“I am not,” Ivy snapped, even though her cheeks did feel warmer. She blamed the memory of seeing that bit of Lord Michael’s skin the night before.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Her cousin shrugged as the path took a turn. “I’m certain it’s none of my concern anyway.”
No, it wasn’t. Though Ivy didn’t say that aloud. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to ask for some medallion of protection?”
“After what we saw?” Frannie sounded aghast.
But Ivy shrugged in response. “So we stumbled upon something. If that something hasn’t bothered you since, I hardly see why a medallion that may or may not work is necessary.”
“I haven’t seen that ghost again,” her cousin admitted. “But what if he makes another appearance?...”
So far he’d only delighted in annoying the devil out of Ivy.
“…Besides, that pirate is hardly the only ghost at Keyvnor. Being protected from the lot of them makes complete sense to me.”
Pirate. Ivy frowned at the word, the same one Lord Michael had used. “What makes you so certain he was a pirate?”
“Well, I hardly think a usual sailor would scowl so menacingly.”
What a completely ridiculous thing to say. Ivy laughed despite herself. “And just how many sailors do you know, Frannie?”
Her cousin’s brow bunched up slightly. “Well, none, really. But I can’t see why anyone other than a pirate would wear such an expression.”
“So you think that once a fellow decided to become a pirate that a permanent scowl became affixed to his face?”
“You don’t have to mock me.” Frannie sniffed.
Ivy shook her head. “I’m not mocking you. I’m just trying to make sense of it all, and you do have very decided opinions on the matter.”
Her cousin then scowled, and Ivy silently mused that Frannie’s scowl was hardly one that would intimidate even the most mild-mannered pirate. They’d never admit her into their ranks. She just didn’t have the appropriate scowl.
“How were you not terrified?” Frannie asked.
“Why should I be terrified?” Ivy countered. “Banfield and his ancestors have lived at Castle Keyvnor for centuries. If it was so terrifying, they wouldn’t have stayed all that time, would they?”
“Perhaps they’re a stubborn lot.”
“Perhaps,” Ivy conceded as she didn’t think Frannie would ever listen to reason on the matter. They approached a clearing, and Ivy spotted a number of Gypsy wagons up ahead. Oh, this seemed like a very bad idea. Heaven help her if Ethan found out she’d headed here without his permission. “Promise you’ll keep a level head and you won’t let them fleece you.”
Her cousin cast her a sidelong glance. “I’m not a simpleton, Ivy.”
“Just more trusting than you should be sometimes.”
Frannie rolled her eyes. “You could be a bit more trusting, actually.”
At that, Ivy scoffed. “I trust the trustworthy.”
“And who is that?”
Well, there was Ethan, for one. He might be a curmudgeon, but he was a trustworthy one. And Uncle Frederick. He was trustworthy. And, well, Ivy was sure there were others. Her cousins. Her sisters, mostly. Neither Persephone nor Ophelia made stellar choices in their lives, but they were kind-hearted. Ivy wouldn’t trust them to make decisions for her, but other than that…
“Yes, what a very long list,” Frannie said dryly.
“And yet, I’d wager that of the two of us, I’ll be the one who won’t be robbed blind this afternoon.”
“What are we wagering?” came a deep voice just a few feet away, a very familiar voice that had Ivy’s traitorous belly flipping. “I am rather lucky with wagers.”
She turned her head to find Lord Michael by a copse of trees, watching her with a rather amused expression, and Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. Blast him! Did he have to be so handsome all the time? And did he have to look at her like that?
Her hand fluttered to her heart. “Good heavens! You startled me. You took ten years off my life just now.”
“That I highly doubt,” he said, his lips quirking up to a more defined grin. “If something ever truly frightens you, my lady, do let me know.”
What in the world did he mean by that? Before she could even ask that question, Lord Michael turned his attention to Frannie, his blue eyes alight with kindness. “Miss Dallimore, so nice to see you, as always.”
