Carrying her valise, Ivy swallowed her trepidation and drew a deep breath for confidence as she walked to the large front doors and pulled the thick rope to ring the bell inside. After only a moment, she was greeted by the portly, middle-aged butler sporting overstarched attire, thinning brown hair, and thick jowls fairly covered with dark, curly side whiskers.
“Good morning,” he said rather prosaically, ushering her inside with a sweep of his hand. “Lady Ivy, I presume?”
“Indeed, I am,” she replied with a light, half smile, lowering the hood of her pelisse, then handing the man her valise as he reached for it.
“Giles Newbury, at your service,” he added, his voice firm, yet on the quiet side. “Mrs. Thurman, Lord Rye’s housekeeper, and I have been expecting you. May I take your cloak?”
“Thank you,” she said somewhat absentmindedly, removing her leather gloves by the fingers, then unbuttoning her pelisse as she gazed around the entryway of the house for the first time in years.
Although now mostly empty of furniture, it remained as she remembered it. The foyer stood two stories in height, with a large, exquisite crystal chandelier hanging from the ornately carved ceiling, lending brightness to the pale marble floor at her feet, now polished and void of decorative rugs. The walls were bare, painted an inviting apricot that contrasted becomingly with the dark oak circular staircase directly in front of her that led to the private rooms upstairs. To her left stood a magnificent peach-and-emerald stained-glass archway connecting the foyer to the grand ballroom, its far, tall windows giving a superb view of the lake directly to the north of the house. To her right, behind partially closed doors, was the parlor, followed by the baron’s library, dining rooms, and finally the kitchen and servants’ quarters.
Her first impression was that the house felt as cold and barren as it looked from the outside, even with the sun shining through glass all around her. Then a sudden, inexplicable wave of apprehension passed through her, and she shivered.
“It is certainly quite chilly, isn’t it,” Giles said matter-of-factly, folding her pelisse over one arm and taking a step back. “Perhaps you’d like to warm your hands by the fire while I ask Mrs. Thurman to serve tea for two.”
That brought her back to her senses and she frowned delicately. “For two?”
“For you and the gentleman architect from London. He’s waiting for you in the parlor,” Giles explained without hesitation or a trace of suspicion.
Confused because she hadn’t even moved into the home and met the staff, she lowered her voice to repeat, “An architect, you say?”
The butler almost smiled. “I’m sure it has to do with the age of the house and its many additions. So many people are curious. Normally we would deny him access, as per Lord Rye’s request, but he did say he needed to speak with you specifically when you arrived.”
“I see…” she muttered, almost certain this “architect” was the contact from the Home Office Lord Eastleigh had met last night.
She straightened, her good breeding overtaking her need to encourage the butler to offer details. Better all around if he thought her in charge right from the start.
With a perfunctory smile she nodded once. “Very good, Newbury. Please ask Mrs. Thurman to serve tea for two in the parlor.”
“At once, my lady,” he replied, as if it were her suggestion.
“And after meeting with the architect, I’d like to be shown to my private quarters,” she added pleasantly.
“Certainly. Is there any other luggage?”
“My lady’s maid, Jane Smith, will be arriving late this afternoon with two trunks,” was her reply. She had no intention of telling him she had arrived a day earlier than planned to speak with the earl and his wife, and of course he wouldn’t ask. “Thank you, Newbury.”
He offered her a gentle bow and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen to do her bidding.
Ivy suddenly wished she had a mirror to inspect her appearance. Without one hanging in the foyer, she had no choice but simply to brush her palms along her gown, then check quickly to make sure her long, plaited hair remained in place, pinned to the back of her head. That done, she strode with confidence toward the parlor to her right.
The heat from the fire soothed her as she pushed the double doors open and walked in. And then a coldness like she had never felt before seeped into her bones, and she stopped short, staring at the man who stood before the grate, his back to her, his head down as he gazed into the low-burning flames.
“Good morning, Ivy,” he drawled without turning to look at her, his voice low and gruff.
She remained paralyzed, speechless, her well-ordered world collapsing in an instant of time. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a morning suit in medium gray that contrasted nicely with his nearly black hair, cut much shorter than the last time she’d seen him. His hands, their backs dusted with fine black hair, clutched the mantel with arms outstretched, causing his jacket to pull tightly across his upper back, revealing his musculature and a commanding presence she could never forget.
This was her nightmare. Not the one she’d dreamed of before she’d been summoned to Winter Garden, but her nightmare. The one that lingered.
Garrett Burke, the scandalously handsome extraordinary liar, had moved back into her life.
No, not moved. Slithered.
Ivy couldn’t find her voice. Her mouth had gone dry even as perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Her pulse began to race. He obviously perceived her incredulity, for suddenly he stood upright and dropped his arms to his sides, and for a second or two she swayed from the knowledge that he intended to turn and look into her eyes, would try to steal a glance into a soul left shaken by his betrayal two winters ago. It took all that was in her not to run.
Slowly he pivoted, keeping his gaze locked on the worn peach carpeting until he faced her at last. And then he raised his lashes and made contact.
