“Do you think reprimanding him will actually work?” he asked.
Her gaze flashed back to Michael and a slight smile graced her lips. It felt like the hardest won smile he’d ever earned and that would make him cherish it all the more. “He is gone now.” She shrugged. “I don’t think he’s used to anyone telling him what to do, quite honestly.”
“No, I don’t imagine he is.” Michael shook his head. There was no way she could be any more charming than she was. “But all the same, I’d feel much better if you’d let me take you to the gypsy camp for a little pouch tomorrow.”
That little bit of smile she had vanished in an instant. “I hardly think it would be in my best interest to go anywhere with you, Lord Michael, gypsy camp or otherwise.”
“Not lofty enough for your exalted presence?” he challenged her, because what did he have to lose? And he did love talking to her, especially now in the dark, just the two of them, with her in that wrapper.
She scoffed slightly. “That is one thing, I suppose.” Then she shook her head and her fiery hair swayed with the movement, brushing against her shoulders, making Michael’s cock stiffen in response. “Though I think your reputation is a much larger concern.”
And very well earned. “It’s my reputation that concerns you?” Back in London, he’d been quite certain it was his lack of lands and a title.
So many things about him concerned her. The broadness of his shoulders. The dimple in his left cheek when he smiled at her. The way the intensity of his clear blue eyes made her belly flip. But she couldn’t admit to any of that. “Well, it’s hardly a good reputation, is it?”
“I suppose that depends on who you are.” A slow smile settled upon his lips, and Ivy hoped he didn’t notice her gulp in the shadows of the darkened corridor.
Good gracious! He was only wearing a nightshirt and small clothes, and her eyes were drawn to the bit of skin she could see at the base of his neck that should have been covered and would have been if he was the decent sort. “Who I am is the sister to the Duke of Westbury.”
“Oh, I think there’s much more to you than that.” He pushed away from the doorjamb and took a step toward her. “And whenever I think about you, thoughts of Westbury are the furthest from my mind.”
Ivy gulped again. All of a sudden, he seemed to take up entirely too much space in the corridor. “You think about me?” she asked, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Lord Michael Beck was hardly the sort of fellow who needed to have thoughts about her, but the suggestion that he might have them made her knees slightly weak.
“Probably more than I should.” And then he was right before her, and the light from her candle illuminated his golden hair, making him look like Adonis and some sort of fallen angel rolled into one.
Ivy’s breath caught in her throat as awareness of him rippled through her.
“Do you ever think about me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that turned her insides to mush.
Goodness! Why had she started that line of questioning with him? Ivy swallowed a bit nervously. “Never,” the lie slipped from her lips, because he was wholly inappropriate for her, and she really shouldn’t encourage whatever it was he thought he was doing.
Lord Michael lifted his hand up and captured a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Just as soft as I imagined.”
Had he really thought about her? Had he done so before or after that unfortunate incident in Hyde Park? Ivy’s nipples tightened at the memory of his hands on her, but she shook that memory from her mind. It didn’t matter when Lord Michael thought about her or how often he did so. Infatuation was a dangerous thing. She’d witnessed firsthand how her sister Ophelia had let infatuation ruin her future completely, and now look at her. Heartbroken, miserable and stuck with a man well beneath her station for the rest of her days.
No, no. Ophelia and her dratted Chopwell were the embodiment of a cautionary tale. And the last thing in the world Ivy wanted for herself was to go down the same unfortunate path as her sister. It did not matter if Lord Michael made her knees weak or her insides turn to mush. He was not the sort for her, and keeping that in the forefront of her mind was of the utmost importance.
Ivy took a step backward and her hair slipped from his fingers. “It would probably be best for you not to imagine me at all,” she said, and then she spun around and rushed as quickly as she could back down the labyrinthine corridors and all the way to her chambers with her heart pounding the entire way.
