A Bluestocking Christmas

by Monica Burns

  When he’d kissed her the other day, she’d known his caress was potent and dangerous. It was only now that she realized just how precarious a position she was in. The man has told her to tame the beast, but she wasn’t sure it was possible. Passion, wild and out of control blazed its way through her as Simon pulled her deeper into his arms.

  In seconds, he’d unfastened the short evening cape she wore, and his mouth etched its way along the edge of her jaw to the side of her neck. The exquisiteness of his mouth burning a trail of fire against her skin made her tremble violently as his finger grazed the edge of her bodice. Without thought, her head fell back against the leather squabs of the seat as desire engulfed her with each kiss he left on her skin.

  The moment his finger dipped into the cleft between her breasts, she gasped softly. The intimate caress only made her long for something more. In the next breath, his tongue danced in the small hollow mimicking another more intimate act. She hadn’t thought her heartbeat could go any faster, but his touch dispensed with that notion.

  Caught up in the throes of something she didn’t understand, she moaned as he continued to tease her with the slow stoke of his tongue against her flesh. Not even Whitby had ever excited her to this degree. This man’s touch stirred a wild and wanton creature inside her. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel.

  The sudden jerk of the carriage coming to a halt made Simon retreat from her. The sound of his harsh breaths reassured her that he was aroused as much as she. Dazed she could only stare at him. Although passion still blazed in his eyes, a slow seductive smile curved his lips.

  “That’s a start, Ivy. But’s it’s just a taste of the pleasures awaiting us both,” he murmured in a husky tone.

  A shiver of pleasure rippled across her skin at the promise. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she’d given way to something that could easily consume and destroy her, just as it had done with Whitby. The thought sluiced ice through her veins, and she swallowed hard as she fought to regain her composure. She met his gaze for a moment before she glanced away. Her mind raced for a response that would put some distance between him and the passion he’d aroused in her. With a shake of her head, Ivy fumbled with the frog loops of her evening cape.

  “Even the best of plans often come to naught, my lord.”

  “But I don’t expect to fail, Ivy. In fact, I plan to be quite successful.”

  There was a steely note in his voice that alarmed her, but she didn’t have a chance to respond as the door to the carriage opened. While she quickly did the best she could to repair her disheveled appearance, Simon stepped out of the vehicle then offered her his hand.

  The moment her hand slid into his, another wave of heat swelled over her. Gray eyes of molten steel studied her as she descended from the vehicle. Hot and blazing, his gaze held a promise of things she desperately wanted to experience, in spite of the warnings wailing like a banshee in her head. Alarmed by the sensations still tying her to him, Ivy averted her gaze and climbed the steps of Clarendon House with Simon at her side.

  Inside the Earl’s house, the air was already hot and stuffy despite the crisp winter air. As she removed her cape, Simon’s fingers discreetly brushed against her skin as he lifted the garment off her shoulders. The light caress made her shiver, and she instinctively glanced over her shoulder at him.

  The look of desire in his eyes made her heart pound against her ribs. The passionate exchange between them in the carriage had been a silent offer. He wanted to be her lover. She jerked her gaze away from him. It would be unwise to experience the pleasure he offered. They were from two different worlds. And she had no wish to acquaint herself with his world any more than she already was.

  Every fiber in her being was conscious of his nearness, and she desperately sought to find a safe harbor from the tension layering its way around her like a spider web. The moment she spied Lord Asterly with the Earl of Clarendon she quickly moved forward, allowing Simon too follow. Both of the distinguished gentlemen welcomed her presence with a smile as she drew near. Offering her hand to first one man and then the other, she smiled back at them.

  “My lords, how lovely to see you this evening,” she said a bit too brightly, which tugged one corner of Lord Clarendon’s mouth upward as he looked over her shoulder then bowed over her hand.

  “Miss Beecham, you’re looking particularly lovely this evening. There’s something different about you that I can’t quite put my finger on,” she earl said in a quiet voice as he glanced up at her in amusement.

  Heat filled Ivy’s cheeks as she met the man’s gaze. Dear lord, did she look as though she’d just been thoroughly kissed by the Viscount? Dismayed, she forced a smile to her lips and accepted the compliment with a quiet word of thanks. As the earl straightened, a tiny frisson skated over her skin telling her Simon was directly behind her. Lord Clarendon extended his hand with a congenial smile.

  “Wycombe. It’s been too long since our last discussion on the finer aspects of architecture.”

  “Indeed, my lord.” Simon shook the earl’s hand while Lord Asterly distracted Ivy by carrying her hand to his lips.

  “My dear Miss Beecham, a delightful pleasure as always,” Asterly said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I understand you’re responsible for the library’s most recent acquisition.”

  “Actually, my lord, it was Lord Wycombe’s idea. I was simply the catalyst.” Beside her, she caught Simon’s soft chuckle.

  “A catalyst, indeed, Miss Beecham.” Her skin tingled. Despite the formal way he spoke to her, there was a note of intimacy in his voice that teased her senses.

  “We’re decidedly grateful for your contribution, Wycombe,” Lord Clarendon’s said with an arched eyebrow. “I should have known you were the one to acquire the papers. You’re the only person I know whose love of Voltaire’s work would allow for the payment of such an exorbitant sum.”

