Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1)

by April Moran

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered, forced to the sidelines by couples taking their places for the next dance. Another laid claim to the countess before he could reach her, sweeping her away to the tune of a lively Scottish reel. Shooting Sebastian an apologetic smile, Ivy turned her attention to the gentleman holding her hand.

  Is it necessary for Darington to hold her so damn close? Sebastian swirled his bourbon in distraction, eyes glued to Ivy laughing in delight, her feet flying through the pattern. She was never this carefree with the crowd in London. In Town, she was polite and distant and Sebastian was glad. This display of genuine pleasure was simply too overwhelming. Those sparkling, laughing eyes of hers made a man desperate to gain her attention, to prove himself worthy of that attention. It suddenly was not foolish at all to consider writing a sonnet or two, or twenty, all dedicated to Ivy Kinley’s beauty. Maybe he should buy her a caravan of precious jewels. Or paint her portrait. Or simply sit in worship at her feet.

  Whether laughing or aloof, there was no shortage of men eager to adore Ivy. Should she shun society because men found her irresistible?

  Making excuses for her left him irrationally angry. With himself.

  Even with the dubious aid of three more bourbons, his mood did not improve.

  Ivy curtsied deeply to Lord Darington at the end of the dance and Sebastian nearly cracked the crystal tumbler he held. She must know how enticing she was. Her breasts strained against the confines of the square neckline, nearly spilling over, the emeralds at her neck twinkling as if to beckon every man to enjoy a closer look. He squirmed, conflicted, unsure if he wished to rush over and yank the bodice higher or relax and admire the lovely view.

  Her gloves, worn to conceal the pale pink stripe of a scar, were missing. Somehow, their absence left her more exposed than the low-cut nature of her gown. Without knowing why, Sebastian interpreted it as a sign, one last barrier eliminated between them.

  Ivy waved off the invitation to another dance with a laugh. Darington, the fool, stared after her while she drifted away, his disappointment obvious to anyone watching. Another heart captured and crushed by Poison Ivy.

  Something dangerous glinted within Sebastian as she approached, something cruel and hard in direct contrast to her softness. He hated it, but it was necessary. It was the only way to withstand what boiled inside him. Tonight, I’ll have her. He would not yield to her intoxicating softness, but he would wait no longer to claim her body. When he took her, it would not be with sweetness and endearments. It could not be, not if he did this for Timothy’s sake.

  “Good evening, Sebastian.”

  He straightened from leaning a shoulder against the jamb of the terrace door to brush a cool kiss across her bare knuckles. “Countess. You are enchanting, as usual. Are you enjoying the ball?”

  Ivy took a discreet step away from the simmering heat in his gaze. “Very much so. Lord Bentley is a wonderful host, although you probably believe this all terribly provincial. Considering your travels abroad, I would think you might find country life a bit sedate.”

  Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Few dared mention his sojourn from England. It was a dangerous subject. “Before leaving for the Continent, I treasured time spent at my estates. I love being in the country.” Giving her a sideways glance, he smiled. “I am particularly fond of stolen moments by winding streams and elm trees. To discover we share the same affection pleases me. In the near future, I would enjoy showing you a similar locale at my ancestral home. It’s quite lovely.”

  Ivy’s face flushed pink, but she did not retreat, her eyes holding a spark of challenge. “I cannot imagine when such an occasion might present itself again, my lord.”

  The corners of Sebastian’s mouth lifted. “A small matter and one easily remedied. I shall arrange a visit to Beaumont for you.”

  “Perhaps.” It was a noncommittal reply, designed to drive him wild with longing, but Ivy’s eyes were deep, guileless pools of aquamarine. “Will you remain in London for the rest of the Season or return to France?” Her question was unexpected. She half turned from him, watching the couples swirl around the ballroom floor.

  Sebastian frowned. What lay behind her desire to determine his plans? Were things becoming too complicated? Perhaps she did not want him as her next lover. If so, that was most unfortunate. His intentions were for the event to take place that very night. And he intended to enjoy himself very much.

  “My plans have not been fully put into place.” His stomach tightened when she lightly touched his arm.

