Page 42 of Taming Ivy
Is it necessary for Darington to hold her so damn close?Sebastian swirled his bourbon in distraction, eyes glued to Ivy laughing in delight, her feet flying through the pattern. She was never this carefree with the crowd in London. In Town, she was polite and distant and Sebastian was glad. This display of genuine pleasure was simply too overwhelming. Those sparkling, laughing eyes of hers made a man desperate to gain her attention, to prove himself worthy of that attention. It suddenly was not foolish at all to consider writing a sonnet or two, or twenty, all dedicated to Ivy Kinley’s beauty. Maybe he should buy her a caravan of precious jewels. Or paint her portrait. Or simply sit in worship at her feet.
Whether laughing or aloof, there was no shortage of men eager to adore Ivy. Should she shun society because men found her irresistible?
Making excuses for her left him irrationally angry. With himself.
Even with the dubious aid of three more bourbons, his mood did not improve.
Ivy curtsied deeply to Lord Darington at the end of the dance and Sebastian nearly cracked the crystal tumbler he held. She must know how enticing she was. Her breasts strained against the confines of the square neckline, nearly spilling over, the emeralds at her neck twinkling as if to beckon every man to enjoy a closer look. He squirmed, conflicted, unsure if he wished to rush over and yank the bodice higher or relax and admire the lovely view.
Her gloves, worn to conceal the pale pink stripe of a scar, were missing. Somehow, their absence left her more exposed than the low-cut nature of her gown. Without knowing why, Sebastian interpreted it as a sign, one last barrier eliminated between them.
Ivy waved off the invitation to another dance with a laugh. Darington, the fool, stared after her while she drifted away, his disappointment obvious to anyone watching. Another heart captured and crushed by Poison Ivy.
Something dangerous glinted within Sebastian as she approached, something cruel and hard in direct contrast to her softness. He hated it, but it was necessary. It was the only way to withstand what boiled inside him.Tonight, I’ll have her.He would not yield to her intoxicating softness, but he would wait no longer to claim her body. When he took her, it would not be with sweetness and endearments. It could not be, not if he did this for Timothy’s sake.
“Good evening, Sebastian.”
He straightened from leaning a shoulder against the jamb of the terrace door to brush a cool kiss across her bare knuckles. “Countess. You are enchanting, as usual. Are you enjoying the ball?”
Ivy took a discreet step away from the simmering heat in his gaze. “Very much so. Lord Bentley is a wonderful host, although you probably believe this all terribly provincial. Considering your travels abroad, I would think you might find country life a bit sedate.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Few dared mention his sojourn from England. It was a dangerous subject. “Before leaving for the Continent, I treasured time spent at my estates. I love being in the country.” Giving her a sideways glance, he smiled. “I am particularly fond of stolen moments by winding streams and elm trees. To discover we share the same affection pleases me. In the near future, I would enjoy showing you a similar locale at my ancestral home. It’s quite lovely.”
Ivy’s face flushed pink, but she did not retreat, her eyes holding a spark of challenge. “I cannot imagine when such an occasion might present itself again, my lord.”
The corners of Sebastian’s mouth lifted. “A small matter and one easily remedied. I shall arrange a visit to Beaumont for you.”
“Perhaps.” It was a noncommittal reply, designed to drive him wild with longing, but Ivy’s eyes were deep, guileless pools of aquamarine. “Will you remain in London for the rest of the Season or return to France?” Her question was unexpected. She half turned from him, watching the couples swirl around the ballroom floor.
Sebastian frowned. What lay behind her desire to determine his plans? Were things becoming too complicated? Perhaps she did not want him as her next lover. If so, that was most unfortunate. His intentions were for the event to take place that very night. And he intended to enjoy himself very much.
“My plans have not been fully put into place.” His stomach tightened when she lightly touched his arm.
“I do hope you stay.” Bringing his attention to Alan and Sara, dreamily smiling at one another as they whirled around the ballroom floor, Ivy continued, “I am sure you will want to be here for the wedding.”
Sebastian’s eyebrow shot up. Last evening, Alan confided his plan to ask for Sara’s hand but other than Sara’s parents, no one else knew of the impending engagement. “Are you so confident of a match?” Why his friend’s plans to marry bothered him, Sebastian could not say…but it was not jealousy.
Watching Sara giggle as Alan whispered in her ear, Ivy sighed. “Lord Bentley will not be able to resist Sara much longer…she hopes she has captured his heart as he has captured hers.” Glancing up, a small frown marked her brow. “You shall not repeat this, will you, Sebastian? Sara would be devastated to know I divulged the depths of her feelings, even though I did not mean to do so.”
With a grim smile, he leaned to whisper in her ear, “Do not worry. Your secret is safe. I will be here for the wedding.”
Her gaze grew tender. “Then I am happy. Not only for their sake.” The tiny squeeze she gave his arm shot straight to his groin. “I would miss you terribly if you went away again. Or, if you decided England was no longer to your liking.”
Yes. Tonight. It must be tonight before I’m hauled off to Bedlam. Prepare yourself, Countess. I’m coming for you.
Only Ivy noticed Alan pulling Sara out onto the terrace and away from the cheerful chaos of the ball. She made no move to follow or stop them. Neither Lady Burkestone, in deep conversation with another lady regarding her new French seamstress, nor Posie, Sara’s ancient maid, asleep in a chair in a distant corner, seemed to take note. To ensure no one disturbed the couple, Ivy positioned herself before those terrace doors, refusing numerous offers to dance.
When the lovers returned half an hour later, Ivy grudgingly allowed the Marquis of Berkshire to pull her into a waltz. She was so very curious as to what was said on that terrace. Sara glowed and Alan wore such a pleased smile, his face appeared in danger of splitting in two. From over the Marquis’s shoulder, she watched them find a darkened corner to share a glass of champagne. For the rest of the waltz, they remained there, laughing and whispering until Alan pulled Sara up onto the musician’s platform.
“Friends.” Alan slid his arm about Sara’s waist, smiling with indulgent patience when she blushed a pretty pink. People murmured with excitement, shuffling closer. Ivy’s heart contracted with a painful tightness while the Marquis gave her a puzzled shrug.
“Something wonderful and quite amazing has just occurred. My deplorable state of bachelor misery will soon end. Lady Sara Morgan has granted me the greatest honor by agreeing to become my wife.”
The room erupted into cheers, men letting loose with whoops of approval while women squealed in glee. A loud din of voices erupted as well-wishers converged on the happy couple. Alan found himself repeatedly slapped on the back in congratulations while several ladies tugged Sara to their midst. The heirloom Bentley diamond and ruby ring, passed down from countess to countess for generations, glittered on Sara’s finger, admired with much thoroughfare. When the Marquis rushed to join the throng, Ivy was abandoned. Her failure to go congratulate the new couple was incomprehensible but her feet felt glued to the floor.
She was not alone in withholding her well-wishes.
Sebastian stepped through the entrance leading from the attached conservatory, three men pushing past him to investigate the commotion. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms lightly crossed while observing the festive celebration. Unaware of her perusal, his face was a blank canvas giving little insight into his private thoughts.
