by Cheryl Bolen
Hands folded in her lap, Ivonne faced him. Did he prefer demure, biddable women? She had no idea. She’d only been his friend until now. Before she bungled this wooing business beyond repair, she must meet with Emmy and discover what men desired.
Falcon sat upon the bench, a respectable distance between them this time. His buff doe-skins revealed long, muscled legs.
She covertly studied his groin, ignoring the tell-tale warmth suffusing her face once more. The bulge his pantaloons couldn’t hide seemed similar to those of other men. Everything appeared as it should, at least to her inexperienced assessment.
He fidgeted with his watch fob, running the fingers of his intact hand along the fine silver chain. “Last night, I took advantage of you—”
“No, I—”
He put one finger on her lips. “Shh, let me finish.”
She swallowed and clenched her fists to keep from tracing his finger with her tongue, or taking the entire thing into her mouth and sucking on it.
Where are these wanton ideas coming from?
He tossed a glance over his shoulder as if he, too, believed someone observed them. His sculptured mouth twitched. “I think we’re being watched.”
Ivonne giggled and leaned closer. “I’m sure of it. Too bad we don’t dare give them something to gape at.”
Staring straight ahead, he didn’t respond. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I had no right. But more on point, I beg your forgiveness for accusing you of satisfying your curiosity with me, and then saying those other deplorable things.”
He finished the last with a rush of words, as if he’d dreaded saying them.
Ivonne cocked her head, studying his profile. His remorse appeared genuine. Her pulse gave a little leap of hope. This made what she was about to suggest all the more feasible.
“Falcon.” Jaw flexed, she pulled in a lengthy gulp of air and delved for courage. She pinched her fingers together, striving for calmness. “I have something to ask you.”
“There you two are. Mother said I’d find you out here somewhere.”
Allen? Ivonne twisted to look behind her. He strode the distance to the bench. The curtain twitched in the drawing room. Mother?
Ivonne and Falcon sat in plain view.
Had Mother sent Allen after them? Whatever for?
“I received some news that will be of great interest to you, Falcon.” Ankles crossed, Allen rested his left hip against the balustrade. A peculiar expression settled on his face. His gaze swung between her and Falcon. “Am I interrupting something?”
Yes, dear brother, you are. A proposal.
“No, not at all.” Falcon shook his head.
Allen flashed Ivonne one of his devastating smiles. “Mother asked me to remind you it’s time to dress for the Vanbroke’s musicale.”
Ivonne furrowed her forehead and laced her fingers. “After last night, I expected we’d cry off attending.”
“No.” Allen firmed his lips and straightened. “Father insists the entire family put in an appearance to curb the gossipmongers’ wagging tongues.”
Too late for that, she feared. She turned her attention to Falcon. Rising, she straightened her gown. “Are you joining us? Safety in numbers, you know.”
She tried to make the question seem casual, not as if her very future depended upon him being by her side from this point forward. Curling her toes in her slippers, she struggled to calm her nerves. If she stuck to him like fuzz on a peach, she’d send a clear message to everyone.
She’d made her choice. He just didn’t know it.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Falcon slid Allen a significant look.
Allen’s eyebrows formed a puzzled vee, yet he remained silent.
Returning his fob to its pocket, Falcon stood. “I’ve been invited to dine with the Sethwicks this evening.”
His gaze lingered on Ivonne’s face, as if trying to memorize her features. Or gauge her reaction?
She swallowed, suddenly not wanting to hear what he was about to say.
He stared at her intently. “Lady Sethwick’s shipping offices in America have a position available that I’m interested in.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Back rigid, Chance held his breath, waiting for Ivy’s reaction. A muscle ticked annoyingly at the corner of his eye, revealing his agitation. Much weighed on whether she wanted him to stay. Moments ago, sitting beside her, he’d been tempted to throw good sense to the wind and ask her to be his bride, propriety be hanged.
A soft gasp escaped her. “America?”
