Page 5 of Taming Ivy
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Kinley muttered in a gruff voice. “It’s already arranged.” He stared into his drink as if to find fortitude at the bottom of the glass. When he rubbed his eyes, Sebastian recognized the gesture of extreme weariness. He’d seen his own father do the same many times,
Tossing back his brandy, Kinley suddenly pinned Ivy with a bright blue gaze. “I’ve business to attend in Ireland over the next few months and you will not remain here with no female supervision. You shall love Miss Chase’s Seminary for Exceptional Young Ladies. During breaks you may come here when I’m in residence, or you may visit Kinley House if I am in London. Now, might I suggest you pack a few of your personal things? You depart first thing in the morning. The stable master will have your mare delivered there by the end of the week. Or Heather can remain at Somerset. Regardless,youshall be at the seminary next week.” A few spoken words and Jonathan Kinley regained control of the situation, his daughter and himself.
Ivy deflated, becoming very small and very young very quickly. She was no match for a father who’d outwitted and outfoxed far more cunning opponents than one defiant, awkward daughter with horrid manners. The dizzying swiftness of Kinley’s actions, using a pony as leverage, left no doubt his reputation was well earned. His brutality truly did extend to his own flesh and blood.
When the earl cleared his throat as a pointed reminder, his daughter offered a beautifully executed curtsy with downcast eyes. She might still plot revenge with the cunning of a well-seasoned royal courtier behind this dispirited façade, but she hid it well.
“Pardon my interruption, Lord Ravenswood.” The cap was retrieved from the morose Greek god, smashed back onto the girl’s head.
The door closed behind her with a soft click and Kinley’s gaze shot to Sebastian. “The young have no idea what’s best for them. Caroline’s death has been very difficult for Ivy.”
Sebastian waited for him to continue but Kinley stared off into the distance for a long moment. Maybe he contemplated the challenges faced in raising an ill-tempered, frizzy-haired daughter without a mother’s tender guidance.
“I thought it best she spent some time with girls her own age. You see she possesses an uncompromising nature.” Kinley gave a rueful bark of laughter. “Other than her beauty, I fear she bears none of her mother’s gentler traits.”
Lady Caroline Kinley possessed an enchanting loveliness her daughter failed to inherit. Apparently, the earl saw something only a father might. Sebastian nodded politely. “She is most certainly her father’s daughter.”
With an unusual gift for remembering details, he pondered his recollection of that day. He recalled his uncomfortable position in the chair, the tired despondency on Kinley’s face. The desperate wildness of the childish, obstinate countess. Little suggested the girl would one day become the darling of London, nothing to hint Kinley’s daughter would become a great beauty, twisting hearts about her tiniest finger until a man believed he must possess her or die trying. A woman held power with sex or the promise of it. Lord Kinley used his wealth to manipulate men; his daughter applied sex to the same effect. Was it the promise of satisfaction or the refusal of further encounters that spurred foolish Timothy to his demise?
Sebastian would not stand idle, could not allow yet another deceitful woman to make a fool of him or his family. Could not allow Timothy’s death to go unavenged. Unfortunately, his gullible cousin followed Sebastian’s own path when it came to falling in love with a heartless woman and had paid the ultimate price.
The memory of a forlorn, fierce little girl grieving her mother pinched him again. Sebastian shoved it aside. His hardened heart held no room for pity. Ivy Kinley’s ruination was a necessity and would provide an amusing pursuit. Women were impatient to be used by him and like others, she would tumble into his bed. Revenge for Timothy’s sake would be found between the countess’s thighs. He’d find a bit of pleasure for himself there as well. If he were fortunate.
He would collect pieces of her, fragments held in his hand until nothing remained of the countess but an empty shell. At the end of the game, the tattered collection would be crumpled and discarded. Not in his usual manner, with kind words and an expensive trinket presented for time spent between the sheets. No, this would be different. When he finished with her, Lady Kinley would be acceptable only to the palest fringes of Polite Society. She would not be anyone’s “Darling.” There would no longer be sonnets to her beauty, no accolades of adoration. No more eager suitors vying for her heart and hand. She would be ruined and tamed and Sebastian would delight in the destruction.
I'm coming, Countess. Get ready for me.
CHAPTER 2
“He’s here!”
“-actually came. I can’t believe it -”
“Ravenswood is on the hunt for Poison Ivy.”
Panic battered Ivy, her heart pounding with the violence of it. Like a wildfire sweeping over her, the roar filled her ears until she could hear nothing else.
It was rude. It was deplorable. But if she did not get a breath of blessed fresh air, she would throw up all over her new dancing slippers. Or perhaps those highly polished Hessian boots Brandon was so bloody proud of. She abandoned the viscount, mouth agape in stunned annoyance, in the middle of the black and white marble floor, gaily-dressed couples swirling about him.
Open curiosity and murmurs of scandalized outrage rippled outward from the center of the ballroom. Ivy’s pace increased as she reached the edges of the floor. A cluster of girls, clad in the identical white of freshly introduced debutantes, tittered behind pristine gloved hands, whispers mingled with their giggles. Those multiple-hued heads dipped together, while words so thick with cruelty they almost formed a cloud, drifted in Ivy’s wake.
Gossip was her constant companion now, a bedfellow difficult to ignore. The miserable sting in Ivy’s chest every time a barb found its mark was a harsh reminder she was far from immune. It hurt, but no one needed toseehow deeply the arrows wounded her.
A few more steps to the nearest terrace doors and freedom would be hers. With stoic grimness, shoving through the maze of elbows and satin skirts, Ivy plotted escape. From the terrace to the gardens and from there to the front steps of the mansion. She could simply locate her coach, allow it to whisk her away. The curved handles of the terrace doors lay at her fingertips…
“Ivy Kinley, don’t you dare run.”
“I’m not running.” Ivy’s stomach flip-flopped with the denial. When champagne tinged bitterness rose in her throat, her teeth clenched against the choking tide. She would be sick, right there, in front of God and everyone. “I was-”
“You would make an excellent thief, darling.” Linking their arms, Lady Sara Morgan spun Ivy away from the terrace doors. “Your abilities to escape are remarkable.”
“You’ll wish you’d let me go when I ruin your slippers as well as my own.” Ivy pressed two trembling fingertips to her lips. “I feel quite ill.”
Sara’s blonde head tilted. She assessed Ivy then ignored the dismal confession, surveying the ballroom.
“Oh, dear. There’s Count Phillipe Monvair. Someone ought to remand that man’s valet to Newgate. Those color combinations are simply criminal. A violation to all the senses, don’t you agree?”
Jostling his way through the crush of some three hundred odd people attending the Sheffield Ball, the dubiously dressed count held two goblets of champagne balanced high above his head. By the grim smile of determination splayed across his hawkish, bearded face, his path was evident.
