Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1)

by April Moran

  She realized, with dawning awareness, the horrific position she was in. Sprawled in lethargic abandonment, ensconced in a circle crafted of his arms, breasts pressed flat against his chest, her hips were flush with his. Ivy braced her hands on his broad torso, frowning.

  “I already know the answer.” Sebastian laughed at her silent dismay. “How I enjoy it when you snuggle up to me. Anytime you feel so compelled, my arms are always open.”

  Ivy’s backbone fairly cracked from rearing back so quickly, although his loose embrace preventing her from going very far. “I am not snuggling.”

  Sebastian countered with a grin of devious pleasure. “Oh, one could hardly call it anything else.”

  “You are a cad,” Ivy retorted.

  “No,” he rebuked calmly. “I’m a man in love.”

  The urge to slap him literally caused her fingers to twitch. “Tell me, Sebastian.” She could not help herself, her words dripping with bitterness. “Was this great love discovered before, or after you decided I was not a whore?”

  Chilly silence invaded the coach. In an imperceptible motion, Sebastian’s arms constricted. “Careful, my love.” His warm, teasing manner vanished. “A sharp tongue can cut one’s throat.”

  Ivy swallowed hard. She shouldn't push him too far, not when she was at his mercy. “Let me go.”

  “Never.” The distance between them narrowed then disappeared. “We both know I’d have to slice myself open to remove you from my blood.”

  It would be easier to resist if he took what he wanted in anger, but his mouth was gently searching upon hers. The devil. He knew just how to kiss her, with varying degrees of pressure and softness, his tongue sweeping then probing, swirling and teasing in alternating assaults. Ivy wanted to struggle, and maybe she would have if Sebastian did not end the kiss. He released her just as she gathered her outrage.

  When she did not immediately move away, his brow arched. “We are almost to Beaumont. It’s unwise to ravish me now, my eager little wife. I fear there is no time to finish matters. Tonight, however, I shall see to things properly.”

  Ivy choked on an indrawn breath, scrambling away in a flurry of skirts and red cheeks to the opposite seat. “You are despicable!”

  He laughed and raking a hand through his hair, his eyes held a twinge of regret. “So you keep telling me.”

  Constructed of warm, pale gray stone, Beaumont rose from the lush countryside, both imposing and welcoming at the same time. A gracefully curving gravel driveway lined with English yews stretched to the cobblestone-paved courtyard fronting the huge five- story building. An enormous stone terrace was anchored by massive stacked stone walls arching away from the main house like a pair of burly arms.

  Two dozen stone steps spanned nearly the entire width of the mansion. In Ivy’s mind, they led like the hangman’s steps to a pair of double, English oak doors stained a rich walnut color. A grand, white marble and oak portico shaded those doors while smooth stone columns traversed the length of the grand terrace. From the main rectangle of the house, twin wings flared out and away. The wings were additions, but so well integrated one hardly realized they were not original to the footprint. Sebastian casually mentioned they contained the fifty-two bedrooms for the manor, with his personal suite of rooms taking up much of the south wing.

  Occupying the focal point of the curved circular driveway, a grand, triple-tiered stone fountain filled the air with the lyrical sound of trickling water. An assortment of spring blooms surrounded it, softening all the gravel and stone and hard surfaces with a bright cheerfulness. A late afternoon sun bathed everything in a pinkish, golden light and the vast expanse of emerald green lawn dotted with yews and oaks gave Beaumont a lavish verdant appeal.

  Servants poured from the house as the coach approached the base of the terrace steps. They busily lined up in order of household rank. Stableboys and grooms trotted almost in unison from the direction of the stables. With the exception of the grounds staff, all wore the distinctive Ravenswood colors of dark blue and silver.

  Ivy passed a hand over her hair, smoothing loose curls into place. She chose not to don her gloves when departing Bentley Park, so she pulled them on now. Sebastian watched, his eyes tender, as she peeked out the window.

  “There is no need to worry, Ivy. You are lovely.”

  “What they must think…” Caught between her teeth, her bottom lip was worried back and forth. As the coach rolled to a stop, Sebastian reached for her.

