THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  He smiled in amusement. “I am going to try and convince you that I would be the best, most caring husband England has to offer you.”

  She thought he was going to kiss her, but he seemed content just to hold her.

  “You do agree I give wonderful gifts? Am I right?”

  Ivy smiled. “Yes.”

  “I enjoy card games, which should signify that I can entertain you…”

  Her shoulders shook with laughter as she realized he was not going to accept ‘no’ for an answer. She sighed as he pulled her closer, and she tucked her head under his chin, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms.

  “Is that all it takes to be a good husband?” she asked softly.

  He pulled back, forcing her to look up at him. Touching her face, he smiled. “That is not everything.”

  His firm, sensual lips grazed her cheek and then covered her mouth. Time stopped for her; the Earl’s hands cupped her face, his lips eagerly pressing against hers. Her eyes closed as she lost herself to the moment, desire unfurling deep in her belly. When he pulled back, her eyelids fluttered open. He was looking arrogantly pleased.

  “Passion is not reason enough to marry,” she said quietly as she regained her balance.

  “True,” he agreed. “Marry me because you think we will have a chance at being truly happy together.”

  Her eyes glittered with emotion as she reached up to touch his cheek. “Are marriages among the ton not usually happy?”

  He reached up to grasp her hand in his, and turned his head to kiss her palm. “People usually only tolerate each other. Most dare not ask for more.”

  Ivy was in turmoil. Her mother accepted what little the Duke offered, but Ivy wanted, and truly needed more. If she was to spend her life with a man, she did not want a relationship like her mother’s.

  “My mother had so little of the man she loved,” Ivy admitted openly. “They had passion, but over the years I watched the light in my mother’s eyes dim each time he left her for his other family.” She needed him to understand she would be nothing like her mother. She would not accept so little.

  “They loved each other, did they not?” he asked.

  Love. The word terrified her. Her mother had sacrificed everything because she loved the Duke. It chipped away at her existence, leaving her a hollow shell.

  “You do not love me,” Ivy stated. “You desire me. You want children with me, perhaps, but love has never entered into your reasons for marriage.” She watched as his jaw clenched. “I dare you to deny it.”

  “I will not speak further of love, Ivy, but you should give me a chance to prove to you that our marriage would be nothing like your mother’s relationship with the Duke. I will not cast you aside, or use desire against you. Give me a chance and I shall give you the world.”

  She stared into his tumultuous and expressive gray eyes, feeling her will bend. Was this the beginning? Would he break her?

  “Must I have one without the other? Are all women of my family doomed for such a fate?” She closed her eyes in pain, but heard herself say, “Yes, My Lord. I will marry you.”

  “Cy,” he corrected forcefully.

  “Cy,” she echoed.

  She did not know if she would have a better life than her mother, but she could not marry another man and risk settling for less than what Cy had to offer her. He gave her honesty. Perhaps it would be enough to build a life on.

  Once the reality that she was engaged to the Earl of Stanton set in, she began to panic. Ivy had been engaged only a few minutes, and already her thoughts began to spin out of control with worry. It was one thing to wear dresses and to converse at the Duchess’s side, but to take her place as a society wife was an entirely different matter.

  “Stop panicking. Take a deep breath,” he commanded.

  “How did you—”

  “You got very pale and started shaking. I must say I was hoping my future bride would be overjoyed at the prospect of marrying me. You look in danger of fainting.”

  She laughed, feeling the tension and worry dissolve.

  “That is more like it. Shall we impart the good news to your family?” Cy asked with a tender smile.

  When she nodded, he dipped his head again and whispered softly, “Let us seal our engagement with another kiss.”

  He did not give her time to agree or disagree. He covered her mouth with his, effortlessly molding his lips to hers. Surprising herself, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. Gently, he cupped the back of her neck and she sank into him, loving his hands in her silky tendrils of hair.