“And you, Lord Michael,” her cousin said in return. Then she gestured toward the Gypsy camp and said, “They’re not frightening, are they? The Gypsies?”
“Not for your cousin, as nothing seems to frighten her.” He winked at Ivy. Then he shook his head and said to Frannie, “But Lynwood and my sister assure me that for the rest of us they are the gentlest of souls. Have you come to have your fortune told or—”
Frannie shook her head. “I’m hoping for some sort of medallion of protection. Something to keep the ghosts of Keyvnor at bay.”
Lord Michael looked like he was about to nod, but he winced slightly instead. “My sister was given a little pouch a few months ago. She found it worked rather well.”
“Did she need one here?” Frannie asked and glanced around their surroundings as though she was looking for something. “I mean, is Hollybrook Park haunted as well?”
He shrugged slightly. “We were staying at Keyvnor at the time. And when she kept it on her, it did help protect her.”
Frannie shot Ivy a victorious expression. “See?”
“Oh, yes,” Ivy said dryly, “Do take the word of a silver-tongued libertine.”
Lord Michael’s amused expression settled on his face once more, and his blue eyes shimmered with…well, Ivy wasn’t certain what they shimmered with, but whatever it was made her belly flip again. “You are rather focused on my reputation, Lady Ivy. I am flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she returned tartly. “It’s hardly a good one, is it?”
At that, he laughed. The rich sound swirled around Ivy and warmed her heart just a bit. How did he even do that? The last thing in the world she wanted was to like him, and yet she did. Just a little.
“Michael!” Lord Lynwood called from across the camp as he rounded a Gypsy wagon. “It’s this one here.” He gestured to the most run down of all the wagons present. Where the others had a rounded shape at the top, this one had a dip and the door looked like it hung at an odd angle.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Lord Michael grumbled, not sounding at all like his usual gregarious self.
“It looks worse than it is,” Lynwood said. “And Lash assures me the bed is quite comfortable.”
What in the world was that about? Ivy caught Lord Michael’s eye, but his expression gave nothing away.
Then he heaved a sigh and called back to his brother-in-law, “Do direct Lady Ivy and Miss Dallimore toward your grandmother, will you?”
Upon hearing those words, Lord Lynwood seemed to notice Ivy and Frannie for the first time. “Oh, of course.” He smiled warmly gesturing to a wagon not far from him. “Puri daj is in that vardo right there, the red one.”
Puri daj? Was that what he called his grandmother? His lordship had quite immersed himself in the Gypsy world, hadn’t he? Not that Ivy cared one way or the other. She was much more interested in the dilapidated wagon and how exactly it was related to Lord Michael. She cast him a glance and muttered, “Looking to purchase a Gypsy wagon, my lord?”
He scoffed lightly. “Any port in a storm,” he replied enigmatically. Then he flashed her that handsome grin of his before he started for the shabby wagon in question.
Chapter 6
Michael blew out a breath as he started up the small set of steps that led to Lash’s ill-kept vardo. Normally the roofs bowed out, however, this one was sunken in. It was no wonder Lash had abandoned it to stay in the home Lynwood had built for his grandmother.
His brother-in-law opened the door to the wagon and gestured Michael inside. “B
eggars cannot be choosers, Beck.”
Unfortunately, that was entirely too accurate. “Lead on,” he sighed.
Lynwood stepped inside the vardo first, dipping his head as he did so, and Michael followed after him. Dipping his head ached, so he bent at his waist instead. He’d be a hunchback after a sennight in such a contraption.
The inside of the vardo would have been as dark as pitch with the walls and floor all done in walnut, if not for some afternoon light that was streaming in through a number of holes in the roof. But at the far end of the wagon, past a wood burning stove and a dresser, Michael spotted a bed; and it did look more comfortable than Blackwater’s floor or the settee he’d tried to sleep upon the night before.
“I suppose it will do,” he muttered. “I’ll have someone at Keyvnor send the rest of my things over once I return to the castle.”
