by Darcy Burke
“Perhaps the two of you should discuss this further,” West said. “In any case, I won’t be starting a new liaison during the house party. I’m on holiday, if you’d like to think of it that way. If you’re still interested in pursuing this path, why don’t you contact me in the fall?”
“We’ll do that, thank you.” Fowler turned toward the door and brushed his hand along his wife’s back. She still hadn’t lifted her gaze from the floor.
When they reached the threshold, West said, “Fowler, a moment, if you please.”
Fowler whispered something to his wife. She moved into the hall while he returned to West. “Yes?”
“If I might offer a suggestion. Try stimulating your wife with just your hand. Focus on that little nub as much as you do her sheath—perhaps even more so.”
“I’ve tried that. She can never seem to let go.”
“Tie her to the bed.” West held back a chuckle when Fowler widened his eyes. “And blindfold her. Also, use your mouth. It will take time, but she will come around.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then talk to me in the fall.”
Fowler nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
West inclined his head, and the older man turned and departed.
Exhaling, West rubbed his hand along his cheekbone. Mrs. Fowler would be a challenge, it seemed. But not the kind of challenge he wanted. At least not right now.
Feeling the burn of frustration once more as Miss Breckenridge entered his thoughts, he made his way to the gentlemen’s parlor and went directly to the sideboard where Wendover’s best liquor was on display. He poured the finest whiskey he could find.
“Going straight for the good stuff, I see.” Axbridge walked up beside him and refilled his glass from the same bottle.
“I’m no fool.”
“Which is why we’re friends. Who is the lovely woman I saw you ogling after dinner in the drawing room?”
Hell, he’d noticed that? West needed to be more careful. But why? It wasn’t as if they were going to be spending any time together. She’d made that quite clear.
Still, West didn’t want to draw attention to her. “No one in particular.”
“Well, she’s stunning even in that hideous gown she was wearing.”
West wouldn’t have called it hideous, but definitely dull. He’d like to see her in a vibrant color with jewels sparkling on her ears and against her throat. Pity that he never would.
He tossed back all his whiskey and poured another.
“Aiming to get sotted?” Axbridge asked.
“Definitely not trying to remain sober. And damn, this is fine whiskey.”
“That it is.” Axbridge took a drink from his glass. “Are you going on the walk tomorrow?”
“I think I might.” An exhilarating exercise sounded most enticing. Especially if a certain companion went along. Even if he couldn’t pursue her, he could still look.
“Excellent, I shall see you then.” Axbridge threw back the rest of his whiskey, and his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Unless I’m too tired.” His eyes narrowed with meaning.
“I see. And will Lady Greaves be too tired to attend as well?”
“I couldn’t say.” Axbridge’s gaze and tone were cagey.
“Hmm, this will be an excellent game for me. Discerning whose bed you’ll be warming.”
“Do keep it to yourself when you work it out.” He tossed West a grin before he left.
Ah, to eagerly anticipate a night of undiscovered pleasure. If West really wanted that, he was certain he could find a willing partner easily enough. He knew how most women looked at him. Most, but not the one he truly wanted.
No, he’d go to bed alone tonight. And dream of the woman he couldn’t have.
Chapter Three
Morning fog had burned off to reveal bright sunlight, but now, as the intrepid guests embarked on their walk up Wendover Hill, the clouds began to gather once more. The air was cool, and a light breeze rustled the ribbons of Ivy’s bonnet tied beneath her chin.
Miss Forth-Hodges tipped her head up to the sky. “Do you think it will rain?”
“Perhaps, but it should be light. Those clouds aren’t particularly threatening.”
A group of maybe a dozen guests had set out from Greensward, the Wendover estate. Ivy had taken stock and was simultaneously disappointed and thrilled that Clare was participating. He was near the front of the pack, and Ivy was having difficulty not watching his athletic frame as they approached the hillside.
She couldn’t stop thinking of the note he’d sent her last night. She’d read it so many times that she’d committed it to memory.
Dear Miss Breckenridge,
I sincerely pray you will accept my most humble apology for affronting you. I never meant to cause you any upset, and it grieves me to know that I pushed you to a place that brought you distress. I have a tendency to challenge people, for better or for worse, and sometimes I overstep. I endeavor to take these instances as an opportunity to better myself.
“People seldom improve when they have no other model but themselves to copy.”
Thank you for your gift of illumination. I do hope you enjoy the house party.
Yours,
Clare
It was such a beautifully written note, and the inclusion of the quote from Goldsmith had made her smile. Yes, smile. He’d done what she’d tried very hard not to allow—he’d charmed her.
Miss Forth-Hodges stumbled next to Ivy. Reaching out, Ivy clasped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Ivy glanced up ahead and saw that Viscount Townsend was several yards in front of them. She returned her attention to Miss Forth-Hodges and noticed she was trying to watch him as covertly as possible.
“Has Lord Townsend caught your eye?” Ivy asked softly.
Miss Forth-Hodges nodded. “We danced last night. He’s the most charming man I’ve ever met.” She sounded breathless, and her gaze had taken on a dreamlike sheen.
