Where the candlelight and the turned-down counterpane loomed large.
Swallowing, Quill followed her, unable to keep from noticing how her hips swung from side to side as she walked.
But if Ivy was in any mood to continue what they’d started in the alcove at the Northman house, she was giving no indication of it. In fact, if he didn’t know for a fact that she was the same woman he’d held in his arms, he would never have guessed it.
Clearly he was going to have to do some persuading if he wished to gain entrance into the bed behind them.
“Well,” she said with a tilt of her chin, “you have something to say, I gather. Say it then get out.”
The coldness in her tone might have made him back off if he hadn’t seen the pulse beating in her neck. Or the way her eyes darkened when their eyes met. She might be angry. As she had every right to be. But she wasn’t completely done with him.
At least he hoped not.
“I apologize for not telling you about Cassandra before we went to her house this evening,” he said firmly, deciding that straightforward explanation would be his best strategy. “I should have let you know that you might be facing some jealousy from that quarter. And for that I am deeply sorry.”
But to his discomfort, her gaze only grew stonier.
“Do you think I give a damn that you bedded that horrible woman years ago when you were little more than a boy?” she asked, a flash of something he couldn’t interpret in her eyes. “My own experience with you tells me that you learned how to be so seductive somewhere, my lord. No man is born knowing exactly what he’s about in that arena, I think.”
“What do you know about it?” he asked, surprised at her candor despite himself.
“Have you forgotten that my father lets university boys run tame in our household?” she asked, a hint of impatience in her tone. “They will kiss anything that moves at that age,” she said with a shake of her head. “And a number of things that don’t, I wager. Though I’ve never seen it, thank heavens.”
“Did they kiss you?” he asked, annoyed at the thought of her in the arms of someone else—even if it was a passel of damned schoolboys.
“No,” she said with a lift of her chin. “But that doesn’t mean I am ignorant,” she added, some of the bravado dissipating at the admission.
“Oh.” The monosyllable was an inadequate expression of his relief, but it was all he could manage at the moment.
“My point is not that I’ve been kissed before,” Ivy said in a softer tone. “It’s that I know how little a kiss can mean. But that’s clearly not the case with you and Mrs. Northman. It’s not the idea of her that I mind, so much as what she meant to you. And that you failed to tell me suggests that you wished to keep that a secret.”
It was something that hadn’t even occurred to him, the notion that she feared he might still be holding a torch for Cassandra.
“God no,” he said, truly appalled at the idea. “I hope you don’t think I could ever cherish tender feelings for a woman with so little human charity that she’d say what she did to you.”
The relief in her eyes was enough to make him step closer. “I did fancy myself in love with her in my salad days,” he admitted with a wry smile. “But almost as soon as I declared my undying love for her she laughed so heartily as to make it impossible for me to ever fancy her again—well, not quite that, I suppose; at one and twenty I was little more than a walking cock-stand with eyes, so it was impossible not rise to the occasion.”
Her eyes widened at the crudity, but she also laughed, which had been his intention.
“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a shake of her head.
“She’s not much different now than she was then,” he continued, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I’ve matured and she’s remained the same. Which is sad when I think of it. But I suspect our sympathy is wasted on her. I doubt she would thank us. And I know that I can think of other things I’d much rather be doing.”
Ivy didn’t resist when he kissed her then, and Quill set himself to prove to her with his every touch that he meant every word he’d said about Cassandra.
If truth were told, he’d been a little repulsed by her when he first saw her tonight. Seeing her with the eyes of a man rather than a boy. And he’d known with the certainty of a man that Ivy on her worst day was worth ten of Cassandra.
“Ivy,” he said, his voice husky with wanting her, “yesterday in the cottage was an impulse, a moment out of time. Will you let me make love to you now, in a proper bed, when there is the promise of marriage between us?”
She pulled back a little, her eyes searching, and Quill hoped that she could read the affection for her in his face. If not love yet—it was far too soon for such a heady emotion between them—then at the very least, there was genuine friendship there. And there were far worse foundations for marriage.
Whatever she saw in him must have given her reassurance, for she gave a little smile, her green eyes bright with emotion.
“Yes,” she said on a breath. And he knew that it was more than just in response to his request just now. It was an assent to follow him into far more than one night.
Unable to contain his relief, he scooped her up into his arms with a whoop, startling a little shriek from her.
“Put me down, you silly man!” she protested. “I’m far too heavy.”
But he liked the feel of her in his arms. The solid weight of her, and the warm press of her against his chest. It evoked a primitive emotion he’d never imagined himself capable of. But then, Ivy had been wringing emotions from him from the moment they met.
“You’re as light as a feather,” he said with a grin as he pulled her closer. “I’d be a poor sort of man if I couldn’t carry my lady to bed.”
“I do not doubt your ability, my lord,” she said primly, “but your wisdom.”
Reaching the bed, he gently placed her down on the soft mattress, enjoying the play of candlelight through the thin fabric of her robe.
