The Duke's Revenge

by Alexia Praks

  “Your grace, I am sure there is no need for Ivy to be here. She does not need to be here. We must talk about the future,” Grace cried and her eyes were pleading.

  “Indeed, we must talk about the future,” Max said and stood abruptly, causing Grace’s hands to slide down from his arm. He strode toward Ivy and stopped a mere inch behind her.

  Ivy stiffened. She could feel his intense gaze on her. It made her feel even more frightened.

  His head came slowly down to her neck. His hot breath was fanning on her skin. It caused her head to swirl unmercifully and her heart to drum away in her chest. She felt as though she could not breathe.

  “We shall talk of the future, Ivy,” he said, his warm breath fanning her neck. He grabbed for her arm.

  She jumped and pushed him away in respond. He hardened his grip and pulled her toward him. She collided against his chest. The action caused her head to tilt back. Her eyes met his. He smiled mockingly at her.

  “We will go out in my landau, Ivy, and talk of the future,” he said calmly and dragged her to the door.

  Grace panicked and rushed after them. “You cannot do this, you hear?” she screamed. “Dominic, you can not take my daughter out. I did not give you my permission and Ivy is not dressed for outing. Ivy, come back here,” she shouted and her body was shaking in reactions.

  Max stopped as was Ivy who was fighting him to release her arm from his iron grip. It hurt. The harder she fought him, the tighter his grip became.

  “Lady Westwood, I would like to talk to your daughter of our future and we needed privacy as you well know. As for the courtesy of wearing a proper outing dress, there is no need for I don’t give a damn about it.” He nodded at the white-faced woman, and satisfied with his action, he dragged the un-cooperating Ivy toward the waiting carriage.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Please, I don’t want to go with you,” Ivy begged, tugging at his hand.

  Maximilian ignored her impatient plea and dragged her toward the carriage. He opened the door and nudged her to go in. She didn’t move. He frowned at the stubborn girl.

  “Madam, you’ve tried my patient,” he said, and in one smooth motion, he bent down to her knees, jerked her up in his arms, and threw her not so roughly inside the vehicle. He climbed in after her and smiled with amusement when he saw that she was glaring at him.

  “How dare you?” she managed to say. Her body was shaking due to her turmoil emotions and also because of the cold weather.

  “How dare I what?” he asked as he moved his face toward hers.

  She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. She could smell the masculine aroma of him—the mixed of soap and the very male scent that was truly him. The very nearness of him, the very smell of him caused her inside to shudder.

  “I ask you again, my young mistress, how dare I what?”

  “How dare you man handle me in such a way?” she snapped.

  “Did I man handled you, my dear?” He looked at her with is eyelids half-closed. “I promise I will be doing much, much more than that.”

  Ivy trembled. She turned away to look out the window to hid her unreasonable reactions toward him.

  He tapped the roof of the carriage. The vehicle lurched forward and moved out of the courtyard.

  Max was amused at the way she refused to look at him. He shifted his gaze from her face to the swell of her breasts. They were thrust upward so that her cleavage rise and fall as she breathe, teasing his senses.

  “You are very liked your mother,” he commented, flicking his gaze to her face.

  She flashed her gaze to him.

  He smiled. “About our future, my dear,” he changed the subject and deliberately moved closer to her. She back away. “So afraid of me?”

  “Indeed I am,” she said, staring at the empty space opposite her. She didn’t dare look at him, for she didn’t want him to see her fear. She didn’t want him to think she was a coward.

  “I see,” he said and relaxed.

  Ivy summoned her courage to do something about this situation. As Mrs. Johnson had said, perhaps if she were to beg him to break the contract, why then, perhaps he would.

  “If...if you must know, your grace,” she started, “I do not want to be your mistress. I confess this now so that we would not do the wrong thing.”

  He bent his head to one side as he studied her.

  “I could not bear to have you as my master because I do not like you...and I do not know you...and I do not love you.” She turned to look at him then.

