Page 103 of Taming Ivy
Ivy bit her lip in silent frustration. "A far better solution than a duel.”
"True, but you know the earl will have vengeance on those who cross him. The latest rumor concerns the men from the Faringdon Ball. Each gentleman finds himself teetering on the verge of financial ruin. Whether at the races, the gaming tables or the Exchange, Ravenswood gains from their misfortune.” Sara’s gaze was unwavering. “Some whisper a plan was devised; the infliction of pain where it is felt most keenly - in their pockets. Only the new Duke of Richeforte has been spared. It cannot be mere coincidence.”
With a flash of understanding, Ivy realized what Sebastian had done; the mission he sent Gabriel on that morning from Beaumont clear now. He was punishing those involved the night of the Faringdon Ball. She did not know whether to be appalled or grateful, but the blaze of jealousy searing her heart was merciless. What reward did Lady Veronica Wesley receive for her assistance that night?
Ivy sought to steer the subject to something less volatile. “Landon’s father passed away?”
“Just after your marriage, God save his soul. He was a miserable man, wasn’t he? And lingered forever, it seemed. He was in great pain during his last days. It’s rumored Landon refused to visit his bedside, although he wasted no time taking control of the estates. Alan told me the barristers waited outside the old duke’s bedchambers, quills in hand, ready to take possession of everything and Richeforte’s last breath was to curse his son’s very existence.” Sara bit into a teacake, chewing reflectively. “Now Landon is the duke and Ravenswood will never be able to exact revenge, if that was his intent. Richeforte is too powerful.”
Ivy sat so quietly that Sara leaned squarely back against the brocade cushion of the divan. She too was silent for a few moments, noting her friend’s pale features before wisely changing the subject.
"I find myself wildly curious, my dear, as to the nature of marital relations,” Sara’s lips curled into a smile when Ivy’s eyes met hers in shock. “What is it truly like? Will you tell me? Kissing is quite exciting, as are the caresses, but should the rest of it exist purely for a man's pleasure, then I’ll exercise control until the wedding night. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Ivy swallowed hard, unsure how much to reveal and infinitely grateful they no longer spoke of Sebastian’s revenge and his victims. Especially since it was only recently she’d been counted in those numbers. "Wait for the wedding, darling. Succumbing before bears its own set of problems.”
"The act itself is painful? Should I be afraid?” Sara’s blue eyes held a fierce determination. “I must know more. Blast it. You’re the only one who can tell me the truth of such things. Mother blushes and stammers and always manages to change the subject. I have failed miserably to get any information out of her. And as we recently decided to move the wedding to the end of the summer, I would appreciate the time to prepare myself for what will occur on our wedding night.”
Ivy knew the depths of her friend’s love for Bentley, and she knew she should tell Sara a falsehood. She should not say the act of making love was magical and so deeply poignant that many times she was moved to tears by Sebastian’s touch.
To say the pleasure of kisses led to even greater delights would be a grave mistake. It would most certainly have Sara wishing to experience it herself. Doing so before the wedding, before vows, before rings, but most importantly in the deepest of shadows, would result in tangled complications. Sara and Alan had the opportunity to do things properly, not hopelessly muddled like she and Sebastian.
Ivy recalled the relief experienced last week when her monthly courses appeared. A few days late, but they came. The discomfort was a welcomed nuisance even with the recurring bouts of nausea she suffered. It ensured their tale of a romantic elopement remained untinged by salacious rumors of pregnancy. He’d not said so, but she suspected Sebastian was vastly disappointed she was not with child.
Plucking at the threads of the cushioned seat, Ivy constructed a reasonable argument. "Sara, do you recall our conversation that day at tea when we spoke of marriage? Marry well and provide heirs. That is expected of us and we both know this. I will admit the marriage bed is not unpleasant, but my role is to provide Ravenswood his heir. It is a duty I am bound to honor, regardless of what led to our hasty wedding. Dearest, wait until Bentley makes you his wife. Your way will be so much easier than mine; you love him and he adores you. You will understand what I mean on the night of your wedding, I promise.”
Sebastian waited outside the door for an appropriate moment to join the two women. Chivalry prompted a delayed entrance until the conversation turned to something less intimate, less intriguing. Now, his stomach clenched as if suffering the most vicious of knife jabs.
Stalking down the hall, cold sickness rose in his throat. Is this why Ivy succumbed? Why she yielded that night in Beaumont’s library? It could not be the misguided belief he needed an heir to secure the Ravenswood legacy. Performing her wifely duty and providing him a son would not excuse her from his lusts. A small part of him had believed her capitulation to be a form of gratitude for not killing Basford, but now, Sebastian realized it was something else entirely.
There must be more than duty between them. When he brought her to climax after quivering climax; when she clung to him so sweetly, kissed him softly as they drifted back to earth - there had to be more. There was affection in Ivy’s voice, a shimmer of love he thought flashed again just below the surface in her eyes. These were not indications of a wife just performing her obligations, as she just so patiently explained to Sara.
At least Sebastian believed he saw something inside those turquoise eyes, something easier to recognize every time they made love. Was that elusive emotion truly there? Fluttering below a thin shell of mistrust? For all the talk of waiting for Ivy to love him again, to trust him, Sebastian realized he was becoming decidedly impatient. He hated himself for it.
And now to discover she was merely doing her “duty”.
He could not allow himself to believe it.
He misconstrued her intent. Or, perhaps misheard her.
"...a duty I am bound to honor...”
Sebastian brushed Brody aside when the butler scrambled ahead of him in grand foyer. There was a perverse pleasure to be found in wresting control of the door away from his new butler,his wife's old butler,and even greater pleasure when the massive oak door slammed behind him. The resulting shudder of it undoubtedly alarmed the two women, sitting inhisdamned drawing room, discussing sex and marriage and birthing sons to carry on the Ravenswood and Bentley names.
Sebastian staggered out into the warmth of London’s early summer.
Damn her.
The words,"a duty,"reverberated in his brain as he hailed a hansom cab, having no desire to wait for one of his own carriages brought around. Barking out directives, he sagged against the torn leather seat of the musty vehicle. He needed a drink - several in fact- to erase everything pounding in his head.
He needed lightning bolts to crush the betrayal stabbing his heart.
A terse note arrived later informing Ivy that Sebastian was called away on business. Urgent, he claimed; he could not tear himself away. He would not return until it was time to set out for the ball they had pledged to attend in their honor. Puzzled by the curt tone of the missive, Ivy put it aside and settled in the library with a book. Her solitude was short lived.
"I thought I might join you.” Rachel glided, taking a seat in a taupe shaded chair. It was opposite the settee where Ivy just tucked her feet on. Jumping with guilt, she almost slid her feet to the floor before steeling her spine with a sudden resolve.Shewas Countess here. This washerlibrary now, her settee, and if she wished to place her feet upon it, she possessed every right to do so. Nodding at Rachel, Ivy kept her feet right where she pleased, although she did curl them under the hem of her gown.
Rachel’s brow lifted, but she only rang the bell, giving instructions to the maid that arrived. “Tea, Mary. No, not the Rosethorne blend. Prepare the selection Cook picked up at Market last week.”
When they were alone, Rachel’s sharp blue eyes, raked Ivy. "I must admit you are quite beautiful.” Her tone was dispassionate.
