Ignoring the comment to get to the reason for her unexpected visit, she replied, “They stopped in to visit with Hermione last week.”
Catherine’s brows rose in surprise. “Indeed. What happened?”
Penelope skipped over the part about the pendant; she refused to consider the facts behind her family’s disgrace as they mattered little now. What was done was done. She’d washed her hands of the shameful offspring, who’d thankfully left town, and now concentrated on finding husbands, if still possible, for Hermione and Viola. It was her only hope for a good future, for them and her. And finally, at the point where she’d all but decided she would die in a poorhouse, her prayers had been answered. At least that was her hope.
“Catherine…” she began, lowering her still-full cup to the table with dainty fingers, “have you heard news of the upcoming Winter Masquerade?”
Her friend’s mouth dropped open again. “No, I haven’t. You mean just like the one at the Rothebury estate?”
She smiled, replying matter-of-factly, “It’s the Rye estate now, and yes, Lady Ivy mentioned that the new owner, the Marquess of Rye, is planning on hosting the event once again and will, naturally, invite all good members of society in the area to attend.”
Catherine clapped her hands together in her lap. “How marvelous!”
“Indeed it is,” she agreed, letting that statement linger before adding proudly, “and Lady Ivy said Hermione, Viola, and I will be extended invitations.”
Penelope almost laughed as she watched her friend react in stupefaction. It wasn’t every day that she could make Catherine speechless.
Suddenly, the woman shook herself and leaned forward to ask in a whisper, “Do you think it’s a good idea for you to accept? You could very well be snubbed, Penelope, and that wouldn’t be good for you or your girls.”
Penelope wanted to slap her for being so indelicate, and to make certain she didn’t act on her feelings, she clutched her hands together in her lap. Of course they could be given the cut direct, but it didn’t have to be mentioned, and that wasn’t the point anyway. What mattered now was having a grand opportunity to bring Hermione and Viola out, as it were, to let society meet them and note how very gracious and well-mannered they were despite the fact that a sibling of theirs had disgraced the family name. That was two years ago anyway, and the Marquess of Rye surely didn’t know a thing about it else they’d not have been invited at all. And if the marquess was a bachelor, all the better. Of course the hope that one of her daughters might catch his eye was a trifle slight, but it didn’t hurt to aspire, and plan ahead.
Straightening in her chair, she said brusquely, “We’ll all be attending, Catherine. I hope you will as well.”
The woman blinked, then nodded. “Certainly, I’ll go. I’ll chaperone Elizabeth.” Frowning a bit, she added soberly, “She simply does not get out enough to meet eligible gentlemen, especially since there hasn’t been a masquerade ball in what…two years now?”
Penelope held her tongue from a snide retort. Elizabeth wasn’t any more of a lady than Catherine was, though to be kind, the girl at least spoke to her own daughters more than anyone in town. Girls needed acquaintances, too, and persons with whom they could take tea and gossip. At least Catherine and Elizabeth had given them that.
“Do you know when the ball is to be held?” the woman asked seconds later.
“Soon,” she said, not wanting to admit she had absolutely no idea. “Invitations will be arriving shortly, I expect.”
Catherine smiled, eyes twinkling. “I’ll have to consider new gowns for both of us…”
The night was colder than usual, and it took her longer than expected to reach the dungeon—or at least that’s what she chose to call it—to give her guest medicine and let him know about the upcoming party.
She smiled to herself. Her guest. What an odd thing to call him, but then she’d always been clever. Just not clever enough to find the fortune in diamonds on her own. And that was the mark of a true lady, she decided—knowing when to be humble. If she had learned nothing in her life, it was how to be humble with her abilities or lack thereof, and of course patient in any life quest.
Quietly, she unlatched the lock and swung the heavy metal door open, allowing stale, odious air to escape a little before she ventured inside and down the short staircase. It had to have been centuries since it had been cleaned, but then she was not a servant and had no intention of taking a broom to any floor.
She carried a small lantern with her and held it up to view her path as she stepped carefully across old, dust-covered stones. If she tripped and injured herself, and God forbid couldn’t move, she’d no doubt die for lack of food and water in a place unknown to all but her. The thought made her shudder.
As quick as safety allowed, she walked to the middle of the three chambers. Then, reaching into the pocket of her mantle, she retrieved the long, brass key and stuck it into the lock. As soon as she heard the tumblers move, she pushed the door open, shivering from the scratching of metal on stone and the foul smell within.
He was lying on the threadbare cot, exactly as they’d left him, one hand chained to a thick metal ring attached to the wall. Almost every time he saw her he attempted to pull himself free, but the medicine she gave him kept him too subdued to do much harm or speak very coherently. He tried, and sometimes managed to stand, but she never let too many hours go by without giving him another dose. And there was always the tiny bit she diluted into his cold broth every night that he wasn’t aware of, just in case.
Tonight, he was sleeping, a good thing. She would empty his chamber pot into the center of the main room where a drain had been installed for just that purpose. Or so she supposed. It didn’t matter. Frankly, it wasn’t a job for a lady, but then if she allowed it to accumulate, she’d not be able to stand the smell and take care of him. She needed him alive, at least for now.