  He smiled mockingly. “Love, my dear, has nothing to do with this. You think that all mistresses must love their masters?”

  Ivy swallowed. “I will not be your mistress.”

  “You will be my mistress, my dear, whether you like it or not. We have a contract and that is final.”

  “A contract that I did not signed,” she protested.

  “Whether your mother signed it or you signed it, it does not matter, my dear. They are all the same to me.” He caught her arm and pulled her to him.

  “But I would never be your mistress because you are her lover. I saw you with her. I could not abet to do that, ‘tis horrible. It’s evil. You are evil.” She hit his chest.

  He jerked her to him. “Why is that so horrible, my dear?” He caught her wrist tightly and stopped her from hitting him.

  “You touched her. I could never bear for you to touch me. Let go,” she sobbed. “It’s sinful.”

  He laughed and moved his head down to her nape. He lightly played her soft skin with his lips, his breath fanning her nerve to such an ecstasy that she thought she might die if she could not leave the confinement of this coach at once.

  “So what if I touched her?”

  Ivy gritted her teeth at his comment. How dare he? Oh, he was the devil all right! He had no feelings whatsoever.

  She pushed him away with all her might.

  He let her go. She moved back to her spot at the corner of the coach.

  “You are evil. I hate you!”

  Max narrowed his eyes dangerously at her. The girl had guts he’d give her that. He shifted his gaze to her blushing cheeks and then her lips. He laughed when he saw that she had shifted herself across the seat as further away from him as was possible. She was squeezing herself against the small corner of the carriage.

  Ivy was trembling at the way he was staring at her. It was in such a way that she was confused. She had ever seen anyone staring at another human being like that before. It was as though he had something sinful in his mind. It scared her.

  He laughed. Then, in one smooth motion, he caught her by both arms, swung her off the seat, and dumped her on his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “What am I doing? So scared of me, Mistress?” He caught the back of her neck and pulled her to him as she tried to push away. She thrashed her legs against his. He took a firm gripped of her thigh and forced it to one side so that she saddle him. He could feel the softness of her woman flesh.

  Ivy jumped and felt as though she might die. She could not bear that he should come so close to her and that she was sitting on his lap in this very unladylike fashion.

  “So afraid of me?” he whispered as he shifted his hand to her waist and jerked her to him.

  She was so close to him that it seemed they might fuse. Her breasts were squeezed against his chest and one side of her sleeves slipped from her shoulder. Her legs were on either side of his waist.

  He forced her to stare up at him by tilting her head back.

  Ivy felt sick. She couldn’t understand why he was doing this to her. She could feel his male member thrusting up against her. Her heart was beating furiously and her head was spinning out of control. God, help her, what was the matter with her. She shook her head at the feeling she didn’t know existed emerging within her. She fisted her hands and hit his chest.

  “Let me go,” she said. “How dare you? Just because you are a duke, you cannot do whatever you w
ant with me.”

  “Ah, I know, my dear, even though I am a duke I am fully aware that I could not do such as this--” He demonstrated by moving his hand from her waist to cup her breast.

  She gasped at this sudden alienated sensations exploding within her.

  He smiled. “But, my dear, I can do it because I am to be your master, and you, my mistress.” He moved his head and kissed the sensitive skin of her nape.

  She jerked away. He pulled her to him, molding her soft body against his strong, firm ones.

  “No, let go!” she shouted.

  He lifted his head and smiled.

  “Ah, my dear, you are so sweet.”

  Ivy was enraged. She was not a whore and this man was definitely treating her as one. She couldn’t control herself. She lifted her hand and slapped his face—hard. She saw the white mark of her fingers on his cheekbone.

  Max narrowed his eyes at the girl who had the nerve to strike back at him.

  The moment she saw his eyes she wanted to die.

  Max smiled. He gripped her hair at the back of her head and pulled her toward him. She pathetically tried to ward him off with her shaky hands pushing against his chest.

  “Ah, you dare to slap me?” he said softly and then crushed his lips on hers. His hand tightened at the back of her head while his other hand imprisoned her arm.

