by Darcy Burke
She laid her palm against the front of his coat. The touch jolted through him like electricity. He’d barely kept his lust in check yesterday on their walk, and trying not to think of her since then had been simple, but effective torture. “You’re a good man,” she said softly.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking right now.”
“I think I would.” She pulled her hand from his chest, and he fought the urge to snatch it with his and press his lips to her wrist.
He made himself take a step away from her. He couldn’t walk away from her without at least trying…
Turning, he pinned her with a seductive stare. “If you were inclined to, say, visit the library tonight—late—my chamber is in the southeast corner of the house. There is a vase of yellow roses outside the door on a table. And if I don’t see you before I leave, please know that meeting you has been a privilege. Good evening, Miss Breckenridge.”
He spun around and strode from the room before he did the unthinkable and took her into his arms. He hoped she’d find his room later, but he feared he knew the truth.
She’d never surrender.
Chapter Eleven
After West left the library, Ivy tried to read her book. Where she’d had meager success before his arrival, she now suffered complete failure. She read a passage and realized she hadn’t comprehended a word. Now, after not even turning a page for probably a quarter hour, she gave up entirely and tossed the book down on the nearest table.
She heard his voice in her head, dark and seductive, repeating, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking right now.”
Every muscle in her body had tensed with anticipation. Even though he’d gone, she still couldn’t fully relax. It was as if she were on the edge of a cliff staring out into a beautiful crystal pool. It called her name, coaxing her to jump. It would be terrifying but exciting at the same time. And she knew—just knew—she wouldn’t regret it.
Not like she regretted her past indiscretions.
This was different. West wasn’t promising her a future he had no plans on delivering. He was offering her the present. And wouldn’t she be a fool to deny herself?
Aside from hearing his voice, she could see his penetrating stare, feel the beat of his heart when she’d touched his chest, smell that tantalizing masculine scent that made her senses come alive with want.
Oh yes, she wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted Peter. She nearly laughed at comparing herself now to the girl she’d been ten years ago. She’d been silly and naïve, and she’d paid the ultimate price.
Stifling a groan, she stood and went into the hall, where the air was filled with raucous laughter and urgent whispers. Ivy knew they were discussing Emmaline and her folly. How she wished her friend hadn’t walked headlong into scandal.
Still, a part of her knew how hard it was to be rational when in the throes of love. Emmaline was older and at least a bit wiser than Ivy had been, but she’d fallen prey anyway.
And now West meant to go after her. He would charge in and save the day, like some knight of old. The seventeen-year-old girl buried inside Ivy wished she’d had a knight. But then she’d be married to Peter, and she’d matured enough to know that she would’ve been miserable. He was a lying, dishonorable jackanapes. She briefly wondered if he had married and promptly felt sorry for his wife.
Lady Dunn gestured for her, and Ivy made her way to the table. “I’m a bit sleepy this evening. I’d like to go up.”
“Of course.” Ivy helped her from the chair as the viscountess grabbed her cane, which was leaning against the table.
“I’ll go up too. I don’t wish to tax myself,” Mrs. Marsh said. She was maybe five years Lady Dunn’s junior, and they’d been friends for years. She’d been feeling a bit unwell the past few days, but today seemed to have regained her stamina.
The two ladies walked from the hall and started up the stairs with Ivy following. When they reached the top, Lady Dunn clucked her tongue. “I just couldn’t stand any more discussion of Miss Forth-Hodges. My goodness, you’d think she was the first young lady to run off to Gretna Green with a gentleman!”
Mrs. Marsh nodded. “Indeed. Yes, it’s scandalous, but if they end up married, it certainly won’t be the end of the world. And she’ll be a viscountess.”
“Precisely. I only hope Townsend is a gentleman and isn’t taking advantage of the poor girl’s heart.”
Ivy wanted to tell them what West planned, but couldn’t. To do so would reveal that they’d spoken, and she didn’t want to draw attention to that. She suddenly realized that had likely been their last encounter. She would have no occasion to see him again, unless he sought her out at some event in London next spring. He’d undoubtedly be engaged with his next paramour by then.
Ivy’s chest clenched, and she was surprised to feel a sob gathering. Mentally chastising herself, she kept her gaze pinned straight ahead and nearly ran right into Lady Dunn.
Belatedly, Ivy realized they’d stopped to part ways with Mrs. Marsh.
“Good night, then,” Mrs. Marsh said with a smile.
“Good night.” Lady Dunn led Ivy toward their room, and soon they were ensconced inside.
As Barkley helped Lady Dunn prepare for bed, Ivy went into the dressing room where her cot was located. She removed her stockings and her gown—none of her clothing required the assistance of a maid—and went to put it away. She moved slowly, her mind focused on her conversation with West.
“If you were inclined to, say, visit the library tonight—late—my chamber is in the southeast corner of the house.”
It wasn’t yet late. What was the definition of late in this instance? She heard Barkley leave and pulled on one of her morning gowns. Loose and comfortable, it was her favorite piece of clothing. She tied up the front of the gown and traipsed back into the bedchamber to say good night to the viscountess.
