by Alexia Praks
“Ah, that, not too long, your grace. In fact, the lady said you are to meet her daughter on Tuesday at her country house, Michaels Mansion, three more days, during the afternoon.”
“Indeed,” Max said cynically.
“Aye, your grace, so sudden. I wondered why she didn’t wait until the season start.”
“She is perhaps in desperate need of money. Besides, if I were to court Lady Ivy during the season in London, the ton would surely know and Lady Westwood could not risk that.”
“I assume then that she intended to keep this hush, hush?”
Max nodded.
“I assume then she would also try to find a suitable husband for her daughter as well while this is happening?”
“I presume so. You look very taken aback, Murphy.”
“She is a very shrewd woman.” Murphy yawned. “I must say, ‘tis getting very late. I will be off to bed now.” He got up and stretched his back. It cracked as he did so. “Oh dear me, I am much too old now.” He laughed. “Good night,” he said, straightened his coat, and walked to the door. There he turned once more to look at Max, nodded, and then left.
Max turned his thought to his future mistress. So he was to meet her in three days. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as he contemplated the scene that would take place when they were to meet. No doubt, Lady Grace Westwood would be very shock indeed to see him.
He grabbed for the glass of whisky and dumped the rest of the amber liquid down his throat. It burnt hot inside him, down to his stomach. He shut his eyes and savored the hot intense feeling. He placed the glass on the table and strolled upstairs.
In his room, he stood there in the glowing candlelight, naked. His strong, muscular body bathed in the golden halo as the light from the candles danced about the room.
He climbed into bed.
Once again, he was on the road to completing his goal—the goal to ruin Lady Grace Westwood’s life and everything that she held dear.
He was getting drowsy. The wine acted like a drug that helped him to sleep. If he didn’t have it, he would find himself spending an enormous amount of time thinking about anything and everything through the night, and most of the time it was about Dominic; his guidable brother.
What had made Dominic think that he could beat the earl in the duel and win Grace back? Didn’t he know that Grace had never planned to come back to him? That she was just having her fun and didn’t give a damn about his pathetic life?
His mind switched to the raven hair girl who had the nerve to come into his room and touch his bed. In his mind’s eyes he saw her standing in this very room, with her black hair floating about her back, her violet eyes were soft, her lips were rosy, and her face blushed to perfection. His groins tightened again. He shifted so that his body was lying on his side, easing his hardening member. His legs ached to intertwine with hers, pulling her body closer toward his. He ached to go inside her.
He flashed his eyes open. Why the hell did he want her? Oh God, but he wanted her. He hadn’t had a woman for three weeks, and he ached to have a woman in his bed. He reasoned himself that since she was the very last woman he had seen, and a very beautiful one at that, he fantasized about her. Aye, he couldn’t deny himself that he wanted her. He turned again and then drifted off into a slumber.
CHAPTER 6
“Come now, m’ lady, ‘tis time for you to dress up for the meeting,” Mrs. Johnson said. “We must get this done quickly afore Her Ladyship is here.”
Ivy looked up to Mrs. Johnson and Rena, and there on the bed was the day dress she was to wear for the meeting.
She sighed, her heart quivering at the very thought on what was about to happen to her. She stood up and allowed the two women to dress her.
Twenty minutes later, she looked at herself in the mirror. The day dress of Jonquil color fit her body to perfection. The décolletage made her feel very uncomfortable, however. It displayed a generous proportion of her skin, and because of the new stay designed to push up her rather small breasts, this made her breasts looked bountiful. She did not like that one bit. She felt hollow and bare as though she was a Cyprian, which was undoubtedly going to be her future. The sleeves, too, were but slimly straps of materials that barely covered her arms and especially not very decent in this type of weather. The rest of the thin muslin fabrics flowed freely from just under her breasts down to the floor. Her dark hair was fashioned into ringlets about the nape of her neck and there were tendrils about the side of her face.
“You look very beautiful, m’ lady,” Rena said in awe.
