by April Moran
“The wound was easy to conceal if I wore gloves. The bruises and my swollen face proved more difficult. I left for Somerset Hall and remained there almost a month. Sara concocted a tale that I’d been thrown from my mare and cut my hand on a rock.” Ivy frowned, lightly tracing the wound with a fingernail. “Shortly after, Timothy began sending the letters. He would personally bring them to Somerset but I refused to see him, so he left them with the butler. I was so afraid, I hid in my room, hoping, praying he would just go away. Disappear. Something desperate existed within him, something so terrible it was incomprehensible. Sara said he was obsessed. I knew he would harm me if I were ever alone with him again, but how was I to avoid him in public? I could not hide at Somerset forever. When I returned to London, he came to Kinley House every day, always with his letters.”
Sebastian handed a bit of paper to her. When Ivy finished reading, it drifted to her lap.
“This was on Timothy’s desk when he was discovered? I received fifty-eight similar letters. All within a month’s time. Sometimes, I received two a day. They were all the same, begging, demanding, threatening. He wanted to see me, to continue our relationship…” Ivy’s guilt trembled in her words. “I think maybe, I should have seen him. I had no idea he would hurt himself. He was so sweet and so kind when we were introduced last year, so charming. I liked him very much. Being his friend was a great joy, but when he needed my friendship the most, I selfishly turned away from him.” She searched Sebastian’s features for signs of recrimination, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Can you forgive me? I never meant to…”
Sebastian enveloped her. “Don’t dare apologize for Timothy. Knowing how you suffered at his hands, I am ashamed to claim him as a blood relative.” Cupping Ivy’s face in his warm hands, he stared intently at her. “You are not to blame for his death. Even if an accident, it was by his hand. And God help me, were he not dead already, I would kill him myself.”
“But, I should have…”
Sebastian interrupted her. “Stop. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to some, your aunt for one. She’ll never forgive me. Do you think you might speak to her?” There was no keeping the hope from her voice. She could not explain why it mattered Rachel Garrett absolve her of guilt, but it did. It mattered a great deal, actually.
“She is well aware of what her son did. She heard everything Sara related to me and while she does not believe it to be true, she will do as I say when we return. If she cannot accept matters, I will have her removed to one of my other estates.”
When we return. There was much inferred from his simple statement. Did he mean the two of them together? Why should it be necessary to remove his aunt from his home? Sebastian assumed they would face the problem together. It abruptly dawned on Ivy the earl was in her room, without the benefit of a chaperone, and she only clad in a nightgown. After so many instances of shared intimacy, his boldness should hardly shock her, but it did. “Sebastian, who has taken care of me?”
He frowned, as though her question was inane after everything she just went through. “I have, of course.”
“Do not joke with me.” Ivy clutched a handful of the coverlet to her chest, slumping in the bed at the same time. Others must know he was in her room now, so brazenly casual, regardless of her state of undress.
“Your health is a serious matter, Ivy, and I do not jest. Since arriving last night, I’ve been the only one to care for you.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “I intend to continue doing so as your husband.”
“My husband!” she inhaled. “You’ve lost your mind. I’m not marrying you.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “The hell if you aren’t.”
“I cannot marry you.” Agony suffused her whisper. Yes, he absolved her of Timothy’s death, placing blame entirely on his cousin. However, the earl did not seem overly concerned with making amends for the torment he caused her. “I can’t.”
“The hell you can’t. And you will.”
“I won't.”
“I’ve already informed your father you are,” Sebastian said smoothly.
“How did you manage that before you even asked me? When? When did you tell my father this?”
“Before leaving London, I tasked Sara with relaying the news to him.” Ignoring her distress, Sebastian calmly fluffed a pillow behind her head.
“Am I to understand you planned on marrying me before you even found me?”
“I did. I obtained the special license early yesterday morning as a matter of fact.” His smile was determined.
“Before Basford abducted me?” Ivy twisted the coverlet into knots.
“Yes, love. And regardless of your views on the subject, I will kill that man.”
