A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  Her mouth curved upward. “That he had an obsession greater than you?”

  Madeleine pinched her lips together to keep from laughing. “No, I was his obsession.” She took a sip from her glass. “I simply meant that I didn’t see love when it stared at me directly, perhaps because I feared it.” Her features grew woeful as she added, “Actually, it was poor Desdemona who opened my eyes and forced me to consider Eastleigh’s real actions and feelings.”

  “Desdemona?”

  “Surprising, is it not? Before she testified at the Rothebury inquiry and left for Northumberland she and I talked. She candidly informed me that Eastleigh loved me deeply but it was I who failed to notice what everybody else already knew, probably because I was quite afraid to witness it myself. Love changes people, and it’s much easier to avoid it than to face it, especially when it hurts.”

  Ivy felt her mouth go dry, and she tried to free herself from the implication, from even considering the chance that after all this time his love for her could be rekindled. “I’m sure…I’m sure Garrett—”

  “Is in love with you,” Madeleine cut in with a low tone of assurance. “So am I and so is Eastleigh.” She took a step closer, dropping her voice to add, “Perhaps it is not the diamonds but you who is truly his obsession. You are here, are you not?” She sighed, and glanced back to the front doors. “Sometimes, for all our intuitive thoughts, we ladies can be remarkably obtuse when it comes to the obvious, particularly when it involves the love of a man.”

  Ivy had absolutely no idea what to say, or even how to feel at such a casually spoken retort. She’d been taken unawares by something that to her meant everything, as if the world had suddenly been offered to her without her awareness of the facts, and all she had to do was grasp it. Yet just the idea that Garrett, through contact with the Marquess of Rye, might have been responsible for bringing her here, even if thoroughly unlikely, disturbed her immensely.

  She had to think rationally, to contemplate a notion that had thus far not occurred to her; but considering it now was horribly inconvenient, to say the least. More than anything, however, she needed to see Garrett, to look into his eyes and feel for herself the truth of Madeleine’s words.

  “Lady Isadora has arrived,” Madeleine said softly, “and she’s bringing her niece, Lady Margaret of Brighton.”

  That alarming comment pulled her from her pensive thoughts. “Lady Margaret of Brighton is Lord Rye’s betrothed.”

  Madeleine swiftly turned to look at her again, all humor faded. “He’s not betrothed to anyone, as far as I’m aware.”

  Confused, she murmured, “I heard that from Garrett. The diamonds were stolen at their betrothal ball.”

  The Frenchwoman’s mouth dropped open a little, and then she turned to watch the two of them enter the foyer. “She shouldn’t be here. Something isn’t right…”

  Before Ivy could respond, Lady Isadora and Lady Margaret, both smiling, were strolling toward them, the elder white-haired and pink-cheeked, dressed in green and ivory, the younger, a pretty blond in becoming ringlets perhaps only twenty years of age, dressed in blue satin and frills. But where Isadora seemed merry at the thought of a ball, Margaret looked triumphant, keen of thought, and Ivy sensed a coldness in her from the moment their eyes met.

  “Lady Eastleigh, how lovely to see you again,” Lady Isadora declared, her voice sweetly soft.

  Madeleine took one of the older woman’s hands and dropped a kiss on each cheek. “I’m so glad you could attend tonight.”

  “As am I. How long has it been since the last Winter Masquerade? Three or four months, has it not?”

  “Actually, it’s been two years, my dear,” Madeleine corrected her gently.

  The elderly woman waved a wrinkled hand. “My goodness, I can’t possibly keep up with the time.”

  Madeleine smiled, her attention straying to the younger woman. “And who is your lovely guest?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, I brought…um…”

  “Lady Margaret of Brighton,” the woman interjected, moving in front of her aunt. “I am Lady Isadora’s niece.” She turned steely eyes to Ivy, skimming her appearance from head to foot. “And you must be the seer.”

  She said the words as if they were scribbled in black ink upon Ivy’s gown, and Ivy disliked her immediately. Thankfully, Madeleine cut in before she could comment.

