by Monica Burns
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I intend to see you quite a bit. In fact, I even plan on taking you to the library gala this Saturday.”
“Me. To the fundraiser?” She snapped. “What on earth makes you think I would go anywhere with you?”
Biting back a laugh, he closed the distance between them. Ivy didn’t retreat, but the tension between them went up several notches as he drank in her tart scent. Every inch of him hardened as he ached to pull her close and taste her mouth. The image of him slowly undressing her made his mouth go dry. Christ Jesus, he’d drive himself insane with want if he continued to let his imagination run away like this. He swallowed hard.
“Because I have something you want.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against her ear. Fire singed his mouth as he fought not to pull her into his arms at that very moment. He nibbled at her earlobe with his lips. Her soft gasp made his cock stiffen, and he nipped at her ear in a playful manner.
“Has anyone ever told you how lovely your ears are?”
His words caused her to jump away from him, and his groin started to ache at the look on her face. Ivy’s lips parted slightly as her breaths came in short, frantic gasps. Her beautiful eyes were wide with panic, and there was awareness shimmering in her gaze that told him her panic wasn’t because she was afraid of him.
Her fear was that of a woman coming to grips with her desire for something she hadn’t realized she’d wanted until this moment. It was the most enticing, seductive look he’d ever seen. Again, his cock stirred in his trousers. As he studied her face, he saw her regroup and a haughty expression settled on her face.
“I can’t think of anything you have that I might possibly want, my lord.” At her cold tone, he quirked an eyebrow and smiled with a sense of pleased satisfaction.
“Not even the Voltaire papers?” His blithe statement made her stare at him in disbelief.
“I don’t believe you,” she exclaimed when she recovered her equilibrium a moment later. “An anonymous buyer bought the papers at a private auction several years ago.”
“Yes, they were, and they cost me a king’s ransom too.”
“I doubt you even know what the Voltaire papers are let alone being able to determine whether or not they’re the originals,” she said in derisive tone which smarted almost as badly as her glare of disbelief. “They’re most likely forgeries.”
“You underestimate me, Ivy,” he said stiffly. It was the first time his knowledge had been questioned by anyone, and he didn’t like the sensation. “The papers are quite genuine and written in the man’s own hand. France has never seen such a writer or satirist, than Voltaire, and I think it’s time others share in my bounty.”
“If I were to believe you—if, mind you—what do the Voltaire Papers have to do with me?”
“I’ll agree to give the London Library the papers, providing you agree to let me escort you to the library’s social function this weekend.”
“You can’t be serious,” she gasped as she stared at him obvious horror.
“Oh, I’m quite serious.” He said with a satisfied smile. “I admit, it’s unusual for me to resort to bribery to obtain the pleasure of a lady’s company, but I’m certain it will be a worthy sacrifice.”
“But why? Why would you do such a thing?” Completely befuddled, her lips moved as if she wanted to argue but didn’t know what to protest.
“Because I’m intrigued by you, Ivy.” When she remained silent, he pushed his advantage. “So we’re agreed then?”
“Aren’t the Voltaire Papers a rather steep price for the privilege of escorting a mere commoner to the library benefit?” she said in a withering tone of voice. “What will people say?”
“I suppose I deserve that,” he said quietly as the full impact of her scathing contempt rolled over him. His words yesterday had cut deeper than he’d expected. Regret sailed through him. “I admit I could have been less rude, yesterday, but I won’t apologize for keeping my nephew’s best interests at heart.”
Apologies never came easy for him, and he refused to grovel. Impatiently, he waited for her reply. The moment she nodded her agreement, triumph settled in his limbs. He’d won the first battle, but there were others to fight. For a moment, they watched each other in silence, and she was the first to look away.
A delicate blush crested over her cheek as she turned her head so he could only see her profile. She was like an ingénue with a hint of maturity that suggested she wasn’t quite as innocent as she seemed. He frowned. Seducing an innocent was hardly the mark of a gentleman, but if Ivy held true to his expectations, he didn’t expect her to be an innocent. He glanced about the salon and noted the numerous shelves of books.
“You’re an avid reader.” His comment made her jerk her head back to him, and something akin to trepidation swept over her features.
“Yes…I enjoy all types of literature,” she murmured as she slowly walked toward where he stood by the fire.
“Name your favorite author.” He watched her come to a halt as she eyed him with surprise. She tilted her head for a moment clearly thinking through her answer before she answered him in an emphatic tone.
“Alexander Dumas, I think. He has a masterful way of telling a story.” She smiled at him, and Simon’s chest tightened at the effect it had on him.
“Based on the authors you quoted, it’s obvious you’re well-read for a woman.” He grinned at the way she bristled.
“Is it your habit to insult people simply to prove your superiority?” There it was again, that pained note layered beneath a note of stiff indifference.
“No,” he said soothingly. “Something about you brings out the worst of me.”
“Then perhaps we should reconsider our agreement about Saturday evening,” she said in a hopeful tone as she sidled toward the chair near the fire.
