Page 36 of Taming Ivy
“That is the crux of the issue I face, my dear.” He winked at her. “Should I lose to win, or play to lose? Either way, I will delight in the outcome.”
Ivy’s complaint was half-hearted. Her reputation already hovered on the verge of ruin. She would not think about that now, not with Sebastian grinning at her like that. The prospect of winning or losing the wager was quite titillating. Oh, her reputation be damned! The gauntlet flung at her feet caused a surge of excitement to tilt her stomach. How enjoyable it would be to beat him atsomething.It wasn’t fair the handsome devil should find victory in everything.
To be honest, the abandonment over the past two weeks still nipped her. Despite the unspoken acceptance of his unorthodox apology, she wanted to beat him. If only for the momentary satisfaction it provided. Sebastian found it easy to overlook her existence and she wished to prove, if only to herself, she wasn’t one of the many spineless women he surrounded himself with.
Sebastian shuffled the cards. “Is it a play or no? Mind you, this will not be a quick, impersonal peck. I shall accept nothing less than a full minute of your…undivided attention.”
Ivy’s heart skipped as his voice curled around her. He clearly referred to the night of the opera. Arching a brow, it was just as clear he wanted her to remember. But which part? The kisses in the coach? Or the moment he showed her paradise on the tips of his fingers? The slow grin spreading across his handsome face told her. His fingers thrusting between her legs, hot and insistent, demanding she succumb to bliss…
“I would be a fool to agree to those terms.” Her face felt hot enough to burst into flames. If anyone guessed her thoughts…
“I would never mistake you for a fool, Countess, but a kiss is what I wish for my forfeit.” He knew she was remembering the moment she climaxed, pressed against the wall of her foyer.
The others watched with curious half smiles. Sara wore a perplexed frown, trying to determine what had just occurred.
“I agree with that portion of your terms only,” Ivy said in a voice as shaky as her knees. Sebastian Cain was far too gorgeous and far too bloody sure of himself. Was it possible to bring the arrogant devil down a notch or two? Because it wasn’t right to remind her of tender kisses and burning caresses and then give her that cocky grin when he knew full well she wanted more. “For my own wager, you shall serve as my groom during the picnic and the ride tomorrow. A humbled earl is the prize.” The ladies murmured at the cleverness of the terms while several gentlemen grinned at her naiveté behind raised tumblers of brandy and port.
Something dark and mysterious flitted in Sebastian’s eyes. Agreeing without hesitation, he kissed her hand over the whist table to seal the bargain, and Ivy experienced a moment of unease.
“I do hope to prevail. My wager would be the more pleasant undertaking.” Sebastian motioned for Alan and Sara to pull their chairs closer.
“The idea of you chastened is quite pleasing, my lord,” Ivy purred. “I shall employ all my skills to ensure success.”
While watching the battle over terms, Alan smiled in appreciation for what he considered harmless fun. Sara grimaced with concern. Any attempt to intercede, he interrupted, warning her with a murmured, “Let them be.” Now, they both frowned, realizing their mistake as Sebastian dealt the cards.
“I do expect you to act the part in every way, including mucking out stalls.” Ivy flashed him another impudent smile.
“I fail to see the necessity of manual labor.” Sebastian paused in mid-deal, his brow furrowed.
“Afraid of the consequences when you lose?”
“I’ll have that kiss, my lady.”
Ivy nodded as the game began in earnest. “We shall see.”
An hour later, the final card flipped, and Ivy gave an unladylike hoot of triumph. Her reputation would remain in its only slightly tattered state for the time being. Sara breathed a sigh of relief, squeezing Ivy’s hand beneath the table while Sebastian and Alan each executed gallant bows. They retreated as others gathered around to offer congratulations.
“Here! Here!” Lord Bancroft, an old friend from Oxford days, raised his glass in a tipsy salute. “To Ravenswood! He emerges the victor after all!” A chorus of boos and cries met his words.
“Are you mad, Bancroft? The earl must play the groom after all,” Lady Ansley giggled, giving Ivy a wink. “You should have Ravenswood perform all manners of beastly, disagreeable things, Lady Kinley. It’s not often you have an earl at your beck and call!”
Bancroft snorted, wrapping his arms around his stomach to contain his merriment. Port spilled, creating a scarlet stain on his peach hued silk waistcoat. “Nothing requested by the countess could be deemed disagreeable. If it is a beast she needs, I imagine that will be seen to as well. Ravenswood, do not hesitate to call upon me should you need help. Indeed, the three of us could have a jolly time.” The handsome young lord swayed, turning a leering, alcoholic-fueled smirk to Ivy.
“Make your apologies, Bancroft. Now. Or would a private meeting at dawn be preferable?”
Sebastian’s voice was a sudden plunge through the fragile ice of a pond in the dead of winter. Instant. Immersive. Freezing. Dark winds swirled through the room, sucking the conversation and all warm joviality into a vacuum of silence. All eyes turned to the earl; a rigid statute by the fireplace with eyes of scorching black.
Ivy shivered. This was Sebastian on the night of the Sheffield Ball, the night he hunted her with icy intent, ready to destroy and ripherto shreds. A glacier existed inside his soul, the ability to hurt another. That ice threatened to encase her only a month ago, but she’d forgotten the danger while basking in the warm summer of his smile. Yes, she’d seen this man before, and he terrified her.
Bancroft blinked stupidly. He stared at Sebastian for several seconds, the appropriate words rattling around before they managed to roll off his tongue. “Sorry, old chap. Didn’t mean to offend-”
“Not me, you drunken buffoon.” With lethal calm, Sebastian slowly tilted his head in Ivy’s direction.
Bancroft was intoxicated, his words meaningless and offensive in a manner Ivy did not completely understand. But Sebastian did. His gaze bore into the other man with cold intensity.
Bancroft swung toward her. A belated sense of self-preservation seemed to filter through his befuddled haze. A private meeting at dawn meant one thing only. “My apologies, Lady Kinley.” Bowing in her general direction, he nearly toppled over a table before catching himself on the edge of it. “I fear I’m not fit for civilized company this evening. Again, my apologies.”
Ivy nodded, her eyes locking with Sebastian’s as Bancroft’s entreaty, punctuated by several hiccups, echoed in the awkward silence. The man made his exit, knocking over an ornate tea table in the process as Sebastian accepted a tumbler of whiskey from a somber servant. The atmosphere of the room quickly returned to its former gaiety.
