Langley wisely did not say a word. Even Cy knew he was unreachable in his anger, his vision blurry red, and there was be no reasoning with him. Cy had never gone to such lengths to protect a woman. He cared about Ivy, more than he had ever cared for anyone.
“Is the doctor here?” Cy asked.
“Yes, and he has assured us of his tact, as you requested.”
Cy smiled without humor and said sarcastically, “Because that is our biggest concern. I cannot trust Caldwell to act with decorum.”
When both parties were ready with their pistols in hand, they approached each other slowly and stood back to back. Witherington and Langley were off to the side fifteen feet away and watched, ready to intercede if necessary.
“You are men of honor,” Langley called out. “You will do well to remember it.”
Cy nodded and clenched his jaw. He was not worried about his honor; it was Caldwell’s he was concerned about.
“Count it!” Caldwell spat, apparently ready to settle the matter.
Light finally peeked through the trees as the two men stood back to back. Caldwell and Cy had agreed that Langley would count twenty paces, and then each man would turn and shoot. There was a good chance that one or both of them would be killed or seriously injured.
Langley started the count.
“One!”
Langley’s voice rang out in the clear, early morning.
“Two!”
A cool breeze stirred the leaves that crunched beneath Cy’s feet.
“Three…Four…Five!”
Cy was tense, ready, and worried about Caldwell. How would a repugnant creature react in an honorable challenge?
“Six…Seven!”
Just as they got to the nineteenth pace, Caldwell began to twist.
“Stanton!” Langley called out in warning as Caldwell moved prematurely. Cy spun around as fast as he could, but he was not quick enough. Caldwell had a head start; he pointed his pistol and fired.
A white-hot bullet tore through Cy’s side, under his ribs, and settled just below the skin on his back. With his free hand, he grasped his side and tried to shoot with the other, but burning pain coursed through his veins like an injection of poison, and he fired hastily. He had no way of knowing if he hit his target, and before the smoke even cleared, he was overtaken by darkness.
***
Numerous pairs of hands held him down as the dull ache below his ribs turned into searing pain. Gauze was shoved into his wound, and he remembered he had been shot. He screamed in agony when he felt cold metal pierce his skin, and began to buck like a wild stallion. He managed to open his eyes off and on, only to see cloudy visions of Langley, and the doctor from the duel, head bent, digging into his side.
Blessedly, he passed out again.
Chapter XII
London, England
After the opera, Ivy refused to go to sleep; the Duchess and Willow kept her company in the salon. Though it would not be for many hours, they waited for news of the duel to reach them. As night wore on, Ivy’s apprehension grew. When dawn finally arrived, the Duchess convinced her to eat something, but Ivy’s stomach was a bundle of nerves. Until she knew Cy was safe, she would not be calm.
A little after the clock chimed eight, there was a pounding on the Cavehill door. Ivy did not wait for Benson to answer it.
“Get your cloak,” the Count of Langley said to Ivy urgently, coming into the foyer.
Willow and the Duchess had entered the hallway. Doing as bid, Ivy wrapped her cloak around her. She was still in her formal gown from the night before. She had not wanted to waste time changing in case she had to leave suddenly.
“What happened?” Ivy demanded.
Langley’s jaw clenched. “He has been shot.”
Willow gasped, and the Duchess pressed a hand to her heart.
Ivy’s face paled. “How bad is it?”
Langley’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “It does not look good. We must go.”
They rushed from the house and left Willow and the Duchess alone, shocked and motionless.
Once Ivy and Langley were seated in his carriage and on their way dodging through the early morning traffic, Ivy asked, “What happened to him, My Lord?”
Langley shook his head and gritted out, “Caldwell got to pace nineteen and turned early. He nearly shot Stanton in the back, but I called out a warning and Stanton managed to turn. He was not quick enough, and the bullet went into his side.”
Ivy felt rage boiling inside her unlike any she had ever experienced. “Where is the fils de pute?”
“The commotion gave Caldwell enough time to run away. I wanted to pursue him, but Stanton was bleeding badly and needed help. Stanton is at my townhouse. The doctor dug out the bullet and stitched his side, but now he is feverish and the doctor is worried about infection.”
The carriage stopped and Langley jumped out before the footman had even opened the door. He helped Ivy down and then escorted her inside. Ivy followed him up the stairs and into a lavish guest room. The Countess sat by the bed, her face distressed.
Cy was lying in an opulent bed, but the sheets were covered in blood, and patches of soiled linen were strewn across the floor. Ivy immediately rushed to him. She felt his flushed cheek, and observed him as he began to mutter in delirium.
“The doctor left a short while ago and asked that we watch him closely,” the Countess whispered.
Ivy’s heart ached as she said, “Thank you for taking care of him. I will stay by his side now.”
She immediately went to a chair next to the bed and removed her cloak, ready to stay until Cy awoke. She leaned over him, wanting to ensure that he was breathing. When she was satisfied, she sat down and then looked inquisitively at the Count and Countess of Langley. They stared back at her, their faces dazed.
