“And what do you want if you win?”
“You, but I’d settle for a kiss.”
She was even warmer than she’d been a moment ago, and part of her hoped he did have that Ace. “And if you don’t have a Natural?” she asked, barely recognizing her own voice.
“Then we can each get one more card in our individual quests to reach vingt-et-un without going over.”
She was so perfectly adorable, Michael wished he had an Ace instead of the damned Six of Hearts. He’d give anything to kiss her and hold her and anything else she’d let him get away with. But she had to be in pain. Just the bruises he could see looked awful, and he was afraid she was just as purple in places he couldn’t see as well. If he ever got his hands on whoever pushed her down the stairs…
“Well…?” she asked, that breathy quality to her voice that made Michael’s cock twitch.
“Well?” he echoed.
Ivy grinned from ear to ear. “Do you have an Ace?”
Michael breathed out a sigh. “Alas, I do not.” He nodded toward her cards. “Do you want another card? Or do you want to stay where you are?”
“I think I’d better take another.”
He dealt her a Ten of Spades and gave himself a Three of Clubs. He had nineteen, but she had something even better. He could tell by the joyous little glint in her eyes. “Do you want to stay, Ivy? Or do you want another card?”
“Oh, I will stay,” she said, nearly beaming.
He couldn’t help but smile back. She should never gamble with anyone other than him. She was too easy to read. “Normally, I would stay, but I have a feeling you’ll beat me if I do.”
“I might beat you either way.”
Definitely an awful gambler. “And what do you want from me, if you win the hand?”
Her lips twisted a bit as though she was contemplating all the many things she might want and was trying to decide on just one. “I suppose I would like the truth about something.”
Well, that would be simple. He’d been honest with her about everything. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather ask for a kiss?”
She laughed. “You are a scoundrel.”
He was that, and he agreed with a nod. “But an honest one. You can waste your win, if you’d like. I’ve been honest with you about everything.”
“Your copper mine,” she began. “You said it’s in Wales.”
Did that mean she was contemplating what a future with him there might entail? Michael’s heart lifted at the thought. “That isn’t a question. And you haven’t won yet.”
Ivy flipped over her hidden card, the Eight of Clubs; and damn it all if she didn’t have twenty-one. “Will you be there all the time? Or—”
Or would there still be time for rubbing elbows in society? Michael heaved a sigh. “The mine has been severely mismanaged. It is going to take quite a lot of effort to turn it around.” He shrugged. “At some point, I’m certain I’ll be able to return to my most favorite past times, but in the beginning, the mine is going to take all of my attention.”
“All of your attention?” she said quickly and then her cheeks turned a bit crimson.
“Well—” Michael bit back a smile. “Should I take a wife with me to Amlwch, I would always save my most personal and devoted attention for her alone.”
“I can’t imagine living in Wales. Do you like it there?”
Michael hadn’t really thought about whether he liked Wales or not. Amlwch was quite different from Suffolk, but there was something exciting about the quaint little Welsh village, something that spoke to him, something that felt like his future was to be made there. “You haven’t won another hand, Ivy.”
“Ethan gave you permission to court me.” She shook her head and her red curls bounced with the movement, drawing Michael’s attention. She did have such lovely hair, especially unbound as it was tonight. “If you ask for anything else, Michael, I think I have a right to know what sort of life I could expect in Wales.”
Michael swallowed a bit nervously. Was she saying if he asked for her hand that she would accept his offer and go with him? “You could expect a husband who would love you forever and make certain you never wanted for anything.”
That apparently was not what she wanted to hear, however. Her eyes hardened slightly and she said, “You can’t promise something like that, Michael.”
His back went straight at her disbelieving tone. “I will be successful, Ivy. I have no doubts about my ability, and—”
“Not that,” she said quickly. And then a staggered breath escaped her. “I mean, you can’t see the future. You can’t promise that you’ll always love me.”
Oh, he damn well could. “I—”
“Both of my sisters married, very much in love,” she continued. “One is marginally happy and the other has been miserable nearly every day since she said her vows. I can promise you she had been quite certain their love would last forever and yet it did not survive a sennight.”
Which meant absolutely nothing where Michael and Ivy were concerned. “Well my parents have been exceedingly happy for nearly thirty years of marriage,” he replied, because his parents were happy and he hoped that Ivy wasn’t going to reject him simply because her sisters had somehow found themselves in unfortunate marriages. “You can’t make decisions about your life based on your sisters.”
She sniffed at that and then she said, “I think I’m quite tired all of a sudden, my lord.”
Michael nearly snorted in frustration. Was she truly dismissing him? They hadn’t even begun to finish this conversation and it was an important one to have. “Ivy—”
“I’m in pain and I am tired. I’m sure you understand.”
Chapter 13
I’m sure you understand. Oh, Michael understood. He understood quite a lot, and he was more than fuming as he made a direct path to the billiard’s room. He wasn’t planning on playing that dratted game. No, no. But he remembered that Banfield had kept a nice supply of whiskey in that particular room, at least that had been true when Michael had been at Keyvnor for the reading of his great-uncle’s will a few months ago. And if there was one thing he was in desperate need of, it was a nice supply of whiskey. That and a little peace and quiet. And as everyone else would be in the great hall for the Yule ball, he was quite certain he’d find everything he was looking for in the billiard’s room.
