by April Moran
Ivy laid an impulsive hand to Veronica’s arm. "Thank you, Lady Wesley. For your kindness now and that night.”
"Ravenswood loves you, perhaps more than you realize. He would burn to the ground anyone who harmed you and gift you with the cinders, if you only asked him, I think.” Veronica offered one last bit of advice as she took her leave. “Do take care to steer far away from Clayton, my dear. He is quite the vindictive sort.”
Sara came up as Veronica glided away. Bristling with protectiveness, her arm slipped about Ivy's waist, and together they watched Lady Wesley slip through the crowd. "What was that about? Was she unpleasant? I swear I'll ...”
Ivy’s reply was contemplative. "No, no, nothing like that. She and I merely discussed our mutual connection. She was quite lovely, actually.”
“I can scarcely believe that...” Sara snorted, her eyes skating to the ballroom’s entrance. A commotion was causing people to crowd close. A guest of some importance was making a late arrival.
"The Earl of Ravenswood.” The magnificently uniformed and embellished majordomo announced in grave tones.
"Blast it all,” Sara muttered. "Speak of the devil...”
Ivy drew up, the bones in her body rigid enough to snap in two. He was here. He had come and he would be looking for her.
"He is here,” Ivy finished Sara’s sentence, the three words containing enough frost to put the vastness of Siberia to shame.
Chapter 37
Some type of internal honing instinct existed within Sebastian, tuned exclusively to the sight of his wife. A dizzying sense of déjà vu jolted him, seeing her across the ballroom floor with Sara standing at her side. It was a flashback to that first night, when he savagely sliced Ivy Kinley to ribbons for the perceived stain on his family's honor.
A crescendo of whispers and snippets of conversations bombarded him. His Aunt Rachel, in the midst of a small group of matrons, wore a faintly satisfied smile. Guilt assailed Sebastian as he weaved his way toward Ivy. Damnit. His failure to escort her to their first event as husband and wife would have gossip running amok of a rift between them. It looked bad. It was bad. Why had he left Ivy to face this alone?
Expressionless, she watched his approach and as he drew closer, she whispered in Sara’s ear. Sara shook her head, lips tight with disapproval. Ivy whispered again, her features never changing although the conversation became obviously heated. Finally, throwing her hands into the air in a gesture of frustration, Sara stalked away to take up a position at Alan’s side.
When Sebastian reached Ivy, he found his wife's eyes alit like twin pieces of blue-green coals. She had a right to be furious. He abandoned her and she had no idea why.
Gripping her arm before she flitted away, Sebastian gave what others would describe as the most mocking of bows then reeled her into his embrace as though she were a prize trout, hooked and landed.
"Good evening, Countess.”
Sebastian took advantage of Ivy’s astonishment by dropping a light kiss upon her slightly opened mouth.
Guests laughed in shocked delight. Ravenswood's public display of affection was deliciously scandalous.
"You're drunk,” Ivy hissed. The bitter-sweet fumes of bourbon filled the space between them. "Where have you been?”
Where have you been?
A splendid question, one Sebastian could answer in the physical sense. But it was difficult to say where he was mentally. His soul was shattered by the conversation overheard that morning. He was so angry; emotionally twisted into a very strange place.
Ivy’s emotions were equally high. Fury and embarrassment were a lethal combination in a woman. They should tread lightly, but Sebastian doubted this was possible for either of them.
"I spent the day at my clubs. Then an hour or so with my barrister, seeing to the responsibilities and duties required of an earl.” Sebastian stressed the term, “duties”, but Ivy failed to react. "I'm not entirely drunk, my dear, but I am bored with this conversation. I prefer to be engaged in other activities, if the truth is known.” He hated the almost petulant note his voice carried. "A pity I currently have only one viable option and must settle for it.”
