by April Moran
Racing through Hyde Park’s open fields, Ivy ignored the carefully manicured gravel pathways where London society rode in aimless, pointless circles every afternoon. Had Sebastian chanced upon her, witnessed the dangerous pace she set, he would have tossed her skirts to give her rump a furious blistering. Thoughts of his anger proved incentive enough to drive the mare faster, the speed almost violent. Riding hard and fast emptied Ivy’s mind of the issues crowding it. Soon, there was nothing other than the muscles of the horse beneath her, the whip of the mane against her face when she bent over the mare’s neck, and the crisp morning air stinging her cheeks until her eyes watered.
There were few souls who ventured into the park this early and they were mere silhouettes in the misty distance. Spring tossed her fine head as Ivy loosened the reins to urge a speed bordering on perilous. Gabriel did not intervene, but undoubtedly her pace frightened him. As she entered small groves bright green with early summer leaves, he would catch up then fall behind once she reached open fields. As long as she was visible, he gave her the freedom to go where she willed, as fast as she desired.
Exiting a strand of trees, Ivy caught sight of two riders and one, streaking toward her on a flashy sorrel, was much closer than she initially thought. The other rode a huge bay with one white stocking, and shouted in a voice rough with irritation, "Slow down!”
Ignoring the command, the smaller, faster rider was soon racing alongside Ivy and Spring gave a familiar squeal of anger at the direct challenge. For nearly a half mile, the pair thundered along as if a queen’s fortune in diamonds lay at stake. Chunks of turf flew in all directions from flashing hooves as the headstrong gray mare outstripped the sorrel with ease.
The sound of feminine laughter made Ivy tug back on the reins. Pulling the mare into a half circle, she brought Spring to a snorting halt. Eager to continue the race, the gray cantered and spun in place, hooves churning up the soft grass as the other rider drew close.
It was the girl from the Graham’s ball, the one who had captured Ivy’s attention by standing with, but somehow apart, from the group of debutantes. She wore fawn-colored breeches and a white linen shirt, topped with a man’s style black riding coat cut to exacting trim proportions. Ivy noted enviously that she rode astride, her long legs encased in scuffed brown boots gripping the horse’s flanks. The gelding heeded every subtle command of the girl’s knee. A black cap covered her head and when she swept it off, a cascade of stick-straight, sunshine blonde hair was released. The girl’s mouth curved into a wide grin almost disturbing in its lushness.
"You ride magnificently, my lady. Is it not shameful women are barred from the Newmarket Races? I vow we could set the place on its ear if only allowed to show those arrogant men how it's done!"
Both horses pricked their ears. Husky and feminine with an intriguing lilt, the girl’s voice held the power to effortlessly arrest the attention of both men and beast. Her admiring gaze passed over Spring. "That mare is splendid. She must be from Ravenswood’s own stables. My guess is an offspring of that devil of a stallion he owns.”
Ivy nodded in silent agreement. She noticed Gabriel corralling the girl’s companion and following a brief conversation, the two men set toward them at a more leisurely pace.
"I'm Lady Grace Willsdown.” Leaning over the blowing sorrel, the girl offered her hand as a gentleman would. A rueful bark of laughter escaped her at Ivy’s surprise. "Sorry. A dreadful habit. I do forget that not everyone is forging business deals when excellent horseflesh is around.” Her head cocked in an inquisitive manner. "But it’s damn difficult to curtsy while on horseback, don’t you agree?”
Charmed by the girl’s blunt manner, Ivy grinned. "I am-”
"Lady Ravenswood, of course. You and the earl seem to be the subjects of choice this season.” Grace’s honey gold eyes flashed with both sympathy and instant regret. "Forgive me, my lady. I have a distressing tendency to say things quite improperly. What I meant is, everyone knows of you.”
Ivy was unoffended by the girl's candor, for there was no artifice in Grace Willsdown, no cruelty lurking behind her smile.
Grace reached up, ruffling a shock of hair on her forehead so the silk strands fell into place, pieces of it framing her face in an appealing manner. It was quite long, tumbling to her waist. Although some might consider it boyish in nature, the fringe across her forehead somehow made her features more feminine.