“Are your parents in favor?”
“I think so. Mama was hoping for an earl or a marquess or even a duke.” She looked over at Ivy. “She even suggested Clare last night. Can you imagine?”
Actually, Ivy could. Not because it would ever happen—for whatever reason, he didn’t seem to be interested in marriage—but because he was an extraordinary specimen. If one had to choose a husband, she could definitely imagine choosing him.
Provided she could overlook the constant affairs.
Which she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
What did it matter anyway? Ivy was never going to marry Clare. Or anyone else.
“Why ever would your mother think Clare would make a good husband?” Ivy asked.
“I’m confident it has something to do with the word ‘duke’ and very little else.”
“Well, if titles matter to her, viscount is very respectable.” Ivy didn’t know much about Townsend. He hadn’t distinguished himself enough to be labeled an Untouchable. Because of that, Ivy concluded he’d be a decent match. “You could do far worse.”
“Yes, I don’t think I’d care to be married to someone called the Duke of Desire.” Miss Forth-Hodges giggled. “Whoever came up with that name is a genius.”
Ivy coughed. She normally wouldn’t have responded to that, but she and Miss Forth-Hodges were friends, weren’t they? “You may not believe this, but I’m going to take credit for that.” She winced, immediately wishing she hadn’t said it. “Never mind.”
Miss Forth-Hodges blinked at her. “Truly? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” She laughed again. “How delightful.”
“He’s an Untouchable—that’s what Lady Dartford, Lady Sutton, and I call them.” She pushed out a beleaguered breath. “They are married to two of them now.”
“Indeed? Did they have nicknames as well?” She held up her finger. “Wait, I remember that Sutton was called the Duke of Decepti
on during the Season. That was you too?”
Ivy dipped her head. “Yes. Dartford was the Duke of Daring.”
“These are spectacular,” Miss Forth-Hodges said, grinning. “Are there any others?”
“Axbridge—he’s the Duke of Danger. Because of the dueling.”
“That makes perfect sense.” Miss Forth-Hodges sent Ivy a wide-eyed glance. “Don’t you think he’s terrifying? Mama mentioned him too, but I think I’d prefer Clare.”
Ivy wasn’t sure she thought of Axbridge as terrifying, but then she tried not to think of most men at all. Which made Clare’s presence in her brain thoroughly vexing.
“Clare is certainly…pleasing to look at,” Miss Forth-Hodges said. “I admit I find him a bit intimidating, but that’s because of his reputation. I should hate to marry a man who carries on as he does.” She darted a look at Ivy and added, “Although, I suppose there’s a bit of excitement too.” She spoke so low that Ivy had to strain to hear her, and she wondered if she’d even meant for Ivy to hear the comment at all.
Excitement. Yes, that was an excellent word to associate with Clare. “Excitement isn’t always a good thing,” she said.
Miss Forth-Hodges turned her head as her eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’d rather have that in a marriage than boredom.”
“You’d rather have a husband who conducts liaisons with all and sundry?”
“Of course not. I only meant that it would be better to have an exciting husband—you know ”—she shot Ivy a meaningful look —“than not.”
She was, Ivy thought, referring to Clare’s sexual prowess. And with that, Ivy was keen to change the subject. Thankfully, Townsend wasn’t too far in front of them. As they’d been talking, they’d either walked faster or Townsend had progressed more slowly.
Ivy seized her chance to avoid further discussion. “Miss Forth-Hodges, I’d be happy to move ahead if you’d like to walk with Lord Townsend.”
“Oh, you would?” Her eyes lit up, and her mouth curved into a smile. “Thank you. And please call me Emmaline.”
“Then you must call me Ivy.” She gave her a little wave before quickening her pace and marching past Townsend, who all but stopped to wait for Emmaline.
Ivy stole a look back as they fell into step together, their heads bent in conversation. She felt a surprising pang of envy. It must be nice to look forward to spending time with someone and know that they felt the same.
Determined to walk such nonsense out of her head, Ivy sped up and, before she realized it, was abreast of Clare. The conversation she’d just neatly exited returned to her brain.
He glanced over at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Breckenridge.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
She wanted to thank him for the note, but she didn’t want anyone to hear her doing so. Miss Kirkland was nearby, as was a young man whose name Ivy couldn’t recall.
“Are you enjoying the walk?” he asked.
“Very much, thank you. And you?”
He looked over at her, but it wasn’t the same as their other interactions where she’d felt as if he were trying to see into her soul. “Quite refreshing. I do enjoy activity.”
She was a bit surprised to find they could have a normal conversation without flirtation or innuendo. “Will you be participating in the shuttlecock tournament?”
“I think so, yes. Though I haven’t played in years.”
A particularly stiff breeze tried to sweep Ivy’s bonnet from her head. She tightened the ribbons beneath her chin. “It’s too bad there isn’t a women’s tournament.”
“That’s a capital idea. Would you play?”
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure I would be allowed.”
“Of course you would. I’d insist upon it.”
His arrogance should’ve annoyed her, but in this context, she found it appealing. Damn it. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“If that’s your wish.”
