“A picnic?” she asked.
He grinned. “I am appealing to your sense of adventure.”
On their way out, a smiling maid handed them a basket. Cy took Ivy’s hand in his and led her outside into the sunny day. As they made their way through open fields, Ivy noticed the new blooms of spring. A plethora of purple, pink and blue flowers scattered their path, their fragrance tickling her nose.
Cy escorted her to the top of a hill around a bend, just out of view of any possible passersby. He spread out a plaid blanket that was in the basket and made sure she was settled before he took a seat next to her. She made a grab for the basket and began to unpack it. Delighted, she pulled out cold chicken, rolls and dried fruit. They sat together quietly and exchanged thoughtful looks as they ate.
Once they were finished eating, Cy took out a deck of cards and grinned, “Ready for a game?”
Ivy feigned wariness. “Oh no, the last time I played cards with you I managed to get myself engaged. Who knows what could happen next…”
“The worst has already happened,” Cy joked. “We will not be wagering today.”
“Every moment I spend with you, I find myself more and more comfortable in your presence,” he admitted.
She blushed at his brash statement. “I never thought such a simple afternoon could be so enjoyable.”
Looking at Cy, she noticed the admiring look on his face. She swallowed as she stared at his sensual mouth. He reached for her, his arms stealing around her body.
“Ivy,” he breathed as his mouth moved dangerously close to her supple, pink lips.
As if of their own volition, her hands roamed up his strong chest, and her fingers settled into the hair at the base of his neck and pressed her lips to his.
She opened her mouth, letting his tongue sweep in and entwine with hers. Ivy did not know if the resulting sounds of pleasure were hers or Cy’s; it did not matter. She wanted him desperately, and she clung to him fiercely. He tilted her head to the side and trailed his lips down her flushed cheek, over her feminine jawline and down the side of her tender nape. When his hand found her breast, she arched against him and gave in to the tumultuous pleasure. She was lustful and deprived and she did not care.
Cy loomed over her as he gently positioned her on the blanket. The dying afternoon sunlight was behind him, bathing him in an ethereal glow. She reached up to touch his cheek, and slid her hand down to his chest again so that she felt his rapid heartbeat.
“May I?” he asked huskily even as his fingers went to the small buttons of her riding habit.
Unable to form a response, she nodded, wanting his warm hands on her sensitive flesh.
He sighed as he exposed her creamy skin. Cy’s head, covered in immaculate dark hair, bent over her chest as he kissed her collarbone and moved lower. With a few deft movements, he liberated her breasts from her bodice. For a long moment, he simply stared. His gaze was reverent and hungry.
“They are perfect,” he said of her round, creamy breasts with dainty pink nipples. “Better than my dream.”
“Dream?” Ivy asked, her voice breathy with banked longing.
He did not answer, but his smile was slow, hot, and it inflamed her. He reached out to gently tease her nipple. It puckered. Without warning Cy did something Ivy never expected; he took one ripe bud into his mouth and sucked.
She gasped in unexpected pleasure as he continued to assault her virtuous flesh. When she thought she would die of sweet torment, he moved to the other mound and paid it lavish attention. She arched against him, realizing her body recognized the ancient call of desire.
“So beautiful,” he said huskily. His eyes seemed almost black with desire, and he smiled gently. He moved even lower as he slowly spread her shapely legs and hiked up her skirts.
Ivy weakly attempted to make him stop, her mind knowing she should, but her body betrayed her. “Cy…” she breathed. She was oblivious to everything except the quaking hunger within her.
“It is all right, love.”
He gazed at her curly red knoll that gently shielded her most intimate prize. Touching her with one finger, he let out a male grunt of satisfaction. “You are so wet,” he rasped. “Slick with desire for me.”
She threw her head back in ecstasy, uncaring that her body was bared to him. And then he did something so intimate, so incredible, Ivy thought she would burst. Cy put his mouth on her delicate, rosy core and began to lick her honeyed folds. He sucked on her throbbing bud as she thrashed from all-consuming pleasure. A warm fire started to burn low in her belly, and its glow spread. Cy tongued her faster and faster, and when she could take no more, she buckled and nearly screamed, colliding with swells of pleasure that washed over her.
“Dear God,” she whispered, refusing to open her eyes.
When she finally did, Cy was smiling, looking like he wanted to pleasure her again. The way she felt, she was inclined to let him. He touched her lightly and she trembled. She was ready for more, and Cy eased a finger into her tight sheath, working his finger slowly. Instinctively, Ivy opened her legs farther, taking him in deeper. He inserted another finger and her damp heat enclosed him as Ivy erupted in passion for the second time. Gently, he disengaged himself and pulled her skirts lower, giving her a moment regain her breath.
“Did you enjoy that, love?” he asked.
She turned liquid green eyes to his face and smiled slightly. “I think I did,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “It gets much better, too. Trust me.”
“When?” She could not stop herself from asking. She wanted him to hold her and lean her head against his chest.
“When we are married,” he promised. “I will love you all night long, until the sun comes up.”
Ivy swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She wanted it now, she realized, trembling in need.