  “What they will think,” Passing a thumb over her lip, he halted the fretful motion, “is that I am a fortunate man, and Beaumont once again has a beautiful, gracious woman to call Countess.”

  When a footman rapped on the door, Sebastian hopped down, turning to offer his assistance if she wished it.

  Despite snapping at him earlier, Ivy was grateful for his words of encouragement. She descended the coach, holding tight to his hand.

  There were far too many servants for an estate so rarely visited. Ivy recalled Timothy Garrett remarking once that both he and his mother both preferred Town, even though it was dreadfully dull during the summer months. Country life, he explained, was the epitome of dreariness, regardless of the time of year. Ivy disagreed but had kept her opinion to herself.

  A hum of excitement existed at Beaumont, an air of vitality and comfort. It cascaded over Ivy all at once. This was home. She had yet to meet the first person, but everyone smiled warmly, pleased to welcome her. Stealing a glance at Sebastian, she felt a surprising tranquility emanating from him. He was relaxed, the smile spreading across his features genuine and real.

  Her husband had been happy here. He still found happiness here. And Ivy loved Beaumont without hesitation simply because Sebastian loved it. The instant connection was startling. She was prepared to dislike it only because it equated with her forced marriage.

  Sebastian led her to an elderly couple waiting at the bottom of the terrace. “This is Jasper and Annie Bancroft, our butler and housekeeper. Jasper, Annie, this is your countess, Ivy Elizabeth Cain, Countess of Ravenswood, Kleychord Keep, Monterey, Hammocks Glen, and Roseburn, the Countess of Somerset and Viscountess of Kinley.”

  Hearing all the titles made Ivy dizzy. Knowing they were now hers made her achingly aware of just how much she was now his...The Earl of Ravenswood’s newest acquisition.

  Ivy could see these two ruled Beaumont with a stern yet gentle kindness. Annie, even while welcoming her new mistress, admonished a young maid for slouching.

  “Milady.” Jasper’s smile was broad, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes disappearing into the edges of bushy white eyebrows. Tall and robust for his age, his hand held his wife’s elbow while he bowed to Ivy. “We are most pleased to welcome you to His Lordship’s home.”

  “Anything you need at all, milady, you just come to me. Yes, mum, you just ask old Annie and we’ll see you are taken care of right and proper. No need for you to want for anything. Milord can vouch for that, we take fine care of him when he comes to stay, that we do. We always have, and we shall do the same for you, that we will!” Annie chattered, curtseying and grinning all at once. The plump housekeeper was infectiously exuberant, blue eyes twinkling. Her face hardly touched by the passing of time, her age was somewhere around sixty, the few wrinkles she possessed crafted of laughter and cheerfulness.

  Ivy could not fit in a single word. Sebastian quickly realized her predicament. The housekeeper’s steady stream of chatter came to a halt when he lifted a hand. “As you can see, Annie does like to go on. Why don’t you both begin the introductions of the staff to Her Ladyship?”

  Each servant was presented, including Lizzie, a young blonde Annie declared suitable to serve as Ivy’s maid. Jasper introduced the footmen, the under-footmen and so on. Next came the kitchen staff and their leader, Monsieur Bouchard. A tall, slender elderly man with a twirling steel-colored mustache, he possessed the strange habit of clapping his hands before each introduction of those beneath his command.

  Foll
owing him was the Head Stablemaster, numerous grooms, stableboys, and groundskeepers. By the time it was over, Ivy’s head spun with dizziness. Although her own family’s estate was large, Beaumont was enormous, with seventy-five servants in the house itself and another hundred keeping the grounds and the stables in order. Having grown up with her own servants, Ivy never had any reason for personal introductions to each one. Meeting this army of staff was overwhelming. And exhausting.

  Only one person lacked introduction. Standing by the coach horses, he waited patiently to be motioned forth.

  A hulk of a man, he stood a foot or so taller than Sebastian, with arms the size of oak trunks and a chest as wide as a barrel of English ale. Dressed in dark, brown breeches of fine broadcloth and a stylish waistcoat of deep navy blue, he was much more than a mere servant. Slicked into a modish cut, his hair was a thick, wonderful mixture of various browns, dark, light, golden chestnut. A woman might murder for hair the shade this man possessed naturally.

