by Cheryl Bolen
“Yes, rather,” Chance managed to utter, sounding almost normal. He was a wealthy man.
A very wealthy man. A virtual nabob.
In one wondrous moment he’d gone from nearly penniless soldier to prosperous investor. Most importantly, he now had the means to care for Ivy, which meant Viscount Wimpleton would welcome his request to marry her. Only last evening Chance had expressed his concerns to Allen regarding the matter, and today, that worry no longer existed.
“I kept your documents locked in a private cabinet Tobbins doesn’t have access to. Given the amount of your fortune, I thought that wisest.” Belamont slanted his silvery head toward the closed door. “He’s efficient, but the man babbles when he’s taken a nip or is nervous.”
“Yes, I experienced that the other day.” Chance attempted to calm his thundering pulse.
“All the information regarding Mr. Robinson’s business ventures on your behalf are detailed here.” Belamont pushed the documents across his desk for Chance’s inspection. He pointed to the pages lined with neat columns of numbers. “It appears he invested heavily in silk and spices. Most wise.”
Rubbing his injured hand, Chance stared at the ledger, noting row after row of scrupulous records. He met the solicitor’s amused gaze. “I don’t understand how you came to have this information.”
Belamont relaxed into his chair, his hands folded across his slight paunch. “Robinson told me you gave him my name. When he couldn’t reach you in India, he forwarded your correspondences to me.”
Chance fingered the edge of the desk. Discovering one was wealthy did rather set one’s nerves on edge. Not that he had any complaints, mind you. “I’d forgotten I’d told him you were my solicitor.”
Overnight, everything fell into place in such a miraculous way; he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
“I suggest you call on him today. You might as well deal directly with one another from this point onward.” Sitting upright, Mr. Belamont withdrew a key from inside his coat. He unlocked a drawer then rummaged around a bit. “Where did I put that bank note?”
A triumphant smile lit his face. “Ah, here it is.”
He removed the note before dutifully relocking the drawer and placing the key in his pocket. “This is yours. Robinson sent the funds last week, and I didn’t have time to deposit the note before I left Town. By the way, Coutts & Company Bank is holding your monies.”
Chance accepted the note, giving it a perfunctory glance. Another six thousand pounds plus change. He grinned unabashedly. “I’m not going to even attempt reserved composure. In fact, Belamont, count yourself fortunate that I’m not dancing you about the room.”
“You’ve good reason to celebrate.” Belamont released a gravelly chuckle. He swept his hand in a mocking bow. “Dance away, Faulkenhurst.”
After folding the note, Chance tucked it into his pocket. He stood and gathered his possessions. Sobering, he faced the solicitor and extended his hand.
“Thank you for your diligence and honesty.”
Mr. Belamont came around his desk. He gripped Chance’s palm in a firm handshake. “It’s been my pleasure to be of service. Tell me, if you don’t mind, what’s the first thing you’re going to do with your newfound fortune?”
Chance clapped his beaver hat on his head and grinned. “Buy a wedding ring.”
Half an hour later, his mind still partially numb from pleasant shock, Chance inspected the rings the jeweler displayed for him. Primarily glittering diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, he dismissed most with a cursory glance. Ivy deserved something unique, like her. He pictured glistening ivory-tinted pearls, the exact color of her skin as she lay naked atop their bed.
“Do you have anything less ostentatious? Something with pearls, perhaps? My intended prefers simplicity.” At least he hoped to make her his intended before the day ended.
Ivy, his bride.
Indescribable elation sluiced through him.
“Yes, sir.” The jeweler rummaged in the glass case.
“Ah, here we are.” With great reverence, he produced a pearl and opal cluster ring. “This is a black opal, though if you’ll notice, there’s a strong blue color play.”
Chance lifted the ring, holding it to the light streaming in from the storefront window. A mazarine blue opal lay nestled amongst double rows of creamy seed pearls. Exquisite. “Have you any matching pieces?”