Ivy’s form, displayed so enticingly in a champagne-hued ball gown, was subjected to his scorching appraisal. The fabric glittered, an intricate design of crystals and seed pearls sewn throughout the satin and the decadently low bodice displayed her assets to exquisite perfection. She had begun wearing the filigree butterfly every day; sometimes as a brooch, sometimes even as a hair ornament, fixed into her coiffure. Tonight, a gossamer piece of bronze ribbon threaded through the pin mechanism so it could be worn as a choker. It glittered against the pulse of her neck and Sebastian swallowed hard. She was so lush and seductive. His wife, oh, his beautiful, heartless wife managed to affect every one of his senses and it was infuriatingly magical. With an arm wrapped about her waist, he yanked her onto the ballroom floor where a waltz was just beginning.
Rather than struggle in his steel-like grip, Ivy allowed herself to be dragged along. She seemed to understand resisting would only create further scandal. Setting her focus somewhere over Sebastian's shoulder, she refused to meet his gaze as other couples joined them.
"Aren't you happy to see me?" His tone remained bland as he maneuvered her through the steps. It grated upon his nerves that she would not look at him.
"I’d be a great deal happier had you troubled yourself to escort me tonight.”
"I am unavailable to attend your every whim, madam.” Damn her for pointing out his transgressions, especially when he knew the full measure of each one. He should have been by her side. That was his duty. Just as hers was to provide him a son.
Ivy's gaze collided with his. With a choked sob, she said, "I cannot pretend to know your mind, Sebastian. Indeed, I find it difficult to understand what occurred from this morning, when you held me so tenderly, to this moment when you slice me to ribbons with your cruelty.” She attempted to pull away, but he jerked her back, their bodies molding in a manner so indecent, Ivy gasped out loud.
Their behavior was snagging the attention of others, whispers spreading like wildfire. Sara hovered on the edge of the floor, eyes wide with uneasy anger. Bentley, arms crossed, a frankly concerned frown on his handsome features, seemed to debate what course to take. Either step between the couple, risking even more gossip or allow the crisis to play out.
With a moan of desolation, Ivy drew back.
"Don't you dare walk away from me, Ivy,” Sebastian ground out between clenched teeth. He hated himself for the tears welling in her aqua colored eyes. He hated causing her pain. He would let her go in a moment. As soon as he explained things. He promised... promised he would let her go.
But something had snapped inside Ivy. Something frightening. The heat of her skin nearly burned his palm. She trembled in his hands.
“You are truly unbelievable,” Ivy breathed. “Why should my humiliation come second to your embarrassment when I walk out on you, Sebastian?”
Several couples on the ballroom floor, attempting to eavesdrop before, now began to twirl in widening circles away from what appeared to be an impending explosion.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sebastian growled. “It is your duty -”
Ivy’s eyes flared with murderous intent.
"My duty? My duty! Don’t you lecture to me about duties. You forced me into this marriage. You made promises you never intended to keep. And now you speak of duty? Do you know what you can do, Ravenswood? You can go straight to hell, you... you bloody liar!"
A wooden heeled slipper stomped the top of his foot with enough force to dent the polished ebony boot. Sebastian lurched back, losing the grip on her arm.
In a spinning flurry of champagne colored satin, Ivy escaped, her stony glares spawning enough heat to send guests skittering every whichaway. Whispers of a fire-breathing countess trailed in her wake, the crowd parting as if sliced with a sword and knitting back together just as quickly.
Infuriating ba
rricades hampered Sebastian’s pursuit. Those same guests who were so careful to steer clear of Ivy now crowded about him and even after shoving his way through a tangle of elbows and full skirts, Sebastian found himself drowning in a handful of debutantes.
Little birds of white surrounded him, all chirping high voices and dancing hands, intent on preventing the chase of his wife. His murderous stare cleaved a path through them, but one girl was determined to bar his way. Whenever Sebastian made to step around her, she glided in the same damn direction.
“We’ve not been introduced, my lord.” She gave a soft laugh as they performed this strange, silent dance three times. “But, perhaps now is not the opportune time to point out our familial connection.”
“Excuse me if I cannot linger.” Sebastian muttered, barely comprehending the young woman’s words. Peering over her head, he spied Ivy’s gold gown disappearing through a side door.