  “The Frenchman’s wit is of particular interest to me.” Simon glanced at Ivy, and instinct told her to review Voltaire’s work at the earliest moment possible.

  “I am grateful as well, my dear boy. The Voltaire Papers will be the crowning jewel in our collection. Personally, I’m astonished you allowed Miss Beecham to wheedle them out of your possession.”

  “One wins the victory when one yields to a beautiful woman,” Simon said with a smile. His response pulled a loud laugh out of both men.

  “I do believe the boy is paraphrasing Sophocles,” Lord Asterly said with a chuckle as he nudged the earl and nodded toward Simon. “Is it possible our dear Miss Beecham has met her match in her knowledge of the classics?”

  Ivy darted a glance in Simon’s direction and found him watching her with a spark of devilment in his eyes. The rogue was testing her. Daring her to match him in another battle of words, but this time in front of others with no time to consider an appropriate response. Well, she wouldn’t do it.

  Every time she entered into a verbal duel with him, she found herself in his arms. But then you like being in his arms, don’t you, Ivy. She ignored the voice. No, she didn’t like it. She didn’t even like the man. Liar. With an inward sigh, she shook her head.

  “My lords, I confess I am at a loss as to how to respond to such flattery. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see Mrs. Simpson and must say hello.” Smiling, she nodded in their direction and made ready to retreat. As she turned her head, she caught the gleam of mockery in Simon’s eyes, which made her lose her tongue.

  “Oh, and I must mention that despite that old saying to the victor belongs the spoils, I am far from defeated when it comes to a battle of wits, my lord.”

  Not waiting for a retort, she sailed away from the three of them laughing in her wake. She spent several moments with Mrs. Simpson before walking with the woman toward the wide staircase leading up to the ballroom. As the other woman stopped to speak with someone, Ivy continued to climb the stairs all too aware that she was tryi
ng to escape Simon. A now familiar frisson skimmed across her skin as a firm hand cupped her elbow.

  “If you think to escape me, Ivy, I suggest you run faster.”

  “I was not running.”

  “Walking fast then,” he said wryly. Unable to help herself, she laughed.

  “You are irredeemable, my lord.”

  “Simon.” The quiet command made her glance up at him in surprise.

  “Don’t be absurd. It’s highly inappropriate.”

  “Now, Ivy.”

  Determination echoed in his soft command as he blocked her ability to continue up the stairs. Pressed into the banister by the crush of the crowd and Simon’s unyielding body, she watched a number of people eye them with curiosity and amusement as they passed by. For not the first time this evening, Ivy’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Good heavens the man wanted everyone to believe they were far more intimate with each other than was the case.

  The thought made her bite down on her lip as she realized it was only a matter of time. It was impossible to deny that there was something intangible between them. Eventually she would surrender to the desire she felt, despite her conviction that there could be only one outcome given their social stations.

  Her heart fluttered, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from excitement or dread. Perhaps it was a bit of both. She shook her head in protest. She darted a quick glance at the couple passing them on their way up to the ballroom. Were they close enough to hear their conversation? Her gaze flew back to Simon.

  “Please, if someone heard me…” Ivy’s voice trailed off as she saw his mouth become a hard, firm line of determination.

  “Now.”

  “Simon,” she hissed. “There. Are you happy with yourself?”

  “Quite. I simply want you to become accustomed to the sound of it.” He leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "Because in the near future, I intend for you to cry out my name as Kate did for Petruchio.”

  Although she was certain no one had heard him but her, she still glanced wildly around her. Satisfied that she was still safe from savage gossip, she lifted her gaze to look at him. Amused complacency curved his mouth upward and she glared at him. Mad. The man was stark raving mad.

  “As I recall, Shakespeare had Kate throwing things at Petruchio while screaming his name.”

  “Ah, but that was before he tamed her and made her his.” Simon grinned. “A remedy I intend to administer in the very near future, my sweet.”

  “If you persist in this behavior, people will begin to talk.” Ivy glared at him.

  “And exactly what will they talk about, Miss Beecham?” The sardonic arch of his eyebrow made her grit her teeth. “I think the only thing they’re likely to comment on is the fact that I danced with you quite a bit this evening.”

  “Well, I’ve not agreed to dance with you yet, you arrogant beast.”

  “But you will, my sweet Ivy. You will.”

  Laughing, he pulled her hand through his arm and guided her up the stairs to the ballroom. The confidence in his voice irritated her, but she refused to say another word, as he was far too quick with his retorts. Despite his arrogance, Simon was the most intelligent and amusing man she’d ever met, and she liked him. It annoyed her to admit it, because she wanted to dislike him.

  She wanted to despise him for the way he’d treated her in the library. She wanted to view him with contempt because he was of the nobility. But she couldn’t. As much as she detested the notion of the peerage and what it stood for, she’d seen the love he bore for his nephew in his actions and words.

  Fortune hunters were the bane of her existence, so she understood Simon’s fears that Anthony might have fallen in love with someone who loved him for what he could provide, not who he was. She could hardly fault him for that.