“Why, yes, there are.” An excited glint entered the jeweler’s eyes. He produced a grand parure set complete with earrings, necklace, pin, bracelet, and a delicate tiara.
“I’ll take the entire set.”
Ivy would be resplendent wearing them on their wedding day. For the first time, Chance harbored a genuine belief she’d be his bride.
God truly must be smiling down on him.
“Very good. Your lady is very fortunate indeed.”
Chance shook his head. “No, I’m the one who’s been blessed.”
After locking the display case and securing the key inside his coat pocket, the jeweler gathered the gems. “Let me wrap them for you. I’ll be but a moment.”
“Thank you.” Chance flipped his watch open. Less than an hour until his appointment with Lord Wimpleton. His stomach seized with unfamiliar nerves.
Steady on, old man.
He grinned. What a difference a single day could make in determining one’s future. Belamont’s missive early this morning, followed by a call to the solicitor, and then an appointment with Robinson had set a whole new course for Chance’s life.
Now, the only tasks that remained were to win Lord Wimpleton’s approval and to propose to Ivy.
*
“Miss Ivonne, you need to wake up.”
Dawson’s singsong greeting yanked Ivonne from a rather wonderful dream about a wedding. Her wedding.
“Your Father requests your presence below stairs,” the maid said, followed by the sounds of her laying out Ivonne’s morning tea.
Two days in a row? Seriously?
Ivonne flopped onto her back, her eyes firmly shut as she tried to recall the man standing beside her at the altar of St. George’s Parish Church.
No use, bother and blast.
His face flitted away on the fringes of her memory. And bother again. The one man she would ever accept as a groom decided to toddle off to the confounded colonies.
Her throat closed as a sudden rush of tears threatened. She clamped her lips together. No, by George, she wasn’t casting her lot in that easily. She could at least ask Falcon to consider marrying her.
Then there’d be no doubt in her mind, lingering year upon incessant year. No always wondering if the outcome of her life might have been different if she’d only plucked up a feather’s worth of courage and asked him if he would be her husband.
A cup rattled in a saucer near Ivonne’s head. She opened one eye and sniffed.
Hot chocolate. Dawson’s attempt at bribery.
“I brought you a cocoa topped with Devonshire cream.” Dawson lowered the painted floral saucer to eye level. Thick rivulets of melted cream dripped over the teacup’s rim. “You’d best take a sip. I was a mite too enthusiastic with the cream. I know you have a preference for it.”
Dawson extended the cup and saucer, a hopeful expression on her face.
Poor dear.
She’d fussed and clucked so much last evening, Ivonne had finally snapped at the maid to leave her be. Immediately chagrined by her churlish behavior, Ivonne longed to apologize, but Dawson had taken her at her word and not returned to the chamber until this morning.
Ivonne sat up. She fluffed the pillows behind her back before accepting the hot chocolate. “Thank you, Dawson.”
She took a sip and smiled. “Delicious.”
The maid beamed, and after giving Ivonne a pat on the shoulder, set about selecting something appropriate for her to wear.
A full hour later, attired in a pink and white calico morning gown, she caught a glimpse of herself in a hallway mirror. At
her request, Dawson had trimmed her hair before twisting the thick mass into a complex Grecian knot. Several curls framed Ivonne’s face, softening her features.
She’d experimented with the new cosmetics Emmy sent too. Well-pleased with the effect, she smiled. The paints enhanced her features, although no one could tell she wore any. Just how many other ladies of her acquaintance availed themselves of the same devices and feigned natural beauty?
Once again, Ivonne stood outside Father’s study, except today she had determined to take charge of her future. With a brisk knock, she thrust her chin upward a notch and pressed the latch, entering without waiting for permission.
She tripped to an abrupt stop.
Falcon, his legs crossed, lolled in an armchair across from her parents on the sofa.
Allen, one arm resting on the mantel, stood before the fireplace. His countenance remained unreadable, although a smile hovered about his mouth.
