Page 115 of Taming Ivy
Ivy’s smiles and laughter were most puzzling to those watching from a distance. The countess did not appear miserable, and the Earl could not keep his hands off her. He constantly touched her arm or her hand, sometimes leaning over to give her a kiss, all of which the countess welcomed with a smile. If they were indeed angry at each other, they gave magnificent performances to indicate otherwise that afternoon in Regent Park. Perhaps, interested parties grumbled, neither was quite ready for the type of affair one engaged in when bored with marriage.
An unspoken truce emerged between Ivy and Sebastian. A truce not formally agreed to, but one both readily clung to. It was a fragile, sweet thing and they strove not to break it, treading lightly around each other. The days were filled with soft kisses and the nights with such passionate lovemaking, that the remaining time in London glowed with a hazy, dreamlike quality.
The final balls of the Season had begun, the streets of the city filling with Society’s exodus eager to escape the heat of town for the cooler climes of the countryside. Household staffs were shifted and rearranged in preparation of the summer's whirlwind of events. The ormolu clock on the fireplace mantel chimed two o’clock as Sebastian closed the ledger book with a decided snap.
Ivy was home from an afternoon spent visiting at Sara Morgan’s. Stepping to the door of his study, he overheard her giving Brody instructions to serve tea in the west drawing room and to inform his lordship she would meet him there after freshening up. Humming an Irish waltz just slightly off key, she ascended the stairs while holding onto the banister for balance, giggling when she lightly tripped upon a step.
When Sebastian ventured into the foyer, Brody grinned and quickly explained the situation. “Her Ladyship, Lady Morgan, and Lady Willsdown did a bit of celebrating, milord, to toast the end of the season. A tradition of sorts, you see.”
“I see.” Sebastian chuckled as he heard the sound of a piece of furniture being bumped against and a second later, his wife’s enchanting laughter. “Would you hazard a guess on their beverage of choice? I suspect something a bit more potent than tea.”
“Champagne. Most definitely, milord.”
“Hmmm.” Sebastian still had a few items of correspondence to attend before he could make his way to the west drawing room and it took everything within him not to follow Ivy upstairs to lend his assistance in “freshening up.” Thinking what might occur if he acted on that impulse, he smiled. “See to the tea, will you, Brody? And Brody- no champagne.”
“Of course not, milord.”
“Lady Garrett informed me that new batch of the Rosethorne blend arrived this morning. Will you have Cook prepare a pot? Her Ladyship will be most pleased. I know she’s missed it.”
Sebastian was mildly surprised Ivy was not in the drawing room when he arrived. Wolfing down two sugar biscuits from a small platter, he prowled the confines of the elegant room. When ten minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of her, he went ahead and poured himself a cup of the tea.
A slight bitterness was detected toward the end of the brew and he frowned to discover it. Pouring another cup, he sipped this one more slowly, rolling the liquid over his tongue. A strange flavor was certainly there, tempered with a delicate hint of something fruity and bitter. It was a taste difficult to place but not enough to ruin the tea.
It was a half hour before Sebastian deemed it necessary to investigate Ivy’s delayed appearance. Thinking perhaps she had lain down for an impromptu nap, an irrational grin broke over his face. With unseemly haste, he hurried from the drawing room, taking the stairs two at a time.
A surge of abrupt dizziness swelled inside him before he reached the landing of the second floor. He clutched the balustrade for stability, nausea choking him. Stunned, Sebastian held in place, breathing hard until the spell passed. He ate very little at the noon meal, a mass of paperwork preventing much concentration on the rumblings of his stomach. This wave of vertigo, quickly followed by excruciating paroxysms across his lower belly, was credited to nothing more than severe hunger pangs. Although he was left shuddering in its aftermath, he continued toward their suite of rooms.
