by Darcy Burke
West followed her, keeping close. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes. I just wanted to rest a moment.”
“Should I continue?” he asked.
No. She nodded again, unable to deny herself this exquisite torture.
“I’d find the hem of your skirt, and I’d lift it up over your ankle. I’d clasp your leg, wrapping my fingers around your calf. Then I’d slowly slide my hand up, skimming past your knee and laying the palm of my hand against your thigh. You’d part your legs for me, and I’d find your center, that warm, soft place guarded by silken curls.” His voice was low and dark, completely captivating. “Tell me, are they the same color as your hair or are they perhaps more red? I imagine them as more red—like a smoldering fire.”
Oh God. “Red. Yes.” She sounded winded, as if she’d run up the damn hill.
He’d moved closer so that she could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “You’d open even further for me, anticipating my touch. Your body would quiver with need. I’d stroke you very gently, my fingers grazing your flesh. You’d moan, I think.”
She nearly moaned now. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing except him doing these things in her mind’s eye.
“You’d grow wet with desire, and I would feel the moisture on my fingertips. Using my thumb, I’d find that tiny spot near the top of your sex. Did you know that spot is where pleasure lives for a woman? If you stroke that spot in just the right way, you’ll achieve release without any penetration whatsoever. You could even do that for yourself.”
Her legs felt like pudding. She used the tree to support herself lest she fall into a puddle at his feet. “I’ve, er, I’ve tried that. I must not know how.”
“I could show you.”
Yes, yes, yes, please.
His voice lowered to its deepest, most seductive tone yet. “But, if you’d allow me, I’d also like to put my finger—or fingers—inside you. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Yes, I think so. For I find myself dreaming of putting my mouth on you as well and using my tongue—”
“Stop.” She sucked in a breath, her heart racing. “Please stop.” She couldn’t stand another moment. She was very close to pulling him against her and demanding that he do all those things to her right this very instant.
He moved a bit away from her, and she was immensely grateful. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“No. You didn’t. I’m just…” What, exactly, was she? Excited. Overwhelmed. Reckless. Maybe not the last. At least not yet. She pushed away from the tree. “We should get back.” She started toward the path, expecting him to try to stop her.
When he didn’t, she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed.
They descended to the base of the path in charged silence. Ivy was as aware of his presence as if they were touching. Every breath he took sounded like a moan, and every glance he sent felt like a caress.
When the ground evened out, he paused. “You go on ahead to the house. I need to fetch my horse.”
“Thank you for the walk.” She managed to find his gaze, and the heat of his stare burrowed into her still-aroused body.
“I look forward to doing it again.”
She didn’t know if she could commit to that. She also didn’t know that she could say she wouldn’t. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“I’m sure,” he murmured.
She turned and forced herself to walk to the house. Her gait was long and fast. With each step, she wondered if she’d let her one chance to be with the Duke of Desire slip through her fingers.
Chapter Nine
It was nothing short of a miracle when the sun burst through the clouds as the ladies of the house party, and a handful of gentlemen, drove into the village of Wendover. As the footman opened the door to the coach, Ivy looked up at the sky and smiled. She’d been in a rather good mood since spending the prior afternoon with West. She was still harboring a bit of regret over not seeing her desires through, but she was also very glad she’d gone.
And now today was the event she’d been most looking forward to—the excursion to the workhouse. Like many towns, Wendover had a small workhouse that supported the local poor. Lady Wendover was the patron, and Ivy was keen to hear how it operated.
Emmaline and Mrs. Forth-Hodges came toward Ivy and Lady Dunn. Emmaline’s gaze was downcast, her frame droopy. She hadn’t come down for dinner last night, and Ivy could only surmise that she was sad about what had happened with Townsend. Ivy wondered if she could find a way to bring her friend a bit of cheer.
“Good afternoon,” Mrs. Forth-Hodges said brightly. She looked stiff, her smile a bit forced.