  He lifted his mouth from hers. “I love your reaction when I touch you,” he whispered thickly. “Even now, your face is flushed with passion and your lips are pouty and delectable.”

  She shivered at his heated words. Cy ran a thumb across Ivy’s bottom lip. She inhaled sharply. He placed his hand on her arm and escorted her to the hallway toward the front door. When they arrived out front, the mare snorted in greeting, tossing her elegant head, vying for Ivy’s attention.

  “Did you ride here without a saddle?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She fought the urge to squirm. “I received a lecture from Simms and our stable groom already, and they have assured me that my secret is safe with them. Might I ask for the same tact to be employed by you and your servants? The Duchess need not ever know.” Her eyes were pleading with him to agree and keep quiet.

  He looked down at her beautiful face and replied, “On one condition: you will not ride without a saddle again. Though I am in awe of your skill, my future countess must ride sidesaddle.” He said it softly, but with a thread of steel in his voice.

  She turned from him, and nodded her head. “You are right… you would be disgraced. And by marrying me I will be disgrace enough.”

  He reached out a hand to pull her into his arms. “I am thinking of you, Ivy,” he said quietly as he stroked her red curls. “I would not want to give the harpies of society any reason to question whether or not you belong with them. And you do belong with them. And with me.”

  He tilted her face back so that she was forced to look at him. His eyes were warm with sincerity and he had a look Ivy was learning to recognize; he wanted to kiss her again. Cy chuckled when she gently pushed him away. If he kissed her, there would be very little chance she would be able to leave any time soon. He muddled her thoughts.

  Ivy looked at the mare and said wistfully, “She really is quite beautiful and spirited.”

  “I wonder if I will be able to deny you anything. I shall let you ride one last time without a saddle. We shall take the long way back to Cavehill land.” He squeezed her fingers affectionately and spoke to a footman to see that his horse was readied. Moments later, they were galloping across the rolling landscape, and Ivy could not believe how quickly her life had changed since arriving in England.

  When they reached the Cavehill stables, Cy tossed his reins to the waiting stable boy and helped Ivy dismount. He held her for a moment longer than was necessary, and when she looked up at him, she bit her lip, silently pleading for him to kiss her again. He grinned slowly, as if he knew what she wanted.

  As he escorted her toward the manor, he whispered into her ear, “I am overjoyed that you want me to kiss you.”

  She gasped. “Un diable!”

  He laughed as they walked into the drawing room, finding the Duchess enjoying a cup of tea.

  “Hello, Your Grace,” Cy greeted.

  “Stanton,” the Duchess said, inclining her head.

  “Where is Willow?” Ivy inquired.

  “Painting. Shall I call for her?” the Duchess asked.

  When Willow joined them, she turned to Cy and said, “Pleasure to meet you, My Lord.”

  Cy bowed. “I am glad to finally meet your acquaintance.”

  “Please, sit,” the Duchess remarked.

  When they were all seated, Ivy began, “The Earl of Stanton and I…have agreed… that is…” She looked at Cy beseechingly.

&
nbsp; “I have asked Ivy to marry me and she has accepted,” he said succinctly, giving Ivy a grin and wink.

  The Duchess showed very little reaction to the news of her granddaughter’s engagement. Willow was not so tightlipped.

  “This is wonderful!” Willow looked at Cy and said, “You do know you must give the sister of your intended bride gifts to ensure that she supports the match.”

  Cy threw his head back and shouted with laughter and said, “I wonder how much this will cost me.”

  “Ivy loves horses, but if you would like to have a sculpture erected in my honor, that would be perfectly acceptable,” Willow said blithely.

  “I will have it commissioned at once,” Cy teased.

  Once they all celebrated with a quick glass of champagne, Cy excused himself to leave. As Ivy saw him out, Willow looked at the Duchess and said, “Are you not happy with the outcome?”

  The Duchess’s stoic face remained impassive. “Happy? I am actually quite ecstatic.”

