THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  “Thank you,” Willow said in obvious surprise by the praise. “It was a lovely ball. Your friends and neighbors were delightful and very accepting of us.”

  Ivy said nothing as she continued to stare at her plate of food. She pushed it around with her fork, but did not have much of an appetite.

  “What did you think, Ivy?” the Duchess asked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “How would she know? She was too busy looking into the Earl of Stanton’s eyes,” Willow teased.

  The Duchess laughed, shocking both Ivy and Willow, who looked at the woman like she had grown two heads. She was in rare spirits today. “I knew I was right introducing the two of you.”

  Ivy was spared from answering when Simms came into the dining room and announced that Ivy had a visitor.

  “Who is it?” Ivy asked.

  “The Earl of Stanton, Miss Ivy.”

  Ivy’s face flushed with anger, but she composed herself into a portrait of politeness. Sweeping into the salon, she held her chin high, her molten waves cascading down her back.

  Cy turned and smiled. “Good morning. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” she replied tightly. “What are you doing here?”

  He frowned in discernable confusion. “Paying a morning call. I thought that was obvious,” he said sarcastically.

  She shot him a condescending look. “I thought I had made it clear that I was occupied today.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed Cy’s strong face, and then, with sardonic amusement he said, “All right, Ivy. Apparently I have done something to upset you. Will you tell me what it is so I can apologize and buy you something to atone for being such a beast?”

  Heat suffused her face. “What makes you think you did anything?” she challenged. “And what makes you think you can buy my affection?”

  He stalked towards her in two long strides and grasped her by the arms. She struggled to shake him off, but his hands were like iron shackles. Angry, green eyes clashed with calm, curious gray ones.

  “What did I do, Ivy?” he asked softly, his warm breath near her mouth.

  “Nothing,” she denied nervously.

  His head descended towards hers and he whispered, “I do not believe you.”

  His mouth closed over hers and his lips fit as if they were made for her mouth alone. Cy’s hands moved from her arms to her back, drawing her closer to his hard body. She tried to remain uninvolved, but she could not. Anger and lust collided, leaving her body feeling tight, like her skin was stretched too thin. He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “There is nothing to forgive. If you will excuse me, I have some letters to write.”

  She extricated herself from his arms and left the room. She was proud of herself that she had managed to sound aloof, but ashamed that she had kissed him back. She realized, in a battle against her desire for Cy, she would most definitely lose.

  ***

  “The Earl of Stanton is in the drawing room with Grandmother. She requests your presence immediately,” Willow said from the doorway of Ivy’s bedroom.

  “Why?” Ivy asked, not getting up off her bed.

  “Wedding preparations, I imagine. I will be practicing the pianoforte if you need me. If you discuss the color of my dress, remember I look terrible in puce.”

  Willow’s jest did not make Ivy smile. Reluctantly and petulantly, Ivy trekked to the drawing room. It had been two days since she had stormed out on Cy, and during that time of silence, she had spent most of her time riding. She refused to answer any questions posed to her by her grandmother or sister as to what was wrong. Now, however, she would be forced to face Cy. She was not ready for a confrontation, for she always seemed to lose her train of thought in his presence. He had been engaged to another woman before her; she could not forget that fact.

  Ivy entered the drawing room and her gaze found Cy’s, who was sitting calmly in the corner. After Ivy was settled with a cup of tea, the Duchess turned the conversation to wedding plans.

  “Stanton and I agree that it is best for a quick engagement. After all, there is no reason for a long one.”

  Ivy raised an elegant red brow and said, “No? On the contrary, I thought a long engagement would be just the thing. It might give the Earl some time to decide if I am the right woman for him.”

  Clearly startled, the Duchess looked at Cy who was watching Ivy with a steadfast gaze. “I have already decided that you are the right woman for me, Ivy,” Cy said softly.

  “Oh? What about Miss Emily Fitzgerald?”

  “What about Miss Fitzgerald?” he answered vaguely.

  “At the ball, I heard a rumor that you were about to finalize a betrothal agreement with her father just before we met. I also learned of your mistress, and apparently she is quite beautiful.”

  “Ivy!” the Duchess lashed out. “You do not speak of a man’s paramour in mixed company!”

  Ivy looked coldly at her grandmother and said, “I am the child of such a relationship.” She then turned her challenging stare to Cy and taunted, “Or have you forgotten, My Lord?”

  “Your Grace,” Cy said through a clenched jaw, “will you excuse us for one moment? It seems Ivy and I need to settle a dispute.”

  The Duchess stood and left the tension filled room.

  Ivy glared at Cy, furious that he appeared unruffled. Just once she would like to see him lose control, as he had made her lose control countless times in his arms. It was not fair!

  “Why should it bother you that I was engaged to Miss Fitzgerald?” he asked steadily.

  She could not believe it. She expected denial, or sputtering to conceal his past, but not open admittance. “You do not even deny it?”

  “What would be the point? You clearly have judged and condemned me already for it. Lying does no good.”

  “It is not the engagement I am concerned about but the timing,” she said through gritted teeth.

