Page 51 of Taming Ivy
“I cannot take too much credit, Lord Andry. You two would have discovered your similar interests eventually. But I would ask you a question. Might you have any information regarding bumblebees and their habits?” Flashing Sebastian a conspiratorial grin, Ivy missed the dangerous gleam in his iron-grey eyes while Christopher cocked his head, stuttering some scientific fact to which no one paid the slightest heed.
The sight of her captivated every man in attendance, her skin glowing with the richness of fresh cream when contrasted to the warm apricot hue of her gown. With a bodice low enough to fuel the imagination, the silk fabric skimmed her body before flowing out in a graceful circle. Sebastian glanced at his hands. They itched with the need to pull her to him. Lust, anger, brandy and jealousy whipped within him to create a poisonous, boiling stew.
She believed he had come to beg for her hand on bended knee.
Bended knee? She’d get his knee alright…she’d find herself thrown over his, her curvaceous bottom punished for daring to make a fool of him. He’d spank her to within an inch of her life and relish watching her prettily apologize with tears and soft kisses before he took from her flesh what was his by right of revenge.
Swallowing the rest of his brandy, he handed the glass to a servant before he cracked it.
She tricked him, tangling him with these worshiping fools. But now, with witnesses to her downfall and to her heartache, the time had come to destroy her. It was time to take the final payment.
“My lady, you are ravishing as usual.” Taking her hands into his much larger ones, Sebastian raised them to his lips. She wore elbow length silk gloves. Remembering the scar on her left hand, he again pondered which of these men might be responsible. And why Ivy protected his identity.
Flushing with uncertainty at the coolness of his tone, Ivy’s gaze skittered away. When she attempted to tug free, he did not release her. The others grumbled but Sebastian did not care.
“I must have a word with you. It is a private matter.”
“Later, after…” Her smile was suddenly wide and warm. As if she knew, knew what he wanted to do and found it agreeable.
“Indulge me.”
“Ravenswood, if you would only-”
Taking her by the elbow, he propelled her through the crowd, ignoring comments he’d best wait his turn. With great difficulty, he held the urge to punch the nearest belligerent face daring to voice an objection. The only thing restraining his fists was the reluctance to become one of the numerous scuffles Alan previously described. That pompous butler Ivy employed would appreciate any reason to toss him into the street.
Entering the oval foyer, Sebastian placed a firm hand on the small of Ivy’s back and guided her down the hall. Furthest from the conservatory was her father’s private study.
Jonathan Kinley was in Ireland and would not be present to save his only daughter. Which was most fortunate. Sebastian did not intend to allow anyone or anything to stay him from the course set two months prior. Shutting the door, he turned the key. The soft click of the lock tumbling into place echoed in the room.
Ivy backed away until her father’s desk bumped her hip, bringing her up short. The spark of abrupt panic in her eyes gave Sebastian a small twinge of enjoyment.
“Surelyyouare not afraid of me, Ivy,” he murmured, and her chin jerked up at the unexpected taunt. Advancing until any chance of escape was blocked, he eventually caged her against the desk. “I’m curious why you invited me tonight?”
“I wanted to see you.” As if searching for something deep within him, her gaze probed his. “This afternoon you gave all indications you wanted to see me. I don’t understand why you are angry. I’m sorry...” Puzzlement mingled with radiant hope in her sea green eyes. Of course, she was confused. She was accustomed to men blindly pledging their devotion, not questioning her tactics.
“Sorry.”He mocked her words so she winced to hear them on his lips. “Are yousorryyou’ve tied me to those other fools dancing a merry jig to the tune you play?”
His hands rested on either side of her hips, bracing against the desk. Leaning into her, his breath blended with hers. He was so close the golden freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose could be counted. But he had no wish to count them. Damn it, he wanted to kiss them. Each one.
“What are you talking about, Sebastian? I don’t understand.” Baffled by the accusation, her brow knitted. Trying to determine the thread of the conversation, she supplied in tentative explanation, “It’s the monthly dinner…”
Although his voice retained a level of admirable control, Sebastian clutched the edge of the desk, his nails digging into the oak. He did not trust himself to touch her. “The goddamn monthly dinner. Damn you, I’ll not play your games, Ivy.”
Seeing his knuckles turn white, she slumped in abrupt understanding.
“Oh, Sebastian,” she said in a strangled whisper. “Do you believe I would toy with you in such a manner? There are those placing wagers on who shall emerge the victor in this battle. But this is not a game. Not to me. Never to me.”
“Isn’t it, Ivy?” he said flatly, leaning forward to brush her lips with his own, the flick of his tongue teasing the sensitive corner of her mouth. It was the only part of her he allowed himself to touch, and even that left him reeling with desire. “This is all a matter of battle lines, after all. You schemed and plotted and planned, haven’t you? Now, you think you have me, a prisoner of war, like every other bastard out there. I nearly gave you what you wanted most. Me. On my knees. Another victim for your damned collection.”
“No, no, that’s not what I wanted,” she cried out, eyes wide with the ugliness of his words. “I only wantyou. You, Sebastian. I want to be with you the moment I wake in the morning, and I miss you when I finally fall asleep at night. Nothing else matters, nothing other than you and me.”
“Oh, butterfly. Can’t you tell me the truth?” Sebastian nibbled her lips. When she gave a little sob of pleasure, he did it again, hating himself for enjoying it as much as she did. If she possessed a single ounce of self-preservation, she would be terrified. But Ivy was captive to the emotions he aroused within her, still willing to let him in, still hoping he meant her no harm. “There is so much more than desire between us, isn’t there? History and secrets.” He referred to Timothy, but she failed to make the immediate connection. “Tell me, Ivy. There is something you want from me, isn’t there? Come on now, tell me the truth.”
“I am telling the truth, I swear it! Only, I thought-”
“What?” When she hesitated, he nipped her ear, demanding, “What did you think? What do you want? The same you require from the others? Complete and utter devotion until I die? Or just until you tire of me?” The words were a hiss of condemnation.
“I thought you cared for me,” Ivy whispered, her arms winding about his neck. “I-I wanted you to keep the Pack at bay, so they would lose interest in me. When we formed a relationship, I hoped it would be understood I’m not a threat. Or a challenge to be won. I know it was wrong to use you like that…I tried to tell you, the night of the opera. Do you remember? But you said, you said you did not care. You said nothing would keep you from me.” Her words caught on themselves, unsteady and high pitched with desperation. “Oh, Sebastian, you do care for me. You must… after everything…”
