard has ruined her reputation—” Ivy placed a hand on Cy’s arm to calm him down. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“If only people assumed you two had run off into the night…” The Duchess trailed off thoughtfully and then looked at Willow and Beaufort. “It is no secret the both of you were there together, as well. People will talk.”
“Beaufort and I will get married,” Willow blurted out.
The Duchess gasped in shock. “Willow!”
Ignoring her grandmother and everyone else in the library, she looked at Beaufort. “You are going to ask me to marry you, are you not?” she demanded.
Beaufort gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose. It would be the honorable thing to do.”
“I am waiting,” Willow pressed.
“Would you like me to get down on one knee?” he asked in exasperation.
“You may remain seated,” Willow replied magnanimously.
“Thank you. I would have preferred to do this in private, you know.”
“Do get on with it, man,” Cy said. “We have other things to take care of tonight. Like procuring a last minute marriage license.”
“Hush, this is a very important moment,” Ivy chastised.
Beaufort quirked an eyebrow in wry amusement. “Yes, I am so glad to have an audience when I ask for Miss Sinclair’s hand in marriage.”
“Under the circumstances, Beaufort, I do believe you may call me Willow.” She smiled beautifully.
“Let us get out the champagne to celebrate,” the Countess of Langley said.
Everyone started conversing and chattering away. Beaufort leaned over and whispered in Willow’s ear, “I did not technically ask you to marry me, yet.”
“Foregone conclusion, is it not?” she asked.
He grinned. “I suppose so.
“You are going to make me very happy,” she predicted.
Shouting with laughter, Beaufort said, “As if you would settle for anything less.”
Chapter XVII
London, England
Cy smiled at his wife of six hours who was sitting next to him in the carriage. At the moment, she was trailing a seductive path with her fingertips down his thigh.
“Careful, darling. I do not have time to properly satisfy you before we reach our destination.”
She chuckled. “Beaufort’s plan is brilliant.”
“He is the Earl of Bedford, now.”
“I had forgotten,” Ivy said absently.
“There has been a lot of commotion in the past twenty four hours.”
“Caldwell is America bound, the Marquess of Westonshire reinstated Bedford as his heir, Bedford and my sister became engaged, and I got into a yelling match with Grandmother.”
“You forgot the most important part,” Cy said softly. “We got married.”
“So we did.”
“Tell me more about this fight you had with the Duchess.”
“After we left your townhouse and returned home, I confronted her.”
“It was not her fault, Ivy.”
“You enlisted her aid to keep the truth a secret from me.”
“It was for your own good.”
She looked at him. “Do you want to start another fight?”
“The last one ended quite nicely. You would up naked in my arms,” he remarked dryly. “Go on.”
Sighing, she continued. “She did not apologize for her high-handedness.”
“She is a duchess.”
“She used the exact same excuse!” Ivy snorted with laughter. “She claimed to know how well we would suit one another.”
“Are you upset by the outcome, my dear?”
“Not in the least,” Ivy replied breezily.
“Is everything resolved between you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Does everyone in society already know we were married?” Ivy inquired.
“News travels quickly, especially among the servants,” Cy quipped. “They will assume we are incurable romantics who simply could not wait any longer to be married.”
“When I tell them about the ballet studio you had commissioned as a wedding gift, everyone will believe it.” She looked at him tenderly. “Thank you. It is lovely.”
He kissed her palm. “A lovely gift for a lovely woman.”
Last night, after celebrating Bedford and Willow’s engagement, Cy stole Ivy away for a quick moment so he could show her what had been built for her. The studio was large, and long mirrors covered every wall. Wooden bars were placed on two sides of the room and a pianoforte graced one corner. It brought tears to Ivy’s eyes when she realized how much time and effort had gone into such a thoughtful gift for her. If Cy had not already professed his love, she would know how he felt from the gift.
“It made Grandmother angry since she believed I had given up ballet long ago.”
“I never want you to stop practicing. I love who you are, Ivy. Will you dance for me?” His voice was deep with desire as he pressed a kiss to her lips. It was meant to be quick and chaste, but Cy apparently had other ideas.
“To hell with time,” he muttered pulling away from her. He sank to the floor of the carriage.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, as he reached for her skirt.
“The only thing I can, darling. I have to touch you.”
Her breath hitched in her throat when he pulled up her skirts, pushing apart her drawers. His finger danced across her skin, and she felt herself grow heavy and wet between her legs. She heard him hum in pleasure.
Bending his head, he glided his tongue across her swollen bud, and she cried out.
“Hush, love, or passersby will know what we are doing.” He grinned devilishly, returning his attention to her.
Stifling a cry, she came, saying his name over and over again.
He tugged down her skirts and took his place on the plush seat next to her, brushing at his pants to make sure they were dust free. The carriage came to a halt.
“Do I look presentable?” she asked breathlessly.