Ivy covered her eyes with her hands. “You cannot. I won’t allow it.”
His brow rose. “You won’t allow it. He abducts my fiancée and I’m not to hold him accountable?”
“I was not your fiancée then just as I am not now. You’ve no right to take over any aspect of my life -” Her words trailed away because, with eyes dark and hard, Sebastian leaned over her. Possessiveness was stamped on his face.
“Oh, I have the right,” he growled. “Basford will experience the consequences of his actions. You. Are. Mine. You’ve been mine since I laid eyes on you at the Sheffield Ball surrounded by the damned Pack. The first time I kissed you, that afternoon in your music room, I bound you to me. When I showed you the universe in the palm of my hand the night of the opera, you bound yourself to me. As we lay beside that stream here at Bentley Park, I became yours as well. The night of the Faringdon Ball only sealed our mutual fates. You are mine. If you require a moment to adjust to the idea, I understand. But, make no mistake, Ivy. You will become my wife as soon as a minister is procured.” Sebastian withdrew another document from a pocket on the coat draped across the back of his chair. He waved it at her. “Do you know what this is?”
“I don’t care to know.” Leaning against the pillows, Ivy closed her eyes. It was not pretense on her part. The laudanum was making her lightheaded and giddy. Besides, she was too exhausted to battle with Sebastian. Fighting him required all her strength.
“It’s the marriage license I obtained after the Faringdon Ball.” Dropping an octave, his voice became husky with emotion. “When I knew I could not live without you.” He laid it atop Timothy’s last desperate letter. Ivy knew an absurd desire to tear both in half. A lot of good it would do. Such childish endeavors would not deter Sebastian.
Fighting back a yawn, she said, “You don’t understand, do you, Sebastian? How could I ever trust you? How do I know you aren’t waiting to carve me up with your own particular brand of cruelty? I will not marry someone I cannot trust…no, I’m not marrying you.”
The laudanum worked its magic, dragging her deep into the downy depths of the pillows. Sebastian’s rugged face melted into a hazy mirage as a silky, warm lassitude slipped over her. Too drowsy to do much else, she frowned in disagreement while his words drifted like snowflakes around her.
His threat contained a gentle finality.
“How shall you explain your refusal, Ivy? Because I will tell everyone, anyone who will listen, that we are madly in love, that I have compromised you most thoroughly, and you are possibly carrying my child. You will be my wife. I want you. I will have you. One way or another.”
Chapter 22
A giggling maid set up a simple dinner for Ivy. Following that, a full bath was in order and although the effort was surprisingly draining, it was well worth it. An opportunity to wash away the memory of Brandon’s touch from her skin.
Ivy managed a smile when Alan poked his head inside her room. It seemed Sebastian was not coming to visit her and the disappointment annoyed her. From what she derived from the talkative maid, he had retired to clean up a bit and get some well-deserved sleep.
“He’d demand my head if he knew I was intruding,” Alan said, giving Ivy a wide grin. “I merely wanted to be sur
e you have everything you need.”
“I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, Lord Bentley. There is no better care than what you’ve provided.”
“We shall practically be brother and sister when you and Sebastian are wed, doubly so when Sara and I exchange our vows. As family, we must look after one another. But, your gratitude is misplaced. Sebastian has hardly allowed anyone else to come near you.” He winked conspiratorially at her. “It’s quite remarkable to see a man of his character so out of sorts. I thought I may need to knock him senseless just to have the physician examine you.”
“I would like to observe Sebastian being knocked senseless,” Ivy murmured.
“Well, don’t worry. There is something about you…it regularly puts him out of sorts. Plenty of opportunities abound to knock him silly. Your father, Sara, and Lord and Lady Morgan arrive tomorrow afternoon. You must be pleased they are bringing a few personal items for you.” Cocking his head, he remarked, “I know this is all moving terribly fast, my dear, but Sebastian, once his mind is set…I’m afraid he is not to be swayed.”
