Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  Faith and he watched with rapt attention, as if the event was intended for entertainment. Darien thought to help but knew he would only make matters worse. Ivy missed getting the first drop into Melody’s mouth, which only infuriated the wee lass more. He glanced at Faith to plead with her to do something. She gripped her hands and bit her lip, obviously determined not to interfere.

  Melody smacked when the first drop reached her mouth and her scrunched face softened to reveal wide dark eyes. She quieted, waiting for another. After the third drop, her breathing normalized. She quieted except for random post-tantrum hiccups.

  “There.” Ivy pressed Melody to her chest with a sigh of relief. “Jenny will be glad she quieted.”

  “How sheltered do you suspect me to be, Ivy? Who is the—” Faith pressed the back of her hand to her lips. She glanced at Darien, took a deep breath and said, “I cannot believe I have to ask this of my own sister, but who is the father?”

  Ivy said nothing, her gaze downcast in an unfamiliar gesture Darien did not care for. Ivy had always looked everything and everyone square in the eye.

  “Or do you know?” Faith continued, obviously not recognizing or not caring how much her words hurt her sister.

  “Someone who has more noble blood than your squalling brats ever will.” Darien strode to put his arm around Ivy.

  “Darien!” Ivy glanced up at him in sharp rebuke, but he thought he caught a hint of a smile in her eyes.

  “I suppose that answers my question.” Faith’s pinched-faced disapproval melted into a soft smile, almost causing Darien to regret his harsh tone.

  “And what do you two suppose to do about this situation?” Faith folded her arms over her chest, her self-righteous demeanor returning. “This child?”

  In response, Melody released a belch with the intensity of a drunken sailor then spit up a foul smelling spray upon Ivy’s light green gown.

  “What other people of our ilk do. Send her away to board with a country woman who has fourteen more. Melody will die before her second birthday and be out of our hair for good.” Ivy shifted Melody and rubbed her back apparently unconcerned with the tang of sour milk.

  Darien was once again thankful that he had been forced to refrain from his usual London drinking binge or Melody would not be the only one giving up their breakfast. He spotted a tea towel next to the basket of muffins and retrieved it for Ivy.

  “I meant, will you two really marry?” Faith said gently. “Change your ways, both of you?” she said with an extra sharp look for Darien. “Provide a wholesome environment?”

  Darien kept his mouth shut, waiting for Ivy to explain the situation to Faith so he could be enlightened as well.

  “I am sure whatever I do will disappoint your standards of morality,” Ivy said.

  Faith had always been a Goody Two-Shoes, crying to her parents if Darien so much as snuck a peck upon her beautiful sister’s long, supple neck.

  “I must go.” Faith settled her wide-brimmed hat on her head. “Gerome understands my need to visit, but he expects me not to make a spectacle of myself. I only came round to ask what scandal we should prepare ourselves for after Darien’s show at the ball. Now I see.”

  “You don’t see. Melody has nothing to do with what happened at the ball. I promise you that her existence will not further inflame your husband’s sense of moral outrage.”

  “I shan’t see you again until you have married the child’s father.” Faith paused by the door. “I know you think you are beyond all that Ivy, but you are not.” Instead of marching down the steps in her rigid indignation, Faith rushed toward Ivy and Melody. She embraced her sister and her child, then gently touched the baby’s head. “She is beautiful. Just like you,” Faith said to Ivy. “Take care of your mum. She needs someone to love.”

  Faith turned and rushed out the door.

  “Shall I strike Faith and Gerome from my proposed list of wedding guests?” Darien asked, hoping to gain a hint of a smile from Ivy.

  “Are we still welcome to accompany you to your family’s country estate?” Ivy stared at the door where her sister departed. “I do not intend to be separated from my daughter, so if private accommodations will be a problem—”

  “No problem at all.” Darien straightened, not sure what to make of Ivy’s sudden change but unwilling to ask, lest she alter her plans again.

  “Excellent. I’ll pack our trunks.” She strode down the hall and Darien followed, choosing his next words carefully.