“A valiant effort to escape the inevitable, my dear Ivy, but a hopeless one nevertheless.” He watched her nervously toy with the skirt of her gown, and her gaze flitted toward the chair, then back toward him. His gaze followed hers, and he caught sight of the bound book tucked into the crevice of the chair. Ivy rushed forward to grab the book, but Simon reached it first. As she tried to take it from him, he held it up out of reach.
“Return my book to me this instant,” Ivy snapped her expression one of embarrassment more than fright.
Simon arched his eyebrow and looked at the book he was holding out of her reach. The moment he read the title, his muscles hardened with a lust he’d not experienced in a long time, if ever. His gaze returned to Ivy, and she blushed deeply.
“How much of the book have you read, Ivy?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Golden Lotus—how much have you read?” he asked quietly as he pinned her with his gaze.
“That’s none of your business.”
The manner in which she tilted her chin upward at a defiant angle told Simon she’d read quite a bit of the book. Instantly his cock stiffened, forcing him to turn away from her to hide his arousal. The thought of her reading The Golden Lotus made him rock hard. As he’d suspected, Ivy Beecham wasn’t quite the paragon of virtue his nephew thought.
The knowledge disappointed him as he realized he’d been hoping he was wrong about her. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to show her how pleasurable the erotic moves depicted in The Golden Lotus could be. Controlling his lust with supreme effort, Simon cleared his throat and turned back to Ivy. His gaze never leaving her face, he moved forward to stop mere inches from her. A shudder rippled through her.
“Why do I think you’ve obviously read a great deal of the book,” he murmured as he glanced down at the leather bound volume in his hand.
“I am studying the book from an academic viewpoint.” Although her demeanor was still one of defiance, there was a distinct quaver in her voice.
“Are you, indeed,” he drawled with amusement. “And exactly what is your opinion of the book based on your reading to date?”<
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“I…I found it to be…enlightening,” she finished with a gasp.
Simon’s body brushed against hers as he leaned past her to drop the book into the chair behind her. The barely audible moan passing her lips stirred a dark lust in the pit of his stomach. God, he couldn’t wait to have her in his bed.
His hand cupped her chin as his thumb pressed down on her bottom lip forcing her mouth to part. Another tremor wracked her body and vibrated its way into his fingers. Gently, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lip and took pleasure in the way the plump flesh quivered beneath his touch. Like a violin responding to a bow, she swayed toward him.
Slowly, he pulled her close. Her eyes had a sleepy look as if she’d just woken up from a long night of passion. Christ Jesus, she was lovely, and her mouth was made for kissing. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The faint scent of chocolate filled his nostrils from her sweet breath, and he immediately thrust his tongue into her mouth to taste her.
The flavor of hot chocolate dashed across his tongue. It held the promise of something sweet and delectable. His cock grew stiff and ridged in his trousers, and he longed to drag her hand off his chest down to his hard erection. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found a woman who tasted so good. His fingers brushed along the silky skin of her neck and over the spot throbbing with the frantic pace of her heartbeat.
The racing pulse beneath his fingertips sent a surge of triumph through him. He’d been right. There were fires banked deep inside Ivy that when they emerged would consume her when she came to his bed. His fingers trailed downward across the material of her high-necked dress to just above her breasts.
Frustration lashed at him. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to touch him. A small moan whispered in his mouth. It made him realize he was on the verge of losing control. If he didn’t release her, he might drag her to the floor and make love to her at that precise moment. Shaken by the need she created in him, Simon released her quickly.
His heart was racing, and every inch of him demanded he bed her right now. He drew in a deep breath. No. Ivy wasn’t like other women. He would have to woo her if she were to come to his bed. And she would come to his bed. The sultry expression on her face and her ragged breathing confirmed his belief of that fact.
“That was most enlightening,” he murmured. “What time shall I call for you on Saturday evening?”
“I…I am having a small supper party before the ball. You may join us if you wish. Supper is at seven.”
“Then I shall be here at seven.” Simon captured her hand and carried it to his lips. When she tried to tug it free of his grasp, he tightened his grip and turned it over to study her palm. “Have you ever had your fortune told, Ivy?”
“No, I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense.”
“Is it?” He gentle stroked the inside of her palm with his free hand as he bent his head as if studying her palm intently. When he raised his head, he smiled at her transfixed look. “In the not too distant future, Ivy, you’re going to discover a world of pleasure. I intend to be your guide into that world, Ivy. And I promise you, it will be even more enlightening than that book you’ve been reading.”
She uttered a sharp gasp as his mouth warmed her palm. Simon quickly released her hand and took a quick step back. Bowing slightly, he smiled at her then left the salon before she could gather her wits and order him out of the house or worse, renege on their agreement.
~~~~
“Ahh, so this is when you fell in love with him.” The elderly gentleman at her side gently tapped her arm. The light touch sent a flood of warmth through her as the cool white fog surrounded them once more.
“Yes.” Ivy nodded reluctantly. “That’s when I fell in love with him. He was impossibly arrogant, but the way he used words to plead his case held me spellbound. But none of this changes anything. He’s no different than Whitby.”
“Are you so certain of that? Deep inside you knew Whitby only wanted you for your money until he discovered the truth of your heritage. We both know Whitby didn’t really love you.”
