“It would be destroyed in a matter of seconds.” He reached for his trousers.
She sighed when he stood before her, unashamedly naked. His erection was hard, throbbing, and ready for her. Her green eyes glowed with desire.
“Do you realize, dear husband, that this is the first time we will have made love in a bed?”
He laughed, his voice thick with lust, when he said, “True. Our other trysts have involved rather uncomfortable settings.”
“And yet you still gave me so much pleasure. I would like to do the same for you.”
She got up off the bed and kneeled in front of him. She ran her hands up his muscular thighs and then slowly caressed him. Cy leaned his head back in exquisite bliss. She moved her hands to grasp behind his thighs and pulled his body closer to her waiting, greedy mouth. She presented an erotic picture, on her knees, still in her ball gown with her hair pinned back. When her tongue lightly touched the head of his shaft, he thought he was going to burst from her tender assault. She continued to lick and sucked gently, and Cy groaned.
“Your skin is so soft and hot to the touch,” she whispered. “It is almost like you have a fever.”
Cy thought he was going to die from the delectable torture, and so he took a step back and helped Ivy to her feet.
“Did you not like it? Did I do it wrong?”
He kissed her hard on the mouth and his tongue moved to touch hers. “You were perfect, and I loved every moment of it, but I want to feel your skin against mine. I need to take you into my arms and plunge into your heat. I must be inside you,” he growled.
He removed the pins from her hair, pleased when it fell in gentle curls down her back. His hands went to her dress, but his rabid desire strained his patience as he tried to unbutton the tiny hindrances to her gown. Cursing, her ripped it, sending the tatters of the ruined dress to the floor.
“Oh, yes, I see what you mean. That could have been my nightgown,” she murmured.
He went for her chemise and helped her out of it and then lay down on the bed on his back. When she looked confused, he held out his hand and said, “Come here, love, I will show you. Straddle me.”
She did as commanded. His hard length teased the wet entrance to her body, and Cy’s heart hammered in his chest.
Gently touching her thigh, his hand moved between her legs. She was slick and ready for him, and he could not wait any longer. He urged her body onto his and he grinned when Ivy gasped in enjoyment as he penetrated her. He went in deep. When he began to guide her hips to teach her the rhythm, she gave in. Cy bucked beneath her, loving the feel of his wife’s creamy flesh in his hands as she rode him. Faster and faster they went, until she cried out her fulfillment. Cy thrust one last time and came with a shattering release.
She lay on his chest, and pressed her face to his shoulder. “Loving you will be the death of me,” she whispered.
He chuckled and replied, “The night is far from over, love, and when my strength returns I will show you.”
“How long might that be?” she wondered.
Rolling her onto her back, he grinned. “Sooner than we both thought.”
***
It was early afternoon the next day when Ivy awoke. She snuggled into her husband’s arms, pressing a kiss to his bare chest. Their night of passion had been exhilarating and thoroughly exhausting, and she was famished.
Quietly, she got out of bed, went to her bedroom and pulled on a robe. She rang for a maid and requested a breakfast tray. Traipsing back into Cy’s room, she frowned when she saw he was still asleep. She climbed into bed and let her hand rove over his hot skin.
He stirred, but his eyes were still closed when he pushed her hand lower. She chuckled and obliged, caressing him gently for a few moments.
“What a pleasant way to wake up.” His voice was raspy with sleep and lust.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“So far I like it.”
“Not that,” she said with a laugh.
He finally opened his eyes and frowned. “You are dressed.”
“No, I am in a robe. I rang for a breakfast tray.”
Scratching his stubbly jaw, he sat up. There was a knock on the door and Ivy went to answer it. She took the tray from the maid and brought it back to bed. When they finished tea and pastries, she got up.
“Where are you going?” he demanded when he saw her walk to her own room.
“To get dressed.”
“Why?”
“You are insatiable, My Lord,” she purred.
“Ivy!”
“Get dressed, Cy. I want to show you something.”
He did as she commanded, but grumbled when she insisted they leave the bedroom.
“We can come back up later,” she promised with a smile. Taking his hand, she led him to the ballet studio, and removed her outer clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing for you,” she said.
“In your chemise and a pair of breeches?”
“I told you it was a surprise.”
She tied on her ballet slippers and then moved to the bar. She started her warm up and went to the center of the room. Taking a deep breath, she raised an elegant arm and began a series of movements that included twirls and pirouettes. She danced around the room, leaping like a graceful, long-legged animal. Time stopped for her as she shared the deepest part of herself with her husband. When she finished, she turned to look at him.
He was staring at her with raw passion.
“Cy?” she asked, as he stalked towards her. Gripping her by the arms, he kissed her soundly, his mouth slanting over hers.
“You are sight to behold when you dance,” he said between kisses. Backing her up against one of the mirrors, he spun her around, their eyes colliding in the glass.
She was breathing hard when Cy’s hand stroked her breast and pinched a nipple through her chemise. His fingers tickled their way down her body, playing with the juncture at her thighs over her breeches.