“You’ll forgive me, I trust,” he said, shrugging out of his coats, and unwinding the cravat from around his neck, “if I disagree. I quite think this is wisest decision I’ve ever made.”
“Then we will simply have to agree to disagree,” she said watching from beneath her lashes as he tossed his cravat to the side and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion and dropped it.
He couldn’t help but notice the appreciation in her eyes as she scanned his bare chest. “Will we?” he asked in a purr.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she amended as he put one knee on the bed, and shifted to prop himself over her.
“Of course I’m right,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the nose. “Wisest decision I ever made.”
And to his surprise, he meant it.
Chapter 22
Ivy’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the predatory gleam in Quill’s eye as he held himself over her. She was keenly aware of the fact that beneath her robe she was wearing nothing at all. And the heat of his big body curled around her like the tentacles of a spell meant to bind her to him forever.
“Are you quite comfortable?” she asked politely, as she tried to find somewhere to look besides into his all-too-knowing gaze. For some reason the easiness of the little cottage was scarce here and she felt her inexperience in carnal matters far more keenly now than she had before.
He smiled, and she noticed a single dimple in his left cheek. It gave him an impish air, so different from the serious nobleman whom she’d first met in the taproom of the Fox and Pheasant. “I am quite comfortable,” he said, raising his brows. “In fact, I would count myself quite content if I never moved from this spot. Do you think it would be feasible?”
His absurdity was the very thing to set her at ease, and relieved she considered his question. “I don’t know,” she said with mock seriousness. “It might be difficult to take all our meals in this position.”
“Or, I could feed
you,” he said with assurance. “In fact, I’d insist upon it. It would be the least I could do for your allowing me to rest my … ah … self against your sweet.… self for the rest of our days.” He punctuated his pauses with tiny thrusts that made Ivy well aware of just how much he was enjoying their current position.
“In fact,” he continued, dropping his head to tug on her earlobe with his teeth, “I think I might be getting a little hungry right now.”
“Oh,” Ivy said, breathless at the sensation of his mouth making its way down her neck. “I’m sure I could send for something from the kitchen. It’s late, but Polly would bring something if I asked.” She continued to babble as he untied the knot at her waist and opened the robe to reveal her nude form. Her breasts budded in response to the chill air. Almost painful in their tautness.
“I’ll just make do with what we have here,” he said, closing his lips around first one, then the other peak, sucking each one into the moist heat of his mouth. The sheer carnality of it making Ivy writhe with pleasure. “So pretty.” His breath on her wet skin made her shift beneath him.
While he caressed her with his mouth, his hand slipped down, down, over the slight round of her belly, pausing to tease a fingertip over the dip of her navel, and resting at the top of her pubis. The memory of his hands on her in the cottage, combined with the suckle of Quill’s mouth on her breast had Ivy almost bucking beneath him, searching, aching to the feel of his touch on the sensitive skin between her legs. Where even now she could feel the damp proof of her desire.
But she needn’t have worried. The hardening of his erection against her hip was enough to tell Ivy that he was just as eager as she. The hiss of his breath when he slipped first one, then another finger into the moisture told the tale far more eloquently than words.
“So wet for me,” he crooned into her ear, as he teased over her hot flesh, always staying just shy of that spot where she needed him most. Making her search him out with her hips, even as he danced a finger over the sensitive bud near the top.
“Please, Quill,” she murmured, aching for something more. More pressure, more heat, more … just more.
And when he thrust his fingers inside her she nearly came off the bed in her relief. Not knowing or caring how she looked, she followed her body’s lead and lifted her hips, following his hand as it moved in and out, stroking into her just like she needed.
“That’s it,” he said, kissing her with open mouth, mimicking the motion of his fingers with his tongue, before shifting downward.
When he removed his hand she almost wept at the loss, and for a moment she was puzzled to see him press her knees wider with his shoulders.
“What are you…?” she began, only to gape as she met his eyes. With deliberation, he leaned in and licked her. And though she was shocked, she couldn’t have told him to stop if her life depended on it.
“Just relax,” he said, his deep voice vibrating against her sensitive core. And she let her head fall back, and reveled in the sensation as he used lips and tongue and fingers to bring her to a writhing need that had her crying out with the ache of it. Until without warning, the thrust of his fingers coupled with the suck of his mouth sent her hurtling over, her body no longer hers to control.
She could taste herself on his mouth when he moved up to kiss her sweetly before coming into her with a strong thrust that reignited the sparks she thought had been doused.
Quill pressed his forehead against hers and watched her as he moved in her, his hot gaze igniting a fullness in her heart even as his body stoked the fire at her core. It was the most intimate moment of Ivy’s life. More even that the afternoon in the cottage, when they’d both kept parts of themselves hidden from the other. From self-preservation or unconscious distrust she couldn’t guess. All she knew was that this, now, was as binding as any marriage ceremony. She gave herself to him then, body and soul, and she knew with a certainty that he gave himself to her.
Clutching him to her, the strong heat of his back beneath her fingers, Ivy’s body was all too soon gripping him in a heartbeat rhythm all its own, and when she felt the explosion of feeling this time, she felt him follow her, his cry only seconds after hers as he let his weight come down on her.