“That’s not true. He would have married me if it hadn’t been for… if he hadn’t been told I was a commoner.”
“Sometimes it’s convenient to hide from the truth when it makes the pain easier to bear. But we both know the truth about Whitby.”
There was a harsh note in the elderly man’s voice, and she looked up at him with a frown. For some odd reason, it seemed as if some of his wrinkles had faded. Ivy scoffed at the idea. She was already mad and delusional. Why would she be surprised to see the man’s face changing? Besides, it was obvious he knew nothing of her life at Fairfield. He knew nothing about how miserable her childhood had been after the deaths of her parents.
She’d gone to live with her mother’s family, only to be met with scorn and condescension. Her aunt and uncle’s treatment of her had magnified the grief she’d borne for her parents. The daughter of an earl, her mother’s elopement with a tradesman had been a scandal, but it was Ivy who’d paid the price of her mother’s rebellion. She glared at the old man.
“I have no wish to pursue any further discussion on Whitby, and if you insist on showing me images from my recent past, then do so or take me back to where I belong.” Bitterness echoed in her voice, and the man studied her defiant stance carefully.
“I am beginning to understand why Simon found it so difficult to convince you of his love for you. You’ve never been able to let go of the past.”
“Enough. Show me what you must or leave me be.”
“Very well,” he said with a soft sigh. Pulling her arm through his, the elderly gentleman guided her back into the fog.
Chapter 6
Ivy stared at herself in the mirror. What had she done? She bit down on her lip as the thought of Lord Wycombe attending her supper party, and then his escorting her to the ball. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to accept his proposal of being her escort tonight in exchange for his donating the Voltaire papers to the library? Elbow on the dressing table, she rubbed her forehead.
Tonight would be a disaster. She should never have agreed to his proposal. Nervously, she returned her gaze to the mirror as she remembered the way Lord Wycombe had kissed her. Nothing had prepared her for the wild emotions that had raged inside her. One glance in the mirror reflected that the memory of his touch was plain to see on her face.
Her eyelids were weighted downward in a sultry look, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth looked as though she were longing for his kiss. She released a breath of disgust. Lord Wycombe’s calling cards had been entertaining, but she wanted nothing to do with the man. Nothing at all. A voice in the back of her head called her a liar. She swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of the way her skin was feeling feverish.
She sprang to her feet to pace the floor. The soft rustle of her dress against the Persian carpet beneath her feet echoed loudly in the quiet room. What was she going to do this evening? Ivy scoffed at the question. She was going to do exactly as she agreed. Lord Wycombe would escort her to the ball and then she’d return home.
What was the possible harm in that if it gained the library the Voltaire Papers? She stopped her pacing to face her dressing table mirror. The woman staring back at her wore a gown the color of an evening sky when the last bit of daylight had faded from view. Covering the material was a thin sheen of netting laced with miniature stones that glittered in the room’s soft light. The dress’s shoulders were nonexistent, and the neckline plunged downward in a scandalous fashion.
Only a fool would believe something wouldn’t happen tonight. Instinct had guided her hand when she’d selected her gown, and she knew she’d chosen it to entice him. Ivy’s mouth went dry at the thought. Why would she have done such a thing? The answer followed close on the heels of the question. She wanted him. The realization tugged a soft gasp from her.
God help her. How could she possibly want a man who represented everything she despised? Ivy closed he
r eyes and wished the evening were over, but safety was still several hours away. Tonight she would tolerate the man’s presence then cast him out of her thoughts in the morning. A scornful laugh escaped her lips.
The man had already declared his intention to initiate her in the pleasures she’d read about in The Golden Lotus. Did she really believe she would escape his pursuit so easily? When she’d agreed to let him escort her to the ball this evening, it had seemed a harmless proposition. Spending a few hours in the man’s presence in exchange for the Voltaire Papers had seemed a small price to pay for such a treasure. But she’d made that decision before he’d kissed her.
The memory of his kiss sent a shock wave through her. Her hand flew up to her face in an effort to cool the fire in her cheeks. She would have to find a way to keep the man at bay. The scornful laugh she released as she stared at her reflection made her wince. How could she keep the man at arms distance when she found it so pleasurable to be in his arms? At the alarming thought, Ivy whirled away from the mirror and moved toward the door. Tonight was the first and last time she would spend time in Lord Wycombe’s company. When the evening was done, they would part ways. As she left her room, a voice in the darkest reaches of her mind whispered the word liar. She ignored it and hurried downstairs to greet her guests.
~~~~
Stepping out of his carriage, Simon ordered his driver to return later then turned to stride up the steps to Ivy’s house. He was certain handing over the Voltaire Papers in exchange for Ivy’s company this evening would be well worth the expense. When he’d made his proposal to her the other day, it had been a spur of the moment action, but his decision to do so had been the right one.
He’d guessed correctly that Ivy wouldn’t be able to resist acquiring the Voltaire Papers for the library, even if it meant spending an entire evening in his company. What she didn’t realize was that he had no intention of letting this one occasion be their only time together. Tonight he intended to intrigue and tantalize the woman until she fell eagerly into his arms.
