Page 11 of Taming Ivy
“It is no secret the lady and I share a mutual association by way of my cousin. All in the past, of course, circumstances being what they are. We are all aware Timothy is deceased.”Because of you...Poison Ivy.The accusation hung, heavy, unspoken while Sebastian’s gaze, hard and unapologetic, flickered to the countess.
She did not seem prepared for war after all. One little skirmish and she folded with astonishing haste. Her wide eyes reminded him of a panicked doe, a wounded shimmer in the aqua depths. Her bottom lip visibly trembled. Incredibly,infuriatingly, Sebastian wanted to press his mouth to hers to tame its lush quiver. Goddamn, he’d forfeit his soul to taste the skin of that delicate collarbone, the nape of her neck, the soft underside of her breast…to soothe the hurt he just inflicted.
A tear slid down Ivy’s cheek, its significance elusive to Sebastian, but the crowd hushed, the Pack gawking with such astonishment he wondered if wings were unexpectedly sprouting from the countess’s back. Murmurs slowly built, rising until a deafening crescendo buffeted from all sides. Snippets of disbelief were already racing from one end of the ballroom to the other. Monvair and Applegate’s half-hearted tussle came to an abrupt halt, each staring at the countess.
“She’s crying…”
“Wouldn’t believe it, had I not seen it myself.”
“My God, did you hear what he said to her?”
“That sharp tongue failed her at last.”
Basford bristled with fresh anger, to the point he practically vibrated. “Icannotallow this repulsive cruelty to continue, Ravenswood. This assassination of Lady Kinley -”
“- is none of your affair, Basford,” Sebastian murmured, his eyes fixed on Ivy’s face. One deceitful tear streaked down her pale cheek like a raindrop on glass. He tried not to let it stir him.
“But sir, you… this….” Christopher interjected, stuttering until Sebastian flicked him a cold stare.
Christopher’s mouth slammed shut so fast and so hard, his teeth clicked.
Men grumbled along the edges of the group, their blind loyalty infuriating Sebastian beyond all comprehension. Like hyenas plotting to steal a fresh kill from a lion, they surrounded him. But he knew how to handle scavengers. No one would snatch this lady from between his paws.
“Kingsley?” Sebastian swept the crowd with a contemptuous glare. For God’s sake, Lord Kingsley was older than Ivy’s own father. “Shall you intercede? Or perhaps you, Montrose? Cavat?”
Those unfortunate enough to be singled out clamped their lips tight.
“Lady Kinley was the very soul of kindness to Lord Garrett,” Basford bit out. “She’s an angel to have tolerated his…”
Sebastian swung toward the viscount with such ferocity a collective roar arose from the crowd. Then people pressed closer, making it impossible to separate the Pack from those who’d come simply to witness the slaughter.
“Stay out of it, Basford.” Sebastian welcomed the opportunity to settle the issue in the oldest manner available to men, if the viscount wished to press matters.
“I- I’ve got som-something to- to say!” Christopher barreled forward, filled with fresh determination to waylay Lady Kinley’s tormenter. Basford turned, intending to halt his progress, but Christopher had a belly-full of being the shy, butterfly-collecting gentleman. He shoved the viscount aside, sending him stumbling into a curious footman who’d wiggled through the crowd with a platter of champagne goblets.
Christopher desperately grabbed for the tray while Basford clutched the servant’s coat in an attempt to retain his balance. The three men fumbled about as the first goblet bounced in slow motion and began to slide from the platter. In quick succession, forty others followed, creating a glorious golden waterfall of champagne and glass. Basford collapsed in an ignoble heap, the footman floundering atop of him. Christopher ended up with the tray, juggling it and two surviving goblets. He skidded forward on a thin sheet of spilled champagne until colliding with a heavy “Oomph!”against a much larger, solid wall of iron. The tray, two crystal goblets and one young gentleman hit marble flooring with an ear-shattering clatter.
Teeth clenched tight, Sebastian reached down, hauling Christopher to his feet, ignoring the man’s profuse apologies.
Bedlam erupted, with guests sidestepping splintered crystal, spilled champagne and a tangled heap of arms and legs comprised of the drenched Basford and a mortified footman. Numerous servants added to the chaos, darting here and there to blot frantically at splattered silks and satins. Someone finally extended a hand to Basford while Sebastian did the same to the footman. Muttering a slew of unintelligible curses, shaking off pieces of glass, the viscount glared at Ravenswood as though he were to blame for the entire disaster.
Sebastian searched for Ivy. She must have dodged the worst of it, no doubt pleased with the turmoil, those false tears quick to dry. Hell, if she wasn’t doubled over with laughter, he’d be vastly disappointed. But, she was not in within the Pack’s protective circle, nor at the edge of the boisterous throng. Fists clenching, he recalled Veronica’s words; in sudden, vivid clarity, they burned his brain -“In the midst of all that, Lady Kinley simply vanished…”
His prey had flitted away like an elusive butterfly. Lady Sara Morgan was gone too. Catching Alan’s eye, his friend gave an apologetic lift of his shoulders, and an infuriating thought struck Sebastian. Should Ivy find anything entertaining about this initial confrontation, it would not be Basford dropping like a stone, champagne spilling or even bumbling fools knocking one another senseless in romantic charges to her defense. It would be the effortless manner in which she won this skirmish. With the shedding of a tear.
He, the bloody Earl of Ravenswood, defeated by a single, glittering tear. In the space of abloodyhalf hour, she had gained the upper hand. In a game for which he made the rules.
CHAPTER 3
When a crash and roars of laughter sounded behind them, neither girl paused to witness the distraction. Sara pushed Ivy through a set of doors leading to the foyer and eased them shut. A quick glance about the hall confirmed they were alone. “Go, Ivy. Now, while Ravenswood’s attention is elsewhere. Lord Bentley will delay him further, but you must leave before anyone realizes you’ve gone. Saints help us,” Sara giggled. “I thought Bentley might actually throw you over his shoulder to carry you to safety.”
Ivy gave her a fierce squeeze of gratitude. “I cannot leave you behind. What if…”
“Never mind me. I can handle myself, you know that.” Sara tilted Ivy a rueful smile. “Who would have guessed Ravenswood could be so ruthless? I should have listened to you and allowed you to escape before he confronted you. Now, go. Quickly, before he comes searching for you. Do not stop for anyone.” She blew Ivy a kiss and with a mischievous smile, returned to the ballroom through the same doors. A key turned in the lock with a soft, decisive click.
Ivy almost grinned as she hurried down the wide foyer. Should Ravenswood try to follow her through that door, he’d find the way thwarted by a clever Sara. And later, the Sheffield staff would locate a key in the most unlikely of places. Either an urn or a window sash, if they found it at all. Knowing Sara, she’d simply take the key with her.
Collecting her cloak, Ivy thanked the two attending maids in the calmest of manners so that her departure would not attract unwanted attention. By the time she entered the expansive courtyard of the Sheffield mansion, her heart thumped so hard and fast she was dizzy.
