Even admitting that, Ives was still against the idea of her coming anywhere near the man who might be the Fox. “There is much to your argument,” he conceded reluctantly, “but dammit, Sophy! There are too many things that could go wrong.”
His green eyes full of anxiety, he stared across the brief space that divided them. Huskily, he said, “I would not, for the world, have anything happen to you.”
Her heart leaping in her breast, Sophy thought she would melt for love of him. It was not a declaration of love, but it was enough, and it would do for now. Oh, yes, it would do very well for now, she thought mistily.
The future ahead suddenly seemed much brighter, and beaming foolishly across at him, she said softly, “Nothing will happen to me because you will not let it, will you?”
“God, no!” he swore, wanting to catch her up in his arms and whisk her away from even the thought of danger.
“Then we are decided?” she asked carefully. “I shall be the one to seek out Grimshaw.”
Knowing he had lost the argument, but unwilling to concede defeat, Ives growled, “I must discuss it with my godfather first. We shall see what he has to say.”
If Sophy thought it strange that Ives seemed to need his godfather’s advice before proceeding, she kept it to herself. But she was very thoughtful when they left Ives’s study a few minutes later and walked up the stairs to their bedchambers.
The Duke of Roxbury seemed to frequently intrude into their lives of late, she realized. Ives had never struck her as a man who relied on others to make up his mind for him, and yet, it seemed he was always rushing off to confer with Roxbury—if the duke wasn’t appearing on their doorstep.
Of course, Roxbury was Ives’s godfather, but ... Now what was it about Roxbury that nagged at her? Some gossip? Some old scandal?
Her thoughts busy with trying to remember what it was she had heard about Roxbury, Sophy absently bid her husband good night and entered her own room. She was very quiet as Peggy helped her undress. Garbed in only her chemise, she dismissed Peggy with a vague smile and slipped out of the chemise before putting on a nightgown of gossamer silk. Unaware of her image in the mirror before her, she brushed out the earlier expert work of Peggy’s nimble fingers and very soon her thick, heavy hair was lying in a shining golden mantle around her slim shoulders.
Roxbury, Roxbury. What was it that she had heard about him? Something about, despite his great wealth and position, he dabbled in the government? But how did that affect Ives?
She gasped, sitting up straighter. Roxbury was some sort of master spy, wasn’t that what she had overheard Simon say years ago? He had been talking to Edward, she remembered, and when he had finished speaking, he had laughed in that nasty way of his, almost as if he had somehow managed to push Roxbury’s nose in a pile of manure. Edward had laughed, too....
Her thoughts went flying when she heard the door open behind her. Spinning around on the green-satin stool of her dressing table, she looked across the width of the room to where Ives stood in the connecting door between their chambers.
He was wearing a black robe and, with a curling twist in her loins, Sophy knew he was naked underneath the garment. He seemed very large, very male, as he stood there regarding her. And very dear.
He said nothing for a moment. Then strolling coolly into the room, he remarked, “The door was unlocked.”
Sophy nodded. “I know,” she said softly, rising slowly to her feet, excitement coiling almost painfully throughout her body. “I did not wish to overwork the carpenter.”
He smiled crookedly as he reached her. Pulling her gently into his arms, he teased both of them by faintly brushing his lips against hers. “And that was the only reason? Consideration for the carpenter?”
Her lips parted invitingly, her eyes luminous pools of pure gold, Sophy shook her head. “Oh, no, not the only reason.”
Ives groaned and crushed her to him, his mouth settling hungrily on hers and Sophy gave up coherent thought for a long time, a very long time....
Bright sunlight was streaming into her room and Peggy had just placed a tray of tea and toast on the table beside her bed, when Sophy once more rejoined the world. Pushing back a thick strand of gold hair, she sat up and winced slightly. A dreamy smile curved her full mouth. Ives had been voracious last night. And she had reveled in it, understanding for the first time that sometimes passion was not always gentle. But, oh, always sweet.
