Mr. Graves assured her with a nod. “Sir has a sense about these things.”
Right now, North wasn’t certain he had a sense about anything, because he wished they were still trapped.
Yet, without a word of confession, he assisted Ivy to the ladder.
Before she mounted the first rung, she looked over her shoulder at him. “This was quite the adventure, Your Grace.”
“It was indeed, Miss Sutherland.” A stranger now stood in his skin. North wondered if he would ever feel like himself again, or if he’d been changed forever.
Chapter Five
THE CHRISTMAS EVE BALL was only a few days away.
Ivy, Lilah, and the debutantes had spent most of the following day gathering greenery to decorate the hall. Red apples and white ribbons adorned garlands of pine and fir boughs over doorways and along the main stairs. Holly branches tied with silver bows made wreaths for wall sconces. The leftover pieces were clustered together with sprigs of rosemary to form a ball that hung from the foyer chandelier. Some of the young ladies even set about on a hunt for mistletoe, hoping for a kiss that might bring about a wedding within the year. Unfortunately for them, there was none to be found.
Ivy was a bit disappointed, but only for Lilah’s sake. Claiming a kiss and a mistletoe berry could have done just the trick. Especially since Ivy hadn’t done her part in securing a husband for her friend.
Even when she’d had the perfect opportunity to catalogue Lilah’s innumerable qualities last night, Ivy had neglected to do so. In fact, while alone with the duke last night, she’d completely forgotten her entire purpose for being here. Worse yet, she hadn’t behaved as an unmarried women in society ought to have done. Instead, she’d been herself, which likely didn’t bode well for Lilah either.
This evening, however, she was determined to make amends. She would forget about the events of last night. She would forget about the connection she felt. And she would forget about—
Ivy’s thoughts abruptly veered backward. Had he felt a connection, too? Or had his actions merely been dictated by circumstance? What if, like with Jasper, the duke now was ashamed of his actions and hers? And what if, upon seeing her this evening, the duke pretended not to know her?
Awash in these turbulent thoughts, Ivy donned her sea-green gown for dinner and stepped out of the dressing room in search of her slippers. “I was sure I left them by the bed.”
“You have been preoccupied all day.” Lilah smoothed the front of her cream-colored gown and pointed to the marble console by the door, where a pair of green satin slippers waited. “Are you still unwell?”
Spotting the gold-tasseled slippers, Ivy realized that she must have left them on the table when she’d dropped one of her earbobs on the floor. Inexplicably, the thumb on her left hand—the one that he’d kissed—hadn’t ceased tingling today, which had made it difficult to accomplish certain tasks, donning earbobs among them. “The very blossom of health. As you know, it is not unusual for my thoughts to drift.”
After the ascending room experience, she’d come to this chamber and sent a maid with a note stating that she was ill. Yet in truth she hadn’t been able to imagine sitting still for a concert, not with her entire being overbrimming with exhilaration. Nor would she have been able to sit still beside him, pretending nothing had happened between them.
Then, later, she’d hardly been able to sleep. She’d still been awake when Lilah had returned from the late supper that had followed the concert. Still awake and dreaming of the duke.
Ivy slipped into her shoes as Lilah pulled on a pair of gloves. That was the moment Ivy recalled that she only had one of her gloves. Oh dear! She’d left the other one behind last night. She’d brought other gloves, of course, but they were of the shorter variety. She’d only had her maid pack one pair of long evening gloves. Quite honestly, she’d never imagined needing another pair.
“I overheard Aunt Zinnia and the dowager duchess speaking of how our host was equally distracted last evening,” Lilah said absently. “Though, from my own observations, His Grace appeared no different than he has been since our arrival.”
Hearing the barest mention of the duke sent a wondrous thrill through Ivy. It started in her stomach and speared straight through her heart on its ascent. “You said nothing of him all day. Tell me, did he speak to you?” Did he ask about me?
Lilah shook her head. “Not a word. He did, however, glance down at my shoes once or twice. I don’t think he remembers my name.”
