by Cheryl Howe
“Samuel, summon Dr. Ferguson immediately.”
“What about the father? Where the bloody hell is he?”
“Darien, it’s not what you think.” Ivy did not have time to explain but rushed to the kitchen to find cool water to press upon Melody’s fevered face.
“I’m going to kill him,” he said and stormed in the direction of the front door.
Ivy didn’t have the luxury of trying to stop him. No doubt he would not believe her until he heard it from the horse’s mouth.
“Samuel,” she called as her butler changed into his riding jacket and gloves. “After you wake the doctor, let the duke know that he should be expecting a visitor.”
***
Darien waited in the shadows, watching fashionable men he had once called friends stumble down the steps of Brooks, a gentleman’s club Darien once favored. He could be one of the fatted calves, waiting to take over his father’s title, nothing better to do than languish in a dark paneled den, sipping cognac and playing billiards with men just as bored as he. At this point in Darien’s life, he reckoned that fate might not be half bad if he had Ivy at home, caring for his child instead of some cold bastard’s.
Darien had sobered considerably in the last hour, but the pain of the past kept him drunk with revenge. His most ardent enemy would soon be proposing to the woman Darien had once intended to wed. The woman who had spoiled that possibility for him forever. Darien would enjoy using every last dirty trick he had learned in his years of tavern brawls to accomplish the task.
Marcus Lamont, the Duke of Huntingdon, strolled from his favorite men’s club, regal in his black cape. The bulk of his shoulders and easiness of his stride warned Darien that he still kept up his membership at an exclusive pugilist club. He outweighed Darien by twenty stone but Darien did not fight with gentlemen. He’d been living with working men, earning his strength from toiling like a farmhand more days than not.
Darien had envisioned this confrontation on many a lonely country night.
A carriage emblazoned with the Huntingdon ducal crest pulled in front of the club the moment Marcus reached the curb. The liveried driver jumped down from his perch in orchestrated efficiency that left little room for Darien’s assault. Marcus slipped into his carriage. Darien waited for the driver to haul himself upon his perch before he parted from the shadows and hopped into the carriage before the horses jangled their harnesses into motion.
Marcus sat quietly in the darkened interior. The gleam of a pistol shone from the dim light cast by an outside lantern.
“Darien?” he said and lowered the gun. “I thought you were a thief.”
“You’re the thief.”
“You deserted her,” Marcus said with a sigh, as if he had rehearsed his answer a thousand times but still did not like the sounds of it.
“She broke our engagement, among other transgressions I don’t need to name with you, of all people.”
“It’s over between us.” Marcus tucked his pistol in his coat. “It has been for several months.”
“It’s not over,” Darien said, hating the bitter taste the truth left on his tongue. “It’s just starting. I heard you are looking for a wife, well I found one for you. A ready made family comes with her. Ready made by you.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“Do you not have any feelings for Ivy at all?” Darien heard the break in his voice but didn’t care. He’d never be a detached bastard like Marcus and refused to even try. “It hurt like hell when I discovered she’d taken up with you, a man I once considered a friend. But you never made your admiration of her a secret. I thought perhaps you actually loved her, would look after her.”
“And I did, believe me.” Marcus’s practiced plea sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Darien. “You have no idea what Ivy went through. How painful it was to have everyone she had ever known turn against her. She had no friends besides me.”
“Some friend.” Darien’s cynical laugh prompted Marcus to shift in his plush leather seat. “Then what happened? Her little complication no longer fit in your plans. I know you like everything nice and neat, Marcus. Though, I thought you had more honor than that.”
“Honor?” Real anger crept into Marcus’s cool demeanor, assuring Darien he had finally hit a nerve. “I heard you shucked your duty to your family to live like a sheep farmer. Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m sober for the first time in years and I don’t like what I bloody see in front of me.”
“I’m sorry for what has happened to you, Darien. But you brought it upon yourself.”
“Why didn’t you marry her? She’s not some harlot that you can discard when her belly starts to grow. The baby is sick, you know?”