Ivy knew the earl’s flaws. Unfortunately, her father’s pending arrival only complicated matters. Jonathan would not understand her refusal to marry Sebastian, especially when he wanted her so desperately and she once wanted him with equal urgency. The possibility of a pregnancy further muddied the issue, to the point that screaming with frustration seemed a wonderful idea.
“I’ll say good night then.” Alan’s expression was sympathetic. “Do not fret, Lady Ivy. All will be well, you’ll see. Sebastian is one of the finest men I know, if you look past his unfortunate arrogance.”
Ivy nodded, throat tight with sudden, unshed tears. Alan closed the door behind him and the maid puttered about the room for a few minutes more, turning the lamps low before she exited the room as well. There was no dismissing the depths of loneliness swamping her at that moment, fear assailing her for what the following days might bring. Lying on her side, she watched the light from the fire cast gold, red and black shadows.
The chatty maid said the whole house was atwitter with the earl’s romantic actions. The girl oohed and aahed, relating how tenderly he took care of her, the concern he showed, the look of fear upon his features as the physician explained the effects of both physical and mental trauma, and how Ivy suffered both.
Ivy wanted to shriek with frustration and reveal everything Sebastian had done. The man was untrustworthy, his actions simply for show. Like images reflected in the still waters of a shallow pond, there was no substance to any of it, his words and actions meaningless and empty.
There was no escape from this impossible mess. Unless she bolted, as she threatened so many times in the past. To France. America. Anywhere other than England where marriage could be forced upon her.
Even as the prospect of running flashed in her mind, it was somberly dismissed. Sebastian would follow her. He would never let her go now that he’d made up his mind to have her. There was no eluding him. Intense anger sizzled through her with that reality. It wasn’t fair. Once, she willingly gave him her heart. He carelessly trampled it. He did not deserve it a second time.
With the special marriage license, there was no need to elope to Gretna Green. Bentley Park possessed a lovely chapel and the wedding would take place in two days’ time. Her father was on his way. Her dearest friend and Sara’s parents would also be there, sharing what should be a joyous day. Their host was a gracious, kind man, deeply in love with the sister of her heart. And Sebastian vowed it impossible to live without her. It could be the loveliest, sweetest wedding imaginable, if you allow yourself to be part of it.
Ivy hated the insinuating weakness slyly suggesting she give into Sebastian’s seductive trap. It was so much easier than fighting him.
With the fire’s glow and the help of a turned down lamp, there existed just enough light to make out the curves of Ivy’s face. She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other folded beneath an elbow. Like little fans feathering cream, long, dark sable eyelashes brushed the tops of her cheeks. Her hair streamed across the pillow like chestnut hued banners in the wind. That mouth of hers, lips flushed pink, haunted Sebastian’s sleep. He was restless, pacing his room with the intensity of a caged animal. Driven from his bed to her side, he found it no use fighting what pulled him there.
Her slumber was peaceful and sweet, and raw emotion rose unexpectedly in his throat to choke him. When he slid onto the mattress, Ivy did not stir as it shifted to accommodate his weight. Slipping a hand through the hair at her temple, he smoothed stray curls back from her face.
She did not wish to marry him. That reluctance to place her life in his hands was understandable. After all, he’d done precious little to gain her trust but provided countless reasons to hate him. It was impossible to go back in time, to erase all the hurtful things, but he would make her understand he could not live without her. Life without her would destroy him. It would be a mere existence and nothing more.
Sebastian knew the instant Ivy came awake, although she gave no indication of consciousness until her eyes slowly lifted to his. In silent question, she regarded him. Taking her hand, he folded her fingers within his own. They were warm from her breath. All tension left his body with a simple realization.
She’s alive. I’m alive. And I love her.
“I did not love Marilee Godwin.” He pressed kisses to her knuckles. Her skin smelled of soap and lilies. “I’ve never loved another soul as I love you.”
