by April Moran
Ivy’s explanation of things seemed reasonable, even admirable. Bloody hell, Sebastian felt a shade guilty, being so heavy handed. Did she tell the truth or was she simply a good liar when put on the spot? Her contempt for his display of jealousy stung more than he cared to admit.
Allowing her to ease away, Sebastian retained the hold of her elbow as they resumed walking. His head tilted to the couple ahead of them on the path. “They seem to deal well together.” When Ivy failed to respond, his shoulder nudged hers. “My temper, butterfly. Watching Kessler handle you disturbed me greatly, I’m afraid.”
“Your temper?” Ivy’s brow arched. “The one you never lose?”
“The same.”
“I don’t understand you, Lord Ravenswood,” she confessed.
“You are hardly alone in that, my dear, and are we back to formal titles? Although I confess, ‘Lord Ravenswood’ has a much nicer ring than ‘pompous ass.'” He grinned. “Come now. Let us find more pleasant matters to discuss. Tell me your opinion of Bentley and Lady Morgan’s budding romance.”
Again, Sebastian knew Ivy’s innermost thoughts from the expressive light in her eyes. She did not trust his motives and was still angry, but she would permit the argument to die.
“Sara enjoys the earl’s company a great deal.” Her reply was cautious.
“You adore her, don’t you?”
“She’s been my dearest friend since we met at finishing school. Have you and Lord Bentley been friends for long?”
“Since childhood. Fortunately, Alan has always believed in me or should I say, the good in me,” Sebastian said with a dry laugh, linking their arms together. Ivy briefly resisted before surrendering like a lamb led to slaughter. “Would you be happy if they married?”
“It is what Sara desires. The earl is quite handsome, and he would provide well. Most importantly, he’s very kind and seems to worship her.”
Watching the couple duck out of sight and behind a tree, Sebastian chuckled. “I imagine Alan is stealing a kiss right now.”
A reluctant smile broke across Ivy’s face. “Lord Bentley has managed to sneak more than one past my surveillance. I’m afraid I’m a dreadful chaperone.”
“It would be awful for us to impede the course of true love.” Sebastian led Ivy off the path, disregarding her gasp of shock. “It suffers terribly without the numerous obstacles constantly tossed in its way.” Leaning against the rough bark of a sheltering elm, he dragged her against him, one arm wrapped tight around her waist, holding her immobile. “I missed you.”
Ivy’s chin tilted at the pressure of his forefinger tracing the curve of her jaw. “Did you?” She tried sounding cool and detached, but her breath hitched the slightest bit.
“Yes.” His dark eyes delved into her soul. “I did. I do. Far more than what is rational, unfortunately.”
Ivy was silent before blurting out, “You forgot about me.”
“Never.” Sebastian’s finger drifted down the arch of her neck. “How can I ever forget you? Or how you moaned my name when I touched you?”
Ivy shivered, her aqua blue eyes clashing with his. “Where were you, Sebastian?” The question was a whisper. “Where-”
“Does it matter?” he murmured. “I’m here now.”
Sebastian could not explain this growing obsession. And reconciling that obsession with revenge was becoming a difficult task. He wanted her. With every loose thread of his soul, he craved her.
This hunger, it was disturbing. Ivy’s smile entranced him. Those huge eyes of hers, the color of the sea on a summer day, made for drowning in. Some mornings he awoke with fingers tingling from dreams of stroking the petal softness of her cheek. Dammit, even her perfume intoxicated him. That curious mix of oranges and lilies possessed the power to tangle him into curious knots, leaving his mouth dry with lust. He thought about it at the oddest times.
Bringing both hands up to cradle her face, he used his tongue to trace the seam of her lips, waiting for them to part. When they did, he slid inside, gently exploring her mouth with long, slow sweeps until she gripped his forearms for support. She tasted of wildflower honey and lemonade. When he finally raised his head, the golden flecks in the depths of her eyes shimmered up at him like flashes of sunlight on the ocean. Intriguing how he could make her storm clouds dissipate with just a few simple kisses. It was knowledge he would use to full advantage.