  “I do hope you stay.” Bringing his attention to Alan and Sara, dreamily smiling at one another as they whirled around the ballroom floor, Ivy continued, “I am sure you will want to be here for the wedding.”

  Sebastian’s eyebrow shot up. Last evening, Alan confided his plan to ask for Sara’s hand but other than Sara’s parents, no one else knew of the impending engagement. “Are you so confident of a match?” Why his friend’s plans to marry bothered him, Sebastian could not say…but it was not jealousy.

  Watching Sara giggle as Alan whispered in her ear, Ivy sighed. “Lord Bentley will not be able to resist Sara much longer…she hopes she has captured his heart as he has captured hers.” Glancing up, a small frown marked her brow. “You shall not repeat this, will you, Sebastian? Sara would be devastated to know I divulged the depths of her feelings, even though I did not mean to do so.”

  With a grim smile, he leaned to whisper in her ear, “Do not worry. Your secret is safe. I will be here for the wedding.”

  Her gaze grew tender. “Then I am happy. Not only for their sake.” The tiny squeeze she gave his arm shot straight to his groin. “I would miss you terribly if you went away again. Or, if you decided England was no longer to your liking.”

  Yes. Tonight. It must be tonight before I’m hauled off to Bedlam. Prepare yourself, Countess. I’m coming for you.

  Only Ivy noticed Alan pulling Sara out onto the terrace and away from the cheerful chaos of the ball. She made no move to follow or stop them. Neither Lady Burkestone, in deep conversation with another lady regarding her new French seamstress, nor Posie, Sara’s ancient maid, asleep in a chair in a distant corner, seemed to take note. To ensure no one disturbed the couple, Ivy positioned herself before those terrace doors, refusing numerous offers to dance.

  When the lovers returned half an hour later, Ivy grudgingly allowed the Marquis of Berkshire to pull her into a waltz. She was so very curious as to what was said on that terrace. Sara glowed and Alan wore such a pleased smile, his face appeared in danger of splitting in two. From over the Marquis’s shoulder, she watched them find a darkened corner to share a glass of champagne. For the rest of the waltz, they remained there, laughing and whispering until Alan pulled Sara up onto the musician’s platform.

  “Friends.” Alan slid his arm about Sara’s waist, smiling with indulgent patience when she blushed a pretty pink. People murmured with excitement, shuffling closer. Ivy’s heart contracted with a painful tightness while the Marquis gave her a puzzled shrug.

  “Something wonderful and quite amazing has just occurred. My deplorable state of bachelor misery will soon end. Lady Sara Morgan has granted me the greatest honor by agreeing to become my wife.”

  The room erupted into cheers, men letting loose with whoops of approval while women squealed in glee. A loud din of voices erupted as well-wishers converged on the happy couple. Alan found himself repeatedly slapped on the back in congratulations while several ladies tugged Sara to their midst. The heirloom Bentley diamond and ruby ring, passed down from countess to countess for generations, glittered on Sara’s finger, admired with much thoroughfare. When the Marquis rushed to join the throng, Ivy was abandoned. Her failure to go congratulate the new couple was incomprehensible but her feet felt glued to the floor.

  She was not alone in withholding her well-wishes.

  Sebastian stepped through the entrance leading from the attached conservatory, three men pushing past him to investigate the commotion. He lean
ed against the doorjamb, arms lightly crossed while observing the festive celebration. Unaware of her perusal, his face was a blank canvas giving little insight into his private thoughts.

  Suddenly, Ivy believed Sebastian to be the loneliest person in the entire world. An overwhelming sadness flooded her, an irresistible urge to go to him, to envelope him in her arms. He might shove her aside, snarling at the slightest hint of pity, but she felt drawn to him in a manner hard to explain.

  She’d taken only a few steps when Sara burst through the horde to wrap her in a fierce embrace.

  “Can you believe it?” she exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh, Ivy. It’s a dream come true, a fairytale. Look, I may bruise from pinching myself so many times!”

  “I am so happy for you, dearest. So very happy. I knew this would happen.” Ivy hugged her tight, searching out Sebastian over her friend’s shoulder. “Bentley had no choice but to fall in love with you.”