The blonde blockader smiled. “I have only recently arrived for the remainder of the season. It is expected my guardian shall arrange introductions but I hoped to circumvent matters.” Looking past him, the girl abruptly scowled, dipped an almost mocking curtsey and stepped aside. Sebastian saw a pretty brunette, a horrified expression etched on her face, barreling toward them. Upon reaching them, she clutched the blonde’s elbow in a severe grip, and a fiercely whispered conversation ensued.
Sebastian, with a sigh of thankfulness, brushed past them both.
A formidable gang of five matrons threw themselves into his path next, clinging with offers of refreshments and frivolous conversation. Gritting his teeth, he responded with terse politeness to varied questions regarding rainclouds in Kent and the heat in London, and did he think the lemonade required more sugar. Only when he nearly tossed a full glass of lemonade back at one determined old hen, muttering a foul curse, did they finally relent and allow him to pass.
Only one gauntlet remained.
Sara.
Sweet, calm Sara. Sara, armed with words that sliced like knives and that fierce temper she kept hidden beneath a beautiful, china doll exterior.
She declared him an ass of magnificent proportions; a heartless cad who did not deserve a treasure like Ivy Kinley. He was unfit to lick her boots; too lowly in nature to clean her chamber pot. The attack was scathing, the girl holding tight to his coat sleeve, forcing him to hear every word before letting him loose with a scowl of disgust. Half of the ballroom bore shocked witness to the set down and it was only by the grace of his friendship with Alan that Sebastian did not physically remove the petite woman from his path. Eventually, Lord Morgan came to his aid, pulling his daughter away from him with a murmur.
Snarling with frustration, Sebastian burst into the main gallery. He must find Ivy. Somehow, he must undo this unholy mess.
A hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
Gabriel’s brown eyes contained the chill of the moors. Alan stood nearby, fingers twitching no doubt with the desire to land a series of punishing blows to Sebastian’s chin.
"Let her go, my friend.” Alan gave his advice calmly, but the steel in his voice would have given any man reason to pause.
Sebastian rounded on them both. "Gabriel, if you wish to keep that hand, remove it. Now.”
Gabriel’s smile was hard and unfriendly, fingers tightening in direct contradiction to the warning. "You placed milady’s safety in my hands. I’m following your directive. Keeping her safe.”
"You are too angry to go after her,” Alan echoed, moving to block Sebastian’s path.
"I am warning you both.” His own friends now betrayed him? Rage had him stuttering ineffectively. “Goddamn it…this is insane.”
Gabriel’s chuckle contained no mirth. "I swore to protect her. An oath you laid before me. And I will honor it, Sebastian, even if it means protecting her from you.”
They kept Sebastian at the Graham ball for two hours in an effort to diffuse his anger. Only when he demonstrated full control of his emotions did the men accompany him home in Alan’s coach. Gabriel left Sebastian in Ravenswood Court’s front hall, his unmarred brow raised in unspoken warning.
The flames from the low fire revealed his bed was empty; the covers drawn back, unrumpled. Ivy thought to sleep elsewhere tonight, did she? Sebastian did not blame her. Throwing off the black cutaway coat, he loosened his cravat, tossing it to the side. Boots were yanked off, left in a careless heap, his shirt landing in a crumpled pile on the floor. On bare feet, wearing only trousers, he tried the connecting door between the suites and found it locked.
The rap he gave the door was as sharp as his irritation. "Ivy. Open this door.”
There was no response so he banged harder. Finally, a slight rustle could be heard on the other side. She was in there. She was in there and she wanted nothing to do with him. His voice vibrated harsher than his fists against the wood. "Open the damn door. Before I break it down.”
After a long silence, her weary voice muffled by the thickness of the oak, Ivy replied, "Go away.”
Stumped by her quiet resolution, Sebastian stared at the door, thinking what to do next.
It took a minute to recall the location of the key. For years, it sat in the drawer of the bedside if ever needed and pushing open the door to the countess’s suite of rooms, Sebastian felt a rush of satisfaction. On bare feet, he padded silently forward until he stood where the lamplight formed a pool of illumination.