Cy’s gaze was hungry and he playfully admonished, “Stop looking at me that way, or I might forget all my good intentions to wait.”
***
Over the next week, Cy rarely came to call. He kept his distance, and it left Ivy bereft and confused. Blushing at the memory of their picnic, she thought perhaps he was ashamed of her behavior. She had been wanton and needy and she was deeply embarrassed by her actions.
Even when Cy did come to see her, his visits were brief. Was he losing interest? Did he no longer want her?
Ivy became a rolling mass of conflicting feelings and anxiety. She had more in common with her mother than she realized. She needed to remember her pride and dignity. She would not make the mistake again of behaving like a shameless hussy in his presence.
If her fiancé could remain detached, so could she.
Chapter VII
Hampshire, England, May of 1815
Ivy stood in front of the mirror barely recognizing the vision that stared back at her. Her curls were pinned up, a rope of pearls peeking out through her shining red tresses. The dress she wore was pale ivory and accentuated her small waist and graceful neck.
There was a knock on the door and a moment later, Willow entered wearing a white gown with gold chains woven through her blonde hair.
“You look beautiful,” Willow said as she took Ivy’s hand and squeezed it.
“So do you. Can you believe we are here at this moment? I am wearing a dress that costs more than rent on our flat in Paris.”
Willow shook her head. “One minute we were on a path destined for the stage, and the next we are in England about to attend a ball that informally presents us to society.”
“Life has some interesting twists,” Ivy said. “I am glad you are here with me, Willow.”
They walked down the stairs and into the drawing room where the Duchess was waiting for them. There was a knock, and a footman in his formalwear of green and gold livery entered.
“All the guests have arrived, Your Grace. They are in the ballroom.”
“Thank you, Simms,” the Duchess said. “I would like a moment with my granddaughters.”
Simm
s retreated and the Duchess faced Ivy and Willow. Both look startled, since the woman had never referred to them as family before. Perhaps she was finally accepting them.
She nodded in quick approval at their appearances. “Remember, this is not your entrance to high society. You are only meeting a small group of close friends and acquaintances, but it is still good practice,” she nearly barked. “And you may call me ‘grandmother.’”
A feather or a stiff breeze could have knocked the girls over, so in shock by the Duchess’s request. Ivy and Willow looked at each other in astonishment, but then proceeded to follow the Duchess.
When the three of them entered the exquisitely decorated ballroom, the guests stopped in mid-conversation and a full twenty seconds passed before a striking woman near thirty, approached them. The silence of the room was broken and everyone began speaking again.
“May I introduce the Countess of Langley,” the Duchess said. “My granddaughters, Miss Ivy and Miss Willow Sinclair.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming,” Ivy said with a sincere smile and a curtsy.
“We have known the Duchess a long time and we would not have missed this for the world. My husband is around here somewhere, and he will be delighted to meet you both as well.”
As Willow struck up a conversation with the lovely woman, Ivy’s eyes wandered around the room, and rested on the center of the crowd. As it parted, Cy walked towards her, dressed in black evening attire. He looked polished and masculine. A shorter, attractive man with brown hair was by his side.
Her breath hitched, taking in Cy’s handsome form. She could not believe she was engaged to him, but at once remembered the pledge she had made to herself a week ago. Ivy would not let a man be the source of her happiness. She vowed to remain cool and aloof.
***
When Cy first saw Ivy across the ballroom, it had been a punch to his gut. She was always beautiful, but tonight, seeing her in formalwear, he had a glimpse of how she would look as his countess. For the rest of their lives, she would wear gorgeous ball gowns and his gifts of jewels would twinkle at her ears and throat. He was so incredibly proud of her and the regal picture she presented.
“Dear God! That cannot be your fiancée!” the Count of Langley said. Cy’s friend appreciatively took in Ivy’s red locks, fair face and sensual physique as they both strode towards her.
Cy glared at Langley’s blatant perusal of Ivy’s features. “Quiet please, Langley. I told you she was my fiancée in confidence. It has not been announced yet.”
“Dear God, man, announce it! It will keep all the young bucks away from her. Stake your claim.” As they approached the group of women, the Count joined his wife’s side, and Cy moved close to Ivy.
“Would you like something to drink?” Cy asked Ivy, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
He saw her stiffen. He placed her hand on his sleeve and guided her through the crowd of guests, who peered at them in wonder. He wanted a moment alone with her away from the ears of her family.
The last two weeks had been sheer torture for him. Maintaining his distance had been the only way to keep himself from taking her virtue. Even now, he wanted to trail a finger down the line of her elegant, swanlike neck and watch her shiver in pleasure. He wanted to plunge his hands into her bodice, plunder her mouth, and hear her greedy cries of passion.
Cy handed her a glass of champagne from a passing servant and took his own. Over the rim of his flute, he watched Ivy’s hands shake as she lifted her glass to her plump, inviting lips. He knew he was watching her with a predatory stillness that went beyond a simple escort, but he felt possessive. He did not care who noticed or who talked.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” she asked.
It was the first thing she had said to him that evening and it sounded breathless. Dare he think she was as affected by him as he was by her?