He loved how her pulse pounded against the tips of his fingers. Like a tiny sparrow beating its wings, hopelessly captured in the cage of his palms. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
Breathless, Ivy leaned into him, hands braced against his chest, her face tilted to his. “Like what?” Chestnut curls tumbled to the indentation of her waist, and should he wrap his arms completely around her, those soft ringlets would tickle his hands.
“As if you wish to finish what we began that night…” The pulse at the base of Ivy’s throat leaped at the whispered suggestion and Sebastian smiled as he abruptly pulled her back into the sunlight.
Sara and Alan had returned to the path as well, laughing with one another. Not once did they glance back at their trailing chaperones.
Sebastian took Ivy’s hand, their fingers twining loosely. She blinked several times to regain her senses, stunned at being kissed in shady seclusion one moment to walking sedately in the sunshine the next. Small quivers revealed themselves in her fingers when his lips brushed across her knuckles in the softest of caresses.
Sebastian did not bother to hide a wolfish grin of satisfaction.
Ivy did not expect to find Sebastian’s circle of friends to be so kind and gracious, although a handful appeared genuinely confused by her attendance at Lord Bentley’s country party. It amazed her that all followed Sebastian’s lead without question. The subtle display of his powerful influence was proving every bit as advantageous as she hoped.
Following dinner, a spirited game of whist ensued, with gentlemen pitted against the ladies. Partnered with Sara, Ivy suspected Sebastian and Alan of throwing their hands more than once. She wished to seize his cards and reveal the truth, but that would be bad form.
Sebastian glanced up from his bourbon as if sensing her thoughts. “You are by far the better player, Lady Ivy.”
“If you believed that, you would play to win.” Ivy gestured at the cards. “It is beyond fantastical we bested you and Lord Bentley in the last five hands. You will not hurt our feelings by winning a hand or two.”
“Perhaps I am only lulling you into a false sense of security with a display of my incompetence before I take all.”
Sebastian’s eyes shone bright with something unknown. For a brief moment, Ivy wondered if she were being pacified into compliance in other matters. Her fingers tightened on the cards she still held.
“No need to mollycoddle us, Lord Ravenswood,” Sara said with an arched brow.
Ivy laid the cards down before she bent them beyond repair. “We could win, even if you play your best.”
“Is that so?” A grin of pure devilment crossed Sebastian’s features, his gaze never leaving hers. “I propose a wager to settle the matter.”
Laughter rippled in the wake of his comment, ears pricking at the mention of ‘wager.” The two smiling so pleasantly across the card table were players in the most well-known stakes in all of London.
Lady Burkestone piped in, conflicted if she was expected to stop something potentially scandalous. “I say, might this be a bit improper?”
Sebastian shot the woman a quelling glance. “Probably. By the way, Lady Burkestone, are you aware Lord Bentley’s chef concocts the most wondrous strawberry tarts this side of Paris? They really are a marvel. I understand they are on the menu for tomorrow and he always begins their preparation the night before. Something about the strawberries having to set properly…”
“You don’t say? How interesting.” Lady Burkestone rose from her chair, unable to resist the lure of the decadent treat. “I think I’ll run to the kitchens and have a peek. Ou
r own cook has an absolute talent for ruining strawberry tarts. It’s quite awful, really. There must be a trick to the process I can make note of.”
When she was gone, Ivy shook her head at Sebastian. “Do you think this is wise? After all, you have no real knowledge of my skill at whist.”
“And you’ve no knowledge of my skill at winning wagers.”
“My lord, you are either very brave or very foolish. Perhaps both. So, tell me, what is your bet? It must be agreed to before it can be properly done.”
“A little thing to most, but I claim a kiss as my prize,” Sebastian’s smile was serene. Murmurs rumbled amongst the men while several ladies leaned forward to impart their most sincere advice on how to best lose the game.
Ivy had no intention of losing. Holding up a hand to halt any further words of encouragement to that end, she considered the earl. “A kiss and my ruined reputation? It is far too steep for a simple game of whist. When I win, what prize shall I claim?”
“Why, naturally, a kiss. Would any of you consider less?” Addressing the ladies, Sebastian garnered a round of emphatic headshakes and vows to the contrary.
