Page 10 of Taming Ivy
The emotions passing over her features was akin to a curtain falling at a theater play only to rise for the following act. Sebastian saw all her thoughts - revealed in those few transparent seconds. She’d been waiting for him, preparing herself. She would fight, regardless of the cost. And she was both terrified and excited to pay the price and play his game.
“I assume I am the subject.” His hands flexed into fists, itching to smash into Monvair’s nose when the man, with staggering audacity, grinned at him.
Ivy assessed him. “How you must despise hearing you are wrong.”
“Do you believe the truth will offend me?” Based on Monvair’s smugness, Sebastian knew the answer.
“The truth should never offend, my lord.”
“Which can only mean you won't tell me.”
“No.” She smiled at his persistence. “Among friends, truthfulness is appreciated however…”
“We’ve not been formally introduced, is that it?” He interrupted with a slight bow. Her eyes were more intense than he remembered. Framed with long, lushly dark sable lashes, they contained a myriad of aqua swirls and flashes of deep gold deep. The full force of her beauty was enough to bring him to his knees. Now. Now, he finally understood Timothy’s obsession. Ivy Kinley was a dazzling thing. A force to reckon with. When she arched a brow of dark chestnut, battle lines were officially drawn.
“We were formally introduced once before, Lord Ravenswood. It’s foolish to believe that meeting in my father’s drawing room is scored as permanently upon your memory as it is on mine.” Even with its dagger’s edge of sarcasm, her voice was husky and sweet, that distant smile surely reserved for the most persistent of suitors. “You forgot it, and me, before the end of that day.”
Reaching out, Sebastian captured Ivy’s gloved hand. His mouth hovered above her wrist before pressing a light kiss to her silk-encased fingers. She nearly shrank away before stilling the involuntary reaction.
“It would be reckless to forget someone like you.”Of course, I remember you. I’ve come to destroy you.Cupping Ivy’s elbow where the edge of the glove surrendered to bare skin, he inched her away from the dubious protection of the Pack. It was a calculated move, easily mistaken as a conciliatory gesture when she allowed it. “But then, you were merely a child. Graced with an innocence only the young possess and unable to do any real harm. Thank God.”
Viscount Basford stared in stunned amazement, his attempt to drag Ivy back to safety stymied by her two raised fingers.
“Such a sad occasion your visit warranted that afternoon, Lord Ravenswood. My hope is you forgave any disrespect I exhibited in my grief. It was not intentional.”
An image of dirty boots scraping against an expensive carpet flashed in Sebastian’s mind, and when Ivy’s face flushed a guilty pink, both realized they shared the same memory. How extraordinary.
“I forgave you.” he purred, tugging her even closer.I’ve forgiven nothing, Ivy Kinley…you don’t deserve it.
“Children are rarely noteworthy, but I was horrid.” Ivy’s voice was thin, but she stood her ground. “I pray I am unrecognizable today.”
Seeing how much he unnerved her, Sebastian tightened his grip. Lady Morgan glanced at Ivy often, as if reassuring herself the countess stood whole and unharmed. The strains of another waltz drifted in the air, but it resonated with a muted tone. The musicians leaned forward on the railing with conspicuous nonchalance, watching the two combatants face off on the elegant expanse of the ballroom battlefield below.
“I would recognize you anywhere, Countess.” It was vulgar to address her in such a manner, but the way her title rolled off his tongue gave it the cadence of both curse and endearment. He liked saying it. As if he both loathed and loved her and whatever emotion leaked out in the utterance of that word hinged on his whim at the moment.
Sara, her cheeks a distinct shade of white, edged closer. Did she think to rescue Ivy? If so, that was a pity. Sebastian was not yet ready to let her go. His smile was ruthless. “You see, Timothy’s descriptions of your beauty, and your character, were quite exact in detail.”
Timothy’s final correspondence sought a loan to purchase his own lodgings; no reason behind the abrupt request, just an entreaty Sebastian failed to answer. His cousin’s letters had slowly disintegrated until they were little more than rambling, petulant demands for greater allowances from the trust Sebastian managed on his behalf. During the last year of his life, the funds supported far more of Timothy’s fondness for brandy, gambling and the high-priced whores at Madam Trudy’s. He’d never mentioned Lady Kinley in his communications, however Sebastian was not beyond using a lie to his advantage.
Ivy gasped as the meaning of his words began to make sense.
Her involuntary sound drew immediate results. Alan swung about, brown eyes snapping. His muttered curse sounded suspiciously similar to a hasty plan of wringing his friend’s neck. Howls rose from members of the Pack, passionate vows of defense for the countess tumbling forth in a heated muddle. Guests crushed forward like early morning hagglers at a fishmonger’s stall. Two elderly women shoved through the crowd as if intent on refereeing the confrontation.
“Better than attending Drury Lane.”One, crowned with an old-fashioned purple turban and wobbling against the uncertain support of a mahogany cane, chortled in delight.
“Ha! Better than Hadderly’s last week!”The second woman elbowed Purple Turban aside in a particularly rough maneuver.
“See here, Ravenswood!” Monvair sputtered. Outrage thickened his accent, the silver buttons on the sapphire and fuchsia waistcoat strained to the point of bursting. His attempt to wedge between Sebastian and Ivy resulted in an encounter with young Lord Applegate, bristling with the same gallant intent. The two men crashed, bounced off in opposite directions, then reeled back together, gripping each other’s arms in an awkward dance to maintain their balance. Gales of laughter swept the crowd.
Realizing the two men could collided with them, Sebastian released Ivy, muttering beneath his breath, “Bloody, fucking brilliant. A brawl …”
“Outrageous!” Lord Batten’s thick mustache quaked with the indignation of an irritated walrus, having overheard Sebastian’s curse and he searched for a waiter to hand off his champagne, ready to join the fray should a full-fledged melee ensue.
Basford waited until Ivy was behind him before saying, “Ravenswood, your words are cruel. Hardly those of a gentleman.” The declaration provided reason aplenty for a predawn gathering on a misty field in Regent Park. A few young women whispered of the viscount’s courageous stand. Monvair and Applegate still grappled with one another, an unfair contest as the Frenchman was most concerned for his new waistcoat’s survival.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed in cold warning. His mouth stretched into a hard line, transforming his features into a veneer of untainted emotion. Even the candles ringing the room seemed to dim, cowering before a man whose eyes flamed brighter than any light they could produce. Any gentleman eager to defend the countess was subjected to a brutal measurement. One by one, exposed to unflinching scrutiny by such a dangerous antagonist, each man deflated.
Lady Kinley was unworthy of the reckless devotion shown by these irrational men. Frustrated rage suffused Sebastian. Especially since she’d sidled out of arm’s reach.
