by April Moran
Against all reasoning, scheming and design, he simply wished to hold her, his arms wrapped tight about her. He wanted to wake the next morning, warm and sleepy, with his butterfly countess smiling into his eyes. Her fragrance swirled about him, mingling with the aroma of the rose to tickle his nose. Like powerful witchcraft it sapped his strength. Leaving him vulnerable to whatever she desired.
“I beg of you, Sebastian, do not do this. Not tonight, when the two people we hold most dear have declared their love for one another. Do not ruin the perfection of their moment. Please say goodnight to me.” Rising on tiptoes, she kissed him softly on the mouth. “Please.”
Sebastian shuddered. Violent need and the want for something more coursed through him.
He wanted to snatch her to him. He wanted to carry her off to his quarters as though he were a bloody pirate flush with hard-won treasure, or a Viking warrior enjoying the spoils of war. She was so damned beautiful and glowing and that braid her unruly hair was twisted into practically screamed for his hands to untangle it, to spread across the pillows in all its glory. He wanted to kiss every golden freckle scattered across that pert nose of hers. He wanted to explore the softness of the flesh behind her knees, the thinness of the skin covering the veins of her wrists. Everything that made her Ivy, he wanted to discover. He wanted to learn all her secrets and make her his forever.
“I want you,” he breathed, dizzy with all his wants. “And I will have you...”
She smiled, nodding in understanding. Soft, sad, sympathetic. “Yes. But not this night.”
While he stood there, thinking of all the things he wanted to do, she gently closed the door, her eyes holding his until the golden light from her room disappeared. Before Sebastian knew what happened, he was alone in the shadowy corridor.
Ivy had tamed him, for the moment. A tangled confusion replaced the coldness in his heart, ripping fissures into his cruel resolve. The rose gripped tight between his fingers bore smears of blood across almost every petal. His blood, much darker than the blossom’s hue. With deliberate savagery, he crushed the flower until petals rained to the floor, a scattering of scarlet reminders the countess won this skirmish.
“Please,” she had said even while turning him away.
Much later, the memory of her lips brushing his was a burning reminder of his own dark desires as he tossed and turned in his solitary bed. Sleep finally came close to dawn and dreams mocked his failure to take what he wanted. Dreams where Ivy writhed as he brought her to climax after climax. She wrapped about him, whispering her need and in his damned dreams, Sebastian willingly did everything she asked and more.
“Please,” Ivy said. In the darkest corners of Sebastian’s imagination she opened her arms, begging him to claim her. To love her…
It burned like the coals of hell to admit she possessed a piece of him.
Chapter 11
Gossip regarding a peculiar incident outside Lady Kinley’s bedroom door on the last night of the Earl of Bentley’s country party circulated for days. Following an apparent misunderstanding, the Earl of Ravenswood, half-undressed and magnificently foxed, located his own bedchamber. It was then, the unnamed source gleefully reported, the earl slammed the door shut in a fit of such bruising ferocity, every portal in that wing of the house shook.
Naturally, once details emerged of Sebastian’s attentive nature during that weekend, it was assumed he committed himself to an exclusive pursuit of the countess. But, many whispered, something was not quite right.
Upon return to the city they attended one ball and a play together, the atmosphere between them best described as cold and strained. Indeed, Sebastian declined to dance with the countess at the ball. To Ivy’s surprise, he did not even kiss her hand at the end of those two evenings. He deposited her on Kinley House’s doorstep as though eager to be rid of her.
Her rejection of his advances at Bentley Park must have stung his pride enough to freeze the ardent pursuit. Or had he simply tired of her? A man with his appetites would find such inexperienced prey not worth the effort. After all, women tumbled headfirst in his bed with no demands or expectations on his person. The earl was accustomed to such behavior. Could he understand she was not like those women and never would be? She wanted more. She would have all of Sebastian. Or none of him.
It seemed logical to cut ties. To end this madness and accept defeat. Ivy’s soul wept at the thought, finding it impossible to commit to the idea. She could not let him go, could not imagine his lips never touching hers again. But she also could not continue this way, held hostage to the mercurial swing of the earl’s moods. This hopeful, agonizing limbo, her heart teetering in the balance, was causing untold pain.
