by April Moran
“I’ll have your answer. Friends? You will not regret it.” He thought he had ensnared her already. Her eyes were huge mirrors to the inner workings of her mind and like a ripe plum, she was tumbling into his hands with barely a shake of the tree. The simplicity of it all left him somewhat ashamed. And it was disturbing, how easily Ivy shifted roles, how quickly she went from icy temptress of the evening to innocent girl of the afternoon.
“Very well, Ravenswood,” Ivy said in a soft voice. “I accept.”
Sebastian kept his features blank. “A wise decision. Now, indulge me. No more vanishing. Agreed? I abhor surprises. A quirk of mine.” The handkerchief was tucked back into its pocket as he continued. “An operatic troupe arrives from Italy in two weeks’ time to perform Lucia di Lammermoor, and I will escort you to the performance. It is short notice, but friends are permitted such concessions.”
Ivy smiled. “The hour was late and you were discussing matters with the Pack which did not require my presence. I simply went home.”
“Speaking of the Pack…I would know what Monvair whispered in your ear.” His gaze turned penetrating, noting Ivy’s cheeks turning red. She was uneasy. With his demand or the answer?
“Nothing of importance.” Ivy fiddled with the lace on the skirt of her gown.
“Then there is no harm relating it to me.”
“I prefer not to betray his confidence.”
“I do not know the man, other than making his acquaintance last evening. He will not know you told me.” Sebastian leaned close. “I’ve no choice but to assume you discussed me.”
Ivy’s lips pursed. “Of course, we didn’t.”
“How can I know for certain?”
“You cannot be certain. You must take my word for it. However, if I told you, would you vow not to repeat what was said?”
“It is unlikely I would keep that pledge.” His reply was honest. “Monvair appears harmless. Maybe I could be persuaded to swear an oath of silence.”
Ivy searched his face then leaned forward to whisper, “He wanted to go somewhere alone. He said he…he wished to remove my slippers and rub my feet. Is that not an odd thing to request? There was something about ribbons and silk stockings, but I confess I was on the verge of bursting into laughter.” Her cheeks flushed an even brighter pink. “Monvair can be so droll. I believe he was trying to amuse me. And himself.”
Sebastian choked on an indrawn breath. That reprobate. Could Ivy have no idea what the Frenchman really wanted? Her elegant little feet were only the beginning. Surely, she was only toying with him now, playing this innocent act to the hilt. “I’ll have his head on a pike for daring to suggest such a thing.”
“Whatever is the matter?” Ivy frowned. “You swore your silence.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I said maybe. But I cannot swear to this.” The thought of that sly Frenchman gazing at, touching, or possessing any part of Ivy Kinley was abhorrent.
Ivy considered this. “Lord Ravenswood, you are newly returned to London following a scandal. Our connection to one another is circumspect and fragile at best. At the worst, the gossips will salivate for a reason to flay us both. Is it wise to provide fodder at this point? I beg you to refrain from engaging with the Pack on any level. They are a temperamental lot; it is a struggle to keep them from dueling one another over the smallest of slights, both real and imagined. Let it be. For my sake.”
The countess was right, of course. Difficult to admit, but she was right. It went against every instinct he possessed, but he must accede to her wishes for the time being.
“Very well,” Sebastian grumbled. “In compensation for my silence, I’ll have your attendance at the opera.
Ivy shook her head. “Another already requested to escort me.”
“You wound me.” Sebastian laid a hand to his heart. “Rejecting me so soon after our avowal of treaty.”
“I think you’ve rarely experienced rejection, my lord.” Ivy needlessly straightened the pages of music again.
“Ah, so you’ve heard some tales, have you?”
She shrugged. “Your reputation is no secret, I’m afraid, notwithstanding your absence from England.”
“One should not put much stock in gossip tattle.” A hint of ice lurked in his words.
“I agree.” A hard edge shimmered in Ivy’s response. “However, your turn at rejection is the subject.”
