She was scared.
Scared of committing to someone or something forever. Scared that things would have to change as her life changed.
She was scared. And that was not whom she believed herself to be, strong and determined. So she’d need to consider everything she knew about herself as well as what actions she wanted to take in the future.
The first step, thank goodness since it was the step she definitely wanted to take, was to be bold and adventurous with him, even though such behavior would ruin her in Society’s eyes. But she wasn’t in Society, her wager and taking her inheritance to purchase a gambling house instead of a husband had already taken care of that.
So she should do as she wished.
“Perhaps I will consider a different future,” Ivy said slowly. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you do not want what I had envisioned, so I should start to think what I want.” She paused. “But he and I—that’s not a permanent possibility. I just don’t believe he’ll stay out here when he could return to his aristocratic family none the worse for wear. He’s slumming it with us, and eventually he’ll leave.” Eventually he’ll leave.
If she kept repeating it to herself, would it hurt less when it inevitably occurred?
Octavia opened her mouth as though to argue, but apparently decided against it.
Ivy continued. “But that doesn’t mean it’s him or nobody. You’re correct, I need to be open to the possibilities.”
“Huzzah!” Octavia cheered.
“Huzzah,” Ivy echoed.
The bigger question was what possibility would be the best one for her? And how would she possibly achieve it?
“You’re certain you want five yards of ribbon, sir?”
The clerk accompanied her question with a curious look. Not surprising since Sebastian doubted he looked much like a person who would be dabbling in ribbon.
“Yes. Five different shades, a yard each.” He kept his tone firm, hoping the clerk wouldn’t ask him how he was planning to utilize the ribbon. I’ll be wrapping it around the lovely naked form of my lover, and hoping she’ll be doing the same to me.
My lover.
It was odd to think of Ivy, gorgeous, delightful, intelligent Ivy, as his lover. Not just because they weren’t technically lovers yet, but also because it seemed such a narrow word for who she was to him. She was his employer, his friend, his fellow disgrace from Society.
He should thank Nash for bringing him to Miss Ivy’s on that fateful evening, the same day he’d found that everything he’d ever known was a lie.
Only to discover, eventually, the truth about himself—that he would be able to survive and thrive, even without the trappings he’d taken for granted. That he could find connections that weren’t dependent on who he was.
That he wouldn’t return to that time, even if it were offered with all the trappings he’d taken for granted before.
“Sir?”
The clerk’s tone was impatient, as though she had been speaking for some time.
“Yes, pardon?”
“Do you want the red or the blue?” The clerk held up two spools of ribbon, one in each hand. “I’ve already cut the purple, green, white, and pink.”
“The red.”
The clerk nodded, putting the other spool down and reaching for the scissors.
“No, all of it,” Sebastian said. It was far too tempting an image to resist—Ivy swathed in ruby-red ribbon, lying atop the gaming table. Perhaps still wearing her stockings, but nothing else.
“All of it?” the clerk said in surprise.
“Yes.” Sebastian dug in his pocket for his money, tossing coins and bills on the table. “Take what is owed.” Since he had no idea how much any of this would cost, nor how much of his current money it would take. Just that he needed to buy it.
So much for leaving his aristocratic habits behind.
But it would be worth it. Well worth it.
“Welcome, ladies!”
The dressmaker greeted Ivy and Octavia at the door to the shop, waving them inside.
The first impression of the room was one of exuberance: bright patterned bolts of fabric on large shelves, boxes and bags stuffed with accessories of all kinds, spilling out their contents on the massive table in the center of the room. The proprietor was equally exuberant—the fabric of her gown was a dizzying array of colors, ornamented with randomly scattered flowers and bows. The effect was whimsically charming, and Ivy couldn’t help but smile.
Even though the thought of her wearing something similar to Madame Delyth’s gown was slightly terrifying.
“Come in, have a look around. Your note said you have an evening affair to attend?”
Ivy’s eyes widened in shock until she realized Madame Delyth could not possibly have been referring to that.
Octavia spoke as Ivy was trying to keep herself from blushing. “Yes, we’ve been invited to the Duke of Hasford’s home to honor his cousin Lady Ana Maria.”
Madame Delyth clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! I believe I have a few gowns left from the production of Twelfth Night.”
“It’s not a costume party,” Ivy said.
“No, of course not. But the gowns were quite modern in construction, and they should be grand enough for a duke’s home. Let me go find them.”
She bustled out in a whirl of color as Octavia turned to Ivy, a delighted expression on her face. Ivy gazed at her sister, recalling how she had felt when she’d been fitted for her first evening gown. She’d been so naive then, even though she’d felt wise beyond her years. But at that time she’d envisioned a future with a kind, loving husband, a home filled with children, perhaps a dog or two.
Not being the owner of a gaming establishment catering to anybody with a penny in their pocket.
“What are you thinking about?” Octavia said, peering at Ivy. “You look so wistful.”
Darn her sister for being so observant.
“Here we are!” Madame Delyth announced, her arms overflowing with fabric.
