Page 20 of Taming Ivy
Sara’s face drained of color. “Good heavens, Ivy. What did you tell him?”
“That perhaps one day I would explain. He did not ask any more about it.”
There was an odd glow in the earl’s eyes upon examining the wound, as if he yearned to punish the person responsible for such damage. He held no obligation to her; it was foolish to think he cared or was remotely interested in fighting her battles.
Sebastian needed to champion her cause, to hold back the wolves. After all, there was that despicable game high on the books in the gambling clubs, gentlemen betting on surviving her, taming her, whispers of a horrid nickname reaching her ears. If he thumbed his nose at Society, then this madness would stop. It must. No one would believe the earl foolish, or weak enough to be served up as another unfortunate victim of Poison Ivy. Maybe, in time, his friendship would ease the terrible guilt she suffered because of Timothy’s death.
If he wished to form this bond, she must have faith he meant her no harm. She must become the butterfly and flutter close to danger.
“Ivy, I’m begging you to reconsider. Something dreadful will happen, I just feel it. If only you saw him at the Sheffield Ball after you escaped. His eyes were so cold, so cruel. Even Alan was furious with him.”
Ignoring the dire warning, Ivy’s mouth curved with a mischievous grin. “So, you and Bentley are on first name terms, are you? After only six months dancing about the issue? How scandalous, Lady Morgan!”
Sara flushed pink but she did not contradict the statement. “If we can stay on point…Alan expressed concern for your welfare.”
Ivy waved a dismissive hand. “There is no cause to be troubled on my account. Truly. He means me no harm.” A bit sheepishly, she confessed, “He called me a butterfly.”
Sara regarded her with such a blank stare, Ivy had no choice but to relate the entire incident.
“Oh, no,” Sara groaned in despair. “There’s nothing for it, is there? You won't change your mind about this, will you?”
“There is nothing to worry about, Sara…”
“Have you forgotten what happened with Timothy?”
“This is nothing like that!” Ivy protested.
“You’re right! It’s worse! Much, much worse!”
The two girls regarded one another, each determined to have her way.
“I’m going with you. To the opera,” Sara finally said. “You cannot go without someone to protect you. At least to provide the semblance of a chaperone.”
“I will not require a chaperone, dearest. I’m Poison Ivy, remember? Should anyone require protection, according to the gossips, it’s Ravenswood.” Admittedly, Ivy needed a chaperone yesterday. The light, sweeping caress of Sebastian’s mouth was far more exciting than any advances tolerated over the past two seasons. Something about him sent sparks skittering along every nerve ending she possessed, his fingers burning like hot irons on her skin. She’d never felt this way before. She was not sure she liked it. It made her feel…not in control. And,thatwas something she definitely did not enjoy.
“I need time to benefit from Ravenswood’s friendship, and I have two weeks in which to accomplish it. Surely, I can determine his sincerity before the opera. All will work out to my advantage, you will see.”
“Ivy,please.”
“Not another word, Sara. If you should prove correct in your suspicions, I give you free rein to say so.” Despite her nonchalance, Ivy could not entirely dismiss her friend’s apprehension nor her own.
“I can’t help but worry when you find it romantic to be compared to an insect.”
“If he tries anything worse, I shall immediately hand him over to you and your dreadful temper.”
“What has your father to say on this matter?” Sara sipped her tea, ignoring Ivy’s comment regarding her fiery nature.
“Oh, blast his network of spies. It wasn’t easy convincing Father only politeness forced me to accept Ravenswood’s invitation. He’s probably planning a grand wedding to take place next June.”
“How will you deal with a dilemma of such magnitude?”
Ivy shrugged. “The usual strategy. A hasty escape to America, should he press the issue.”
Both girls began to giggle until they collapsed against the settee.
“I believe you mean that! But, eventually, youshallmarry. We both shall, if our parents have their say. It is expected of us, after all. And it’s what we are meant to do, to wed, to be wives. To keep our husband’s homes…”
“To birth the next heir.” Ivy’s sarcasm was soft and cutting. As young women born of wealth and breeding, they existed as valuable assets, cherished commodities in a man’s world of dowries and alliances. Contracts and bloodlines, and above it all, marriage for gain and power.