“Afternoon,” Lady Dunn said. “Capital day. I’m so pleased. Miss Breckenridge and I have been looking forward to this trip.”
“Is that right?” Mrs. Forth-Hodges asked politely.
Lady Dunn nodded. “My companion has quite the charitable nature. She helps at the Foundling Hospital in London and does whatever she can to provide assistance to the less fortunate.”
Emmaline met Ivy’s gaze. “I should like to do that.”
“We do, dear,” Mrs. Forth-Hodges said.
“Do you actually go to the hospital?” Emmaline asked Ivy.
“Yes. And a few of the workhouses. The women there are most disadvantaged.”
“And what can you possibly do to help them?” Mrs. Forth-Hodges asked. She seemed both aghast and genuinely interested.
Ivy was more than happy to inform her. The more people understood the plight of those they didn’t understand, the more compassion they might have. And more compassion meant they might help to improve the circumstances of those who were struggling. “I teach them to read,” Ivy said. “And to do figures. I’ve seen some of them gain employment and be able to leave the workhouse.”
Lady Dunn patted Ivy’s arm. “I’ve just begun to learn more about this since Miss Breckenridge came to work for me. I’ve been quite pleased to be educated and to support her endeavors. I make sure she has time every week to dedicate to her passion.” The viscountess smiled at Ivy, and for the first time in years, Ivy felt a knot in her throat. She wasn’t used to people speaking of her in this fashion. In fact, she had absolutely no experience with it.
Lady Dunn turned her attention back to Mrs. Forth-Hodges. “It’s very difficult, what Ivy does. There’s such a stigma surrounding these poor souls. You have to find the right person willing to employ them.”
Mrs. Forth-Hodges looked at Ivy with something akin to admiration. A distinct sense of discomfort swept through Ivy’s frame. She turned to Emmaline. “If you’d like to come with me some time, I’m sure we can arrange it.”
“Is it safe?” Mrs. Forth-Hodges asked.
“Goodness, yes,” Lady Dunn said. “For those that are in a questionable neighborhood, I send a footman with her, and you can do the same.”
Yes, the viscountess had insisted on having a footman accompany Ivy the very first time she’d asked for permission to go to a workhouse. It had been shocking—both Lady Dunn’s support and that she cared so much about Ivy’s safety. Ivy had said a footman wasn’t necessary, and they’d compromised by having her take one when she visited certain areas, which made sense. “Lady Dunn has even come with me a time or two,” Ivy said.
Lady Dunn chuckled. “Yes, but I daresay I won’t make a habit of it. That endeavor is for the young.” She lifted her cane.
Lady Wendover waved over at them and turned toward the entry to the workhouse.
“It looks like we’re going inside,” Ivy said.
Emmaline sidled up beside her and linked her arm through Ivy’s.
“Go on, girls,” Lady Dunn said, waving them ahead. “I’m not as spry as you.” She turned to Mrs. Forth-Hodges with an expectant smile. “You can tell me all about the charitable endeavors you’ve participated in.”
Emmaline dragged Ivy forward. “That will be a short conversation,” she said softly as they made their way toward the workhouse. “
Mama likes to exaggerate sometimes. Often, actually.”
“How are you doing?” Ivy asked now that they were alone. “You seem sad.”
“I am. And angry. And disappointed.” She exhaled. “But what can I do except hold firm and wait for my parents to approve Townsend? He refuses to give up.”
Ivy hoped he meant it. “But he left?”
“He thought it was best. He gave me a letter explaining things and also wrote to my father. Father seemed impressed with whatever he said.” She gave Ivy a frustrated glance. “Not that he changed his mind.”
They moved into the dim interior of the workhouse. Lady Wendover stood off to the side and beckoned everyone to join her. Emmaline let go of Ivy’s arm as they walked forward. Ivy took a position near the countess, eager to hear about her endeavors. She waited patiently as people continued to file into the space.