She was not gently beautiful, at least not by the current standards dictating women be soft, wispy creatures speaking in demure tones. There was something brashly irresistible about her, a genuine sweetness, and when combined with bronze hued eyes and skin touched with the sun’s rays, it all made Lady Grace quite stunning.
Realizing Ivy was assessing her hair style, Grace chuckled. "Never let anyone curl your hair unless they first practiced on their own.” She ran her fingers again through the blonde pieces. “My guardian’s daughter, Celia, burnt off what was wrapped about the iron, then mourned my loss for two days. No matter, it's only hair, and it does grow back. If only you’d seen it three months ago! Oh, it was beyond dreadful.”
Ivy choked on a laugh before composing herself. "Have you been in London for the season? I confess I do not recall making your acquaintance."
With a glance over her shoulder to determine her companion’s whereabouts, Grace nudged the sorrel closer. "One month. One long agonizing month.” Her sigh was intentionally dramatic. "My guardians have only allowed me to attend certain functions as apparently, I lack a certain decorum deemed necessary for London Society. I’ve been trying so damnably hard, too. Gaining this social polish.” Grace brightened. “Every morning I've ridden in this park and it’s been the only cheerful spot during my time here. However, today I saw you and knew I must introduce myself. I wished to do so last night, although the situation was not appropriate. Even I, with my deplorable lack of refinement, realized that.” Her tone brisk, she continued, "You see, Lady Ravenswood, I confess to ulterior motives. I own a rather magnificent stallion, and my fervent hope is to persuade the earl to consider a breeding venture. Or, in the alternative, introduce his Raven to one of my fine mares. My guardian would have my head if I approached Ravenswood with a suggestion of breeding horses, though. Quite the delicate subject, you understand. The earl was distracted last evening but I do hope he’ll listen to my proposal. Being we are cousins, it is not completely beyond the bounds for us to converse."
"Wait.” Ivy frowned in confusion at the twisting conversation. "What?"
"I’ve shocked you,” Grace crowed in delight, her lush mouth stretched into an infectious grin. "Was it the indelicate subject of horse breeding or the fact we are indeed cousins? Ravenswood and I, that is. Fourth cousins. Or is it fifth? Do forgive me; I forget…yes, I believe it is fifth. When my father, the Earl of Willsdown died, the title ceded to Ravenswood. And, when my dear mother passed, their friends, the Earl of Darby and his wife, were named my guardians. It’s all so devilishly complicated. Men tend to do these things when they are in control of a woman’s future. I find it quite maddening and wholly unnecessary, don’t you?"
Grace seemed not to notice Ivy’s open-mouth shock and continued with a merry breeziness. “When I reach the age of twenty-one, I shall return to my Bellmar Abbey in Cornwall. And, social polish be damned, I shall ride my horses when I please, how I please, dressed as I please. I’m very fortunate my majority was not set at twenty-five, as most young women in my situation find themselves. Bless my mother for that… she obtained a special petition to allow it. I shall have full control of my inheritance and my horses and won't be forced to ride at the crack of dawn so as not to be seen in my scandalous breeches. Do you think one was meant to wear a skirt and sit sideways on a horse, Lady Ivy? It puts one at a terrible disadvantage. How is it possible to control your mount if you are unable to utilize your legs, your calves and both heels? It’s what they respond to. Much more so than a bit. I daresay a sidesaddle is the silliest invention created by man…with the exce
ption of a corset. I’ve refused to wear one when riding, a corset that is, not a sidesaddle. Lady Darby believes it very wicked of me, and while I do hate to disappoint her, they are devilish things.”
"Please, you must call me Ivy.” Caught off guard by the girl’s outspoken views on saddle equipment and women’s fashion, Ivy nearly stuttered. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your parents.”
Undeniable sadness crossed Grace’s features. She ducked her head in appreciation of the condolences, and then brightened, as though a shadow passed from in front of the sun, leaving everything joyful once more. "Thank you. Please call me Grace. After all, as I said, we are cousins.” She threw Ivy an admiring look. "I do wish we’d met upon my arriving in London. Things would not have been so dreadfully dull.”