“I will call for clean sheets at once,” Langley said finally. “Ring if there is any change.”
Ivy nodded, but did not say anything; she was too focused on Cy. His skin was hot to the touch, and his forehead felt like it was on fire.
She closed her eyes and finally gave in to her worry as a tear rolled down her cheek. He must be safe, she thought fearfully. She did not know what she would do without him. She cared for him, more than she had wanted to admit. Cy was more than a charming man of the ton that she was fortunate enough to marry. He was unique and caring, and he allowed her to see who he was below the surface. There was no deception, no guile in him. There was trust and honesty between them.
And now, just as they had begun their life together, he was in danger of being snatched from her like a kite from a child’s hands.
Cy, you wonderful idiot, she thought.
He was such a principled man that he had decided to protect her honor and entered into a duel against a gutless scoundrel. He had been shot, and now he was desperately clinging to life in a blood-soiled bed.
She knew at that moment she was in love with him.
***
He smelled her long before he could open his eyes. She smelled like rain and dark honey.
“Ivy,” he whispered, his fevered mind searching for her face behind burning eyes. He had never been so hot in his life. His body was blazing from within, as though he was trapped in a tomb of unbearable heat.
Something cool pressed against his brow, and he turned towards it.
“Get me Ivy,” he gritted out. Flames licked along his side.
“I am here. You will not die,” a melodic voice whispered.
A small, feminine hand touched his forehead, and he breathed a sigh of relief. In his delirium, he was able to conjure a vision of her. Brilliant red hair falling across her naked, magnolia skin, and her green eyes gleaming like wet leaves in springtime. Her smiling rosy mouth coming towards him and settling on his lips, giving him succor, dousing the flames within.
***
Just as the sun had begun to set, Ivy was jarred awake. Her neck hurt from falling asleep in the chair again, but she was instantly alert.
>
“Ivy,” Cy whispered softly. She rushed to his side, surprised to find him awake. His gray eyes were lit with pain, but he managed to smile. “You came.”
Gently, she sat down on the bed next to him and searched for his hand among the many covers. When she found it, she squeezed it lightly. “Of course I came, you dolt,” she said affectionately. Her eyes began to prick with tears, and she was unable to stop them from falling down her cheeks.
Cy reached out to caress her face, but his hand fell. “I want to touch you, but I do not have the strength, and my side is throbbing.”
Ivy stopped crying and moved so she could pull back the covers.
“What are you doing?” Cy asked in shock.
“I want to see the wound.”
“This is improper.” Cy tried to fend her off, but his meager strength was waning.
“Improper? You think this is improper? Shall we go down the list of what has occurred between us? Let me see it,” she demanded again.
He gave in, and she pulled up his nightshirt and tried to disregard a muscular leg as she sought to uncover the dressing. The skin around the stitches was angry and red.
“I am sending for the doctor,” Ivy said as she picked up the bell to ring for a maid.
“I do not need the doctor,” Cy said tiredly.
She glared at him. “It is my turn to be the overprotective, tyrannical fiancée.” The maid arrived and Ivy said, “Tell the Count of Langley that Cy is awake and to send for the doctor. Also, send up some broth and fresh water.”
When the maid left to do Ivy’s bidding, Cy said with an exhausted smile, “You give orders like a general at war. You will make a fine countess.”
She smiled. “Your countess.” Her lips began to quiver with emotion again. Her own weariness and tension were overpowering her. “You were almost killed, Cy.”
“Come here,” he said gently.
Ivy eagerly went to him, and when he wrapped an arm around her she sobbed, releasing every ounce of worry and fear that had built up in the days since he had been shot. He pressed his lips to her forehead. She pulled back just as the Count and Countess of Langley entered the room.
Ivy tried to move away from Cy, but he kept his arm firmly around her. Langley raised an eyebrow and said, “You gave us quite a scare. Good to see you awake, Stanton.”
“I had incentive to wake up,” Cy replied as he nodded towards Ivy who was blushing.
The Countess smiled tenderly at Cy and Ivy and said, “We sent for the doctor and he should be here soon. I also sent the Duchess a note apprising her of his condition and requested that you stay with us while Stanton recovers. I doubt you will leave his side.”
“I cannot let him out of my sight, for trouble seems to find him,” Ivy quipped.
“Valid point, my dear,” Cy said.
The doctor arrived, changed his dressings and pronounced Cy was on his way to making a full recovery. He suggested bed rest for at least a week and plenty of broth and tea, but overall the prognosis was good.
When they were finally alone, Ivy picked up the bowl of broth and spoon the maid had brought up and said, “You are going to eat every bit of this.”
“You are not going to feed me,” Cy protested.
She grinned cheekily. “If you can take the spoon from me, I will let you feed yourself.”
When he made a move, he grimaced and collapsed against the pillows. He was panting, out of breath.
“That is what I thought. No one has to know that I fed you like a baby.”
He growled in frustration, but let her spoon-feed him. When he was finished eating, she took the bowl, placed it on the tray and kissed his forehead, which was still a bit warm.