  Willow’s mouth quirked into a smile and she joked, “Oh yes, I must have forgotten. That is your ‘happy’ face.”

  The Duchess did not smile, but Willow swore she saw a glimmer of amusement.

  Chapter VI

  Hampshire, England, April of 1815

  “I thought it would be appropriate to spend a few hours each day with my new fiancée,” Cy explained to Ivy the next afternoon when he came to call.

  She smiled thoughtfully and asked, “Are you courting me, sir? After the betrothal?”

  He winked. “I must make sure you have no reason to leave me at the altar.”

  “Ah,” she replied in understanding. “Then by all means, court away.”

  Cy laughed. “Do you play chess?”

  “No.”

  “Care to learn?” He reached for the bell on the side table and rang for a maid to bring them a chess set. After the maid left, Ivy picked up the ornately carved pieces and began to examine them.

  Cy then began to teach her the rudiments of chess. An hour later she had him laughing uproariously when she groaned, “This will take years to master! I am making up my own rules.” She then moved her Queen illegally and jumped a few spaces so that her Queen was in front of Cy’s King.

  “Check mate.”

  Cy looked at her for a moment and then remarked good-naturedly, “Then I get to make up my own rules, too.”

  She inclined her head. “Naturally.”

  He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “I want stories. I want to know everything about you. I am ravenous for information.”

  Warmth settled low in her belly, desire twirling through her. Only Cy had ever made her feel this way, like she had performed a dozen pirouettes in a row. She felt lightheaded, her breathing shallow. His mouth was close to hers, the male scent of him doing dangerous things to her mind.

  “Tell me about your life in Paris, your childhood.” He reached out to stroke her cheek.

  She smiled, enjoying his outward show of affection. She thought for a moment. “I pummeled a boy when I was thirteen years old.”

  Cy choked on his laughter. “Go on.”

  “What, no condemnation or shock?”

  “Neither. You are a pugnacious hoyden.”

  “That sounds like an insult.”

  “On the contrary. I meant it as a compliment. Tell me the story.”

  Ivy rested her hand on the black rook and began, “I was finishing my last ballet class of the day, and Willow was waiting for me so we could walk home together. I changed, and met her outside, and as we began our trek home she started to cry. Some local boys had been taunting her, you see. They were calling her names like ‘bastard’ and ‘whore child’.” She smiled without humor. “Paris claims to be so modern, but apparently it is just a smooth veneer of propriety with a mass of proletarian behavior beneath the surface.

  “I left Willow at home, crying in our bedroom. I snuck out, and found the ringleader of the young boys who had been harassing her. They teased and insulted me, but I marched up to the leader and punched him square in the nose.”

  She made a fist as she remembered that day. Her heart had been pounding with fear and anger, but her steps had never faltered. She had been the avenging angel her sister needed. “My fist hurt for three days, but they never bothered Willow again.”

  “You are magnificent,” he breathed. He reached a hand out and laced his fingers through her curls. As he sought her mouth, she closed her eyes and sighed when his lips covered hers. His tongue swept inside, and she kissed him back, straining closer. Her heart beat rapidly, like a thousand winged creatures taking flight.

  He ended the kiss and she growled in frustration. She wanted his warmth, his desire. “Not yet,” she murmured audaciously, and then pressed her lips to his for another searing kiss.

  “God, you will be the death of me,” he gritted out when they finally pulled apart. “You make me want to sweep the chess set off the table, lay you down and slowly lift your skirts.” She shivered at the lust in his voice, and he went on, “I want to make you quiver with need and watch your eyes glaze with desire.”

  “You shock me, sir,” she said on a pant.

  “We will have honesty between us, Ivy. Never doubt how much I desire you.”

  “It overwhelms me,” she admitted. “But I am not afraid.”

  “It should,” he murmured. “Your innocent candor has the power to sweep away all my noble intentions. I should leave.”

  She stared at him and asked, “Must you go?”