  Twinkling with benevolence, his eyes were a clear shade of russet. In addition to his impressive size, his most recognizable feature was a thin, jagged white scar. Inching out from the temple, just below the hairline, it sliced his left eyebrow in two and ended just above his eyelid. The man possessed the most fearsome presence, certainly not a fellow one would cross in an alleyway on a dark night. Or anywhere else, for that matter. At Sebastian’s directive, he stepped forward.

  “This is Gabriel Rose. Gabriel, your countess.”

  Ivy caught Sebastian biting back a smile at her look of wonderment. Such a beautiful name for such a formidable man. It probably caught more than one person off guard.

  “Milady.” Gabriel’s voice was melodic. Bowing at the waist, his movements exhibited a surprising elegance.

  “Gabriel, ah, has been very busy since our return to England, which is why you’ve not been afforded a chance to meet him before now.” Sebastian grinned. “He’s what you might consider my man of affairs. I trust him with my life and now, I trust him with yours.” Noting the man’s fierce scowl, Sebastian threw up his hands with a chuckle. “And yes, you may take a well-deserved rest very shortly.”

  “Good,” Gabriel grumbled, loud enough for only Ivy and Sebastian’s ears. “I spent enough time carting that damn devil of horse yours all over God’s green Earth, and these last few months in England traipsing back and forth on the errands you required seeing to.”

  The words, words no servant would dare voice aloud to an earl or master, Sebastian met with a hearty laugh. Ivy stared at Gabriel quizzically but did not feel any fear of him. His eyes were too kind. She decided she liked him at once.

  “Mister Rose, if my husband places his trust in you, then I shall do the same.” Ivy extended her hand, and when Gabriel took it, she shook his firmly.

  “I owe Lord Ravenswood my life. Now, it belongs to you as well.” Gabriel bowed, turning her hand to place a respectful kiss on the back of it. “It would honor me if you called me by my Christian name.”

  “I should like that very much, Gabriel. I hope I may call you as close a friend as my husband does.”

  “A better friend one could not hope to have.” Sebastian slipped his arm around Ivy, giving Gabriel a conspiratorial wink. “You’ll find it a more pleasant task to watch over her.”

  Gabriel’s response was calm, his eyes sparkling with humor. “I expect it to be just as eventful.”

  Chapter 25

  Beaumont’s interior was as impressive as the exterior. White plaster walls curved in barrel shapes, soaring high within the main entry hall. Ornately plastered medallions accented the ceiling and heavy mahogany furnishings upholstered in gray and dark blue were strategically placed throughout the massive space. A hundred people could easily fit inside just the foyer space.

  Beneath Ivy’s heels, exquisite Italian marble floors gleamed brilliantly white and delicate porcelain urns filled with massive arrangements of lilies, roses, and snapdragons sat displayed atop several pier tables in the hall. The heady perfume of the florals blended with the scent of lemon oil and beeswax polish, all familiar scents of a well-loved home.

  Annie chattered, giving directions to Lizzie on the unpacking of Ivy’s trunks as the group ascended one side of a massive, double curved iron staircase. On the opposite side of the stairs, a contingent of under-footmen carried the baggage up. Reaching the third landing, the entire group veered to the left. Annie’s commentary of the manor’s attributes was the only conversation as they trekked toward the earl’s wing of the manor. An impasse was realized once a set of dark stained oak doors came into view. Where exactly to place Ivy’s belongings?

  Two huge apartments with a massive dressing room connecting them lay beyond those doors and without a mother to impart advice on such matters, Ivy had no idea what to do. Should she select the lady’s chambers or would Sebastian decide for her? Everyone stood, ill at ease. Even Sebastian frowned, unsure of the correct move. When alive, his parents shared the master apartment, the other used as a makeshift nursery until he outgrew it, and then later, it was not used at all.

  Annie’s cheerful observation broke the awkward silence. “Here now, it is no trouble to move your trunks wherever you’ve a mind for them to go, milady. We will place them in milord’s rooms for now. If you change your mind, then quick as a flash we’ll move them again.”

  Ivy appreciated Annie’s assurance, aware of Sebastian shooting her a peculiar glance over the housekeeper’s head of grey curls.