Ivy lay on her back, sprawled across the middle of their bed in a heap of turquoise silk. She’d kicked off her slippers, unfastened a few of the bodice hooks and fallen asleep. Her head was turned to the side, one hand tucked under her chin and the butterfly brooch twinkled from a gold chain around her neck. It nestled in the hollow of her throat, as if it were a real butterfly sipping from a tiny pool of nectar. Sinking beside her, Sebastian smelled the faint bubbly aroma of champagne mingling with her perfume and when his arms folded about her, she turned, burrowing into him. Sebastian thought it quite possibly the closest thing to heaven on earth. How he adored this enchanting, dazzling creature.
The night Ivy begged him to let her go, the same night she clutched him as though he were a lifeline, crying as they made love, she had unknowingly convinced him of something she could not yet admit to herself. She loved him. She could not, or would not, say it aloud, but she loved him. His eyesight grew blurry, thinking of the next step in wooing his wife.
Sebastian’s vision contracted even further, everything growing smaller and smaller until Ivy was hardly more than a pinprick of light at the end of a black tunnel. Unexpectedly, his mouth could no longer form words, his throat sealing tight in a raw grip of agony. Forcing himself to swallow, he panicked, straining to say her name.
"Ivy…"It came out in a guttural rasp.
“Hmmm.” Her lips just inches from his, Ivy stirred but did not awaken. Her breathing remained steady, the moist warmth of it brushing his cheek. Sebastian struggled to rise but found his limbs paralyzed and horrifyingly useless. His arms, draped about Ivy’s waist, suddenly dropped away like lifeless sticks.
What was happening to him? He was tossed into a dark pit, while from a rim far above a thousand pair of eyes stared back at him. All glowed with aqua fire, flashes of gold candlelight melting into empty, hollows. Slowly, they spiraled into gaping caverns as he slithered further into the pit to be swallowed whole. He wanted to grope and scratch his way to the top, but he could not move, could not breathe nor cry out for help. Ivy lay close enough to kiss, but she could not save him. Inside his head, Sebastian shrieked but she slept on, oblivious as he slid away.
The world grew darker, the universe weaker, all light diminishing until everything wasted to a blue-black night.
CHAPTER 40
The bed shook, as if a mighty earthquake had descended upon their fashionable corner of Mayfair. Ivy mumbled, moving closer to the blazing heat beside her. She reveled in the warmth before coming to a hazy realization it was actually uncomfortable. Droplets of sweat trickled between her breasts, and restless, she scooted further away. Her eyes drifted open as the bed quivered.
A vague memory of returning from Sara’s after a morning of champagne and too many toasts to the end of the season rose in her mind. While undoing the buttons on her gown, she became a bit dizzy and decided to rest for only a moment. She must have fallen asleep.
The bed wobbled again, a tortured moan jerking her upright, setting her heart pounding. Sebastian lay beside her, making that awful noise. Ivy touched her palms to his forehead then his cheek and he trembled at her touch. His flesh was like fire burning her and she stared at him in utter confusion. With a small cry, she scrambled to her knees. Sweat drenched Sebastian, heat rolling off him in waves, yet he shuddered as if bared to the wilds of Northern Scotland during the depths of winter. He moaned again, eyes feverish and bright, opening to gaze through Ivy as though she were not even there.
“Sebastian,”Ivy choked. “Dear God, you are ill.”
Help. She must get help. Gabriel would know what to do.
Mid-tumble from the bed, Ivy found her arm caught in an unyielding grasp. With the strength of ten men, Sebastian held tight, fingers digging into her flesh. His face glowed the same pristine white as the pillow casings and between lips dry and cracked, a single word finally croaked out.
“S-s-sick.”
Somehow, Ivy managed to wrench away. She hurried to the bathing room, locating a porcelain basin in the dimly lit room. Sliding back onto the bed, she tipped the bowl toward him just as he rolled to his side to become violently ill. Bracing his shoulder, she supported his weight the best she could while the meager contents of his stomach emptied into the shallow bowl.