“Oh.” That thrill turned into a hard lump of guilt. Ivy swallowed. How could her conscience permit her to wonder if the duke had asked about her when her sole focus should be Lilah?
Surely she could have thought of one thing to say on behalf of her dearest friend last night. An interesting tidbit that would have enticed him. Perhaps while standing in his embrace and plummeting down the shaft, Ivy could have mentioned Lilah’s bravery—spiders never had bothered her one whit. Or perhaps when he’d tenderly stripped the glove from Ivy’s arm, she could have mentioned how lovely Lilah’s hands were—her fingers were quite elegant, and she played the harp beautifully.
Yet Ivy did not want to think of the duke’s lips on Lilah’s thumb.
The duke. After what had transpired between them, she should call him Vale, perhaps. At least in her mind . . . but no. The nature of her thoughts demanded more intimacy. Northcliff, perhaps, or simply North. She wondered which he preferred. Then again, asking him such a question assumed an intimacy between them, and if there was one thing that made Ivy timid, it was making an incorrect assumption.
She wondered—if Mr. Graves had returned just a few minutes later—would the duke have kissed her? And if he had, would he have been as disappointed as Jasper had been? Would North ultimately have discovered that she did not stir his passions either?
Ivy tried to clear away the clutter of depressing thoughts in her mind. “I will think of something, Lilah. Surely tonight he will speak to us.” Unless, Ivy thought, he regrets every moment last night and desires to avoid me. . . .
In the mirror, Lilah sighed and adjusted the coral comb in her coiffure. “If I begged you not to, would it make a difference?”
Ivy thought about her guilt and knew her answer. She was here for one purpose, and from now on, she would try harder for Lilah’s sake. “Likely not, but there is always a chance.”
Lilah said nothing, while Lady Cosgrove’s voice called out from the other room. “Miss Sutherland, would you come here, please?”
Lady Cosgrove sat at her vanity, having her hair dressed. With an elegant, though minute, lift of her hand, she pointed to the door. “One of the maids left a mended glove for you on the table by the door. Though I did not know you tore your glove last evening. I thought you’d been ill.”
Ivy drew in a sharp breath and fixed her gaze on the long white glove across the room.
“Yes, my lady, I . . . I had a dizzy spell, and when I reached out to steady myself, I snagged my glove.” The statement was true enough, but she stumbled over the words regardless. Had North sent her glove to be mended?
She wanted to rush across the room and press the soft ivory leather to her lips, but her trembling legs kept her pace slow. Lifting her glove from the table, she noted the fine stitching on the thumb. When she slipped it on, she realized something was inside. Withdrawing it, she held a short stickpin, like a cravat pin, with a bit of cork around the point to keep it from piercing her glove. She looked closely at the small design on the other end and nearly laughed. It was a jade frog wearing a tiny gold crown.
A frog prince . . . Even though she dared not allow it, something tender and shivery swirled beneath her breast, making her feel lighter than air. Surely such a gift meant something. In the very least, that he would acknowledge their acquaintance.
Now, more than ever before, she dearly hoped that she would not see regret o
n the duke’s face this evening.
DURING DINNER, NORTH had decided that having a single table capable of seating over one hundred guests was more hindrance than a point of pride. Miss Sutherland had been seated at the opposite end, near Aunt Edith. At such a distance, he’d only been able to make out the bluish green hue of her gown—nothing of her expression, or whether or not she’d turned her head in his direction.
He’d found himself glancing equally as often at the clock, calculating the duration between courses and the interim period where the ladies would retire to the parlor in the west wing, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cheroots.
Now, dinner was over and a suitable time had passed for the requisite separation of the sexes. When a footman notified him that the ladies were awaiting them, North was the first out the door.
“Your step is rather eager, cousin,” Wolford said from beside him in the archway leading to the parlor, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Tell me, is there a certain debutante who has caught your fancy?”
