Page 29 of Taming Ivy
“I’ve angered you in some way.”
“It is of no matter.” His hands fisted at his sides. Why had she stood on the darkened edge of the lobby with Basford? Why did she allow the viscount to hold her elbow? If she only knew how close he was to snatching her up and kissing the memory of every man from her wicked soul, she’d be too frightened to speak.
Ivy’s lips tightened. Cold stillness stretched out like an endless deserted beach until the coach clattered to a stop.
Only when he was seconds from losing her, did Sebastian relent. He did not trust himself. The night was too dark, her eyes too mysterious as she gazed at him. He was too full of desire. Too full of unexpected jealousy with the realization he was only one of many in her damnable Pack. And he wanted to be the only one.
“Ivy…I’m not angry with you.”
He wanted to kiss her. To touch her. To work these odd tangles out in the most dissipated way possible. The distance between them in the warm, shadowy confines of the coach ought to be enough to protect her. But it wasn't.
Which infuriated him. Shielding her from danger should not be his priority.
I am the danger.
“I know the viscount is vexing. He concerns himself unnecessarily for my welfare. Discounting him, I had a lovely time. Thank you, for…everything.” When her cheeks flushed Sebastian knew she did not refer to the entertainment provided by the opera.
“I enjoyed myself as well.” This was the problem. He was out of sorts, and he did enjoy himself. Too much. Until Nicholas March reminded him of a woman’s treachery and Basford reminded him of all the others pursuing Ivy’s affections.
Sebastian never doubted his self-restraint before. His ability to remain immune to any woman’s charms always served him well. It fell to pieces with Ivy. Not only did he conduct himself with an embarrassing lack of control, he topped it by threatening a rival in an unprecedented display of jealousy. No, things were not going to plan and damned if he wasn’t to blame for half of it.
When the footman tapped on the coach door, Sebastian swung it open, jumping out and brushing the servant away. He assisted Ivy down, her small hand enveloped in his causing a shimmer of protectiveness to coil inside him. These bedeviling emotions were unfamiliar; worse than a punch to the stomach.
Trailing her up the brick steps of the house, he watched the condescending butler swing open the door, and before he contemplated the madness of his actions, Sebastian followed Ivy inside.
Brody eyed him with ill-concealed suspicion, but Ivy gave him a smile of pleased acceptance. Then her eyes widened as Sebastian unfastened the frogs of her cloak. Sliding the garment from her shoulders, he handed it to her butler without a second glance at the man.
“Would you care for a brandy?” She politely offered once she found her voice. If possible, Brody stiffened even more. Still holding the cloak, he glared at Sebastian as if he were a snake slithering into sight and which now needed disposing of. Quickly. Without mercy.
“Not a good idea,” Sebastian muttered, although he’d sacrifice his black soul for a bottle of the stuff. Or better yet, aged bourbon, if it might dull this strange edge. Yes, a whole case of the stuff, just to be sure. God, his fingers twitched with the need to touch her.
Ivy turned to the butler. “That will be all, Brody. Thank you.”
“I’ll see His Lordship to the door.” Brody’s alarm was apparent even in the dimmed light of the foyer.
Sebastian flicked him a warning glance. Damned if he’d be bullied by a servant. “I’ll see myself to the door.”
“Um, yes,” Ivy nearly stuttered. “The earl is perfectly capable of seeing himself out.”
“But milady! It is not proper!” Brody’s face paled to a distinct shade of green as thoughts unexpectedly escaped into words.
Sebastian’s mouth tightened into a constricted line of imperialistic disapproval. His glare at the insolent servant should have incinerated the man on the spot.
“It’s quite alright.” Ivy’s laugh was smothered behind a gloved hand. “Brody, I’m fine. You may go.”
Shoulders drooping with defeat, the man gave the two of them one last concerned glance, executed a crisp bow and quit the room.
“You should dismiss him,” Sebastian said.
“I would not ever do such a thing. Brody has been with us since before I was born, having been my mother’s butler at Somerset Hall before she married my father. He’s a fine man, a loyal servant. I’m very fond of him.”
“He doesn’t care much for me.” Why it mattered that the butler like him or not, Sebastian could not say.
“Oh, that’s nonsense. But he is always rather gruff with gentlemen, and I suppose I've grown accustomed to it.”
“Very well. Keep your beloved butler.”
Sebastian removed his hat and gloves, tossing them onto a nearby table. He paced the perimeter of the foyer, boots clicking with measured treads on the marble floor. Coming to a halt, he leaned against one of the carved marble pillars defining the space.
