Page 57 of Taming Ivy
He was so goddamn arrogant reciting it to her, so confident in predicting her downfall. Now, she mocked him with it. She hated roses…
No. Shehatedhim. Enough to wear the flowers as a reminder of treachery.
“Every damned woman in London is wearing roses in her hair, you fool. And you’ve not been close enough to Poison Ivy’s lips to tell them apart from your own blooming mother’s.”
A round of uproarious laughter swept the room as the first man scowled in rebuttal. “We danced the waltz last week. I can assure you, I know her lips. Venturing into the gardens, I had the chance to taste their sweetness as well. If my stupid, meddlesome brother had not intervened with three other friends to drag her away for a bloody game of Queen of Sheba, dear gentlemen, I could relate much more.”
“Yes, yes and you would have been discovered the very next morning in those same gardens. A solid block of ice. The countess has real snow in her veins now, that she does. She was merely toying with you, Blackton,” Baron Millerson said, a gentleness underlying his gruff nature. “Now that the Pack’s done for, she’s learning a new craft, running with Clayton and Danbury’s set. Discovered how amusing it can be to play with her victims, especially the naïve ones. Don’t be a fool, man.”
“That’s not true,” Blackton stated heatedly, staring at the cards in his hands, remembering the moment shared with Lady Kinley. “I’m hardly innocent and the countess, she was kind and sweet. And so fragile, like the butterfly Ravenswood called her…”
“As fragile as when you saw her cheering on two men pounding one another to bloody bits in the ring?” Someone piped up to even more laughter.
“Best to stay away from the Butterfly Countess, Blackton. Save for one purpose only, if you understand my meaning. Unless you wish to end up as Ravenswood haunting the empty moors like some damned dark ghost.” Tossing down his bet, Millerson nudged the man beside him to do the same.
“Or ten toes up like Timothy Garrett.” Tristan Buchanan, the Viscount of Longleigh, offered from the back of the room. Murmurs of agreement echoed his dry comment.
Hearing these men speak of Ivy in such familiar tones made Sebastian’s heart contort with guilt and ugly jealousy. How quickly the tables turned. It seemed he was one of her victims after all. People whispered ofhim,how she brought him to his knees, while in the same breath they marveled how he tamed her. Their mutual downfall and triumph was beautifully twisted together in the most grotesque fashion.
Backing away in haste he nearly bowled over a barmaid delivering the next round of drinks.
“Pardon, milord,” she exclaimed as two glasses jostled, sloshing over the tray to create a puddle on the lush carpet. “I thought to slip behind you.”
All eyes turned Sebastian’s way, a hushed, awkward silence falling over the smoky room. Men nudged one another, murmuring low while Blackton flushed scarlet. Solemn, pitying glances passed from man to man, and before Sebastian knew what was happening, they surrounded him, hands clasping his shoulders, his ears filled with apologies and supplicating words meant to appease him. One phrase uttered by a faceless bastard echoed repeatedly in his brain.
She deserved it, she did.
Only Longleigh, calmly sipping his brandy, did not rise to join the others.
It was too much. Shoving his way through Sebastian could not escape the club quickly enough.She deserved it…Deserved his cruelty ripping her apart? Did she deserve the same wrenching pain he suffered? Ivy’s suffering was surely a hundred times more brutal…and at his own hand.
Stumbling out into the moist foggy air of a London late spring night, Sebastian did not stop until he reached his waiting coach. Gripping the back wheel for support, head hanging low near the gutter, he became violently ill.
“I don’t understand your melancholy,” Rachel remarked in the unsettling silence of the vast dining room.
Sebastian stared at his plate of untouched food. He agreed to dinner as a necessary illusion of normalcy, necessary to hide the fact his perfectly planned world was falling to pieces around him, his legendary control reduced to rubble. Broaching this particular subject was unexpected on his aunt’s part. Madness, actually. Could she not see he was on the verge of becoming unhinged?
“Leave it be.” His voice was dangerously soft.
“If you should feel the slightest pity for her, do not bother. Like a wicked little cat, she lands on her feet.” Rachel tipped back the remnants of her wine, an unsteady gleam in her eyes.
Shifting in his chair, the unnatural level of animosity his aunt leveled toward Ivy struck Sebastian. Something sizzled in his brain, a flash of mystery. For the first time ever, he pondered a novel question. Why did Ivy cut Timothy from the Pack?
What did Timothy do toher?
“Did you not hear me, madam?” The brandy was going down much too smoothly. It was damned difficult not to drink so much, and Sebastian was trying so hard not to. He wanted to drown himself in the numbing shroud of it and forget everything he’d done. Forget everything, forgetherwhile he drowned in misery.
Rachel sneered. “Do you believe she’s suffered? She has attended every ball and soiree held this past month. A new escort each night and never the same twice. She even has a new title.” The laugh was ugly. “The Unbroken. They are all calling her that, although some refer to her as the Ravenswood’s Curse, now that you’ve become a victim. And God knows, thetondoes love a victim. Especially when it runs in families.” Slamming her empty goblet down, she motioned to the footman. With an apologetic glance at Sebastian, the servant refilled it. “You didn’t ruin her, Sebastian, you emboldened her. The chit had the impudence to give me the cut direct, laughing at me while Danbury and Clayton urged her on-”
“Enough,” Sebastian growled, standing so abruptly his chair crashed to the floor. His head pounded with guilt, jealousy and a whole host of other emotions too unbearable to confront. Eventually another man would have her in his bed, but Sebastian knew he held no say in her actions. That right was lost the moment he broke her heart and crushed her soul on her father’s desk.
Rachel’s words followed him as he stalked from the room.
“She won, Sebastian. A century ago, she would have burned at the stake, for she is a sorceress sent to bedevil men. Witless puppets dancing to her every whim, all of you. You did not make her pay as you said you would. Now all of London knows the truth. She beatyouat your own game.”
CHAPTER 14
Molly stepped back and with a sigh of contentment gave the shining curls one last pat. “You look like a princess in a fairytale, that you do!”
