by Darcy Burke
“Ooh!” The chorus of exclamations surrounded her, and she transferred her gaze to the shuttlecock court that had been set up on the lawn.
“The match goes to Axbridge!” Lord Wendover announced to much applause. Axbridge’s opponent, the elder Mr. Travill, shook his hand good-naturedly, and the two men departed the court.
“And now we’ll take a short break for refreshments.” Lord Wendover gestured to the footmen who were now distributing baskets of food and drink to the blankets that had been set out and on which the spectators sat.
“Oh good, I’m quite hungry,” Emmaline, who sat beside Ivy, said.
Ivy closed the slim book she’d been reading and set it on the blanket beside her. “It appears Townsend is headed this way.”
Emmaline blushed and looked expectantly in his direction. It was evident to anyone with rudimentary skills of observation that she and the viscount were enamored of each other. While Ivy couldn’t support marriage, she was always glad when someone found happiness.
He bowed when he arrived, first toward Emmaline and then toward Ivy. “Might I sit with you?”
“Of course,” Emmaline said, smiling. “Please join me and Miss Breckenridge.”
He sat down, and Ivy wondered how she could politely excuse herself so that they could be alone. Well, alone amidst a few dozen people.
Lady Dunn was seated on the next blanket with her friend Mrs. Marsh. Ivy should check on her.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Ivy said. “I need to visit with Lady Dunn.” She stood and carefully made her way to Lady Dunn. “Can I get you anything, my lady?”
“You’re such a dear,” Lady Dunn chirped up at her. “In fact, I would like a bit of my tonic. Would you run up to the room and fetch it for me?”
“Of course.” Ivy turned and made her way to the house. Lady Dunn sometimes took a tonic for headaches or other soreness, and Ivy knew just where to find it.
Once she’d obtained the bottle, she started back toward the stairs. As she emerged from the sitting room, she encountered Clare. She’d noticed he wasn’t at the shuttlecock tournament.
Noticed? That made it seem as if it had been a nonchalant observance. She’d looked for him immediately, and upon finding him absent, kept glancing toward the house in the hope that he would come out. Yesterday’s blind man’s buff had left an indelible impression on her. The way he’d looked at her had shaken her to the core.
“Miss Breckenridge.” His deep voice caressed her with warmth and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Your Grace. I thought you’d planned to participate in the shuttlecock tournament.”
“I do. I’m on my way there now. Have you been watching?”
She nodded. “Axbridge beat Mr. Travill in the last match.”
“The father or the son?”
“The father. I believe Townsend is up next. I forget who he’s playing.”
Clare smiled. “Ah, then I am on time. I am playing after that.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we?”
Despite yesterday’s closeness, or whatever one might call it, he seemed utterly unaffected. He was treating her with the same bland kindness that he had on the walk. Bland? She only thought so because, compared to their initial interactions, it was. And yet she couldn’t describe yesterday’s blind man’s buff as bland. No, that had been exciting. Thrilling. Dangerous.
“Should we arrive downstairs together?” she asked tentatively. “I don’t wish to cause a stir.”
“I see your concern. I’m happy to wait here for a bit.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The pose was so carelessly masculine, so sublimely alluring, that she merely stared at him for a moment. “Unless you want me to go first?”
She shook herself from her idiocy. What was he doing to her? She straightened, pulling her shoulders back as she’d been taught. “I’ll go.” She turned and immediately spun back around. “I nearly forgot.”
He arched a brow, and the expression lent him an air of provocation. No, that wasn’t quite right. He always had an air of provocation; this merely emphasized it. “What’s that?”
“The book you sent.” Last night, she’d arrived in her room to find a slim volume resting on her pillow. It was the poem The Lady of the Lake by Walter Scott, and tucked inside the cover had been another note from Clare. This one had read:
Dear Miss Breckenridge,
I hope you won’t find me too forward, but I know how you enjoy reading, and I wondered if you’d had occasion to enjoy this poem. It is my particular favorite, and I’ve read it dozens, if not hundreds, of times.
