THE DEFIANT LADY

by Samantha Garman

  “Why are you holding my fiancée?” Cy asked, his voice cold and distant, like a predator ready to strike.

  “She is where she wants to be, Stanton,” Caldwell taunted. His arms tightened around her ribs when Ivy gasped. “The lady was merely seeking the solace of my embrace when she discovered your true motives for marrying her.”

  “Let her go, Caldwell. This is between you and me.”

  Caldwell pretended he had not heard the demand. Instead, he reached up to caress the back of Ivy’s elegant neck.

  Reacting violently, Cy dropped the gold mask and lunged for Caldwell. In a spineless act, Caldwell attempted to shove Ivy in front of him to deflect Cy’s charge, but all he managed to do was lose his hold on her. Ivy fell roughly into the dirt, collapsing with a cry of distress.

  Cy’s fist connected with Caldwell’s nose, but the sound of breaking cartilage and the sight of spurting blood was not enough satisfaction for him. He had been pushed beyond reason, and his deepest instincts to protect the woman he loved roared to life. He braced firmly and prepared to strike again.

  Through his haze of pain and anger, Caldwell counterattacked. It took Cy by surprise, and both men fell to the ground in a heap of flying fists and curses. Cy was on his back, and Caldwell rose like a venomous serpent ready to assail its prey. With one hand on Cy’s throat, Caldwell pulled back to punch him in the face, but when his fist came crashing down, Cy moved. Caldwell’s knuckles smashed into the unyielding dirt below them.

  Caldwell howled when Cy took the opportunity to slam his elbow into the man’s already broken nose. The second strike was too much for him to bear, and he collapsed in a pitiful heap, teary-eyed and writhing in pain.

  Standing up, Cy finally spared a look in Ivy’s direction. She had risen from the ground. Dirt smudged her face and covered her delicate tulle dress.

  “Ivy, are you hurt. Did that bastard harm you?” Cy walked towards her and reached out to touch her cheek, but she recoiled, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “No more than you hurt me. Did you and my grandmother strike a bargain? Is what Miss Fitzgerald told Caldwell true?”

  Cy’s jaw clenched. He had been correct about Miss Fitzgerald being the cause of the rumor, but he felt no satisfaction as he responded, “It has been a long night, Ivy. Let us leave. I will explain everything.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No, I will not go anywhere with you. You lied to me.”

  Before Cy could reply, Beaufort rounded the bend of the maze and stopped. “There you two are. You have been gone a long time. The Duchess had an inkling you two were together.” He looked at Ivy, wondering why she looked so disheveled.

  “Did I interrupt something?” Beaufort asked looking back and forth between a Cy who was grim, and Ivy who was clearly distressed. Caldwell let out a moan that alerted Beaufort to his presence. He was still wriggling like a worm, and unable to get up.

  “What is going on? Caldwell is back?” Beaufort demanded.

  “Yes, and he informed me of the truth behind Cy’s reason for marrying me. His only reason,” she clarified.

  Cringing as the words parted from her lips, Cy turned to Beaufort and said, “Ivy is not feeling well and has to leave. We will be taking Her Grace’s carriage to my townhouse.” He paused thoughtfully. “Caldwell has a desire to see America. Find Langley and escort Caldwell to the docks.” He looked meaningfully at his friend.

  “I understand. No one will be the wiser to your departure…or his,” Beaufort promised as he looked at Caldwell scathingly.

  With all due haste, Cy grabbed Ivy’s hand and ran off into the night.

  ***

  “Where is he taking my sister?” a musical voice asked from behind Beaufort. He turned, and his breath left his body. Willow was bathed silver in moonlight, but at the moment he did not have time to be distracted by her beauty.

  “You should not have followed me,” he admonished.

  She glared at Beaufort and crossed her arms over her chest. He wanted nothing more than to drag her off into the night just like Stanton had done with Ivy.

  Willow’s gaze went to Caldwell. “Is that who I think it is?” she asked in shock.