As usual, she brought a large pouch filled with a small loaf of bread, jugs of both water and beef broth, and set them on the stand beside his cot, just within his reach. He stirred as he heard her, and so she decided to give him the medicine first, before she cleaned his mess.
Pulling the small bottle and an old wooden spoon from her pocket, she poured the amber liquid to the full amount needed for his large body, then pushed in his cheeks to open his mouth. He fought her at first, as he usually did, but he hadn’t the strength to interfere before she clamped his chin shut until he swallowed.
“Good boy,” she whispered, replacing the medicine until next time.
That task finished, she dumped the chamber pot and returned it, then glanced over his dazed form to make sure all was well until tomorrow.
“There’s going to be a party,” she said, lifting the small blanket she’d given him over his body and tucking it under his shoulders. “A masquerade ball, and I’m going to be there to surprise everybody, even your sister. When she gives me the diamonds, dear Ian, I’ll let you go to her.”
He mumbled something she couldn’t understand, and she smiled. “Be hopeful. It won’t be long now.”
With that, she lifted her lantern and empty pouch, locked the door, and hid the key in her mantle with the medicine. Then, after a quick glance to make sure all was well, she hurried from the dungeon, stopping a moment to gulp the fresh air as she stepped into the black of night.
Chapter 14
The scratching roused him from deep sleep. At first Garrett thought he heard the sound as part of a dream, but it was the subsequent thump against her withdrawing room wall that made him come awake with a start.
Ivy had heard it, too, for she was already sitting alert in bed, the covers lowered to her waist. They couldn’t have been sleeping long, either, as the fire still burned low in the grate at his side.
Immediately, he was on his feet, his fingers to his mouth to warn her to stay quiet. She nodded, though after a moment of waiting, they heard nothing else.
She crawled out of bed and moved to his side, wrapping her
robe more closely around her and tying it at the waist. Then the two of them silently walked into her withdrawing room, he leading the way toward the tunnel entrance.
They stood in front of the panel for two to three minutes, hearing nothing more. He ran his hands through his tousled hair, tempted to enter, but he didn’t have a light, or a weapon handy should he need one; he wasn’t even wearing his shirt.
Finally, he turned to her. “Go back to bed,” he whispered.
She shook her head firmly.
“Now, Ivy.”
“Are you going in there?” she mouthed.
He scratched his jaw and glanced back at the wall. “Not unless I hear something else.”
Suddenly he glanced around the withdrawing room, then walked back into her bedchamber to retrieve her small vanity chair.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh…”
He carried the chair with one hand, then propped it against the wall entrance to the passageway, nearly shoving it against the paneling. If someone tried to enter, it would fall, alerting them. He stood back to survey it, tested it for sturdiness, then, satisfied it would hold, took her hand to lead her back to the bedroom.
“Go back to bed,” he whispered again as he let her go.
“I can’t,” she replied just as quietly. “I’m too awake now to contemplate sleeping.”
He waited for a moment, hands on hips, then said, “Sit with me by the fire.”
She didn’t hesitate to do as he suggested, walking around the settee and lowering her body onto one end, resting her head against a side pillow. He followed, relaxing as best he could in a space too small for him to begin with.
He watched her by firelight, her long hair braided down her back, her skin glowing and soft, her gaze troubled as she stared into the grate.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
She shook her head and smiled faintly. “I’m wondering why you’re not wearing a shirt. It’s positively indecent.”
He grinned. “I was hot sleeping next to the fire. And it’s not any more indecent than you sitting here next to me in your nightdress and robe.”
“I suppose not,” she conceded with a smile.
He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “What are you really thinking, Ivy?”
She looked at him then, her honey brown eyes wide, her features guarded. “I’m scared, Garrett.”
“I know.”
His heart ached for her at that moment. She looked so small beside him, a woman of inner strength who’d suddenly found herself chased by her own demons, just as his chased him. In that regard, he supposed they had much in common, both uncertain of their futures, both afraid of losing something precious.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” she said softly.
He drew in a long breath and folded his arms across his bare chest. “When I asked you to marry me before, two years ago, what was your answer?”
For a second or two she seemed perplexed, then her lips curled up into a wry smile. “I’m beginning to think your memory loss is also convenient for me.”
He cocked his head a little. “If you don’t reply to that simple question, darling Ivy, I’ll be forced to ask you something more intimate.”
“More intimate?”
He lifted a shoulder negligibly. “About the passion we shared.”
She shot him a sideways glance through her lashes. “Well, since I wouldn’t want to force you to mention something indelicate, the answer is I didn’t.”
“You didn’t what?”
She smiled at him crookedly. “I didn’t answer you.”
He hadn’t expected that response at all, but he had to admit it was brilliant, whether she toyed with him or it truly happened that way.
He grinned wickedly. “My goodness, but my pride must have been severely damaged, Lady Ivy.”
“I imagine so,” she replied through a much-exaggerated sigh.