“Baby? I thought we were talking about Ivy.”
“Yes, Ivy has a baby.”
“She’s pregnant? She thought she was barren.”
“Apparently not.” Darien ground his teeth, furious that Marcus knew more about Ivy than he did.
“My God.” Marcus sat back and shook his head, looking truly stunned for the first time since Darien had ambushed his carriage. “She didn’t tell me. I would never desert Ivy.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Darien’s heart sank and he was surprised he could still feel such loss. Brokering a marriage between his ex-friend and the woman he hopelessly loved—no matter how hard he tried not to—was not what he had planned for the evening.
“This isn’t like Ivy. She would have told me. We never kept secrets from one another. The child can’t be mine.”
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Marcus’s massive London home. “Come in and have a drink. It has been too long since we were civil and I miss your friendship.”
Darien shook his head. “Ivy needs me. Her child is sick.”
“So you have forgiven her, I see.” Marcus studied Darien.
“No, I haven’t.” He might not ever be able to forget the pain of the past, but he would not let that stop him from doing what was in Ivy’s best interest, no matter the consequences. His pride had already cost him a lifetime where Ivy was concerned.
“There is more to the story than you know.” Marcus leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, then clasped his hands.
“I know all I need to.” Darien’s hostile tone let Marcus know he was in no mood to be lectured about Ivy.
“Well, leave the woman alone then.” Marcus sat back against the carriage’s red leather seat. “She’s been through enough. If she has a child, she no doubt wants to keep it a private affair. Don’t expose her to further ridicule because you cannot control your hothead.”
“I fear it’s too late for that.”
Marcus jumped out of the carriage, not waiting for his footmen to open the door. Darien followed. Marcus stood to his full, intimidating height and looked down at Darien with all the regality of a man who had been very powerful since he was an adolescent.
“Then you shall have trouble from me.” Marcus’s deep voice reverberated with threat.
Darien turned to leave, then swung back to hit Marcus in the jaw before he could fully glean his ungentlemanly attack. Marcus stumbled to one knee. The two footmen that grabbed Darien from behind and wrenched his arms behind his back did nothing to dull Darien’s satisfaction. He’d been wanting to punch Marcus for a long time.
Marcus got to his feet, looking mad as hell. Darien braced himself for his answering blow.
“Let him go,” Marcus ordered.
They stood facing each other. Marcus balled his fist but curbed his obvious need to retaliate. The front door opened and a servant appeared in a swath of light.
“I won’t engage in a street brawl in front of my own home, but if you choose to continue this…”
“We can call it even.” Some of Darien’s rage cooled, and he held out his hand to his old friend. He couldn’t deny Marcus had only stepped in and taken advantage of the disaster Darien’s father had created.
Marcus took his hand and squeezed hard enough for Darien to realize real strength went with the power of his esteemed title.
“If I hear that you have caused Ivy one moment of grief, we will be meeting again.”
Darien nodded, though he feared Marcus would be forced to follow through with his threat. Some man fathered Ivy’s child and the bastard in question was noticeably absent. Darien would not desert Ivy in her time of need again, whether she appreciated his intrusion into her life or not.
…will be worth the sacrifices you will invariably be forced to make.
CHAPTER FIVE
Though the early morning sun had yet to chase away the damp scent of night clinging to the narrow stairwell, Ivy found Diana’s door ajar. At least Ivy wouldn’t have to waste time trying to raise the notorious night owl. Usually Diana was dead to the world before noon.
Voices drifted past the thin walls, forcing Ivy to step back into the shadowed landing. The fact that Diana was awake meant she had not likely retired for the evening and Ivy had no desire to run into one of her paramours. Unless it was Gregory Blackmore, and then she would love to confront him on more equal footing. His closeted skeletons were just as ghastly as hers, but he had the power and the means to keep that particular door locked.