  “It would be dangerous for me to stay. I do not know how much more I can take…” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and exited the room.

  Ivy closed her eyes, touched her lips with her fingertips and shivered. Passion this strong should have terrified her, but for some reason she felt incredibly safe in Cy’s arms. When he spoke of what was between them, any resistance she might have felt melted away. Was this how it was between her mother and father? Was this the reason her mother had thrown caution to the wind and accepted what small offerings she was given?

  Ivy pursed her lips. Though Cy had promised marriage, he had not promised love. Was she destined, like her mother, to be with a man who could only give her a small piece of himself?

  Would that be enough for her?

  ***

  His night was haunted with visions of Ivy. He dreamed of her silken, ivory skin, his body covering hers as she writhed beneath his as he made her soar. When he awoke, he was left shaken and short of breath. He was strung tighter than a bow.

  He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Ivy. He yearned to possess her as she possessed him; to know that sleep could not claim her because she was restless from wanting. Every time he kissed her, he lost more control, needing her touch, needing to feel her tentative, innocent hands journey over his smoldering body. When she had taken control and kissed him, he thought he would die of lust.

  Gritting his teeth in distress, he threw off the covers and put on a dressing robe. He made his way downstairs to the library, poured himself a liberal amount of brandy and settled down to wait for dawn, knowing it would not ease his torment.

  ***

  Her afternoon with Cy in the library left her shaken. She could not believe her own shamelessness, or Cy’s deliciously naughty words to her. It left her breathless and mortified that she had spurned him on, but helpless to stop it. She did not think young women were at all eager for this sort of attention. It only proved to her that she was, indeed, not a lady.

  That night, Ivy pleaded to have a headache so she could be excused from dinner. She went to bed early, but sleep eluded her. Watching the dawn’s rays creep through the blue curtains, she finally decided to rise. She had not slept much, and there was no point lingering in bed. She did not ring for a maid but chose instead to dress herself in a dark purple riding habit. She walked to the stables and apologized to the sleepy stable boy, who promptly saddled the lively mare Cy had given her. She mounted the horse and rode off a
t a breakneck pace. She took in deep breaths, hoping to dispel the tension boiling with in her.

  Ballet used to soothe her in every way, but now she turned to riding. In the past, she had only enjoyed riding moderately but now found great pleasure in it. When had the change come? she wondered.

  As she looped around the countryside, she slowed her mare and headed back towards her grandmother’s property. She decided it was best not to question life further, and declared to be more carefree and willing to accept the things that were happening to her, for she was unable to change or stop them.

  When she arrived back to the manor, she had an early breakfast alone and then went upstairs for a nap. Ivy awoke in early afternoon, feeling quite restored.

  A maid bustled into her room and said, “Miss Ivy! Thank goodness you are finally awake! The Earl of Stanton is downstairs!”

  Desperately wanting a bath, she replied, “Please tell him I will be down shortly.”

  ‘Shortly’ turned into an hour. She found Cy in the drawing room playing chess with Willow, who seemed to be a much better student than Ivy. He rose when she entered and reached for her hand. She noticed the shadows beneath his eyes and wondered about them.

  “Forgive me for making you wait,” she said.

  Cy kissed her hand. “Not at all. Your sister was indulging me in a game of chess.”

  He smiled at Willow, who replied, “I am quite intrigued with this game now.”

  Ivy shook her head. “Then perhaps you should help me the next time I play against the Earl. I have no skill for the game and will need every bit of help.”

  They all laughed.

  “Good to see you, My Lord,” Willow said with a curtsy just before she threw her sister a swift look and left the room. The door closed, and Cy and Ivy were alone.

  “How did you sleep?”

  Ivy grinned sheepishly. “I saw the dawn, then went for an early morning ride, came home and then promptly took a nap. And you?”

  He tugged on her hand and kissed her palm. “I, too, saw the dawn. Come, I have a picnic planned for us.”