Then he’d quoted Goldsmith again:
“The first time I read an excellent book, it is to me just as if I had gained a new friend. When I read a book over I have perused before, it resembles the meeting with an old one.”
Yours,
Clare
“Thank you,” she said quietly, still a bit bewildered at his thoughtfulness. “Is it your copy?”
“Yes.”
She inclined her head. “I’ll return it when I’m finished.”
“Keep it. I have two more.”
“You have three copies?”
He smiled. “I told you it’s my favorite. I keep one in London and one at Stour’s Edge, and the one I gave you is the one I keep with me.”
He traveled with his favorite book. Inside, she swooned. How was it possible that a reprobate like Clare could be charming, considerate, and well-read?
“Are you trying to seduce me?” The question surprised her, but she didn’t regret asking it.
He unfolded his arms and pushed away from the wall. “No. I was. Before.”
She’d known that, but hearing him admit it so plainly sent a shiver along her spine. “Then why send me an apology and a book?”
“Because I like you?” He edged closer to her. “Has no man ever been kind to you, Miss Breckenridge?”
Her breath caught. “Not like this.”
“Then it is my privilege.”
“Stop it,” she said. “Stop being so…” Wonderful? Lovely? Nice? All of those things and more. It was difficult to dislike him. She realized she didn’t, actually. Not that it changed anything. “Never mind. Thank you again for the book. I shall cherish it.”
Cherish? She gritted her teeth.
“Excellent.” He sounded quite matter-of-fact, as if this conversation hadn’t done anything to his insides like it had to hers. “Are you going down now, or shall I?”
She belatedly recalled the bottle of tonic in her hands, and hoped that Lady Dunn wouldn’t be upset at her delay. Of course she wouldn’t. “I’ll go. I need to take this to Lady Dunn.”
She turned and hurried downstairs before she thought of another reason to remain in his presence. Once outside, she went directly to Lady Dunn, who thanked her for the tonic.
Ivy returned to her blanket just as Townsend was standing up.
“Time for me to report to the court,” he said. “Until later, my dear.” He took Emmaline’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back.
Emmaline watched him go, a beatific smile lighting her face. My goodness, she was quite over the moon.
Ivy sat down and picked through the basket for something to eat. She found a meat pie and a wedge of cheese. As she nibbled, she let her gaze drift back toward the house. Clare stepped onto the patio, and she turned her head around quickly lest he see that she’d been watching for him.
Emmaline exhaled. “Isn’t he lovely?” It wasn’t so much a question as a wistful declaration.
“Things seem to be progressing rather quickly between the two of you.” Ivy was careful to keep her tone free of disgust. It was difficult to support what was happening to Emmaline when it so closely mirrored what had happened to Ivy ten years ago. She would be a terrible friend if she didn’t voice her concern. “I do hope you’re being cautious.”
Emmaline’s gaze snapped to hers. “What have you heard?”
&nbs
p; “Nothing.” Save Lady Dunn’s commentary that morning on what a charming couple they made on the dance floor. Ivy took a bite of pie before she gave her own commentary about how Emmaline shouldn’t trust Townsend.
Emmaline’s shoulders relaxed. “I thought you meant—” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She glanced down and plucked a blade of grass from her lap. “I can confide in you, can’t I?”
“Yes.” Ivy wasn’t sure she wanted her to. It was both frustrating and painful to hear of her friends’ romantic successes. Still, she was happy for them. She couldn’t help but think of Lucy and Aquilla, and she truly was overjoyed that they’d both found love. Emmaline seemed to be on the path to the same end.
Emmaline raised her eyes, and her lips curved up. “He kissed me last night. On the terrace.”
“Not on the mouth?”
