by Alexia Praks
“Remove yourself, Sherington. You know very well I don’t give a damn about anything. If I want to murder you here and now, I would.” Max took a threatening step forward.
Sherington frowned and moved a step back. “I’ll bring you down one day when I have the chance to fight you, you bastard,” he sneered quietly so that only Max could hear him.
“I can’t wait,” Max said. “Now get out.”
“Indeed, your grace.” Sherington bowed, and before turning, he said, “Your wife is damn beautiful and I promise you that one day I’ll have a taste of her.”
Max grabbed Sherington by the collar and lifted the man up. Sherington squealed, his legs dangling just above the floor.
Merrick rushed forward and whispered to Max, “What are you doing?”
The guests turned and stared at them. Max, aware that he was drawing attention to himself, turned to glare at Sherington and then threw the man down.
“You’re not worth it, Sherington.” He turned to the two footmen standing at the door. “Take him out.”
The two footmen rushed to the middle of the drawing room and pulled Sherington up. They dragged him toward the corridor with Max following behind them. Outside the two footmen shoved Sherington out the door, and he stumbled onto the courtyard. He got up and sneered at Max.
“You’ll pay, you bastard!”
Max narrowed his eyes and said, “I know you wrote me those pathetic letters, Sherington. I warn you if I see anymore of those, I’ll throw you in prison. Don’t say I don’t warn you.” He turned and nodded at the footmen. “Make sure he doesn’t come near Edington Mansion.”
They nodded, and he walked back into the drawing.
***
Max forced himself to sleep but couldn’t. He tossed and turned in bed. Finally, he gritted his teeth and got up. He stared at the empty bottle of whisky that he had finished only a few hours ago sitting on the table.
Why the hell couldn’t he sleep tonight?
And she, he thought, she would be blissfully asleep knowing that her future was secured after she had trapped him into this damn marriage.
He should have seen it coming; after all, she was as money hungry as her mother. He should have known that it was their plan to catch him. And he was blind to their strategy because his mind was fully occupied by his plan to avenge his brother’s death. He was sure that she, this wife of his, had got it all planed out with her dear mother to catch him. Otherwise why the hell were they so eager to agree to such a notorious proposal? What noble lady would want to become a mere mistress to a duke when she could become his wife?
What to do, he wondered as he glared at the empty wineglass.
She deserved to be punished was the first thought that sprung into his mind. He turned to look at the door with narrowed eyes. And then he smiled.
He left his room and walked to the door of his target. He opened it and slipped in. As he approached the bed in the centre of the room, he saw her laying there. Her slight figure was delicate in the dimness of the candlelight. He sat on the bed and reached out for her.
Ivy woke with a start. She widened her eyes when she saw who it was.
“Your grace!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” She tried to pull her hand away from his captive.
“You don’t need to act in front of me, Ivy, you’ve got me where you wanted,” he said, gripping her wrist tighter. “You’re everything like your damn mother; money hungry and all. Is this what you have been dreaming off? Luxury? Too many gowns and jewelries to count? Too many servants to serve you? Oh, you’ve got what you want all right.”
“Please, it’s not like that,” she said, shaking her head, hurt at the way he had summed up her character.
“Don’t lie, Ivy, isn’t this want you wanted? To become a duchess? A wife to an important man? A wife to a very rich man?” He pulled her toward him. “Aye, now that you are a wife to this rich and important man, this rich and important man will make you his damn wife,” he growled and assaulted her lips.
Once he let her go, she struggled herself free, scrambled off the bed, and ran to the other side of the room. There she stood, watching him with her back against the wall.
“Your grace, please you are drunk,” she said, hugging herself.
Max narrowed his eyes. The way she stood to protect herself from him only heighten his anger and desire to ravish her. “Come here!” he growled.
She shook her head. “No, your grace, you’re drunk.”
“Ivy, come here!” he snapped.
