A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  Ian shivered and tried to sit up, but his head remained foggy and his body ached from weeks of being stranded on a tiny cot. At least it felt like weeks. His last remembrance was discovering Benedict Sharon unconscious on the floor in his home—and then he found himself here. Wherever here was.

  Moving very slowly, he took the jug of broth and gingerly lifted it to his mouth, afraid the hot brew would burn him if he swallowed too fast. But as he tasted it he realized it was icy cold, perhaps having been sitting on the small table chilling for hours. Again, as it was yesterday, although it seemed like only minutes ago, he really had no idea when she had left it.

  He drank it quickly, as he always did, ignoring its bitter flavor and heavy spices. But he left the bread to savor, knowing she might not return for hours, even days if something changed in her routine. At least he didn’t have to fight the rats for it. Wherever she kept him, he was locked in where nothing entered and not even sound could escape.

  He started feeling tired again, his head aching. He lay back on the cot and tried to cover himself with the small blanket, his mind once again growing hazy, his thoughts only of Ivy, the one person he trusted. They had a special connection, and if anyone could save him, she could.

  He knew his capture had to do with diamonds. The woman had mentioned them, though he couldn’t quite remember why diamonds were important. And she’d said something about a masquerade ball, where he would see his sister. But he wasn’t dressed for a ball…

  In his dreams he called to her, begging her to help him, find him. As he did again now. As blackness enveloped him once more.

  Chapter 16

  Ivy was growing desperate—desperate for news of her brother, desperate for the ball to begin only two hours from now, and most of all, desperate for answers, not only from the house and its mysteries, but from Garrett.

  She’d given in to the passion, her need to be with him, and she had no regrets—at least not of any serious nature. She’d been his lover for nearly two weeks, and although they’d been careful, she’d begun to grow rather worried that if they continued as they were, he would leave her with his child. He hadn’t mentioned marriage to her again, and she hadn’t approached the subject because she simply wouldn’t know what to say, especially with so much still at stake in Winter Garden. For his part, Garrett seemed to be waiting, and in that she sensed his reluctance to discuss anything but finding the cause of Benedict Sharon’s disappearance. He seemed on edge, telling her all would be revealed on the night of the ball. How he knew that, exactly, she couldn’t guess, but she knew he continued to withhold information from her, and that troubled her.

  It had annoyed her a little that Garrett wouldn’t let her go to authorities with the lock of hair she’d found, but then she knew it wasn’t much of a clue of any wrongdoing. She really had no proof that Ian was in danger except dreams and feelings, both of which tended to be ignored by practical men. In the end, she decided that abiding by Garrett’s decision to wait for the ball might be the only thing she could do for a time.

  Ivy stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d bathed early, then sat at her vanity table as Jane curled her hair with a hot iron, wound a string of pearls through it, and pinned it loosely to her head. When Jane left to press Ivy’s gown below stairs, Ivy donned her corset and stockings, then wrapped herself in her robe to await her return.

  She was ready for tonight. The marquess had given her and Lady Madeleine full control of the planning and a large sum to purchase the best of everything. Even now the twelve-piece orchestra they’d hired from London would be arriving to take their places, and by eight o’clock tonight, the finest food would be served, and champagne of the highest quality would be overflowing. Thankfully, the marquess had sent additional staff from his estate in Rye, and they had been here all week preparing for what would no doubt be the grandest party Winter Garden had seen in years.

  And yet she felt anxious, not certain why she should think the events of this night would tell her anything about Ian, the diamonds, or the missing Benedict Sharon. What she could be sure of, however, was that the entire village was abuzz, and everyone who was anybody would be in attendance, if for no other reason than to meet the mysterious marquess, the new owner of the estate, who, it was rumored, would make a grand appearance of his own.

  She hadn’t spoken to Garrett since he left her in bed this morning, and she wasn’t expecting to see him again until he arrived for the ball. And just that notion alone left her feeling a bit uneasy. She wanted him to escort her, and yet she knew that couldn’t happen without speculation of a dangerous kind. But she would dance with him, and later, hopefully, make love to him once again. She couldn’t think about a future beyond tomorrow.

  Ivy sighed and rose from her vanity table, and just as she turned, she heard him enter into the withdrawing room from the passageway. She quickly checked to make certain the sash on her robe remained closed, almost smiling at the ridiculousness of it.

  “Lady Ivy,” he drawled as he stepped into her bedroom and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Mr. Burke,” she returned with a gentle nod. “Why are you here?”

  He raised a brow. “You’re not happy to see me?”

  With a wry lift of her lips, she countered, “I’m always happy to see you, but that didn’t answer my question. And you can’t stay. Jane will be back shortly with my gown.”

  “I hope you locked the door,” he said, amused.

  “I always lock the door.” She began to saunter toward him. “One never knows when a ghost of one’s past might appear.”

  “Indeed.” He straightened when she neared him, his gaze traveling over her curves, hidden only barely beneath soft silk. “Then perhaps I should get to the point of my visit.”

  “Perhaps you should,” she agreed.

  “I have something for you,” he disclosed, his voice lowered. “A gift.”

