Page 45 of Taming Ivy
Her rejection of his advances at Bentley Park must have stung his pride enough to freeze the ardent pursuit. Or had he simply tired of her? A man with his appetites would find such inexperienced prey not worth the effort. After all, women tumbled headfirst in his bed with no demands or expectations on his person. The earl was accustomed to such behavior. Could he understand she was not like those women and never would be? She wanted more. She would have all of Sebastian. Or none of him.
It seemed logical to cut ties. To end this madness and accept defeat. Ivy’s soul wept at the thought, finding it impossible to commit to the idea. She could not let him go, could not imagine his lips never touching hers again. But she also could not continue this way, held hostage to the mercurial swing of the earl’s moods. This hopeful, agonizing limbo, her heart teetering in the balance, was causing untold pain.
After that first week Sebastian did not call on her, although he remained in London. With the evident chill in their relationship the Pack happily filled the void. Ivy hid her turmoil beneath smiles of indifference as whispers trailed in her wake.
Her resolve to end the relationship grew apace with the aching in her heart and one week stretched into two. Ivy decided if she heard from the heartless cad again she would tell him to go straight to the devil.
On a bright morning bursting with all the warm freshness of late spring, a simple request arrived from the Earl of Ravenswood. Would Ivy accompany him on a turn-around Hyde Park that afternoon?
“You wish to change again?” Molly’s tone verged on incredulous. “That’s four times, milady.”
Ivy ignored the maid’s pursed lips of disapproval. “I can count, Molly. Yes, again. I believe the yellow this time.”
Once moonstruck over the earl’s striking good looks, Molly had decided Lord Ravenswood was not so grand a prize after all. She grumbled of the earl’s lack of manners all the way back from Kent. The man was a blackguard she complained to Brody the first chance she got, even after Ivy scolded her.
A damned scoundrel, Sara pointed out the day before during tea. “I told you so,” she had mumbled, patting her friend’s shoulder while Ivy wept into her hands.
“This will do,” Ivy smoothed the sunny yellow silk with the palm of her hand. The fabric might add some much-needed color to her wan features.
“It’ll have to…’is lordship will be here any second,” Molly huffed, shoving a matching parasol into her hands.
Molly’s disgruntled mutterings, paired with Brody’s baleful glares, formed a depressing backdrop as Ivy descended the stairs to wait in the music room. At promptly one thirty, an open carriage pulled into the small courtyard and soon after that, the doorbell rang with the cheerfulness of funeral bells.
Following an exchange of aloof pleasantries, Sebastian handed Ivy up into the carriage. As the driver guided the vehicle down the crowded thoroughfare, the earl deliberately settled on the opposite side, his arm stretched across the back of the leather seat. His long legs brushed her skirts. Blast it. Her heart clenched with injured misery when he did not sit beside her.
The next fifteen minutes was a study in wretchedness. The carriage rattled along Mayfair’s quiet streets, giving way to busier thoroughfares before easing into the pleasant, forest like roadway to Hyde Park.
“I do hope this beautiful weather lasts.” Her remark elicited the extent of what Sebastian offered during the entire drive, a stilted procession of mumbles and inaudible responses. Ivy grit her teeth. “I hate when it rains.”
Sebastian regarded her as if she were daft. “It would not be England if it did not rain.”
It took a moment for Ivy’s anguish to melt. Not into a placid pond of cool water but a storm of hurt fury, boiling inside her, steaming and clawing to escape. Sebastian toyed with her as if he were a sleek jungle cat and she the meekest little field mouse.
But even mice possessed teeth. Sharp ones.
The gates of Hyde Park loomed ahead. Ivy nearly choked on the words. “This is the last time you will call on me.” Her breath caught in a slight hitch. Digging fingernails into her palms through the silk gloves, she steeled herself. “Your affections have obviously cooled, and I no longer wish to see you.”
Sebastian was shocked.
Ivy had reached her breaking point. For some reason, he never considered the possibilityshewould be the one to declare this war at its end. He controlled this game of passionate hostilities. Not her.
She is done with you…
Alarm surged throughout his soul, sickening and unfamiliar. She wore some kind of fanciful hat, framing her face to perfection, shading the flecks of gold dust sprinkled across her nose, her eyes enormous and beautiful beneath the wide brim. Smudges of fatigue darkened her eyes, her cheeks paler than ivory roses. But a cold resoluteness glinted in her gaze before the lacy parasol tilted to shield her face from his hot stare.
Just as well, Sebastian thought.I can’t face you.Didn’t dare look her in the eye now. Because she would know the awful truth. That he desperately wanted what Alan had with Sara. And he wanted it with Ivy.
Whatever it entailed, however it must be accomplished, Sebastian craved the happiness he saw illuminating Alan’s features the night of the engagement. He wanted the same joy shining on Ivy’s face that he witnessed glowing from Sara’s. He could not admit he was envious of their friends, but damn it, he was. He would marry Ivy if necessary to obtain that giddy euphoria. To have her.
Even if it meant betraying his own blood. And abandoning any hope for revenge.
Sebastian slowly shook his head. “My affections have not cooled by any measure. Ivy, you don’t know what you are saying…”
Don’t let her go, don’t let her go, don’t let her go…
Animosity rolled from her, thickened the air, buffeting him. An urge to swat at the heaviness of it nearly lifted his hand.
“I knowexactlywhat I am saying,” Ivy whispered, gripping the parasol so tight, Sebastian recognized the silent yearning to crash the frilly thing over his head.