“Indeed, m’ lady, you’re very beautiful,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Ivy nodded. Though she admitted she looked fetching indeed, she did not want her mother to see her thus. Somehow, the woman would always find some faults in her no matter what. She could not understand why her mother would go to such length to show her hatred.
Grace walked into the room at that moment and stopped. “So you are almost finished?” she boomed out coldly.
Ivy stiffened. She kept her head held high, however, and she stared fixedly at her reflection in the mirror.
“M’ lady,” Mrs. Johnson said.
“I do hope you take good care of the dress, Mrs. Johnson,” the skinny woman snapped, “for Her Ladyship had paid many blunts for it, if you must know.” She perched her lips into a thin line as she glared at the plump housekeeper.
“Do not worry, Ms Gale, I have taken specific care for the dress,” Mrs. Johnson said. Gale sneered.
“Enough, Gale, do go down and await our guest. He is due to arrive very soon,” Grace ordered.
The maid nodded. She left the room after glaring darkly at the housekeeper.
Grace walked toward Ivy. “Well, daughter, ‘tis time, and as I have warned you before, do not, I repeat, do not disgrace me this time. I do not want a scene like the last time with Lord McNeil. Do you understand?”
Slowly, Ivy raised her head and stared at her mother. “I will not meet him.”
Grace’s green eyes flared. Her hand rose to the air. It flew down halfway when it stopped.
Ivy held her breath as she stared up at the hand in midair. Her heart drummed in her chest. Mrs. Johnson whimpered and Rena gripped her skirt. They, too, stared at the hand up in the air.
Grace lowered her hand. Ivy sighed, and the two servants breathed with relief.
“You dare to disobey me, Ivy? How dare you? You will go down when he arrives and present yourself to him as befit of you to be his mistress.”
“I will not,” Ivy said calmly.
“Oh yes you will, my dear daughter. If you do not obey me this time I will punish you, do you understand?”
“I will despise him, Mama.”
“I don’t give a damn whether you despise him or not. All I care is that he has money, lots of money, and I for once will be able to live easy and so will you. There will be no more debts.” Grace grabbed her daughter’s arms and shook her hard. Once she thought she had knocked enough sense into the girl’s head, she released her.
Grace turned around and walked toward the window. From where she stood she could see an elegant landau driving up to the courtyard. She smiled then, forgotten about her anger.
The carriage stopped, and she saw a man came out. He was handsomely dressed with dark trousers and coat. Beneath his dark hat she saw flaxen hair. She could not tell, however, who he was or how old he was for he was too far away for her to see properly. He was now approaching the door.
She turned toward the girl then. She smiled and said, “He is here. Come down in fifteen minutes and if you do not then, why, I shall order Gale to come and escorted you herself, do you understand?” She smiled with satisfaction when she saw Ivy’s face turning pale with horror. She walked out the room.
Ivy took a deep breath and collapsed on the bed. Mrs. Johnson came around and placed her arms around Ivy’s shoulders.
“Now, dear, calm yourself down. I am sure ‘tis not bad as you might have thought. Th
is duke might be nice and care for you, you understand. Everything is going to be all right.” She stroked the girl’s shoulder.
“But I won’t love him, Mrs. Johnson. I do not want to be a mistress to that man or any man.”
“Oh, m’ lady, everything will be all right, I’m sure,” Rena said and wiped her tears with her sleeves.
“I don’t want to go down and meet him.”
“Now, m’ lady, you do not want that old witch to come up here to your room. We don’t want that old witch to come to your room either. She is capable of anything,” Mrs. Johnson said, remembering the last time Gale came to Ivy’s room. By the time she had finished, Ivy was all black and blue. Aye, that Gale had whipped Lady Ivy because Lady Westwood had ordered her to do so.
“Nay, I don’t want her to come to my room. She scared me that Gale.” Ivy shuddered.
“She scared me, too. I think she is evil that woman, a witch!” Rena said her body shaking in reactions.
“What shall I do?” Ivy asked no one in particular.