She darted Allen an anxious glance before returning her attention to Chance. Her eyes, an unusual pewter shade in the dusky light, widened in astonishment and glistened suspiciously.
Tears?
He revered her with his gaze.
Bronze highlights shimmered in her hair, and her skin, pale as pearls, glowed in the sun’s fading rays.
He longed to tell her of her beauty with more than words. To take her in his arms and worship her with his lips and body, to whisper the words of adoration he didn’t dare share.
“America?” she rasped again, her lips trembling. Shaking her head, she clapped a hand to her mouth, her curls and peridot earrings bouncing from the frenzied movement. Without another word, she whirled away and hastened to the house.
For the first time, Chance noticed her lopsided gait.
Allen chuckled softly and sent him a sidelong glance. “I’d say that answers the question of where her affections lie, my friend.”
Chance had initiated a very candid conversation with Allen after overhearing the remark at White’s about Prinny’s ludicrous decree. The Wimpleton heir had been delighted when Chance revealed his love for Ivy. Allen promised to throw all his support behind Chance’s attempt to win her hand.
If Lord Wimpleton once more denied Chance’s request to marry her, wisdom dictated he have an alternate plan. He’d chosen America as that option.
“Yes, my unflappable sister is in a dither at the notion of you sailing off across the Atlantic to the wilds of America.” He slapped Chance on the back.
Chance flinched, smothering a foul oath. “Bugger it. Have care for my injured arm, will you?”
“Sorry ‘bout that.” Allen grinned sheepishly. He jabbed his thumb in the direction Ivy had disappeared. “That wasn’t the reaction of a disinterested woman. No, I’d say she’s already smitten.”
A cocky grin tilting his mouth, he stepped away and took Chance’s measure. “I suppose you’ll do for a brother-in-law.”
Chance allowed himself a cautious smile. “Not so fast. There’s your father to convince. He must be made to see that I’m the best choice Ivy has for happiness.”
“You haven’t seen the competition.” Allen laughed and scratched his nose. “Trust me. Father, and Mother, especially, will be groveling at your feet in gratitude. They want my sister to be happy, which is why they haven’t pushed her to marry before now.”
He rested a hip on the bannister and gazed at the brilliant sunset.
“Truth be told, I’m rather surprised how easily Father conceded to Prinny’s demand. I have no more desire to incur the Regent’s wrath than anyone else, but Father didn’t attempt to stall his royal rotundness.”
Allen pulled on his earlobe, his countenance bewildered. “Wholly out of character for my sire, I assure you.”
He swung his gaze to Chance, speculation in its green depths.
“It’s almost as if he knew of your interest in my sister.”
Chance gave a low laugh. “He did. I asked for her hand years ago. The viscount told me to make a request again when she was older, and I had something to offer her.”
Allen’s fell open. He gaped at Chance.
“Devil it, you didn’t. He didn’t.” Allen turned to stare at the house. “That sly fox. He knows exactly what he’s about.”
His mouth skewed into an appreciative smirk, he shook his head. “He knows Ivonne’s taken with you and won’t accept another. Father’
s forcing your hand.”
Chance wished he agreed with Allen’s assessment of the situation. Truth be told, his friend’s explanation seemed far too simple and fortuitous.
“Perhaps, however, I have my doubts.” Straightening his waistcoat, Chance shifted toward the manor as well.
“I’ve been absent six years. People will find it peculiar that immediately upon my return to England, Ivy and I are betrothed. You know they’ll ask why there wasn’t a single hint or mention of an arrangement between us in all this time.”
The sun sank lower on the pastel horizon. A cricket’s buzzing chirrup rang nearby. He needed to be on his way soon, or he would be tardy for dinner. Not the way to impress a potential employer.
“How do you and your parents intend to explain other men courting your sister in my absence?” He rubbed his sore arm and then snorted. “Brows will raise and whispers will be tossed about, if I can somehow manage to get Wimpleton’s approval.”
