by April Moran
Thank you, God. Thank you.
Ivy shook violently. Brushing away the broken glass, he located her cloak, drawing it over her shoulders. Her skin was like ice, teeth chattering with the discordant rattle of tin cups. Having long ago worked free of its pins, her hair hung in a messy tangle. Sebastian removed his gloves to smooth the curly waves back from her face.
He passed a gentle thumb over her swollen lip. Faint red marks discolored one pale cheek; in the dim light, he saw bruises on her wrists, dark smudges in the shapes of fingers marring her upper arms. The muscles of his stomach tightened. He would beat the viscount until nothing remained but a pool of blood and broken bones. Hopefully the bastard would survive that, because Sebastian then planned on killing him. Very slowly.
“Sebastian?” Her face pale as ivory, Ivy’s eyes held a misty, haunted air. She stared right through him.
“Yes, love. I’m here. Will you do something for me? Will you lay down? Close your eyes for a moment? I must have a word with the coachman, and then I’m taking you someplace safe. Yes, that’s it, lie down, sweetness.” Recognizing the effects of shock, Sebastian helped her curl up on the seat. He settled his own coat and a hastily discovered coach blanket over her, tucking everything in tight. God, he ached to soothe her, to hold her close, to ensure no one ever harmed her again…including himself.
He swept a soft kiss across her frozen lips when she suddenly gripped his hand tight. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Ivy. I shall be just outside the coach. Close your eyes. That’s a good girl.”
The coachman stood over Basford’s crumpled, unconscious body. He glanced up as Sebastian approached.
“I’m sure there is no need to impress upon you the necessity for discretion. Word of this misadventure goes no further than the courtyard of this godforsaken inn. What is your name?” Withdrawing one of the small bags of gold from the inner pocket of his coat, Sebastian tossed it so the servant caught it mid-air. “For your troubles then, George Quick, and for the duties you will undertake on the lady’s behalf. We will continue on to Bentley Park. Do you know of it? I shall ride behind you. My stallion would highly object if I tied him to the back of this vehicle. Should the viscount regain his senses and possess any notion of following, which I doubt, I will handle matters. Now, in the near future, I imagine you shall find yourself without a post. A problem easily remedied as you will seek out the stablemaster at Ravenswood Court, or should you find country life more to your liking, present yourself at Beaumont in Kent. In either case, your services shall be engaged immediately.”
“Right, sir. Thank you, sir.” George grinned, his decision already made to become a coachman at Ravenswood Court. The Earl of Ravenswood possessed an excellent reputation as a fair and just employer; his servants among the most envied of London. “Who will I say sent me, sir? I have no letters, sir, that is…”
“I am Ravenswood.” Sebastian allowed himself a slight smile at the man’s surprise while tugging his riding gloves back on. “There might be a question of thievery when it comes to the viscount’s coach. I’ll assure the innkeeper of its return tomorrow, and we shall be on our way.”
“Right, sir. And sir, I do wish your lady good health. It didn’t sit well with me, what milord Basford done.”
“I’m glad to hear it, George. As you are now in my employ, I’ll trust you to inform the viscount to expect a visit from my seconds. When you return the bastard’s coach, of course.”
Bentley Park was not far from the inn. Although they quarreled at their last meeting, Sebastian knew Alan would never deny him aid, especially if it were for Ivy’s sake. During that last encounter, Alan openly berated him, cursing his stupidity. Quite foxed at the time, Sebastian stubbornly refused to answer for his actions. Before long, Alan threw up his hands in utter disgust, leaving his friend to find the bottom of a bottle of bourbon. That was more than a month ago and they had not spoken since.
The clock chimed three in the morning as Sebastian appeared on Bentley Park’s doorstep with Ivy in his arms. A majority of the staff was immediately roused to tend to the countess. She slept through the journey, remaining in a deep slumber even when carried upstairs and placed on the soft down coverlet of a guest bed.
Alan murmured instructions to his housekeeper then laid a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “I’ve sent for the physician. You probably remember Dr. Moseby. An ancient cuss but damned efficient.”
