THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  “My cousin will be joining us at the Greek Ball,” Langley said.

  The Countess looked at Willow and remarked, “Beaufort is excellent company. And a wonderful dance partner.”

  Willow caught the gleam in Countess’s eyes and said, “Hopefully I will be able to keep pace with him.”

  “I think it will be the other way around. Let us hope Beaufort has the constitution to keep up with a Cavehill.” The Duchess cackled with laughter.

  “Will he be joining us at White’s?” Cy asked.

  Langley grinned. “I think I can convince him to let you take some of his hard-earned money.”

  Ivy looked at Cy and asked, “You are a fair gambler, are you not?”

  It was a loaded question, and it uncomfortably reminded Cy of his father’s gaming debts, many of which had come from White’s, an exclusive gentleman’s club that existed only for the privileged few.

  “Fair,” he agreed.

  Cy never wanted her to know about his father’s debt. He desperately wanted to put it behind him, and after Ivy discovered his brief engagement to Miss Fitzgerald, he did not want her knowing about his agreement with the Duchess. He would not have her think his sole purpose in marrying her had anything to do with money. Even though he would use her dowry to turn his finances around and ensure Ivy’s security, he did not want to burden her with his past. Better it stayed there and they looked to the future. He had to admit that he cared for Ivy, and if she learned about his agreement with her grandmother, she might doubt him and his intentions. He wanted them to have a happy, solid marriage.

  Most men of his class despised marriage and only went through with it to safeguard the succession of their titles. Very few married for love, or even lasting emotion; that was an elusive quality missing from society relationships almost entirely. Pleasure and companionship were found in the arms of others. Spouses were an unwanted necessity. The Langleys were one of the few happily married couples Cy knew.

  Cy had never entertained the idea of having a marriage like theirs, and offering for Miss Emily Fitzgerald had not upset him in the least. Thank God it had not been publicly announced, and he was able to call it off. Miss Fitzgerald was certainly beautiful, but she lacked any true spirit. They would have had a polite life together, and nothing more. Even the idea of dining with the Fitzgerald girl bored him. She had spoken of nothing but the weather and fashion in the few short moments they had spent together. How Cy could have ever thought that was all he would require out of a marriage, he would never know. When he met Ivy, he had not realized that she was saving him from a dreary existence. He had begun to hope they might find love.

  Cy stared at Ivy again. The candlelight made her hair shimmer, and her eyes seemed dark in the dim light. Her skin was alabaster, and he wanted nothing more than to remove his guests, place Ivy on the dining room table, plow his fingers into her ruby hair and drink from her sweet lips.

  Other women pale in comparison, he thought.

  Ivy’s gaze met his, and when he saw her breath hitch, he did nothing to shield the longing and desire in his eyes. His bold gaze continued to consume her, and he was pleased to note that her hand shook as she raised her glass of wine.

  He licked his lips, showing her his want, and he did not care who else knew.

  Chapter X

  London, England

  Three weeks later, it was the night of the Greek Ball. Ivy and Willow peered at the ornate marble columns that graced the edges of the large ballroom, along with colorful silks draped along the windows and hand-carved French doorways. Footmen dressed in Greek dress costumes complete with head laurels circled the room and carried trays of the finest champagne.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Willow inquired.

  Ivy shook her head and stared at the splendor around her, unaware that she and Willow were the focus of the room’s attention. They stood at the top of the plush, red-carpeted stairs waiting to be announced.

  Willow was draped in a Grecian silver dress, her blonde curls pinned at her crown. She wore white roses in her hair, and a simple silver ribbon around her neck. Ivy wore a gold gown, and had opted for an out-of-fashion hairstyle. Most of her molten waves had been kept loose, except for the two braids that were pulled back, one of each side of her face.

  The butler finally announced their names, and they descended the stairs pretending they were not the cause of commotion. Two young sisters, both exceedingly beautiful and new to the social scene, were more than a little intriguing. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were enveloped in a protective group, which consisted of their grandmother, Cy, the Count and Countess of Langley, and Langley’s cousin, Lieutenant Roman Beaufort.

