She fervently hoped so. And she hoped that the police had arrived. For now, however, she wasn’t sure whom to trust anymore beyond the duke. Elora had portrayed herself as a friend and had betrayed society as a whole. Oliver—she didn’t know what to make of him at all. She pulled out the stopper on the brandy decanter and sniffed its contents as a restorative.
She trusted her sisters.
“Ivy?” a concerned voice said.
She trusted Quigley, Carstairs, and Captain Wendover.
“Ivy?”
Above all, she trusted James.
“Are you drinking?” he demanded.
She glanced up at the face that appeared through the drapes and recoiled. “Is it over? May I come out?”
He bent down and lifted her through the drapes to her feet. The muscular arms that offered her refuge felt like the duke’s. The hard body against which she leaned comforted and radiated a male heat that her senses instantly recognized. The bliss that she knew only when he held her gradually stole over her.
But she had to steel herself to look up into his battered face without wincing. “Is Ainsley gone?”
“Wendover summoned the Runners and they’ve taken Ainsley away.”
“And Oliver was after the treasure at Fenwick all along?”
James grimaced. Ivy suspected he might have been trying to grin, but his swollen lip contorted the gesture. “He didn’t realize what the true treasure was. Or who she was, I should say.”
They stepped around the sideboard into the dimly lit drawing room. Ivy sighed. “He didn’t realize that there is no treasure.”
“Be careful where you step,” he said, holding her close to his side. “The moron broke a whisky decanter against—good God. It appears he shot at the chandelier.”
“That moron who broke the decanter would be me. I was hoping to cause a distraction so that I could summon help. Elora escaped. She—”
He lowered his head to hers. “Oliver told me about Elora. I think he might have gone after her to say good-bye. Now, Ivy, please kiss me.”
She hesitated. “Where? Is there a spot on your face that has not been hurt or disfigured?”
“My chin,” he said wryly, pulling her down beside him on the sofa. “What a night it has been, Ivy. I apologize for being rude to you. I found out that Oliver had come to your room at Ellsworth. It did not put me in a pleasant mood.”
Ivy lifted her head, relieved that at last the truth was out. “He told you?”
“No. Mary did.”
“She recognized him?”
“She recognized his voice,” James said grimly. “She thought you were afraid to tell me.”
“I was, James. I knew you wouldn’t let an insult pass unanswered.” She picked up the necklace and earbobs that Elora had left on the sofa. This was a secret that could definitely wait another day. “You look exhausted,” she said, leaning back to stroke his hair. “Why don’t you fall asleep here for an hour?”
He shook his head. “We have to go back to the house. There will be questions to answer, and the children to reassure. I want to sleep beside you. I was insane on the drive here, knowing that Ainsley—”
“James?”
“I love you dearly, but whatever we do tonight, I don’t think Mary and Walker should see you in your condition. We’ll have to make sure they’re asleep when we go back to the town house.” She kissed his cheek, rising from the sofa. “Don’t run away.”
He caught her skirt, laughing painfully. The jewels slipped from her fingers. “Where do you think you’re going—”
She left the room before he could follow her to the kitchen, meeting him in the hall minutes later with a bowl of lukewarm water and a few towels. “You were gone too long,” he said.
She flinched again at the sight of his face. “James, I trust this is the last time you will scare me like this.”
He preceded her into the drawing room and sat heavily on the sofa. “I scared you? Oliver is not the only man in London who can be accused of reckless driving on your account.”
“Let me wash the blood from your face.”
“If you must.”
“Does your brother have a shirt somewhere in the house you might borrow?”
“I had a wardrobe sent here.” He winced as she dabbed gently at the bruise coming out beneath his eye. “I love you fiercely, you know.”
She smiled. “I know. Please stop fidgeting.”
“Something is poking me in the posterior.” He reached beneath his seat and pulled from the sofa the diamond necklace that Elora had removed from the Duchess Suite. “How the deuce did this get here? I was looking for it at Ellsworth.”
She wrung out her towel. He was starting to look better. “I’ll explain if you hold still a little bit longer. And by the way, I love you fiercely, too.”
Chapter 37
In the end James and Ivy chose to wait to hold the wedding until Curtis had a chance to recuperate and both the bride’s and groom’s families could celebrate at Ellsworth Park. Sir Oliver was invited; he had asked to resume his lease on the gatehouse at Fenwick and the sisters had agreed it was a comfort to have a capable man on the premises.
Lilac and Rosemary did not lack for the attention of gentlemen at the wedding reception, which in honor of the duke and duchess was a masquerade ball. James had invited family members and friends from across England, making it a glittering affair to honor his wife. Rue had been traveling with her viscountess, and promised that although she might be late for the ceremony, she would attend the costume reception.
“That’s how Ivy met your brother,” Lilac confided to Curtis over a glass of apple cider. “At a masquerade.”
Curtis choked down his drink. He had regained most of his strength and his spirits improved every day. He had taken the news of his wife’s desertion better than anyone expected, and he wore his eye patch without complaint. “What masquerade ball was this?” he asked Lilac.