* * *
Ivy was still asleep when Quill slipped out of her bed the next morning.
Leaving her naked and warm, one breast exposed by the sheet tangled beneath her body, had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Soon, he told himself, he wouldn’t have to leave her at all. He just had to get to Oxford to speak to her father, and then to London for a special license. And there was also the matter of Aunt Celeste’s killer to catch.
But first, he told himself as he washed and dressed for the day beneath the exasperated eye of his valet, they needed to find that damned gypsy woman.
He would have left Ivy to find her on her own—or at the very least with Maitland and the other ladies—but he disliked the idea of her traipsing about the countryside without him by her side. They were all but convinced that his aunt had been murdered. And once someone chose to take a life, the decision to take another was but a stone’s throw away.
Though he would have preferred to make the trip to the gypsy encampment with only Ivy, that was not to be the case. Once the others got wind that they were planning to visit a gypsy, fortune telling fever had taken hold. Over the breakfast table it was decided that the Hastings sisters, Daphne and Maitland would go along with them.
“I’m desperate to know what the future holds,” Sophia said with a grin. “It’s thrilling to guess what might happen.”
“It’s pure nonsense,” Daphne asserted with a tone that brooked no argument. “I daresay this woman you’re seeking employs the same sort of tricks and gimmicks as they do at a country fair. Only with more skill and more flowery language.”
“I think you are far too quick to dismiss it,” Ivy argued. “Who are we to say what is and is not possible? I am not ashamed to admit that there are some things in this world beyond my understanding.”
“But you’re both being romantic,” Gemma said, her scientific nature aligning with Daphne’s mathematical one. “Daphne has a point that fortune tellers are notorious for spinning tales out of nothing. You remember the one we visited in the village back home, Sophia? The one who said that we would soon go on a journey over water? As far as I know neither of us has done so. It was a fiction she told so that you would give her more coins, nothing more.”
“That is patently false, Gemma,” Sophia retorted. “We crossed several streams and a river on our journey here, didn’t we?”
“Perhaps we should wait to see what this particular gypsy fortune teller has to tell us before we make a decision,” Quill said diplomatically. “After all, this one might be the one who is entirely sincere.”
“We’d best be off if we don’t wish to miss the good weather,” Maitland said, wisely refraining from engaging in the discussion. “After all,” he said with a wink at Quill, “we don’t wish to be caught in a storm like Miss Wareham and Kerr were the other day.”
Quill and Ivy both sighed as a collective titter rose from the table. The rest of the residents of Beauchamp House, with the exception of Serena who was still a bit incensed about the whole thing, had been remarkably unfazed by the scandalous behavior of the linguist and the marquess. But that didn’t stop them from taking every opportunity to tease them about it.
Not waiting to see if they would comment, Ivy pushed her chair back and rose. “I’ll go get my wrap.”
The other ladies soon followed, leaving Quill and Maitland to wander from the room in their own time.
“You look chipper this morning for a man who was caught in the parson’s mousetrap last night,” Maitland said with a grin as he rose from the table. “One would almost imagine you’re happy about what happened.”
His good mood was far likelier due to the hours he’d spent in Ivy’s bed, but Quill was hardly going to tell his cousin so. “Perhaps the m
eans was not what I would have wished for,” he said with a shrug, “but I cannot say that I am entirely displeased with the outcome. Though I do not look forward to informing Ivy’s father of what happened.”
“You utterly outrank the man,” Maitland argued. “The fact that you, a marquess, wish to marry his daughter at all should have him worshipping at your feet. It’s a far better match than the daughter of a disinherited duke’s son and a social nobody could have ever hoped for.”
“Don’t be an ass, Maitland,” Quill said in exasperation. “I am well aware of the difference in our social rankings. But the fact remains that I have compromised the man’s daughter not once but twice—the second time publicly in the house of my one-time mistress. It is hardly the most auspicious of occasions upon which to ask for the hand of the woman I … hold in esteem.”
If Maitland noticed the pause—where Quill had just stopped himself from saying he loved Ivy—he didn’t mention it. The slip was likely the result of lack of sleep, Quill assured himself. After all, though he was fond of Ivy and resigned to marrying her, he couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with her. For one thing, it hadn’t been long enough; and for another, he wasn’t even sure he believed in the sentiment. Much like the power of the gypsy woman to tell the future, love was a thing he’d believe when he saw it. And it was unlikely he’d see either anytime soon, if ever.
“You’re far too nice about these things,” Maitland said as the two men strode into the entrance hall to call for their greatcoats. “In the good old days you’d have thrown the fellow’s daughter over the pommel of your saddle and taken her over his protests. And marriage wouldn’t have even been a part of the equation.”
“So you think I should just dispense with visiting the man altogether and simply send him the sheet’s with Ivy’s virgin blood, then?” Quill asked dryly in a voice low enough to thwart eavesdroppers. “I look forward to watching you deal with your own in-laws when the day comes. I suspect you will have a rude awakening.”
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