Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  “Whiskey,” Darien said to the bartender, silencing his promise to Ivy. He doubted she expected him to survive the meeting with his father stone-cold sober. “Irish if you have it.”

  Darien almost wept when he spotted the Kilbeggan label on the bottle the servant scavenged from behind the peach brandy and smuggled French cognac. The moment the crystal-stemmed glass grazed the polished counter, he greedily downed the whiskey despite his father’s cold blue stare and a mild plea from his anemic conscience.

  “Leave the bottle,” his father said. “Why are you here, Darien?”

  “To ruin your party, of course.” Darien leaned against the bar, his back to the nearly full bottle so temptingly close.

  “Why?” His father slugged back the dregs of his drink, matching Darien’s enthusiasm. The servant promptly refilled the earl’s goblet as if he’d been instructed to do nothing else all night.

  Darien paused to study his father. To really look at him for the first time in years. Perhaps for the first time ever. Tallish and stout, with thick bushy eyebrows that gave him a permanent scowl, the man had always scared Darien. Even as a baby, his mother said his face would collapse and he’d wail if his father so much as leaned over the crib. They’d been avoiding each other ever since.

  “You certainly don’t look the happy groom,” Darien observed dryly. Though his father wore what appeared to be a freshly tailored suit, the severe black wool with matching velvet piping appeared too big and drooping off the slant of his once stern shoulders. Hell, it looked more like something one would commission for a burial rather than a ball. If it were anyone else, Darien might be concerned. Gregory Blackmore was too stubborn to succumb to the petty tyranny of old age. His father detested weakness of any kind in a man. A woman could be indulged, but a man? Not bloody likely. Especially a son.

  “For once in your pathetic excuse for a life, don’t be an ass,” his father barked. “I’ve no patience for it anymore.”

  “Anymore?” Darien laughed. “Well I guess I must start behaving myself. Why did you not say so before?”

  “Don’t ruin this for me. For us.”

  “Us. I don’t see how this arrangement will benefit me in the least.”

  “I can still make you suffer. You might own that measly piece of land outside the estate, but I don’t have to let you have the run of the estate’s herd or her grazing pastures. I could shut your little sheep-breeding enterprise down anytime I choose.”

  “And then you’d lose the income. And your most productive tenant. Hank has aligned himself with me in case you have not noticed.” Darien straightened, smugly satisfied until he noticed that his father no longer towered over him. He was taller, but not more than an inch or so. And Darien sure as hell had not started to sprout in his third decade.

  “Are you so selfish that you would ask a good man to leave the land his family has lived upon for generations, where they have buried their kin?” His father shook his head in sheer disgust, a gesture Darien had become all too familiar with over the years. “Hank has a sister and a stillborn daughter in the estate’s cemetery along with his parents and grandparents. And what would you do? Have him cram his wife and his children on your spit of land?”

  “There is other land for sale.” Darien waved away the hovering bartender and poured himself another drink, hating the way his father always succeeded in painting him as a petulant child. He had forgotten about the stillborn girl who had almost broken Hank’s wife’s spirit. He had no idea Hank had lost a sister.

  “Then by all means, purchase land as far away from your family home as possible. But don’t drag a man from his people on a whim.” His father downed another cognac but put his hand over the glass when the servant went to fill it once again. “Perhaps I could use some food. They will be making the announcement soon.”

  The servant nodded and went to do his father’s bidding. Interesting. The buffet table was usually his father’s only incentive to leave the all male card room to make the proper appearances at formal balls. Especially one where he was the guest of honor.

  “Hiding?” Darien asked. “Are you not to be circulating, dancing with your soon-to-be child bride?”

  His father hated dancing and glared at Darien.

  “Did you travel all the way to London to harass me? Is your life that lonely?”

  Darien shrugged off the taunt about his being lonely, though his father, predator that he was, no doubt noticed his downcast gaze. Most likely, they both were, but Darien refused to let that soften his ire.

  “I came here to stop this atrocity of a wedding. Have not enough people been sacrificed to your need for a dynasty?” Darien did not dare mention Robert. Robert’s education and current position were dependent on the earl’s good favor.

  “You want to stop this wedding, Darien, then you marry Arianna Maddox. Though I don’t think the chit’s going to be any happier with a drunk who smells of sheep shit than an old man.”

  “Let it go. Philip died. Surely Maddox cannot continue to enforce a betrothal contract under the circumstances.” Darien paused to gauge his father’s reaction. As always, a shadow of pain crossed his father’s face. He bent his head to hide the guilty telltale gesture that time had not corrected in the least.

  “Why are you so determined to let our name die with your brother?” His father lifted his gaze to Darien’s but the fierce bravado he obviously tried to muster never materialized. “Arianna’s a lovely girl. Have you met her?”

  “I was engaged once. That’s enough.”

  “And you brought her here. Are you finally getting your turn with the infamous beauty? She’s a bit long in the tooth now, isn’t she?”

  Darien jerked from his relaxed position, his shoulders squared and his body tensed for a fight.

  “If you weren’t a doddering old fool, I’d drag you out back and deliver a blow for every year you stole from us. I would be doing the world a favor by putting you out of your misery.”