Lilac grinned at his bewildered expression. “It was a secret until recently. His Grace was going off to war and our father was—well, let’s not discuss that tonight. But James gave Ivy her first kiss when they were strangers in London, and now they’re married. It’s quite romantic if you don’t count the five years of misery that we spent before they were reunited. By the way, I very much like your costume. King Arthur, are you?”
“Yes, my lady, and you are?”
“Lilac, didn’t you catch my name?”
* * *
Across the room Ivy caught sight of Lilac and then assessed the bemused expression on her brother-in-law’s face. “He can take care of himself,” she heard James say over her shoulder. “Besides, he needs to practice. I can think of no better way for a man to gain an understanding of women than by spending time in the company of your sisters. Meeting the four of you is the equivalent of running a gauntlet. I am rather proud to say I survived the challenge and took you as my prize.”
She turned slowly. A tall handsome man in a black silk mask and Georgian courtier’s long quilted coat stood before her. “I desire you,” he said with a bow.
“I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered, toying with the feathered hat she’d removed.
“If I told you, would you allow me liberties with your person?”
She laughed. “My husband has a hot temper.”
“I have a hot temperament.” As he straightened, he swept his hand up her back, seeking the shape of her through her stiff skirts and drawing her into his body. He was as hard as the columns that rose to the ballroom’s ceiling.
“Sir, I must insist that you—”
“I know this won’t be your first kiss, but let me try to make it exceptional all the same.”
Exceptional? She tilted her face to his. As she expected, his kiss laid siege to all her senses. She had never spent an unexceptional moment
in his company.
“I also realize we’ve only just met,” he murmured, “but I have a desperate urge to bed you. Is that a possibility?”
She took a breath. The black mask highlighted the promise of dark pleasure in his eyes. “I’m not sure. This is my debut as a duchess. I ought to be mingling with my guests. It would seem highly improper to rendezvous with a stranger when I’m supposed to be an official presence at the party. My absence would be noticed, as would yours.”
“There are plenty of distinguished guests who would stand in for us.”
“It isn’t quite the same,” she murmured, already relenting.
He lifted her hand to his mouth. “Five minutes. Your room or mine?”
“Yours.”
* * *
The Duke and Duchess of Ellsworth discreetly exited the ballroom, only to be arrested in the middle of the staircase by the three guests peering through the railings at the candlelit ball below.
“Mary and Walker,” Ivy said, sinking down indecorously two steps below them. “I’m not at all surprised to find you here, but, Rosemary, for heaven’s sake, haven’t you outgrown this sort of thing?”
“Outgrown what?” Lilac asked as she slowly ascended the stairs with Curtis on her arm. “Make room for me and your father, children. We want a front-row seat.”
“Oooh,” Mary exclaimed, rising to her knees in excitement. “Look at the lady in the blue silk dress, Walker. She’s wearing wings. She’s a fairy queen.”
“What lady?” he asked, attempting to squeeze his head through the railings.
“The one with the black hair walking beside the old woman holding a cane.”
“God’s teeth,” he said. “She’s the most beautiful lady in the world.”
“It’s Rue,” the three sisters said in unison.
Curtis leaned over his son. “Walker, I don’t want to hear you use that sort of language ever again. And if you get your head stuck, your rear is vulnerable to attack.” Then he glanced down at the ballroom and broke into a grin. “Who is she again?”
A knight in light armor and a crusader approached the bottom of the stairs. Ivy glanced down at Sir Oliver and Captain Wendover, who said, “Is this a private party or is anyone invited?”
James knelt on the step beside Ivy, removing his mask to look into her eyes. “Shall I have the footmen serve us up here or are we returning to the party?”
“We can’t sit on the stairs all evening,” she whispered. “And there’s no way to escape now without causing a stir. Besides, I should greet Rue, and her employer doesn’t appear agile enough to climb the stairs unassisted.”
He nodded. “I suppose I can wait a little bit longer. After all, you waited long enough for me.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
He offered her a scandalous smile that she trusted no one else had noticed. “And I shall hold you to your promise.”
Read on for an excerpt from Jillian Hunter’s
The Countess Confessions
Available now from Signet Select
1820
England
The fortune-teller’s tent was the talk of the party. It stood beyond the reach of the light shed by lanterns that twinkled in the trees. Even the footmen positioned in the garden wondered whether it had been pitched illegally or was there to entertain the guests. Judging by the chattering young ladies and gentlemen lined up on the footbridge to the dark hollow where the gypsy fortune-teller had encamped, no one cared why she’d appeared. Upon her arrival she had allegedly announced she would give readings tonight that pertained only to romance.
Few of the well-heeled guests would have found the courage to approach her if she hadn’t come to the party.
“What an enchanting surprise. Lord Fletcher’s wife or daughter must have talked him into hiring her. She’s reading for free, I heard.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t run out of inspiration before my turn.”