As she took a sip of her tea, Peggy said, “The master has already risen and gone out, but he asked that I inquire if you would care to accompany him to visit his godfather this afternoon. He informed me that he will return around two o’clock for your answer.”
Sophy smiled to herself. This afternoon, she decided, was going to be most interesting. To Peggy she said, “Of course I shall go with him. In fact, I am looking forward to it.”
Ives was not looking forward to it at all. He had the uneasy feeling that events were spiraling wildly out of his control—not, he reminded himself savagely, that he had ever been in control.
The meeting between Roxbury, Forrest, and himself had gone rather well this morning, and if Roxbury was annoyed by Ives’s abrupt commandeering of his time, he gave no sign of it. Actually, he seemed pleased that Ives had finally brought Forrest into the fold.
At first, Percival had been highly incensed that he had not been included in the chase from the beginning, his bright blue eyes burning with indignation, but he had quickly calmed down and become excited at the prospect of grappling with the elusive Fox.
When shown the ruby cravat pin and enlightened as to its history and what they suspected about it, he had frowned in concentration as he had stared at the sparkling jewel. Shaking his head, he muttered, “I know that I have seen this before, but I cannot tell you where or when.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps I will remember eventually, but for now, I am afraid that I am no help to you.”
Ives was disappointed, but not overly so; it had been an outside chance anyway that Forrest would recognize it. The three men continued to discuss the situation for several more minutes before Forrest took his leave. He had left Roxbury’s town house full of enthusiasm for the chase and swearing fervently to be of service in any way that he could. He was, he told Ives happily, going to enjoy himself for the first time since he had sold out and returned to England.
After Forrest departed, Roxbury glanced across at Ives. “You do not,” he said, “seem to be particularly happy this morning. Surely, you have no doubts about the wisdom of bringing Forrest into our midst?”
Ives shook his head. “No—I trust Percival implicitly, and in a dangerous confrontation, I could not ask for a better man at my side.” Ives took a turn around the elegant green-and-gold room, still not convinced that he was doing the wise, safe thing by allowing Sophy to take part in the hunt for the Fox.
Aware of Roxbury’s eyes upon him, still uncertain of his path, he said carefully, “Sophy has come up with a plan to approach the person she thinks may have been the target of Edward’s blackmail.”
Roxbury frowned, and his displeasure was evident in his tone of voice. “I realize,” he said sharply, “that she was the one who found the cravat pin, but do you think it wise to allow her to continue to meddle in something so fraught with danger? This is none of her business, and you should not be discussing it with her.”
He shot Ives a black look. “You know that I am adamantly opposed to her involvement in this affair—I have told you so repeatedly. Allowing Forrest to learn of the Fox is one thing, but your wife? Might as well place a notice in the Times. It is preposterous.”
Ives smiled bleakly. “I know precisely how you feel about her involvement—it is the reason she currently thinks she has married her first husband’s twin.”
Roxbury had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I am sorry, my boy, that this affair has caused you such ...” he began apologetically, then caught himself up and scowled fiercely. “May I remind you that I was against the marriage right fro
m the beginning? And didn’t I warn you that it would be trouble? If you find yourself in difficulties with your wife, it is your own fault, you know. You should not have married the lady while you were in the middle of trying to catch someone like the Fox.”
“I agree, but if you remember, I had little choice. She was suspected of murder.”
“Piffle! She might have suffered a few unpleasant months and endured some nasty gossip, but once the Fox was caught, you then could have proceeded with your courtship and set wagging tongues to rest.” His scowl deepened. “Do not try to make me feel guilty because of something you did. Against my expressed wishes, I might add.”
Ives suddenly grinned. “Do you ever feel guilty about anything, my lord?”
Roxbury cast him a baleful look. “Don’t be a damned fool! Of course, I do—frequently! Which has nothing to do with what we are discussing.”
“Naturally,” Ives replied. Leaving the unprofitable subject behind, he proceeded to lay out the various schemes he had concocted to find the owner of the cravat pin, ending with the plan to try his hand at blackmail.
