by Darcy Burke
“Nora overcame it,” Lucy said. Their friend Nora had married a duke—the Forbidden Duke—five years ago. She’d returned to Society after being ruined nine years earlier.
Ivy saw the similarity and yet didn’t think they could quite compare. “Nora was caught kissing some reprobate. My situation is a bit more scandalous.”
“You’ll manage it too,” Lady Dunn said sharply. “Even if your background was without reproach, you’d still be talked about. People will always gossip. Only you can decide what you want, dear. What you’ll endure.”
That was the question. She’d endured a great deal and had hoped all that was behind her.
Lucy touched her arm. “He seems to genuinely care for you. He met with Andrew and Ned yesterday to hatch a plan.” She glanced toward Lady Dunn. “While you were at tea with me tomorrow, he was going to ask Lady Dunn for permission to court you.”
Ivy’s throat tightened with emotion.
“Well, now that’s terribly romantic,” Lady Dunn said, her lips curving up. “And while I can’t condone his behavior tonight, I will privately admit it was romantic too. Bothwick deserved every bit of it.”
“But a duel?” Lucy asked, picking up her glass of brandy to take a sip.
Ivy wrapped her hand around the front of the cushion of the settee as her body tensed.
Lady Dunn frowned. “That is a problem. Hopefully we’ll be able to talk some sense into him. However, male pride and honor are difficult combatants.”
“I don’t want him to fight a duel.” Ivy was fairly certain he’d win against Bothwick, but the thought of losing him… A crushing pain ripped through her. “I do love him.” She said it the moment the realization surfaced in her brain.
Lucy finished her brandy in one swift drink and jumped to her feet. “Come, let’s get back to the Assembly Rooms and put a stop to this nonsense.”
Ivy joined her, feeling a surge of anticipation that wasn’t entirely cloaked in dread. For the first time in ages, she saw a glimmer of hope.
Lady Dunn beamed up at them. “An excellent idea. Will you walk? Take one of the footmen with you.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said. She went to stand next to Lady Dunn’s chair and crouched down so she could look her in the eye. “I’m so sorry to have brought all this on you.”
“Don’t worry about me, dear. This is more excitement than I’ve had in years.” She touched Ivy’s cheek. “I’ve come to care for you a great deal. You are a very strong young woman, one I’ve been proud to have in my employ. While I’m sad to lose you, I’m so very pleased to see you have a happy ending.”
Ivy kissed the woman’s soft cheek and stood. As she and Lucy made their way quickly from the town house, she hoped a happy ending was still possible.
After Ivy fled, two gentlemen steered Bothwick into the tearoom. West longed to follow them and perhaps conduct the duel now. The tearoom was quite large enough. Since they were indoors, they could use swords. They just required weapons…
Dartford nudged him. “Clare?”
“Hmm?”
“Perhaps we should go.”
West was aware that people were still staring in his direction. They were now also whispering, some not so softly. He turned to Dartford. “You’ll be my second?”
Dartford nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “If I must.”
West wished Axbridge were here. “I need you to go and settle the arrangements. I’ll wait for you in the octagon room.”
“If I must,” he repeated, letting out a long breath. He went into the tearoom.
West walked from the cardroom, heedless of the unabashed scrutiny that followed him. As soon as he reached the octagon room, he began to pace.
A moment later, his mother walked in. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked sternly.
Memories of her scolding assaulted West. He stopped moving and glowered at her. “Awaiting my second.”
She clasped her hands at her waist. “You can’t fight a duel.”
He clenched his teeth. “I can, and I will.”
“I won’t let you marry that…companion.” She said the word as if it were an obscenity.
“You have no say.”
“I will make sure everyone knows what happened here, and I shall get the truth from Bothwick, which I will be more than happy to share.”
“Not if he’s dead,” West said, not caring if he shocked her, in fact hoping he would. After all, provoking her had been one of his favorite pastimes.
She gasped, and West took a step toward her, his lip lifting in a vicious sneer. “If you do anything to harm Ivy—in body or reputation—I’ll ensure you live the rest of your days in poverty.”
Her eyes widened, and the muscles around her mouth pulled as she severely pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t.”
“If you think so, you don’t know me very well. But then I suppose you don’t. You never have.” He knew he’d never open another one of her letters, if she dared to write any more.
“I know you’re base, self-serving, and sybaritic.”
“We’re quite finished.” He stared at her, disbelieving that this woman had somehow created him.
She pressed her lips together once more and spun about, exiting into the corridor.
West resumed his pacing. Someone else came in and stopped, blinking at him. West went to lean against the wall, where he crossed his arms and waited for Dartford to return.
Several minutes later, Dartford came in frowning. “Bothwick is hoping you’ll change your mind. He doesn’t wish to duel.”
The damn coward. “Then he shouldn’t have behaved like a profligate ass.”
“So you won’t rescind your challenge?” Dartford asked.
“Absolutely not.” West pushed away from the wall and stepped toward Dartford. “If Bothwick had done to your wife the things he’s done to Ivy, you would’ve challenged him too.”