Her chest tightened and her breath caught. Now she couldn’t move if she tried.
After a timeless moment of utter silence, one corner of his wide mouth tipped upward a fraction. “I’m sensing from your shock that you didn’t sense my presence, madam.”
The dark and sensuously deep voice of the devil. He would never know how that coldly spoken, sarcastic comment enraged her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Huskily, she replied, “I try to sense only goodness and truth, sir. In you, I’ve never found either.”
His eyelids twitched almost imperceptibly, though his caustic smile deepened. “Should I be insulted by that remark?”
She swallowed hard. “That’s for you to decide, though you know fully well I would never attempt to flatter you, Mr. Burke.”
“Touché, Lady Ivy,” he all but whispered.
Friction charged the air around them, and for several drawn-out seconds neither of them spoke as they assessed each other.
The man, dark, calculating, and ruthlessly handsome, still managed to take her breath away. He stood more than six feet tall, his body filling out his tailored suit to perfection, allowing only a hint of the pleasurable sight and feel of his strength beneath the fabric. He had marvelously hard features and steely blue eyes that seemed to absorb everything and reveal nothing in return, eyes that had entranced her from the moment they met. His hair, its length cropped just above the neck, still framed his face, his clean-shaven, square jaw and molded cheekbones void of side whiskers. The only thing that softened his appearance both then and now, if just a trace, was the stray lock that hung over his forehead, forcing her to recall how she’d run her fingers through it, how she’d teased him about its making him look like a schoolboy. How he’d taken her hand every time she’d touched it and brought it to his lips, lightly kissing the pads of her fingers until she shuddered with need. And that reminded her of how, during every second of their time together, he had been using her, and she had let him.
Yes, Garrett Burke remained a mag
nificent man in full form, charming to few, feared by many—and loathed by her for those very same things.
“You haven’t changed,” she finally remarked, clasping her hands behind her.
“Neither have you,” he replied at once, slowly scanning her body up and down. “You’re as beautiful as I remember.”
That made her uncomfortable. They stood six or seven feet away from each other, in a small parlor decorated in browns and peaches and eclectic furnishings, most of them old, and suddenly she felt suffocated—by the heat of the fire, the cluttered room, his probing gaze. She shifted from one foot to the other, though she refused to look away. “Why are you here, Garrett?”
He shrugged. “I suspect I’m here for the same reason you are.”
That told her nothing, and she wasn’t quite sure how to respond because suddenly she knew—knew—that he had come for the very same reason she had. No, the very same thing, priceless to each of them in completely different ways. And she almost kicked herself for being so absorbed in his overbearing nature that she didn’t realize it immediately. His arrival today changed everything, now leaving her with more than one reason to be scared.
“Whatever you’re thinking is wrong,” she countered, attempting to hide her motives by denial. “I didn’t come to Winter Garden at the request of the government, sir. I was invited by the owner to search—”
“I’m here for the diamonds, Ivy,” he said in a low, almost taunting whisper. “And our meeting like this again just seems too…coincidental for me to believe that you’re here for anything else.”
Hearing it put into words made her heart nearly stop beating. Her face flushed and her legs grew weak beneath her. “The Martello diamonds.”
He watched her intently, then replied, “You remember.”
Of course she remembered, and for him to suggest otherwise incensed her. The Martello diamonds had been stolen from a mysterious owner who had purchased them from an aristocratic royal family years ago. Garrett had been given the assignment of recovery by the Home Office, and she had been asked to help him by that very same employer. Their pairing in the matter led to the tumultuous week they had spent together, and the night she’d given him all of herself in an attempt to save his life. He’d rewarded her by gladly taking her virginity, then ignoring her warnings and nearly getting himself killed, losing the diamonds, then denouncing her help as “problematic at best, probably the reason the thief escaped.” After all that had happened between them, he publicly blamed her for his failure.
But that was beside the point now. Many people had events in their pasts that they either lived to regret or rigorously defend. She would do neither. She was on a dangerous mission and had more to accomplish in Winter Garden than stroking his feathers.
Attempting to sound cheerful and unaffected, she planted a tepid smile on her face, and said tartly, “Of course I remember, and I hope you recover them, Mr. Burke, but at this point, I really have no intention of discussing the past with you.”
His brows furrowed minutely. “I haven’t mentioned our past,” he replied, his voice lower still.
For the first time since she’d walked into the parlor, she sensed an evasiveness in him, as if he tried very hard to hide an even deeper reason for calling on her this morning. Standing across the parlor from him now, she could tell that he’d aged more than he should have, as the tiny lines at his mouth and the corners of his eyes had deepened, his half smiles seeming forced.
Tipping her head to the side, she looked at him askance. “Then why are you here to see me specifically, Garrett? I don’t know a thing about the diamonds.”
He paused, and rubbed his chin with his palm, though he never looked away. “I believe you,” he drawled. “At least, I believe that you don’t know yet where they are. But they’ve been traced to Winter Garden, Ivy, and now I learn that you’ve just arrived as well. Don’t you think that’s a bit fortuitous? Would you have me believe you’re here for something else?”