  Before anyone could get an introduction to the Sinclair sisters, Cy escorted Ivy to the dance floor. The gesture was not lost on the crowd.

  Lieutenant Beaufort was tall and handsome, and had an irrepressible grin on his face as he bowed over Willow’s hand and asked, “Care to follow suit?”

  Willow laughed gaily and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

  “You are quite possessive, My Lord,” Ivy said breathlessly when Cy twirled her close. “How unusual for a man to be so affectionate in public! Plan on creating a new fashion?”

  He grinned lazily back at her. “If you will help.”

  Ivy’s laughter reached many ears.

  Cy’s black formalwear hugged his wide shoulders. She smiled to herself and thought about all the women in the room who were undoubtedly envious of her.

  Once the dance came to an end, Cy led her back to her grandmother. The Duchess was standing with Lord and Lady Dashwell, the hosts of the Greek Ball. Lieutenant Beaufort escorted Willow off the dance floor towards them and bowed, but remained close as he engaged Cy and Lord Dashwell in conversation.

  Lady Dashwell turned her attention to Willow and said, “It seems you have captured the interest of the dashing lieutenant. He cannot stop staring at you!”

  Willow laughed delightedly. “You are a perfect hostess!”

  Lady Dashwell smiled, winked conspiratorially and said, “I must admit, I do like a bit of excitement. If I have anything to say about it, it will be discussed for months to come. Did you know that Lieutenant Beaufort is actually the Marquess of Westonshire’s disinherited heir?”

  Willow gasped. “Truly?”

  Lady Dashwell leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “Mr. Beaufort’s father married an Irish peasant. The Marquess disinherited his son because of it, and now he completely regrets the decision. Mr. Beaufort’s father died, you see, and now the old Marquess needs an heir…”

  Willow was fascinated by the story. She gazed at the charming lieutenant, who promptly caught her eye and smiled widely.

  Lady Dashwell continued, “He has refused his grandfather, and defied him by becoming an English soldier where he proved himself and was promoted quickly. He fought at Waterloo, under the command of the Duke of Wellington. With the force of one hundred thousand men, they defeated the Emperor, Napoleon.”

  Willow found herself completely captivated by the lieutenant. Though charming and handsome, there was more to him beneath the surface. Looking at him, she caught him staring at her again. He winked at her, causing her cheeks to flush.

  Beaufort strolled towards her, took her hand and led her to the dance floor again.

  “Quite presumptuous of you, Lieutenant,” she said with a bold smile.

  “I took my cue from you, Miss Sinclair,” he answered, drawing her close, his hand pressing against the small of her back. “You looked like you wanted to dance with me again.”

  Willow gasped in mock outrage.

  His lazy grin was devastating. “Do not worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  ***

  Ivy was introduced to more people in one night than she could remember meeting in her entire lifetime. Cy was steadily by her side, and took it upon himself to answer pointed questions about their quick engagement and impending marriage w
ith wit that caused most guests to simply cease their implications.

  Others noticed Cy’s interaction with Ivy, and throughout the evening it was whispered among the guests that every time the Earl of Stanton looked at his fiancée, his eyes softened and a tender look passed over his face.

  When Ivy and Cy finally had a moment to take a breath, Cy excused himself to acquire her a beverage. A moment after he left, a tall, impeccably dressed blond man approached her.

  He bowed and held her hand a moment longer than was necessary. “Good evening, Miss Sinclair,” he crooned arrogantly. “I am Lord Caldwell. Are you enjoying the festivities?”

  Momentarily taken aback by the man’s abruptness, she finally replied, “I am. Are you enjoying your time here?”

  Lord Caldwell smiled and his blue eyes seemed to twinkle. “I would enjoy it so much more if the most beautiful woman at the ball honored me with a dance.”

