A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  One thing was certain: He knew he would bed her again, and she would let him. Regardless of what had happened between them in the past, their mutual desire remained intense, and it could only be held in check for so long. He knew it, and she probably did, too. Yet taking her again soon, he realized with a deep seed of worry, would almost certainly complicate every careful plan he’d made thus far. And he absolutely did not need more complications than he had already, especially where they concerned the lovely and luscious Lady Ivy Wentworth.

  “Goddammit all to hell,” he muttered under his breath as he neared the inn. “Goddammit all to hell…”

  Chapter 7

  Diamonds, cold spaces, damp earth, pendants, hazy face…Ian’s face, distorted, reaching…

  The nightmare awakened Ivy before dawn, startling her to a sitting position in her bed as she attempted to clear her foggy mind and remember each detail. But like most of her visions, it came to her as a twisted mass of blurry pictures, without order, possibly signifying different events and times.

  Since she couldn’t possibly return to sleep after such a vivid and fearful awakening, Ivy decided that surprising Garrett early, at the inn, would be the practical way to meet with him without causing a stir, and she needed to meet him. She wished she never had to see him again for the simple preservation of her emotional sanity, but for now that wish was not to be. She had a thought regarding the pendant and the image from her dream, and needed to discuss it with him before she lost her nerve. Although perhaps not wise, she also acknowledged that meeting him this morning would give her an excellent excuse to sense his thoughts about what happened yesterday, when they’d been alone in the passageway together, if only to settle her mind once and for all about his intentions.

  So shortly after seven, Jane helped her don a deep purple morning gown, then plaited her hair, which she pinned loosely atop her head. After only a quick cup of tea, she headed out of the house into the cold, gray morning, toward the inn. She rarely woke hungry, and this morning she was so nervous to see him she didn’t feel like eating anyway.

  Uncertain if he’d still be sleeping, she decided to surprise him before he could muster his thoughts, though she wouldn’t enter his room herself. The innkeeper would call him for her, and she would be ready for a battle of wits, dressed becomingly for the day, cheeks naturally pinkened from the freezing air, and fully awake from her tea and vigorous walk around the lake.

  The sky remained dark, a full cloud cover threatening rain and creating a mist in the air, which had prompted her to wear her old woolen pelisse this morning instead of her more formal fur-lined wrap. She looked practical, self-assured, and prepared for discussion.

  Ivy didn’t see a soul in the town square, and the inn remained quiet as she approached, though a thick swirl of chimney smoke drifted up from behind the thatched roof. With a tug on the door, she drew a deep breath and stepped inside.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust in the dim lighting. She’d been inside an inn or two in her travels, and knew what to expect from this one. It was fairly large for a town this size, the air permeated with the obvious smell of musty ale, fried meats, and male sweat, though at least it wasn’t overwhelming.

  She noticed Garrett at once, sitting on a stool by the south-facing windows now blurred from years of caked grime, drinking tea as he grinned widely at something a barmaid standing next to him said. The only people inside were the innkeeper behind the bar, the woman speaking to Garrett, and two other men who sat in a corner drinking ale from large mugs, glanced her way, and went back to their own conversation. Ignoring her suddenly racing pulse, Ivy stood erect and planted a prosaic expression on her face, then bravely began walking across the dusty wooden floor toward them.

  After she took only a step or two in his direction, he noticed her, his smile fading as his brows gently furrowed. The woman turned when she realized she no longer had his full attention, at first looking puzzled, then offering Ivy a glare from cold eyes before whispering something more to Garrett and fairly slinking away.

  Ivy kept her gaze on him, noting he wore a good morning suit in dark blue, a white silk shirt, and blue-and-white-striped cravat. His hair looked wet, but combed, his face shaven clean, as if he’d just stepped from his bath. Obviously, he intended to call on someone today, else he’d be wearing attire better suited for exploring dark tunnels.

  “Lady Ivy,” he drawled as he lifted his mug.

  She tipped her head toward him. “Mr. Burke.”

  “You’re awake early,” he remarked, turning a little on the stool, then standing to view her fully as she strode to his side.

  She raised a brow. “I was going to say the same of you.” She glanced at his table. “I’m glad to see they still serve tea at this inn, and you’re not imbibing in ale this early in the day.”

  He swallowed the contents of his mug, then set it back down with a thud. “I don’t stomach ale, and I thoroughly despise tea. It’s coffee, actually.”

  She crinkled her nose at the thought of drinking such a vile beverage. “I’ve seen you drink tea, Garrett.”

  He leaned toward her to reply, “That doesn’t mean I like it.”

  She pretended not to notice that his lips nearly touched hers. “Of course.”

  Awkwardly, she glanced around them as he stared down at her, his hands on his hips.

  “I’m assuming you came here this morning to see me?” he asked at last.

  She rubbed her nose with the edge of her leather glove. “No, I wanted to discuss something with you.”

  He almost smiled. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Forcing a sigh, she stated matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If my intention was simply about seeing you, I could see you from a safer distance well enough.”

  “A safer distance? You don’t feel safe in my presence, madam?”