Inspiration? It was patience the fortune-teller needed. So far Miss Emily Rowland had predicted only happy outcomes for the lovelorn, and those had exhausted her talent for deception. Each snippet of excited chatter that reached her ear only made her heart sink lower. She was doing all of this in the pursuit of love, to predict romance for one particular guest at tonight’s ball, although as the evening progressed, it seemed more likely this scheme would bring about her ruination.
She sat up in her squeaky cane-backed chair, cringing as the tiny bottle that sat on the table wobbled precariously to one side. Emily had no idea what substance the green glass contained. She had borrowed it from her brother, Michael, to use for atmosphere after overhearing one of his Rom friends whisper to him over the garden wall, “Use this when all else fails.”
Emily didn’t believe in magic. She doubted she’d have the courage to sprinkle it on her heart’s desire when he appeared. She couldn’t imagine what the results would be if she dared. When the time came, she suspected she wouldn’t have the nerve to use the potion, whether or not it was imbued with any power, on the gentleman she hoped would offer her a marriage proposal.
“Are you ready for me?” a man asked at the door.
“Yes. Enter.” And be quick about it, she thought as she moved her wobbly bottle to a safer position on the table, away from the flickering oil lamp, about which her brother had said, “For the love of heaven, Emily, whatever you do, don’t let the light fall to the straw.”
The fifth person to seek her services happened to be a cad whom Emily disliked too much to hide it. He whipped his horse to show off, treated his servants like lumps of dirt, and was staring with vulgar fascination down Emily’s bodice while she feigned interest in the palm of his hand.
“I fear, Mr. Prickett, that your palm reveals a short life line.” She drew her hand away from his and slid back into her creaking chair.
“Nonsense,” he said in an indolent voice. “Longevity runs in the family. Give me the name of the next lady fortunate enough to share my bed.”
“Toad!”
“I beg your pardon.” His face portrayed the conceit of a man who refused to believe he had been dealt an insult. “Did you say, ‘Miss Todd’? I don’t believe I know anyone by that name. Is she here tonight? A lady I’ve yet to meet?”
“How should I—”
A loud cough from behind the tent reminded Emily that a fortune-teller told her clients what they wanted to hear, not the truth. But honestly, what did she know of palm reading and French tarot cards?
She could not have been in her right mind when she had allowed her friend Lucy, Lord Fletcher’s daughter, to talk her into this strategy. Once Emily had seized upon the idea, she had turned to her half brother to employ his help. She should have listened to Michael’s warnings instead of letting Lucy’s enthusiasm for matchmaking erode her judgment.
“You are desperate, Emily,” Lucy had untactfully reminded her.
“I am desperately in love, yes.”
“With a gentleman who does not realize you exist,” Lucy said, her bluntness meant to motivate Emily before she became officially known in Hatherwood as an eccentric spinster.
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Emily had suggested. “He notices other ladies. I’ve tried to make him notice me. I’ve done everything but turn cartwheels on the cricket field when he plays. I’ve dropped my reticule on his foot. I’ve bumped into him twice in the churchyard. And all he ever does is apologize and go on his merry way.”
“You might have been too obvious.”
“So in your opinion, wearing a curly black wig, tinting my skin, and telling omens are subtle ways to draw his attention?”
“You will not be yourself. You shall be a fortune-teller who slips Emily’s name into his thoughts as his future beloved. As soon as you’re finished, you will disappear, remove your disguise, and become Emily again. And this time when h
e sees you, everything will be different. He won’t know why he never noticed you before. He’ll wonder how he could ever have missed such a charming—”
Mr. Prickett’s voice startled her back into her role. “Where am I to meet this lady?” he asked, apparently unaware that his plans for a lustful evening were of no concern to the fortune-teller.
Her brother bumped up against the tent in subtle warning. Michael was invigorated by his Romany blood, which came from the secret affair their mother had carried on a month before she married Emily’s father, the man who had once believed himself to be Michael’s sire as well. When the young baroness was dying, she had revealed the truth, cleansing her conscience and breaking the baron’s heart by forcing him to realize he had been cuckolded, that his only son and heir was not his own.
Mr. Prickett’s voice jarred her again. “What else do you see for me and this woman?”
“Separation. Woe. Perhaps even a lawsuit.”
He frowned. “Why don’t you give the cards a try?”
“The reading is over,” she said. “I have lost contact with the other side.”
“What other side?” he demanded with a doubtful look.
The other side of the tent. Or the side of me that claims some link to sanity. He can take his pick. “Go,” she said, rising from the noisy chair. “Unstable elements are interfering with my ability to read or influence the future.”
“But—”
“Next!”
He started to protest until a cloaked lady entered, forcing him to either make a scene or an exit. Fortunately he chose to leave. The lady who hurried into the tent perched herself on the stool in front of Emily’s table. “Well?” she asked, biting her lip as she swung her cloak up from the straw. “Is our little fortune-teller ready to meet her fate?”
Emily stared across the table at Lucy’s cheerful face. “Is Camden still outside?” she whispered.
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