Page 24 of Taming Ivy
Once they settled in the lustrous dark blue lacquered coach emblazoned with the Ravenswood crest, the coach door shut with a decisive click then jerked forward with a crack of the whip. In the gathering twilight, it clattered across the cobblestones of Mayfair’s pretty streets before turning toward the theater district.
The surprisingly roomy interior of the vehicle shrank to one of disquieting intimacy. Sprawled like an opulent king against the dense squabs of the ivory leather opposite Ivy, Sebastian’s long legs invaded the open space between the bench seats to brush against her skirts. “Comfortable?”
His wolfish smile was one Ivy had never seen before. She suddenly felt like a meal. His breakfast, supper and dinner, all in one, and the Earl of Ravenswood watched her as if he was starving.
“Yes, thank you.” She licked suddenly dry lips. She was far from comfortable. He knew it.
“You’re flushed. I hope you are not taking ill.”
Could her cheeks get any hotter? Her heart thump a little slower? Over the course of two weeks, she’d laughed in amusement with this man, twirled in his arms, sipped champagne while debating legislation, Parliament, literature and the arts. She drank tea and performed numerous piano arrangements for him in her music room. There was little to be nervous about.
But you were never quite so… alone… with him all those times, were you?
Ivy slammed shut her internal dialogue.
“I’m fine.” She touched the strand of pearls encircling her neck. Inside her gloves, her hands were clammy, her cloak far too warm for the closeness of the coach. The indigo velvet felt incredibly heavy upon her shoulders. How she wished to undo the frogs at her throat, to rip the garment away. The manner in which Sebastian scrutinized her stopped her. It was as if hewaitedfor such actions. He quivered as if on the verge of pouncing, fingers curling and uncurling in anticipation for a bit of flesh to reveal itself.
Twin leaded crystal lanterns bracketed the benches, the low light casting the interior in a golden glow as the daylight eased away. The cushions were luxurious; the expensive vehicle well sprung. It floated over the irregular thoroughfare, and his coachman was an expert at controlling the horses. The evening was filled with the resonances of typical London traffic; the deafening clatter of wheels against rough cobblestones, the cries of coachmen for others to move aside, the snaps of whips, dogs barking and the whinnies and snorts of horses. Inside the vehicle, those noises were subdued, and the hush between Ivy and Sebastian swelled.
“You are very beautiful.” The flash in Sebastian’s eyes darkened to something mysterious.
The words, warm and disarming. curled around Ivy. She swallowed a nervous laugh. “Thank you.” The anticipation strumming through the earl was magnified a hundred times over once it transferred to her. She felt coiled so tight, she might burst into a million shards of light if he dared touch her.
“I hope you’ve not reconsidered my escort.” Crossing one leg over his knee, the motion moved him a few inches away.
Ivy exhaled in relief. It was difficult to think clearly with the earl so near, even if only his knee brushing her own caused her brain to dissolve into complete mush. “I thought you might reconsider the invitation.”
“I confess,” Sebastian’s teeth flashed white. “I’ve anticipated this for days. Time moved with vexing sluggishness. Until now.”
“Patience is not one of your virtues?”
“On the contrary.” His reply was a measured drawl. “At times, I’m very patient. Lately, I’ve demonstrated ungodly amounts of it.”
Ivy’s head tilted. “What might cause a loss of tolerance?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“You are teasing me,” she laughed. “Someone surely told you I’m known for my rather impetuous manner. Patience is an admirable quality I’m afraid I possess not a fragment of.”
“I’ve been forewarned. It will be pleasurable to postpone certain events when I deem it necessary.” His smile was faint, a tense undercurrent flickering in his words.
“And your temper? Is it easily lost?” Ivy referred to the notorious duel with the Earl of Landon. Other than the fact it originated over a woman, the particulars still remained secret. Did he still long for her? Regret her loss?
Sebastian smiled again, tenderly but with enough cruelty to make Ivy regret posing such a reckless question. “Losing one’s temper is for fools, hotheads, and children. At some point, I’ve been all three. Make no mistake, test my temper and you will find the penalties and punishment unpleasant, but I seldom, if ever,loseit. Or anything else for that matter.”
A warning, perhaps? There was no explaining her increasing fascination with this man. Like swaying near a rampant fire on a winter’s night; should she get too close, she might be incinerated by flames, but the urge to draw near the intoxicating heat was beyond her control.
“We shall cause a disturbance this evening,” Ivy pointed out.
Sebastian’s broad shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. “I’m no stranger to gossip. It does not change, regardless of the city or country.”
Sebastian’s frame of mind was not considered when it came to the chatter they spawned together and the new storm to be stirred. It was one thing to whirl a few waltzes in the midst of hundreds, having Ravenswood’s exclusive escort quite another. Guilt plucked at Ivy. Hiding behind him, taking asylum in his strength, and his ill-advised belief in her innocence, elevated her no higher than the Pack. Using him benefited her situation. The whole situation was wrong. So very wrong.
Dropping her gaze, she examined the material of the earl’s trousers. It was a fine, dove-gray wool, an expensive fabric. Irish, if she didn’t miss her guess. From the knees down, he sported jet-black boots much finer than the Hessians London’s gentlemen currently favored. Italian leather, luxurious and buttery soft. Her reflection flickered in the glossy blackness of those boots, mirrored back in the reddish glow of the leaded lanterns. Caught in a flash of hysteria, Ivy giggled. Sucking in a proper breath of air was impossible but here she sat, contemplating the earl’s exquisite taste in men’s fashion.
“Sebastian…this is a mistake.” Her heart punched with increasing bangs within her chest, a frantic drumbeat of warning. She did not lift her eyes from his boots. She felt him stiffen, his body remaining in its negligent position. No. It was not safe whirling close to this particular fire.
“Whatever do you mean, Countess?”