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Margaret,” Madeleine replied smoothly in perfect form. “This is, indeed, Lady Ivy of Stamford.”

  Lady Isadora glanced at her. “Are you married to Lord Stamford?”

  Ivy smiled at a woman clearly dear to all but who was slowly losing her mind to age. “No, in fact he’s my brother, Lady Isadora.”

  “Seers have a difficult time finding husbands, I should think, Aunt,” Margaret said with feigned sweetness. “How fortunate Lady Ivy has a brother to care for her needs in the coming years.”

  Beyond rude, the statement completely took her aback, though with it came a strong sense of foreboding, even alarm. In a flash of insight she realized Lady Margaret knew something, concealed vital information from all of them, and planned to use it this night.

  Quickly, Madeleine seized the moment, giving the younger woman a hard stare as she said politely, “Perhaps you’d like some refreshment, Lady Margaret.”

  Margaret’s lips curled upward. “Has Paul arrived?”

  Ivy’s brows rose. “Paul?”

  The woman huffed with self-satisfaction. “My betrothed, the Marquess of Rye? You are staying in his home, are you not? Have you not seen him yet today?”

  And then a coldness struck her, a maliciousness from the woman so intertwined with her personality it left Ivy too dumbfounded to speak.

  His face, smiling as he danced…then distorted, dark, desperate, snowflakes beside him…needing her help…crying for her…tears falling on crystals…

  A shiver of fear coursed through her.

  She knows something about Ian…

  Lady Isadora leaned forward, and in a low, conspiratorial voice disclosed, “He’s not expecting us. She wants to surprise the marquess tonight.”

  “And I’m certain she shall,” Madeleine acknowledged, casting her a fast, admonishing glance before moving forward to take both of the ladies by the arms. “But since he isn’t here yet,” she continued, leading them toward the stained-glass archway with a graceful air, “let me get you and your aunt masks and some of the marquess’s marvelous champagne.” Glancing back over her shoulder, her ice-blue eyes full of warning, she mouthed: Find Eastleigh.

  Garrett had never been so tense in his life. Waiting to make his appearance as the now-infamous Marquess of Rye left his nerves raw, aggravating what little patience he had left—so much so, he’d downed two whiskeys at the inn before dressing for the event that would no doubt change the course of his future.

  After making his way through the tunnel, he’d returned to the inn, bathed, shaved, and donned his finest evening dress, black on white silk, with a black-and-gray-striped cravat, made of a quality Ivy had never seen him wear before. Although a light snow continued to fall, it didn’t feel all that cold, so he planned to walk to clear his head and allow some time to pass before what was soon to be his grand entrance.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave her side after making love this afternoon, especially without telling her who he was and how deeply he felt for her. But he had no choice. She would have to accept him as someone completely new to her, someone with enormous wealth and an inherited title for which most ladies in the land would swoon and trade their souls to acquire by marriage, and guarding his heart until he revealed everything tonight was his only self-defense. He expected her outrage at the revelation of his secrets, and he’d prepared himself for the worst of it. He simply had to trust that she would forgive him in the end.

  Finally, he buttoned his finest wool coat, pulled on leather gloves, and stepped out into the stillness. The village seemed remarkably quiet, as did the inn, probably bec
ause nearly every resident of Winter Garden now danced in his ballroom and drank his expensive champagne. Gazing across the lake at his house, now lit up like a beacon, he braved the mild cold and began another trek along the forest path, attempting to piece together in his mind exactly how Ivy might react, and every ploy he could possibly use to convince her that nothing between them had ever been a lie. In the end, however, he fully realized there would be difficulties ahead this night, and he would face them, every one.

  It took him almost fifteen minutes to reach the property. Thankfully, the snow melted on the ground as it touched it so that his shoes weren’t wet and freezing his feet when he arrived. He saw almost nobody, but he could hear the orchestra playing, the rumble of talk and laughter from the ballroom, and it amused him that everybody inside awaited his arrival like the second coming of Christ. And the only thing he cared about was seeing Ivy.