Untying the string that held them up, he let them fall and pool at her feet. She stepped out of them, and he rubbed his erection against her back. His fingers sought her again, as the reflection of their eyes clashed.
Their breathing was labored as he fumbled with his trouser buttons with his free hand. His shaft sprang free and he groaned. When he removed his fingers from inside of her, they were glistening with her honey. Taking his length into his hand, he eased into her, filling her. Gasping, she leaned into him, her eyes never leaving his as he pumped into her from behind.
“You are beautiful,” he gritted. “Stunning, desirous.” He slammed into her and she sobbed in relief as her release claimed her. With a shout, he followed.
“Did you ever expect this to happen when you built this studio for me?” she asked, when she could finally manage a coherent thought.
Lifting his head from her shoulder, he stared into the mirror, meeting her eyes. “No.”
“Do you think it will happen again?” she asked hopefully.
He laughed. “Absolutely.”
***
“Sophia has a dress fitting tomorrow morning and then in the afternoon we are attending Lady Essex’s musicale,” Lady Baker said to her husband as they ambled through Hyde Park.
“Hmm,” Lord Baker replied absently.
“Are you listening to me?” Lady Baker demanded.
“Of course. You mentioned a musicale.”
Momentarily appeased, she asked, “Would you like to join us?”
“Is Sophia singing?”
“Yes.”
“Then absolutely not,” Lord Baker said.
“You are horrible!” his wife cried. “Do you not love your daughter?”
Lord Baker raised bushy eyebrows. “Of course I love Sophia, but that does not make me deaf. She cannot sing.”
“Lord Seaton praised her voice,” Lady Baker said.
“Lord Seaton wants to marry our daughter. He would say anything!”
&nb
sp; Stifling her laughter, Lady Baker playfully smacked her husband on the arm. “Sophia is quite fond of him.”
“She is much too young to be thinking of marriage,” Lord Baker harrumphed.
“Sophia is seventeen, My Lord.”
“Much too young,” he grumbled.
“Oh, my dear, you do love our daughter!” she tinkled.
“I said as much, did I not?”
They rounded the bend, assaulted by peals of laughter and good-natured shouting.
“What do you suppose?” Lady Baker asked, tugging her husband along, eager to discover the source. “Oh my.”
Arriving in a small clearing by the lake, Lord and Lady Baker stopped abruptly. The Earl and Countess of Stanton were standing on the bank, each with a fishing pole in hand. The Countess of Stanton’s dress hem was muddy, and her molten curls were cascading freely down her back.
“You are going to lose, My Lord,” the Countess said, tossing an irreverent smile at her husband.
“I have been fishing for many more years than you,” he rejoined.
The Countess snorted with laughter. “I have the raw talent, sir. I have caught three fish already, and we have only been here an hour. How many have you caught?”
“Slow and steady wins the race, my dear,” the Earl said, gazing fondly at his new bride.
Lord Baker cleared his throat.
Turning her head, the Countess flushed. “Oh! Good afternoon, Lord Baker, Lady Baker.
“Good afternoon,” Lord Baker murmured.
“You will have to excuse Stanton’s inattention. He cannot fish and converse at the same time!”
Stanton grunted and then shouted with triumph, “I have caught one!”
Lady Baker gasped when Stanton drew his pole back and a glistening little fish flopped on the end of the line. The Countess set down her own pole and rushed to her husband’s side, grasped the line and neatly disengaged the hook from the fish’s mouth.
Tightening her grip on her husband’s arm, Lady Baker nearly had an apoplectic fit.
After the Countess strung the dying fish on a string accommodating three others and settling it back into the lake, she said, “We have a wager you, you see. Stanton believes he is the better fisherman.”
“I am, my dear, I am,” Stanton groused.
“You fish?” Lord Baker inquired of the Countess.
“You wager?” Lady Baker queried.
“Yes,” the Countess answered blithely.
“If you will excuse us, we need to concentrate on the matter at hand. There is much at stake here. Good day,” Stanton said.
Duly dismissed, Lord and Lady Baker continued on their leisurely stroll. “They are quite eccentric,” Lord Baker said finally.
“They are,” his wife agreed.
“Who do you suppose will catch more fish?”
“Care to make a wager?” His wife sent him a sidewise glance and a smile.
Lord Baker grinned. “My money is on the Countess.”
There was a shout from behind them. “Two!” came the Earl of Stanton’s voice.
“I will take that bet, My Lord. If I win you must attend the musicale and paste a smile on your face and applaud our daughter’s skill.”
Lord Baker grimaced. “If I win, Sophia does not get engaged until next season.”
In a quick show of affection, Lady Baker reached up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “You have a bet, My Lord.”
Epilogue
Hampshire, England, One Year Later
Cy watched Ivy from the doorway of her ballet studio. Her movements were long and flowing, and he marveled at her strength as she did countless strengthening and conditioning exercises without becoming winded. He felt a surge of tenderness and desire mingle.
The first time she had danced for him was never far from his thoughts. Her skill and talent had overwhelmed him, and he had been unable to tear his eyes away from her. He wondered what would have happened if she had remained in Paris and become a prima ballerina. She would have had the world at her feet, no doubt.