  Ivy struggled. The harder she fought him, the stronger his captivity became.

  He pushed his tongue against her sealed lips. When she didn’t respond but keep shaking her head, he opened his mouth and stared to urge her lips to open with his teeth.

  She shook her head harder. His fingers were burning onto her skin. They hurt. She wanted to cry out in pain. Angrily, she opened her mouth and bit his lower lip—hard.

  He shoved her from him. He tasted blood. He gritted his teeth as he glared at her. He was heaving like an angry wolf.

  She backed away and fiddled with the lock. Her hands were shaking. She got the door opened. Gusts of cold breeze rushed in. She was about to jump when he seized her around the arm and jerked her back. He pushed her down on the seat, covering her body with his. She fought him to let her go.

  “Damn you, stop it!” he snapped.

  Ivy stopped. She looked up at him through teary eyes as he glared down at her. “Do you want to kill yourself? You fool!”

  Ivy blinked. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I hate you.”

  He snorted and let her go. She got up and settled in her seat.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” he scolded as he shut the door. “Do you hear?”

  She nodded without looking at him. She was too tired now to fight him for she knew there would be more fighting when she got home, with her mother.

  Max shouted at the driver to take them back and not long afterward the carriage drew to a stop at the courtyard of Michaels Mansion.

  Grace rushed out the house, her anger now at its peak. Behind her was Lord McNeil. The old man who had just arrived a few minutes before was heaving with exertion as he tried to keep up with Grace.

  She stood watching as first Max came out of the carriage and then Ivy. They were walking up the pathway toward the house.

  “Hello, Lady Westwood, we did have a nice ride, did we not, Sweet Ivy?” Max said, looking at the girl beside him.

  Ivy didn’t respond, just stood there staring at the snow-covered steps, hugging herself and shivering.

  “Eh? Who the hell is your ‘Sweet Ivy,’ eh?” Lord McNeil shouted. He was shaking from head to toe. “Ivy is to be m’ bride, not yours,” he shouted. His voice echoed in the vast courtyard.

  Max turned to the redheaded man. He narrowed his eyes and raised his brows. “Ivy is to be your bride?”

  “Indeed, she is,” Lord McNeil shouted, his hands shaking.

  “Ah...I presume you have proposed to her then?” Max stared at the old crone. God, what nerve has he to interfere with his plan?

  “I have,” the old man snapped.

  “Did she agree to take your old, wrinkle hands in marriage then?” Max narrowed his eyes, looking from Lord McNeil and meaningfully to Grace.

  The woman met his gaze and shuddered. She turned away.

  “Well...” Lord McNeil flustered in his spot.

  “I presume she did not accept, did she?” Max laughed. His timbre voice was loud that Ivy turned to look at him.

  “Well, she hasn’t yet,” Lord McNeil stammered.

  “Ah, that is too bad, really, Mister, err,” Max raised his brows at the old man.

  Lord McNeil frowned. “Not mister, I am an earl, ye bastard. A lord, ye hear. I am Lord Steven McNeil ye get that name in ye head right.”

  “Ah, Lord McNeil, is it? Indeed, if you must know, Lord McNeil, Sweet Ivy is my mistress.”

  Grace flashed her gaze to him in anger.

  Lord McNeil gasped and then he shook his head. “Canno’ be true!”

  “Oh yes, it is true,” Max said, his voice loud and clear. “Isn’t that right, Ivy?”

  Ivy tilted her head up to look at him.

  At that moment, the sunlight illuminated her features. Max felt his lust rushing up in his hot veins. He grabbed her by the neck and kissed her lips. She was soft and sweet, like honey.

  Ivy didn’t like the fact that he was kissing her right in front of everyone. She brought her hands up to his chest and pushed him away. Once he had lifted his head from hers, she looked away and her gaze met with her mother’s. She saw the other woman glaring at her. She wanted to die.