She momentarily froze as West came inside. He seemed somehow larger than everyone and, idiotically, it suddenly felt as though they were the only two people there. Heat rushed over her, and she averted her gaze. But then he came and stood right beside her. She couldn’t move away without drawing attention to herself, which she didn’t want to do.
Which meant she was trapped. Next to him.
She did her best to ignore his presence.
West was one of about five gentlemen who’d come into town, but he noticed that he and the young Matthew Travill were the only ones who’d come into the workhouse. The others had gone to the pub down the street. Axbridge had remained at Greensward and had mocked West for going, which West had taken good-naturedly. He wasn’t about to tell the marquess the real reason he’d come, which was simply to be closer to Miss Breckenridge.
Damn, he still didn’t know her name. Although her reaction to Mary had been interesting. He supposed she could’ve just tripped, but there’d been a look in her eye that told him it had been more than that. He wondered if Mary really was her name, and she just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Lady Wendover began speaking about the workhouse and introduced the man who supervised the operation, who had been an inmate years ago. A tall but slight man with a bright thatch of blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, he spoke at length about the number of people they served as well as the assistance they offered. People were encouraged to donate funds, either here or at a workhouse in their district.
Miss Breckenridge raised her hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Lunden. What sort of education do you provide?”
He nodded vigorously. “An excellent question. We typically employ a schoolmistress, but our last one left to accept another post. We are in search of a replacement.”
Miss Breckenridge gave a slight nod. “I may know of someone who would be interested. I shall have her inquire.”
Lady Wendover looked at Miss Breckenridge with thinly veiled impatience. West recognized superiority when he saw it. “Shall we start the tour?” the countess asked.
Intending to walk with Miss Breckenridge, he had to settle for following behind her when she joined Mr. Lunden. They immediately launched into a discussion of the daily routine at the workhouse.
“How many of the inmates are on staff here?” she asked, tipping her head toward him as they walked into the main work hall.
“Just a handful, since we’re so small,” Lunden replied. “We have two housekeepers, a nurse, and an older girl who helps in the kitchen, and an older boy who is learning to be a clerk.”
Miss Breckenridge revealed one of her rare smiles. It was warm and made her entire face glow. West was absolutely captivated. “How wonderful,” she said.
“It would be more wonderful if we could find another schoolmistress posthaste. Do you really know someone?”
“Yes. I often visit a workhouse in London where I teach the illiterate women to read. There’s a young woman there who is quite intelligent and has been helping the schoolmistress. She’s more than ready to go out on her own.”
Lunden beamed, his eyes crinkling with appreciation. “Splendid. It’s always so rewarding to see an inmate achieve success. I’d be delighted to conduct an interview.”
“I’ll just need to arrange transportation,” Miss Breckenridge said. “That may take me a little bit as we won’t be returning to London until later in the fall. I will make some inquiries.”
West couldn’t help offering assistance. Her passion for this cause was contagious. “If you would permit me, I’ll have my secretary arrange for her transportation as soon as possible. I’ll dispatch a letter as soon as we return to Greensward.”
Both Miss Breckenridge and Lunden paused, their heads swiveling toward West in unison. “That would be most kind of you,” Lunden said.
“Indeed,” Miss Breckenridge murmured. She didn’t quite meet his eyes. He wondered why.
They continued touring the workhouse, and throughout, she asked thoughtful questions and displayed a thorough knowledge. She clearly had extensive experience with workhouses, and West couldn’t wait to ask her about it. She was full of intriguing surprises.
At the conclusion of the tour, Miss Breckenridge turned to Lunden and thanked him for his time. She made her way directly to Lady Dunn, where they conversed for a few moments. Lady Dunn nodded enthusiastically at something, and then Miss Breckenridge retraced her steps to Lunden.
West had just finished giving him the name of his secretary. “Expect a letter from him detailing the transport of the potential schoolmistress.”
Lunden inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Miss Breckenridge glanced at West but focused her attention on the supervisor. “Mr. Lunden, I’ve arranged to come here every day for the remainder of the house party—it’s just a week, I’m afraid—to help with schooling.”