  “You shall be in rather tight quarters with me. I hope that won’t trouble you.”

  Ivy paused on the top step and turned to face him. “Nothing shall please me more.”

  …and I’ve witnessed the pleasure she brings to your life.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I must remove my coat before I faint.” The noonday sun beat on the carriage and heated the interior like a hot house. Ivy gently dislodged Melody’s warm cheek from her damp skin. A puddle of drool had soaked through her Indian print chintz gown. “Might you hold her for a moment?”

  “Me?” Darien startled from his relaxed position on the wide leather seat across from her. His foot dropped to the carriage floor with a thud that sounded over the steady clop of the horses’ hooves. Melody jolted and abruptly opened her swollen eyes.

  “Do you see anyone else?” Ivy whispered and nestled Melody against her until she settled back into deep sleep. “It was your idea to leave for Westhaven at once. And without the aid of a single servant besides your driver. I told you you’d regret it.”

  “I aimed for discretion. For your sake, of course,” he added with a grin. His good humor evaporated the moment she once again urged him to take Melody. He backed against the padded seat, eyeing the small bundle with a slight grimace. “It’s not that I wish to be disagreeable, but I’ve never held a baby before. And she’s sleeping so peacefully.”

  “While I roast and you doze with your coat off, sleeves rolled and not so much as a cravat to prevent the breeze from cooling your skin.” Ivy balanced Melody with one hand while she leaned forward to remove her wool cloak herself.

  Darien attempted to assist her while keeping clear of contact with Melody. The carriage hit a rut, jostling Ivy almost out of her seat. Darien scooped up Melody before Ivy could dislodge her arm from the confines of her tangled coat.

  At first he held Melody at arm’s length like a potentially explosive champagne bottle. Slowly, he eased her nearer his chest, gaining a better grip. He smiled at Ivy with a mixture of satisfaction and relief.

  “She’s still asleep.” He sighed.

  Ivy finished removing her cloak but made no move to retrieve her little Melody. Cramped from cradling her all night, Ivy stretched the length of the seat, scooting over to get a better view from the carriage window.

  The green canopy of overgrowth cast a verdant glow from the sun’s theatrical backlighting. A searing blue sky peeked through the show of branches. After the constant grey of London, the sight stole her breath and stirred some vague seed of bliss Ivy had long ago forgotten. The city’s soot and grief seemed to dissipate in the wash of fresh country air.

  She glanced at Darien, a balm against the sharp edges of loss that had troubled her through the night. Darien had nestled Melody against his chest and she practically cooed with each deep, rhythmic breath. Not once in their travels had Ivy resorted to the opium tincture she feared the baby had been born addicted to.

  “I think she likes the carriage ride.” Darien effortlessly shifted her to the crook of one tanned arm. “She has a sweet face when it’s not crinkled and red.”

  “It’s the jostle. Or perhaps the clean air.” Ivy relaxed against the cushioned seat, determined to absorb every moment of her time with Darien and the lush English countryside. “I know it does wonders for me. I love it here.”

  “I’m sorry I made you leave.”

  She stiffened at the reminder that she could not truly escape her London troubles until she left English soil. Even in the wi
lds of Cornwall, her notorious reputation followed her, and she would not have an innocent babe painted red with that same brush. “Do we have to talk about the past?”

  “I would love nothing more than to never speak of it again.” He balanced Melody in one arm and reached a hand out to Ivy. “Darien Blackmore. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “How did you learn to do that?” Ivy asked, not wanting to play his silly game. They might not have to talk about their shared past, but it had carved deep wounds in both their hearts that would likely never be forgotten. “You said you never held a baby before.”

  “She’s like a lamb.” He shrugged. “I’ve nursed enough sick ones, I suppose. She looks comfortable enough.”

  “You know as much about child rearing as I do.” Ivy realized too late that she stumbled. “She was not born with a manual, and I fear my need for secrecy prevented me from consulting my female relatives. Not that any acknowledge me anyway.”

