Page 1 of Taming Ivy
CHAPTER 1
LONDON, ENGLAND 1839
Sebastian Tyler Sheraton Cain, eleventh Earl of Ravenswood and last of his line, did not believe in love.
Nor did he trust in a woman’s ability to maintain an enduring faithfulness.
The notion of angels singing or being struck by lightning upon seeing a beautiful woman? Or having his composure rattled by a comely figure? Patently ridiculous.
And he most certainly did not believe in rekindling affairs. Friends and acquaintances joked that Lucifer himself stood a better chance of finding his way into Heaven. When Ravenswood decided a relationship was over, whomever happened to occupy his bed became something akin to hell-scorched earth. And like dead ground, nothing would grow there ever again. The affair was erased from memory and never revisited.
Never.
The flurry of emotions the earl’s appearance triggered in Lady Veronica Wesley’s foyer proved puzzling. He endured a half-hearted slap to his face and squeals of joy as Veronica launched herself into his arms. While the stoic butler ignored their passionate kisses, she dragged Sebastian upstairs, her schemes for his amorous entertainment described in exacting detail. Intrigued by her creative imagination, he neglected to mention the true reason for his afternoon visit.
For an hour, his former mistress fulfilled all whispered promises until Sebastian took control. Thankfully the bedroom walls were relatively thick, masking the sounds inside; harsh breathing, little cries of pleasure, the creak of the bed becoming louder as Veronica writhed beneath him, her jeweled fingers tangled in the open fretwork of the mahogany headboard. Her moans climbed in steady increments, higher pitched and desperate as the afternoon slipped away. Sebastian played with her forever, slapping her plump buttocks each time her pace slowed, his hands meshed in the long hair streaming down her back, anchored tight and controlling. Riding her with steady thrusts, he forced her to move faster, finally allowing her to tumble over the edge of satisfaction, her knuckles the palest shade of alabaster from gripping the headboard so hard.
Sebastian never gave her a moment to recover, tilting her hips aloft, rocking harder and deeper until she gasped. Veronica preferred it rough on occasion and this certainly qualified as such. After attending his needs in the most diligent of fashions, it seemed fair he fulfill a few of her preferences. Only he’d not taken into consideration Veronica’s genuine delight in his return. She’d taken more of his time than anticipated. Another hour, possibly more, was lost while seeing to her pleasure. And although he did not mind making love all afternoon, it was not his intention.
Tugging her hair until she squealed Sebastian laughed softly, abruptly withdrawing to flip her over. When Veronica moaned in dissent, he kissed her hard and said quietly, “Hush...I’m coming back,” just before thrusting inside her.
Veronica squeezed him tight, legs curled hungrily about Sebastian’s waist, using her thighs and inner channel muscles until his shoulders contracted and his fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her buttocks. Their movements became almost violent until another climax crashed over her and his own pinnacle was obtained in a blinding rush of sensations seconds later.
Dropping his forehead dropped into the curve of her shoulder, sweat from his brow mingled with hers. Veronica exhaled a shaky breath of blissful wonder.
“God, Sebastian, you’ve no idea how much I’ve missed this. No one else can...” She stopped herself, the breathless words dying as her damp palms skated along his flanks. Smiling softly, she continued, “You should not have stayed away so long, darling.”
A low grumble rippled through Sebastian. He rolled away to prop himself against the headboard she gripped with desperation just moments before. Covering his nudity with a flick of the sheets, he raked a hand through his hair and waited for her to regain control of herself.
When Veronica’s color back faded to a shade of fine ivory and her magnificent breasts no longer heaved, Sebastian’s brow rose by an imperceptible degree. He gave a subtle clearing of his throat and she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress at the sound, pulling a velvet coverlet up from the floor to be fashioned into a makeshift sarong.
“Brandy or bourbon?” Her voice was subdued.
“Bourbon.”
It was nearing three o’clock and a late February sun illuminated the lively street outside the townhouse on Piccadilly. But the murky interior of Veronica’s luxurious bedroom suited her, lending a mysterious, dusky glow to her exotic features. Using the coverlet as camouflage she stepped to an ornately carved sidebar. Glass clinked as the bottle touched a crystal tumbler.
Sebastian’s expression remained veiled. He understood why she pulled the drapes tight against the unforgiving daylight. Always curvaceous, Veronica was easing into plumpness, but he found no fault in that. That soft voluptuousness pleased him. And probably the other lovers she entertained in his absence.
Watching as she poured his drink, Sebastian felt a disappointing and infuriatingly familiar lack of fulfillment nag him. Despite the rigorous sex, his release proved empty rather bland. Sprawled amongst the tangled sheets like an indolent tiger, he wondered if his remoteness confused Veronica. He might as well be a stranger lounging in her bed instead of a well-known lover.
He’d never treated her with anything other than a casual indifference. A self-conscious attempt perhaps to retain the friendship shared before their affair began. That aloofness was necessary to maintain distance and it was his habit, as he came and went as he pleased, to never make a woman privy to his affairs. Veronica once foolishly questioned his frequent absences and it was that distance which allowed Sebastian to easily smile and say, “Now, that hardly matters in our situation, does it, my dear?” She was intelligent enough to never ask again, because if she had, he would have responded by obtaining a new mistress. No matter the state of the relationship, he’d be damned if a woman questioned his actions or dictated to him. Not ever again. Not after what he’d been through with his former fiancée, Marilee.
Fortunately, within Sebastian’s privileged world there was no shortage of willing prey. As he cut a wide swath through London and other cities abroad, the same women whispering of his atrocious habit of moving from mistress to mistress also sought his company, eager for the pleasure lavished upon them while they were his. Veronica resided happily in that category. Had he any intention of resuming their relationship, which he did not, Sebastian knew she probably always would. Hardly noble to think it but it was the truth.
She perched beside him, handing over a crystal glass. With burgundy velvet wrapped about her, a raven-hued lock of hair tugged between the fingers of one hand and a tumbler of bourbon twirling in the other, she presented an appealing picture. A huge mirror leaned against the far wall, reflecting every activity occurring in her bed and undoubtedly Veronica practiced this particular mannerism many times before it. She executed it perfectly. The precise, slow twirl of the drink, the perfect, sultry pout. The careful sip which drew attention to her full lips.
She broke the awkward silence first. “How did you find France, Seb?”
Sebastian downed the bourbon in one swallow.Get it over with, selfish bastard. Do not keep her hoping.“Quite easily once I crossed the Channel.” Because his particular brand of humor always eluded her in the past, it was surprising that her russet colored eyes narrowed with injured annoyance.
“I meant…”
“I know what you meant, Ronnie.” He chucked her under the chin, feeling slightly guilty when she brightened with the calculated use of affection. It was still easy to manipulate her. “I did not find much to amuse me there.”
Exhaustion proved a more fitting description of his four years abroad, the remembrance of last month’s liaison enjoyed with three (almost) famous ballerinas tamped down. That first year away from England, one spent romping on the beach with a forgettable mistress on a newly purchased sugar plantation in the Caribbean, proved wearisome. After her, during his aimless drift across different countries, a lovely, lady in waiting to the Queen of Spain held his attention for a time. Comfortably situated in an airy villa just outside the palace, Sebastian developed an appreciation for hot, strong coffee every morning and enjoyed fiery lovemaking with the dark-haired beauty. Until her irrational jealousy led him to break the affair. That she also found him in bed with the wife of a French ambassador complicated matters. Sandwiched during and between those mistresses, including Veronica, were women selected to ease the loneliness and hold his boredom at bay.
Frowning at the hollow depth of recollections, Sebastian rotated the empty tumbler between his palms. “I was not in France the entire time.”