  Sebastian’s attention finally shifted to them, those slate colored eyes of his remaining unreadable. A jolting undercurrent passed between them and Ivy shivered. He appeared almost a stranger. When she gave him a tremulous smile, wiping tears from her cheeks while Sara embraced her again, he merely bowed his head, an odd expression crossing his face.

  For the next few moments, Ivy was caught up with a group of other women in admiring the engagement ring. Not until Alan pulled Sara away was she able to look for the earl. By then, however, Sebastian was gone.

  Where he went, and why he did not return for the remainder of the evening, dominated Ivy’s thoughts. Later that night, as Molly packed away various items into their traveling trunks for the return to London the following afternoon, worry for Sebastian drove away any thought of sleep Ivy possessed.

  Clad in a puff of a nightgown, constructed of delicate white lawn and lace with numerous ribbons and full flowing sleeves, Ivy sat at a walnut wood vanity, pulling an ivory backed brush through her hair. She found it difficult to erase the image of Sebastian’s expression as everyone congratulated Alan and Sara. For just an instant, when he looked at her, there was a mix of both wistful and guilty jealousy in his features…

  “Such a lovely time you’ve had here, milady,” Molly remarked cheerfully.

  “Yes, it’s been wonderful.” With the exception of the last two hours, everything was almost perfect. But the dark air Sebastian wore about him tonight tied her into anxious knots. It was a startling departure from the playful earl who kissed her into submission that very morning.

  “Now that Lady Morgan got herself engaged to the earl, you’re sure to visit this place often. All seem right pleased with the match.” The maid finished with her tasks, taking the brush from Ivy’s hands to pull the curls into a loose braid.

  “I’m so very happy for her.” A twinge of something stirred within Ivy. Elation for Sara, yes, but a tiny sliver of her heart wished...

  “Ooh, and Lord Bentley, he’s a handsome cove, that he is,” Molly sighed, then with a sly grin, she added, “but not as handsome as what your earl is. I must say, I’ve yet to see his match if you don’t mind my boldness in sayin’ so.”

  “Molly,” Ivy admonished as the maid chuckled.

  “Maybe your earl will have the itch and propose too, milady.”

  Before Ivy could comment on such an unlikely scenario, there was a soft tapping at the door.

  “It must be Sara,” Ivy murmured. Now that everyone had retired, Sara probably wished to share her joy. It was a scenario reminiscent of their days as schoolgirls, when they would spend hours flung across their narrow beds, sharing secrets and dreams until the wee hours of the morning. Throwing on a robe, Ivy stood behind Molly as she cracked the door open.

  Both women gaped in horrified shock. One massive shoulder propped against the doorframe, Sebastian’s grin was cocky, his eyebrow lifting in a slight arc upon seeing Ivy in her flimsy nightclothes. His own shirt lay unbuttoned to the top of his dark breeches, the open edges revealing his naked chest. In the low light cast by the hall scones, his exposed skin gleamed and Ivy’s eyes glued to the burnished expanse before jerking her fascinated gaze away.

  “Obviously, I was not expected,” he drawled. A blood red rose dangled from his hand. It was mesmerizing, the way he spun it back and forth in his blunt, elegant fingers.

  Molly reacted first. Sputtering in outrage, she drew herself up to the full height of five feet and one inch.

  From the relative safety behind Molly’s shoulder, Ivy’s voice shook. “I thought you were Sara. This - this is disgraceful, Ravenswood. You must leave at once!”

  He only smirked at that, his height giving him an unfair advantage. “Not an option, Ivy. Shall I tell you why?”

  He intends to enter my room! Just as Ivy realized it, Molly attempted to slam the door in a flurry of evasive actions.

  Sebastian’s toe blocked the effort. His boot wedged against the frame with the firmness of a boulder and even Molly did not possess the courage required to shove the door on a blooming earl’s toe. It was the only thing keeping the door from crashing shut. Not his shoulder, nor his leg; not even an arm. Just his toe. The power one earl’s toe held was rather astonishing.

  With an awful deliberateness, he warned, “We’ve unfinished business, you and I. Now, let me in. Before things get messy.”