“You must go down, m’ lady, go down and face the dragon. ‘Tis your life, perhaps if you get to be alone with the duke you might ask him to break the contract. Perhaps he is nice and understanding if you plead with him,” Mrs. Johnson suggested.
“Perhaps I could,” Ivy said. She had to beg him to break the contract. She must. She prayed the Lord to help her. This was her life, and she must at all cost get out of this evil arrangement. She must!
***
Grace smiled when she heard Ivy crying softly on the other side of the door. Then she descended the stairs. Once she landed on the ground floor, she stopped, took a deep breath, and arranged herself into order. She tucked down her sleeves, straightened her skirt, patted her beautifully formed hair, and pinched her cheeks to get some color. Satisfied, she advanced toward the parlour. She stopped at the doorway when she saw her guest’s back.
He was tall, she realized, and very big. His large frame dominated the small parlour. She saw his blonde hair glittering under the afternoon light. He looked too young to be a very rich, old duke who wanted Ivy as his mistress. But it was none of her business for as long as she gets her fair share, she was happy.
She walked into the room. She saw that Gale was as pale as a ghost. The woman was trembling. What was wrong with her maid? Gale was usually the one that made others tremble before her, not the other way around. She shook her head at her maid in disgusted and turned toward the important guest before them.
“Your grace, I am sorry that I was not here to greet you when you came in,” she said apologetically, “mayhap if you could sit down for a while. I am Lady Grace Westwood, sir.”
Her guest turned and said, “I know who you are, Lady Westwood.”
Grace frowned for a moment, and then as recognition smacked her in between the eyes, she paled. She felt as though her corset was squeezing the very life out of her. She choked on her breath.
Lord, this could not be. There must be something wrong with her eyes.
“Nice that we are meeting again, Lady Westwood,” Maximilian said and laughed, his deep voice rumbled with pleasure when he saw her pale face.
“You, you are...”
“Aye, my lady, I am the Duke of Lynwood and, my lady, your daughter’s patron,” he said mockingly.
“The Duke of Lynwood, you say?” she whispered.
“Indeed, my lady,” he supplied as he stared hard at the woman who was shaking her head up at him.
“It cannot be, but how? You were dead. Liam shot you in the duel. You died,” she uttered in disbelieve. “I was there.”
Max’s face hardened. He gritted his teeth and said coldly, “Ah, it is rather a long story, my lady, perhaps it could wait until we are more acquainted first?” He walked to the sofa near the hearth and sat down. The glow of the fire warmed his cold cheeks. The room smelt musty and dammed--a smell that reminded him of his pathetic past.
“You were the one that asked for my daughter?”
“Indeed, my lady.” His eyes narrowed at her discomfort. His heart felt light and fulfilled.
Grace shook her head. How could this be happening?
She turned to her maid and said, “Gale, please leave, I need to talk to the duke privately.”
Gale nodded and left the room in a hurry.
Max narrowed his eyes.
Grace took a deep breath and rushed to him. “Your grace, I realized that you are doing this to hurt me, are you not?”
He raised his left brow. “Is that what you think?”
“Indeed I do,” she said. “But you see...” She dropped down to her knees beside him. She bent her head back as she gazed up at him. She breathed deeply and slowly so that her nearly naked breasts rise and fall. She took her advantage, exposing them to him, making him hunger for her like before. He was her lover once, a very long time ago, though he was but a poor boy then. Lord, he wasn’t even as handsome as he was now. His strong feature quickened her heart, and he was also a duke. Not just any duke but the famous Duke of Lynwood. She could have him, and for that, she would do anything to get him back for herself.
She moved forward, her hands gripping on the material of the sofa near him. Her breasts were touching his thigh. Her eyes, she was trying to make them look as soft as possible.
Max was disgusted at what he saw. This woman knew how to play a trick, but he was a man of the world. He knew how these women play their artful ploys, and he was not falling for it. So he stared down at her with contempt.