She cringed inside. After everything that had happened between them two years ago, after all this time apart, when she’d thought about him, cried over him, cursed him, missed him and the week they’d shared, he still only cared about the diamonds, still believed she had failed him, or worse, deceived him. His bitterness remained, a bitterness she could feel simply by his presence in the room. He didn’t only want his name cleared, he wanted some sort of obscure revenge.
Standing tall, she clasped her hands behind her back and glared at him.
“Garrett,” she started, her tone thick with warning, “I was invited here to investigate the house. Regardless of whatever reason you’re here, you are not welcome to stay. If you have nothing more to say, please leave.”
For a moment he just watched her. Then slowly he began moving toward her, his jaw tense, lids narrowed, his gaze hardening with each step. Ivy managed to stand her ground, tipping her head back defiantly as he approached, stopping only a foot or so away from her so that the tips of his shoes brushed against the hem of her gown.
“Oh, I have so much more to say,” he admitted at last, smiling wryly as he glanced down at her face. He scrutinized her inch by inch, his gaze finally resting on her lips, where it lingered so long she began to shake.
“Frightened of me?” he whispered huskily.
She swallowed, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a denial. “Only in my nightmares, sir.”
He looked back into her eyes. “You are the clever one, aren’t you, Ivy?”
“Offering me a compliment?” she quickly returned. “My, you have changed.”
He almost laughed. Almost. Then he murmured, “More than you know.”
An extremely awkward moment passed in silence. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe. Then, abruptly, she felt a strange and utter coldness envelop the room, and she glanced up instinctively as she tried to shake off a sudden uneasiness.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Ivy?”
Startled, she nearly jumped from the interruption. She’d completely forgotten that refreshments had been ordered, and it took a second or two for her to remember her place in the house.
Recovering herself quickly, she turned and took a step back, planting a smile on her lips as she brushed the back of her palm across her brow.
“Mrs. Thurman,” she said pleasantly, scarcely taking notice of the woman other than to realize she was thin, graying, and completely unremarkable in appearance.
The housekeeper curtsied slightly even as she carried a silver tray topped with sundry items. “I have tea for two and scones,” she said. “Will there be anything else?”
Decorum resumed as Ivy took control, ignoring the shrewd stare she felt rather than saw from Garrett, who remained unmoved.
“Nothing else now, Mrs. Thurman,” she replied, stepping aside to allow the woman access to the parlor.
“We’ll serve ourselves.”
The woman nodded, then walked straight to the center oval table that sat between two matching, peach velvet settees. After placing the tray gently on the cherrywood surface, she straightened, shot a quick glance to Garrett without expression, then looked away.
“At your convenience, my lady,” she added matter-of-factly, “please ring for me, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Ivy felt her cheeks burning, for no conceivable reason, though she ignored the sudden flush. “Thank you, Mrs. Thurman.”
Without a second glance at either of them, the housekeeper quit the room, leaving the doors to the foyer open only a crack as propriety demanded.
Ivy turned her attention to the long window to her right, staring out at the bleak winter morning, not the least bit interested in tea or scones, or even being in the same room with the man. A black fate had obviously thrown them together again, catching her with her guard down, her anger simmering just below the surface even as her body and senses reacted to his proximity in the most embarrassing manner.
At last, as if reading her mind, he said,
“I’ve no stomach for tea and scones, so I’ll be on my way.”
He didn’t move, and after a moment, she turned to look at him again, unable to think of a suitable reply.
He did smile then—a rich, seductive smile that she remembered vividly. And the only honest thing she could recall about him now.
“But be forewarned,” he continued, dropping his voice to a near whisper, “that I’ll be here watching you, tracing your every move, investigating the same people and making my own discoveries. We’re here for the same thing, and I’ll find it, even if we must work together once again.”
She gasped, then countered, “Never.”
Suddenly he reached out and touched her, drawing the back of his index finger down one hot cheek. She jerked away instinctively, and he dropped his arm.
“Never say never, darling Ivy. I’m staying at the inn in the village square should you need me.”
He appalled her even as he captivated her, and the desire for him to touch her again made her angrier at herself than she’d felt in a long, long time.
“A lovely place, I’m sure,” she mocked him with flashing eyes. “Good day, sir.”
A trace of another smile cut across his hard mouth. Then he swiftly stepped past her and quit the room.
Ivy stood rigidly until she heard the front doors close. Then, losing her grip on her composure, she nearly collapsed as she made her way to the settee on wobbly legs, dropped herself into it, and hid her face in her palms to cover a sudden rush of tears.
Never fear, darling Garrett, I will find the diamonds first…
Her search for truth and lies in Winter Garden hadn’t exactly started auspiciously, Ivy decided sometime later as she followed Mrs. Thurman around the living quarters of the house. Though dusted and smelling of lye soap and wax, the rooms still reeked of generations gone by and felt of souls not healed. At least that was Ivy’s first impression as she climbed the creaking, wooden stairs to the second-floor landing.
A Notorious Proposition Page 3