by Cheryl Bolen
He adjusted his injured arm, and white pain vibrated to his shoulder. The wound hadn’t completely healed. The optimistic surgeon who’d repaired the limb assured Chance he’d get most of the use of his arm back, though the same couldn’t be guaranteed of his hand.
Astute fellow. One could assume the man of medicine had never known a human to regrow fingers.
The twins advanced further into the arbor, their hostile gazes raking the fuming captain.
Linville brushed a strand of hair off his forehead and met Chance’s gaze. “Allen told the captain to desist in his addresses, yet he continues to pursue Ivonne.”
“I’ve given him no cause whatsoever to encourage his attentions.” Ivy glanced at Chance, desperation in her eyes. “I’ve taken to avoiding him at every turn.”
She held her head high, although he detected the tremor in her voice. Kirkpatrick terrified her. Chance reached for his sword, but is hand met air. The blade no longer hung by his side. He’d like nothing better than to run the captain—in his cups or not—through for tormenting Ivy.
“Why don’t you leave off? Miss Wimpleton has made it clear she doesn’t return your regard.” Chance turned his blandest stare on the seaman.
Kirkpatrick grunted and waved his hand. “It’s not like she has a multitude of other offers. I’m the only man of means who’s shown any interest in her this season.”
Bloody bastard.
Ivy drew in a swift breath and stiffened. “My offers are none of your concern.”
“Have you set your sights on one of those pretty pocket-to-let milksops whose only interest in you is your sizable settlement?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and blundered on. “Once wed, they’ll retire you to a countryside hovel and not look upon you again.”
She snorted. “Don’t pretend you’re not as interested in my portion, Captain. Though we both know it’s Garnkirk House you covet.”
“Garnkirk House?” Chance wasn’t familiar with the place.
She gave a sharp nod. “An estate—mine upon my marriage—near the Scottish border.”
Kirkpatrick puffed out his barrel chest. “I, at least, am prepared to overlook your limp—”
Limp? What limp?
“—and unremarkable appearance to keep you at my side.” A self-satisfied smile bent the captain’s mouth. He ogled Ivy’s breasts, clearly finding her far more appealing than he admitted.
Damn him to hell.
Fury gripped Chance. He didn’t care if excess drink had emboldened Kirkpatrick, the churl deserved a sound throttling.
Was the lackwit blind? Ivy was exquisite. At least the woman-child Chance had left behind had been.
The light in the arbor only hinted at her current loveliness, though he had no doubt she’d developed into a rare beauty. Nothing ostentatious like a diamond or ruby, but rather a pearl or opal, stunning in its innocent simplicity. The delightful creature he’d held in his arms moments ago had been perfectly rounded in the right places too. The recollection sparked a predictable and uncomfortable response from his manhood.
Chance itched to plant Kirkpatrick a facer. Breaking the knuckles of his remaining decent hand would be worth it. Only years of soldiering lent him the self-control he required to warn the captain with words rather than pummel the bounder with fists.
Sometimes, being a gentleman was a blasted bore.
“You step beyond the mark, Captain. Way beyond.” Chance curved his fingers around Ivy’s slender waist.
She shivered and scooted nearer to him.
Muted voices sounded outside. He cocked his head. Allen and his chums? Chance smiled to himself. Yes. This ought to get very interesting.
He scratched his nose. “Pray tell me, Kirkpatrick, why, in all that’s holy, would Miss Wimpleton marry you after you’ve publically insulted her?”
Let the seadog rant on. He wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the upper salons or haut ton gatherings once Harcourt and the others gave the captain the cut direct.
Kirkpatrick pointed a stubby finger at her. “She ought to be grateful I’d consider wedding a chit almost on the shelf.”
Ivy and Miss Linville gasped in mutual indignation.
“You misbegotten cur!” Hands fisted, Linville made to confront the captain.
Chance’s hand to the young buck’s shoulder stayed him. “Don’t. The sot’s burying himself, good and deep. He’s neck high in horse manure. A couple more words and the dolt will be choking on the filth.”