“Lord Longleigh was remiss in making introductions last night,” Ivy said slowly. “He also failed to mention the family connections.”
Grace grimaced, blowing the hair off her forehead with an outward puff of her lips. “Yes. I certainly mean no offense, but my assumption is Tristan sought your favor in a misguided attempt of provoking my jealousy. You see, he’s only recently decided he is in love with me and I believe it is more of a physical attraction than anything else, much along the lines of what stallions feel for mares during the first part of spring. I’ve told him as gently as possible I am not interested. Neither Lord nor Lady Darby has encouraged him in this, for which I am ever so grateful. It would be an awkward situation if his parents did wish such an alliance.”
Hoof beats boomed in the distance, and hearing them, Grace’s chin tilted. A stubborn glint to her golden eyes, she said to Ivy, “Please say nothing of what I divulged. He’s yet to accept it, and squeals like a rejected stallion when reminded of my indifference.”
Ivy clearly saw the desire in Longleigh’s eyes. That, and a fair amount of annoyance.
“Grace.” A muscle ticked in his stern jaw. Astonishingly handsome, with deep chocolate-tinged eyes and dark brown hair glimmering with glints of auburn, his broad shoulders fit his navy blue riding jacket to perfection. Long muscular legs in buff colored breeches gripped his horse’s flanks with just the precise amount of pressure. “I realize you insist on riding pell-mell whenever the opportunity presents itself, but for God’s sake, you will end up breaking your neck.”
Undaunted, Grace rolled her eyes. “Do not accompany me if you cannot keep up.”
Tristan drew up ramrod straight, his face darkening as he bit out, “My concern is for your safety.”
“That, and my neck, are my own to worry over.” With careless aplomb, Grace steered the conversation to Ivy instead. “Aren’t you pleased to see the Countess of Ravenswood?”
Longleigh gave Ivy a tight smile, his frustration with Grace still readily apparent. “Lady Ravenswood. How wonderful to see you this beautiful morning. I trust Ravenswood is well? He did not seem himself last evening.”
Ivy grit her teeth. “My husband was uninterested in an early morning ride, sir, but his health is fine. Grace was just explaining her connection to my husband. It would be lovely for Lord and Lady Darby to pay us a visit so that formal introductions may be undertaken. Or perhaps the earl and I may come to call?”
“I believe my mother intended to wait until the summer season was upon us.” Tristan nudged his gelding closer to Grace’s mount, ignoring when her lips tightened in exasperation.
“Perhaps once we’ve settled at Beaumont, you could all come for an extended visit. Grace, you might be particularly interested in seeing our stables there.” Ivy offered.
“I would indeed.” The girl’s features lit up with the sparkle of a firefly while Tristan groaned in obvious dismay.
“Lady Ravenswood, do you even realize the danger of your offer? You’ll never be able to convince Lady Grace to leave your estate.”
Sebastian was absent from their rooms when Ivy returned. As Molly assisted her with a bath, she learned the earl was in his study, but left instructions that she was to join him for breakfast when she was presentable.
An hour later, Ivy slipped into the dining room, taking a seat at the head of the table, opposite the end Sebastian and she usually occupied together. While servants carried in breakfast platters, she fidgeted, and when a footman opened the door to admit her husband, her stomach dropped to her feet at seeing Sebastian’s frown. She’d seated herself so far away they might as well have been on opposite ends of the earth. With an unconcerned shrug, he stalked to her end of the table, hauling a chair closer until his elbow touched her own. Fordham raised a brow and without comment, relocated the earl’s place setting and poured the coffee while Ivy shifted on the hard, wooden plane of her chair.
It simply wasn’t done…the seating arrangement highly improper. The earl should be at the head of his table - not to her left, as if she occupied a place of honor.
A curious detachment clung to Sebastian while he gazed at her with eyes of flint. He seemed to have trouble deciding how best to deal with her and the issues raised the night before. And although outwardly calm, every nerve in Ivy’s body prickled with awareness. She was so tightly wound, waiting for him to say something, she thought she might shatter into a million pieces.