  Darien glanced at her sharply, but his tight jaw warned that he struggled to remain silent. Perhaps he was serious about his pledge to not question her about Melody’s origins. Even so, Ivy needed to adjust to having a daughter and invent a morally acceptable story for how she came to have an infant without a husband about.

  “Thank you for accepting Melody and not bothering me further on the subject.” Ivy returned to the middle of the wide leather seat and held out her arms for her daughter. Darien glanced down at the sleeping infant and shook his head. Though Ivy knew she should enjoy the short break, she curled her hands around the leather seat’s padding, wishing Melody did not look so cozy with Darien.

  “And thank you for agreeing to come with me last night,” he said in hushed tones. “I think I should have warned you about the living conditions.”

  “I know it will not be easy, Darien. None of it will. To be honest, I am not sure how I will feel setting foot on Westhaven soil again. I have so many fond memories of the place that I fear they will overwhelm me with…” Ivy swallowed the word regret in honor of their mutual pact. Her engagement to Darien had been the happiest time in her life.

  “You won’t be on Westhaven soil. You’ll be on Darien Blackmore soil. I have my own land, my own house.”

  “I have to say I am quite relieved.” Though Westhaven’s sprawling manor could house Parliament, Ivy had worried that it might not be large enough for her to hide Melody’s existence.

  “I suggest you reserve your judgment. My house is rather sparse. I suppose I went a little extreme in my quest for simplicity. Feel free to order or buy anything you might need to be comfortable. In fact, you would do me a favor if you could civilize the place a bit.”

  “Are you asking me to decorate your home?”

  “Let’s just say I’m asking you to brace yourself.”

  ***

  When the carriage wheels crunched onto the gravel-strewn yard then rolled to a stop, Ivy thought they had merely arrived at a large, stone caretaker’s house on the perimeter of Darien’s estate.

  “We’re here,” he said and anxiously jumped down before the driver could properly rein in the horses.

  Ivy shifted Melody, her slight weight feeling as though it had quadrupled during the long journey. Sliding across the leather seat to exit the carriage caused Ivy’s stiff muscles to scream in protest. “Can you drive me to the main house? My arms ache from holding her. I don’t think I’ll survive a long walk.”

  “Ivy…” For the first time in their long acquaintance Darien appeared to be at a loss of words. “This is the house.”

  She stared past him, examining a second time the rustic stone building with its thatched roof. On closer scrutiny she saw that paned glass filled the windows, though the dirt encrusting them lent to a deserted feel.

  “I tried to warn you.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful. I love it.” Darien helped her down from the carriage and she tried to hide her dismay. “No, this is…” She struggled to find an apt description that did not sound rude or like an outright lie. “Cozy.”

  The house built of river rocks sported a matching well in the front and a babbling brook skirting beside it. The upper windows attested to a second floor but also a definite shortage of rooms. “Where will the servants sleep?”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to offer you. I should have thought this out better. I don’t have access to the main house. In fact, I’m not really allowed on the property.”

  “What?”

  “Westhaven cut me off, remember?”

  “But not completely.”

  “Yes, completely.”

  “But I thought that was only if you did not marry me.”

  “Not only was I not supposed to marry you, I had to marry Philip’s fiancée, Caroline Maddox. Arianna’s older sister, remember her?”

  “Vaguely.” Ivy recalled a beautiful girl who eventually wed a politician and had a bundle of children. “But surely your mother would not stand for your father’s heavy-handedness.”

  “No, she did what he wanted. And I would not put her in the middle anyway. She was devastated over Philip’s death. I had some money of my own and when that ran out, Hank took me in for awhile. I don’t know if you heard, but I was drinking quite a bit.”

  “How could I not? That was the point, wasn’t it, Darien? To make a spectacle of yourself, to embarrass your father and hurt me.” The only person named Hank Ivy could recall was the son of one of Westhaven’s many tenants and a childhood friend of Darien’s. That Darien would be cast out like a wayward dog, living in the shadows of his father’s grandeur, infuriated Ivy.

  “That fire in your eyes warns me that we are venturing into turbulent waters so I shall play the gentleman and ignore that last comment.” Darien stuck his hands casually in his pockets, tilted his head and studied her.