Captain Kirkpatrick narrowed his eyes, scowling at Ivy.
“Don’t tell me you intend to accept decrepit Lord Walsingham or doddering Lord Craythorn? Both are sixty if they’re a day.” He lifted his nose and raked her from toe to top, his censure obvious. “You told me you adored children. Neither of those codgers could get a child on you a decade ago, let alone now.”
More gasps followed his crass statement.
God rot the bloody bugger.
Smirking, Kirkpatrick patted his chest. “I assure you, I’d have you expecting in a blink.”
Ivy made an inarticulate sound and swayed.
Chance steadied her, clenching his jaw against the oaths surging to his tongue. He ached to call the oaf out. Wisdom warned him that to do so meant certain death. His fighting arm was useless. Frustration and impotent rage seized him. He couldn’t protect Ivy the way she deserved.
Through half-closed eyes, he observed her.
Profile to Chance, she stared at Kirkpatrick. An almost undiscernible curling of her upper lip hinted at the repugnance she attempted to conceal. Her rapidly rising and falling breasts revealed her agitation.
Did she think Chance a coward for not confronting the captain? The idea stung sharper than his wounded arm. By God, he’d die to protect her, but he wasn’t a dullard. Cunning and shrewdness must be his weapons of choice.
Kirkpatrick, wrapped in his own self-importance, seemed oblivious to her contempt. “Why, I have five strapping boys already.”
“Ill-mannered bratlings you mean.” Miss Linville jutted her chin skyward and glared at him. “Horrid little fat beasts.”
“Indeed they are.” By way of explanation, Edmund added, “We came upon them in Green Park last week. The older two chased a terrified dog, the middle two threw pebbles at passersby, and the toddler had dropped his drawers in full view of everyone to relieve himself on a tree.”
Chance choked on a guffaw.
God’s toenails.
Ivy must be spared such horror.
She stalked to Captain Kirkpatrick and slanted her head to meet his gaze square on.
There was the feisty girl Chance remembered.
“You pretentious buffoon. You think I’m so desperate to avoid spinsterhood, I’d accept the likes of you?” Her voice quivered and raised an octave with her last few clipped words.
Spinsterhood? Ivy couldn’t be more than, what? One or two and twenty? Hardly old maid material.
Three tall forms shadowed the trellis outside. Ah, the reinforcements had arrived.
Chance stepped beside Ivy. “If you have a lick of sense, Kirkpatrick, you’ll leave now.”
The captain swaggered further into the bower. “Or what? You’ll make me? Ivonne is all but betrothed to me. Her father has as much as promised me her hand.”
“No. He has not.” Ivy clasped a hand across her mouth, backing away and shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”
“That’s a brazen lie!”
“How dare you address her by her first name?”
The Linville twins’ voices rang out in unison.
Chance allowed a slow grin to tilt his lips. “Impossible.”
Ivy peered at him, curiosity in her gaze.
He took her quaking hand in his, careful to keep his disfigured fingers tucked inside his coat. “You see, Kirkpatrick, Ivy is already promised to ... another.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Promised?
Ivonne angled her head. She’d misheard. Her nerves and this hullabaloo wit
h Captain Kirkpatrick had her hearing ridiculous things.
Silly goosecap.
Falcon hadn’t announced she was pledged to another. Had he?
She tried to read his expression in the muted light. What was he about? Trying to protect her? He almost sounded jealous.
The notion sent a delicious spark to her middle, and the warmth spread to other unmentionable parts in a most curious fashion. She shifted to alleviate the peculiar sensation.
He didn’t know that Captain Kirkpatrick wouldn’t rest until he unearthed her phantom intended. The widower wanted Garnkirk House. The one hundred eighty acre estate boasted prime hunting and fishing lands. The captain’s obsession with his hobbies bordered on unhealthy.
Falcon long absence from the ton had kept him ignorant of Kirkpatrick’s reputation. The wealthy ship captain’s questionable business association with several powerful peers permitted him the luxury of hovering on le beau monde’s outer fringes.