That was what she’d been speaking to her employer about.
Lunden’s eyes lit, and he smiled with gratitude. “That would be most considerate—and helpful.”
“Excellent, I shall see you tomorrow morning at ten.” She knew what time to come from their prior discussion of the daily routine.
West watched her with admiration as she bid Lunden good day. West did the same and followed her out of the workhouse into the overcast day. So much for the sun that had shown itself earlier.
Some of the group moved up the street to the public house, where they were meant to have luncheon, while others returned to Greensward. As soon as Miss Breckenridge and Lady Dunn headed for the pub, West joined the group. He made his way alongside Miss Breckenridge.
“Your knowledge of workhouses is impressive, but your concern for the welfare of the inmates is even more so,” he said.
She glanced in his direction very briefly. “Thank you.”
“She’s very modest,” Lady Dunn said. “Or so it seems.” She chuckled. “She made it a condition of employment that I allow her certain times to conduct her charitable activities. How can one say no to such a requirement?”
“Indeed.” West was fairly certain he couldn’t say no to anything Miss Breckenridge requested. He only hoped she would ask him to do something. Anything.
Lady Dunn looked at her charge. “For a moment there, I worried you were going to offer your services to Mr. Lunden.”
Miss Breckenridge gently touched Lady Dunn’s arm. “And leave my post with you? I wouldn’t do that.”
West noted the brief gesture. It seemed…odd. He realized Miss Breckenridge generally displayed a cool and aloof manner. He’d seen bits of warmth and charm—enough to thoroughly entice him. And it was precisely because these episodes were infrequent that he longed to know her better. He could see that she possessed a fondness for her employer, which only added to her character.
Once they reached the pub, West was swept away by the other gentlemen into a private dining room. He would’ve preferred to remain with Miss Breckenridge and Lady Dunn, but couldn’t do so without making a spectacle.
West and the young Matthew Travill joined Lords Wendover, Kirkland, and Greaves.
“It looks as though yo
u’ve an eye on Kirkland’s gel,” Greaves said to Travill, making the younger man blush.
“She’s a charming young lady,” Travill said.
West had noted they seemed to share a mutual interest, but leave it to someone like Greaves to embarrass the lad. “Surely we’ve more entertaining topics—let’s leave the matchmaking to the women, shall we?” He gave Greaves a tolerant stare before turning to Wendover. “Remind me of tomorrow’s activities?”
“I thought to have another round of pheasant hunting.” He looked over at Matthew. “You’re quite the shot, young man.”
Another flush of pink brightened the man’s cheeks, but there was pride in his gaze. “Thank you, my lord.”
The conversation turned to hunting, and West sipped his ale. After a few minutes, Greaves, who was next to him, leaned close. “I’ve a wager going with Chalmers as to your current paramour. My money’s on Lady Jessup, since her husband isn’t in attendance.”
“Are you saying that none of the other women whose husbands are in attendance are engaging in liaisons during the party?” West teased. If only Greaves knew that his wife was carrying on with Axbridge. But West wouldn’t tell him.
“I’m not saying that at all, of course.” He cast a speaking glance toward Wendover, who was undoubtedly entertaining Lady Pelham. And it seemed likely that Lady Wendover was busy with Lord Kirkland.
West darted a look toward Kirkland, and Greaves nodded knowingly as he lifted his ale in salute. After he put his mug back down on the table, he turned his body toward West. “So, Lady Jessup? I’d like to collect from Chalmers tonight.”
West offered a bland smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“Damn me.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and sent a brief glance at Matthew. “Tell me it isn’t Mrs. Travill. That’s Chalmers’s pick.” He looked pained, and West wondered at the size of their wager.
“Rest easy. It’s no one.”
Greaves blinked. “No one? How can that be?”
West shrugged. “I am not always engaged. Would you begrudge a man a respite?”