After closing the door behind her, Ivy sunk against it as she took a steadying breath. Blast it all! Of everyone staying at the overflowing castle, why did she have to encounter him? Was it just a cruel twist of fate? Why wasn’t he in his chambers? Were the gods plotting against her for some reason? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon the elusive Duke of Markham or even Wycliffe on her way to the library?
The library!
Blast it! Ivy groaned in defeat. She hadn’t even made it to the library to select anything to help occupy her time at this horrid castle before bumping into Michael Beck. Could things possibly get any worse?
Chapter 5
Michael blinked his eyes open and…
“What the devil!” He shot off the settee.
Before he could even gather his wits about him, the little boy who had been only an inch from his face a moment before completely disappeared into the ether. Damn it all!
As a rule, Michael didn’t find little boys terrifying in the least. But discovering a child’s face that close to his own when he opened his eyes had been more than jarring. The damned ghosts of Keyvnor. His heart still pounded in his chest.
Damn it all. Well, he was awake now, with no possibility of him going back to sleep. Of course, he wouldn’t be keeping Town hours once he finished the purchase of his mine. He might as well start rising earlier than he was accustomed, just to get himself used to all of it. At least he wouldn’t wake to ghost children within an inch of his face in Wales.
He snatched up his pillow and blanket and started back to Blackwater’s chambers to change for the day, hoping his friend was either awake or had miraculously quit snoring at some point in the night. However, he did not think the latter was terribly likely.
“Is that how you go around these days?” came a vaguely familiar voice from behind him.
Michael turned on his heel and could not help the smile that spread across his face. The Duke of Markham. Michael’s own personal holy grail, at least of sorts. “Your Grace, I heard you were here but didn’t see you last night.”
Markham nodded slightly and Michael realized the duke had dark circles under his eyes. “My daughter hasn’t been feeling well. I’m afraid we’ve kept Doctor Fairfax rather busy ever since we arrived.”
A sick child. Michael blew out a breath. He certainly couldn’t ask the man to pay his gambling debt when his daughter was sick. He’d already lost his wife earlier that year. “I do hope she’ll feel better soon.”
The duke gestured to Michael’s pillow and blanket. “Spent the night somewhere other than your chambers?”
“Something like that,” Michael replied, not really wanting to admit the truth of his unfortunate sleeping arrangements to the duke.
And then a weak, “Papa!” followed by a tiny cough came from the chamber at Markham’s back.
Worry creased the man’s brow and he suddenly looked older than his thirty-ish years. “Do excuse me,” he said as he started back for his daughter’s chambers.
Michael wished the man his best and then continued on his way toward Blackwater’s room, his mind focused quite pointedly on the state of his funds. Arwel Paynter had already accepted his proposal and first down payment. The mine company was Michael’s, but the second installment would be due before he knew it, especially if he didn’t keep it in his sights. Certainly he’d have the funds in time for his next payment, wouldn’t he? When Markham settled with him, that would be enough for Michael to own the mine outright. The duke’s daughter would get b
etter and Michael would ask him to settle his debt. There was nothing to worry about, at least he hoped there was nothing to worry about.
As he continued navigating the corridors, Michael turned another corner just in time for a chamber door to open and for a slight blonde in a nightrail to nearly barrel into him.
“I will not be responsible for my actions, Thomas.”
“Millie!” hissed the shirtless Earl of Hayfield as he buttoned up his trousers while chasing after the girl. “I didn’t mean—” And then the man noticed Michael in the corridor and scowled. “Do you mind?” he grumbled as he brushed past him in his haste to catch the blonde. “Millie!” he hissed again as he rounded the corner after her. “You know I don’t have a choice.”