Why was Falcon here, closeted with her family? A quick perusal of their faces revealed nothing.
Allen strode to her and, after kissing her cheek, chucked her under the chin. “Courage, minx.”
He turned to the others, now standing as well.
“I’m off to Tattersall’s. Rumor has it Blackeridge has some prime bit of blood up for auction. I’ll keep an eye out for a matched team for you, Falcon.” With a smart salute, Allen departed the room.
“Darling, do have a seat.” Her mother indicated the settee, as she moved toward the entrance. She paused and bussed Ivonne’s cheek. Then, with a fervent hug, whispered, “All will be well, dearest.”
What in the world?
Mother, too, made her escape, leaving Ivonne standing befuddled in the center of the study. Why did she need courage, and what would be well? First casting her father a questioning glance, she allowed her gaze to feast on Falcon.
No man should be that beautiful.
The black of his cutaway coat and the royal blue of his striped waistcoat made his eyes more vivid. How could his eyelashes be so dark with hair that fair?
His gaze leisurely roamed her length. Hot little pricks of awareness popped out along the visual path his gaze traveled.
Gads.
Her senses came alive with strange little prickles as they were wont to do when he looked at her that way. If his eyes alone had the power to arouse her this much, imagine what his touch would do. She’d be sliding off her chair if he kept gazing at her so seductively.
She cleared her throat and focused on her father as she advanced further into the room. “Whatever is going on?”
“I think I’ll let Faulkenhurst explain.” He smiled and winked. After a quick embrace, Father strode from the room, leaving the door ajar.
Staring at the entry, Ivonne shook her head. “Is everyone dicked in the nob this morning?”
Falcon chuckled, that delicious rumble that sent her pulse skittering out of control. “No, they know we have something of importance to discuss and wished to give us some privacy.”
Lord, no.
He’s leaving for America. She wasn’t prepared. It was way too soon.
Her legs now the consistency of warm pudding, she wobbled to the sofa. Scrutinizing his dear face, she plopped ungracefully onto the cushion. She swallowed, fisting her hands in her skirt’s folds. She couldn’t bear his going away again.
“You’re sailing to America. I hadn’t thought you’d leave quite this soon.” She tried to smile, but her lips refused to turn upward.
Falcon sat beside her. “Ivy, I’m—”
Palm outward, Ivonne raised her arm and cut him off. Her hand quivered so badly, she lowered it to her lap. She must propose this very minute, before he had a chance to say another word.
“Please, I have something to ask you, and if I don’t ask now, I’ll never have the courage again.” She closed her eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. Squaring her shoulders, she opened her eyes and stared directly into the azure depths of his. “I don’t suppose you’d consider ...? That is, would you be opposed to ...?”
Quivering from nervousness, Ivonne could barely make her tongue work. She tried again, ignoring her shaky voice. “I wanted to know if you ...?”
Dash it all, this wasn’t how she’d imagined the proposal would go. She lowered her eyelashes as the heat of humiliation crept steadily from her bosom to her cheeks. They likely glowed like candied apples as they did when she was embarrassed. Nonetheless, she must do this.
She peeped at him through her eyelashes.
A bemused expression on his face, Falcon stared at her. “Go on.”
“Will you marry me?” she blurted in a breathy rush.
“Yes.”
“I know I’m not ...” Her gaze jumped to meet his, and her heart hammered so hard, she could scarcely breathe. “Yes?”
The word emerged as a strangled squeak. She dared a tiny smile.
“You said yes? You’ll marry me? Really?”
Falcon smiled, his perfect white teeth a stark contrast against his tanned face. He cupped her cheek with his good hand.
“Ivy, your father granted me permission to propose to you just moments ago.”
Ivonne’s mouth dropped open. “Oh.”
Placing a finger beneath her chin, Falcon closed her mouth. His lips hitched upward into one of his irresistible smiles. “It seems he’s been waiting for me to return to England and ask for your hand. I asked to marry you once before, and he refused.”