“Alright, it rarely occurs.” Sebastian conceded with a reluctant grin. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to react upon being spurned. Am I to beg for mercy and pray you reconsider? It would be best if you just agreed. To spare my tender feelings, of course.”
“Other plans, my lord,” was her breezy reply. “I fear I shall be quite tied up.”
A rocketing, mental image of Ivy blindsided Sebastian. She lay sprawled on snowy white sheets. A silken length of black cloth lashed her in place, and she was unable to escape as he tasted her. Pleading, begging him to come inside, to enter her, to make love to her, she writhed against his mouth and holy hell, he wanted to slaughter, in the most violent manner possible, the fool brave enough to take her to the opera in his place.
With a slow deliberateness, he murmured, “I shall withdraw to lick my wounds, little butterfly.”
Ivy regarded him for a long moment, her eyes big and soft. Without realizing it, she leaned closer to him, her gaze traveling over his features. Sebastian held his breath when she bit her bottom lip in concern.
“Why do you call me that, my lord?” Reaching out, she touched gentle fingers to the small cut on his lip. “Little butterfly?”
“Bloody hell.” He froze in place as if struck by a sudden arctic freeze.
Ivy jerked away at his barely audible groan. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Sebastian captured her hand, feeling her quiver as his thumbs smoothed over the softness of her palm. Another improper gesture he dared, but she did not stop him nor did she pull away. Why did she have to touch him? What was she thinking? He knew what he was thinking, and it was tying him into hot, twisted knots of lust. He needed to regain control of himself. “I think, just when a man believes he has captured you, you flit out of his reach. A butterfly no one has managed to cast a net over because they do not understand the damn rules for hunting butterflies. And there are rules, Countess.”
Her eyes were round as saucers, her breath barely existent as he wove a spell about her. “What might those be?”
“Butterflies must decide to come to you. And when one flutters close, you patiently wait for her to land. You remain perfectly still and gain her trust before gently placing the net over her.” Sebastian’s voice was a deep, entrancing force of nature and she hung on his every word.
Ivy smiled. “I'm not sure if I should be charmed or alarmed.”
“Tell me what concerns you.”
“Perhaps the fact you might throw a net over me when I least expect it.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I would take great care not to hurt you. You see, I’ve no interest in the destruction of beautiful creatures, and capturing a butterfly is an interesting prospect. A collection of delicate things gives a man pleasure.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek. “The trick is to keep the butterfly alive while taming her.”
Ivy’s breath grew shallow. It was quick and warm where it feathered his wrist. Then she stunned the hell out of him.
“Would you like to know what I think, Ravenswood?” When he nodded, Ivy continued. “A friendship will benefit us both.”
Did Ivy mean what he thought she meant? Damn it to hell. He was now unquestionably off balance. Her soft words scorched his body. Holding her hand, touching the silk of her cheek, and Sebastian knew he was in danger of going up in flames. Underestimating her allure was a grave mistake.
“If we are to be friends, I insist you call me by my given name,” Sebastian managed to say in a normal voice. His fingers itched to plow through her hair, to hold her still while he kissed her until she forgot her own damn n
ame in a whirlwind of pleasure.
A genuine smile spread across Ivy’s face while he ground his teeth in frustration. How many men had she deployed this particular tactic against? It was a devastating weapon, used with tremendous skill. That smile of hers, men would kill for it.
Or die for it.
“We should not stand upon formality,” Ivy said softly. “So, you must call me by mine.”
“The more informal, the better.” God, Ivy Kinley was enchanting and magical. She could not be oblivious to the sexual connotations of his statements, nor of how he touched her. He could pull her to him, crush her beneath his body. Rip her clothes away with his teeth, plunge between her legs. He’d never felt such an overwhelming attraction to a woman before. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle, but he wanted her with a bewildering intensity. All the advantage had shifted into her small, wicked hands and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.
“Is your invitation to the opera still open? This is probably quite shocking, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Very little shocks me,” Sebastian murmured with husky promise. “You will be glad you reconsidered. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m already glad… Sebastian.”