  That certainly surprised her. “A gift? Why?”

  He grinned, but instead of answering, he moved closer to grab the sash at her waist and yank her against him. “It’s in my trouser pocket, Lady Ivy.”

  “You’re despicable,” she whispered, dragging her finger down the front of his shirt. “I can’t imagine what kind of gift a despicable man like you would have for a lady like me that would fit inside a trouser pocket.”

  “Perhaps you should reach in and find out,” he suggested, pulling very, very slowly at her sash.

  With a quick glance to his face through her lashes, she did as he asked, slipping three fingers inside, taking her time in an effort to drive him crazy. She felt velvet almost at once, and her heart began to race.

  With a delicate grip, she pulled the small, black pouch from his pocket and held it in front of them.

  “I couldn’t possibly accept this, sir,” she teased with a half smile.

  He dropped a soft kiss to her lips and whispered against them, “You don’t even know what it is.”

  She paused when his mouth lingered on hers, and he pulled back a little. “No more kissing until you open it.”

  “You certainly are demanding,” she said through a sigh, noting how he’d expertly untied the sash at her waist without her complete awareness. She ignored his overture and nimbly untied her gift to peer inside the velvet pouch.

  Teardrop-shaped earrings, made of shimmering, brilliant emeralds, took her breath away.

  “Garrett…”

  “Wear them tonight,” he insisted quietly.

  Dazed, she looked up. He met her gaze, his eyes smoldering with heat and anticipation, and the satisfaction of triumph.

  “They’re magnificent,” she whispered. “Beautiful.”

  “Made for a magnificent, beautiful woman.” He smiled faintly. “You deserve more than I could ever give you, Ivy. This is only the beginning.”

  The complex emotions stirring within her that moment became nearly overwhelming. “Garrett, I don’t think—”

 
He cut her off with a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry. I stole them.”

  She fairly giggled. Then in one swift movement, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “You’re very fortunate they match my gown.”

  He dropped little kisses on her neck. “You’re wearing green?”

  “White,” she murmured, leaning her head back slightly to give him better access. “I didn’t know what kind of jewels you’d be giving me, so I chose to wear something in a rather neutral shade. I wouldn’t want you to think you’d blundered.”

  He chuckled, his mouth at the base of her throat. “That was very thoughtful, Lady Ivy.”

  “I always try to be thoughtful,” she purred.

  He inhaled deeply. “God, you smell good.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s the very ordinary scent of lilac bath soap.”

  “It smells like you,” he breathed into her ear.

  She shivered, noting with a tingle of gratification that he’d grown hard against her belly.

  “You can’t stay,” she whispered, pulling back a little to look into his eyes. “Jane will be here soon with my neutral-colored ball gown.”

  He grinned devilishly, his gaze hot with desire. “I want you first.”

  “You can’t have me,” she teased wistfully. “My hair is already dressed and lying in bed would ruin—”

  He cut her off by wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her a foot off the floor.

  “Let me show you how to make love without touching a curl,” he said softly against her mouth.

  “Impossible,” she whispered.

  Without reply, he began walking toward the settee, carrying her as he took her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss, caressing her lips with a masterful touch that weakened her resolve.

  He sat on the soft cushion, pulling her along with expertise as she climbed on top of him.

  “How did you learn to make love sitting on a settee?” she asked in a whisper against him.

  “I’m a man…”

  Curious, she pulled back to look at him. “What does that mean?”

  He grinned wryly. “We know these things at birth.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling. “You have an endless supply of answers at the ready, don’t you?”

  “Of course. And again, having answers at the ready for our ladies is instinctively male,” he drawled, stroking her back over the smoothness of her silk robe and stays. “I have no other explanation.”

  She sighed. “Garrett, I adore you.”

  His eyes lit up a fraction. “Not half as much as I adore you, Lady Ivy.”

  Her smile faded as she brought her fingers to his lips. He kissed the pads of them, one by one, his gaze of simmering desire never wavering from hers.

  And then, with expert hands, he placed his palms on her chest and pushed them into her silk wrap, lowering it over her shoulders.

  He sucked in a breath when he saw her corset, her breasts lifted high, her nipples already roused into peaks.

  “Stand up,” he said thickly.

  Silently, she did as directed, understanding the growing heat in his eyes, the need to look at her, and suddenly wanting to taunt him with a sensuality she knew would please him to distraction.

  He spread his knees a little as she stood between them. Then with care, very gradually, she pulled her arms from her robe and dropped it to the rug at her feet.

  Through a long exhale, he leaned his head back to rest on the settee, his arms to his sides as he stared at her.

  “You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he said in a gruff whisper, his voice filled with wonder.

  Her pulse began to race from his words, the admiration he gave her. She’d chosen her undergarments because they complimented her gown, but suddenly she couldn’t have been more thankful that she’d picked a white silk corset made to outline each curve, cut at the hips to connect to her stockings but leaving her bare at the juncture of her thighs.

  For a moment he took in all of her appearance, from the top of her well-dressed head of hair to her silk-covered knees where they disappeared behind the cushion. Then his gaze found hers once more as he reached forward and placed his fingers very gingerly on the soft mound of curls between her legs.