She didn’t move and shook her head. He glared at her, and when she still didn’t obey him, he got up and stalked to her. She ran toward the door. He caught her around the arm and pulled her to him.
“No!” She fought him with her small hands banging against his chest. She tried to pull herself from his imprisonment, but he held onto her tighter. She found herself trapped between him and the wall.
He caught the back of her neck and tilted her face up to look at him. “This is what you are asking for, my dear wife.” He kissed her and thrust his tongue against her closed lips. His hand was shoving the material of her nightshirt down her shoulders.
She closed her eyes. She could do nothing but cry.
He moved his head back and stared down at her. Her tears did nothing to soften his iron heart. He simply gazed down at her and said, “Madam, your tears are useless,” and he started pulling her nightshirt down to her waist.
All that Ivy could do was to watch him while he stripped her to nakedness. Once he had gotten her nightgown down to her angle, he turned his attention to her body. He stared at her whiteness. His eyes seemed to bore into her, making her stomach ach with a longing that he always made her feel; but at the same time, he scared her that she wanted to run away and hide.
He turned his gaze to her pale face. As his head came toward hers, his hand cupped her breast. He squeezed it in his large hand while his tongue explored her mouth.
Ivy could not fight and submitted herself to his lovemaking. He moved his hand from her breast and wrapped around her small waist. He lifted her light weight to him, and thrust his rock hard thigh up between her legs so that she saddled him. He lowered his kiss from her mouth down to her throat and then lowered to her breasts. He took one nipple into his hot mouth and began to play with it.
Ivy groaned as the hot sensations rushed through her body. She hated him for doing this to her, but she couldn’t seem to control her body as the hard pleasure he gave her climbed.
Max took off his Banyan and threw it away. He lifted her up until her womanhood met his stomach and then he shoved his large body against hers, squeezing her between himself and the wall. He took her there, hurting her so much that she whimpered out into the night like a little trapped animal.
CHAPTER 22
Ivy stared blindly out the window as the carriage inched its way in a snail pace through St. James’s street toward Carlton House. There were many carriages a head of them, and perhaps a hundred more behind them which would probably by now have reached the top of Bond Street.
Ivy did not care much for balls. She was both physically and mentally tired of the season; attending endless morning calls, dinner parties and balls itself. She was always meeting the same people who ruled their domain in the ton with an iron fist, and they rarely let new faces in unless those faces happened to be very rich or famous indeed.
She glanced at her husband sitting across from her. He was so big and his presence made the interior of the carriage, and herself included, seemed rather small and insignificant. He was dressed in his usual sober black attire, the line cleanly cut and defined. His flaxen hair was neatly brushed back which seemed to enhance his already high forehead. He did not look at her but stared out the window at the overcrowded commoners along the street, jostling and shoving each other just to steal a peek at the nobility’s grandeur as they made their way to the Regent’s Ball on this day, the 19th June of 1811.
They had not said one word t
o each other since they had climbed into the carriage about an hour and a half ago. For the past weeks, too, she had been avoiding him as much as she possibly could. The morning began with them having their breakfast separately; he, a bit earlier and in the dinning room; and she a bit later and in her dressing room. The food that the cook had made for her was very grand indeed, though she found that she could not handle much of it. Every morning she woke up with a splitting headache, and her body couldn’t seem to do its proper job either. She felt as though she had no energy to do anything and the mere smell of food would make her rush to her camber pot and throw up. Usually she would make herself eat at least a piece of toast and drink a cup of tea after that.
After her light breakfast at ten o’clock, she would then do her morning calls. By then her sickness would have subsided, and she would usually visit Christine at Huntindon House which was only a couple of blocks down from where Edington Mansion was. In other times she would visit Lady Hartland or Lady Mornington for a little chat and tea. After that she would come back home and wandered around the house, feeling lost and alone, until such time as the dressing up to the next session of dinner parties or balls.
Her husband, on the other hand, she had no idea what he was doing, for she hardly saw him at all during the day. After that night he had come into her room and made love to her, if she could call it that, he had completely ignored her. He acted as though she did not exist. She found she liked that just fine and ignored him, too.
