Page 8 of Taming Ivy
Ivy’s jaw tilted. She must brazen this particular encounter out. Pray the earl held no interest in her. Gripping Sara’s hand tighter, her gaze fixed on the musicians’ loft. She could survive this and him. She must.
Fifteen minutes before, Ravenswood and the Earl of Bentley stepped into the Sheffield Ballroom, their progress delayed by several guests determined in their quest to personally welcome Sebastian back on English soil.
“Which one is she?”
“Oh, I forgot you’ve not been introduced,” Alan grinned. “It won’t be difficult to spot her. She’s an uncommonly beautiful girl. Dazzling, actually.”
“I’ve met her before. Just after Kinley lost his wife. A disagreeable chit with the manners of a sailor, frizzy brown hair and a face splattered with freckles.” Sebastian’s gaze dissected every female he saw. Young, old, plump, thin, some desirable, some not. Half possessed the plain brown hair of his memory. “And she was overweight.”
Alan’s eyebrow rose. “Freckles and fat? It is not possible we speak of the same Lady Ivy Elizabeth Kinley.”
“Plump,” Sebastian grumbled, accepting a snifter of brandy from a passing servant. “She was plump. I think. It’s difficult to say. I believe her clothing was stolen from a stable boy. An overweight, filthy stable boy to be precise. Damnit, Bentley, at the very least, tell me what to search for now.”
“You’ll know her when you see her. Here now, I’ll take pity on you. Look for an unusually high number of men accumulated in one spot, with two beautiful ladies at the center. However, the lovely, petite blonde who is surely with Lady Kinley has captured my interest, so I’ll thank you to spare her in the carnage.”
Sebastian scowled. “There must be three hundred guests crammed into this damned ballroom. What constitutes an abnormally high number of fools gathered around one woman?”
“Two women,” Alan chuckled, giving Sebastian a friendly punch to the shoulder. “As we will soon join those fools, you might refrain from the derogatory characterizations.”
With a snort of disgust, Sebastian scanned the room again. Only this time his gaze crashed to an abrupt halt.There.Across the swamped ballroom. It must be her. Standing on tiptoes, balancing herself with a hand on a blonde girl’s shoulder, she surveyed the room in the same manner he did. Her eyes swept over Sebastian, halting for the briefest moment as their stares locked, and it felt as though a hundred, crushing jolts of lightning streaked through him. In absent disbelief, he rubbed the vicinity of his chest. It was her.
His prey.
What in the name of holy hell had become of the ungainly, awkward, neither pretty nor ugly child from seven short years before? This girl, this vision of absolute beauty, bore no resemblance to her. None whatsoever.
The discovery leveled Sebastian. He felt cheated. And holy hell...those could not be...were those damnedangelssinging? Lilting, beautiful...a chorus of melodic voices possessing the power to bring grown men to tears. Was it real? Or merely in his head?
No, thank God, not real angels. Just Lady Tremayne’s pair of husband-hunting daughters providing a soaring a cappella performance while the musicians indulged in a short reprieve.
“Ah, you’ve found her.” Alan’s tone dripped with such sly amusement Sebastian realized he knew all along just where the countess stood in the crowded ballroom. “Well? What do you think?”
Think? Thinking was impossible. Sebastian could only feel, and what he felt must not be uttered aloud. It was too brutal, involved several crimes against God and Her Majesty’s Crown - and all necessary for the ruination of a countess. And highly pleasurable for the man cruel enough to implement them.
Men swarmed about her, glazed adoration stamped on their features. Like drones surrounding a queen bee, their bodies clad in varying shades of colorful brocades and satins, they buzzed in a futile hunt for prime positions.
It was unfair to compare her to such an unworthy creature as a bee. Maybe a butterfly was a better analogy, or perhaps an exotic bird, beautiful and delicate, ready to flutter away at any moment. Fury sizzled through his veins but Sebastian welcomed it. It clarified his vision, sharpened things. God, her exquisiteness must have overwhelmed Timothy. No wonder his poor cousin succumbed to madness.
While Sebastian clenched his teeth, the angelic chorus created by the Tremayne Twins rose and fell as a backdrop. Damn, the girl positively glowed, like a flash of sunshine in a tawdry ocean of the artificial, her gown the palest blush hue, the exact shade of a red rose petal before it begins to fade to cream. He did not usually apply flowery tributes to women, no matter their attractiveness. It difficult business to wring a compliment from the Earl of Ravenswood’s lips; worshipping this girl in a moment of weakness made his anger swell to dangerous heights. What the hell was wrong with him? His particular brand of cold-blooded vengeance required unemotional reasoning and he’d never any trouble yielding it before. At least until now.
“Damnable Pack,” Alan muttered beside him.
Sebastian was spoiling for a fight. The heat of it smoldered in the pit of his stomach, contracting with a violent need to confront the countess. He tore his gaze from the sunlight radiating on the upper terrace of the ballroom, finding it difficult to reconcile she was indeed his target. She required only a halo and a damned pair of wings to complete the illusion of absolute purity.
He felt dizzy. Off balance
“Why do you say that?” He pinned Alan with a penetrating stare. It sounded as if his old friend believed those men to be wholly responsible for the fashioning of the vain creature standing in their midst.
“Never mind.” Alan swallowed back any further oaths.
Sebastian was hardly ignorant of Society’s charming label for Lady Kinley’s devoted band of followers, having learned of it upon his return to England. The knowledge Timothy participated in the sordid affair was infuriating. His jaw set at a grim angle, Sebastian made his way toward the countess, Alan falling lockstep beside him.
“Do try not to frighten off Lady Morgan, will you?” His friend’s murmur was sarcasm at its best.
Sebastian managed a terse nod of agreement.
A mythical Pied Piper, he led the growing crowd. Upon guessing his intent, they now flowed in his wake, a herd of bleating, mindless sheep.
Sebastian considered the young woman standing beside the countess. Alan seemed quite smitten with Lady Sara Morgan and she was certainly a beauty. Her family was well thought of, the young lady herself described as kind and gentle. Sebastian found it perplexing she should befriend the likes of Ivy Kinley. His sources were quick to note the two girls’ devotion to one another, their friendship dating back finishing school.