  He could not possibly mean to force the issue. Not tonight. He was obviously hanging onto civility by a mere thread and that confused Ivy. Sebastian exercised restraint on the banks of that stream today. He gave pleasure when he could have taken everything without a whimper of protest from her. Would he really take by force what she denied him now?

  He had been drinking. Why? Was he not happy for Alan and Sara? Was he angry with her for some reason? Did he regret their actions that morning? Or was he sorry for not taking more? Was that why he stood at her door now? Impatient and hungry?

  Ivy swallowed, gripping the edges of her robe with tight fingers. The faint odor of bourbon and expensive cigars wafted from Sebastian. Mingling with the crisp sweetness of cinnamon and the powdery fragrance of roses, it created an intoxicating blend. Another indefinable air also clung to him, one concocted of sin and pleasure. He was so handsome, shrouded in the darkened doorway, with eyes glittering and mysterious, the rose dangling from his fingertips. Those hands of his caused her to lose all reason. Perhaps he could come in…

  “Your services are no longer needed,” Sebastian snapped at Molly. The weakness he sensed in Ivy was as powerful as fresh blood to a wolf.

  The maid’s loyalty was too deeply ensconced to abandon her mistress. “Beggin’ pardon, milord. You’re a frightful sight, roaming about, half-dressed. It is indecent for you to call upon milady at this hour. With her feeling poorly, she’s bid me stay close.” Her fiercest frown accompanied a half curtsy just before her heels burrowed into the carpet. “I’ll not be going anywhere without her say-so.”

  Sebastian scowled at the unanticipated obstacle to his intentions. Ivy’s shoulders lifted in a weak apology when his glare shifted to her.

  “She is right, you know. You are half-dressed,” Ivy’s reply was a fragile rebuke. “And frightful.”

  Thank God for Molly. Her bristling, crimson-faced presence served as the sole deterrent to an otherwise incredibly foolhardy and irreversible decision. Pulling her robe closer, Ivy waited to see what Sebastian would do.

  He did not expect this. Did not expect a damn maid to be guarding the sanctuary of Ivy's bedchamber like a demon of the underworld. No, he imagined sweet-talking his way in, overcoming objections with kisses. He envisioned caresses and whispers of everything he would do to her until the countess surrendered with a willing sigh.

  A thorn bit into his thumb. He gripped the rose so violently, its stem was crushed. A vision of slowly tracing that rose down Ivy’s lovely and very naked body, from forehead to the tips of her toes, plagued him from the moment he pulled it from a floral arrangement in the upper hall. He possessed every intention of kissing the p
ath forged by the softness of those petals.

  The vivid schemes his brain created drove him to distraction. The sweetness of the interlude beneath the elm trees only inflamed his appetite and damn it to hell, he tired of playing these games. He was half-mad with need. Need he hardly understood.

  He wanted her. Tonight. He would have her. Tonight.

  “Dismiss her.” His command was a growl, frustration and alcohol blending into a dangerous combination. How loud would Molly scream if he shouldered his way into the room? Would anyone investigate if the redheaded fiend landed on her arse in the hall? “Dismiss her now.”

  Ivy took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “I will not do that, Sebastian. You know I cannot let you in.”

  Was that a glint of triumph in those lovely turquoise eyes? Or panic? Everything was upside down. Sebastian was not sure of anything anymore. Damn you! Do you enjoy seeing me groveling at your door? Dancing to the merry tune you play? His hands clenched and for an instant, lunacy threatened to overtake him.

  Reason tried desperately to gain his attention. Once again sharp thorns bit into his palm.

  “Ivy, so help me, I will break this door down. Let me in….”

  Once he disposed of Molly, he would lock the damn door. He’d have Ivy all to himself. Even if the maid shouted her head off in the hallway, he could slake his thirst before anyone stopped him. And should Ivy scream, well, there were ways to prevent that. His kisses would easily transform her screams to moans and pleas for more…

  He was stunned when Ivy pushed Molly out of the way. Standing in the narrow opening, her hands gripping the edge of the door, Ivy was within his grasp if he only reached out to seize her. The odd sorrow flaring in her gaze immobilized him. Suddenly reconciling his overwhelming desire with the cold, hard plans for revenge was impossible.