  Startled and unsure of how to answer, she tried to think of an excuse and extract her hand. The man was looking at her far too intently, and stood a bit too close for comfort.

  “You pay me a great compliment, sir, but I fear I must decline. The Earl of Stanton, my fiancé,” she emphasized, “is due back any moment. He will be at a loss if I am gone.”

  “He is a grown man. He will survive.” Lord Caldwell gently, but firmly pulled her towards the dance floor. Not wishing to make a scene, she went with him, and tried to maintain as much distance between them as possible.

  Lord Caldwell chuckled upon noticing the distance Ivy was keeping and inflexibly pulled her closer to him. She refused to look up and give him the satisfaction of having cornered her into a dance.

  “Do you enjoy riding?” he asked pleasantly.

  “I do,” Ivy said succinctly.

  “Yes, I am sure you do.” His voice dropped to a sensual purr. “You were made for riding; lovely and light in the saddle, no doubt. Your carriage erect, your taut thighs controlling your mount.”

  Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes widening in outrage over his words. He did not seem to be talking about riding a horse at all! “Sir,” she hissed. “I would appreciate the chance to sit down. I am a bit tired from all the dancing.”

  Something moved in Caldwell’s blue eyes, and Ivy had a feeling that his social polish was only a thin veneer hiding something dark. However, he played the role of gentleman by inclining his head in assent, and then immediately escorted her off the floor.

  Ivy saw Cy waiting for her. He did not look at her; instead his gaze remained trained on Caldwell’s face. When Ivy and Caldwell were near, Cy took Ivy’s hand in a gesture of protectiveness and pulled her close to his side.

  “Thank you for the dance, Miss Sinclair. I would love to see you ride,” Caldwell said. “Oh, and Stanton, if you ever need someone to keep an eye on your fiancée, you have only to ask.” He bowed mockingly.

  “My fiancée does not need your company. Now leave. Your presence is ruining Miss Sinclair’s evening and mine.” His tone was hard and implacable.

  Caldwell fumed in silent anger, but wisely made his retreat. Ivy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Caldwell take his leave of the ball.

  “Would you care for a breath of fresh air? Allow me to escort you to the balcony,” Cy said, his grip tightening. When they were outside in near solitude, Cy finally demanded coldly, “Why did you dance with Caldwell?”

  Ivy gritted her teeth in frustration. She had enough of high-handed men. “He did not give me much choice.” She glared up at him. “He dragged me onto the dance floor like you dragged me out here.”

  Ignoring her pointed statement, he clenched his jaw and said, “Caldwell is not a suitable dance partner.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and answered, “I already told you I had no intention of dancing with him, but he was most persistent. I did not care for his solicitous attention. You must believe me.”

  “I do,” Cy said, taking a deep breath. “What did he mean by ‘I would love to see you ride’? Does he want to take you riding?”

  Ivy’s face flamed. “His tone implied he was referring to something else, I believe.”

  Cy’s eyes widened. “That reprobate!”

  “Cy, please,” Ivy pleaded. She watched Cy attempt to gain control of his renewed anger.

  “Seeing you in his arms made me angry, but hearing what he said to you has made me livid.”

  She instinctively took a step away from him and when he noticed, his face softened.

  “Come here, Ivy,” he said, gentling his tone. “You do not need to be afraid of me.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, taking a tentative step towards him.

  Cy pulled her into his arms and his mouth closed over hers. He maneuvered her behind a stone pillar, shielding them from guests. Quickly, he had his hand up her skirt and expertly navigated the many layers of undergarments. He tenderly touched her skin and skimmed his fingers over her slickened bud.

  “Cy, no,” she said. “Not here.”

  “Yes,” he growled. “I have to touch you.”

  He silenced her protest with his mouth, and continued to overwhelm her. Slipping his finger into her moist heat, she convulsed in passion. She whimpered in arousal and denied him nothing.

  “Hush, sweet,” he said softly as he pulled away from their passionate kiss. “You are safe with me. It has been too long since I have pleasured you, too long since I have seen you writhe in ecstasy in my arms. I cannot have you the way I want you, and so this will have do.”