  His assessing gaze and a little too-satisfied grin warned that she gave away too much. Did he ever suspect how she would coolly devour every scrap of news about him then wait to be alone to cry herself to numb exhaustion? She stared at the simple stone dwelling as if marveling at the architecture of a Gothic cathedral.

  “Hank and I experimented with a new breed of sheep and I discovered there is actually money to be made by hard work.” He came to stand by her side, and the timbre of his voice vibrated along her nerve endings. “I was able to purchase a few acres of adjoining land when it came upon the market. This is all mine.” Darien stepped in front of her and spread his arms wide as if he were showing her the whole of Westhaven instead of what looked to be a stone shed surely built by a crofter.

  “Well, I think it is truly lovely.” Her smile was genuine and he must have sensed her pleasure because he abruptly turned away.

  “Let’s go in, then.” He strode to the rough-hewn door and opened it. “The interior needs a bit more work.”

  Ivy followed, suddenly enchanted by Darien’s home, despite her first impression. This small tenant farm felt more welcoming to Ivy than the large estate that she and Darien would have shared had they wed. An intended gift from Darien’s mother, the regal manor had caused Ivy a vague sense of dread the moment the carriage passed beneath the ironwork gates.

  At the time, she had attributed her unease to the idea of being the mistress of such a formal manor. She had clutched Darien’s hand as he’d guided her up the grey marble steps. A liveried servant opened the tall oak doors and bowed at their entry into a large octagon foyer shadowed by an enormous crystal chandelier. Ivy had imagined the very formal butler examined her beneath his lowered head, sizing her up and finding her lacking.

  The clarity of the forgotten memory forced Ivy to return to the present. To think of all her younger self would one day have to endure made her sad. And that would not do. Instead, she focused her recollection on a heated encounter, a few stolen moments in one of the many upstairs bedchambers, and how they had come so close on many occasions, but never consummated their relationship. At least that one injustice would finally be corrected.

  Ivy
relished watching the older, but-obviously-no-wiser Darien, a permanent sardonic glint in his dark eyes, walk backwards while she stumbled to find proper footing. She gripped her skirts with her free hand to avoid dragging the hem in the wild, weedy flowers that sprouted along the overgrown walkway.

  “I hope you don’t mind the close quarters. There might be room for a nurse for the baby.” Darien gracefully maneuvered the mismatched stones, eyeing Ivy like innocent prey he lured to his den.

  Luckily, Ivy was far from innocent. She returned Darien’s intimate stare with an equally searing one of her own, one that had been known to prompt even the most craven of men to stutter.

  Darien did not falter, though his breathing increased. A thick lock of hair fell over one eye, lending a sinister appeal to his dark gypsy features.

  He stopped the moment he reached the door, blocking her way. Melody slept heavily on her chest, and Ivy tightened her grip in a protective gesture, not exactly sure what mischief Darien had in mind. She tipped her head up, hoping he would kiss her.

  “If you are truly uncomfortable, I might make arrangements for you at the inn. Though I would not allow you to stay there alone, so we would be back to the same trouble.”

  “And are you the trouble, sir?”

  “I certainly am.” He grinned and closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him while leaving space for Melody.

  Darien lowered his mouth to hers, but stopped short, their lips mere inches apart. “I want to pretend the last ten years never happened. If only for a night, a week, or whatever you’ll allow me.”

  “One month,” Ivy said without hesitation. She sensed that he, too, recalled the day they had driven out to inspect his mother’s estate. The last day they had been alone together until now.

  Again, she forced those thoughts aside as Darien stared into her face, perhaps trying to find the young girl she once was. For both their sakes, Ivy fought the urge to warn him she no longer existed. They deserved this brief interlude no matter the cost to either of their emotional health. He hesitated a moment longer, then slowly lowered his head to kiss her. She parted her lips, but the soft pass of his mouth over hers tempered her invitation. Even so, her body responded with a flood of wet heat between her thighs. She had been ready for him since that summer day long ago.