She dumped the gowns on the table and began separating them. “I thought perhaps the green one for you,” she said, nodding toward Octavia, “and then this one for you.”
Ivy gasped as Madame Delyth plucked the gown from the table. It was beautiful, far simpler in design than Ivy would have anticipated, made of a sumptuous gold fabric that practically glittered.
“Ivy, that’s lovely,” Octavia said.
“It is.”
Madame Delyth raised the gown up, walking toward Ivy. “Let’s see if it suits your coloring before you try it on. I do have others, but—”
“This one,” Ivy interrupted. Now that she’d seen it, she couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. “This is the one.”
“It complements you,” the dressmaker said in an admiring tone. “It makes your hair look richer, and your eyes sparkle. Don’t you think so, Miss Octavia?”
“I do. Ivy, it’s perfect.”
“Let’s hope it fits.”
“It will fit, and if it doesn’t, I will alter it. No need to worry about that, I promise you,” Madame Delyth said reassuringly. “You can go over there and try it on. And then we’ll see what else it might need.”
Ivy took the gown, her breath catching as she thought about his reaction to seeing her dressed like this. Properly, as though she were still in that world. As though she were someone he might have met while still a duke. Neither of them who they used to be, but returning to that world nonetheless.
“Ohh, Ivy,” Octavia sighed as Ivy returned wearing the gown. “It truly is perfect.”
“Just a bit of hemming, and I’ll have to adjust the neckline,” Madame Delyth said, examining Ivy. “You have a lovely bosom, you should show it more.” She motioned for Ivy to turn around. “It won’t take but a few days.”
“Good, because the party is in three days,” Octavia replied.
“I will have it to you by the day before,” the dressmaker promised. “I am so glad it will be getting
more use, it is truly one of my favorite creations. You look better in it than the actress who wore it on stage,” she added in an admiring tone.
“Thank you.” Ivy looked down at herself, the fabric swamping her feet. “I wish I weren’t quite so short,” she commented ruefully.
“I can use the fabric from the hem to run up a little purse that will match. Perhaps ornament it with some ribbons.”
“What an excellent idea,” Ivy replied.
“You’ll need gloves, too,” Octavia said, examining Ivy with a critical expression. “And a necklace of some sort for your lovely bosom.”
Ivy made a face at her sister, who just laughed.
“I cannot help you with the jewelry, but I do have some gloves you could try.” Madame Delyth walked to the other side of her table and drew a box down from one of the shelves. “I believe they are—yes, here they are.” She handed them to Ivy, who placed them against the fabric of the gown.
The gloves were made of gold satin, just a little worn at the thumb, but nobody would notice that. They were a slightly darker color than the gown, and one might have supposed the combination would be overly opulent, but instead the effect was of a lustrous regality, the warmth of the two shades of gold making for a literally rich feel.
“This is all too much,” Ivy said, shaking her head.
“I’ll bill you,” Madame Delyth promised, a wicked glint in her eye. “And besides, when those ladies see you looking so fine, they’ll demand to know where you purchased your gown.” She shrugged in false modesty. “And you will tell them from the most exclusive couturier in London. So it will be well worth it.”
“Thank you,” Ivy replied. She glanced down at the gown again, taking a deep breath. For one night, she was going to return to her previous life as a respectable Society lady. To feel what it might have been like if her father hadn’t gambled away her future and she hadn’t taken it back.
If she had the chance, would she want to return permanently? What did she want, anyway? She’d promised Octavia she would consider her own wants and needs—and part of that was continuing her activities with Sebastian—but she still didn’t know what she wanted for her future. Or perhaps she did. She just had to be brave enough to get it.
But wearing this gown, and the accompanying confidence it roused, she was fairly certain she could do anything.
Chapter Eighteen
“Are you ready?”
Sebastian stood at the doorway to Ivy’s office, dressed in his most elegant attire. It was just past one o’clock in the morning, which would usually still be very busy in the club, but it was Whist Night, so the clientele had begun to leave around midnight, all of them gone by half past the hour.
Ivy rose from her chair, the butterflies that had been fluttering all day and all evening as she worked in the club manifesting to a veritable tornado inside her belly. “Are we going out? I am not dressed for it,” she said, gesturing to her clothing. She wore what she usually wore on the floor—a simple dark gown that didn’t call attention to itself but was appropriate for a businesswoman. She had resisted the urge to do anything differently today than she usually did—she didn’t want to imbue the evening’s plans with any more importance than he would likely give them.
Although of course she knew she was lying to herself. What they would do that evening would be tremendously important, at least for her. And, she knew with a small amount of pride, it would mean something to him. So her attempts to minimize it all were merely attempts to keep from breaking her own heart when he inevitably left.
“We’re not going out,” Sebastian replied, a knowing smile on his face. He held his hand out to her. “Would you care to accompany me onto the gaming floor? I believe we have some games to play.”
His words sent a wicked shiver through Ivy’s body. This was it. She—and he—were going to do this. All of it. And there would be no obligation afterward, no promises made, so no promises would be broken.