  “And what good would that do, Darien?” His father’s quiet question was more unnerving than the violent response he would have given in his prime.

  “Perhaps I’d finally find out what happened to Philip.”

  “It was a hunting accident.”

  “It was murder.”

  His father reached for the whiskey bottle left by the servant and filled Darien’s glass to the rim.

  “I don’t want to discuss this further. Not now. Not ever again.” He handed Darien the crystal glass, freshly topped with his favorite form of self-sabotage. In the past, it had made his father’s edicts easier to swallow.

  “Until you tell me exactly what happened to my brother, you will never hear the end of this.”

  Darien set his full drink on the counter and walked from the room, determined to find justice, not only for his brother, but for Ivy.

  ***

  Ivy scanned the crowd, searching for Darien while avoiding accidental eye-contact with Faith. She did appear wan, and Ivy feared her condition reflected something other than having her soiled laundry sashaying about with a peacock feather waving in her hair. Though Ivy longed to go to her, she did not want to cause her sister any more strain tonight.

  Ivy wandered through the opened rooms of the first floor, finally nudging herself into the crowd gathered around the line of dancers in the ballroom. A country jig that sounded distinctly Irish caused the dancers to let down their guards and kick up their heels to the infectious music. Ivy tapped her toe, longing for the days when she could stroll onto the floor without comment and lose herself in the communal gaiety.

  Despite knowing she shouldn’t, Ivy scanned the dancers for Faith. She loved to dance even more than Ivy. But no grey drab blotted the bursts of color that flashed by as the couples joined arms and skipped in a circle. Faith’s Puritanical, do-gooder husband no doubt whisked her away before anyone recalled his wife was once Ivy’s sister and confidant. At least Faith had married for love. If Ivy had known her sister would pick someone who thought
being poor was a virtue, she might have done a few things differently. Just as well. The money she had procured for Faith’s dowry had instead provided the down payment for Ivy’s house in Cornwall.

  The grim-faced Henry Maddox lurched in front of the musicians and stopped them from starting up their next song. Ivy stood on her toes to see if that girl of his had gained a whit of sense and snuck out the door and into the arms of Robert Fitzgerald.

  Before she completed her scan of the crowd gathered around Maddox, a strong arm snuck beneath her breasts and hauled her against a large, sweaty male body. Though the crowd around him disguised his actions, his audacity once again spoke to his youth. Apparently he’d just gotten off the dance floor and damp heat seeped from beneath his suit.

  “I missed you at the masquerade,” he whispered in her ear.

  Ivy leaned her head back to look at the grinning young man whom she had intended to meet before she’d run into Darien. “But were you not dressed as a sultan? I was disguised as a boy. Does a blue silk suit refresh your memory?”

  He released her immediately.

  “I was not dressed as a sultan. I was a swashbuckler.”

  Ivy shrugged. “That’s a shame.”

  Heads turned in their direction. Ivy grinned as seductively as she possibly could and wished she held an apple. One man let his gaze linger, meeting Ivy’s smirk in kind until his wife smacked him on the shoulder with her fan.

  “Everyone, everyone, can we quiet down for a moment,” shouted Henry Maddox over the curious buzz.

  “Here we go. It’s Judgment Day,” Ivy said to no one in particular.

  And right on cue, Darien came sprinting through the crowd, causing murmurs and grunts in his wake. “Thank you, Henry. I’ll take it from here.”

  Henry stared gape-mouthed, obviously not sure what to do with Darien charging at him. Finally he came to his senses and signaled to someone. Ivy spotted a burly footmen coming to attention. She hoped he was bringing assistance because whatever Darien had decided to do, it would surely take more than one muscular gent and Henry Maddox to stop him.

  “Do we have an arrangement or not?” growled the younger man into her ear.

  Ivy scanned the crowd again for Faith and prayed she had gone.

  “I know you all came here out of respect for my father, and believe it or not, that’s why I came as well.” Darien rested his right hand on his heart in a testament to his sincerity.

  The large crowd fell immediately silent and Henry let his hand drop from Darien’s sleeve. He signaled for his footman to heel for the time being.

  “I know our family differences have been almost public record, but it’s time to let bygones be bygones and start fresh with a new future.”

  Ivy stared at Darien and remembered him from years before, when he was so incredibly charming, so damned irresistible. Everyone had loved him then. Could Darien’s earlier disappearance with his father actually have resulted in some sort of reconciliation? After all the pain she had personally endured in the battle between father and son, she prayed that such a miracle could still occur.

  “Ivy, can you come up here and join me?” Darien yelled, apparently searching the crowd for her.

  She made a move for the door, but some smiling guests gathered to block her exit.

  “Here she is,” someone yelled and pointed.

  She glared at the gape-toothed sod and barely resisted smashing her heel on his toe because, despite her current situation, her mother had raised her to be a lady.

  “Come, Ivy. Father knows of our news and is thrilled. Join me, sweetheart.”

  A mischievous grin tugged at Darien’s mouth. Oh, he always enjoyed to playact, didn’t he?

  She shook her head so violently that her peacock feather almost came loose.