  Her lips thinned. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Amused, he continued to watch her, then said, “Let’s talk outside.”

  “It’s cold outside, Garrett,” she replied, as if he had no brain, “and looks like rain.”

  He leaned an elbow on the high table. “Yes, but a bit of rain won’t hurt you, though a lady probably should not be seen alone with a male companion of no relation, in an inn, at eight o’clock in the morning, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Ivy?”

  He was right, naturally, and it irritated her. “Perhaps I’m too much trouble, and you’d rather stay and chat with the barmaid,” she snapped.

  He smiled wryly. “She isn’t nearly as witty as you are, I’m afraid. And certainly not as appealing to look at.”

  Feeling enormously proud of herself, she ignored the compliment as pure false charm on his part, lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and retorted, “Pity that.” Then she turned on her heel, strode gracefully toward the door and out into open air, listening to him chuckle as he followed her.

  She closed the collar of her pelisse tightly around her neck and moved toward the street at the center of the town square, then stopped and turned. He followed a few paces behind her, his twine coat buttoned, his hands in the pockets.

  “Where were you off to this morning?” she asked, as he approached.

  A mother and young daughter strolled by them at that moment, smiling as they offered their good mornings.

  As they passed, Ivy took a step closer to Garrett. “I’d like a bit more privacy if you don’t mind.”

  His brows furrowed as he studied her. “Have you learned something?”

  She dropped her voice. “Let’s walk by the lake.”

  He motioned toward it with an elbow. “Lead the way.”

  They didn’t speak until they neared the path that wound through the trees toward the old wooden bench. Finally, she said, “I washed the pendant and chain, then scoured it with silver polish. You were right, it’s old.”

  “That’s not exactly interesting news, Ivy, since I assumed as much already,” he replied.

  “Perhaps so,” she returned light
ly. “I just thought you’d like to see what I discovered once it had been cleaned.”

  He slowed to a standstill. “What did you discover?”

  She turned to gaze up to his face, smiling. “That part of a small scratch covered the lettering. It doesn’t say B.S., it says R.S.” She waited, letting his surprise settle, then added smugly, “Do you find that news interesting, Garrett?”

  His eyes crinkled a little, and she could tell he tried very hard not to grin at her.

  “Did you bring it with you?”

  Her eyes widened in feigned shock. “Of course I brought it with me.”

  “Then perhaps we should sit so I can see it for myself,” he suggested, motioning down the path to the old wooden bench, nestled in a semisecluded cluster of trees behind the Hope cottage, just barely noticeable from where they now stood.

  Without argument, she began walking toward it, pulling the hood of her pelisse over her head to shield her from the cold. Upon reaching it, they both sat, Ivy scooting as far to the edge as she could and pulling her skirts in to make room for him.

  “The pendant?” he requested, as soon as he’d settled himself in, stretching a leg out casually.

  Ivy stuck her hand into the left pocket of her pelisse and pulled out the silver necklace, dangling it from a leather-covered finger.

  He didn’t take it from her, but lifted the pendant up to view the inscription. “R.S.”

  “I’m assuming it belonged to Richard Sharon,” she concluded, “or perhaps one of his lady friends.”

  “Who lost it in the passageway while he brought her in or out one evening,” he finished for her.

  Her brows creased in speculation. “But that still doesn’t explain why we found it around the neck of a dead cat.”

  “Well,” he considered, “it’s entirely possible this chain has nothing to do with the cat at all, and the animal simply found it, got curious, and then caught in it.”

  “And then got stuck in the passageway?”

  He shrugged negligibly. “It’s possible.”

  Fairly unlikely, in her opinion, but she didn’t say so. Finding the cat could mean nothing at all to them, and yet she couldn’t help but feel a significance somewhere.

  “I had another…vision last night, Garrett,” she revealed in a low voice. “Actually it was more of a dream, but I thought maybe you’d care to hear about it.”

  He didn’t respond immediately to her abrupt change in topic, and after a few seconds, she pulled her gaze from the lake and looked at his face.

  His expression had grown markedly serious as he stared out over the water, his eyes narrowed as if in deep thought, a lock of hair hanging over his forehead unnoticed.

  She slumped a little into her stays and continued. “I know you don’t believe in seer visions or dreams, Garrett, but I have to interpret what I feel, and know, with the things that have happened in many of mine. It’s a gift I can’t deny, but I won’t pretend I can prove any of it to you.”

  He exhaled a deep breath, then acknowledged, “You think you’ve learned something new about your unusual mission to Winter Garden.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it must have something to do with me, or I know you wouldn’t share it,” he added a bit cynically.

  She had expected such a reaction and sighed. “That’s true as well.”

  He waited, offering her a sideways glance, then replied, “So you’re asking me to trust you.”

  She hesitated in answering, wanting to phrase her thoughts in the best possible way. Finally, she murmured, “You don’t have to believe in them as proof of anything. I’m asking only that you listen, without prejudice, and try to understand that although you may discard what I have to reveal, it matters to me, as all of my vivid dreams have, and that many of them have shaped my life into the person I am.”

  He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, both of his hands clasped together in front of him.

  “Why do you care what I think of them?” he asked soberly.