  “Lady Westwood, look after my young mistress very carefully. I wish her to be perfect,” he said. He was laughing inside when he saw the lady paled. He looked toward Lord McNeil and saw that the old man had turned a scarlet red and was shaking uncontrollably.

  Ivy shuddered. She couldn’t even stand that he touched her in the carriage for fifteen minutes, so how could she stand being with him for one whole night? God, one whole night and mayhap more....

  “Remember, Lady Westwood, perfect, she needs to be perfect for me.” Ivy heard him say. She turned and saw him strolling toward the coach, whistling a tune all the while as if he had not a worry in the world. She looked at him as he climbed into the carriage, and seconds later, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ivy looked around the room that was appointed to her. It was very large and elegant; a room that her Papa would have appointed to an important guest. She wondered why he would put her up in his castle instead of a townhouse in London like all his other mistresses before her.

  She got up and wondered to the wardrobe. She opened it and stared wide eyes at the beautiful arrays of colorful petticoats and gowns. Then her surprise turned into anger.

  Did he think to woo her with beautiful gowns? She did not care for the likes of gowns, hates, and gloves. God, all she wanted was her freedom to live her life. She did not want to feel trap like a caged animal.

  Instantly, she hated herself for being so weak, for letting her mother bullied her into this.

  She felt lost and alone. Her emotion was so overwhelming that she threw herself on the bed and sobbed her heart out. She didn’t know how long she stayed there crying quietly inside, hating her life and hating herself.

  “M’ lady, get up.” Lisa nudged her arm. “M’ lady, you must change afore you sleep. I know you are tired after the journey but you must change afore you retire.”

  Ivy opened her protesting eyes. She sat up and gave a loud yawn. Lisa grabbed her hand and helped her up.

  “I’m so tired,” she said, turning her back for Lisa to undo the length of buttons. “Is my bath ready?”

  “Not yet,” Lisa said, sliding the sleeve down Ivy’s arm. Then she proceeded to remove the whole dress down Ivy’s waist. “Oh my, you’re wearing a new corset.”

  “Aye, I do not like it though. I’ve never worn a corset before but Mama insisted and...”

  “It’s the fashion,” Lisa said, untying the strings. “Do you know I would never have thought I would ever see you
again?”

  “Neither do I,” Ivy commented, freeing herself from the corset. “If papa had not brought you home and made you my companion that day when I turned six, I don’t ever think that I would have a friend in the world.”

  “Aye, the earl was a very generous man. If not for him I would still be in the workhouse today or perhaps...”

  Ivy looked down at herself and saw that the material of her chemise was sticking onto her skin inappropriately. She straightened it out by pulling them down.

  “I will see to your bath now,” Lisa said and left.

  Ivy went to sit in the middle of the bed. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. Disgusted at her self-pity, she brought her hands up and wiped them away.

  The door opened. It must be Lisa coming to tell her that her bath was ready, she thought, and looked up. She saw him—her master—the duke of Lynwood, striding toward her. Her heart kicked in her chest. The aura of his strength was so magnificent that she felt her bone weaken at the very sight of him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Why should you asked, mistress?” Max said mockingly. “I am your master.” He reached out to grab for her arm.

  “Nay, your grace,” she said and shifted away.

  He missed.

  “Nay?” he asked and sat near her feet.

  Ivy stared at him as he leaned forward. She put her hands on the bed for support and started to shift backward--slowly away from him.

  He smiled when he saw her do that. “You’re afraid of me?”

  Ivy panicked as he advanced closer. She moved further back as she stared at him.

  “You shouldn’t be here, you should be at—”

  “Where else would I’d rather be at?” His face turned into a hard mask. “Where would I be, Ivy?”

  “With your other mistresses or my mother, that’s where you should be.”

  “Why would I want to be there?” he said in a low heated voice.

  She jumped. She hastily turned and saw that she had reached the top of the bed. She had nowhere to run to now. She frowned at the damn bed, cursing it because it wasn’t long enough for her to get away from this brute.