by Darcy Burke
A long-ago desire pinched through Ivy, but she swept it to the darkest recesses of her mind. She didn’t want that. Not anymore.
“I see. Have you ever considered that you could have your own household to manage without having a husband?” Ivy winced inwardly. She probably shouldn’t have said that.
Miss Forth-Hodges shifted in her chair, angling herself toward Ivy. “I have not.” She cocked her head to the side. “However would I manage that? My parents would die of apoplexy.”
Ivy could well imagine that. Anyone’s parents would probably do that. Except hers, of course. Again, she pushed that into the abyss of things she never wanted to think about.
Once upon a time, before she’d met Dartford, Lucy had wanted that. She’d been working to buy a cottage for herself and her grandmother. The notion that men were a requirement for happiness or fulfillment was absolutely absurd. However, that hadn’t stopped her from falling head over heels in love with Dartford, and her entire plan had changed. Ivy didn’t begrudge her for it, but she realized now that she felt as she had five years ago—alone.
“Yes, your parents would be a problem. However, you could ignore them. After all, it is your life, not theirs.”
Miss Forth-Hodges shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It’s not as if I can go out and start up my own household. And the scandal that would follow…” Her shoulder twitched in a gentle, ladylike shudder.
Yes, there was always that to consider. Unless you were Ivy. She didn’t have to worry about shaming a family or her marriageability. Still, she took care to behave with the utmost propriety—her employment, and therefore her livelihood, depended on it.
The men entered the drawing room, and the air instantly charged. The noise level increased and the tone deepened with the addition of male voices, and the women almost universally adopted a pretense—sitting straighter, casting provocative glances, preening. Or so it seemed to Ivy, and she’d made an occupation of observing people. What else was there to do when you were on the outside?
Miss Forth-Hodges exhaled. “I should go sit with my mother so that she can play matchmaker.”
“Why? Then she’s choosing for you, and that’s no way to select a husband—if you’re certain that’s the path you want.” Ivy couldn’t keep from reminding her that she did have choices. They weren’t easy, but they existed. Ivy had long ago learned that nothing in life worth having was easy.
Miss Forth-Hodges’s blue eyes lightened, as if a curtain had been pulled back and now she could see more clearly. “You’re right. They were the ones who wanted me to marry Sutton. I must admit that I was a bit relieved when he moved on. I expected him to, of course, given his history, but my parents were insistent that I was different, that I would be the one to lead him to matrimony.”
“So you don’t harbor any ill will?” Ivy asked.
“Not at all. I’m quite pleased to see that he’s finally happy. And I’m glad it’s with your friend. She was on the shelf, was she not?”
“Apparently. That sentiment makes no sense to me. It’s not as if we turn sour.”
Miss Forth-Hodges giggled. “What an excellent comparison. No, we do not curdle or mildew either. Goodness, I will never hear that phrase in the same way.”
Ivy smiled, something she didn’t do very often. “I’m glad.” She felt as though she’d accomplished something with her new friend, and that was important to Ivy. Wait, were they friends? She was surprised to find that she hoped so. “Well, if you’d like any more amusing comparisons, I hope you’ll come sit with me again.”
“I’d be delighted.” She inched forward in her chair as she prepared to stand. “Will you be going on the walk up Wendover Hill? It sounds invigorating.”
Lady Dunn had encouraged her to do so. “Most definitely.”
“Perhaps we can walk together.”
“I’d like that,” Ivy said.
Miss Forth-Hodges darted a glance toward her mother and winced. “I’m getting the stare of consternation from my mother. I’d better go.”
Ivy smiled again, liking that description. “May I borrow that? Stare of consternation, I mean. It’s devilishly good.”
Miss Forth-Hodges grinned as she stood. “With my full endorsement.”
Ivy inclined her head and watched her glide elegantly across the drawing room. She also noted how many of the men watched Miss Forth-Hodges’s progress.
Except Clare. He stood near the fireplace staring at Ivy. She frowned at him and immediately transferred her attention to the opposite side of the room.
After he’d driven her from the library that afternoon, she’d retreated to the dressing room while Lady Dunn had snored in bed. Ivy had continued to read, but intermittently the damnable duke would invade her thoughts with his dark-as-sin eyes and his arrogant smile. How she had managed to gain his attention, she would never know.
Surely he wouldn’t continue to bother her. She wasn’t the type of woman he spent time with. She was neither married nor interested in his…offerings.
Hmmm, the Damnable Duke was an excellent name for him.
Lord Wendover addressed the group. “We’re setting gaming tables up in the hall if that interests you. If not, the countess will be playing at the pianoforte soon, and dancing will commence.”
Lady Dunn stood, and Ivy was certain she’d be going to the hall. Ivy rose and joined her.
“I’m going to play for a while,” Lady Dunn said. “What do you plan to do, dear?”
“I think I’ll return to the library.”
“You’re welcome to go upstairs if you like. I’ll go up after I’m finished.”
Ivy nodded, appreciating the freedom Lady Dunn allowed. Her last employer would’ve required Ivy to sit in the hall so that she could provide assistance if necessary.