“You did? He did?”
Father had turned Falcon away? How could he?
All these years she’d yearned for his love, and he’d already asked her father to marry her. Just wait until she had a moment alone with her sire. She’d give him a colorful earful he’d not soon forget.
“He wanted me to come back when you were older and I had the means to take care of you. However, your father realized you loved me, had been pining for me all these years.”
Ivy angled her head proudly. “I wasn’t pining.”
“No?” Falcon quirked a brow.
She lifted a shoulder. “I just never entertained any notion of marrying anyone else.”
Eyeing the door, she suddenly stiffened, tucking her chin to her chest. “Father turned you away because you weren’t wealthy? I never thought him so shallow.”
“He wanted to make sure I loved you for you, and not your marriage settlement. He told me, just now, that when he realized I truly loved you and you loved me, he’d been waiting for me to return and ask for you again.”
Chance ran a finger along her jaw.
“He loves you very much and only wants to see you happy.”
He took her hand in his calloused one.
“I came here today seeking his permission to wed you. Your father summoned you so I could propose. Only you, minx,” Falcon tapped the end of her nose, “beat me to it.”
He’d been about to propose to her? Her heart soaring on wings of joy, she managed a tremulous smile.
Scooting nearer, he gathered her in his arms. “Though you were too young and I knew we’d have to wait, I’ve wanted to make you my bride since you were fifteen.”
“Truly?” She blinked back tears of elation.
“I swear.” His golden head descended until only an inch separated their lips. “I love you, Ivy. Will you be my bride?”
His mouth grazed hers, a tantalizing promise.
“Yes, Falcon, I shall.” With a sigh, she sealed her promise with love’s binding kiss.
EPILOGUE
London, England, Late June, 1818
Standing before the rector, Ivonne smiled into Falcon’s loved-filled eyes.
They were married. She’d dreamed that this day might come. Seated in the front pew, resplendent in a plum cutaway coat and matching breeches trimmed with diamonds and rubies, the Prince Regent beamed his approval.
Falcon’s family, as well as hers, completed the witnesses. Dozens of guests awaited them at home where an extravagant wedding breakfast had been prepared.
“I love you, Mrs. Faulkenhurst.” Falcon’s caressed her palm with his thumb.
A delicious tremor shook her. What his touch did to her.
“And I love you.”
“What say you we make our escape?” He grasped her hand and hurried her past the small crowd of laughing well-wishers to the waiting carriage.
Ivonne giggled when he tickled her ribs while lifting her into the conveyance.
“Ah, my wife is ticklish.” After jumping into the vehicle, he promptly lowered the window coverings.
Settling her on his lap, he proceeded to nuzzle her neck and caress her ribs.
A new bout of giggles ended on a blissful sigh when Falcon claimed hers lips in a scorching kiss. She leaned into him, surrendering to her desire, daring to meet his tongue with her own as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt. Hard muscles and warm flesh met her exploring fingers. She’d never tire of touching him.
Several tantalizing moments passed before Ivonne angled away from him. He needed to know she understood theirs wouldn’t be the typical wedding night. But how to say so delicately was a bit of a pickle. It wouldn’t do to offend Falcon on their wedding day.
“Falcon?”
“Why the serious face?” Bending his neck, he nibbled along her collarbone. He ventured ever lower, releasing her breasts from their confines. He gently cupped the mounds, raining kisses across the sensitive flesh.
God, she would die if he didn’t take a nipple in his mouth.
As if he heard her thoughts, he encircled an aching tip with his warm lips. He suckled, grazing the end with his teeth.
A stab of intense pleasure flickered between her legs. She gasped and clutched his head, making him stop. She couldn’t think straight when he kissed her so.
“This is important,” she gasped, barely recognizing the husky voice as her own. “Please listen.”
He raised his head, peering into her eyes.
“All right.” He brushed a stray curl from her face. “What is it you are determined to tell me, wife? I have other things I’d rather be doing than chatting.”