“You must know, your grace...Dominic,” she said softly, using his name, “that you are wrong. You are wrong to be doing this to hurt me. It was not my fault that I married Liam. It was Papa, he made me married the earl. I didn’t want to but Papa insisted, Dominic, ‘tis not my fault, you are wrong to do this to me. Do you ever think about me? How much I have suffered?” She climbed onto the seat beside him and her hands came to touch his arm.
“Please, Dominic, think of me, I am truly sorry. Truly I am, Dominic,” she whispered as she stared into his eyes.
Max stared at the woman acting in front of him. Lord, she was so shallow that it sickened him. He was glad, however, that she thought him his older brother. Nobody knew he had a brother except for Merrick Hasting, his best friend and business partner, the Earl of Huntingdon, and Grace herself, but she seemed to have forgotten that fact. And that he, Maximilian Devilyn—the younger brother of Dominic Devilyn by three years—might be masquerading as Dominic himself at this very moment had never entered her mind. Did she not know that her husband had been a damn good shooter and that a bullet shot to the heart was fatal!
He was not surprised though sine he knew from the beginning that his plan would work perfectly. He and Dominic, after all, had looked almost identical when they were young. And so he masquerading as Dominic was no problem at all.
“I see that you remembered our past encounter, Grace. So it was your father that insisted you marry this Lord Liam Westwood?” He raised his brows and smiled at her mockingly.
“Indeed, ‘tis father, it was his idea. I do love you, Dominic. I love you so much and I ache to be with you. I missed those times when we were together, when we were lovers.” She moved her head down toward his shoulder and kissed his neck. “I missed the way you kissed me, the way you hold me, Dominic,” she said softly as she moved closer to him.
“Why didn’t you stop the duel?” he asked sharply.
She looked at him and frowned. “Err, Liam is stubborn. He had insisted that you were ruining my name. I do love you, Dominic. I tried to stop him, I truly did. But you’re all right, I mean look at you now.” She smiled uncomfortably as he stared at her as thought he wanted to murder her.
Max wanted to push the woman away. He felt as though there was a leech—an ugly one at that—was sticking onto his skin and sucking his blood like those stupid doctors used to cure sick people. He turned his head away in disgust.
The instant he turned, he saw her.
She was d
ressed in a yellow day dress. The muslin material snuggled to her body perfectly and her glorious dark hair was formed on her head with various tendrils dancing beside her exquisite face. Her small hands, he saw, were clinching on her sides. She was staring at them. Her violet eyes were large. He could read confusion, disgusted, anger, and relief all at the same time.
He sat there with Grace talking to him, begging him with her sweet words of apology and promise of the future, though none was registered in his head. All he could do, it seemed, was to stare at the girl standing at the door staring back at him.
Ivy felt sick to her stomach at the very sight she beheld. In all of her eighteen years she had never seen anything like that. Her mother was acting in such a way that she had never seen before. She was sweet and begging the man. That man, he was the Duke of Lynwood—the man who had tried to rape her that night. And she was to be his mistress?
The way he was staring at her caused her heart to beat in jeopardy. She felt very uncomfortable. She wanted to run away, but her legs couldn’t seem to move nor could her eyes seem to be able to shift away from his. His very being commanded her to stare right back at him.
Grace stiffened when she realized that the duke wasn’t listening to her. She glanced up at him and saw that he was looking toward the doorway. She turned and saw Ivy. She gritted her teeth.
“Ivy!” she snapped.
Ivy looked from the duke to her mother. She saw the fire inside the woman’s eyes and shuddered. She hastily turned to go.
“Where do think you are going, my dear?” Max boomed out.
Ivy halted. His timbre voice caused her nerves to shudder. She felt warm all of a sudden. Her head, too, was spinning. She laid one hand on the doorframe to support herself.
“Perhaps you would introduce yourself to me, my dear, I am sure the future of your patron would be very please to be acquaint with you.” He stared at her with narrowed eyes. He was angry that the girl should see them like this. He did not intend for their meeting to be thus. Why the woman beside him could act in such a manner was beyond him.