Chuckling, he stroked her face. “Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are sparkling. You look like a fallen angel.”
She sighed. “If you weary of tending to business investments, you should seriously consider becoming a poet. You say the most beautiful things to me.”
“This is only a small taste of the pleasure I will give you. Tonight will be very fulfilling,” he whispered hotly, reaching for the door of the carriage.
The moment Cy and Ivy were announced as the Earl and Countess of Stanton, the gossiping nobles stopped in mid-conversation to stare at them. The whispers began almost immediately. Cy took her hand as they approached their hosts, a middle-aged couple that was at the pinnacle of society.
The Duke of Bellington slapped Cy on the back firmly and said, “Congratulations, my boy. Took matters into your own hands, did you? Could not wait even a week?” He elbowed Cy playfully, while the Duchess of Bellington threw him a look.
“I would have loved to be at the wedding,” the Duchess said wistfully.
“And we would have loved to have had you there, Your Grace,” Ivy said graciously, “but I am afraid when one is in love, even a week seems too long to wait!”
The Duchess sighed. “You both are absolutely pr
ecious.”
“Careful, Stanton,” the Duke said to Cy. “One more romantic gesture like that and you will make the rest of us married chaps look bad.”
Cy smiled and shrugged. Ivy smiled gorgeously. “My husband is such a thoughtful man. Did I tell you what he gave me for a wedding present? He had a ballet studio built just for me! He knows I love to practice!”
The Duke shook his head. “Ruined. You have absolutely ruined the rest of us.”
“I am sorry, sir,” Cy said, not looking at all contrite.
They paused in conversation to welcome the arrival of the Duchess of Cavehill and the Langleys. Willow, who was on the arm of her fiancé, the Earl of Bedford, the newly made heir to the Marquess of Westonshire, trailed behind them. The Marquess completed their entourage.
The elderly man carried an elegant cane, but it was all for show as his carriage was still erect. When his grandson had contacted him late the previous evening, the Marquess agreed to make him his heir on the condition that Bedford leave the military and stay close to him. They had lost too many years already.
The aging Marquess was busy engaging the Duchess of Cavehill in conversation, and she was doing her best to pretend she was not enjoying his attention. Lord and Lady Fitzgerald along with their daughter, approached their group.
Lord Fitzgerald said, “Congratulations on your wedding, Stanton.”
“Whatever are you going to do with the wedding preparations already in place?” Lady Fitzgerald asked.
The Duchess of Cavehill smiled smugly. “My other granddaughter, Miss Willow Sinclair, will marry the Marquess of Westonshire’s heir, the Earl of Bedford, on that day.”
Willow turned to Miss Fitzgerald and smiled sweetly, “Will you be able to attend?”
Before the chit was able to reply, her father spoke up, “No, afraid not. My daughter is going to spend some time in Brussels with her relatives.” He shot his daughter a meaningful look.
“I am looking forward to seeing my extended family,” Miss Fitzgerald intoned blandly, though her face colored in anger.
“Yes,” Fitzgerald nodded. “We expect her to make a wonderful match abroad.”
Ivy was glad to know that Miss Fitzgerald would be nowhere near London for a long period of time, and with Caldwell bound for America, their lives were dangerously close to perfection.
“The look on Miss Fitzgerald’s face was priceless,” Willow remarked when the Fitzgeralds had moved along.
“She was quite unable to conceal her annoyance at having another bachelor snatched from under her nose,” Stanton agreed with a smile. “By another Sinclair woman, no doubt.”
Willow smiled boldly in Bedford’s direction. “Can you believe we are getting married in a week?”
“Six days, actually,” Bedford corrected.
“To think,” Willow said with a shake of her head, “My grandmother pretended she did not approve of you.”
“I only knew that would make you want him more,” her grandmother replied, overhearing their conversation. “And that you would fight for him.”
Willow blushed.
“You did not approve of my grandson?” the Marquess demanded brusquely. “He is a fine catch!”
“Of course he is,” the Duchess soothed. “I knew they would be perfect for one another, and to ensure they realized it, I had to give my granddaughter an obstacle to overcome.”
“You gave me your own obstacle,” Willow said to Bedford. “Pretending to court Miss Fitzgerald made me miserable.”
“It made me miserable as well,” Bedford said, causing everyone to laugh.
Langley grabbed his wife’s hand and kissed it, and said, “Let us dance.”
“Langley! Whatever has come over you? You loath dancing!” the Countess jested.
“I am in a celebratory mood,” he said.
“Why is that?” Ivy inquired.
“Shall we tell them?” Langley whispered to his wife.
“In eight months, Malcolm will have a little brother or sister,” the Countess of Langley said shyly.
When the three couples had taken to the dance floor, the Duchess looked at her granddaughters with pride in her eyes. They had brought laughter and joy back into her home; she was no longer alone or lonely. She never could have guessed that her son’s indiscretions would give her a family she was proud of. Soon, Ivy and Willow would have children, and the thought of hearing soft, childish giggles filled her with delight. Through the years, she would watch their family grow.