Roxbury mulled over Ives’s facts, asking occasionally to have a particular point explained. Slowly nodding, he finally murmured, “Excellent notion—if your assumption is correct and the Fox and Edward’s proposed blackmail victim are one and the same. And I agree, if he were to learn that you possessed the pin and were trying to identify the owner, he might very well bolt for the Continent.” Roxbury looked thoughtful. “It would have been so much simpler if someone we trusted could identify the pin.” He sighed. “Shame that Forrest did not recognize it.”
“I agree, but I had not held out much hope for it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Roxbury regarded his godson. “So,” he asked quietly, “when do you intend to approach Grimshaw?”
Ives hesitated. It was now or never. Logic told him that Sophy was right in her conclusions. He was also painfully aware that if he did not consent to her suggestion—if he imposed his will and went ahead as he had originally planned—that something extremely rare and fragile in their relationship would be shattered.
His gaze met Roxbury’s, and he realized bleakly that when he had invited her to meet with his godfather this afternoon, he had already made up his mind.
“Actually,” he said grimly, “I have decided that it is not I who shall approach Grimshaw, but Sophy.”
Chapter Nineteen
Roxbury’s explosion was every bit as violent as Ives had suspected it would be, but in the end, his godfather, with much dire muttering and fulminating glances, had agreed that Sophy did have the correct reading of the situation: She should be the one to approach Grimshaw.
Ives had never won an argument which gave him so little pleasure—or filled him with such stark terror. But while Ives might have won one argument, Roxbury remained determined that Sophy know no more than she needed to, and that included anything about Le Renard!
Sophy, of course, was delighted that Ives had shown such excellent sense by agreeing with her, and to Ives’s consternation, she seemed not the least fazed by the possible danger she ran. Sitting primly in a green-leather chair near Roxbury’s massive rosewood desk, her jonquil-muslin skirts daintily arranged around her slim ankles, she had glanced brightly from one grave male face to the other.
“Oh, good gad!” she finally exclaimed in exasperation after Ives had again reiterated how treacherous their quarry was, how incumbent it was upon her to take the greatest care, and Roxbury had urgently seconded his words.
“I am not a goose!” she said forthrightly. “And it is not as if I am going off alone to some secluded place, where no one knows where I am or what I am doing!” She looked at Ives. “You have already assured me that when I approach Grimshaw it shall be in a public place of our choosing, and that you and Forrest are going to be hovering nearby. If I let out one little squeak, both of you will come thundering to my rescue.”
Stiffly Ives said, “I did not say ‘hovering.’”
Sophy smiled kindly at him. “Perhaps not, but that is what you meant.”
“Lady Harrington,” Roxbury began unhappily, having had more than second thoughts about the entire plan, “you do understand how dangerous this man is? That he will let nothing stop him? That while we will do all within our power to keep you safe from harm, that plans, er, sometimes go wrong?”
Ives cast him a stony glance. “Nothing,” he said in icy accents, “will go wrong.”
Sophy beamed at Roxbury. “You see, my lord? My husband shall not let anything happen to me. Besides,” she added with an engaging twinkle, “I shall have my pistol with me—I will not be totally at Grimshaw’s mercy should something, er, go wrong.”
“Nothing,” Ives repeated through gritted teeth, “will go wrong.”
“Of course not,” Sophy replied soothingly, lightly patting him on one lean hand. “You shall keep me safe.” She was startled when his fingers curled around hers as if he would never let go.
Feeling he was making a fool of himself, Ives tried to relax, gradually lessening the almost brutal grip he had on her fingers. He was overreacting. But damn it all, it was Sophy who would be facing the Fox!
Once it was settled that Sophy would indeed be the one to approach Grimshaw, Forrest arrived shortly thereafter, having been summoned by Roxbury, and quite some time was spent by the four of them working out a final plan.