  In her urgent need to escape she had not noticed, but did now, that Maddox’s guard had reached Darien and tried to escort him from the stage. Darien did a wonderful job of shrugging off the man’s attempts without losing his smile.

  “Ivy Templeton and I have renewed our engagement. Henry, thank you for letting us share our news at your marvelous ball.”

  Ivy did not stay to discover what happened next. She used her elbow to create a path to the door despite grunts and squeaks from the fools who did not have the sense to get out of her way. She raced down the marble front steps without looking into a single stunned face. Though she was publicly deserting Darien a second time, she had no intention of seeking his forgiveness ever again.

  In time, I hope you will come to appreciate that the burden I am laying upon your shoulders…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Melody’s wail greeted Ivy the moment Samuel yanked open the front door. The shrieks reverberating through the ball after Darien’s announcement had already numbed her abused hearing. Were those actually cheers she had heard when Darien made his announcement?

  “Miss Templeton, you are a welcome sight. I was debating on whether I should send someone to retrieve you. Our most recent nurse has quit.”

  “The little coward did not last a single night.” Ivy stumbled through the door and ripped the wilted peacock feather from her hair. She had dashed down several blocks and cut through an alley to find an available hack to transport her home.

  “I fear so, madam. I begged her to stay, even offered to raise her wages, but she refused. Little Miss Melody has been crying since the moment you walked out the door.”

  “Ivy! Why the hell did you run out like that?”

  She turned to find Darien pushing past the front door. He must have found his carriage immediately and raced through the streets like a mad man to be so close behind her.

  “Go away, Darien. I’m in no mood for you right now.”

  Ivy paced the length of her four-foot-wide black and white tiled hallway, struggling between the need to go to Melody and her promise to keep Diana’s child a secret.

  “I thought you would be happy.”

  She froze, slowly turned and walked toward Darien. He smelled of cigar smoke, whiskey and horse sweat. “You’re drunk. How could you, Darien? I try to help you and this is how you repay me.”

  “I’m not drunk. I could not stand how people were treating you and …my father said if I married then he would have no reason to marry Arianna.”

  “You are lying. I do not believe for a moment your father would have agreed to such nonsense, especially if he suspected the bride would be me,” she yelled, her voice drowning out Melody’s. Or perhaps her little angel had just paused to gather her breath for another ear splitting scream.

  “He may have specified Arianna,” Darien said as he shrugged, “but that would not serve our purposes, would it?”

  “I met the girl Arianna and I seriously doubt she has the backbone to deny her parents’ wishes. And that would only be the first step in a long arduous journey. Not everyone finds being an outcast something to revel in, Darien.”

  “But we have given her the first step.” Darien approached Ivy. “Now that I am out of the woodwork, so to speak, and engaged to boot, she will see that my son will inherit before any she might have.”

  “Are you mad?” Ivy lifted her hand to halt Darien’s approach. Did he think they would embrace and all would be forgotten? “I think you have truly destroyed your reasoning power. Please tell me this was not your plan all along.”

  “I didn’t have a plan. I never have a plan. You know that.”

  “I know, Darien. How well I know.” Ivy closed her eyes. She had settled her hopes on a quiet life with a few friends, perhaps even a man she could care for, even for a short while, nothing more. Silence answered her wistful plea. Melody? At least her wails let Ivy know she was still breathing.

  “Samuel,” Ivy called.

  “Yes, madam,” he said behind her. “I have brandy warming in the parlor for Lord Blackmore. Shall I provide some sandwiches?”

  “I would not refuse cold porridge. I’m famished.” Darien rubbed his flat belly in response to Ivy’s glare. “I
’ll eat anything that’s not too much effort. Perhaps cold roast beef?”

  “We have a lovely beef, my lord. I shall fetch it right away.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind. Who is attending to Melody?”

  Her stoic Scottish butler paled. “Well, cook tried and then the maid fussed with her a bit. I must say that my skills do not extend—”

  “Show Lord Blackmore to the door.” Ivy headed for the stairs.

  “Ivy, I’m not leaving until you let me explain.”

  “We are through. I feel whatever debt I owed you has been paid in full. If you had even hinted at what you had in mind I would never have exposed myself to such public ridicule. I have had enough scandal to last a lifetime.” Ivy’s throat became tight. “Good night and goodbye, Darien.”

  She marched up the stairs, refusing to steal a last glimpse at him, and at the same time, vowing that this would not be their final parting.

  “I’m not leaving. Not again.”

  Ivy’s maid appeared at the top of the stairs with Melody, a wool-encased bundle, in her arms. “I think we should summon a doctor right away.”

  Ivy raced up the steps, Darien forgotten. She took the child and uncoiled the wool blanket to find Melody red-faced and tearstained but meekly silent. Thick mucus bubbled from her nose with every strained breath.

  “How long has she been like this? She’s burning up.”

  Ivy carried Melody down the steps frantically wondering whom she could call upon or what she should do. She survived a smashed reputation, but saving a sick infant’s life sent Ivy into panicked desperation.

  Darien stared wide-eyed as she strode across the foyer with Melody tightly clutched in her arms.