“Oh, you’ll get it all right,” Allen assured him. “And don’t worry about the courting. None of those sots ever paid her their formal addresses. A few unworthy curs sought her hand, but Father made it clear they should turn their attentions elsewhere.”
A delighted chuckle escaped his friend.
“I’m willing to bet my best mare that Father regretted refusing you the moment he realized where my sister’s affections lay. Mother probably deduced the truth and gave him a piece of her mind in the process. Women seem much more perceptive to that sort of thing.”
Allen folded his arms, a pleased grin exposing his teeth.
“This is perfect, Falcon, don’t you see? You claimed Ivonne was promised to another. Who else would know that except her affianced? Now that you’re once again on British soil, we’ll circulate the tale that an agreement was reached before you hied off to India.”
“Why didn’t we marry before I left?” Chance eyed him doubtfully. “No one with an iota of sense would believe such fustian nonsense.”
Allen shrugged. “Ivy was what? Fifteen when you left?”
“Almost sixteen.”
“Definitely too young.” Allen clasped both hands to his chest and, sotto voce, declared, “To leave her Mother’s bosom and trot off to another continent at such a tender age? Unfathomable.”
“You forget, Allen, I don’t have anything to offer her. No title, no fortune, no lands. Not even an annual income.”
Only the deepest, purest love a man ever had for a woman.
Would that be enough? For her, perhaps, but her father’s approval mattered a great deal to Chance as well.
Allen faced him, all signs of silliness gone. His attention sank to Chance’s mangled hand. “You love her. The rest shouldn’t, and doesn’t, matter.”
A far-off glint entered his eyes. “I learned that the hard way.”
Was love enough? Chance wasn’t certain. A title, even attached to a blackguard or rogue, meant much too many of le bon ton. Perhaps the viscount numbered among those. Chance didn’t know the man well enough to make that determination.
“Besides,” Allen stretched his arms overhead. “I have news that might turn providence’s favor your way. A few questions to the right chaps at Brooks’s and White’s, and I learned Robinson has a reputable establishment on Lombard Street.”
“He’s still conducting business?” Chance’s gaze leaped to Allen, and he couldn’t contain his surprise. “I thought him a thieving scapegrace long since gone.”
A dove landed on the lawn. Watching them with its tiny black-button eyes, the bird poked around beneath a shrub.
“Apparently not.” Allen brushed a speck of lint off his coat. “He’s reputed to be honest and diligent. Several gentlemen I spoke to have engaged in financial endeavors with him.”
He gave Chance a cocky grin. “Very lucrative dealings, I might add.”
*
Ivonne tore to her room, barely making the threshold before the torrent of tears overflowed. She’d feared she would cast up her accounts or swoon when Falcon offhandedly mentioned his interest in leaving England. Collapsing on her bed, she sobbed until her throat and head ached.
Shoving her soggy pillow aside, she rolled over and heaved a gusty sigh.
America.
Falcon’s announcement ripped her chest wide open, yanked out her fractured heart, and smashed it beneath the hooves of a thousand horses. Even breathing was a painful reminder of the annihilation of her pathetic dream.
She quirked her lips in self-castigation. When had she become so histrionic? Her gaze fell on a large basket sitting atop the chamber’s small, square table. A crisp white sheet of paper peeked from between several wrapped bundles.
She frowned. What was that, and when had it arrived?
Emelia!
Ivonne leaped from the bed, swiping at her damp face with her fingers. She snatched the paper, taking a cursory glance at the basket’s contents. After breaking the wax seal with her fingernail, she read the missive.
Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. A tight knot of defeat curled in her middle. Emmy wouldn’t help. She’d sent along several fashion magazines, the name of an exclusive modiste, and a basket full of cosmetics, fripperies, and fallalls.
My darling Ivonne,
You’ve no need for my expertise. You are supremely lovely in your innocence, and any man who fails to recognize that truth isn’t worthy of you. I sent along some new cosmetics…
Ivonne wadded the note into a tiny ball. She tossed it in the fireplace as she dragged herself to the washstand. Eyes closed and fighting tears, she wiped her face with cool water from the pitcher. After changing into her nightgown, she climbed between the sheets. She lay staring at the canopy, her thoughts cavorting about in her mind.