Ivy gathered her courage. She did not have time for caution even if her arch enemy laid in wait, which was highly unlikely. Ivy intended to be far removed from London before speculation regarding Darien’s announcement spread through the city like the Black Plague. And if Diana refused to accompany her to Cornwall, she would have to say goodbye to her daughter. Melody’s fever had finally broken and she was sleeping peacefully. Ivy would not even consider returning the child to this squalor.
“Excuse me,” Ivy said loudly, averting her gaze while she pushed the door wider, not wanting to catch the couple unaware. “I just need to speak with Diana for one moment.”
A hushed silence greeted her request. Disturbed by the response, Ivy strode into the room. A grubby man and disheveled woman shuffled toward her, obviously struggling to carry the oversized painting of Diana in her prime.
“Where do you think you are going with that?” Ivy squared her shoulders to prevent their exit.
“Listen here, Miss”—the man craned his neck around the massive frame—“she hadn’t paid her rent last month nor the one before that. And I let that pass considering her health. I just want to recoup what I lost, is all. I didn’t pinch the rest of the goods. Some vultures beat me to it.”
Ivy blocked their way, but glanced past the couple struggling to hold the heavy frame, and scanned the dim room. It had been stripped bare of all Diana’s belongings. The wardrobe doors stood open, revealing nothing but empty hangers. The silk hangings that had disguised the crumbling plastered wall had also been taken. Only the lounging chair where Diana had sat while she entertained Ivy less than a week ago remained in the center of the room, Diana asleep, or more likely inebriated, upon it.
“Did Diana agree to this?” Ivy rushed past the couple to check on Diana. The moment she reached the chair, she realized Diana was not merely foxed from too much drink.
“Did someone summon a physician?” Ivy glanced behind her only to find the man and woman dragging the once prized portrait from the room.
Ivy gently lifted Diana’s cold hand. All her jewelry had been taken. Her bare feet and ankles shone ghostly white beneath the thin gown. The monsters had taken her shoes and stockings, not leaving even a single blanket to respectfully cover the dead. At least someone had closed Diana’s eyes.
“Diana, I am so sorry.” Ivy bowed her head. Her throat closed against the onslaught of tears. She swallowed her anguish, unwilling to give in to the weakness at a time she felt so vulnerable, so exposed, thanks to Darien. Not only did she have her own ravished reputation to protect, but Melody’s. When they were safely protected by Cornwall’s quiet countryside …
A splatter of brown stains circled a clean spot on the wood floor where a small round table had stood beside Diana’s lounging chair. A patch of white caught Ivy’s gaze and she bent down to find a square of paper sticking out from beneath the makeshift bed. She unfolded the rose scented parchment to find a scribbled note.
My dearest friend,
Please take care of my treasured gift. She is yours now. Never let her forget she is of noble blood.Please see that she is raised in the manner thatbefits her station. It is my wish that she never knowof her humble beginnings. Promise me!
Yours, Diana
Ivy reread the note twice, not sure if the passionate scrawl amounted to Diana’s deathbed ramblings or a cryptic clue as to what to do with Melody. The idea that the note might not have been intended for Ivy cooled her blood. She peeked under Diana’s chair, fearing she might discover further instructions, but found nothing but balls of dust. Ivy straightened, more determined than ever to secure a healthy, happy future for Melody. She could do nothing for Diana but she would do everything for her daughter.
However, Ivy had a visit to pay first. She would not be blindsided by the Earl of Westhaven a second time.
***
Ivy marched up the marble steps of Gregory Blackmore’s London mansion, shaking with fury. After having to fend off another group who tried to take the furniture from beneath Diana, and another still who wanted the fine white gown that hugged her body, Ivy’s anguish had turned into righteous rage.
The black lacquered door opened before she could bang the menacing brass gargoyle knocker.
“Miss Templeton, we have been expecting you. This way.” Ivy followed the stiff butler through the octagon foyer, recognizing him from her first visit to Westhaven’s London mausoleum. The servant had aged considerably over the last decade and his permanent frown seemed only a tad less intimidating.