She took his hand and he drew her forward, pulling her close to him. He looked down at her, his expression earnest. “If you wish not to play, for any reason, you know you just have to tell me.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I want you to be absolutely certain about all of this.”
She smiled in response. “I am, Sebastian. I want this. I want you.”
He let out a long breath. “I was hoping you would say that. Follow me.”
He turned, still holding her hand, leading her out of the office and down the hall to the gaming room.
She couldn’t help but gasp as she entered—he’d worked a miracle in the half hour or so after the last customers had gone. The refinished table, the one the would-be assailant had bled onto, was in the middle of the room, the other tables having been pushed to the side. The table itself held a few packs of cards, a bottle of champagne, two glasses, candles, and dice. Ribbons had been tacked onto the side, cascading down toward the floor. He’d covered two of the chairs the same way he’d done them the night of the Masked Evening, and a blanket was folded on one of them.
Only a few candles still burned at the edges of the room, lending the space an even more clandestine feel. Light pooled onto the table, making it the focus of attention. She glanced at him, meeting his gaze and nodding in assent. “It looks very mysterious and alluring.”
His smile deepened. “Like you.”
She snorted in reply. “Hardly. I have shared all of my secrets with you, haven’t I? And I’m hardly allur—”
“Stop,” he said, his mouth curling down in disapproval. “You’ve captured my interest since the first time I walked in here with Nash. The way you spoke to me with your own opinions, interested to hear mine. I had never met anyone who actually wanted to hear me. That is more than alluring. It’s seductive.” His voice was low, sending sparks skittering along her spine. His gaze traveled down her body, making her feel as though he were touching her. “And the way you look and feel and respond is irresistible.”
“So I’m alluring because I listen?” she replied in a saucy tone of voice, tilting her face toward his.
“Minx,” he said, the word punctuated with a soft chuckle. He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her into his body. His fingers went to the back of her gown, and started to work on the buttons. She made a movement as though to turn around, but he shook his head. “Not yet.”
He lowered his mouth, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pressing his lips to hers. His fingers worked rapidly at the back of her gown.
She already felt heated, as though every fiber of her body was responding to him, was calling out for his hands, for his mouth, for his—yes. That. If she was going to have congress with it, she should be able to mention it, if only in her mind, shouldn’t she? His penis. His man part. His cock. She’d felt it when they had been intimate before, but she hadn’t named it, not even in her own thoughts.
Cock.
That part.
His lips were nibbling on hers, and she opened her mouth, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. She felt his hand at the center of her back, spreading the fabric of her gown apart. She felt his fingers pluck at the laces of her corset, and she put her own hand back there to speed up the process. He chuckled softly against her lips, swatting her hand away. “I want to do this,” he murmured. “All by myself.”
She drew back, meeting his gaze. “Shouldn’t we be wagering or something? I had imagined that clothing removal would be an aspect of losing a wager.”
“Or winning,” he retorted.
She inclined her head in agreement.
“As always, Miss Ivy, you make an excellent point.” He plucked his hand away and rested it at her waist, drawing her close so their lower bodies touched. She felt that part of him, the cock part, hard against her belly. “Let’s review the possible guidelines for the evening. You’ll want the customers to feel safe, so we won’t allow wagers that will put anyone in danger.”
He bent his head to place his mouth on her neck. His lips were warm, and
her eyes closed slowly in response as he dragged a kiss from her ear down to her collarbone. His fingers tightened on her waist. “We’ll want to have monitors on all the wagers for the evening.” He was whispering against her skin. She had never found club business to be erotic before. “Traditional wagers with money will not be allowed, but the same rule applies—all bets have to be paid in full at the end of the evening.”
“Mm,” she murmured as his hand reached up to squeeze her breast. She wanted to writhe against him, push that aching part of hers against him.
He chuckled, low and knowing. “Patience, Miss Ivy. By the end of the evening, not immediately.”
“I don’t want to hear all the rules, Sebastian. I want to play,” she replied, running her hand from his neck down his chest to there, resting her fingers lightly on top of his trousers. His expression tightened, and she smiled.
“Let’s play, then,” he said in a growl, reaching down to swing her up into his arms, shoving aside the cards and dice to place her on the table.
She reached down to grab the fabric of her gown in her fists, sliding it slowly up her legs.
“Nobody said I couldn’t cheat,” she said as he gazed at her hungrily.
“Cheat, hm?” Sebastian said, placing his hands on the table, watching her expression change to one of anticipation.
“What—what are you going to do?” she asked, her voice soft and breathy.
He leaned forward. “What do you want me to do?”
She swallowed. “Everything. I don’t have the words—”
“Do you want me to teach you some words?” The thought of his Ivy demanding he lick her sweet cunt made his knees buckle.
A wicked smile spread across her face. “Yes. I do know a few already.”
He arched a brow, reaching one hand to put it on her revealed leg. Her skin was soft, and he suppressed the urge to just take her, quick and hard and fast. That would be immediately satisfying, of course, but he wanted to draw her pleasure out for her. Make certain she was satisfied before he was.
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