  “It is. Miss Sinclair, I must enlist your aid. Will you find Lord Langley immediately?” She nodded, and without hesitation, ran to find the Count of Langley while Beaufort stood guard.

  Moments later she returned with the Count. Caldwell was attempting get up off the ground, but Langley walked over to Caldwell and kicked him in the groin. The man groaned in pain and rolled over, retching expensive champagne.

  “Stanton suggested Caldwell see America,” Beaufort explained as he took in Caldwell’s pitiful form.

  “A sound plan. I will have my driver meet us in back with the carriage.” Langley left quickly and Willow and Beaufort were alone.

  “Are you courting Miss Fitzgerald?” Willow blurted out.

  “You do not know how to prioritize, do you?” Beaufort asked wryly.

  “Are you?” Willow pressed.

  Beaufort shook his head and took a step towards her. “No. I am courting you.”

  “You have not come to call,” Willow pointed out haughtily. “And I am not even sure I want you courting me. You seem very indecisive when it comes to your feelings. I have plenty of other suitors who—”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he silenced her protest with his lips. When Beaufort lifted his head, Willow went right on talking like nothing had occurred.

  “As I was saying, I have plenty of other suitors who—”

  He growled like a bear. “You will have no other suitors besides me.” He kissed her again, thoroughly. He was pleased to see her eyes were glazed with both desire and anger when he ended their kiss. “Shall we continue with this discussion about your other suitors? Would you like to tell them to stop calling, or should I?”

  Willow did not reply as Langley returned with the Duchess and his wife in tow. Willow hastily attempted to step out of Beaufort’s arms, but he tightened his hold, refusing to let her go.

  “Langley and I will take Caldwell to the docks,” Beaufort explained. “The rest of you will take Stanton’s carriage to his townhouse. We will congregate there.”

  “Where are Ivy and Stanton?” the Duchess asked as she peered at her other granddaughter.

  It was Beaufort who answered, “Gone, they left in your carriage, Your Grace. Miss Sinclair discovered the truth behind their engagement.”

  “Oh, dear,” the Countess said.

  “She is not the only one who knows,” the Duchess remarked dispassionately. “It seems it is all over the ballroom. The guests are also speculating on Ivy’s current whereabouts.”

  Langley started to drag Caldwell away and then glared at his cousin. “Do you think you can let go of Miss Sinclair long enough to help me?”

  Grumbling, Beaufort released Willow and did as requested.

  “We will have a long talk about your behavior very soon, young lady,” the Duchess admonished.

  “We have a crisis on our hands. You must learn to prioritize, Grandmother,” Willow remarked, causing Beaufort to shout with laughter.

  ***

  “Let go!” Ivy yelled.

  “No,” Cy said implacably as he continued to drag her towards the Duchess’s carriage.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To my townhouse where you are going to listen to me so I can explain myself.”

  She tried to twist free. “I do not need or want an explanation. You do not wish to marry me. I only wish I knew this before I fell in love with you!” she shouted, nearly hysterical.

  Cy did not react to her admission that she was in love with him. Instead, he turned to her and hoisted her over his shoulder so she could not escape.

  “How—how dare you!” she fumed as she pummeled his back with her tiny fists.

  He squeezed her leg through her skirts. “Quiet, Ivy. I do not want your reputation ruined.”

  “You should hav
e thought of that before!”

  After a long, tense carriage ride, they finally reached Cy’s townhouse.

  “I am not going in there with you,” she stated.

  Sighing, Cy hauled her out of the carriage and hoisted her back onto his shoulder. The butler opened the door and gaped at his master, who clearly looked as though he had been rolling around in the dirt. The servant’s gaze widened when he realized Cy was carrying a cursing and bedraggled woman over his shoulder.

  “We will be in the drawing room. Do not disturb us.”

  Once they were alone, Cy set Ivy down. She stared in mute defiance as he went to the liquor cart and poured two overly full glasses of brandy. He gave her one and said with grim humor, “Please wait until after my explanation before you throw this in my face.”

  “I am a fool,” she whispered even as she took the glass. Her skin crawled as she thought of Caldwell’s hands on her. Ivy wanted to scrub away every trace of him.