The widower would place a few prying questions in the right ears and the truth would out. Then where would she be? She expelled a controlled breath. As long as the captain turned his interest elsewhere, she didn’t care what on dit the chinwags bandied about. She was made of sterner stuff than that.
Or so she told herself.
A disturbance outside the arbor reined in her musings. The Earl of Luxmoore, the Duke of Harcourt, and Allen crowded into the already overfull bower. A herring packed tin allowed more room for movement. She wrinkled her nose. And possibly smelled better too.
She sneezed then sneezed again.
“Bless you.” Edwina produced a lacy scrap of cloth. “Have you need of a handkerchief?”
“Yes, thank you.” Ivonne accepted the linen and pressed it to her nose. The cloth offered some relief from Captain Kirkpatrick’s reeking person.
The cozy nook meant for two or three, now teemed with eight bodies, six of whom were muscular males, and one of those rivaled a gorilla in size, smell, and mannerisms.
Ivonne’s leg ached, and all of a sudden, she felt somewhat faint. The confined quarters, Falcon’s startling announcement, and the captain’s belligerent presence, along with her empty stomach, contributed to her light-headedness.
She attempted, without success, to shift away from the mass of bodies.
Captain Kirkpatrick’s intimidating form lurked before her.
No reprieve there.
Edmund stood mashed against her on the right. The arbor’s wall hindered movement to her immediate left. Both prevented her from easing away from Falcon’s solid form pressing into her from behind.
The latter she didn’t mind too much, truth to tell. In fact, the most outlandish urge to lean into him and wiggle her bum plagued her.
How would he react if I did?
The stale air and lack of food must have addled her senses.
Giving herself a mental shake, she peered at the new arrivals. She could scarcely make out who was who within the gloomy interior.
His countenance grim, Allen faced Captain Kirkpatrick. “I’ve asked you before, as has my father, to direct your attentions elsewhere. My sister is not now, nor will she ever be, available to consider your suit.”
The widower’s eyes widened before narrowing in suspicion. “Because she’s promised to another? Who?”
“I’d say that’s a private family matter.” Luxmoore flicked something from his shoulder.
A leaf?
A spider?
Were the nasty devils burrowing into her tresses? Ivonne swept her hand across the top of her head, and then through the tangled mass at her nape a couple of times. She’d be hard-pressed to say which she reviled more. ... The captain or the spiders?
“If she’s not on the Marriage Mart, why haven’t I heard mention of the fact before?” Captain Kirkpatrick crossed his arms and glared round the nook. “Something here is too smoky by far, and I mean to find out what it is.”
On second thought, spiders are adorable creatures compared to Kirkpatrick.
“Why don’t you do that?” Lord Luxmoore stepped forward. “Elsewhere.”
“Yes, a splendid idea.” The duke joined Luxmoore beside the widower. “I’m sure there are a multitude of eager gossips within the house willing to assist you with your intrusive meddling.”
Each placed a hand on one of the sea captain’s arms.
Snarling, he jerked from their holds. He loomed before Ivonne.
Lifting her chin a notch, she forced herself to meet his angry eyes as he towered above her. Marriage to this man was unthinkable. He would terrorize her every day he remained ashore.
“I mean to get to the bottom of this, Miss Wimpleton. I delayed sailing and wasted months courting you with the intention of making you a mother to my sons. I won’t be made a fool of.”
“Did that by yourself, seems to me,” Edmund muttered.
Beside him, Edwina clapped and giggled. “Brilliant, Eddy.”
Captain Kirkpatrick rounded on Edmund. “Stubble it, young pup, before I thrash you soundly.”
“Do come along, Kirkpatrick.” An exaggerated sigh echoed from near the exit, and His Grace beckoned. “I’ve had quite enough of your Drury Lane theatrics for one evening. ... Unless we need to notify Lord Wimpleton we require a dozen strapping footmen to haul you from the premises.”