He was asleep before she made it to the door.
After Ivy ate her own dinner on a tray in the guest room, she took a luxurious bath. She had not left Cy’s side in days, and she needed to rest.
A short while later, Ivy slid into bed, her head hit the pillow, and she slipped into her own blissful sleep.
***
“Where is Caldwell?” Cy demanded.
He was sitting in Langley’s library, enjoying time out of bed. He hated feeling like an invalid, and though Ivy had barely left his side and had entertained him with cards and reading, he was ready to regain his independence and mobility.
Langley shook his head. “I have hired investigators to track him down. I also went to see Rutherford and Witherington, and both of them swear he has not been in contact with them. They are quite appalled by their friend’s lack of honor.”
“He will need money at some point,” Cy said heatedly. “And when he does, we will have our trail.”
“I know you are angry, but do not go looking for him. He almost killed you once. Let him come back. He will eventually, and when he does, we will be ready for him.”
Cy’s eyes turned steely gray, but he nodded curtly.
There was a knock on the door and Langley called out, “Come in.”
Ivy popped her head in and smiled. “Are you two finished with your business? I want to walk with Cy around the garden.”
Langley leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Do not let me detain you, then.”
Once Ivy and Cy were out in the sunshine, Cy immediately brought Ivy into his arms and kissed her passionately.
“I have been wanting to do that for days,” Cy said as he pulled away from her. He loved the way her cheeks flushed after they kissed.
“Finally had the energy to dedicate to it?” she quipped and then sobered. “I never did thank you for avenging my honor.”
“I never thanked you for staying by my side while I recovered,” he answered, his hands rising to hold her face.
She licked her lips delicately, as if she wanted nothing more than to have his mouth on hers again. He obliged and buried his lips in hers, wanting to make up for lost time.
“Do not ever terrify me like that again,” she said, tearing her mouth from his. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He winced at the pain, but remained silent for Ivy’s sake.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot about your injury.” She pulled back when she realized she had pressed his still tender wound.
His grimace turned to a genuine smile. “I am sorry to have worried you, but you are going to be my wife. I could not let Caldwell get away with his pursuit of you,” he said possessively.
“You were hurt because of me.”
He heard the guilt in her voice and wanted to ease it. “Ivy, I would never forgive myself for not protecting you.”
“And I could never live with myself if I was the cause of your death!” Ivy shouted.
He kissed her again, wanting to distract them both from their fears. Cy’s heart was beating rapidly when he finally lifted his head and gazed into emerald green eyes that were shimmering with suppressed tears. He realized he was dangerously close to being in love with this wild, spirited woman who wanted to take care of him just like he took care of her. His heart eased, and he nearly sighed with contentment.
Chapter XIII
London, England, late June of 1815
“You should go to the Marchioness of Clinton’s garden party,” Cy said to Ivy the next day.
“I am not sure. How are you feeling?”
He nearly growled in frustration. “Stop playing nurse, I am fine. You need to go out and enjoy the afternoon.”
“On one condition,” she said. “Promise me you will not attempt any strenuous physical activities.”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned roguishly. “What sort of activities are you referring to?”
She blushed. “Promise me,” she demanded.
He laughed and said, “I promise. I will spend the afternoon reading in Langley’s library. Is that mellow enough for you?”
With one last look in his direction, Ivy left him and met the Countess in the foyer. She would meet her grandmother and sister at the garden party and then return home with them. There was no longer any reason to stay at
the Count and Countess of Langley’s townhouse; Cy was healed.
When Ivy and the Countess arrived at the Marchioness’s townhouse, they were shown to the solarium. It was large and spacious with tall plants and ferns gracing every available space. The windows were open, letting in the afternoon breeze and watery sunlight. It had rained the night before and the smell of fresh air mingled with the scent of plant life.
Greeting their hostess, they made the rounds. When Ivy saw her sister and grandmother, she immediately went to them. The past week, they had visited the Langley townhouse while Cy was recuperating, but Ivy had spent little time with them. Loath as she was to admit it, Cy had been correct. It had done her good to get out and socialize.
“I had no idea the point of a garden party was to judge other people’s fashion,” Willow said in amazement as she took a drink of lemonade. “I passed three woman that were ripping to shreds another woman’s choice of dress.”
The Countess laughed. “That is the point of a lot of social gatherings, my dear.”
“Lady Gertrude should never have worn the pink gown. And Miss Victoria’s hair looks like it was pinned by the stableman,” Willow said in a mocking voice.
Ivy laughed. “You are such a comic, Willow.”
Willow inclined her head. “Why thank you, dear sister.”
“I wary of being able to teach you both any manners,” the Duchess remarked dryly but then spoiled her admonishment with a smile. She excused herself to speak to her friend, Lady Stanhope.
News of the duel between the Earl of Stanton and Lord Caldwell was still a juicy topic of discussion. No one asked Ivy about it directly because it was not considered polite, but curious glances were thrown at her all afternoon. It took every ounce of willpower for people to stem their interest.
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