  She closed her eyes to the feel, her entire body growing weak as he began to stroke her, very slowly, expertly building the passion within her.

  “Jane will be here soon,” she repeated in a husky murmur.

  “Jane can wait at the door and fluff your skirts,” he replied, his tone now thick with lust.

  She smiled to herself as he began to probe deeper with each slip of his finger, coaxing her along. His breathing had quickened to match hers, and when she softly whimpered, he pressed deeper still, her slick moisture coating his fingers, letting him know how he tantalized her.

  “You’re making me tingle inside,” she whispered, leaning over to grasp his shoulders before she faltered.

  After seconds of silence, he replied, “I want you to need me.”

  She raised her lashes to look into his eyes, witnessing the hunger inside of him, the yearning, the hope.

  Without reservation, she revealed, “I need you, Garrett. I always have…”

  She felt the slightest pause in his touch as her words sank in. And then his lids narrowed and he wrapped his free hand around her neck, pulling her mouth to his.

  He kissed her with a longing she’d never felt from him before, or perhaps she only sensed it as his tongue teased her lips apart and plunged deeply within, searching, invading. And she gave as he asked, kissing him back in total abandonment, letting her knees relax against the edge of the settee.

  Ivy felt so alive suddenly, needing him with desperation. Bracing herself with her legs, without consideration, she dropped her hands to his trousers and began fumbling with the buttons. He immediately drew his hand from her neck to help her, then swiftly lowered his clothing over his hips.

  He gave a deep, throaty moan when she touched him, skimming her fingertips along the length of his hard flesh. And as she lightly grasped him and grazed the tip of his erection with her thumb, he slipped a finger up inside of her.

  Whimpering, she began to stroke him, matching his rhythm, her mouth clinging to his as their hot breaths mingled. And then suddenly he released her, grabbing her around the knees and pulling her toward him, until her legs straddled his body, his lips setting her skin on fire as he left a trail of fine kisses along her throat. Then he guided her down on top of him, and she nestled into his hardness, smothering his erection with her cleft.

  She placed her palms on his cheeks as his found her breasts, caressing them through soft silk, skimming his nails back and forth across her nipples.

  Moaning softly, she instinctively began to move her body as he kissed her throat and jaw, lowering his lips to her chest and shoulders when she tipped her head back to relish the pleasure.

  She found her rhythm almost at once, circling her hips slowly at first, then picking up the pace as the pleasure began to build.

  “I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he said through a tight rasp.

  As reluctant as she was to still the movement, she lifted her hips just enough for him to reach for his erection and direct it to the center of her, the tip of him stroking her cleft, the nub of her desire until she gasped. With a groan of satisfaction from deep in his chest, he began to slide into her, gradually filling her, and she welcomed the feel of the length of him with an indescribable exhilaration as she finally came to rest against his body.

  He placed his cheek between her silk-covered breasts, breathing deeply, seeming to savor the oneness of the moment as she did. And then he took her nipple into his mouth, lightly nipping it with his teeth, rubbing it with his lips, and the feel of teasing her through silk sent a fresh rush of delicious heat through her body.

  She began to move once more, slowly at first, finding a pace that he soon began to match.

  He leaned his
head back again, his eyes closed, his jaw tight, his hands on her breasts, and she pushed her fingers through his thick, dark hair, watching him find his pleasure in her.

  He teased her nipples with his fingertips, making her gasp, whimper, her breath quicken. Suddenly he dropped a thumb to the center of her and began to stroke her in small circles, moving faster with each pulse of her hips, taking her at once to the peak of satisfaction.

  “Oh, yes, Ivy,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet her gaze. “Let me feel you come. Let me feel you…”

  She rocked into him hard, nearing her crest, amazed at his beauty, captivated by his masculine form—and that he belonged to her.

  “Oh, God, Garrett…”

  He rubbed her faster. “Oh, yes, sweetheart. Take me with you…”

  And then she was there.

  Her release from the torment shattered her with exquisite pleasure. She gasped with a soft cry from deep in her throat, arching her back, feeling each small tremor that encased him, stroking him over and over as she rocked her body into his, as her wetness coated him from within, as she brought him with her to the brink.

  It happened almost at once.

  “Ivy—”

  He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, taking control as he wrapped his arms around her tightly and drove into her hard, twice, three times, his body tense, muscles rigid. And then he groaned low in his throat with one final deep thrust, finding his release as he left his seed deeply inside of her.

  He shuddered against her, and she cradled his head to her chest, holding him close as he finally stilled his body beneath hers, as their breathing slowed, and her pulse returned to normal.

  They held each other for a few long moments, until finally she kissed the top of his head and lifted her body off his.

  He wiped a palm down his face and gazed at her, a playful, lingering smile curving his mouth.

  “Not a curl astray, my lady,” he drawled.

  She reached for her robe at her feet. “You obviously have talent, sir. Or experience.”

  He inhaled a full breath as he reached down for his trousers, then stood beside her to dress. “I’m a man, Ivy.”