After that first week Sebastian did not call on her, although he remained in London. With the evident chill in their relationship the Pack happily filled the void. Ivy hid her turmoil beneath smiles of indifference as whispers trailed in her wake.
Her resolve to end the relationship grew apace with the aching in her heart and one week stretched into two. Ivy decided if she heard from the heartless cad again she would tell him to go straight to the devil.
On a bright morning bursting with all the warm freshness of late spring, a simple request arrived from the Earl of Ravenswood. Would Ivy accompany him on a turn-around Hyde Park that afternoon?
“You wish to change again?” Molly’s tone verged on incredulous. “That’s four times, milady.”
Ivy ignored the maid’s pursed lips of disapproval. “I can count, Molly. Yes, again. I believe the yellow this time.”
Once moonstruck over the earl’s striking good looks, Molly had decided Lord Ravenswood was not so grand a prize after all. She grumbled of the earl’s lack of manners all the way back from Kent. The man was a blackguard she complained to Brody the first chance she got, even after Ivy scolded her.
A damned scoundrel, Sara pointed out the day before during tea. “I told you so,” she had mumbled, patting her friend’s shoulder while Ivy wept into her hands.
“This will do,” Ivy smoothed the sunny yellow silk with the palm of her hand. The fabric might add some much-needed color to her wan features.
“It’ll have to…’is lordship will be here any second,” Molly huffed, shoving a matching parasol into her hands.
Molly’s disgruntled mutterings, paired with Brody’s baleful glares, formed a depressing backdrop as Ivy descended the stairs to wait in the music room. At promptly one thirty, an open carriage pulled into the small courtyard and soon after that, the doorbell rang with the cheerfulness of funeral bells.
Following an exchange of aloof pleasantries, Sebastian handed Ivy up into the carriage. As the driver guided the vehicle down the crowded thoroughfare, the earl deliberately settled on the opposite side, his arm stretched across the back of the leather seat. His long legs brushed her skirts. Blast it. Her heart clenched with injured misery when he did not sit beside her.
The next fifteen minutes was a study in wretchedness. The carriage rattled along Mayfair’s quiet streets, giving way to busier thoroughfares before easing into the pleasant, forest like roadway to Hyde Park.
“I do hope this beautiful weather lasts.” Her remark elicited the extent of what Sebastian offered during the entire drive, a stilted procession of mumbles and inaudible responses. Ivy grit her teeth. “I hate when it rains.”
Sebastian regarded her as if she were daft. “It would not be England if it did not rain.”
It took a moment for Ivy’s anguish to melt. Not into a placid pond of cool water but a storm of hurt fury, boiling inside her, steaming and clawing to escape. Sebastian toyed with her as if he were a sleek jungle cat and she the meekest little field mouse.
But even mice possessed teeth. Sharp ones.
The gates of Hyde Park loomed ahead. Ivy nearly choked on the words. “This is the last time you will call on me.” Her breath caught in a slight hitch. Digging fingernails into her palms through the silk gloves, she steeled herself. “Your affections have o
bviously cooled, and I no longer wish to see you.”
Sebastian was shocked.
Ivy had reached her breaking point. For some reason, he never considered the possibility she would be the one to declare this war at its end. He controlled this game of passionate hostilities. Not her.
She is done with you…
Alarm surged throughout his soul, sickening and unfamiliar. She wore some kind of fanciful hat, framing her face to perfection, shading the flecks of gold dust sprinkled across her nose, her eyes enormous and beautiful beneath the wide brim. Smudges of fatigue darkened her eyes, her cheeks paler than ivory roses. But a cold resoluteness glinted in her gaze before the lacy parasol tilted to shield her face from his hot stare.
Just as well, Sebastian thought. I can’t face you. Didn’t dare look her in the eye now. Because she would know the awful truth. That he desperately wanted what Alan had with Sara. And he wanted it with Ivy.
Whatever it entailed, however it must be accomplished, Sebastian craved the happiness he saw illuminating Alan’s features the night of the engagement. He wanted the same joy shining on Ivy’s face that he witnessed glowing from Sara’s. He could not admit he was envious of their friends, but damn it, he was. He would marry Ivy if necessary to obtain that giddy euphoria. To have her.