Michael hastened his pace to Blackwater’s chambers, not caring at all if Hayfield caught his runaway governess or not. It wasn’t any of his concern, after all. Except…
Well, except there had been that bet in the book at Whites about whether or not Hayfield was bedding his children’s governess, wasn’t there? It was an older bet, not from last season but from two seasons previous, back before the earl had been a widower. But the bet was still on the book. And considering Hayfield and his servant barely had a stitch on between the pair of them and the fact that blonde had apparently spent the evening in the earl’s chambers, Michael was more than certain the merits of that particular bet had just been proven. And that meant Jack now owed him another ten pounds as his friend had not believed the Countess of Hayfield would put up with her husband’s philandering under her own roof. And perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps whatever was going on between the earl and his governess had started after the countess’ sudden death, but none of that affected the verbiage of the bet in question as it was written in the book at Whites.
Michael couldn’t help but smile to himself. One way or the other he was going to pay off his mine. And at this rate, perhaps he’d have enough for his next installment by the time Banfield’s two daughters walked down the aisle on Christmas Eve without even collecting from Markham. Between Jack, Blackwater, Snowingham, and…hmm, was there anyone else at Keyvnor who owed him a few pounds? Or even more than a few? He probably should have been better at collecting his winnings in the past, but now…well, now, all his well-placed bets seemed to be paying off in spades. How very fortuitous.
He’d dress quickly and then hie over to Hollybrook Park to see his family and then he’d casually inform his old friend that he needed to pay up once more. It was a very good thing that Jack had talked him into attending this double wedding. A very good thing, indeed.
“Ah! There you are!” Michael stopped just inside the threshold of his brother-in-law’s study at Hollybrook Park. Adam Vail, Viscount Lynwood, had just handed Jack a glass of something, and Michael’s brow lifted in mock surprise. “A little early to be imbibing, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too early,” Jack said with a grin. “How was Keyvnor?”
Michael snorted as he stepped further into the room. “Damned place is filled to the brim. I ended up spending half the night on Blackwater’s floor – he snores like the veritable devil, by the way – and the other half in a parlor with my legs dangled over the edge of a settee.” Then he touched a hand to the back of his neck. “What sleep I did get, must have been at an odd angle. I can barely turn my head this morning.”
Lynwood shook his head in sympathy. Then he gestured to a decanter on the corner of his desk. “Would you like a bit of Madeira? Might loosen your muscles.”
Michael had not come to Hollybrook Park to get foxed before noon. He’d come with another purpose entirely. He started to shake his head, but it ached. So he simply dropped into the chair beside Jack’s and said, “Not at the moment.” Then he glanced at his friend and added, “I come with good news!”
“Indeed?” Jack asked.
Michael winced as he nodded. He needed to avoid doing that, at least until the crick in his neck had worked itself out. “Hayfield is bedding his children’s governess.”
Jack blinked at him in confusion. “I fail to see how that is good news.” And then he laughed as he added, “Unless one is Hayfield, I suppose.”
“Or unless one had a bet on that very matter written into the book at Whites.” Michael grinned. “As we do, and now you owe me ten pounds over the matter.”
“Good God.” A bark of laughter escaped his friend. “How in the world did you possibly remember that? It was forever ago.”
“I probably never would have,” Michael admitted, “if I hadn’t seen her racing from his chambers this morning in her nightrail and him chasing after her in a pair of half-buttoned up trousers.”
“So you’ve been reduced to Blackwater’s floor while Hayfield is sharing his bed with his governess?” Lynwood asked. “Hardly seems fair.”
Michael snorted in agreement. “Somewhere in that castle, her bed went un-slept in last night, and I would have been quite happy to have it.”
“It occurred to me last night,” Lynwood began, “Lash’s vardo is unoccupied. I’m certain he’d let you have use of it, if you’d like.”
Who the devil was Lash? One of Lynwood’s mother’s people most likely as Lash, whoever he was, was in possession of a Gypsy wagon. “There’s an empty vardo at Hollybrook Park?”
His brother-in-law nodded. “I had a place built for my grandmother some time ago, but she refuses to live in any permanent structure. Lash, however, has made himself quite at home in the place as the top of his vardo is in disrepair.”