She blushed as she said his name, and despite himself, he found it captivating. Would she blush so prettily when he kissed her breasts, when his hands slipped between her legs? Sebastian wanted to crow with victory and just barely restrained himself. Right now, it was necessary to distance himself, before he threw her to the floor, took her right then and there...revenge be damned.
Stepping clear of the bench, he pulled her along and noticed her wince. “What is wrong?”
Ivy shook her head, tried pulling away but Sebastian rotated her wrists until her palms fell open.
“What the hell.” Gently, he traced the length of the pale pink scar. “How did this happen? Who did this to you?” Still holding her palm, he lifted her chin with his free hand. Sadness, guilt, and above all, an elusive glint of caution swirled in the aqua depths of her eyes. Sebastian's hand tightened. “I’d like an answer. Now.”
Wide-eyed at the sharpness of his tone, Ivy murmured, “Perhaps I’ll tell you someday, but it is an incident best forgotten. And already forgiven.”
Bloodlust churned within him. An overwhelming need to protect her swamped him. Was one of the Pack, as Society so courteously called her admirers, responsible for this? Which one was it? He’d smash the man’s face in; he’d slice him to ribbons; he’d—
The violence of his thoughts was astonishing.
Ivy sidled away from him with practiced proficiency. “Will I see you at the Quinn Ball tomorrow night, my lord? I shall save you a dance, should you care to have one.” The teasing was hesitant, a fragile attempt to draw attention away from her puzzling injury. “I’ll even remember my promise not to disappear when your back is turned.”
Sebastian considered her for a long moment before nodding in agreement. Soon enough, all her secrets would come to light. When it became apparent he would not pursue an answer, Ivy’s relief was instant, evident in the relaxing of her shoulders, the softening of her jaw.
“I will be there, butterfly, and I’ll expect a waltz.”
“You shall have one of your choosing.” Ivy gave him such a sweet smile, it made his stomach flip-flop. She made the business of seduction incredibly easy. Ignoring such delicate invitations was impossible.
Later that evening, Sebastian stepped into Brookes, intending to meet Alan there. He flipped with idle curiosity through the wager books positioned at the front of the exclusive club. Grimacing at some of the ridiculous bets, he turned to the first page of the latest book only to have his name jump out under the bold heading of “Taming the Countess.”
The original bet was thus: Five hundred pounds a newly returned earl ruins a certain countess before Season’s end.
Met in the following manner: One thousand pounds the prodigal earl gains only a broken heart and Poison Ivy emerges the unscathed victor.
Capping matters off in a magnificently grand gesture, an extraordinarily confident lord answered both wagers in an equally outrageous fashion and no subtlety whatsoever: Double that. Ravenswood shall accomplish the taming of Lady Ivy Kinley within three months’ time. Or die trying.
A muscle ticked along Sebastian’s jaw.
Bloody hell. They sat atop the lists.
Chapter 5
“I don’t like it.” An anxious frown pulled Sara’s brows together.
“You shouldn’t frown so.” Ivy bit into a teacake. “You’ll wrinkle dreadfully.”
“Do not change the subject.” Sara replied, smoothing her brow. “You were desperate to escape him. Now, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Ivy shrugged. Sebastian’s unexpected olive branch of a truce tossed her into a tailspin of confusion and hope. There was no understanding his offer or her acceptance of it.
“Ravenswood wishes to be civil, and I see no reason not to try.” She recalled Sebastian’s arm pressing with indecent heaviness against her shoulder, the warm smile crinkling the corners of his beautiful gray eyes. The crispness of his scent had imprinted upon her. If she buried her face in his chest and breathed deeply of him, what would he have done? If she turned her face to his, would he have deepened the kiss he brushed across her lips? “I was ready to do battle. It would have been quite bloody, you know.”
“How you can take this so lightly?” Sara groaned. “He is not a man to be trifled with.”