Lady Dunn patted the side of her bed. “Come and sit for a minute, dear.”
Ivy obliged, perching on the edge of the mattress.
Lady Dunn smiled, the creases around her eyes deepening. “I was very proud of you today at the workhouse. If I could, I would write to your parents and tell them what a lovely daughter they have.”
She couldn’t, however, because Ivy had told her they were dead. That was much simpler than the truth, and anyway, she couldn’t think of two people who would be less interested in what Ivy did. And pride? Ivy doubted they’d ever felt that for her. They’d saved all that for their two sons. Sometimes Ivy thought of her younger sister Fanny. She’d been just nine when their parents had insisted Ivy leave, and she hadn’t understood why Ivy had left. In fact, Ivy doubted Fanny even knew that their parents had made her do so. If so, Fanny likely would have run away with her. Not that she hadn’t tried.
Ivy pushed through the tight burning in her throat and managed to say, “You’re too kind.”
Lady Dunn waved her hand. “Bah. You’re too modest. You’re an exceptional young woman. I wish your lot had been different.” She adjusted her cap on her forehead, pushing it up a tad. “I wanted to ask you—and I know you’re very private, but I hope we’re forming a relationship that perhaps transcends employer and employee—is there a chance your expertise with how workhouses function comes from personal experience?”
Ivy’s body went rigid. Her mind froze. What could she possibly say to that? The truth. Or at least a portion of it. “Yes, because I’ve been associated with them for many years.” A decade, to be exact.
Lady Dunn rested her palm atop Ivy’s knuckles. Her flesh was warm and soft and reminded Ivy vaguely of the grandmother she’d known as a child. “I understand. Whatever your past, I’m quite pleased to have you as my companion. Now, I must off to sleep.” She yawned and lifted her hand from Ivy’s to cover her mouth. “I imagine you’ll be up reading for a while.”
“Yes.” She realized she’d left her book on the table in the library. “I left my book downstairs. I think I’ll go d
own and get it in a bit—after the hall empties out.”
Lady Dunn’s gaze dipped over Ivy’s morning gown. “Yes, although you could go down like that, I think.”
Ivy stood. “Good night.”
“Good night, dear.” Lady Dunn snuggled down into the bed and turned over onto her side.
Ivy extinguished the lamp and went back to the dressing chamber. She did have something to read while she waited—the book West had given her. She’d read it probably half a dozen times already. Even so, she found herself engrossed once more, and when she was finished, realized it was likely late enough to venture downstairs.
Taking her candlestick, she crept back into the main bedchamber to the sound of Lady Dunn’s soft snores. She went into the sitting room and gently closed the door behind her.
As she made her way to the stairs, she listened intently for any sounds coming from the hall or, indeed, from anywhere. Hearing nothing, she hesitated. Should she continue downstairs, or did she dare find her way to West’s bedchamber?
Before she could think better of it, her feet moved toward the southeast corner of the house. Her eye fell on the vase of yellow roses, and she hesitated.
But then she heard something and practically ran to the door. She didn’t even bother to knock, just turned the latch and pushed her way inside.
She closed the door and leaned back against the wood, clutching the candlestick in her left hand.
West came from a doorway at the back of the chamber, likely his dressing room. She suddenly realized his valet could be present.
But she didn’t turn to leave. What if the noise she’d heard was someone who would see her leaving the duke’s room? She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door.
“Miss Breckenridge?” His deep voice came from right in front of her.
Her eyes flew open. “Yes.”
“I was hoping you would come.”
She looked past him. “Are we alone?”
“Quite.”
He touched the candlestick. “May I take this?”
She stared at the flame, momentarily flustered. “Yes. Thank you.” She relinquished her light to him, and he carried it to the table where he set it down.
She watched him move, slow and stealthy, like a cat prowling for its prey. She felt like a bird trapped on the ground, scared and unable to fly.
But she didn’t really want to fly, did she? She’d come here quite specifically.
He turned and came back to her, his movements measured, almost spellbinding. “I trust no one saw you.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Her body pulsed with anticipation. With need. Her mind was empty of thought beyond how much she wanted him.
He still wore his pantaloons, but she noticed his feet were bare. She didn’t look too long on them, not when there was a patch of flesh visible at the base of his throat where his shirt lay open. The white linen was pulled free of his waistband, the fabric billowing about his hips.
She should be scandalized by his state of undress, but she was enthralled. And she wanted to see more. He’d said he wanted to change her life, but he already had.
She’d felt ashamed for so long and probably always would. But right now—tonight—she would feel nothing but what he gave her. Excitement. Anticipation. Pleasure.
So much pleasure.
To allow herself to let go of the past, even for this brief time, was a gift. And she meant to seize it with both hands.
Spurred to action, she reached out and touched his chest, her fingertips grazing that bare exposure of skin. He was warm, and she could feel his heart beating.
He put his palm over the back of her hand but kept his gaze locked with hers. “You were brave to come here.”
“I couldn’t stay away. I want… I want what you said yesterday. Nothing more.” She wasn’t foolish enough to have intercourse with him. Not after the last time.
