by Alexia Praks
Max caught her wrist and pulled her back to him. She was puffed out of breath as she collided against him.
“You grace,” she gasped. She tried to wrestle her wrist free from his captive, but it was to no avail. He tightened his hold on her.
“Please, I wish to return.”
“You and your mother are but the same. Slut and money hungry,” he sneered, his eyes sharp and cold.
She whimpered like a trapped animal as she stared up at him. How dare he—to call her slut and money hungry?
“I am not a slut nor am I money hungry, your grace,” she said, her voice quivering because of her anger.
“Am I wrong there? You are nothing but a slut, giving yourself freely to me, and now, you intend to do the same to that young surgeon.” His hand griped around her small wrist tighter, and she felt as though she was being imprisoned with an iron cuff.
She shook her head as he continued, “I know what you’re doing. Being my mistress isn’t good enough for you, is that it? Is that why you have to become that surgeon’s wife, too? Aye, seduce him you will, with your bloody tricks.”
“Stop it!” she shouted as tears spilled down her cheeks. “How dare you? To speak of such to me? How dare you?” She glared at him through tears. She shoved him away and slapped his cheek.
Max gritted his teeth. How dare she, a mere chit, slapped him?
He thrust her toward him and seized her face between his thumb and fingers. “I believe you asked for this,” he said and assaulted her lips.
She shook her head and pushed her hands against his chest.
He ignored her and pulled her closer against him, thrusting her small body against his hard ones. When he moved his head back, he stared down at her with cold eyes. His hand was holding the back of her neck so that she was looking up at him. “I will never let you become another man’s wife.”
“No,” she sobbed.
He kissed her again, hard and long. When he moved his head back, he saw that her lips were bright red.
“Why?” she whispered, “Will you never stop hurting me? I have done nothing to you.”
“Stop using your bloody tricks on me,” he snapped.
“What have I done to you?” she cried, “You must stop, it hurt.”
“Your vile act does not affect me, woman. Best if you stop, you will only tire yourself,” he said, moving his hand down to her breasts. He slipped his hand beneath the flimsy fabric of her décolletage and cupped her breast.
“Nay...” she cried and pushed him away.
He pulled her back and kissed her nape.
“Please, you must stop, somebody will see.
“I don’t bloody care,” he said, his warm breath fanning her skin.
“No, you don’t understand, they will think that I’m...”
“A fallen woman? Serve you right, doesn’t it?”
“You have no heart. I hate you,” she screamed, and with all her might, she pushed him from her. She was about to get away when he caught her wrist and pulled her back.
“This is what you deserve,” he said and kissed her again, his tongue wildly exploring her mouth.
“Dear Lord, what is this?” a voice said.
Max lifted his head up. He turned and saw Lady Mornington standing there, looking at them in shock surprise.
“Oh God, I do not believe this,” the woman murmured.
Shaking from head to toe, Ivy stared dazedly at the older woman. She was still embraced in Max’s strong, powerful arms. He released her then, and she staggered backward.
Humiliation flooded through her. She simply wanted to disappear and never returned to face these people again, ever.
“Ivy?” the woman said.
Ivy hugged herself as she shook her head. And then as she couldn’t control her turmoil emotion any long, she ran to the castle. She raced up the stairs blindly where she almost collided with Lady Hartland who had just returned from visiting Tyson, Dan, and Mary with their governess.
“What is it, Ivy?” the woman asked in concern when she saw Ivy’s pale complexion.
Ivy, however, could only shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“My God, you’re so pale and you’re shivering, my dear, what is it?” the woman asked as she touched Ivy’s cold arms.
Still shaking her head, Ivy managed to say, “Nothing,” and rushed up the stairs straight to her room. There she threw herself on the bed and cried her heart out. She did not know how long she was lying there, crying. All she knew was that they would all by now know she was the duke’s mistress. They would never look at her again. She was a fallen woman, and my God, how it hurt.
She was still sobbing when there was a knock at the door. She lifted her head up and saw that it was dark outside. Thinking that it was Lisa, she begged her to come in. But it was not Lisa that entered the room; it was Christine.
The other woman came in and sat down beside her. Ivy sat up and wiped her tears. She felt humiliated.
Christine moved and hugged her. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“Nay...” Ivy sniffed, “Nothing is ever going to be all right. Not for me. I’m ruined, oh Christine, they would hate me. They would think that I’m a slut and you, too, and...”
“Hush now, Ivy, everything will work itself out, I’m sure.”
“No, no, you don’t understand, they saw me and His Grace. I don’t know what to tell them, I don’t know what to do.”
“There is a way, Ivy,” Christine said.
“There is? What is it? But there can’t be.”
“You will have to marry His Grace,” Christine explained.
“What? No!” She shook her head.
“But you must, ‘tis the right thing to do. By now everyone will have known. This type of news spread fast, Ivy, if you were to attend the season next year.”
“Oh, but I can’t...I won’t marry the duke. He is not for me, Christine,” she insisted. “You must understand.”
“But he loves you, Ivy.”
“What? Nay, he does not love me, you don’t understand. I’m his--”
“Don’t tell me you are his cousin for I don’t believe that. To me, the way he treats you is not cousinly at all.”