Dartford didn’t blink. “He’d probably already be dead.” He took a breath. “Tomorrow at dawn. I didn’t know where. Do you have a location in mind?”
He didn’t.
“Come, we’ll think about it, and I’ll send a note to Bothwick. He’s expecting to hear from us.”
“Because he hopes I’ll be as gutless as him,” West spat.
They stepped outside into the September evening. It was mild, and the air smelled of the coming autumn—of leaves turning and the promise of long, dark nights.
Nights he’d spend alone.
“Andrew!”
West looked toward the direction of the sound. Two figures were running from Alfred Street, their skirts held up as they dashed toward the Assembly Rooms.
“Lucy!” Andrew strode toward them.
West hesitated. The second figure—Ivy—slowed. She pushed a lock of hair from her face and sucked in air as her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths.
They stared at each other a long moment, and for West, there was only her, standing in the light of a streetlamp, her red-gold hair a bit disheveled and her cheeks pink from exertion. She’d never looked lovelier. His heart ached.
She came toward him, her gait slow but purposeful. West didn’t move. He was afraid to, lest he’d imagined her arrival.
“You’re still here,” she said.
“Yes.”
She stopped just before him, close enough that he could see a bead of perspiration on her brow. “I worried you were off dueling somewhere.”
He longed to wipe that single drop of moisture away from her flesh and take her into his arms. “Not until dawn.”
Her brows gathered together as she narrowed her eyes. “Not if you want to marry me.”
“You’ll marry me?”
She nodded, her teeth catching her lower lip for the briefest moment. “If you call off the duel.”
And allow Bothwick impunity? Disgust rose in West’s throat. “I can’t do that. My honor—your honor—demands it.”
She came forward and rested her palm against his chest. “I
f something went wrong and you—” She closed her eyes for the barest moment, and when they opened again, he’d never seen them so clear, so brilliantly green. “I can’t marry a dead man.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Ivy held her breath as she watched the play of emotions on his face—wonder, anger, determination, and something she thought might be…love. She could see how much this meant to him, how badly he wanted to defend her.
“I appreciate you wanting to protect my honor,” she said softly. “But I don’t need you to do that. I survived Bothwick before, and I’ll do it again.” Her mouth curved up of its own volition. “Would it please you to know that I hit him earlier?”
His eyes widened briefly. “You did?”
“At the risk of sparking your outrage to even greater heights, he accosted me in the stairwell and tried to touch me. I hit him so I could get away.”
West’s mouth tightened, and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “I’m going to kill him.” He started to turn toward the entrance to the Assembly Rooms, but she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.
“No. You’re not.” She pulled him to where Dartford and Lucy stood.
Lucy looked at her expectantly, her gaze flitting to the visibly angry West. “What’s happened?”
“West has just agreed to call off the duel,” Ivy said, tucking her hand in his. She looked up at him. “Is Dartford your second?”
West’s expression relaxed slightly. “Yes.”
Ivy turned to the earl. “Would you mind informing Bothwick’s second that there will be no duel?”
“With pleasure,” Dartford said, grinning.
“I still want to kill him.”
Ivy squeezed West’s fingers. “You broke his nose in spectacular fashion with a rather grand audience. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.” The single word came out as a growl.
Her heart warmed at his ferocity. “It’s enough for me.”
“Listen to your future wife,” Dartford said. “It’s much easier than not.”
“He’s right,” Lucy said, snuggling up to Dartford with a smile.
Dartford put his arm around Lucy and held her close. “I’ll wait to inform Bothwick for a few hours yet. I think I’ll let him stew for a while.”
West huffed out a breath. “If that’s the least we can do.” He sounded disappointed.
“Well, it seems as though everything is all sorted out,” Dartford said jovially. He looked down at Lucy, who was still pressed against his side. “Shall we away, my love?”
Lucy stepped away from him to give Ivy a quick hug. “I love you,” she whispered.
Happiness pushed a smile from Ivy’s lips. “I love you too.”
Lucy put her arm over Dartford’s, and they walked toward The Circus.
Ivy and West would go the opposite direction. If they left together. She saw the footman standing several feet away and turned to West. “Should I send the footman home?”
West studied her for a moment. “Did you just agree to marry me?”
Another smile came to her mouth. She didn’t think she’d smiled so much ever. “Yes.”
His mouth came down on hers hard and fast, and she felt his lips spread in a smile. When he pulled back, his eyes were alight with joy. “You have made me the happiest man in England. No, in the world.”
“You can’t just kiss me in public.”
He arched a dark brow at her. “After the night we’ve had?”
She glanced around and saw only the footman. She stood on her toes and whispered, “I’d rather you kiss me in private.”
“Then let us find somewhere private.” He put her arm over his and started down the street toward the footman. “I’ll see Miss Breckenridge home, thank you.”
The footman looked at Ivy, who nodded her agreement. He turned and departed. She leaned close to West, seeking his heat. “I’d rather not go home.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Your house. If you’re amenable.”