  That was not entirely true. The idea that Cy had been engaged to another woman infuriated her. Did he take liberties with her too? Did he stroke her body, making it hum like a taut string? Had he kissed Miss Fitzgerald senseless?

  He rose and strode closer to her. Taking her hand, he pulled her up into his arms.

  Ivy’s mood was dark and stormy as she asked, “Did you kiss her? Touch her?”

  “No,” he said softly.

  “I desperately want to believe you.”

  “Have I ever done anything to make you not trust me? Honesty, remember?” Cy gently framed her face in his hands and said, “You are perfect for me, Ivy. Miss Fitzgerald does not compare to your beauty, your passion, your fire.”

  “And…your mistress?” she asked hesitantly.

  He sighed. “I do not currently have a mistress.”

  “Currently?” she asked irritably.

  The man had the nerve to smile. “I have not had one for years.”

  “Will you have one after we are married?”

  “Boldness becomes you,” he murmured.

  “Answer me,” she demanded.

  “I only want a wife.”

  “Truly?” she asked, the tension around her heart easing.

  “Truly,” he repeated as his lips descended towards hers.

  She reached up to meet him, and her arms slowly intertwined around his neck as she sought solace in his embrace. Cy’s hands wove through her curls and kept her lips pressed firmly against his. His tongue swept through her mouth, and her knees buckled with desire. She leaned into him, wanting to get closer.

  Abruptly, he grasped her arms and gently pushed her away from him. He was breathing hard and Ivy was short of breath, too. Her lips tingled, and she felt lightheaded with lust.

  “Yes,” Cy rasped. “A short engagement is necessary. How do you feel about marrying in four months?”

  She looked at him and said, “Yes. If you can wait that long.”

  He grinned. “Three months it
is.”

  Chapter VIII

  Hampshire, England

  Ivy woke up early before most of the house was awake. She passed sleepy chambermaids and footmen as she made her way to the kitchen. She took bread, cheese and an apple for her breakfast and was out the back door before the sun even poked its head over the hills. She walked to the small, flat clearing she had discovered in the first few days at her grandmother’s home.

  As the sun rose and began to warm everything it touched, she stripped off her wool cloak. Standing in nothing but her makeshift ballet attire, she took a deep breath and went through the repetitive steps to loosen her muscles, staying limber so they would not cramp.

  She had continued to condition her body each day, just as she had done every morning since she was seven years old. Since she had come to England, her life had taken on new challenges, but she missed the rigors of ballet. It was the one thing from her old life she did not want to forget, and she would not shame her mother’s memory by choosing to ignore such a profound part of herself.

  When she was finished her routine, she breathed in deeply and enjoyed the scent of fresh air among the trees. She sat down on a rock, and ate the small breakfast she had packed. The sun had moved behind the clouds, causing a slight chill; she wrapped her cloak around her. By the time she was finished eating, she was still not ready to go back to the house, enjoying her solitude far too much. She decided to take a walk with no particular direction in mind. Ballet had invigorated her and she had energy to spare as she leisurely strolled across the land.

  The storm came out of nowhere.

  As the rain began to fall, she realized she was closer to Cy’s estate than she was to her grandmother’s. She ran toward his home, but not before the sky opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour. She was drenched, shivering and muddy by the time she knocked on the front door.

  The butler instantly ushered her inside. “Miss Ivy!” he exclaimed.

  Ivy was dripping on the wood floor as the butler called out orders to servants for a hot bath. Maids and footmen bustled around her with towels, trying to soak up the water on the floor around her.

  “What in thunder…” Cy popped his head out of the study and in surprise said, “Ivy! What are you doing here?”

  She tried to smile, but sneezed instead, clutching a towel to the tip of her nose. “I am sorry to intrude. I was out for a walk, and I got caught in the storm,” she explained.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You are not intruding. You came here?”

  “It was closer.” She sneezed again.

  Cy took her hand and led her up the stairs. “And here I thought it was because you actually wanted to see me.”

  She smiled. “Arrogance becomes you.”

  He laughed as he opened the door to an expansive guest room. It was decorated in gold and blue brocade, and had its own washroom.

  A maid bustled in and said, “I will have a bath ready for you soon, Miss Sinclair.”

  “Thank you,” Ivy said, and then turned to Cy. “Will you send a note to my grandmother?”

  “She does not know you are here?”

  Ivy looked chagrined. “I escaped early this morning. I wanted time by myself.”

  He raised his eyebrows and asked, “What do you do when you are alone?”

  “I practice,” she said. “Ballet. Please do not tell her what I was doing. She thinks I have given it up.”

  “She will not hear it from me,” he promised. “I will send a note to your grandmother immediately so she will not worry.”

  “Thank you. Do not let me keep you from your day.”

  “I was only reading investment papers. Very boring documents. Your presence is a welcome excuse to stop.” He looked at her. “I will request that your sister come and keep you company. She can bring you a change of clothes.”

  “That is not necessary,” Ivy protested.

  “Nonsense. I will also summon a doctor. No use fighting me. I am your fiancé and it is my duty to see to your welfare.”

  She inclined her head and smiled. “So be it, My Lord.”