“But I can’t marry him.”
“Yes you can and you must. ‘Tis the way it has to be.”
“If I do that, things will only get worse,” Ivy said, knowing very well that he would blame her for this whole shamble.
***
“I won’t marry her,” Max snapped, glaring at his friend who sat rather too comfortably in the arm chair.
“I thought you’re a man of honor, Max,” Merrick said, folding his arm across his chest with a raised brow.
“You know very well I have no honor, Merrick, that’s why they call me Lord Devil,” Max said sourly.
“Did I hear the gossip wrong there, my friend? Was it simply a story conjured up by Lady Hartland and Lady Mornington? I don’t think so. Those two are good women, and they have good intention. You did the wrong thing, Max, fix it,” Merrick snapped. “And I will not stand to see you surfer further with your hellion behavior, friend. It’s about time to get yourself a wife anyhow.”
“I won’t marry her and this discussion is over,” Max snapped and walked out the study.
Merrick narrowed his eyes at the closed door. He knew he had to use his power to set things right. He’d have to help Maximilian like Max himself had help him two years ago when his life was in danger, and more importantly, when he had almost lost Christine because of his stupidity and stubbornness. And he was sure his wife would want the same.
CHAPTER 21
Four weeks later Ivy found herself in St. George’s church for her wedding ceremony. She was shaking uncontrollably from head to toe as she walked down the aisle. She kept her head held high, however, and fixed her gaze on the priest standing before them with his elegant gold and white robe. She tried not to acknowledge the man standing beside the priest who had his intensive g
aze on her person.
Once she was on the platform the priest started the sermon. She did not comprehend one word that came out of his moving lips. She was too conscious of the overbearing man beside her.
Max looked at his bride. She was beautiful with the white silk gown that fit her perfectly. The round décolletage exposed her tantalizing cleavage to his hungry eyes. The skirt was long and trained, and her veil was attached to a coronet of orange blossom. It rested all the way to the ground. Her raven hair was formed into ringlets. As he gazed down at her, his desire intensified. He gritted his teeth at his weak sexual appetite in disgusted.
He heard the priest asked his young bride to recite the words. He heard her low, musical voice; it was sweet and husky. He almost melted with surrender, but he suppressed the feeling by reminding himself that the woman deserved his hate. She had trapped him into marriage.
The priest turned to him, “Will you, your grace Maximilian Benjamin Devilyn, the Duke of Lynwood, take Lady Ivy Michael to be your lawful wedded wife?”
He cleared his throat and said, “I do.”
The priest turned to Ivy. Max saw her hand gripping onto the bouquet, the bunch of pink and white roses were shaking so hard that some of the petals detached from its stem.
“And you, Lady Ivy Michael, will you take his grace, Maximilian Benjamin Devilyn, the Duke of Lynwood to be your lawful wedded husband?” the priest asked.
Ivy’s throat went dried. The dead silent lengthened, and she did not answer. She did not look at the man beside her nor did she look at the priest who seemed to be holding his breath as though he was underwater and couldn’t wait to reach to the surface for air.
This was the turning point of her life. She knew that if she says aye, she would be living with this ogre for the rest of her life; but at the same time, she would not be living with her mother. That woman would not be able to hurt her anymore. She thought how ironic it was that when she was free from a demon, only to be confronted with the very devil himself.
She took another deep breath and nodded her head.
“I do!” her musical voice hummed low for the mass to hear.
Max sighed. He did not know that he was holding his breath for her answer.
“I pronounce you are now man and wife,” the priest said.
Max turned to her and nudged her arm. He took hold of her veil and lifted it up from her face. He stared at her pale complexion and shifted his gaze to her blue eyes that were gazing up at him. He bent his head down and kissed her lips.
The ceremony was over, and the newly married couple left St. George’s Church. They traveled in an elegant town coach back to Edington Mansion where the breakfast reception was held. Once they had reached their destination, Ivy was whisked away by Christine and the maids to her room. They helped her change into another silk gown of Evening Primrose and white. Once she had a little rest and felt less nervous, she and Christine decent the stairs into the drawing room where the guests were mingling. There she received congratulations from the many new people she had just met over the last month on her coming out. Thanks to the help of Christine, Mrs. Smith, Lady Hartland and Lady Mornington who had chaperoned her and introduced her to the ton.
Ivy was sipping her champagne when someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned to see an elderly man. She remembered that he was Mr. Murphy McDonald.
“Ah, I see that the duke has not at all over phrased you. Indeed, your grace, you are a picture of beauty,” Murphy compliment and bowed low before her.
“Why, sir, thank you,” she said, frowning at his comment. The duke had phrased upon her beauty?
“You are Mr. McDonald?”
“Indeed I am, Madam. I must admit that now I see why his grace was in such a hurry to marry you. I am sure, your grace, that I wouldn’t want anyone to snatch you up either.” Murphy laughed, his grey eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Indeed, sir,” Ivy said, staring in Max’s direction. He was talking to the Merrick, Christine and Lady Melbourne on the other side of the room. She saw that Christine had the habit of staring up at her husband, and he in turned, kept smiling down at her. They looked very in love. She felt that dull pain inside her. She would never be that lucky, to actually marry a man she love.