She made her way to the library, intent on finding something comedic to read. Surprisingly, the room was empty. Ivy would’ve thought at least one other person would’ve come here for escape. But maybe not. Ivy was, after all, an aberration. Most people enjoyed being in the midst of a convivial event. Once upon a time, Ivy had too. But those were distant memories she chose to forget.
She perused a shelf and shot a glance toward the doorway to the hall, half expecting to see that Clare had followed her. A strange coolness crept up her spine, and she belatedly recognized the sensation as disappointment.
Scoffing, she studied the spines more intently and finally found what she was looking for—She Stoops to Conquer. It was her favorite play. She’d read it so many times that she could recite long passages.
She turned toward the alcove to read but decided she’d be prey for Clare if he came looking for her. Better to retreat upstairs. Returning to the hall, she made her way to the stairs. On the way, she caught Lady Dunn’s eye. The viscountess inclined her head, and Ivy went up to their chamber.
As she rounded the corner into the sitting room, she nearly tripped. Seated in a chair, his legs stretched out nonchalantly in front of him, was the Duke of Clare.
“Were you waiting for me?” Her voice was high, almost shrill. Good God, she sounded like her mother. Another icy sensation shot up her spine, but this time she immediately knew what it was—self-loathing.
Clare smiled up at her. “Another book, I see? Oh, a play. That’s one of my favorites.”
Of course it was, damn him. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear.” She glanced around, nervous that someone would find them alone up here.
“Don’t fret. That room is occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Travill, and they will be among the last to find their beds. And that room”—he pointed to the third and final chamber that opened off the sitting room—“belongs to Lord and Lady Kirkland and their daughter, Viola. They will not be returning anytime soon. Lord Kirkland is likely already down twenty quid at the tables, which he will spend all night trying to win back, while Lady Kirkland is obsessively trying to get the young bucks to dance with Viola.”
Ivy blinked at him. “How do
you know all that?”
He shrugged. “I pay attention.”
Suddenly Ivy’s observation skills seemed lackluster. She felt deflated. Damn him again. “None of it matters, because my wishes haven’t changed.”
He smiled at her, looking almost gleeful. “I don’t think you’ve given me ample opportunity to change them.”
Frustration gathered in her chest, and she had to quash the urge to throw the book at his head. “Because I don’t want you to.”
He rose, gracefully, like a cat. Then he prowled toward her. She held the book to her breast as if it were a shield.
“Miss Breckenridge, I think there is something amiss with you. Despite your protestations, you are frightened. Right now, I see nothing but fear in your eyes.”
She took a step back. “Because you’re stalking me.”
“I have a suspicion—and I don’t think I’m wrong—that you are a woman who doesn’t allow herself any indulgences. You work hard, and you adhere to a strict code.”
“You say those things as if they’re bad.”
“They are bad when they’re all you have.” He inclined his head. “I’ll grant that working hard is an admirable trait. Tell me, how do you amuse yourself?”
She briefly waved the book toward him. “She Stoops to Conquer is amusing.”
“Reading is your only amusement?”
“No. I am involved in several charitable endeavors.”
“Oh, that must be incredibly diverting. Again, it’s admirable, but does it bring you joy?”
Righteous anger unfurled inside her. “Yes, it does, and that you even have to ask that reveals your character. Or lack thereof.”
He winced. “Of course it brings you joy. I should’ve asked if it fulfills you. At the end of the day, do you feel completely satisfied?”
Something about the way he said those last two words sent a shiver along her neck. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Then whose is it?” He moved toward her again, using that slow, seductive gait that was far more threatening than if he’d bolted after her. “I also have a suspicion that you don’t smile nearly enough. Or at all. I’d love to see you smile.”
He was right about that. “It’s vulgar to smile.”
His lips spread into a wide grin. “I adore vulgarity.”
She snorted. “I am not surprised. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was your name.”
“My name is Sebastian, though my friends call me West.” He tipped his head to the side. “I should like it very much if you called me West.”
“That would be wholly inappropriate. Are you trying to lead me into a scandal?”
He stopped just about a foot in front of her. “No, I’m trying to lead you into temptation.”
“I’d rather be delivered from evil.” She wanted to walk past him and go into her chamber, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet move.
“I actually think you’d like to take a risk. You live a simple life, and a simple future stretches before you. Why not take some pleasure along the way? You deserve that much at least.”
She stared at him, unable to think of what to say. He took her silence as encouragement.
“We have a fortnight together. I can guarantee that no one will know—it may seem hard to believe, but I have had affairs that no one is aware of—and I guarantee that at the end of the party, your life will be forever changed.”
A fury she hadn’t felt in years propelled her forward until her face was inches from his. He had several inches on her, but she was taller than most women and stood on her toes for added height. She let a sneer curl her lip. “Your arrogance is astounding. Don’t think you know me at all, Your Grace. You’ve no idea what I’ve risked or what pleasures I’ve taken. I fell prey to someone just like you once, and my life was forever changed. You’ll have to forgive me if I have no interest in what you’re peddling.” She watched his eyes widen slightly and his nostrils flare. “On second thought, I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t need it. Not from you and not from anyone. I’ve worked too long and too hard to claim my life and live it as I see fit. Take your assumptions and your pomposity and go directly to hell.”