Ivy traced the rim of her teacup with an index finger. “If the earl wishes to end the speculation and gossip, I shall assist him. Perhaps even Lady Garrett will forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive!” Sara’s teacup slammed onto a delicate saucer. “If she would only accept the fact her son was unnaturally obsessed and hopelessly addicted.”
“You believe I’m foolish to feel even the slightest responsibility. But, Sara, had I agreed to see Timothy, it might have prevented what occurred.”
“God knows what he might have done if given a second chance. When I think of that night, it makes me ill.” Lips pressed tight, Sara’s fingers entangled with Ivy’s as each recalled the incident. “What you have suffered since, what you’ve endured, I cannot bear how people whisper. If only they knew the truth. One day, I shall forget my promise to remain silent. And you will hate me for it.” It was a miserable prophecy.
Ivy squeezed Sara’s hand, her voice rising with excitement. “But Ravenswood is going to help in this! Oh, Sara, can’t you see? He can end this! I know it’s madness, but I find myself trusting him. Even after such a rocky introduction.” Disentangling their hands, she ran a finger across the scar on her palm. “He asked me about this. I was so nervous about him prowling Kinley Court, I completely forgot to wear my gloves.”
Sara’s face drained of color. “Good heavens, Ivy. What did you tell him?”
“That perhaps one day I would explain. He did not ask any more about it.”
There was an odd glow in the earl’s eyes upon examining the wound, as if he yearned to punish the person responsible for such damage. He held no obligation to her; it was foolish to think he cared or was remotely interested in fighting her battles.
Sebastian needed to champion her cause, to hold back the wolves. After all, there was that despicable game high on the books in the gambling clubs, gentlemen betting on surviving her, taming her, whispers of a horrid nickname reaching her ears. If he thumbed his nose at Society, then this madness would stop. It must. No one would believe the earl foolish, or weak enough to be served up as another unfortunate victim of Poison Ivy. Maybe, in time, his friendship would ease the terrible guilt she suffered because of Timothy’s death.
If he wished to form this bond, she must have faith he meant her no harm. She must become the butterfly and flutter close to danger.
“Ivy, I’m begging you to reconsider. Something dreadful will happen, I just feel it. If only you saw him at the Sheffield Ball after you es
caped. His eyes were so cold, so cruel. Even Alan was furious with him.”
Ignoring the dire warning, Ivy’s mouth curved with a mischievous grin. “So, you and Bentley are on first name terms, are you? After only six months dancing about the issue? How scandalous, Lady Morgan!”
Sara flushed pink but she did not contradict the statement. “If we can stay on point…Alan expressed concern for your welfare.”
Ivy waved a dismissive hand. “There is no cause to be troubled on my account. Truly. He means me no harm.” A bit sheepishly, she confessed, “He called me a butterfly.”
Sara regarded her with such a blank stare, Ivy had no choice but to relate the entire incident.
“Oh, no,” Sara groaned in despair. “There’s nothing for it, is there? You won't change your mind about this, will you?”
“There is nothing to worry about, Sara…”
“Have you forgotten what happened with Timothy?”
“This is nothing like that!” Ivy protested.
“You’re right! It’s worse! Much, much worse!”
The two girls regarded one another, each determined to have her way.
“I’m going with you. To the opera,” Sara finally said. “You cannot go without someone to protect you. At least to provide the semblance of a chaperone.”
“I will not require a chaperone, dearest. I’m Poison Ivy, remember? Should anyone require protection, according to the gossips, it’s Ravenswood.” Admittedly, Ivy needed a chaperone yesterday. The light, sweeping caress of Sebastian’s mouth was far more exciting than any advances tolerated over the past two seasons. Something about him sent sparks skittering along every nerve ending she possessed, his fingers burning like hot irons on her skin. She’d never felt this way before. She was not sure she liked it. It made her feel…not in control. And, that was something she definitely did not enjoy.
“I need time to benefit from Ravenswood’s friendship, and I have two weeks in which to accomplish it. Surely, I can determine his sincerity before the opera. All will work out to my advantage, you will see.”