  Annoyed by his reluctance to at the very least give her credit for being candid in her trust of him, she dropped the pendant back into her pocket and squeezed her gloved hands together in her lap.

  “I don’t at all like you, Garrett,” she admitted, her voice low but firm, “and I will never forgive you for what you did two years ago, and the lack of respect you then showed me as a lady. But the truth is, I respect you. I’ve always respected you, especially your intelligence and detailed devotion to a cause. You needn’t like me, either, though I would appreciate knowing that if nothing else, you respect my talents as well.”

  He turned his head to view her fully, his expression unreadable as his gaze scanned her face, her eyes and lips, her hair, and even her bosom, wrapped tightly beneath her pelisse. She could sense his troubled thoughts, his struggle to understand, though she truly wished she knew the depth of what he felt about their past if only to settle it in her mind.

  “Tell me about the vision,” he said in a soft murmur as he turned his attention back to the lake.

  Acute disappointment pulsed through her. Of course, she didn’t expect him to announce his sudden undying belief in her, or to apologize and ask for forgiveness for the catastrophe that had been their love affair in London. But she had hoped for something more than reluctance.

  Swallowing the hurt inside, she disclosed, “It was a dream, actually, a very intense dream that woke me. I saw the pendant we found, swinging and turning in a dark space, and then a face in—in a fog, its expression distorted, calling out to me in a kind of fear or…desperation, probably both.”

  “Calling out to you specifically?” he asked, quickly glancing over his shoulder.

  “I think so, but my name was never spoken. Words usually aren’t since most of my dreams, or visions, are felt. This one felt cold, fearful, tense…urgent.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain.”

  At last he sat back, the bench creaking from the movement as he stretched out fully and crossed one ankle over the other. “Did you recognize the face?”

  Her truthfulness at this moment would be a turning point, she decided. Her answer would be the first time she placed her trust in him after doing so to her detriment two years ago. And his reply would mean everything.

  Closing her eyes, she revealed very softly, “I’m almost certain it’s Ian’s.”

  The fact that he didn’t laugh, or even say anything immediately, warmed her with encouragement. After several long, lingering seconds, she lifted her lashes to find him watching her, studying her again.

  When their eyes met, he stated flatly, “You think your brother is in danger.”

  She sat up a little. “I know he’s in danger.”

  “And you think whatever danger he’s in has something to do with the pendant?”

  “I—I don’t know.” She turned her body a little to face him directly. “But he was part of the dream, and I feel his presence, Garrett, though I’m not certain if he’s physically near Winter Garden or if it’s more of a mystical experience because he’s calling out for help.”

  “I thought he was in Italy,” he maintained with a new intensity.

  She fought the urge to fidget on the bench. “The truth is, I don’t know where he is. He’s supposed to be on the Continent, yes, but I haven’t heard from him in months. We’ve always been especially close, I suppose because we’re twins, but I know when he’s in trouble, and my brother is in trouble.”

  The sky had darkened since they left the inn, and now it began to sprinkle very lightly, freezing droplets falling upon her hood and cheeks. But she ignored them as she waited.

  Finally, through a long exhale, he said, “Well, if he’s in trouble in Italy, you can’t very well help him. The best option is to find out more information about the pendant if we can.”

  A huge wave of relief swept through her. He didn’t have to believe in her as a seer, but to acknowledge that there could be useful information involved in her gift meant
the world to her suddenly.

  She shivered as the rain gathered strength, shoving her hands in her pockets. Garrett yanked up the collar of his twine coat and drew his legs in and under the bench.

  “I have an idea about finding its owner,” she announced through a fast breath.

  The side of his mouth twitched up a fraction. “I would never doubt you have a plan, Lady Ivy.”

  She bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I think we should call on Mrs. Bennington-Jones and her daughter. If the necklace was Desdemona’s, they would probably know about it. Even if they deny it, or frankly lie, we would certainly surprise them enough to catch them unaware with the question.”

  “And you might be able to sense their prevarication?” he drawled.

  She knew he was teasing her, but she shifted her body on the bench uncomfortably. “Perhaps,” she admitted, her tone light, “though I think it might be to our advantage to return to the passageway first and follow a different tunnel, just to verify that she would have come the way of the stairs behind the bookcase in the library.”

  His brows rose minutely. “But she left Winter Garden almost two years ago, and the cat hasn’t been dead that long. There’s no reason to think she had the necklace in her possession in that particular passageway.”

  “True,” she agreed, “but I’d like to know how she got to Rothebury’s bedchamber before we talk to her sister and mother. It might help us know more about the circumstance, and I really think there has to be another entrance to the man’s room aside from the cellar.”

  He continued to gaze at her in speculation, his eyes narrowed, jaw fixed, droplets of rain that went unnoticed clinging to his hair and cheeks. Finally, he said quietly, “I think we should go in from the outside.”

  “From the outside? You mean the tunnel entrance from the forest?” she maintained excitedly.

  He nodded slowly. “I want to examine the location, at night, which is when she would have entered.”

  “The authorities sealed it,” she reminded him, “though I have no idea what that means.”