  It was suddenly overwhelming. Staring about the room, Ivy did not feel well at all. Vertigo, swift and dizzying, swooped about her stomach like swallowtails diving for dragonflies. Her bottom lip was being chewed to ribbons again. This room…it reminded her of Sebastian’s suite at Ravenswood Court in London. What she could remember of it, anyway. Odd, how the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Taking a deep breath, she quickly laced her fingers together to conceal how they trembled.

  “The countess and I require a moment of privacy,” Sebastian said quietly.

  Within seconds, the bedchamber was empty.

  Ivy blinked in astonishment. Even Annie, in the midst of directing the placement of the trunks, clamped her mouth shut, rotated on a heel, and exited the room.

  When the door closed behind the last servant, Sebastian leaned against it. Arms crossed, he regarded Ivy with a raised eyebrow. “Well, Ivy?”

  With slow deliberateness, she removed her gloves. It gave her time to think, to steady herself and regain her balance. Which did he want her to choose? The master’s suite or her own? What was a newlywed countess supposed to do? Tossing her gloves onto the lid of her trunk, she turned to him, swallowing back her nerves.

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  Sebastian grimaced, not liking the direct question. “As a gentleman, I should insist you take the other chamber. As your husband, I demand you stay here.” His eyes blazed hot, like glowing sparks of coal. “What I want most of all…is that you allow me to strip that gown from your body, lay you on my bed and thoroughly make love to you. But I know you do not want that…not yet anyway. The question is what do you want?”

  Ivy squared her shoulders, her stomach swooping again with his words. “I want you to wait… before expecting me to share your bed. I need time to adjust to this. To being your wife.”

  “I’ll not have my rights denied.” Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his annoyance held in check. “I’ve waited too long to make you completely mine.”

  “Not denied.” The silk of her gown was now a twisted, wrinkled mess. “Just…delayed.”

  Silence trembled between them until Sebastian scowled, “Damn it. How long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pushed off the door, shrugging out of his coat and subjecting Ivy to an unfathomable glance. Disappearing into the dressing room, he emerged with a fresh, white linen shirt and pair of dove gray breeches. Flinging the items onto the bed, Sebastian’s eyes held hers as he unknotted his cravat, pulling it free so it d
ropped to the floor. The shirt was stripped away next, pitched into a chair with the previously discarded coat.

  Bare-chested, he opened another door at the opposite end of the chamber to reveal a spacious room. Inside, Ivy saw an enormous porcelain clad bathing tub. Tracing down the wall, a streamlined network of piping attached to two gold spouts in the shape of dolphins with levers feeding directly into the tub. Close to the tub, a large basin sink sat mounted on a mahogany stand with two additional dolphin spouts jutting from the wall above it.

  Taking a cloth and a bar of soap, Sebastian stepped to the sink, spun the levers and within seconds, water poured from the dolphin’s mouths. Steam rose in curling ribbons as he washed away the grime of their journey from his face and upper torso. He did not care she witnessed his actions. He did not care she imagined dragging that cloth across his skin, her hands slippery with water and lather sliding over his flesh...

  Ivy’s face grew hot, her cheeks burning as she gazed at Sebastian’s broad back, the muscles rippling as he bathed. The scent of sandalwood and spices drifted with the steam and she grew unaccountably lightheaded. The intimacy, the casualness of such ordinary things as undressing and bathing brought home an unavoidable fact. She was really and truly married to this man.

  Married…

  And, in the eyes of English law, his to treat however he pleased. An exercise of his husbandly rights did not require her permission. He could throw her on that massive bed, take his pleasure and she could not do a blasted thing to stop him.

  Briskly drying himself with a fluffy towel, Sebastian exited the bathing room to sit on a dark blue velvet tufted bench at the foot of the massive bed. Methodically removing his boots, he allowed them to drop one by one. Ivy’s rapid pulse gave an answering thud of apprehension and, God help her, excitement as each boot hit the floor with ominous thumps. She could not look away when he slowly stood to his full height, eyes dark and unreadable and locked on hers, hand resting lightly on his hips. For what seemed an eternity, he regarded her while Ivy tried remembering how to breathe, her lungs aching as if ready to burst from her chest.