Even if it meant betraying his own blood. And abandoning any hope for revenge.
Sebastian slowly shook his head. “My affections have not cooled by any measure. Ivy, you don’t know what you are saying…”
Don’t let her go, don’t let her go, don’t let her go…
Animosity rolled from her, thickened the air, buffeting him. An urge to swat at the heaviness of it nearly lifted his hand.
“I know exactly what I am saying,” Ivy whispered, gripping the parasol so tight, Sebastian recognized the silent yearning to crash the frilly thing over his head.
Locking his hands behind his head, his legs stretched to invade the space next to her knees. An arrogant smirk played across his face but churning inside him was a dazed panic. It made his words reckless ones. “And what shall you do, Ivy? Choose someone new? Let him caress you and hold you as I have? Shall you kiss him and pretend it is me? You’ll find no other man to give you the pleasure I have, and little butterfly, there’s still so much more to experience. We’ve only just begun to explore.”
Ivy sucked in a breath of outrage. The parasol tilted just enough to reveal her face. “There shall be no need to pretend. You shall be replaced. Indeed, I will erase you. Quite easily, I assure you.”
Reclining against the squabs of the cream leather seat, Sebastian presented the very image of nonchalant elegance, but jealousy sliced and twisted him with her words, leaving his insides a violent mess.
“Bloody hell. What more do you want from me, Ivy?” His voice turned raspy with restrained vehemence. “I’ve quoted poetry, sent flowers, danced and courted you. I let you beat me at whist, I cleaned fucking stalls, fetched countless glasses of damn champagne.” His eyes traveled down her body with slow, salacious meaning. “And I played your personal servant for an entertaining morning.”
“Three. Three glasses of champagne, if memory serves correct,” she whispered with biting softness, ignoring the profanities and the reminder of liberties he had taken. Sebastian knew every blistering moment replayed in her mind as heat flushed her face. “And how dare you allow me the win at whist. I might have known your motives were mercenary.”
“I can’t let you go. Not yet. I won’t let you go.”
“I don’t particularly care, Sebastian.” Her gaze skittered away to focus on the horizon. “What you desire has no bearing on my decision. This is a necessity. For my own sanity.”
Silence stretched between them while Sebastian willed his emotions to a more manageable state. A new strategy formed. While it might paint him as a monster, he took full advantage of Ivy’s vulnerability for what they shared.
Reaching for her hands, he quickly stripped her gloves away. When she tried jerking from his grasp, he held tight, thumbs grazing her palms, tracing the scar marring her left hand.
“Ivy, I do not say ‘please’ nor do the words ‘forgive me,' regularly cross my lips, but I say them now.” His husky murmur was an act of sacrifice for the Revenge Situation. For Timothy’s sake. For my own sake... maybe it is possible to have both. Ivy and my revenge. “Please, do not do this.”
“Let me go.”
He refused the command, holding her hands even tighter. “Tell me what I can do.”
Ivy glared at him, all heartache from the past two weeks visible in the shimmering depths of her eyes. “You can go away and never come back. Plummet from the face of this earth. Die a thousand horrible deaths… have your heart ripped out as mine-” She bit her lip as Sebastian stared in dumbfounded silence at her.
Each wrestled with inner thoughts until an ordinary bumblebee forced the issue.
It darted past on an exploratory mission. Drawn by the intriguing yellow tulip shade of Ivy’s gown, the determined insect whirred in again for a more thorough examination. Yanking her hand from his grasp, Ivy brushed the bee away. It floated next to her shoulder, buzzed around the sleeve of her dress as if considering the fluttering petals of an exotic flower before zipping up to investigate the confectionary-like flowers contained on the bill of her hat.
“Your perfume may have something to do with its persistence.” Sebastian’s lips quirked with a hint of a smile. He could not fight the lure of her fragrance. Was it surprising a mere bumblebee found it difficult to resist?