“I believe she is only in shock, but it’s best she is checked over.” Giving an abbreviated version of the transpired events, Sebastian said, with a slight raising of an eyebrow, “That Sara of yours is terrifying. Marry her, Alan, as soon as possible, so the only earl she may order about is you.”
Alan laughed softly. “She loves the countess as if they are indeed sisters. You cannot hope to escape her wrath if you continue to harm Ivy.”
“She’ll demand my head on a platter if I don’t send word of Ivy’s safety. Will you attend to it? And send word to Lord Kinley as well. I’m sure his concern is tempered with delight he’ll soon have an earl for a son-in-law.” Sebastian’s lips quirked at Alan’s surprise. “I can’t imagine why you are shocked. You know I am insanely in love with her. There’s no other explanation for my stupidity or my abhorrent behavior.”
“I am damn glad to hear it, Seb. But please, allow Martha to watch over the lady until the doctor arrives. She’ll take excellent care of her- Lord knows she nursed our cuts and scrapes often enough when we were lads.”
“I must refuse your offer, Alan.” Sebastian smiled as the elderly housekeeper bustled into the room, setting down a basin full of hot water. Another maid followed her, carrying a stack of clean towels. “Martha, if you’ve some type of gown I can put Her Ladyship in, it would be much appreciated.”
Alan frowned. “It isn’t proper for you to be here, Seb. Think of her reputation.”
“We will be married once she regains her health, so reputations be damned. I will be the only one caring for her.”
When the necessary items were at his disposal, and the room cleared, Sebastian stripped Ivy from the torn clothes. He kissed the bruises on the inside of her wrists, washed her face and brushed out her hair, smoothing the tangles until they lay in some semblance of order. Martha had procured a fresh cotton gown and he maneuvered Ivy into it. She sagged, limp in his arms as he situated her in the bed, the pillows propped at a comfortable angle. Once she was as clean and warm as he could make her without benefit of a full bath, Sebastian held her hand, watching over her until the doctor’s arrival near dawn.
He breathed easier in light of the sleepy physician’s assessment. There were no visible injuries other than scrapes and bruises, Ivy's nearly comatose state attributed to the body’s natural mechanism of handling trauma. The countess would be fine upon waking, the elderly man assured him, although he administered a dose of laudanum to ease any pain.
Settling in beside her, Sebastian renewed his vow to be the first person her eyes touched on when she woke. He would somehow make amends for every terrible thing he had done.
Chapter 21
The room was unfamiliar and the bed, although comfortable, not her own. Evening approached; the afternoon shadows growing long and purple on the walls, the lighting darkly gold. Someone held her hand in an almost painful grip; Ivy wiggled her fingers against it. A man’s dark, disheveled head rested on the coverlet and when she disengaged her hand to slide a palm over and through the thick hair of her sleeping guardian, it did not disturb him. Such beautiful waves, so glossy and black, sifting through her fingers like soft feathers.
Sebastian raised his head, pinning her with confused eyes, and Ivy's heart soared in a response so joyous she choked on an indrawn breath. The earl slumped in a chair beside her bed, but why? As she watched, he straightened, arching his back with a groan, then froze.
“What happened?” Ivy whispered when he quickly reclaimed her hand. He did not answer; instead, his fingers tangled with hers. Bringing them to his lips, he pres
sed warm kisses to her knuckles, his eyes closed as if in prayer or, perhaps even stranger, gratitude. The chair scraped closer, the sound impatient and startling in the room’s stillness. The relief that seemed to swamp him, the way he looked at her, as if it were an eternity since he laid eyes on her, was all so mystifying.
“I don’t understand.” Her gaze flitted about the room, finding some aspects of it familiar now, before drifting back to him.
Dark stubble shadowed Sebastian’s chin. Even darker circles ringed his eyes. Disheveled, looking as if on a bender for a week, his shirt fluttered open, rumpled and half-tucked. The buttons strained, mismatched to the opposite holes. It was so unlike him, the cool, elegantly collected Earl of Ravenswood, that Ivy felt unreasonable fear squeeze her chest. Something horrible must have occurred.
“You must remember.” His murmur was so soft; it was almost difficult to hear. “Please try, Ivy.”
Her brow furrowed. Remember what? Where was she? What catastrophe transpired to bring Sebastian to her side? When he cautiously brought a hand up to brush a curl from her temple, she shied away, baffled by her own immediate response to his gentleness.