  He got his wish the moment he turned the corner to face the front of the house. She stood at the top of the stone steps, looking incredibly beautiful as the brightly lit torches on either side of the doors cast a glow upon her face and gown—a glorious angel in white surrounded by snowfall that sparkled like diamonds. The vision nearly took his breath away.

  His heartbeat began to quicken as she suddenly noticed him in the distance. She lifted her skirts to carefully descend the steps, then fairly ran into his arms.

  “Anxious for my arrival, my darling Lady Ivy?” he said through a chuckle as he held her tightly against him.

  She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “You’ve no idea,” she replied breathlessly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He kissed her forehead lightly, then grasped her waist and pushed her back far enough to gaze into her eyes. “What are you doing outside without a wrap?”

  “Madeleine sent me to find Eastleigh,” she answered at once. “I think…I think something’s wrong, and so does she.”

  He sobered quickly, noting the conflict in her features. “What’s happened?”

  She shook her head a little to clear her thoughts. “I’m not sure anything’s happened yet. The Marquess of Rye hasn’t arrived, but his betrothed has, and she…she knows—”

  “What did you say?” he cut in, his voice low and grave as he felt his blood turn to ice.

  She frowned, tipping her head to the side, seemingly confused by his sudden shift in manner. “Lady Margaret of Brighton is here. She’s the niece of Lady Isadora Birmingham and came as her guest. And Garrett, I think she knows something about Ian.”

  Stunned, he released her, taking a step back to stare at the house. “Jesus…” he whispered under his breath.

  Ivy stepped so close to him her gown smothered his legs beneath his coat. “What is it?” she asked, her voice filled with apprehension.

  He inhaled deeply and lowered his gaze to hers. She looked worried, confused, and with trepidation gnawing at him, he realized that everything he’d planned had been altered.

  Margaret shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t even know about the Rothebury house, or his whereabouts, unless she’d been involved with stealing the diamonds originally. There could be no other explanation. She knew Ian from the party long ago, and if she truly had an aunt from Winter Garden, it was possible she knew Benedict Sharon. And if all of this was true, there was every chance that she had played him for a fool.

  “Garrett—”

  “What did she say to you?” he asked, attempting to keep the rage and alarm from his voice.

  She smirked. “What did she say? Not very much, but she was quite tactless.”

  He nodded, feeling a surge of relief as he realized Lady Margaret remained as conniving as ever, or she would have exposed him at once. That meant she was hiding something to reveal later.

  “Why do you think she knows something about Ian?” he asked seconds later.

  She shivered, and he reached out to wrap his arms around her once more.

  “It was just…a feeling, a coldness I felt from her.” She closed her eyes. “I saw his face again, Garrett, but he was…smiling, dancing. And then there was a blackness with…snowflakes all around”—she swallowed—“and I felt his fear.”

  After a long moment of silence, he murmured, “She shouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s what Madeleine said, and she was concerned, which is why she sent me to find Eastleigh.” She paused, then asked in quiet anguish, “What is going on, Garrett?”

  He groaned, catching the faintest scent of lilac in her hair, on her skin as he hugged her to lend her his warmth. “I’m not sure.”

  “Something is very wrong,” she whispered. “I feel it in my bones.”

  Inhaling deeply, he held her close, afraid to let her go and suddenly wishing they could simply leave together and never look back. But reality faced them this night, and they needed each other more now than they ever did before.

  With resolve, and knowing the time for truth had come, he cupped her chin and lifted her head a little so she could see his face. “It’s cold, and you need to go inside. I’ll find Lord Eastleigh.”

  She didn’t like that at all. “No, you need to come with me, especially if Lady Margaret—”

  “You have to trust me tonight, Ivy.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “We’ve discussed this already. You know I do.”

  He rubbed a gloved thumb along her cheek. “We’ll confront Lady Margaret when I’m inside. But until then, remember that I know the Marquess of Rye, and I know he broke his betrothal nearly two years ago.”

  She pulled back a little, confused. “Then why is she here?” Irritation sliced through her words as she added, “I can’t imagine that he still loves her.”

  He almost laughed. “I’m quite certain he never did.”