  “So deep in thought. I wonder what mischief you’re plotting in that quick mind of yours.” His voice was husky as he spoke. The teasing note of it grazed over her skin in a sensual caress of sound.

  “Emma’s Mr. Knightly said that vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief. However, I am far from weak headed or vain.”

  “True, but you are quite lovely.”

  The sincere note in his voice alarmed her, and her entire body warmed as her gaze met his. She turned her head away from him as they entered the ballroom. Filled to capacity, the dancing had already begun. One of the library’s patrons saw them from several feet away and pushed his way through to greet them.

  “Good evening, Miss Beecham, Wycombe. Bit of a crush this evening wouldn’t you say?” Oliver Chestertop pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at his brow. Not waiting for a response, he offered his arm to her. “Now then, Miss Beecham. I believe you promised me your first dance of the evening.”

  “I’m certain I did so, sir. Shall we?” With a laugh, she accepted Mr. Chestertop’s arm. As she pulled away from Simon, she heard his soft growl of displeasure. With a quick glance back at him, his frown of frustration made her smile. Although she knew it shouldn’t, it pleased her that he was unhappy about her departure.

  More than an hour later, she found herself whirling around the dance floor with another of the library’s patrons. Laughing at something her partner said, she caught a glimpse of Simon standing on the edge of the dance floor. There was a sharp line of determination to his jaw. She watched as he stepped out onto the floor just as her partner whirled her past him. To her amazement, he tapped the older gentleman on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me. May I cut in.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command, and her partner blinked with surprise.

  “Well, I—”

  “Thank you.” Without waiting for the man to finish his sentence, Simon pulled her into his arms and left her dance partner standing in the middle of the floor.

  “That wasn’t very kind of you,” she murmured as he skillfully guided her around another dancing couple.

  “I’m feeling far from kind at the moment. I agreed to hand over the Voltaire Papers to the library in exchange for one evening with you, and I’ve spent less than an hour in your company.”

  “Very well, I shall spend the rest of the evening with you.”

  “You’re damn right you will.”

  With another swift turn, he danced her off the floor near a row of French doors that had been opened to provide fresh, cool air to the guests. As she moved out of his arms, he suddenly grasped her hand and tugged her out into the darkness. The shock of the cold air against her skin made her shiver.

  “I don’t think this is the type of weather where we can take a stroll through the garden,” she said with a touch of irony. “It’s far too cold for my liking, so may we please go back inside.”

  Not bothering to answer her, he tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her along the stone balcony toward the wide steps that led down into the gardens. Fallen leaves rustled beneath their feet as they charged deeper into the gardens. Wherever they were going, he seemed certain of their destination. In any other man’s company, she’d be alarmed at his outlandish behavior. The truth was, a part of her liked the masterly way he commanded her and others to do his bidding. Stumbling slightly as she struggled to keep up with his long, quick stride, she realized the chill in the air had diminished some due to her exertion.

  “Simon, where on earth are we going?”

  “Someplace where I won’t have to deal with another one of your elderly suitors showing up at your side.”

  “All right then, but could we at least walk there,” she huffed. “I’m having to take two steps for every one you take.”

  “We’re almost there.” His soft chuckle danced through the crisp winter air.

  “Where?”

  “Here.” He tugged her around a tall hedge toward a large hothouse. “This is the one place we can be warm, while ensuring there will be no interruptions.”

  As they entered the heated building, Simon released her from his grasp. Rubbing her bare arms to ease the chill on her
skin, she looked around her. The brightness of the full moon overhead illuminated the hothouse almost to the point of daylight. A profusion of flowers filled the structure, and the scent was intoxicating. From where she stood, a gravel path wound its way deeper into the building.

  Enchanted, she followed the path into the heart of the conservatory, stopping every few feet to press her nose into a flower. All the time, she was acutely aware of Simon’s presence behind her. Even with a modest space between them, her body ached for the heat of him to embrace her. As she breathed in the fragrance of a rose, she remembered the look in his eyes in the carriage.

  The desire in his gaze had excited her. She knew what he wanted of her, and the hunger stirring in her blood urged her to accept his proposal. Her innocence had been lost long ago, and the liaison Simon was offering would involve no commitment, only pleasure. Could she accept a liaison that she knew would put her heart at risk? She drew in a sharp breath the scent of the rose filling her senses as she straightened and continued along the path. The fact she’d even asked the question meant she was already in danger.

  The soft sound of water splashing against rocks caught her ear, and as the path curved around into the center of the building, she gasped. The path opened up into a small sitting area to reveal two other paths veering off into other parts of the hot house. On her left, a miniature waterfall was nestled in a bed of climbing ivy and tropical plants.

  The water tumbled off the handcrafted granite that contained several steps for the water to flow over. Captivated, she stood still and drank in the beauty of it all. She’d never seen anything quite like it. She needed to commission something like this for herself. It would be the perfect place to sit and read. Whoever had designed this building loved their work.

  “Do you like it?” The quiet sound of his voice broke the peaceful silence, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “Yes, very much. It’s beautiful. I was just thinking I’d have to ask Lord Clarendon the name of the architect.”