Then he stepped back outside and straightened back to his full height.
“I daresay you may even enjoy yourself.” His brother-in-law clapped a hand to Michael’s back and sounded rather cheerful about the entire thing. “You may even want to become a Gypsy when all of this is over.”
That, Michael highly doubted, but saying as much would probably be considered rude, especially as Lynwood’s Gypsies had welcomed him into their midst. “It’s bad enough I’ll be going into trade. Fairly certain Mother would have an apoplexy if I sprung life as a Gypsy on her.”
“Trade?” Lynwood echoed, thankfully not sounding nearly as stunned as Jack had done.
“Copper mining in Wales.”
“Well, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid this one might send Mother to an early grave.”
“You should ask my puri daj for a special tea. Something to calm Lady Halesworth’s nerves before you break the news to her.”
“Your grandmother has a special tea that will prevent Mother from dying of shock?”
His brother-in-law grinned. “My grandmother has something for nearly every conceivable situation. She’s even given Anthony a spring of enchanted mistletoe.” He laughed. “Though I don’t think I’m supposed to be privy to that. So don’t mention it.” Then he gestured in the general direction of his grandmother’s wagon where Lady Ivy was just stepping back outside. “But some have even sworn by a love amulet she has in her possession, in case you want to try it out on that lovely redhead of yours over there.”
Michael snorted. “I doubt your grandmother has anything in her arsenal strong enough to fell the formidable Lady Ivy Dallimore.”
“She was watching you before.” Lynwood shrugged. “Your entire journey to the wagon. It might not be as difficult to fell her as you think.”
“Have you met her before?” Michael asked, unable to keep his gaze from the tempting redhead.
His brother-in-law shook his head. “Afraid I have not had the pleasure.”
“She’s a prissy brat with a tart tongue and a spine of steel. That pirate, or whatever he is, that plagued Cassy last time we were here has taken a liking to her, and instead of running in fear, she berates him as one might an errant child.”
“You like her,” Lynwood said softly, a bit of surprise in his voice.
More so every time Michael encountered her. If the crick in his neck wasn’t there, he’d have nodded. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “Not that it does me any good.” And at that moment, Lady Ivy caught his gaze and the faintest of smiles settled on her lips, making his blood pound a bit faster in his veins. “She thinks I’ve got an unsavory reputation.”
“You do,” his brother-in-law agreed with a laugh. “And yet she’s smiling at you anyway.”
She was doing that. Perhaps Lady Ivy wasn’t as lost a cause as Michael feared. “In that case,” he began, as he stepped away from Lynwood, “I’ll see you later.” And then he made a direct path toward the lovely Lady Ivy.
Oh, good heavens! Now he was walking toward her. Ivy gulped slightly and hoped he wouldn’t notice. If that awful old Gypsy woman hadn’t tossed her out of her wagon, she wouldn’t have to…
“Not interested in a medallion of protection?” Lord Michael drawled as he reached her.
“That old woman in there asked me to leave.”
He blinked at her as though he heard her incorrectly. “I beg your pardon? Lynwood’s grandmother threw you out?”
But Ivy didn’t want to get into the particulars, especially not when she thought something strange was going on with him. “Why were you looking at that broken wagon?”
“I need some place to sleep while I’m in Cornwall.”
He could not be serious. “You mean to sleep in that?” She frowned up at him.
“Do you have a better offer?” he asked, his rakish smile firmly in place.
And he was a rake. Ivy knew that very well and should keep it in the forefront of her mind. She folded her arms across her middle and leveled him with her iciest expression.
Lord Michael chuckled in response. “Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Why are you going to sleep in that thing?”
“Because all the inns are sold out and my sister didn’t save a space for me in the manor.”
“That’s awful!” Ivy’s mouth fell open. “If either of my sisters ever did that to me...”
“So, it’s that wagon or the floor in Blackwater’s quarters, and that did not go well last night.”