He was glad she had settled for him.
“Good afternoon,” Ivy said, twirling towards him and pressing a kiss to his lips.
“Good afternoon,” Cy replied as he swept a hand down her dainty backside. “How are you feeling?”
“Sluggish and fat,” she joked. “I cannot believe I have another three months before the baby comes. Soon, I will be too large to dance.”
He placed a hand on her rounded belly. “You are beautiful, and you are carrying my child within you.”
Ivy caressed his jaw with her delicate hand. “I could not imagine what my life would be like if I had never left Paris.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “I was wondering that, too. Though I am glad I took you to Paris after your sister’s wedding. I wanted to see where you grew up and practiced ballet.”
“I was glad to share my past with you.”
“I have some interesting news,” Cy said mysteriously.
“Oh? Do share.”
“I have received a missive from Lord Fitzgerald. His daughter is engaged.”
Ivy frowned. “I do not like hearing about the woman who caused us so much trouble.”
Cy looked at his wife and smiled. “Her interference only made us closer. I cannot help but want to thank her for that.”
Inclining her head in agreement, Ivy asked, “She is engaged, you say?”
“Yes, to a French count three times her age. Lord Fitzgerald also informed me that his daughter will be moving to France at the end of the month to be with her fiancé.”
Ivy grinned impishly. “I am truly sorry she will be unleashed among the unsuspecting people of Paris.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she went on, “But perhaps I should send her a gift.”
“A wedding present?” Cy asked as he touched Ivy’s glowing face.
“More like a thank you gift for moving far away from us.”
Cy threw back his head, shouted with laughter and then leaned over to kiss her lips.
“Any news on Lord Caldwell?” Ivy asked.
“None.”
“Perhaps he has turned pirate,” she teased.
“Or found his dastardly end, but I suppose that would be too much to hope for. Can we not turn our attention to a happier topic? When are the guests arriving?” They were celebrating the Duchess’s birthday, and though it was to be a small affair with only close friends and family, it would be quite extravagant.
“Grandmother is arriving this evening with Westonshire,” Ivy said as Cy led her out of the studio and into the library. He sat her down in a comfortable leather chair so she could rest and took a seat next to her.
“Has she agreed to marry him yet?”
The aging Marquess had proposed to the Duchess a handful of times already, but the woman kept fending him off by saying she enjoyed her freedom and independence.
“Not yet, but she will,” Ivy predicted.
“Perhaps instead of marriage, they will come to a different arrangement.”
“What ever do you mean?”
He raised his eyebrows. “They could become lovers.”
“At their age!” Ivy sputtered. “Surely, you jest.”
“Your Grandmother is a duchess, she can do anything she wants,” Cy joked. “How old is she turning?”
“She would not say. Apparently, even a duchess ages.”
“And your sister, when are she and Bedford arriving?”
“In a few days. Bedford is being overly protective due to her delicate condition. He does not want her to travel, but she insists. I am so glad our firstborns will be close in age.”
“It is good fortune,” Cy agreed. “Your brother, Robert? When is he due to arrive?”
Six months after Cy and Ivy had been married, Robert, the Duke of Cavehill, had finally returned from his trek across the continent. Though initially reserved around Ivy and Willow, he quickly became a doting older brother.
“Tomorrow sometime. I
wish there was some lovely young woman I could throw in his direction. It is time he married.”
“You sound like your grandmother,” Cy ribbed. “It seems you have her matchmaking tendencies.”
“I just want him as happy as we are,” she said with a grin. “Lady Sophia is a lovely young woman.”
“The Lady Sophia Baker?” Cy inquired. “Oh, the Devil take it! You will not enlist me in your plot. When are the Langleys coming?”
“They will be here tomorrow morning with their two children. We will have a brood here for weeks!”
Cy chuckled and patted his wife’s belly. “This is the start of our very own brood.”
“Do you wish for a boy or a girl? Silly question. You would like a boy to carry on the title.”
“Eventually,” Cy agreed, “but I hope our first is a girl.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I want her to be just like her mother.” His voice was tender.
“In what ways?” she asked.
“I hope she has your hair.” His hand reached to touch her silken tresses. “Your eyes.” He placed a kiss on each of her eyelids. “Your heart, and your skill with ballet.”
“You want your daughter to learn to dance? It would be considered quite improper.”
Cy smiled. “Also very much like her mother, no?”
“Oh, Cy,” she whispered, her eyes tearing. “I love you.” She attempted to move into his arms, but her bulk made it awkward and they both laughed. “This brood of ours…how many will it entail?”
“I was hoping for five,” he answered.
“Five? You will have to remain very attentive to my needs, My Lord, if you expect such a large family,” she warned with a lustful laugh.
“Do you think I am not up for the challenge? Do you dare question my virility?” he gasped in mock outrage.
Her gaze drifted to her stomach. “I do not think there is any doubt about your virility,” Ivy said. “If you can contend with my tears and emotional outbursts, my odd desire for strange food in the middle of the night, then I suppose I can give you five children.”
“A good number to strive for. It will keep us occupied.”
THE DEFIANT LADY Page 19