Blood of the devil, she was furious. And damned gorgeous while she was at it. Her chest rose and fell with her angry breaths, and her cheeks had flushed pink. With her lips parted, she almost looked as though she’d just been pleasured. Until you reached her eyes. Those spat green, scalding fire.
She’d been ruined. Some scoundrel had wooed her and, seemingly, cast her aside. West wanted to find the blackguard and beat him to pulp.
“Of course, I had no idea,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
She backed up a small step. Her chest was still heaving, and she took a deep breath. “It’s none of your concern. In fact, do me a favor and forget I said anything.”
He would never, ever forget what he’d just witnessed, but he didn’t say that. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy.”
“That would be leaving me alone. As I asked you before.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “As you wish. However, if you should ever require my assistance, consider me at your disposal. I owe you recompense for my unintended insult.”
“Unintended?” She laughed, and it was a hollow sound that carved a piece from his chest. “You’re a profligate, a seducer, an utter reprobate. You insult respectable women with your very presence.”
He gave her a bow. “Your tongue has cut me to the quick. I beg your pardon.”
As he retreated from the sitting room, he resisted the urge to go back and apologize. Not because he didn’t want to but because she wanted him gone from her sight. So that was what he would do.
He went directly to his bedchamber on the opposite side of the house and wrote out a note of apology. Then he entrusted it to Seaver, his valet. “See that it’s delivered directly to Lady Dunn’s room, but it is for her companion.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Seaver was cautious and completely trustworthy. He’d ensure the missive arrived in secrecy.
Frustrated, West made his way down to the gentlemen’s parlor for a brace of whiskey. Or two. He’d completely misread Miss Breckenridge. He’d never encountered a woman like her, and he was thoroughly intrigued.
Too bad she wanted nothing to do with him.
He longed to know what had happened to her and how her life had changed. He was certain she’d been ruined. What had she been before that? Had she always been a lady’s companion? Perhaps she’d been a governess. And how on earth had she managed to rise from the ashes?
As West made his way downstairs, he looked out over the hall below, where the gaming was taking place. Lively conversation filled the huge space. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler greeted him at the bottom of the staircase.
They exchanged anxious looks before Mr. Fowler cleared his throat. “Ahem, good evening, Your Grace. We’d like to speak with you about your…services.”
Most women or couples contacted him in writing and arranged a meeting. Occasionally, they approached him at a social gathering, but he always asked them to contact his secretary.
“Let us move to a more discreet location.” West gestured toward a small sitting room off the hall.
Once they were away from the bustle, West said, “You’d like me to sleep with your wife?” He allowed his gaze to sweep Mrs. Fowler. She was on the shorter side, with a generous bosom and dark, glossy hair. Pretty, but he was unmoved when all he could see was coppery-gold hair and bright green eyes.
She answered. “Yes, Your Grace. We think it would help…things. It seems that you are unattached at the present, so we were hoping you could accommodate me during the party.”
West looked toward Fowler, who seemed rather uncomfortable, yet eager at the same time. A muscle in Fowler’s jaw quivered while his gaze was steady and earnest. “What do you hope to gain?” West asked.
They looked at one another again, each clearly hoping th
e other would speak. Mrs. Fowler’s cheeks flushed scarlet, while Fowler’s were a slightly lighter shade. He met West’s eyes, but only briefly. “We would hope to, ah, enliven our marital bed.”
“I see. Anything specific I should be aware of? For instance, do either of you enjoy sex now?”
Mrs. Fowler’s eyes widened, and she turned away, the color in her cheeks deepening.
West could see this would be a difficult assignment if he accepted it. Which he wasn’t inclined to do. He had the sense that Fowler wanted to pursue this and that his wife was not as eager. This didn’t work if the wife wasn’t fully committed. West wasn’t interested in seducing the unwilling.
Except, apparently, beautiful companions who’d struck a chord.
He walked over to the mantel, where shepherd figurines stood sentinel over the small chamber. An edge of discomfort brushed over him. Miss Breckenridge was an altogether different situation. He saw a woman who needed to let go, to lose herself in joy. He worried that if she didn’t, she’d grow even more strident. Why did he even care? Because she’d overcome some great calamity and persevered. He wanted her to do more than persevere—he wanted her to live.
“Do you wish to know anything else?” Fowler’s tentative question broke into West’s thoughts.
He turned from the mantel. “Normally, yes, but I have grave reservations about your commitment to this.” He looked at Mrs. Fowler and gently said, “You have to want to have sex with me, and I’m not sure you do.”
Her gaze dropped, and West felt sorry for her. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble in their marriage with his comment to Fowler earlier in the day, but he was afraid he had. It was an odd thing—the fact that he disliked causing marital disharmony, but it was true. At least it had become true after the first few, which had been entirely because he was young and eager to prove his prowess.
Since then, when he had an affair with a married woman, it was because her union was such that liaisons were universally conducted by both parties or, and this was his preferred instance, because a woman wished to learn how to satisfy her husband and demand he satisfy her in return. He’d successfully aided many couples, and that made him happy.