No help from Emmy.
Falcon plans to leave England.
I must produce a groom in two weeks.
All is lost.
Dawson tiptoed into the chamber, her thin face etched with worry. Her astute gaze took in the basket, crumpled paper, and garments heaped upon the floor. “Can I get you anything?”
“Would you please tell Mother I’m indisposed?” Ivonne turned onto her side, tucking a hand beneath her pillow.
“Of course. I’ll bring you some mint tea and toast too.”
Dawson padded from the room, no doubt already aware of the reason for Ivonne’s distress. Servants knew every tidbit, though how they came by the tattle was baffling, if not downright eerie at times.
Several moments later, two raps sounded at the door. Mother glided into the chamber without waiting for Ivonne to bid her enter.
“Darling, you’re not well?” As she took in Ivonne’s appearance, her mother’s face creased with concern. “You’re pale as the moon. Is it your stomach? A headache? Your leg?”
“No, none of those ail me.” Ivonne shut her eyes lest her mother see the anguish that no doubt resided there.
Mother laid her cool hand on Ivonne’s brow. “No fever, but you look entirely done in.”
Ivonne released a shaky breath and opened her eyes.
“You’ve been crying.” Her mother’s brow furrowed into a frown. She sat upon the edge of the bed and smoothed Ivonne’s hair. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. This betrothal business has been too much for you.”
After tucking the counterpane around Ivonne’s shoulders, Mother kissed Ivonne’s forehead. “I’ll send our regrets to the Vanbrokes at once.”
“No, Mother. You and Father should go. Perhaps your presence will help alleviate some of the chatter.” Ivonne didn’t believe it for a minute. When the ton sank its talons into a juicy bit of gossip, no hope for redemption remained. Vultures on carrion, they delighted in everything foul and putrid.
Her mother shook her head.
“No, what’s done is done. I don’t give a rat’s behind what anyone thinks.” She patted Ivonne’s shoulder. “And I don’t mind telling you, after you left the study, I gave your Father a piece of my mind about this ridiculous marria
ge hullabaloo.”
“I’m sorry you and Father quarreled.” Ivonne sniffed as fresh tears threatened. “It’s rather a mess, isn’t it?”
Her mother opened her mouth then snapped it closed. She stared at Ivonne for a lengthy moment, uncertainty marring her expression.
“Have you considered ...? What I mean to say is, Ivonne is there the slightest possibility, that Mr. Faulkenhurst—”
“He’s meeting with Lord and Lady Sethwick tonight regarding a position in America.” Harder words Ivonne never spoke.
“Oh. I see.” Mother wilted upon hearing the news. Nevertheless, she painted a brilliant smile onto her face. “We’ll hatch a plan, darling. There’s a little time, yet.”
She didn’t sound convinced by half. “Here, give me a hug, and then I must inform your father of our change in plans this evening.”
Ivonne pushed herself into a sitting position and shoved her hair out of her eyes.
“I’ll check on you before I retire, dear.” Mother embraced her, her familiar iris and jasmine perfume oddly comforting. With another reassuring smile, she slipped from the bedchamber.
The moment her mother exited the room, Ivonne collapsed against the pillows.
What was she to do? Falcon contemplated a move to America. Across the Atlantic. A lifetime away from her. She bit her lower lip and fiddled with the ribbon at her neckline.
The answer was simple.
She’d stow away on the ship.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“How much?” Chance ran a hand through his hair in disbelief.
Surely he’d heard wrong. There was some mistake. There had to be.
Fortune didn’t smile on him. But perhaps God’s favor finally had. He almost touched his jaw to make sure he wasn’t gaping open-mouthed like a gasping mackerel.
“How much did you say?”
“Four hundred ninety seven thousand pounds ... at last count.” Mr. Belamont smiled kindly, his eyes twinkling. “It’s rather a shock, I gather?”