She scooted down a bit more into the pillows on the settee so that she faced him squarely, her legs wrapped under her nightgown and robe, her hands folded across her belly. He followed suit, shifting so that his bare back rested against a pillow, his legs stretched out on the floor, one ankle crossed over the other.
“I’ll be honest with you,” she said after a moment. “The one thing I remember most is how very much I enjoyed you, Garrett. You never failed to make me laugh, make me comfortable.” Her smile faded a little as she added, “I’ll always miss that.”
He felt a tightening in his chest and suddenly the desire to make love to her now gripped him hard, not only for the physical satisfaction he so desperately craved but for the closeness he suspected he’d never found with anyone but her.
“I think I’ve missed you every day,” he whispered.
That admission distressed her a little. He watched her lashes flicker and her brow gently crease before she turned her attention once more to the fire.
They sat together in silence for a long moment. Then finally he asked, “Why didn’t you answer me when I proposed?”
Without hesitation, or a glance at his face, she wistfully replied, “You told me not to, until you returned with the diamonds.”
He felt as if she’d struck him, sickened by the notion that a future together had been predicated on finding his precious jewels. No wonder she’d hated him for so long. He’d seduced her, kept things from her, denied her, and because of his lack of knowledge about the details of that night, never told her the truth of his identity. Logically, he probably thought to have her wait to respond to a marriage proposal because she might have turned him down knowing her brother would want to choose someone more appropriate for her title. He couldn’t tell her who he was until after the arrest of Benedict Sharon.
But had he loved her? The notion that he might have confessed to loving her, then walked away and later accused her of being part of the great scheme to steal the Martello diamonds, left him numb. And he couldn’t ask her now. Regardless of how she might answer, he wouldn’t know the truth because her self-preservation might play a role in her decision to lie or evade the question altogether.
Garrett decided at that moment that not only did he admire and respect her, he believed her. After all that had happened between them this last month in Winter Garden, he just could not reconcile the Ivy he’d come to know all over again with a scheming seductress he had envisioned for two long years. He didn’t possess any extraordinary gift, but he sensed the goodness in her, and it made him realize exactly why he had gone mad for her so quickly in London. And why he’d never been able to forget her completely.
“Ivy,” he admitted at last, “if you never believe another word I say, believe this: I would give all of my wealth, all that I am as a man, to go back to the night I made you mine, to sear it forever in my memory.” He swallowed hard. Then lowering his voice to a husky whisper of loneliness, he revealed, “You are the greatest treasure I’ve ever lost.”
He had no idea what to expect from her after such a disclosure, and for seconds he didn’t think he could breathe. When at last she turned her head to gaze at him once more, he felt an outpouring of feelings that matched his own, of desire and apprehension, sadness and longing. For a timeless moment she just looked into his eyes, her body still, the silence deafening.
And then, very slowly, she sat up, and after only the slightest hesitation, placed her palm on his cheek.
Bewildered by the action, he remained perfectly motionless, uncertain if she expected him to touch her in return, afraid of making a mistake that would cost him everything he suddenly valued above all else.
“Ivy—”
“Shhh…”
His breath began to quicken as she very gradually started tracing his lips with her thumb, studying them intently, as if she were the one trying to remember every minute detail. She explored the lines on his face, her fingertips skimming his cheek and jaw, her knuckles brushing the hair from his forehead. Finally, she lock
ed her gaze with his, and whispered, “I want to give you back the memory.”
Garrett felt his chest tighten, his throat constrict with emotions he couldn’t begin to understand. He’d never expected this reaction from her, not now, when so much else was at stake. For a second he considered holding back—until she began to draw her fingers down his neck as her free hand moved to untie the sash at her waist. That’s when he knew he was lost.
Holding her gaze, he clasped his large palm around her fingers at his neck and drew them to his mouth, grazing his lips against the pads, then kissing her palm lightly. Slowly, he raised himself to sit to they faced each other, their sides to the lingering fire.
She closed her eyes, and he cupped her face, then leaned in to kiss her lashes, her brow, her cheeks, and finally her lips. He heard her sigh at the contact, and he took his time, reveling in the moment to make it last, wanting her to know how he valued the gift she was giving him.
As she lifted her hands to his shoulders, he reached behind her neck and pulled her long braid forward, loosening the ribbon at the tip and gently pulling her hair free with his fingers. That done, he began to deepen the kiss, caressing her mouth with his own, flicking his tongue across her top lip, then exploring within.
She leaned closer, her breath coming faster, mingling with his. He placed a palm on the back of her head, the other at her neck as he skimmed the soft, warm skin with his fingertips. She did the same, growing bolder with her touch as she pushed her fingers up into his hair to hold him.
He ached to move faster, his desire raging of a sudden, but for him, for now, this would remain his first time with Ivy, and he intended to lengthen each second for memory.
He felt her tongue tease his as her actions grew bolder, as her breathing quickened to match his own, as she pulled him tighter against her. He lowered his hand and pushed his fingers under her robe, sliding it smoothly off her shoulders in an action she didn’t seem to notice.
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