Ivy sat in the middle of the bed, a pale, yellow counterpane clutched to her bosom. Huge and liquid, her eyes followed him, bottom lip catching between her teeth when Sebastian held out the key, dangled it, then dropped it into his trouser pocket. She did not appear surprised or even alarmed that he gained entry with such ease. She seemed to expect it.
Crossing his arms, Sebastian prepared for the battle to come, and despite his previous anger, he was relatively calm. The evening was a disaster, but one of his own making. He possessed an unfortunate tendency to react in the worst possible manner with Ivy, each incident only pushing her further away from him. Eventually, she would be so alienated as to be unreachable, and that reality was destroying him. He did not know what to do to make things better. He’d made the Devil’s bargain when promising her that it was possible to wait until she loved him again.
In the weeks since their marriage, he had not succeeded in changing Ivy’s heart. This failure, his failure, was slowly killing him.
Ivy turned up the bedside lamp at the sound of the key in the lock. She watched in grim resolution as the door swung open and Sebastian prowled into the room. He waggled that key at her and dropped it in his pocket, mocking any effort to keep him locked out.
Drawing her knees to her chest, Ivy clutched them hard. Nearly three hours had passed since she fled from the Graham's ball. Where had Sebastian been? He wore only trousers, the muscles lining his ribs flexed with each deep breath. Seeing the tic in his jaw, and the way it clenched, Ivy knew it was only by the thinnest of threads he kept himself from snatching her up and shaking her.
From forehead to chin, Sebastian rubbed his face. "Never lock a door to me again, Ivy. Ever.” His tone was blanketed in restrained composure.
“It did little good, obviously.”
"Come to bed. My bed. Where you belong.”
Her eyes narrowed. "You cannot be serious.”
"It would be unwise to doubt my sincerity at the moment.”
Ivy’s teeth hurt from being clenched so hard. She shook her head. "If you think I shall jump at the snap of your fingers, you are a bloody fool. And I repeat my words directing you to go straight to hell.” What motivated her husband to such irrational behavior was a mystery, one sure to bewilder her for many nights to come.
Sebastian’s smile was faint, as if suddenly amused despite everything. "You also called me a liar. No one has ever said that to my face and lived to tell the tale.”
Ivy stared straight ahead. "Should you wish to call me out for the insult, I’m waiting.”
“My intentions are quite differe
nt.”
“I do not know your intentions, my lord. However, if you meant to demonstrate your disregard for me, you succeeded. You deceived me, Ravenswood, when you forced me to this marriage.”
"I apologize for tonight.” A frown darkened his features. "I was not in my right mind.”
"Well, fortunately for the both of us, I'm in my right mind. I won't allow you to continue to use me.” Ivy flicked him an icy glare. "You may take your apology, shove it up your arse and go straight to the devil.”
"Ivy, I'm warning you.”
She laughed at him. "Really? Or you'll do what? Make me mind my tongue? Force me to your bed? You are my husband. You may claim your rights any time you bloody well please, but this does not mean I must be agreeable in my heart and mind. My body may allow it, but I vow I will not be willing.”
Sebastian appeared both distressed and furious at her words. Ivy hoped they struck at his heart, but she despised the truth hidden deep within her. While she hated him for his unexpected cruelty, and even if she submitted for the sake of duty, her body loved what he aroused in her.
Lashing out to grip her arm, Sebastian dragged her from the bed. Ivy did not resist.
"I can change your mind. You know I can,” he said in a hoarse whisper, nibbling at her lower lip with a soft persuasiveness. “And I don’t want to hurt you. Because we both know I can do that too.”
Ivy shrugged. She had already decided to slip away from herself. “Do as you wish, my lord.”
A confection of a nightgown, the fabric soft and billowy, flowed around her form. It was new, one of many Sebastian special ordered for her before leaving Beaumont. The extravagant parcel arrived at Ravenswood Court only the day before, and her squeal of delight at the unexpected gift pleased him. Simple ribbons held the pale, blush-hued garment together along the sides; should they come loose, the entire thing would fall to her feet. Damn her haste in grabbing the first one in the wardrobe. It would be the easiest to remove.