  ***

  Cy escorted Willow into his study and said, “Your sister is upstairs having a bath and then she is being put to bed. I know she will be glad to see you. Before you tend to her, I wanted to ask your opinion about the wedding present I am planning on giving her.” Willow raised her eyebrows as he went on, “Did you know your sister still practices ballet?”

  Willow laughed and nodded. “Of course. She refuses to stop.”

  Cy cleared his throat. “I would like to construct a studio for her use. A real ballet studio, complete with mirrors and bars.”

  Willow clasped her hands together in excitement. “I think that would be a perfect gift!”

  After tea, he took Willow upstairs, knocked on the door and the maid answered.

  “This is Miss Sinclair, Miss Ivy’s sister. How is she?”

  The maid was standing in Willow’s way, preventing her from entering and before the maid could reply, Ivy’s muffled voice came through the door. “Is that the arrogant, tyrannical earl? Tell that overbearing man I refuse to stay in bed. I am fine!”

  Cy pushed past the maid and opened the door widely, revealing Willow.

  “I will decide if you are well,” he said in an intractable tone. “Now, stay in bed and keep warm. Put another hot brick at her feet,” he commanded to the attentive maid.

  Ivy glared at him, and then smiled at her sister. “Willow! I am glad you are here.”

  Willow chuckled. “You should thank your overbearing fiancé. He did send for me.”

  Ivy looked sheepish.

  “I will leave you two ladies, as I have some work that requires my attention.” He went to find his butler and demanded, “Have you sent for the doctor?”

  Jamison nodded and replied, “Of course, My Lord. He is tending to some of his other patients but will come when he is able.”

  An hour later, peals of laughter could be heard from the upstairs bedroom. The girls sounded like they were in fine spirits, and Cy wondered if he had been too concerned about Ivy’s health. He sighed and pushed away the investment papers. He was unlikely to get anything accomplished with the red-haired siren in his house, so he went up the stairs and poked his head into the guest bedroom.

  “Sounds like a lot of fun is happening up here,” he replied mock-sternly.

  Ivy shook her head. “No fun at all. Willow has been beating me at cards all afternoon. I have to redeem myself. Especially if you will not let me out of bed.”

  He chose to ignore her pointed comment, pulled up a chair and gathered the cards. “I have a game I would like to teach you both,” he said.

  “What game would that be?” Willow asked eagerly.

  “Poker.”

  “Poker?” Willow asked. “I have not heard of poker.”

  Cy grinned. “It is quite new. A good friend that has traveled to America taught me. It is a gentleman’s wagering game, and I intend to teach it to the both of you.”

  “You wish me to learn unladylike hobbies?” Willow asked, pretending to be scandalized.

  “As your future brother-in-law, it is my duty to make sure you are prepared for all aspects of society.”

  Willow laughed.

  Cy looked at Ivy and said, “If I recall, you are a fan of wagering, are you not?”

  Willow looked quizzically at Ivy, whose flushed cheeks bloomed even more.

  Ivy has not divulged the story of my proposal, he realized.

  Two hours later, the cards were put away. “It is time for you to rest,” Cy commanded.

  Ivy’s eyes were closing of their own free will as she placed her head on the pillow. “All right,” she murmured.

  “Sleep well, Ivy,” Willow said softly.

  Cy leaned over and pressed a kiss to Ivy’s forehead. It was warm and he thought she might be feverish.

  “I shall keep her here until she is well,” he stated as he escorted Willow to the carriage.

&
nbsp; Willow raised an eyebrow. “You are most solicitous, sir. I am glad my sister has someone who cares for her well being.”

  The doctor still had not arrived by dinnertime and Cy’s concern grew even as he tried to keep his attention on his investment papers. He dozed off in his study, but at two in the morning his valet roused him awake. Ivy was having a fitful night of sleep; she had a fever and was thrashing around in bed and mumbling.

  He went to her immediately, dismissing the attentive chambermaid and thanking her for sitting with Ivy and sponging her forehead to keep her cool. It was a chore Cy intended to take over himself.

  Just before dawn the doctor arrived and entered the room. “I am sorry I could not come sooner,” Dr. Cannon, a portly man with bushy eyebrows said. “A woman decided to give birth in the early hours of the morning, and I left only when I could be assured she and the child were safe.”

  Cy nodded his head. “Thank you for coming.” He rubbed a hand over his tired and unshaved face. “Ivy got caught in a rainstorm. I made her stay here to make sure she was well, and now I am glad I was so overprotective. She caught a fever last night.”

  “Let me take a look,” Dr. Cannon said as he pressed his head against her chest to listen to her lungs. When the doctor was finished examining Ivy and was finally satisfied, he nodded and said, “Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a mild chest cold. I doubt any fluid will fill her lungs. Keep her warm, and when she wakes feed her hot broth. She will be right as rain in a few days.”

  “Thank you,” Cy said, and then escorted the doctor downstairs. “I will have some refreshment sent to the drawing room for you to enjoy before you leave. If you will excuse me, I will go back and sit with her.” If the doctor thought Cy’s concern was anything out of the ordinary, he wisely did not comment on it.

  When Cy reentered Ivy’s bedroom, he was relieved to find her sleeping soundly. He settled down in the chair next to the bed and fell asleep.