“The floor?” she echoed.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t snore.” Lord Michael shrugged. “But he does and so I imagine that wagon has to be better.”
None of that made any sense in the world. “Are you telling me Lord Banfield invited you to his daughters’ wedding but he didn’t save space for you either?”
Lord Michael raked a hand though his golden hair as though he was suddenly uncomfortable. “I, uh, didn’t accept the invitation. I decided at the last minute to attend.”
“Were you even invited?”
At that, his smile vanished as though she’d offended him. “The Banfields are relatives, distant as they might be.”
So he’d been invited, but he hadn’t accepted. How very odd. “Why in the world would you come to a wedding if you didn’t accept the invitation?”
“I had some debts to collect. Seemed a lot of the fellows who owed me something were going to be here, so…”
Ivy shook her head. “What do they owe you for?”
“Various bets over the years and this last racing circuit in particular.”
Honestly, he made less sense the more he talked. “And you’re just now collecting?” Ivy wasn’t one for wagering money on anything, but it seemed like it made the most sense to collect at the time one won a bet, not at a random wedding some months or years later.
“It seemed as good a time as any,” he hedged.
He was hiding something, quite obviously. Ivy narrowed her eyes on him. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
Lord Michael snorted. “Why did Lynwood’s grandmother toss you from her wagon?”
Was that what they’d come to? Trading secrets? Well, Ivy’s wasn’t so bad. At least she was quite certain that whatever he was hiding was worse. “She said my aura was disruptive, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Your turn.”
“Your aura was disruptive?” he echoed.
“Which I care nothing about, to be honest,” she said. “It is now your turn to answer my question, my lord. Why are you just now collecting your winnings?”
But he shook his head instead of answering. “I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll never speak to me again, and I quite like speaking with you.”
Her belly fluttered at those words, even though it shouldn’t. Why in the world did he have that kind of effect on her? “Well, perhaps if you don’t tell me, I’ll never speak to you again. Have you considered that?”
He folded his own arms across his chest and regarded her silently as though he was warring within himself whether or not to confess whatever it was
he was hiding. “Promise me you’ll still talk to me after I tell you.”
Good heavens! How bad must it be? “You can’t truly expect me to promise something like that?”
Lord Michael heaved a sigh. “Then I believe we are at an impasse.”
Blast it all! Why was he being so difficult? “What if you tell me you’ve done something awful to my brother or to me?” She shrugged. “You can’t truly expect me to speak to you if that’s the case.”
“I would never do anything awful to you,” he vowed, and his voice washed over her like the softest caress. How in the world had he done that?
Ivy shook away the affect he had on her. Goodness, how was it suddenly so warm in late December? “Yes, well, you’re expecting me to make a promise when I don’t know that for a certainty, do I?”
Lord Michael’s blue eyes lingered on her for a moment and then he said, “Promise me that you’ll still speak to me unless my secret reveals me to be a liar and I have done something awful to either Westbury or to you. How about that?”
There were a number of other awful things he could have done. What if he’d ruined a friend of Ivy’s? Or he’d committed some act of treason? Or…what if it involved some girl he was pining after? That last thought made her heart twist a bit. Well, now she had to know. “All right. I promise.”
Lord Michael stepped closer to her, so close the sandalwood of his shaving lotion invaded her senses. His nearness made her heart pound and her breath catch, and she would die a most agonizing death if he ever found that out. He dipped his head down toward her and whispered in her ear, “I’m going into trade and have need of the funds.”
Chapter 7
If Lord Michael had dropped an anvil on Ivy’s head she’d have been less stunned. She blinked up at him and her mouth fell open in surprise.
Good heavens, that was scandalous! She must have misheard him. There was really no possible way that he’d said he was going into trade. It just wasn’t done, not by anyone even marginally respectable.
But perhaps he had said that. His deep blue eyes bore into hers as though he was searching for something in her countenance. Disgust. Ambivalence. Or acceptance, perhaps?
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