Memories brushed her mind. Suspicion spiked within her, a thousand spears, hot and pointed digging into her flesh. He couldn’t be trusted; he’d break her heart again. She could not trust anyone. Not even someone she once loved…or those claiming to be friends.
When it rushed in, she crumpled. Buckling under the weight of it, she helplessly sought the warm strength of his arms.
“It’s all right, love, it’s all right.” Sebastian climbed onto the bed. Gathering her into his arms, he embraced her as a torrent of horrific images engulfed her.
“He wouldn’t let me go. I begged and cried, but he wouldn’t let…” Tears saturated the material of his shirt. She still did not understand how or why he was there, but she clung to him. In the midst of a desolate sea, he was a huge, solid rock, a lifeline she could not surrender. How she had missed him, the awful magnitude of it repressed inside her soul until this moment. Beneath her cheek, his shoulder was warm, his breathing deep and easy, large hands soothing as though she were a child startled awake by dreadful nightmares. Ivy wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave it.
“I’m here now. I’m here and the Devil himself would need to strike me dead before I let anyone harm you.” Cradling her face, he kissed away the tears staining her cheeks.
“Where are we?” Her question emerged in a choked whisper. Why, why is he suddenly assuming the role as my protector? It makes no sense.
“Bentley Park.”
Ivy swallowed, trying to regain control of her wildly careening emotions. She foolishly fell in love with this man at Bentley Park. Suddenly, it felt like wolves, not memories, ravaged her heart.
“Oh. My head hurts,” she said woodenly.
Concern flitted across his haggard features. Sebastian rolled from the bed but soon returned with a small brown bottle and a spoon. “It’s laudanum,” he explained. Ivy swallowed the bitter liquid without question. She hoped the drug would overtake her quickly, the pain of seeing him easing into a cloud of dark oblivion. It would be easier to forget his treachery there.
“Is the viscount dead?” Much of what occurred inside the coach was a blank space. Ivy remembered bits and pieces of Brandon’s cruelty and more vaguely, the moment Sebastian appeared to pull her tormentor off her. But nothing beyond that, or how they came to be at Bentley Park.
“God, I hope not. When I left him, he was very much alive.” Sebastian sank into the chair, watching her carefully, as if anticipating something unpleasant. “He’s very lucky in that regard. Considering.”
“Why did you come after me, Sebastian?” Her hands, which previously clutched his shoulders as she wept, now clenched handfuls of the coverlet.
“Your butler is a highly suspicious man. I’m not the only gentleman he dislikes.” He ignored the crux of her question. “He sent for Lady Morgan when you did not return and she, in turn, came to me. Demanding I rescue you.”
“Did her anger shock you?” Few people had actually witnessed Sara Morgan’s anger. She hid the emotion well behind a pretty veneer of blue eyes and soft blonde hair. It was a frightening sight when set loose, but Ivy adored her for it. China dolls were not known for tempers, and Sara’s made her very real.
“Surprised more than shocked. She was less than with enchanted with me. I was informed, in no uncertain terms, what she expected me to do.” Sebastian smiled while pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. “And I found myself following her orders.” He handed her the glass.
Sipping the water slowly, Ivy tried understanding him. Why did this man, once so intent on destroying her, rush to her rescue? Why, after shattering her with his treachery, did this man give two shillings for her wellbeing? Her head spun, trying to fathom Sebastian’s motives, to second guess his intentions. Forming defenses to his attacks exhausted her. Her fingers fluttered at her temple, probing a bruise there, before dropping back to her lap.
“I regret you were put to such trouble. I had no idea Basford would attempt something so reprehensible.” Ivy’s gaze flitted away from his penetrating one. “It was… unexpected.” Had Sara blackmailed him in some way? Used Bentley’s friendship against him? Threatened him with some manner of dire consequences? What might possibly bend the Earl of Ravenswood to do another's bidding?
“Timothy’s attempt at abduction was unexpected.”
Their gazes collided. Ivy’s breath escaped in a panicked whoosh. “What?” Oh no. No, no, no. Oh God, Sara…what have you done? You promised me.