“What have you been doing?”
She jerked and glanced at him. She saw that he was looking at her most intensely. She swallowed and said, “Nothing much.”
“Do you enjoy the season?”
She frowned at him, wondering why he was asking her such an odd question.
“I assume that you do, going to endless parties and balls.” He leaned toward her, and with narrowed eyes, he said, “And meeting handsome, young gentlemen.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean, wife,” he said. “We are nearly there. I assume this will be the first time you’ve meet the Prince Regent.”
“Yes,” she replied and turned her head to look out the window. She saw that they were at last nearly at the gate of Carlton House.
“Are you excited?”
“Nay.”
He looked at her curiously.
As their carriage drew into the courtyard, a footman came and opened the door for them. Max came out first and then turned to help her. “Be careful,” he said.
They walked up the stairs, with many other grandly dressed people, into the highly phrased Carlton House. Once inside, they slowly made their way into the assembly room. There Ivy took off her fur coat and looked about her to see where she was supposed to keep it. Max took it from her and handed it to a maid who came pass them. Then he grabbed her arm and led her toward the direction in which everyone else seemed to be going.
“Oh, Ivy,” Christine called, “you’ve made it.”
“Hello, Christine.”
“It’s so crowded, don’t you think. I’ve never been to a ball with this many people before,” the young duchess muttered, “Merrick, where are you?”
“Over here,” Merrick called to his wife who was almost swallowed by the crowd.
Ivy was nearly suffocated as people jostled their way around them. Max tightened his grip around her arm and guided her toward the ball room with Merrick and Christine following behind them. When at last they arrived, they were greeted by Lady Hartland and Lady Mornington.
“Hello, your grace,” Lady Hartland said, “we’ve been looking everywhere for you all. My God, I’ve never seen such overcrowded ball before.” She shook her head.
“Ah, Ivy, do come along. You must be introduced to the Prince Regent, my dear,” Lady Mornington said, taking Ivy’s arm.
“Yes,” Christine said, “but where is he?” She searched around, trying to spot the prince amongst the arrays of colorful guests. The men were handsomely dressed in their finely cut evening attires decorated with their metals of honors, and the women dressed in their most beautiful and expensive ball gown, their headdress, throat, and fingers were glittering with diamond and other gems.
“He was on the other side of the ball room the last time I saw him,” Lady Hartland said. “Oh, excuse us--so hard to get through,” she muttered as she led the way.
“Ah, your grace!”
“Mr. Wilson!” Merrick called, watching an elderly gentleman coming toward them.
“Oh, hello, your grace, and who is this?” The gentleman looked at Ivy.
“My wife,” Max said. “Ivy, this is Mr. Wilson.”
Ivy curtsied.
“Charming, just charming, a diamond of the first water indeed,” Mr. Wilson said. “Sorry we missed your wedding.”
“Yes, just returned from Scotland, you know,” a woman said from behind Mr. Wilson. “I insisted on accompanying dear Jamie and her husband to visit the relatives. Didn’t know we would be returning to the season rather late,” she muttered. “Didn’t want to miss out on all the balls and dinner parties, you know.” She smiled at Christine who nodded in returned. “Fortunately we’re on time for this one.”
“Did you like Edinburgh, Mrs. Wilson?” Christine asked.
“Nay--and those Scots thinks Edinburgh is the second London,” the woman snorted, her thickly made up face scrunched in disgusted. “Ah hello, your grace,” she nodded toward Maximilian, and her face expressed delight when she saw Ivy. “And who is this?”
“Her grace, the Duchess of Lynwood,” Mr. Wilson said.
“Oh, dear me, hello, your grace.” She curtsied low. “Such a lovely creature you are,” she said and laughed. “Ah, Lady Hart and Lady Mornington, how are both of you?”
“Good, thank you,” Lady Hart said. “Have you seen the Prince?”