“I am enjoying watching you,” he said honestly. He was glad to note his comment made her cheeks bloom with warmth. “I would like to apologize for my absence the last couple of weeks. I thought it wise after our time together at the picnic.”
Ivy would not meet his eyes, but he noticed her heightened color had not faded.
“Do you regret it, then?” she asked softly.
Cy wanted to curse. So wrapped up in his own desires, he did not think how Ivy would take his negligence. Reaching out to grasp her chin, he slowly forced her to look him directly in the eyes.
“Regret is not the word I would choose.” He pitched his voice low so as not to be overheard. “I want to do it again.”
“You do?” Ivy asked, her eyes widening in shock and wonder.
He nodded. “So much in fact, that the only way I knew to stop myself was to keep away from you.”
“Then, you do not find me…brazen?” Her cheeks flushed again.
Leaning over he whispered in her ear, “I find you very brazen, but I would not have you any other way.” On the contrary, he was thinking about having her every which way.
Ivy gave a long shuddering sigh. “You still want to marry me?”
“Very much.”
Ivy turned her attention to Willow who was conversing with the Count and Countess of Langley. “I hope my sister finds someone as charming and genuine as you,” she said.
“What a nice compliment.”
“It is true. I do believe my sister will have all the success. She will have dozens of suitors falling at her feet.”
“Does part of you yearn to have other suitors at your feet?”
She shook her head and gazed into his warm, gray eyes. “I am quite content with my present situation, and the prospect of my future.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He took a step closer so that his jacket touched the front of her dress.
With the tines of a fork on a heavy crystal glass, an immaculately dressed footman announced to all that dinner was served, and the spell between the two was broken.
Talking with Ivy was similar to drinking an entire bottle of champagne, Cy thought; his tongue loosened and he easily forgot the world around him.
He would have to marry her, and soon.
***
Dinner was an intimate yet extravagant affair. The Duchess was known for her immaculate taste, and that night it showed. Red silk tablecloths graced the long dinner table and gold candelabras held dripping wax candles that bathed the dining room in delicate light. Plates and silverware were all perfectly placed, and no object in the room was anything other than absolutely perfect.
Ivy sat across the table from Cy, whose gray eyes seemed to smolder when he looked at her. He seemed to barely register the exquisite taste of his lamb shank; instead his focus was entirely on her. Her hand shook when she lifted her wine glass, and she wondered how she was going to make it to dessert. All she wanted were Cy’s lips on hers, especially after he admitted to liking her forward behavior.
When it was time for the gentlemen to leave the table and enjoy after dinner drinks and cigars, the Duchess suggested the ladies retire to a separate salon so they might converse more comfortably. Excusing herself, Ivy sought the spacious, dimly lit water closet. Two women entered without noticing Ivy, and just as she was about to make her presence known, they started talking about Cy. Intrigued, she kept to the shadows, eager to hear what they were saying.
“Did you see how he was looking at Miss Sinclair? He could not tear his eyes away from her.”
“I know! What do you suppose Miss Fitzgerald will do when she hears about this?”
“Who knows?” the first woman asked. “I heard the Earl was just about to finalize his engagement plans with her father, and now here he is with Miss Sinclair. He is being rather possessive, standing close to her and never leaving her side.”
Her friend sighed. “The way the Earl was gazing at Miss Sinclair, I highly doubt Miss Fitzgerald will be the next Countess of Stanton.”
“She should not have alluded to it until the betrothal was settled.”
&nbs
p; “The Earl certainly likes women of all types. I once saw him with his tall, brunette mistress outside the millinery’s shop.”
Their voices died out as they left the water closet, still entirely unaware that Ivy had heard their entire exchange. Ivy shook with anger from the news as she looked into the mirror and fixed an errant curl. Could it be true? Had Cy been engaged to this Miss Fitzgerald? Was a wife so interchangeable that he had seen Ivy and simply decided he wanted her instead? How dare he! And to hear about his mistress!
It was a painful subject for Ivy. Their mother had been a mistress to their father, and Ivy and Willow were the result of that relationship. Was a woman doomed to being either the mother of his heir, or his woman of passion? Were they never one in the same?
She returned to the drawing room and somehow managed to converse politely with the other occupants, but all the while she wished she was upstairs alone in her room so she could think about all that she had heard. At the end of the evening, the Duchess and Willow were busy escorting their guests to the door and Ivy was momentarily left alone with Cy.
“That was a delightful evening,” Cy remarked, his eyes roving over her face. “Would you like to go riding tomorrow afternoon?”
“No, thank you,” she dismissed. “I promised Willow I would go shopping with her.”
He paused a moment. “Ivy,” he said softly. “What is the matter? I thought we had settled everything between us.”
Did he call Miss Fitzgerald by her first name, too? she thought waspishly.
Ivy looked at him directly and smiled sweetly. “Have a wonderful night, My Lord. Thank you for coming.”
She turned on her heel and walked away.
***
The next morning, the Duchess buttered a scone as she said, “After last night, I have no qualms that with a few more weeks of lessons, you both will be completely ready to take your places in society. I am very proud of the both of you.”
THE DEFIANT LADY Page 7