  “You don’t know that.” She glanced back to the house. “Then again, maybe that’s why he hasn’t yet arrived. He knows she’s here, and he’s afraid of the encounter. I would be.”

  “Ivy…”

  She looked at him again, and he gazed into her eyes, glowing beautifully by torchlight, charged with wit and uneasiness and a trace of good humor.

  Quashing a quick jolt of nervousness, he dropped his voice to a deep whisper to disclose, “He thought she was annoying, yes. But the fact is, he broke his betrothal because he was then, and is now, passionately in love with someone else.”

  A certain stillness enveloped them as they stood in the faint, silent snowfall. Slowly, she scanned his face, her features growing serious once more, her brows furrowed lightly as the truth behind his words lingered, as if their meaning held something of intense value she couldn’t quite grasp.

  Then he lowered his mouth to place a slow, burning kiss upon her lips, to avoid the questions he knew she had, to feel her just once more before the emotional upheaval to come.

  “Go inside, before you freeze,” he whispered at last, placing his palms on her upper arms as he gently pushed her away. “I’ll find Eastleigh, and then we’ll find you.”

  She sighed, slowly lifting her lashes to say huskily, “What if we missed him, and he’s already back in the ballroom?”

  He grinned. “Then you’ll find him first.”

  “Garrett—”

  “Go, Ivy,” he insisted as he dropped his arms to release her. “I’ll be there soon.”

  She paused for a few seconds, concern in her expression. Then, giving him a hesitant smile, she turned and walked quickly back to the warmth of the house.

  Chapter 18

  A blazing heat struck her as she entered the foyer, though Ivy hardly noticed with her excitement rising and her nerves on fire. Quickly, she fluffed her skirts and brushed snow from the lace on her sleeves, then walked to the glass archway to study the gathering of Winter Garden’s finest for a minute or two, thinking, trying to reconcile her rising panic with the knowledge that everything in the ballroom looked perfect.

  She couldn’t find Eastleigh among the guests, though she spotted Madeleine at once, standing near the north
ern windows next to Lady Margaret, speaking to an older gentleman she didn’t recognize, probably introducing them. Lady Isadora sat in a velveteen chair beside her, sipping champagne and smiling as she watched a flurry of colorful skirts twirling before her in time to a splendidly played waltz. Penelope and Catherine Mossley had retreated to the far northeast corner, their heads together as they talked in whispers, Viola standing beside her mother giggling at something two young men were saying to her. She could see neither Hermione nor Elizabeth, Catherine’s granddaughter, whom she had met tonight for the first time, anywhere, though with their ordinary appearance and quiet manners, both girls probably blended into the crowd unnoticed by all.

  Her first thought was to go directly to Margaret’s side and question her incessantly until the woman disclosed exactly what she knew of Ian or his whereabouts. But she and Madeleine had planned a magnificent party, and as she accepted a white mask from the polished footman at her side, she tried to restrain herself from acting rashly, remembering that she’d been invited to the house and now chosen to be the marquess’s hostess. That thought in mind, she tied the mask at the back of her head, kept her chin high, lifted her skirts, and began to descend the steps to the ballroom floor.

  Ivy decided to play her part, as the only thing she could do, and so she immediately started circling the ballroom, chatting with various members of the local gentry and attempting to make them all feel welcome. The music played loudly, and the ballroom felt rather stuffy, but footmen passed among the guests, offering plates of delicious-smelling hors d’oeuvres and endless glasses of champagne, and from the laughter and crowded dance floor, she could only surmise that the Winter Masquerade would be considered a rousing success by all, regardless of whether the Marquess of Rye chose to attend his own event.

  But beneath her refined appearance and underlying desire to learn the secrets of the house and its guests, something about Garrett’s demeanor tonight plagued her and remained in the forefront of her mind. She sensed a shift in him, a marked increase in the intensity between them during their last exchange that left her on edge, as if he withheld some vital information she should know but didn’t. And it involved the Marquess of Rye, the mysterious figure about whom everyone whispered and speculated yet who remained unknown to all but two people at the party—Garrett and Margaret. And Garrett had been as shocked as Madeleine to know that the woman was here.