North had endured enough of his cousin’s teasing over the years to know better than to take him seriously. Yet a frisson of apprehension rolled over him as he wondered if his countenance gave anything away.
He collected himself, hesitating on the threshold. Upon first examination of the room, he noted Miss Sutherland’s absence. A keen sense of disappointment trudged through him. “Such a development would be to the detriment of my formula. It is far more likely that the reason for my haste is simply to bring the evening to a close, sooner rather than later.”
“What with Baron Cantham’s snide remarks about your bloodline, it is no wonder,” Wolford growled.
His cousin’s defense of him caused North to forgive his more annoying characteristics. “Though he may be a purist, it is rather telling that both he and his daughter accepted my invitation.” After dinner, he’d paid little heed to Cantham’s thinly veiled slander. North had had far more important matters on his mind, like clock watching and—
Suddenly, Miss Sutherland emerged from a connecting doorway at the far side of the room. She stood arm in arm with her friend—whose name he could never seem to remember. Ivy’s gaze darted around, seeking, until it collided with his. And held.
Something akin to elation stirred within him when she did not look around for anyone else. His chest grew warm and tight at once. Perhaps the port in the glass he still carried had turned. Although when her smile appeared, tentative and questioning, he forgot all about his drink. Instinctively he knew that she wondered if he would acknowledge their acquaintance. In order to protect her reputation, their time in the ascending room had to remain a secret. Therefore, he could do nothing more than hold her gaze as a measure of reassurance. Yet that was not enough for him. So he inclined his head a fraction as well.
She smiled in earnest now. If the sun dawned behind her this very instant, the star would appear dim and cold by comparison. And were he elevated to king right then and there, with all of England at his feet, the feeling could still not compare to this.
Suddenly, he felt like the most important man in the entire world. Every cell in his body told him to go to her. Now. To plow through the obstacles between them, seize her, and—
“At last, you are caught,” Wolford said in a conspiratorial chuckle. “I see that your gaze is fixed on that cluster of blushing maids by the door.”
North stiffened. “Is a host not meant to acknowledge the presence of his guests?”
“Even more damning than that, I was speaking all manner of nonsense, and you gave no reply.”
North’s heart thudded in his chest. He was still focused on the idea of taking Ivy Sutherland in his arms. It was not like him to entertain such thoughts. Not only that, but acting upon impulse was not something he did. Ever. Discounting, of course, last night’s compulsion to invite Miss Sutherland into the ascending room. He was a methodical, planning sort. If he behaved in a manner so out of character, his guests would likely assume that he was ill. Or worse, that he’d been carried away by a romantic notion.
For his formula to have any merit at all, he could never do such a thing. Yet knowing this still did not remove the unexpected, consuming desire.
“I have turned a deaf ear to your nonsense,” North readily explained. “As you know, I am not a man ruled by passions. Nor am I of an impractical nature.”
“Aye. We are the same in that,” Maxwell Harwick, Marquess Thayne, drawled as he sidled up to their small group just inside the parlor. He set down his empty snifter on a rosewood wine table with enough force that he nearly sent it toppling. “Leave the romantic notions to the women who want to marry a title and riches. They deserve what they get in return.”
With a slow shake of his head, Wolford clucked his tongue at Thayne. “Apparently, you are forgetting that you are now a man with a title and riches. Worse yet, your mother is determined to find you a bride. Perhaps even here at this very party.”
North allowed himself to expel a breath of relief when Liam’s keen attention turned from him to their mutual friend. Now that the other gentlemen were filing into the parlor, it would not bode well for North’s formula if his cousin’s deliriums were overheard.
As for Thayne, North felt a sense of commiseration with him. Thayne had never expected to inherit a marquessate from a distant fourth cousin. Since receiving his title, he, too, had fallen under scrutiny. Every event of his past was analyzed beneath a microscope.
Thayne offered a none-too-friendly grin. “Do not look now, Wolford, but you are also a man with a title and riches.”