Damn it all! He’d been so sure that if Ivy loved him as much as he loved her that he could somehow convince her to throw her lot in with his. He should have known better. Even Madam Boswell had told him that first day that Ivy never listened to her heart. And if Michael couldn’t appeal to her heart…Well, he had nothing else to offer her. He didn’t have lands. He didn’t have a title. He didn’t even have his copper mine yet, not outright or in full. Of course his copper mine was certainly not a selling point, not where Ivy was concerned, or really anyone in society for that matter. He still hadn’t even broached the subject with his own parents yet. Father would frown but he’d understand. Mother would most likely scream right before she fainted in a most dramatic fashion.
I’m sure you understand. Yes, yes. He understood that the one girl he had foolishly fallen in love with would never agree to be his, despite the fact that she loved him too. Oh, she hadn’t said those words aloud. But he’d felt them when she looked at him. He hadn’t been the only one who felt it, had he?
Michael snorted in frustration as he neared the billiard’s room and heard the clack of two balls hitting each other. Who the devil was in there? He’d wanted to be quite alone as he drowned his sorrow in the bottom of a bottle of Banfield’s finest.
He stopped just in the threshold and breathed out a breath when he saw the Duke of Markham, leaning over the table and taking aim for a shot. He might have lost Ivy, but the rest of his future plans were still intact, and Markham’s debt to Michael would get him exactly where he needed to be. “Not attending the ball, hmm?”
Markham looked up from his shot, an enigmatic expression on his face. “
I hadn’t thought to see anyone else in here tonight.”
“Not really in the mood to make merry this evening.” Michael stepped further into the room. “How is Lady Lucy feeling?”
A look of relief flashed in the duke’s dark eyes as he placed his cue stick in the middle of the table. “She turned a corner this afternoon. Doing much better and with the appetite to prove it. Thank you for asking after her.”
So the man’s daughter was on the mend. Michael only had to ask for his winnings…
“And how about Lady Ivy?” Markham asked, frowning a bit. “Doctor Fairfax said she was pushed down the stairs?”
Michael agreed with a nod. “She has no idea who it was,” he said, still wishing he knew who had done such a thing to her. He did love her, even if she wouldn’t have him. “You didn’t see anyone did you?”
“I heard her scream and found her lying there.” The duke shook his head. “There was…” He frowned. “Well, there was a blonde girl, I think, headed in the opposite direction, which was odd. Usually if someone screams you run toward them not away, don’t you think?”
“A blonde girl? “ Michael echoed. That was the last thing he expected Markham to say. “Are you certain?”
“No,” the duke replied. “I’ve had so little sleep and I’ve been so distracted, I can’t swear for certain.” Then he heaved a sigh. “And I spend so little time in society. I’m sure if you’d seen the girl you’d have known who she was instantly. But I truly have no idea.”
That was unfortunate. And odd. The entire thing was very odd. Why would some girl push Ivy down the stairs and then run away? Had she done so intentionally? That was an awful thought. “Lady Ivy is fortunate you came upon her, Markham.”
“How is she this evening?”
Michael snorted. “The same as always,” he said a little bitterly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Nothing he wanted to get into with Markham. He didn’t know the man that well, after all, not to share that sort of confidence. But there was something else he needed to address with the man. “I, um, hate to sound gauche, Your Grace, but…”
“You want me to pay up?” the duke said with a bit of amusement lacing his voice.
Michael’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I bumped into St. Giles a bit ago. He asked how much you took me for. Going into copper mining, hmm?”
Michael wouldn’t have thought Jack had loose lips, but he supposed the truth would be out in the open soon enough. “Just as soon as I depart Cornwall.” Without Ivy. Michael’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her behind.
“You sure you want to do that? There’s really no coming back from trade.”
“I think I’ll be good at it.” And he’d better be, because that mine might be the only thing keeping him warm for many years to come.
“I can’t really see Ivy Dallimore accepting the suit of a copper miner.”
“Neither can she, as it turns out.” Michael had been that obvious, had he? Markham couldn’t identify some random blonde girl who’d pushed Ivy down the stairwell, but he’d noticed Michael’s devotion to Ivy.
“She’s careful for obvious reasons. You can’t fault her for that. But if she loves you, I’m sure you’ll win her over. Copper mine or no copper mine.”
What the devil was that supposed to mean? “Obvious reasons?” he echoed.
Markham heaved a sigh. “Chopwell is a right old bastard. You can take my word for that.”
Chopwell? “What the devil does Chopwell have to do with anything?” The man was a right old bastard, and a sadistic one at that, though he wasn’t all that old. But still, Michael had no idea what Markham was talking about. Had Chopwell done something to Ivy? Had he somehow hurt her? Had he—
“Well, I understand she was very close to her sister before the girl married him. Watching his treatment of her sister would hardly make anyone want to run out and get married, would it?”