  She shuddered, giving in to her desire. It washed over her, nearly knocking her over. She bit his shoulder to keep from crying out. Wrapped in his arms, she sagged against him, letting her breath return to normal. He pulled down her skirts and pressed her head to his chest.

  “I think it is time to leave,” he said. “I cannot go back to the ball and pretend that I do not want to pleasure you again.”

  She shivered at his heated words and then nodded in agreement. Leaning her head back, she gazed into his eyes. “I want that, too.”

  He clenched his jaw, even as he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “You will surely be the death of me, woman.” He sighed. “Let us find your grandmother and sister, and I will escort you to your carriage.”

  Once Cy made sure they were settled comfortably inside the Duchess’s carriage, he said, “I will see you tomorrow. Good night ladies.”

  As the carriage pulled away, the Duchess looked at Ivy and said, “Where did you disappear to?”

  Ivy leaned her head back against the seat. “I was in the powder room,” she lied.

  “Hmmm. Willow, you seemed to enjoy yourself tonight.”

  “I did,” Willow exclaimed. “Lieutenant Beaufort is a wonderful conversationalist.”

  Ivy snorted with laughter. “It does not hurt that he is incredibly handsome.”

  “It is unfortunate that he is untitled,” the Duchess remarked.

  Willow sighed. “Do you disapprove of him as a prospect?”

  “You will have a titled husband, Willow.” Her tone brooked no argument. “It is best to forget about Lieutenant Beaufort.”

  ***

  Ivy awoke at noon, which was unusual since she was normally an early riser. Stretching lethargically, she then rang for a breakfast tray. She always ate poached eggs and toast in the mornings, as she preferred something more substantial than other young ladies. Half an hour later, as she began to dress, there was a knock on her door. Willow bustled in, full of energy. She plopped down on her sister’s bed and smiled.

  “Are you still upset over grandmother’s announcement that Lieutenant Beaufort is not a worthy escort for you?” Ivy asked without preface.

  Willow shook her pretty blonde head. “No. I realize I should not entangle myself so quickly. We only just arrived in London. I need to look over all my prospects. I am sure to find someone Grandmother approves of who is just as a handsome, witty, and sincere as Lieutenant Beaufort.”

  Ivy raised an eyebrow in disb
elief, but said nothing. She had seen her sister interact with the man. There were sparks between them and it had been obvious.

  Walking down the stairs and traipsing to the drawing room, Willow and Ivy stopped in the doorway. Dozens of bouquets of flowers graced every available space. The chestnut writing desk had stacks of notes waiting to be read and answered. The sisters looked at each other.

  The Duchess entered the room behind the girls and smiled. “These have been arriving all morning.”

  “For Willow?” Ivy asked.

  “Yes, but Stanton sent you a bouquet, Ivy.”

  “It seems half the ton is smitten with Willow,” Ivy remarked as she picked up Cy’s card, and looked at the ornate bouquet of orchids. She thought about the stolen moments in his arms and blushed.

  “This is for Ivy,” Willow said as she handed her sister a note and pointed to a bouquet of colorful peonies that had almost been overlooked.

  “Who possibly could be sending me an arrangement? I am engaged.” Ivy took the note from Willow and opened it. It read: When will you let me take you riding?

  It was not signed, but she knew whom it was from.

  “Ivy? What is it?” Willow asked.

  Ivy’s eyes were wide as she looked at the Duchess and her sister. “The flowers are from Lord Caldwell.”

  The Duchess glanced at Lord Caldwell’s arrangement of flowers, but did not ask to read the note. “It is a trifle forward knowing you are engaged to the Earl of Stanton. I did see you dancing with Caldwell though. Did you do or say anything to make him think his attentions were welcomed?”

  “Of course not!” Ivy spat. “Cy was angry when he saw Lord Caldwell paying me attention. He does not approve of the man.”