"How was your ride?" His voice, so abrupt after so long a silence, had Ivy nearly dropping her teacup.
"Fine.”
Sebastian’s eyebrow rose at her one syllable answer. With a single glance toward the servants, his unspoken command was obeyed. In a matter of seconds, the room cleared.
Elbows on the table, he sighed, resting his head in his hands, raking fingers through his hair until it stood on end. "Tell me, Ivy, what do you want of me? Tell me what to give you and I shall do it. Tell me what to say, and I shall say it. I was wrong...not giving you a chance to explain your position.” His voice dropped so low, Ivy strained to hear his words. “What happened between us - I shouldn't have been so damned rough with you. Should not have used you like that...last night was a disaster, but you know I don’t want this to be the way of things.”
"I don't know what you want, my lord.” Ivy’s cold hands curled around the teacup, wishing its warmth would seep into her.
He took the teacup so his fingers could twine with hers. "Ivy. I want you. But I can't have you, can I?" With one hand, he rubbed his eyes again. "Maybe you will never be mine as you once were. Maybe this was a mistake."
Ivy regarded Sebastian with despair. “I told you this would happen when you forced me to marry you. When I feel my heart opening to you, it is crushed beneath your heel.”
His eyes sparked with guilt, recognizing the truth in her words. “But your heart is not open to me. Tell me what I must do to change it.
“I don’t know. I don’t wish to quarrel. I…I just want to be happy.”
“You don’t believe I can make you happy, my love?”
“At Beaumont, it seemed possible. Everything was so much easier there. But now, I’m not sure. Sebastian, I want to be where you are, but we are both miserable. Don’t you see?” Ivy’s lips clamped together in a hard line, abruptly breaking off the desolate confession. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Little did I realize what a poor husband I would make. I know that is of no comfort to you, when I must atone for my actions time and again. But even if I were able to let you go, Ivy, I would not,” Sebastian declared quietly. “I told you once, you are mine. What is mine, I keep. That will not change - it will never change. You belong with me and here you will stay. I love you with every breath of my soul. If you were to leave me, I would not survive without you.”
Chapter 39
Ivy avoided Sebastian for the rest of the day, taking her meals in her room. Suffering bouts of revolving nausea, she only picked at her lunch, sending the tray back to the kitchens practically untouched. However, by the time dinner rolled around, she was ravenous and cleared the plate of every morsel.
It was late evening when she made her way to the library and having neither seen nor heard from Sebastian since their
conversation that morning, Ivy thought he might have slipped out to one of his clubs. Obviously, he did not wish to see her and that hurt more than she cared to admit.
Hearing voices coming from within the library, Ivy steeled her shoulders, moving silently as she entered the cavernous space. She would not scurry away like a frightened mouse. Peeking around a column, she saw Rachel seated near the fireplace, one hand pressed to her chest as if greatly pained.
It was shocking to see his aunt. With the exception of the Graham Ball, neither Ivy nor Sebastian saw much of her. Rachel tended to a full social calendar with a few other matrons and when at home, she kept to her rooms.
"Sebastian, it is for your safety. Please, send her elsewhere…for your own sake.”
Sebastian gave his aunt a cold stare. “Madam, I’d cut off my own arm before sending Ivy away from me.”
Rachel’s lips flattened into thin lines of bitterness. “There is no understanding your fascination. She’s dangerous. You need protection from…”
“Don’t.” His hand rose in warning.
“But I-”
“Cease!” Sebastian’s voice quivered with barely leashed anger. “Or it is you I shall send away.”
Rachel’s mouth snapped shut, then with a deep breath, she ignored her nephew’s cautionary words. "Because of Timothy, I must voice my concerns. You are as obsessed as he, and just as blind. You will suffer his same fate.”
Sebastian leaned against the dark oak mantle of the fireplace, swirling a crystal tumbler in his hand. Only the barest hint of amber colored liquid remained in the glass. Hidden by the massive columns, Ivy sagged against the wall. Yes, it was eavesdropping, but she could not find the willpower to leave.