Although she could see how easy it would be. She wanted him so very badly. Heat blossomed through her, and she knew she was wet between her legs. All she had to do was look at him. His dark hair framing his chiseled features, his piercing eyes looking at her as if she were the most important thing in the world, his mouth curving into just the slightest, provocative smile.
“Then you shall have it,” he whispered. And then he did precisely what he’d said the day before.
He stroked his hand along her brow, his fingertips gliding over her skin, stealing her breath. His thumb found her lips, tracing over them with soft precision. “You feel exactly as I dreamed.”
“You dreamed of me?”
“Does that surprise you?” He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip, and her limbs began to feel weak.
“Yes,” she breathed, barely able to stand the anticipation. She darted her tongue out and licked the pad of his thumb.
His nostrils flared. “I still don’t know your name. I should very much like to say it over and over again tonight as I bring you to orgasm.”
His words enflamed her, and she surrendered. “Ivy.”
“Not Mary, then.”
She shook her head and kept the past at bay. Not tonight. Tonight was for her.
“Ivy.” He slipped his free arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Ivy.” He pulled a lock of her hair free from its pins and gently tugged. “Ivy.”
He cupped her face and kissed her. The touch of his lips was sheer bliss. He did exactly as he’d described, his mouth courting hers with gentle sweeps and brushes. She clutched at his shoulders, her breasts pressed against his chest. She waited, desperate, for his tongue to graze her bottom lip.
And then it came, a tantalizing wetness that made her entire body quiver. She moaned with need, opening her mouth. He angled his head and slid his tongue inside, finding hers. This was nothing like she’d expected. Nothing like she’d known. She wanted to weep.
But she didn’t. She kissed him back, meeting his strokes with her own. He slipped one hand to the back of her head and brought the other down her front, grazing against her breast on his way to her waist. He clutched her tightly, pulling her flush to his body once more and wrapping his arm around her back.
She pressed into him, eager to feel every part of him. Her body wanted that contact, needed it.
He kissed her long and deep, then slow and shallow. Her knees turned to jelly, and she realized she was holding him tight to keep from collapsing. But then the door wasn’t far behind her either.
As if he sensed her weakness, he suddenly swept her into his arms, effectively ending their kisses. She gasped. “West.”
His mouth curved into a wicked grin. “How I love hearing that from your lips.” He bore her to the bed, where he set her on the coverlet. “Do you remember what I said I would do to you next?”
“I think it had something to do with,” she glanced down at her chest, “these.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “May I?” He reached for her bodice.
She nodded as she fished out the ties for her neckline. She plucked the knot free before he took them from her and loosened the top of the gown. She helped him with the other fastenings, and the front dropped open.
“My favorite kind of gown,” he murmured as he pushed it from her shoulders so it pooled at her waist.
“I imagine you’ve seen all sorts.”
He looked into her eyes. “Yes. But we aren’t going to discuss that. I only want to be here with you. Now.” He brushed his hand along her breast, and she nearly wilted with want. “Turn.”
She kicked off her slippers before twisting at her waist, presenting her back. He made quick, effortless work of loosening her corset and was soon pulling it over her head.
Garbed in only her shift, she turned back toward him. His gaze raked over her, lingering on her breasts. “You dazzle me.”
She shivered and resisted the urge to cover herself. She’d wanted to be naked against him. Would he want that too? Especially since she wouldn’t allow him to put himself inside her?
She fingered the edge of his collar. “I want to see you too.”
He grasped the hem of his shirt and whisked it over his head. “Better?”
She feasted on the expanse of his chest. He was all muscle, with a modicum of dark hair between his nipples. Glancing at his eyes and seeing encouragement, she laid her palm against his flesh. He was hard and hot.
Eager to touch him, she moved to her knees and felt her dress drop past her hips. She put her other hand on him and massaged his smooth skin. Her fingertips trailed over his nipples, and she felt them harden. Her own stiffened in response.
He sucked in a breath. “Ivy.”
Emboldened, she ran her hands all over him, from chest to waist and back up to his collarbones.
He clasped her waist and kissed her, his mouth hot and hungry. She twined her hands around his neck and pressed her breasts against him. With the corset gone, she could feel his heat, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted the shift gone too.
His hands gripped her hips, and he guided them to his. She felt the rigid length of him and moaned into his mouth. Perhaps she should change her mind about intercourse…
No. A small, rational piece of her brain screamed for her to listen to reason.
Oh, but she’d much rather surrender to passion.
She felt him tug the back of her shift up from her gown. Cool air met her back, and then his warm hand was pressed against her backside. He held her to him as he rotated his hips. His sex moved against hers, and despite the clothing separating them, she felt the connection to her core.
Parting her legs, she ground her hips against his. He pulled the shift up and broke away from her mouth. He tossed the garment away and looked at her, his gaze devouring her for a long moment.
He reached up into her hair and plucked the pins loose, dropping them on a table beside the bed. Curl by curl, the mass fell down over her back. When it was free, he thrust his fingers into the waves and dragged it over her shoulders. He kissed her again, his lips and tongue coaxing her into an even greater fervor. Her breasts ached, and her sex pulsed.