Hugging the sweet knowledge that Ives had trusted in her judgment, Sophy listened with only half an ear to what the gentlemen were discussing. Ives had agreed with her! she thought giddily. And on something that he had clearly not wanted to! It warmed her and brought a glow to her eyes. Despite the gravity of the conversation, a little bubble of delighted laughter kept rising in her throat, and only the certainty that the other three would think her mad if she allowed it to escape, kept it locked inside of her. And of course, she admitted cheerfully, she was mad, quite mad, to be so happy about having won the right to risk her neck!
Something Ives said caught her attention and sitting up in her chair, she interrupted, “Do you know, I disagree with that idea. I think that it might be better if we did not actually make a blackmail threat.”
Three pairs of male eyes fastened incredulously on her. A little flush stained her cheeks, and she went on doggedly.
“I am quite certain that it would suit our purposes just as well if I were merely to, er, accidentally reveal the pin to Grimshaw, tease him with it as it were, without putting any specific threat into words. He is not unintelligent—if the pin is his, he will know what I am about, and if he is not our killer, the pin will mean nothing to him. I will not have made a fool of myself by tossing about ridiculous threats that mean nothing to him.”
Roxbury looked at her approvingly, reluctant admiration warming his cool gray eyes. “Upon my soul! She is right!”
Ives nodded, a wry smile curving his mouth. “If you will remember, my lord, I told you so.”
A laugh sputtered from Roxbury, and, dipping his head in acknowledgment, he admitted, “So you did, my boy. So you did.”
Riding home a short while later, Sophy slanted a glance up at Ives, who was seated beside her in their coach, and remarked, “Your godfather is really a very nice man, isn’t he?”
Ives grimaced. “Nice is not a word I would usually associate with Roxbury, but yes, I suppose in his way, that he is nice, upon occasion.” He looked at her, a warning in his gaze. “He is also ruthless, cold-blooded, and single-minded. Remember that, will you?”
She nodded and, dropping her eyes from his, stared at her gloved hands where they rested in her lap. “I want to thank you for what you did today,” she said in a low voice. “I know that you did not want me involved.”
Ives lifted her hand and pressed a hard kiss upon it.
“I know,” she said softly, “you would prefer to keep me wrapped in cotton wool ... but while it is sometimes very pleasant to be coddled, it can also be stifling and feel like a prison when one is alwa
ys treated so.”
Their eyes met, her heart leaping at the expression in his. Pulling her to him, he kissed her passionately. Blissfully, Sophy gave herself up to the magic of his embrace, his neck.
“I would never,” he said against her mouth, a dreamy time later, “ever want you to feel as if marriage to me was a prison.”
Brushing back a lock of raven black hair from his forehead, she murmured, “Do you know that since we have been married I have felt freer than I ever have in my life?”
“But not too free,” Ives said thickly. “Remember always that you belong to me.”
His mouth caught hers again and it was very quiet in the coach. If Lord and Lady Harrington looked slightly disheveled and breathless when they emerged from the intimate confines of the vehicle at the Grayson town house, the footman who greeted them was trained well enough to avert his eyes and keep a smooth face.
Not that Ives or Sophy would have noticed since they had eyes only for each other. With hardly an acknowledgment of the footman’s presence, Ives blindly followed Sophy up the stairs and into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him with a decisive movement.
Wordlessly, Sophy turned to face him, her pulse thudding, her entire body rejoicing at what she saw in his dark, intent face. There was a distinctly carnal slant to his mouth and his devil green eyes were glittering with suppressed hunger. His strong arms crushed her against him as his lips urgently found hers. Her soft mouth was his to plunder, and he did so boldly, leaving her in no doubt of his intentions. A shudder went through her at the explicit thrust and demand of his tongue, the sweet hunger already simmering between them, suddenly sharp and intense.
Ives’s greed for her was uncompromising, his lips hard, almost ruthless against hers, his hands moving with savage need over her as he swiftly walked her backward toward the bed, his intentions plain. He needed her. Now.
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