She had done well for them.
Her gaze lingered on Ivy who looked like a young version of the Duchess. Ivy stared adoringly into her new husband’s eyes, the devotion and love she felt clearly evident for all to see. The Duchess’s heart beat once again with the remembrance of excitement, youth and love.
Yes, she had done well for them.
***
The smell of sea and fish assaulted Caldwell’s senses. He attempted to move, but his body ached in protest. As he regained full consciousness, he remembered his fight with Stanton. It had ended with Caldwell squirming on the ground in pain.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. He nearly screamed at his surroundings, but his throat was too dry, and no sound came out. A swarthy, stout man with a grizzly beard leaned over him, silhouetted by the rising sun. The scent of stale sweat, putrid deck wood and brine was overwhelming, and Caldwell wanted to turn his head and retch. The rocking of the sailing ship made his broken nose and bruised body throb.
The burly pirate cackled, showing decaying teeth. “Finally awake, are ye?”
“Where am I?” Caldwell asked, licking dry, cracked lips.
“Aboard the mighty Sea Serpent, bound fer America.”
Caldwell paled and tried to stand up. “But…how did I get here?” His head was fuzzy and his stomach rolled as the ship swayed on choppy waves.
His new companion shrugged. “Two men carried ye aboard last night with instructions te work ye hard an’ make sure ye earn ye keep. They brought with ’em a vast purse fer the captain to keep ye onboard.”
A sheen of sweat beaded Caldwell’s forehead, and he felt shaky. He had never done a hard day’s work in his life, and now he was on a ship in the middle of the sea being carried further and further away from his home. He figured at best it would take a month to get to America if the weather was favorable, and another to return.
“When do we head back to England?” Caldwell gripped the wooden rail without thinking and instantly gasped in pain due to the shattered bones in his swollen hand.
“A year. Maybe two,” the man said. “We aren’t just goin’ te America. Now that yer awake, grab that bucket an’ brush. The deck needs a good scrubbin’. If ye shirk yer duties, the captain has no qualms about throwin’ ye overboard an’ lettin’ the sharks take a bite out o’ ye.” The strapping sailor eyed Caldwell, taking in his broken nose, ruined hand, and grayish face. “An’ from the looks of ye, I doubt ye’d be able te swim three feet before the sharks get ye...”
Caldwell closed his eyes. This has to be a nightmare, he thought.
He heard scuffling around him, and as he opened his eyes again he saw the ship’s crew start to emerge from the doors hinged to the deck. One had an eye patch, and another had scars up and down his arms. They were all filthy, heavily tanned, hideous, muscular and scowling at him.
“Look at what we got ’ere,” a crewmember with very little neck taunted.
“Fresh meat,” another answered with a sinister grin.
Caldwell swallowed audibly as the group of men began to edge closer.
He wondered if he would ever see England again.
***
London, England
The Earl and Countess of Stanton left the Bellington Ball early and as they made their departure, the ballroom erupted into applause and laughter. Smiling, Cy whisked his bride away. He was planning on locking himself and his wife in the bedroom for a full week, and then maybe he would let them out to rejoin the world.
His
heart swelled when he escorted her into his townhouse. He would never have to be separated from her again. Her home was with him now, and he could not wait to have her in his bed, every night for the rest of their lives. The thought was both enjoyable and humbling.
When they were in the foyer, he scooped her up into his arms, causing her to laugh.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her face flushing beautifully.
“Taking you to bed. I thought it was obvious.”
“Of course. You have also alerted all our servants to your intention.”
He looked at her tenderly. “We are married, sweetheart. Let them speak of my love for you as well as my unquenchable desire.”
“There are worse things for them to know, I suppose,” she teased.
Carrying her up the stairs and down the hallway, he stopped in front of a closed door. “This is your room.”
Grasping the knob with one hand, he stepped into the bedroom. He enjoyed watching her mouth part in awe when she saw the splendor of the room. It was decorated in pale pink and white and lit with a dozen candles.
“I had the room redone. Do you like it?”
“It is beautiful. Will you put me down now?” she asked.
“No,” he said good-naturedly.
He went to the connecting door and pushed it open to reveal his own bedroom, adorned with dark wood furniture, and red linens that covered the massive bed. Candles were lit, gilding everything in romantic shadows. It was a room for passion.
Unceremoniously, he dropped her in the middle of his large, spacious bed. Her eyes tracked him, but she made no move to scramble away.
“I plan on doing a lot of things to you in this bed,” he said with a heated look.
“Things I will like?” she asked breathlessly.
“No doubt.”
“I was going to put on a lace nightgown,” she murmured as he began to strip out of his formal attire. He threw his jacket carelessly on the ground. His cravat followed moments later.
THE DEFIANT LADY Page 18