Michael’s gut churned at the thought of anyone he loved being married to Chopwell. Thank God Charlotte had found a decent fellow in Lynwood. “Why the devil would Westbury allow that?” he breathed out.
“I don’t know for certain,” Markham said. “I certainly haven’t discussed it with him, but I don’t believe he had much of a choice in the matter.”
He hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter? What was Markham saying? Chopwell had ruined Ivy’s sister and there was no other option for Westbury? The man had been in need of funds a few years ago before he’d married an heiress, but Michael hadn’t appreciated the fact that the girl in question was Ivy’s sister. He shook his head. He didn’t even know what Chopwell’s wife looked like. He didn’t think he ever remembered hearing her name before. “How do you know all of this?”
The duke sent Michael a quizzical look. “He’s my brother-in-law.”
Oh, damn it all. Michael hadn’t appreciated that either. Familial connections was clearly not his strong suit. “And he’s awful to his wife?”
“He certainly isn’t good to her. And the worst sort of philanderer on top of that.”
Michael scrubbed a hand down his face. Ivy had said her sister’s love hadn’t lasted a sennight, but he’d been too angry to really think about her words. And he certainly hadn’t realized the girl in question was married to Chopwell of all the bastards in the world. “Ivy can’t think I’m like him.”
“Chopwell can have a silver tongue when he’s of a mind. Like I said you can’t fault her for being careful.”
How many times had she called him silver-tongued over the last season? Michael shook his head and then pinned Markham with a stare. “You see quite a bit for a man who, by your own words, spends so little time in society.”
At that, the duke laughed. “A blind man could have seen the way the two of you looked at each other after the wedding today.” And then a wistful expression settled on his face. “I’ve missed Helen every day since she’s been gone, and I’ll never forget the way she used to look at me.”
One day the picture of health, the next Markham’s duchess had been on her deathbed. No wonder the illness with his daughter had kept the man by the little girl’s bedside for days. “Her Grace did love you.”
The duke agreed with a nod. “And I was lucky to have her, even if for only a little while.” He sighed. “So don’t give up on Lady Ivy, Beck. Give her all the time she needs to realize you’re exactly who you seem to be.”
Michael laughed slightly then. “You know, if I were you -- your title, your status, she’d have me in an instant.”
Markham flashed Michael an uncharacteristic grin. “Well, I am quite remarkable. Who could blame her?”
That only made Michael laugh harder.
“When I return home, I’ll have a bank draft sent to you in the full amount if that will suffice.”
Michael agreed with a nod. “I do appreciate it.”
“Nothing to appreciate. It’s yours. I should have settled with you long ago.”
Michael should have been relieved. As soon as Markham’s bank draft arrived, he’d have every farthing he needed to own his copper mine outright. But even as the duke offered him a glass of whiskey, and even as Michael drank more than one glass, his mind kept returning to the beautiful redhead who’d tossed him from her bedside just a while ago. What would it take? And how long for Ivy to realize that he had her happiness in the forefront of his mind? That there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her?
And then it hit him. His mine. She hated the idea of him going into trade. He’d made the deal to buy, but he could turn around and sell the mine again, if he…Well, he didn’t think he had an aptitude for the church, but if that was what it took to prove to Ivy that her happiness meant everything to him…
Michael found himself standing outside her door, more than a bit foxed, honestly. But staying away from her was impossible.
He knocked on her door. “Ivy,” he called softly and waited, but there was no answer
.
Michael heaved a sigh and pushed her door open just slightly.
“Ivy,” he whispered again.
But the room was dark as pitch and he could tell from the sound of her even breaths that she was asleep.
Very well. He’d see her in the morning. He’d tell her his plans had changed. He’d beg her to give them a chance. But now… Well, it had been a very draining day and he could use all the sleep he could get. It would, after all, be the first night he’d spend in a decent bed since arriving in Cornwall.
Things would be better in the morning. They’d have to be. It was Christmas. A time for magic and miracles and…true love no matter what.
Chapter 14
Ivy woke with a start. Goodness! It was as though someone had tiptoed across her grave. Her heart was pounding rapidly and an uneasiness washed over her.
She took a staggering breath and sat up in the bed. Whatever had woken her had not done the same to Frannie. Her cousin was curled on her side and sleeping quite soundly.
Ivy dropped back down to the pillows, closed her eyes and willed herself to go back to sleep, but that awful feeling wouldn’t leave her. She sat up in bed and…
The moonlight streaming into the chamber illuminated that scowling sailor ghost near the window.
Ivy heaved a sigh. “Honestly,” she complained quietly to keep from disturbing Frannie. “It’s beyond the pale to skulk around in someone’s bedchamber while they’re sleeping.”
Not that berating him really did any good. There was never any change to his expression that indicated her words had any sort of effect on him at all.
But then, rather startlingly, the ghost floated toward her, and then right through her to the other side of the room.
Ivy shivered. She’d never been so cold in all her life as she had been when that sailor passed through her. It was almost as though she’d been dipped into the Irish Sea in the middle of winter, and she couldn’t shake the chill.
The pirate then passed right through the stone wall that separated her shared chambers with the one she’d given Michael. Perfect! Let him go haunt someone else for a change.
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