Wolford made a show of brushing off the reminder from his waistcoat. “Like my father before me, I will marry at the ripe age of one and sixty, and no sooner.”
While Thayne and Wolford continued their repartee, North abandoned them and crossed the room toward Aunt Edith. Fortuitously, she stood within a group that included Miss Sutherland, her friend, and Lady Cosgrove.
“Nephew, your hearing astounds me,” Edith began. “Not a moment ago, I made the comment that I wished to gain your attention. Then, before I had even finished the sentence, you were striding toward us.”
“How serendipitous,” he said with a polite bow before greeting each of them in turn. Miss Sutherland’s name was the last to leave his lips, and it lingered there for a moment. The hue of her gown turned her blue eyes stormy and dark. He noted the subtle parting of her lips on a breath that lifted the creamy swells of her breasts, and desire flooded him. “I was heading this way to make amends for being an abominable host. I could not allow another evening to go by without offering my sincerest apologies to both Miss Appleton and Miss Sutherland for my inattentiveness. From this moment forward, I will make every effort to ensure your enjoyment.”
Edith patted his hand and smiled adoringly. “That pleases me, nephew, though with nearly three dozen debutantes all vying for your attention, I fear you will wear yourself thin.”
“Never fear, Aunt Edith. I’m quite resilient.” He glanced at Ivy, then down at the small jade pin she’d placed in the center of her bodice. It was nestled there so perfectly that he felt a pang of jealousy. “Rather like a . . . frog that has frozen in a pond for winter, but at springtime hops away.”
At the mention, Ivy lifted her gloved hand to touch the pin.
“You always were fond of frogs,” Aunt Edith said. “Your mother even taught you to speak German through a folk tale about a frog. I seem to recall that ‘Der Froschkönig’ was your favorite as a child.”
“Yes, ‘The Frog King’ was my favorite.” North watched Ivy’s eyes widen and a blush color her cheeks. “Though, in the English translation, he became a prince. I’d always felt sorry for him when he was thrown against a wall. Now I suppose he was fortunate to have found the one girl who was not annoyed by his incessant croaking, or else he might have been dropped from too great a distance instead.”
A bubble of laughter escaped Ivy. “It could have been a much different tale for our poor prince, Your Grace.”
“Ah, Miss Sutherland,” the dowager duchess said with delight, “only now have I noticed your pin. Are you also fond of frogs?”
“Inexplicably, yes, ma’am,” Ivy answered without hesitation, keeping her gaze fixed on his. “Very much so.”
Elation expanded inside his chest, drawing it so tight that he could hardly bear the sensation. It caused a wave of panic to wash through him. He knew he should not have been feeling this way—whatever way this was. His sole focus needed to remain on gaining a Fellowship. Only proving his formula mattered.
Therefore, he forced himself to turn away from Miss Sutherland, at least marginally, in order to concentrate on the others within the group.
“I find it rather surprising that frogs are considered good omens for a happy marriage, don’t you? After all, they are not the most romantic of creatures,” Edith offered to the group, though with a sly glance toward North. When he cleared his throat in warning, she continued and discreetly fluttered her hand in a gesture over his shoulder. “With the use of my nephew’s Marriage Formula, however, luck is not needed, I can assure you, Lord Basilton.”
The man in question joined the group just as she spoke. He was of a short, solid build, with wiry brows and a carefully groomed beard.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Basilton said. “That is precisely the reason I ambled this way.”
North stepped to the side to allow more room. The fact that he moved closer to Ivy was nothing more than happenstance. The sweet fragrance of persimmons filled his every breath. Mere inches separated them. He switched his port to his other hand so that he might accidentally brush her arm when he lowered his to his side. And when he did, he cursed the barrier of gloves between them. Yet at the same time, he noted with pleasure that Ivy did not pull away.
Unable to resist, his index finger discreetly arced out to capture her pinky, all too briefly, before he renewed his focus on the task at hand. “Basilton, I’ve been told that your daughter is quite the accomplished violinist.”
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