Ivy laughed in amused disbelief at his audacious statement. “No matter who wins, you emerge the victor while I’m left with a reputation in tatters.”
“That is the crux of the issue I face, my dear.” He winked at her. “Should I lose to win, or play to lose? Either way, I will delight in the outcome.”
Ivy’s complaint was half-hearted. Her reputation already hovered on the verge of ruin. She would not think about that now, not with Sebastian grinning at her like that. The prospect of winning or losing the wager was quite titillating. Oh, her reputation be damned! The gauntlet flung at her feet caused a surge of excitement to tilt her stomach. How enjoyable it would be to beat him at something. It wasn’t fair the handsome devil should find victory in everything.
To be honest, the abandonment over the past two weeks still nipped her. Despite the unspoken acceptance of his unorthodox apology, she wanted to beat him. If only for the momentary satisfaction it provided. Sebastian found it easy to overlook her existence and she wished to prove, if only to herself, she wasn’t one of the many spineless women he surrounded himself with.
Sebastian shuffled the cards. “Is it a play or no? Mind you, this will not be a quick, impersonal peck. I shall accept nothing less than a full minute of your…undivided attention.”
Ivy’s heart skipped as his voice curled around her. He clearly referred to the night of the opera. Arching a brow, it was just as clear he wanted her to remember. But which part? The kisses in the coach? Or the moment he showed her paradise on the tips of his fingers? The slow grin spreading across his handsome face told her. His fingers thrusting between her legs, hot and insistent, demanding she succumb to bliss…
“I would be a fool to agree to those terms.” Her face felt hot enough to burst into flames. If anyone guessed her thoughts…
“I would never mistake you for a fool, Countess, but a kiss is what I wish for my forfeit.” He knew she was remembering the moment she climaxed, pressed against the wall of her foyer.
The others watched with curious half smiles. Sara wore a perplexed frown, trying to determine what had just occurred.
“I agree with that portion of your terms only,” Ivy said in a voice as shaky as her knees. Sebastian Cain was far too gorgeous and far too bloody sure of himself. Was it possible to bring the arrogant devil down a notch or two? Because it wasn’t right to remind her of tender kisses and burning caresses and then give her that cocky grin when he knew full well she wanted more. “For my own wager, you shall serve as my groom during the picnic and the ride tomorrow. A humbled earl is the prize.” The ladies murmured at the cleverness of the terms while several gentlemen grinned at her naiveté behind raised tumblers of brandy and port.
Something dark and mysterious flitted in Sebastian’s eyes. Agreeing without hesitation, he kissed her hand over the whist table to seal the bargain, and Ivy experienced a moment of unease.
“I do hope to prevail. My wager would be the more pleasant undertaking.” Sebastian motioned for Alan and Sara to pull their chairs closer.
“The idea of you chastened is quite pleasing, my lord,” Ivy purred. “I shall employ all my skills to ensure success.”
While watching the battle over terms, Alan smiled in appreciation for what he considered harmless fun. Sara grimaced with concern. Any attempt to intercede, he interrupted, warning her with a murmured, “Let them be.” Now, they both frowned, realizing their mistake as Sebastian dealt the cards.
“I do expect you to act the part in every way, including mucking out stalls.” Ivy flashed him another impudent smile.
“I fail to see the necessity of manual labor.” Sebastian paused in mid-deal, his brow furrowed.
“Afraid of the consequences when you lose?”
“I’ll have that kiss, my lady.”
Ivy nodded as the game began in earnest. “We shall see.”
An hour later, the final card flipped, and Ivy gave an unladylike hoot of triumph. Her reputation would remain in its only slightly tattered state for the time being. Sara breathed a sigh of relief, squeezing Ivy’s hand beneath the table while Sebastian and Alan each executed gallant bows. They retreated as others gathered around to offer congratulations.
“Here! Here!” Lord Bancroft, an old friend from Oxford days, raised his glass in a tipsy salute. “To Ravenswood! He emerges the victor after all!” A chorus of boos and cries met his words.
“Are you mad, Bancroft? The earl must play the groom after all,” Lady Ansley giggled, giving Ivy a wink. “You should have Ravenswood perform all manners of beastly, disagreeable things, Lady Kinley. It’s not often you have an earl at your beck and call!”