“You sure a dozen will suffice?” Falcon’s jeer resulted in another round of snickers.
“Bloody arses.” Spinning on his heel, the captain stomped from the nook.
The duke and earl swung their attention to her brother.
Allen waved them away. “We’ll see you inside. Keep an eye on Kirkpatrick, will you?”
With a nod and a half-bow to the ladies, Harcourt and Luxmoore trailed after the grumbling seaman.
“We’ll also be going.” Edwina’s curious gaze swung between Ivonne and Falcon. “I’m sure you’ve much to discuss.”
She didn’t move an inch but instead, head angled and finger on her chin, continued to study Ivonne and Falcon. Edwina was too astute by far. “Ivonne, do you—”
“Um, yes,” Edmund seized his sister’s arm. “We’ll let Aunt Mary and Uncle Walter know where you are. Come along, Winnie.”
After a cocky salute, he dragged Edwina from the enclosure.
They broke into furious whispers the moment their feet hit the gravel path. What were those two conjuring now?
Ivonne eyed the exit longingly.
This evening had the makings of a Cheltenham Tragedy. She’d been accosted, made an inglorious spectacle of, rescued by the only man who’d ever sent her heart palpitating and nether regions tingling, and she would bet her pin money that within fifteen minutes, her name would buzz about the ballroom thicker than bees on honey.
She wanted nothing more than to sneak in the house’s side entrance and flee to her room where she could hide under her bed until next December.
Maybe her parents could be persuaded to depart for Addington Hall early. The social whirl ended in a few weeks in any event. Unless God performed a miracle, she stood no more chance of snaring herself a husband this go round than she had the previous Seasons. She had become an object of scorn and pity.
She would simply refuse to attend another. After all, five stints in Town had quite proved the bon ton deemed her an undesirable. Only fortune hunters sought her out, and even they treated her with barely concealed disdain. Allen could contrive some drivel about her phantom intended crying off.
He had eloped with an actress, entered a monastery, had been sat upon by a blind hippopotamus ...
The reason didn’t much matter.
Ivonne had long since accepted her fate. Some women were destined to live life alone. Her shoulders slumped. Weariness born more from emotional turmoil than physical fatigue encompassed her.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to repair my appearance.” She offered Falcon a brave smile. He would never know how much it cost her to pretend indifference when what she longed to do was throw her arms around his
neck, kiss those gorgeous lips of his, and tell him she loved him.
Stop it, goosecap.
He’d made no effort to contact her in six years, and that stung something fierce. No, his indifference had left a deep wound and no small amount of distrust.
“It was wonderful to see you again, Mr. Faulkenhurst.”
Should she suggest he call?
No. Likely Allen had already extended an invitation of some sort, which explained Falcon’s presence here tonight. Let her brother be the one to issue another. She would only appear desperate to see Falcon again.
Because I am. But to what point?
Waterworks threatened, and Ivonne blinked rapidly. She would not shed another tear for him.
She would not.
“Ivy ...?” He reached for her hand, concern shading his voice.
A single tear trickled a scalding path from the outer corner of her eye. She spun away. Lifting her skirts, she tore from the alcove.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ivy wept.
Chance was certain, although his gut told him her tears couldn’t be attributed solely to the captain’s boorish behavior.
Allen stared after his sister’s fleeing form before facing Chance, a question in his hooded eyes. “I say, what was that about?”
“I’m sure I have no idea why she pelted off in such haste.” Raising a brow, Chance met Allen’s shuttered scrutiny.
He did, but the niggling thought was scarcely more than a heartbeat. Her response to him hadn’t been that of a sister. He needed time to reflect on the notion. He must tread carefully if he had any hope, no matter how remote or seemingly impossible, of making her his.
Staring at the now empty pathway, Chance rubbed the side of his nose. “Perhaps Ivy feared someone would see her in disarray.”
“No, not her abrupt departure. I meant telling Kirkpatrick my sister is promised to someone else.” Allen eyed him, expectancy written on his features.