“Ivy, tell me what happened. Sara related some of the details, but I want to know-I need to know. What did my cousin do to you?”
Physically, she moved not a muscle, but Ivy retreated from him. “You wish to compare our versions.”
Sebastian exploded from the chair. “So that I know how the bastard hurt you! So that no one ever hurts you again!” Agonized fury rolled from him in waves.
Ivy trembled. “No one ever wounded me as you have, Sebastian.” The softness of her words could cut stone. “It broke my soul, trusting you. Ruined me. All the while, you knew just what you were doing. That hurt the most. You knew you were breaking my heart. And you enjoyed watching me fall to pieces, didn’t you? Can’t you understand I suffered more at your hands?” Chin tilted, her gaze clear and steady, it was a stark contrast to the weeping Ivy he held in his arms only moments ago. “None of it matters now. There is no need to revisit the past. No need for empty gestures of atonement on Timothy Garrett’s behalf, and please, put aside any misguided beliefs the viscount must be punished for his actions. You cannot change what either man did. Or what you did.”
Sebastian’s eyes turned so haunted and dark it was staggering to see. “I ask again.” Sinking back into the chair, his low voice quivered. His hands raked through his hair. “Tell me. All of it.”
Ivy’s temper flared at the subtle hint of intimidation. Relating Timothy’s actions filled her with dread. It would provide Sebastian more reason to despise her, further justification for his hatred. But the opportunity to pour it all out, to tell her side specifically to this man, burned every barrier previously erected. Will he believe me?
“Timothy kidnapped me.” The words clung like icicles in her throat. She swallowed, fighting the urge to say more. He won’t understand…
“Go on, love.” Sebastian’s hand gripped hers. He seemed to tamp down an inner rage, but looking down at her, both his tone and his eyes softened. “I want every detail, Ivy. Do you understand?”
Ivy nodded, took a deep breath. She gave in.
“He was to take me to Regent Park that day. For a picnic on a lovely afternoon. I told Sara of our plans, although Timothy specifically asked that I not. He said she was jealous of our time together. You see, she became insistent on knowing these things, where we would be, what days we had plans. Even for harmless, silly activities like picnics or museum vis
its. She did not trust him, tried to warn me, but I did not believe her. I was so foolish. So naïve. I thought maybe Timothy was right, that maybe Sara was a bit envious of our friendship. But for some reason, I always told her what she wanted to know. I suppose something inside me knew Sara was right all along.”
Ivy’s voice turned softer, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Your cousin did not take me to the park that day. He arrived in a hired hack, said his carriage threw a wheel and he was too rushed to have another readied. Once I was in that dilapidated coach, once we were on the outskirts of the city, he told me we were going to Gretna Green. He kissed me, put his hands under my skirts- touching me where there was nothing to bar his way. Claiming he loved me, and I was his. I could not get away. I fought so hard, and he seemed to enjoy that until I bit him. He struck me, and that seemed to excite him more. He…he tore my dress from my shoulders, forced me down against the seat…”
Her eyes became hazy, the words dropping to a whisper. Sebastian squeezed her hand tight, caught in a silent pit of his own violent anger.
“I realized my only hope…to keep him from violating me, was to leap from the coach. Can you imagine? I probably would have broken my neck, but it was preferable to what Timothy wished to do. I managed to shove him away enough to open the door, and almost tumbled out before he slammed the door shut. My hand was in the opening…a bit of metal sliced my palm open.”
Ivy smiled ruefully. “I thought it cut my hand off. I screamed and screamed, it hurt so terribly. It must have scared the wits out of Timothy, and all the blood certainly didn’t help. The driver pulled the coach to the side of the road, calling out to my welfare. Timothy awoke as if from a delusion. He wrapped his cravat around my hand, sobbing, begging my forgiveness. Then he got out, explaining to the driver there’d been an accident and we needed to return to London. They argued over the price. When Timothy got back into the coach, he made me drink from a little bottle hidden in his waistcoat. I suppose it was the medicine for his headaches. It made me very woozy and the next thing I knew, I was at Kinley House and Brody was stitching my hand.” Tugging away from Sebastian’s grip, she examined the neat white scar slashing across her palm.