Ivy batted forcefully at the insect, squealing in alarm as it plunged close to her ear. Shifting her parasol to block the creature made it more resolute and angry. Their argument forgotten for the moment, she sat helpless while it hovered as though she were a rare flower requiring immediate pollination. Finally, with a little bark of laughter, Sebastian knocked the bee away with a firm swipe of his hand.
Five seconds later…
The creature doubled back, diving alternatively at their heads. A stream of colorful oaths and a flurry of arm movements were Sebastian’s only defense.
The parasol landed on his head with a solid thump.
He turned a stunned glare on Ivy.
“So sorry,” she said flatly, her expression revealing her satisfaction.
“Have you lost your damned mind?”
“I was not aiming for you,” Ivy insisted.
“Give me…” The depth of fury contained in those two words alone was astounding, “the damn parasol…”
A particularly vile curse exploded from Sebastian as he snatched the parasol from her without permission. Remaining seated, he began to swing the frilly weapon at the invader, causing the lightly built carriage to shift and sway. The dramatic maneuvers did not deter the stubborn insect.
Ivy ducked as the parasol whizzed by her head. Straightening her hat, now tilted in a rakish manner and covering most of one eye, she scowled. “Is it your intent to kill me? Or the bee? Either way, your aim needs improvement.”
Sebastian clenched his teeth, mustering up every bit of patience he could find. “Perhaps, you should not have worn a yellow gown along with that blasted lily and oranges perfume.”
The smile she gave him was sickly sweet as Christmas candy. The bee encircled them, its droning buzz almost loud enough to drown out her words. “Perhaps this bee is attracted to asses masquerading as gentlemen.”
He frowned. “That’s not funny.”
“I beg to differ.” Ivy calmly met his glare. “I find this all vastly amusing.”
With another grunt, Sebastian refocused his attention, feinting and parrying the tenacious insect like a buccaneer battling another pirate on the high seas. Two additional bumblebees appeared, the devil take them. The blasted winged demons appeared capable of calling in reinforcements, and banding together; they attacked with the fierceness of an uncivilized army. Were it not for the alarm in Ivy’s eyes, Sebastian suspected she possessed magical powers in the world o
f bees, the ability to summon hordes of the insects to do her bidding.
Standing to fight the damned things, his movements became further exaggerated by the precarious position. Carriages along the park’s gravel drive slowed. People on horseback stopped to watch the Earl of Ravenswood fight a battle against nearly invisible foes. To his great annoyance, Sebastian overheard many less than complimentary comments while the carriage rolled along at a sedate pace. Others could not be blamed for their curiosity. The scene bore all the exciting thrill of a bizarre, mobile play as it rolled by at a sedate pace.
“What the blazes is he doing?” One lord on a bay gelding inquired of a Marquis taking the air with his new wife in their new phaeton. The three watched as the distinctive dark blue carriage trundled past, the earl standing at full height, swinging the frilly parasol. Occasionally, he ducked his upper body from side to side, scowling and cursing.
“He appears quite possessed,” the marquis commented.
“Lady Kinley does not seem unduly distressed.” His new wife assessed the situation. “I do believe she is laughing.”
To be fair, it began as a giggle, smothered behind Ivy’s hand. As the battle against the bees became increasingly agitated, her giggles blossomed into choked gasps until she struggled to catch her breath. By the time Sebastian bellowed, “For God’s sake, man! Can’t the damn horses move any damned faster?” to poor, hapless Bowden, who doggedly continued along at the dignified pace a member of the realm needed to maintain in the middle of Hyde Park at two o’clock in the afternoon with the rest of Polite Society, Ivy was roaring with unrestrained peals of laughter.
Bowden responded to the harsh command with a click of his tongue and a snap of the whip. The horses leapt forward, eager to be away from whatever made the entire carriage shake and roll like a demon possessed vehicle from hell.
Sebastian lost his balance as the carriage lurched forward. Had they not rounded a curve on the gravel drive, he might have succeeded in regaining his stance or even landed backward onto the leather seat. He may have slid to the floor. Instead, he teetered, on the verge of tumbling over as Ivy let out a muffled scream. Snorting in alarm, the horses surged again as she managed to grasp a handful of his coat.