“Oh!” Emmaline laughed. “Yes, on the mouth. It was divine.” She tipped her head to the side. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Ivy’s insides seemed to freeze. For a moment, she was cast back a decade to that assembly where she’d met him. The mutual attraction had been instant. They’d shared their first kiss that very night outside beyond the hedgerow. She’d thought herself the luckiest girl in the world.
How wrong she’d been.
“No.”
Emmaline’s gaze took on a gleam of pity. “Oh well… It’s quite splendid. You should try it.” Her eyes widened slightly, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Ivy couldn’t help but laugh, which was rather surprising, given their subject matter. “Perhaps, but I am firmly—to borrow our least favorite phrase—on the shelf.”
Emmaline lowered her hand and tipped her head to the side, studying Ivy. “Are you? You seem young—I’ve no idea of your age—and you’re very pretty.”
“I’m merely a paid companion,” Ivy said. She glanced around to verify that no one was listening to them. It seemed they were not. “And I have nothing to recommend me.”
“That’s so unfair,” Emmaline said. “You shouldn’t have to be alone.”
Thankfully, Emmaline turned her attention to the shuttlecock court and sat up straighter. “The match is about to start!”
Ivy stared at the blanket for a moment, her mind arrested on what Emmaline had said. Shaking away a hollow sensation, Ivy took another bite of pie and swept her gaze toward the lawn to watch the match.
Clare was seated close to the edge of the court, next to Axbridge. A stark shaft of loneliness pierced Ivy’s frame. She suddenly felt bereft for the first time in years.
This was ludicrous!
She was a mature woman, and she’d learned how to bury such silliness. There was no place for melancholy in her life. She looked back at Emmaline, who was watching the match with delighted vigor.
Ivy didn’t have time for delight either. Or flirtation. Or desire.
Or joy.
She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Setting the pie down on the blanket, she reached for a cup of ale. “Is this for me?” she asked Emmaline.
Emmaline spared her the tiniest glance. “Oh yes. The footmen brought them around while you were inside.”
Ivy snatched it up and drank half the brew straight down. As she finished the pie, she tried to watch the match but kept finding her gaze drawn to Clare. He wore a hat, but she could see him in profile. He smiled and laughed often. That reminded her of what he’d said to her, that she didn’t smile.
“I’d love to see you smile.”
Heat gathered in her belly and pulsed much lower. Though it had been years, she recognized that sensation.
She might not have time for desire, but here it was nonetheless. For whatever reason, the infamous Duke of Desire had decided to pay her attention. He’d admitted to trying to seduce her. She should despise him.
She’d tried that. But he was too kind and too helpful and too charming.
She should ignore him.
She’d also tried that. But he was too attentive and too gregarious and too…omnipresent.
Shouting from the shuttlecock court drew Ivy’s attention. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but Townsend was rushing toward his opponent, wielding his racquet like a weapon.
Emmaline gasped as she jumped to her feet, her eyes glued to the court.
Ivy stood with her, anxious. She looked back to the ruckus and saw Townsend swing. But his racquet didn’t connect with his opponent. Clare dove on top of him, crushing him to the ground as if he were a rabid dog.
Now it was Ivy’s turn to gasp. She didn’t think anyone noticed since everyone else was either gasping themselves or moving toward the court.
Emmaline pushed her way through the blankets of people to get to the front. Ivy automatically followed her. A row of men in front of them partially blocked their view. Emmaline squeezed her way in and forced an opening.
Clare and Townsend were on their feet now, with Clare holding Townsend back with assistance from Axbridge. Townsend’s opponent, an older but rather agile fellow, glared at him. He held his racquet with both hands in front of him in a defensive posture.
Ivy moved in next to Emmaline. “What happened?”
Emmaline didn’t take her eyes from Townsend. “I’m not sure, but Geoffrey, er, Townsend, felt slighted somehow, I believe. I think Pippin was taunting him.”
Lord Wendover spoke briefly to Pippin before moving to Townsend. He spoke quietly so that no one could possibly hear, though Ivy noted that people were physically straining themselves to do so.