So a broken Gypsy wagon. Had it come to this? Michael didn’t think it had. He was about to shake his head, but the crick in his neck stopped him. Damn it all, it would be nice to sleep comfortably while he was in Cornwall. Gypsies slept in the things all the time, didn’t they? A vardo, even one in disrepair, had to be better than Blackwater’s floor or a settee at Castle Keyvnor. “In that case, I would be quite grateful.”
Lynwood pushed out of his chair. “Well, then, we should go find the fellow.”
“While you’re at it,” Jack said to Lynwood, “do thank your grandmother for Cassy and me if you see her.”
Lynwood grinned at Jack. “The putsi is working, then?”
Jack nodded. “Cassy worked up the nerve to cross over onto Keyvnor land this morning and wasn’t bothered by a single apparition. We cannot thank your grandmother enough.”
“I believe I made that very suggestion when we were here last,” Michael said. After all, the little gypsy pouch had helped Charlotte a few months earlier. And he had suggested that his cousin get something similar as the ghosts at Keyvnor had tormented her to no end.
Jack laughed in response. “Now don’t be sore that we heeded Lynwood’s advice instead of yours.”
What did Michael really care? “As long as you pay your debts, St. Giles, I don’t care if you heed my advice or not.”
“Heavens, Frannie! We’re not in a footrace,” Ivy complained as her cousin practically dragged her down the path that linked Keyvnor lands to the adjacent Hollybrook Park.
“The sooner I get some medallion of protection from the Gypsies the safer I’ll feel,” Frannie insisted.
Some medallion of protection. She sounded as mad as…well, Lord Michael hadn’t sounded mad the night before. Not really. He’d sounded just like the libertine she knew him to be. Pouches to keep in one’s bosom. Of all the ridiculous things to suggest. Ivy blew out a breath, determined not to think at all about the golden-haired rake. “You haven’t even seen that ghost since the seashore yesterday,” she said evenly. “I hardly think we need to race at breakneck speed to a Gypsy camp.”
At that, Frannie did slow her pace, but only just barely. “On my life, Ivy, it was the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen. I could barely even sleep last night. Every sound made me jump, every shadow terrified me to no end. And since Papa will not leave Keyvnor until after the weddings, I have no other choice but to hope the Gypsies will take pity on me.”
Take pity on her. They’d pro
bably take everything Frannie possessed in exchange for some worthless trinket that doubled as a medallion of protection, of all the ridiculous things in the world. “You should probably let me hold onto your reticule, just to keep them from robbing you blind.”
Frannie gasped. “You don’t think they would, do you?”
Goodness, her cousin was too trusting by half. “They’re Gypsies, Frannie.”
Frannie shook her heard. “Yes, but Holly said they were very nice.”
“Holly also thinks Ethan is very nice, so her judgment on the matter should be in question,” Ivy returned.
Her cousin giggled at that, and it was the first time she’d sounded the slightest bit light-hearted since before they’d spotted the dark pirate or sailor or whatever he was by the seaside yesterday. “You are too hard on him.”
Ivy snorted. “You should have heard him last night.” She lowered her voice and mocked her brother’s baritone, “If you’re not better in the morning, I’ll have to send for the local doctor.”
“Yes, how awful he is to be concerned for your well-being,” Frannie agreed. “The very worst brother alive.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes on her cousin. “I didn’t ask him to seek me out. He could’ve just left me in peace. All I wanted to do was hide from…” Well, she’d really rather not divulge that bit.
“Hide from whom?” Her cousin missed nothing. “Certainly not Hayfield?’”
Certainly not. Ivy could manage that particular fortune hunter with no trouble at all. But Michael Beck… Blast him. Just the thought of his name made his image appear in her mind, that triangle of skin she’d seen at the base of his neck and his chest made her pulse increase slightly. “Never mind.”
Frannie shook her head. “Heavens, Ivy Dallimore! You’re blushing.”
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