Eerily, everything was exactly as she remembered it. Same oak-paneled walls, same stiff pictures of men on horseback draped in dead fox and geese. She had become more astute at navigating the male domain of power and intimidation over the years, and she had Darien’s father, her first and most brutal teacher, to thank for it.
The butler opened the wide paneled door and showed her into a smoky study. With the blinds closed, the place reminded her of a dark cave that housed a fire-breathing dragon who devoured maidens for breakfast. Luckily for Ivy, she was no maiden.
“Hello, Ivy. How good of you to answer my summons so promptly. You have saved me the trouble of following you all the way to Cornwall.”
Ivy stiffened at the earl’s almost friendly greeting, not that Ivy could ever tell the old bear’s mood. He always sounded gruff, even when he laughed. At least, that’s what Diana had claimed. Ivy was thankful she’d left her house before whatever summons he spoke of had arrived. If she had received such a pompous request, she would have likely left for Cornwall without first visiting Diana. Ivy remembered the cryptic nature of Diana’s note and prayed the earl did not have a similar version tucked away in his desk.
“I see you are already shadowing my whereabouts. Are you ready to make another offer? My price has gone up considerably.” Ivy relished her cool tone, a dramatic improvement from the hoarse whisper of her youth. Nine years ago she could hardly breathe in Darien’s father’s presence, much less speak.
“Then you shall earn it. You got off lightly last time. I shall expect more from you this go around.” Westhaven studied her beneath his bushy eyebrows. A twitch of his lips hinted that he might have more to lose than she.
“I disagree, but I am willing to hear your proposal.” Heat flushed her cheeks and a glance at the grate showed a low fire burning in the midst of summer. Strange, but a relief to know that her steeled nerves were not starting to soften. Yet.
Ivy settled in the chair before Westhaven’s massive desk. “State your business. If you know I plan to visit Cornwall, you must know I still have much to do to complete my travel arrangements.”
He grinned and Ivy feared he toyed with her. What if he had known of Melody all along
and waited like a vulture for Diana’s imminent demise to dispose of Melody with some distant acquaintance in Ireland. Westhaven was the type to provide for Melody’s basic needs while keeping her isolated, dependent and unloved. She’d want for nothing except a mother and a father. A family who might love her.
“I think my son has other ideas,” Westhaven said, forcing Ivy back to the conversation. He was speaking of Darien, thank God. “He has been outside your townhouse all morning.”
“As I said, how much do you wish to pay for the breaking of our engagement a second time?” Ivy met his gaze with a blast of pure hatred. Westhaven had no idea of Melody’s existence or that his long-time lover had died a mere few hours ago. Though it worked to her advantage, the unfairness of it all galled her.
“Thirty thousand pounds. Five thousand more than last time, which I feel is quite generous.” Westhaven bowed his head and rubbed his brow before he glanced back up at Ivy. “But this time you will agree to the engagement, at least until Arianna and I have married. After that, what you do is your business.”
“Darien does not love me, you know. He only wants to hurt you.” She shrugged, hating that betraying Darien to his father was the price of saving Melody. If she could, she would spit in his face and marry Darien just to spite the old bugger.
“I think we both know that is not true. About Darien not loving you, that is. But I am sure that minor inconvenience will not stop you from taking my money. You have done quite well for yourself, have you not?”
“I had the best teacher. Diana sends her regards from Italy.”
He did not flinch. They might have been talking about a complete stranger. But he was always good at covering his sins.
“She was splendid at making a man feel he was the only one in the world.” He almost sounded wistful until he furrowed his brow. “Though I knew otherwise. Darien is easier to fool. At least by you.”
“I cannot keep him away from you. I am sure of it.”
“But I am sure you can keep him distracted. Since Darien has invited the public’s scrutiny with his outburst, I have decided a sporting house party at Westhaven, culminating in a quiet ceremony is the best way to announce my union with Arianna Maddox. I won’t prohibit Darien from his family home, but you can prevent him from having too many opportunities to cause mischief. We will all pretend as if Darien’s happy announcement is nothing but the truth. We are a family united in our joy.”