Bancroft snorted, wrapping his arms around his stomach to contain his merriment. Port spilled, creating a scarlet stain on his peach hued silk waistcoat. “Nothing requested by the countess could be deemed disagreeable. If it is a beast she needs, I imagine that will be seen to as well. Ravenswood, do not hesitate to call upon me should you need help. Indeed, the three of us could have a jolly time.” The handsome young lord swayed, turning a leering, alcoholic-fueled smirk to Ivy.
“Make your apologies, Bancroft. Now. Or would a private meeting at dawn be preferable?”
Sebastian’s voice was a sudden plunge through the fragile ice of a pond in the dead of winter. Instant. Immersive. Freezing. Dark winds swirled through the room, sucking the conversation and all warm joviality into a vacuum of silence. All eyes turned to the earl; a rigid statute by the fireplace with eyes of scorching black.
Ivy shivered. This was Sebastian on the night of the Sheffield Ball, the night he hunted her with icy intent, ready to destroy and rip her to shreds. A glacier existed inside his soul, the ability to hurt another. That ice threatened to encase her only a month ago, but she’d forgotten the danger while basking in the warm summer of his smile. Yes, she’d seen this man before, and he terrified her.
Bancroft blinked stupidly. He stared at Sebastian for several seconds, the appropriate words rattling around before they managed to roll off his tongue. “Sorry, old chap. Didn’t mean to offend-”
“Not me, you drunken buffoon.” With lethal calm, Sebastian slowly tilted his head in Ivy’s direction.
Bancroft was intoxicated, his words meaningless and offensive in a manner Ivy did not completely understand. But Sebastian did. His gaze bore into the other man with cold intensity.
Bancroft swung toward her. A belated sense of self-preservation seemed to filter through his befuddled haze. A private meeting at dawn meant one thing only. “My apologies, Lady Kinley.” Bowing in her general direction, he nearly toppled over a table before catching himself on the edge of it. “I fear I’m not fit for civilized company this evening. Again, my apologies.”
Ivy nodded, her eyes locking with Sebastian’s as Bancroft’s entreaty, punctuated by several hiccups, echoed in the awkward silence. The man m
ade his exit, knocking over an ornate tea table in the process as Sebastian accepted a tumbler of whiskey from a somber servant. The atmosphere of the room quickly returned to its former gaiety.
“Smartly done,” Alan murmured.
“Do you imply I lost on purpose?” Sebastian’s lips quirked.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Although, I should have seen that coming. Bancroft has not lost the tendency to get deep in his cups. I hope this will not put a damper on the remainder of the weekend.”
“It won’t. He can sleep off his stupidity, and you can be glad I do not have to kill him. That would have surely ruined the party.”
Alan’s smile widened. “There’s little doubt you’ve staked your claim now. First, the incident at the archery range, now this. And, I hope you appreciate my efforts on your behalf. Good God, I’ve never played at whist so terribly in my life.”
“Nor have I. However, I had complete confidence in my ability, and yours, to lose gracefully without arousing suspicion.” Sebastian played very hard to lose. As Ivy’s groom, there was the opportunity to touch her quite often. Hell, he’d muck out a stall or two if the possibility existed of stealing a kiss, or more, from her. She could not know what she wagered. Or did she?
“I should have made a similar bet with Sara,” Alan mused in regret.
“You’ve no need for such underhanded methods, Alan. Lady Morgan gives you no cause to devise such elaborate schemes. I must press any advantage to overcome Lady Kinley’s suspicions.”
“Should she suspect your motives, Seb? I cannot allow any harm to come to her. She is quite dear to Sara and Sara is dear to me, so naturally, I have an interest in their mutual contentment.”
At the disapproving undercurrent in Alan’s tone, Sebastian shuttered his eyes. “Considering our circumstances, is it any wonder the countess harbors some degree of suspicion? I hold her in the highest esteem, and she intrigues me. She appears to enjoy my company. I delight in hers. What is wrong with a bit of contrivance if it accomplishes the chance to spend the afternoon close to her?”