  “Take a sip. It will steady your nerves.”

  She frowned, but did as he suggested. The brandy burned a trail down her throat and then curled in a warm pool at the bottom of her belly, and she felt calmer.

  “My father was a notorious gambler,” Cy began. “Heavily in debt, he mortgaged his lands and was about to lose Fenton Hill. He approached the Duke of Cavehill for a loan. He died before ever paying it back, and it fell to me. Slowly, I managed to save my properties, invest in wise business ventures, and would have been able to restore my former wealth, except for the crippling debt. I only planned to marry Miss Fitzgerald for her dowry. It would have paid the debt in full, and I would finally start turning a profit.

  “Your grandmother requested a meeting and suggested the arrangement between us. I only agreed after I met you. I broke off the engagement to Miss Fitzgerald immediately.

  “If I had not wanted you, Ivy, I would have married Miss Fitzgerald and been done with it, but you walked into the drawing room and I knew I had to be with you. You made my blood heat from a mere look.”

  She shivered from the possessive longing in his voice and whispered brokenly, “You desired me, but you do not care for me, not even now.”

  Achingly, he said, “At first it was just desire, and yes, a hunger to have you, but we grew closer. I fought a duel for you, Ivy. How can you doubt the sincerity of my feelings?”

  Ivy shook her head as tears began to fall down her rosy pink cheeks. “I want to believe you.”

  “Remember the card wager? I could have let you walk out the door, but I knew I had to convince you to marry me.” He moved towards her but did not take her into his arms.

  “When the truth about my father’s pitiful legacy surfaced, I became distant, trying to discover the truth. Langley, Beaufort and I had a hunch Miss Fitzgerald was the cause of the rumor which is why Beaufort appeared to be courting her. We needed him to get close to her for information. I tried to shelter you, and it caused more damage than if I had just been honest. You may not believe me, Ivy, but I love you.”

  His hand slowly came up to caress her cheek, and she looked into steely gray eyes naked with longing and love.

  “Please tell me I have not lost you.” He cradled her face in his hands. “I have courted you for months, punched Caldwell in the face twice, and almost died in a duel defending your honor. What else can I possibly do to prove to you that I am in love with you?”

  “Why are you in love with me?” she whispered.

  “I will make you a list of reasons later,” he said just before his mouth covered hers.

  She kissed him back, her arms twining around his neck, and she pressed against him. His hands slid lower, and he pulled her so she was cradled against the junction of his thighs. His fingers removed the tulle flower in her hair, and the pins that held her luscious waves back from her face. Her silky tresses flowed over his hands as he cupped her head and continued the onslaught of her lips.

  Her tongue touched his and the kiss deepened. Pushing his hips against her, he growled his approval at her boldness. She grew more confident as the passionate kiss continued.

  Ivy reached for his cravat and began to untie it. His gray eyes were dark with desire as he watched her. She began to undo the top buttons of his shirt, and when the sensitive skin of his throat was exposed, she leaned over and kissed it with warm, rosy lips.

  His fingers wove through her hair, and gently pulled her head back. She was glad that he was becoming the aggressor again. She liked when he took charge, for it made her feel like a wild, uninhibited woman. It was primal.

  Backing her up against the closed door, Cy teased apart the layers of tulle that covered her body, his fingers grazing silken skin.

  “I want to be inside you,” he whispered harshly.

  “Yes,” she moaned, a fresh surge of lust flowing through her veins.

  Cy pulled down the straps of her dress to reveal pink nipples. She shivered under his gaze, just as he bent to take one perfect bud into his mouth. She gasped, and leaned into him as she grabbed his head to keep her balance.

  “Cy,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and desire.

  “I know, love,” he said gruffly.

  He slowly moved them away from the door and lowered her to the carpet, ridding himself of his shirt. The candlelight showed a perfectly formed, muscular chest, and Ivy yearned to stroke him.

  “Touch me,” he pleaded.