“Yes, on the other side of the ball room, with his dear sister-in-law, the Duchess of York, and,” she lowered her voice, “the exiled King Louise the XVII. But it’s funny that I didn’t see the Queen and Princess Caroline here.”
“Why on earth would they be here?” Lady Mornington said, fluttering her fan about her face because it was getting rather stuffy. “The Queen herself, and the other princesses, does not approve of this ball, as we all know, and they refused to attend. Princess Caroline, on the other hand, is different. The Prince refused to allow her to attend the ball. They are not on the best of term, you know.”
Ivy listened to this rather sadly. She wondered if her husband would in time come to hate her so much that he, too, would imprisoned her and prevented her to come into contact with his world as the Regent had apparently done to his wife.
“Oh, there’s Lady Jersey over there,” Mrs. Wilson waved across the room. She turned back to the group and said, “Why don’t you all go and see the Regent before he is swallowed by a thousand other guests.”
The hum of people talking, shouting, and music playing screamed in Ivy’s ear as they made their way toward the Prince Regent. She felt dizzy and forced herself to stay focus as they pushed their ways through the throng of people.
“There he is,” Lady Mornington said as they came out into the clearing, “with the Duchess of York and King Louis.” She walked to the Prince Regent and curtsied low, almost to her knees. “Your highness.”
Prince George, dressed in his scarlet uniform, turned. “Ah, Lady Mornington,” he said in delight, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “How do you like Carlton House?”
“It is indeed very beautiful, your highness,” Lady Mornington complimented.
He nodded at her phrase and turned his attention to the Merrick and Max. “Huntingdon, Lynwood,” he said, “What do you think of my ball? Just finished renovating, you know, top to bottom.”
“Very grand indeed,” Merrick said, nodding his head.
“Yes, yes, very grand,” the Prince said, his boyish face showed delight as he turned his attention to Christine. “My dear.”
<
br /> “How are you, your highness,” Christine said and curtsied.
“I am well, my dear,” he said and brought her hand to his lips. He eyes assessed her from head to toe as he did so. Then his gaze rested on her breasts. Merrick touched his wife’s arm and moved her to his side, away from the Prince’s preying eye. He glared at the sensitive Prince who mumbled something to himself and turned his attention to Ivy instead. Christine smiled at her husband’s show of jealously.
The Prince widened his eyes once he had had a good look at Ivy. My God, this was an angel indeed. He bowed to her and said, “May I be oblige to be acquainted with such a lovely creature.”
Max cleared his throat and said, “May I introduce my wife, your highness, Ivy Lynwood.”
Prince George straightened himself and looked at Max. He saw the sharp blue eyes glaring at him, and his inside shuddered. “You have snatched her, Lynwood, before any of us has the chance to court her,” he said.
Max narrowed his eyes dangerously at the Prince.
Merrick coughed and said, “Ah, I’ve heard that there are many rooms here set up for supper.”
The Prince gladly turned his attention to Merrick from the tension between him and Max and said, “Yes, many, many rooms indeed, Huntingdon, for supper and all in different designs. Yes, you all must dine with me privately in the conservatory for you all are my most important guests.”
“That would be marvelous, your highness,” Lady Mornington said for to be invited to dine with the Prince himself was prestige indeed.
Ivy found that she was getting dizzier as the hour wore on, and she decided to go outside to get some fresh.
“Ah, your grace,” a woman stopped her as she was about to approached the door. “I am sorry to have intercept you in such a way...I am Lady Jersey, your grace.”
“Yes, hello,” Ivy replied, remembering that she was one of the patrons of Almack’s. “It’s getting rather hot and stuffy in here. I thought that a bit of fresh air would do me good.”
“Why, yes of course,” the woman said, nodding her head. “I was just curious, you know, but you look rather a lot like a friend I know. Now what was her name?” She frowned as she pretended to be in thought. “Ah yes, Grace, Lady Grace Westwood.”