It wasn’t, but she didn’t want Clare championing her either. Part of her—the part that she kept deeply hidden—was flattered that he’d speak on her behalf. However, the rest of her, which was the only part that mattered, was horrified that he’d draw attention to her like that. She embraced her situation on the fringe of Society.
A soft feminine giggle drifted back to them from just uphill. Ivy looked forward and saw that it was Lady Pelham. She walked closely next to Lord Wendover, fluttering her hand against his upper arm.
“The rumor is that they’re having an affair.” Clare’s deep voice came from nearby. He’d sidled next to her to impart that morsel.
“I hadn’t heard that.” Lady Dunn must not be aware, otherwise she would’ve said something. She’d appreciate Ivy sharing the gossip with her. “How do you know?” Ivy realized that could be interpreted in several ways. “I only meant, how do rumors like that even start?”
“Usually with a kernel of truth. Whether they are actually engaging in…activities, they clearly share an attraction. One only has to look at them.”
Ivy studied them for a moment. Lady Pelham had dropped her hand from Wendover’s arm, but she looked at him frequently, and he did the same to her. And they both smiled often. Lady Pelham laughed again, and her fingertips grazed his arm once more.
“I see what you mean,” Ivy said. “Don’t they realize?”
Clare lifted a shoulder. “I doubt it. If they did, they’d likely try to be more discreet.”
“Then how would you discern the liaison?”
“In some cases, you wouldn’t. I’m able to successfully hide affairs. It takes care and concern, but it can be done.” His frank discussion of his liaisons should be shocking or even offensive, but she found it refreshing.
“And yet it seems that all your affairs are well-known.”
His smile was enigmatic. “Not all of them.”
“Why let any of them become public knowledge?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t manage the secrecy, especially when the other person likes to talk.”
Ivy could see that being a problem, especially with him. She was aware of some women for whom being with Clare was an honor. This was such an odd conversation. “You’re incredibly forthright.”
He chuckled. “Am I offending you again? I shall write another note of apology.” He darted a glance toward her, and she realized she was enjoying the oddity, nonetheless. When was the last time she’d enjoyed a conversation with a gentleman? Answering that question would mean digging up the buried past.
“I appreciated your note.” She kept her voice soft, but loud enough for just him to hear. “You quoted Goldsmith.”
“You did say you liked She Stoops to Conquer. I assumed you’d read some of his other works.”
“Indeed I have. And so have you.”
He laughed as he sent her an amused glance. “You sound a bit surprised.”
“Impressed, actually.” She expected some sort of flirtatious retort and when none was forthcoming, she had to accept that she was disappointed. Last night, she’d told him in very plain terms to leave her alone, and now she found herself craving the attention he’d been giving her.
Well then, she’d just push that craving into the darkness with the rest of them.
They walked in silence for a moment, and, for the first time, Ivy felt it rather keenly. She was used to quiet, and typically sought it out. But now, with him walking beside her, she longed for conversation. He talked to her as if she were interesting. No, it was even more basic than that. He treated her like a person instead of some inanimate object to be ignored until its use was required.
Oh, she was being ridiculous. Plenty of people treated her like a person. Lady Dunn. Lucy. Aquilla. Their other friend, Nora, who was also the Duchess of Kendal. Nora’s mother-in-law, Lady Satterfield.
The list stopped there. Perhaps “plenty” was an overstatement.
Ivy brought herself back to where she wanted to be—their conversation. “Do you think Lady Wendover is upset by t
heir behavior?”
“I don’t know, but my suspicion is no. I think she has her eye on Lord Kirkland.”
“My goodness, you are observant.” She wanted to hone her skills. “How do you know?”
“He was considering coming on the walk, but Lady Wendover was quick to remind him of the whist tournament going on at the house.”
“That was all?”
“Not quite. After that, Lady Kirkland said she might want to stay too, but their daughter desperately wanted to come along. Lady Pelham offered to act as chaperone—and she’s doing a fine job, isn’t she?” He chuckled. “Anyway, with that settled, Lady Kirkland looked pleased in the way that one looks when one has stolen the last sweet from the tray. And Lady Wendover’s slight frown revealed her irritation—at least to me.”
He was terrifyingly observant. “I shall forever think of my actions when I am in your presence. I’m frightened to think what you might discern.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. I haven’t deciphered you in the slightest.” There was a bemusement to his tone that warmed Ivy. She liked that she confounded him, because so far, he confused the hell out of her. She ought to be ignoring him, but instead, she couldn’t seem to move away. All because of that stupid apology note. And maybe, just maybe, she’d liked the things he’d said to her yesterday.
Never say that.
A drop of rain hit the edge of her bonnet, thankfully interrupting her troubling thoughts.
“I guess it’s going to rain after all,” Clare said. He tipped his head back to stare up at the sky. Ivy gave his profile a lengthy perusal. He turned his neck and their gazes connected. Ivy tripped.
He reached out and caught her, his hands clasping her arms to steady her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes seemed to ask if she was fine. She gave a single nod and straightened, planting her feet firmly on the path.