Townsend shook off Clare and Axbridge—who clearly let him, because Ivy was certain he wouldn’t have been able to get away from them otherwise—and waved his racquet at Pippin. “Next time there won’t be a crowd of people here to defend you!”
Clare snatched the racquet from his grip, and Townsend turned a blistering glare on him before stalking toward the house.
It seemed the entire crowd pivoted en masse to watch him ascend the steps to the terrace and disappear into the drawing room.
“I must go after him,” Emmaline said, taking a step.
Ivy touched her arm lightly but firmly. “You can’t. Anyway, he needs to regain his wits.”
Emmaline sent her an indignant stare. “He didn’t lose them.”
“I only meant that he needs to calm down. Surely you can see that.”
Emmaline exhaled, and her frame seemed to wilt. “I just want to make sure he’s all right.”
“You’ll be able to do that. Later. Everyone is watching now. It’s one thing to flirt with him and another to dash after him.”
“Of course you’re right.” She looked after him, and Ivy recognized the longing in her gaze. Oh, Emmaline was beyond smitten.
Mr. and Mrs. Forth-Hodges approached them. “Emmaline, dear. Why don’t you come sit with us?” Mrs. Forth-Hodges asked as her husband glanced worriedly toward the house.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Ivy said, giving Emmaline an encouraging smile. She might not smile often, but a moment like this required it.
Emmaline nodded and was ushered off by her parents.
“I think that will conclude the shuttlecock tournament for today,” Lord Wendover called out. “For those who are interested, we’ll set up some entertainments in the drawing room.”
Ivy was strangely disappointed. She’d been looking forward to watching Clare play. It gave her an excellent reason to stare at him unabashedly for quite some time.
Hiding a scowl, she returned to the blankets and found Lady Dunn.
“My goodness, such excitement!” the viscountess exclaimed. “Did you hear what happened?”
“Not really.”
“Oh, come now, you were with Miss Forth-Hodges. Surely she knows what happened. She was watching the match like a falcon tracks its prey.”
Lady Dunn wanted to hear the gossip of course, and Ivy knew it was her duty to oblige. “It was something to do with Pippin perhaps taunting Townsend. I truly don’t know the particulars.”
Ivy guided Lady Dunn to her feet and assisted her into the house. Once inside, the viscountess said she’d continue upstairs on her own if Ivy wished to visit the library. Feeling vaguely unsettled, Ivy decided a trip to the library would be the perfect antidote.
However, as soon as she arrived, she saw that she was not alone. Lady Pelham was there perusing one of the shelves. They exchanged pleasantries, and Ivy went to the opposite end of the room to look at the spines. She kept glancing over her shoulder and relaxed when Lady Pelham left.
Why was she so tense?
Because she was hoping Clare would show up again.
And why should she want that? He was a threat to her well-ordered life. She should want to stay as far away from him as possible. She plucked a book from the shelf without even reading the title and went to the alcove to wait. When she opened the book, she realized she’d picked up a treatise on cattle.
Laughter bubbled in her chest. She made a small sound. Then her lips curved up. Then the laughter did the unthinkable—it escaped.
“You’re laughing.”
Somehow, she hadn’t heard him come in.
She grinned at him. “Yes.”
His brow furrowed in utter confusion as he walked into the alcove and sat down across from her. “Why?”
“Because I picked up—” She held up the book and read the title page. “A General Treatise on Cattle, Sheep, and Swine.”
“I see. A riveting tale to be sure.”
She laughed even harder.
He settled back in the chair and stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Well, this is quite lovely.”
That sobered her.
She took a deep breath and smoothed her hand over the back of her hair. “I’m glad I could amuse you.”
“I didn’t say I was amused. In fact, I was enchanted. I still am.”
And there he went again, flattering her. Flirting with her. Tempting her. “You really should stop that.”