“Your grace?”
“They look likes they really love each other,” she murmured and shifted her gaze to her husband.
Her husband, she thought, she still hadn’t got used to that yet. He looked magnificent with his blonde hair, powerful physic, and arrogant bearing. He took her breath away. Why? She hated him. She shouldn’t admire him in such a way.
“Who?” Murphy asked in confusion.
“Them,” she said still staring at Max.
“Ah them, that would be his lordship, the Count and Countess of Huntingdon. Have you met them? A meeting could be arranged,” he said. “Come with me.”
Where are you taking me?”
“To meet the Count and Countess of Huntingdon.”
“But--”
“Now, now, do not be afraid,” Murphy said, thinking that the young duchess was frighten.
Ivy felt helpless against Mr. McDonald’s insistence as he led her toward the small group. She didn’t want to join their group for the mere fact that Max was there. She couldn’t bear to be near him. God, help her, why did her stomach suddenly go hollow?
“Ah, your grace,” Murphy said, “Her grace, your wife would like to be acquainted with your friends.”
“Oh, Ivy,” Christine exclaimed, “come here, there is no need, Mr. McDonald, we are already acquainted.”
“Err?” The lawyer looked wide-eyed at Christine.
Max nodded as he held his hand out to Ivy. She hesitantly placed her small hand in his, and he pulled her to him. That made her wanted to run, but he had read her thought and pulled her closer.
Christine tugged at her husband’s arm to get his attention. Merrick turned to look at his wife with his brows raised.
Ivy saw his eyes twinkle as he gaze down at her.
“Yes, wife?” he asked.
“I would leave you and the duke to your boring topic of politic. I would like to take Ivy for a walk if you don’t mind.”
Merrick laughed. “Indeed, my love, go ahead.”
Ivy’s heart nearly shattered with emotion when Merrick said that my love words to his wife. Would her husband ever call her that, she wondered? Nay, not Maximilian Devilyn, not this man, never!
Max turned to look at Ivy. He saw her gazing up at Merrick and her eyes lit with admiration. Why the hell was she staring at his friend like that? He shoved her to him so that her body, though already close to him, collide against his side.
She turned to look at him and saw his sharp gaze on her. He squared his jaw and his mouth smiled cynically at her.
Her heart missed a beat. God, she hated him.
“Well, wife, what do you say?” he asked.
She could feel the sharpness in his voice. “I would love that, thank you.” She turned to Christine and smiled.
“Great!” Christine said and pulled Ivy from Max. The two women went outside into the spring sunshine and stopped near the pond. “Now tell me,” Christine began, “how do you feel about your wedding?” she said and waved her fan about her flushed face.
“I was very nervous,” Ivy admitted.
“I know, I was nervous, too,” Christine said.
“How do you meet your husband?”
“It was by no mean romantic. You see, I met my husband on the street. He saved me from a beating.”
“Your husband is so noble,” Ivy said, looking at the white lilies near her feet. Maximilian, now her husband, was the complete opposite. She was sure he would never save her from a beating. She should thank the Lord for the mere fact that he hadn’t yet beaten her up himself.
“You think? I thought so, too.” Christine smiled.
“And what happened next?” Ivy asked, liking the sound of the rhythmic dripping of the stream. It was like musi
c to her ear.
“He gave me a job at Huntingdon Hall, and I in turn gave him lots of headache.” Christine giggled.
“Oh dear, why was that?”
“At the time, you see, he didn’t know that I was a woman.”
“What?” Ivy asked in confusion.
“I was dressed as a boy at the time. It was for my protection, you see.”
“Oh!”
From inside the house, Lady Grace Westwood watched her daughter from where she stood in the drawing room, gripping the glass of champagne in her hand. How did it become this, she wondered. Why was Ivy marrying her man?
“Hello there.”
She jerked from her bitter thought and turned to the young man beside her.
“Ah, I see that you are wondering who I am. Let me introduce myself.” He bowed low and said, “Lord Sherington at your service.”
“The Earl of Sherington?”
“Indeed, Lady Westwood.”
“You know who I am?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Indeed, my lady. I must admit, I am smitten with your daughter. She is a picture of beauty.” He turned and watched Ivy and Christine through the window with his eyes twinkle.
“She is, is she?”
“Indeed, my lady, although you do not look please for her to have catch such a rich man and a man with a great title for that matter. A duke is hard to come by, my lady, I assure you,” Sherington said, his eyes suddenly lost its twinkle.
“I believe my feelings are none of your concern, Lord Sherington,” Grace said. “And it is true that a duke is hard to come by,” she snapped and walked away.
Sherington smiled with amusement as he stared after her.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He jumped and turned. “I’ve come to congratulate you, your grace.” He bowed mockingly, his eyes sharp.
“You have one minute to remove yourself from my house. If you don’t go, I’ll kick you out myself,” Max snapped.
“In your wedding day? Isn’t it a bit harsh, your grace? Think of your beautiful wife and your guests,” Sherington said with his brows raised.