  She complied and reached out to put her hand on his thundering heart. His gray eyes were liquid silver and his gaze was burning her with desire. She pressed kisses all over his chest, and when her tongue touched his nipple, he cried out.

  “Should we move to a bed?” he gasped.

  “Why?” she murmured huskily. Her hand trailed lower, covering the bulge in his tight trousers.

  “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” he mumbled. “I want to see you, feel you.” He divested himself of the rest of his clothing and helped her out her dress. “I have never seen such perfection.” He traced a silky breast and his thumb brushed an erect nipple. Her magnolia flesh fit in his hands perfectly, and she stared at him with emerald eyes full of love.

  Cy leaned over and covered her body with his, and she enjoyed his rippling hard muscles pressing against her sensitive skin. He kissed the side of her neck as his hand skimmed her body and settled on her curly red mound. He began to stroke the inside of her thigh and inched closer to her silky, wet center.

  “I want to make you scream with pleasure,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Cy,” she breathed as he slowly inserted a finger into her warmth, gasping at his tender invasion. He began to move his finger back and forth. She thrashed around and grabbed his neck as she pulled herself closer.

  “Oh God,” she moaned as he slid another finger into her, tantalizing her core, making her ravenous with need.

  Removing his fingers, he nudged her legs farther apart seeking her moist entrance with his straining manhood. “I cannot wait any longer.”

  “Please.” She begged for something she knew not.

  “It will hurt.”

  “I trust you.”

  When he eased into her body, she stretched to accommodate his size. She was hot, feverish. She was scorched from the inside out. He thrust forward with love and lust, and she cried out in pain.

  “I am sorry,” Cy said in a labored voice.

  She sobbed in discomfort, and Cy pressed tender kisses along her hairline and jaw; it was a paltry distraction. When her cries turned to whimpers, he began to move. Moans of her pleasure echoed off the drawing room walls. He was fanning the flames of her desire, pitching her forward until she was bathed in ecstasy, the pain of his entrance a dim memory.

  Cy’s brow beaded with perspiration as he maintained steady strokes. Her legs opened wider, taking his shaft in deeper, welcoming him, bringing him home.

  As he thrust, she knew she was on the brink of exploding. She screamed, the culmination too much for her to stay quiet. Gripping him tightly, she
rode out the waves of pleasure until they were small eddies. With a shout, Cy gave in to his own release, thrusting hard, burying himself deep inside her.

  “I had no idea it could be that way,” she breathed in awe.

  “I did. From the first moment I saw you.”

  “Is this the true reason you wanted to marry me?” she teased. She felt warm, sated; her insides gooey like melted chocolate.

  Leaning up, he looked into her eyes and cradled her cheeks in his hands. “Do you forgive me? I should have confided in you. It is a mistake I will never make again.”

  She tenderly stared at his impassioned face. She was nothing like her mother, she realized. She had not fallen in love with a man who could only give part of himself to her. Cy gave her everything he was, and the realization of it was so beautiful she nearly cried.

  “You wanted to protect me. I see that now.” She burrowed close to him and he wrapped his strong arms around her.

  There was a knock on the door interrupting their intimate moment.

  “We are occupied!” Cy yelled out, thinking it was a footman or a maid.

  Ivy stifled a giggle.

  “My Lord, it is the Duchess of Cavehill and…company,” the harassed butler said through the closed door.

  “Oh God!” Ivy whispered, feeling embarrassment climb up her cheeks. “They are going to know!”

  “Hush,” he said, even though his own face suffused with color. They flew into action. “Give us five minutes, and show them to the library,” Cy called to the butler. He threw on his clothes and helped Ivy with her dress, but they both knew they could never restore order to her hair.

  He gave her one last lingering kiss, clasped her hand and opened the door. They walked down the hallway to library where the Duchess, Willow, Beaufort and the Count and Countess of Langley were all seated, waiting for them.

  Ivy’s face heated when she saw her grandmother taking in her appearance. The woman clamped her mouth shut even though her eyes shined with knowledge. Seating Ivy in the chair behind his desk, Cy moved to stand next to her.