He traced the lines of her slender fingers. “I was infatuated, but not in love. I pursued her for a year before she finally agreed to marry me. We were engaged precisely one month when she suddenly decided our wedding could not wait. Nor our intimate relationship, which up to that moment, consisted of nothing more than kisses. Of course, I reacted in typical fashion. Shocked and suspicious.” His smile was crooked, reliving the memories. “A terrible argument ensued over my refusal to do what she wanted, which inevitably led to a revelation. She was nearly four months pregnant, and quite inconveniently, I was not the father.”
“Who was it?” Ivy whispered. “Did she say?”
Sebastian sighed heavily. “She screamed it at me loudly enough. Lord Nicholas Harris March, Earl of Landon, heir to the Richforte dukedom. My closest friend, and Alan’s as well. Since Marilee’s greatest aspiration was to become a duchess, I saw no reason not to believe her. Nick had refused to marry her however, which was the only reason she accepted my offer. It seemed even he was unsure who the child’s father could be, which left Marilee only one option. To deceive me into going through with a hasty wedding and pray I was stupid enough to accept a premature infant as my own.
“Thank God, I never slept with her. I wanted her, but I had the foolish notion of saving that for our wedding night. Nicholas often questioned my infatuation with her, if I truly loved her. I thought he was ensuring my happiness, but after Marilee’s confession, I suppose he was merely playing his damned games with us both.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened over Ivy’s, the lines around his mouth turning deep and harsh. “The man was my friend! I know his secrets…things endured, things he suffered, things no man should be forced to bear. I entrusted him with my life and would have given mine for his. We were as close as brothers, but I wanted to kill him when his betrayal came to light.” His laugh turned mocking. “Yet, I could not. In a strange way, I was more enraged over his disloyalty to me than by the fact he slept with her. If only he came to me, told me he loved her, perhaps I could have accepted it, lived with it. I would have hated him, but I would have respected the fact he loved her. But not this…not this treachery and Marilee’s deception too.”
He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “That morning, I aimed for Nick’s leg, to wound him before he killed me. God, how quickly he could have dispatched me. I’ve never known his equal in swordplay or pistols, then or since. But the fool spun about at the last second. His shot went straight up into the air. H
e never aimed at me, and I have never been able to reason why. In all the confusion, Marilee received word Nicholas died on the field. She hung herself in her father’s library. Damnit, despite it all, I actually pitied Nick. Although it was said I broke the engagement for no reason and he championed Marilee because of my cruelty. I was sorry because it was his child- although I suppose he never knew for certain - and an innocent child did not deserve to die.”
A long stretch of silence filled the space between them, each contemplating the sad tale and its effects on their lives now. How the actions of one woman could touch so many with such devastating results.
“Marilee took her secrets to the grave and Nick kept his silence, although I always wondered why he betrayed me for such a faithless creature. If she deceived me, she would have betrayed him too. Sooner or later.”
Ivy squeezed Sebastian’s hand, her eyes wet with tears. “Thank you,” she said. “For telling me.”
Sebastian’s eyes dropped to their clasped hands. “Ivy, I am no more to blame for Marilee’s death than you for Timothy’s. What they did, they did to themselves.”
“I’ve grown accustomed to holding myself responsible for it,” she replied simply.
“I wanted so badly to punish you,” he slowly admitted. “I wanted to punish you for Timothy. And for Marilee too. I wanted to hurt you for making me feel things I never wanted to feel. I believed you cut from the same cloth as her, using men to get what you wanted. I was wrong. You are not like her…how I ever thought that…I cannot…”
“You don’t have to explain -”
“You don’t understand, Ivy.” Lifting his gaze to hers, Sebastian’s eyes were tortured flames. “I was wrong and how I’ve suffered for my belief in your guilt. You deserve so much more than a mere apology. You should have my heart on a platter. My head in your hands, my blood at your disposal. What I’ve done to you is destroying me. I can apologize for how my aunt treated you, and for Timothy’s actions, but what I accomplished is far, far worse. You hate me. I do not blame you. But Ivy, I’m begging you…you must forgive me. For the night I took your innocence, for the evening of the Faringdon Ball. Every time I was crazed with jealousy and rage and used words to slice you. For each time I hurt you…”