“I’m more than amenable, I’m bloody ecstatic.” He quickened his pace. “Let’s hurry.”
A giggle erupted from Ivy’s chest, and she walked faster to keep up.
“Are you laughing?” West asked as they turned onto Alfred Street. “And smiling excessively. I’m not sure I recognize you.”
Ivy schooled her features into a somber mask. “Is this better?”
He stopped halfway down the street and stood her beneath a lamp. “No. I want you smiling and laughing and screaming my name when I take you to bed shortly.”
Heat flooded Ivy’s body, and she arced toward him. “I love you.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Damn it.”
She pulled back, startled.
He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest. “I wanted to say it first. I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you.” His lips settled against hers for a long, lingering moment.
When they parted, she sighed against him. “You’re kissing me in public again.”
“Yes, and privacy awaits.” He put her hand over his arm again and started off toward Lansdown Road.
“West, who was that woman in the cardroom?” Ivy suspected she knew, but didn’t want to guess. She felt him stiffen beneath her hand.
“That was the Duchess—soon to be Dowager Duchess—of Clare.”
His mother. She’d thought so. “Does she live here?”
“No, she lives in Cornwall. Someone on my staff at Stour’s Edge alerted her that I was interested in courting a woman.” He turned his head toward her briefly. “You.”
Ivy’s insides warmed. “You came to Bath to court me?”
“I’m going to be perfectly honest—which is how I want our marriage to be. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I only knew that I missed you dreadfully, and I couldn’t just let you fade from my life.”
She was glad for his honesty and giddy with his love. She still wanted to know about his mother. She wanted to know everything about him. “Why did she—the duchess—come from Cornwall?”
“Let me see if I can start at the very beginning,” he said, intriguing her. “I explained to you about why I…help women, just as I told you that I enjoy sex and always have. That started when I was rather young.” He stopped abruptly as they turned onto The Paragon. “Wait. I’ll show you.”
He led her across the street to his town house. When the butler opened the door, he introduced her as his new duchess and immediately swept her up two flights of stairs directly to his bedchamber.
As soon as he closed the door, he turned and pressed her against the wood, his body searing into hers. He kissed her, his lips and tongue exploring hers with heady precision. She clutched at his shoulders, holding him close while he plundered her mouth. When he pulled away, his lips curved into a sultry, masculine smile. “I couldn’t wait another moment to do that.”
He turned from her and went to a desk in the corner. He returned with a parchment in his hand.
She stared down at the drawing, her lips parting with wonder. “That’s me.” She looked up at him briefly before studying the portrait once more.
It was a sketch of her lying on his bed, her hair spread over the pillows, her limbs sprawled in a seductive pose. She was entirely nude, and the details were exact—from the tips of her pointed nipples to the curls between her legs. Heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “This is merely me trying to recall every plane and contour of your body.”
She finally found his gaze once more. “Why did you want to show me this?”
“I started drawing nude women when I was twelve after I saw one of the maids.”
She tipped her head to the side, thinking there must be more to that story. “You ‘saw’ one of them?”
He cast his eyes skyward for a moment, and then his mouth relaxed into a self-deprec
ating smile. “I peeked at one of them. Yes, I was naughty. The point is, I was curious about women and their bodies even then. My mother found my sketches and beat me. She did that rather often, but never more severely than when she caught me pleasuring myself.”
Ivy began to understand the desire to use violence against someone who’d hurt the person one loved.
“The more she punished me, the more I wanted to defy her. And so I did. My first liaisons were a direct affront to her. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now.” He took the drawing from her and set it back on his desk. When he came back, he stroked her face with both hands, cupping her cheeks. “I’ve never loved anyone before, Ivy. I suppose I loved my father, but probably not as much as I hated my mother. Love is an emotion I’ve never known and never sought. Imagine my surprise when I met you and love stole over me. I was helpless to resist.”
She leaned into him, and his hands slid to the back of her head and neck. “You were starved. As was I. My family didn’t profess to love each other. Though I did love my sister.” She dropped her gaze and stared at the front of his dark red waistcoat. “And I loved Peter. Bothwick, I mean.”
He tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes. “That wasn’t love, but infatuation, I’d guess. Hear me, Ivy. This is not lust or infatuation or a passing fancy. I love you with my entire heart, with my soul. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, and you inspire me to be a better man.”
Tears scratched at her throat. “I never imagined this would happen to me.”
He took her hand and slipped it beneath his waistcoat, just over his shirt. “Feel me. I am real. This is happening to you. To both of us.”
She pressed her palm against his heat. “West.”
He kissed her again, his mouth fiercely claiming hers. She was suddenly desperate to feel him against her. She pushed at his coat. He helped by shrugging it off. Their hands worked in frenzied concert to divest each other of every bit of clothing. They’d made their way slowly toward the bed as they’d worked, and when they were down to her shift and his pantaloons, Ivy dropped to her knees and unbuttoned his fall.