Page 88 of Taming Ivy
"Ivy...” He reached for her.
Eluding him with the grace of a bullfighter, she was at the library doors before he could stop her. "Safe travels, my lord.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched with annoyance at the cavalier farewell. Then, she hesitated, a hand upon the curved door lever, shoulders squared as if accepting the heaviest of burdens.
Swinging to face him, her eyes appeared wet, as though she might burst into tears. She stood motionless, a statute in the golden lit sanctuary of Beaumont’s library and she took a step toward him. Then another, and another. Sebastian was completely unprepared as she flew across the polished wood floor. Clinging to him, standing on tiptoes, pulling his head down to hers, she pressed her mouth to his. A sigh of pleasure escaped her as his arms slid around her waist, hauling her against him.
Why she willingly initiated such contact hurtled beyond his comprehension. He only knew it felt incredible to have her in his arms. His mouth moved, shaping, molding her lips, their tongues swirling in a hesitant dance. And somehow, it was bittersweet. As if the kiss was a final farewell. Dazed by the whirlwind of it, Sebastian stood overwhelmed.
Ivy seemed intent on committing each of his features to memory, her eyes brimming with tears. Why she might cry confused the hell out of him.
"Come back to me.”
Her words were so softly spoken, it was uncertain she said them at all.
It was nearly a three-hour ride, the time passing slowly. Sebastian wanted to return to Ivy as quickly as possible. What did she mean by that kiss? The manner of it was so puzzling, an element of desperation lurking beneath the sweetness. Were her defenses finally weakening?
Light sizzled in his brain.She thinks I’ve gone to duel with Basford. She fears I will not come back.His heart somersaulted with possibilities and relief. Ivywantedhim back. He was sure of it. Regardless of her ice, regardless of the pain her heart still harbored, she cared for him.
Oh, Ivy. Have you learned nothing yet? Nothing on this earth could ever keep me away from me.
Upon his return to Beaumont, he intended to prove it.
"Hello, Basford.”
The viscount frowned in his sleep, rolling over the best his broken arm and busted ribs allowed. While attempting to readjust the pillow, he was jerked from the bed, his body dangling a good three feet or so above the floor. Held aloft, Basford struggled, his broken arm flapping in its sling. The hard, capable hands holding him prisoner gripped bunches of his nightshirt, like a hawk holding tight to an unfortunate creature soon to be devoured.
"What the devil...!" He kicked wildly, twisting in vain, broken ribs stabbing viciously. His eyes struggled to adjust to the blackness of the room and the brightness spilling from the single lamp.
"Shut up, if you possess any desire of saving your miserable hide.” A soft, deadly voice drifted from the depths of the shadows. "I find myself extremely vexed and quite willing to rid the earth of your filth.”
Basford stared into the darkness beyond the glow of the lamp. His gaze drifted down to the burly fellow holding him. The man was straight from a drug-induced nightmare with that wicked scar slashing across his face. His grin revealed even, white teeth, but to the viscount, they appeared like fangs. "He means it, you know. Don’t tweak his nose any further. He’s got the devil’s own temper, he does.” The monster holding him high with such ease possessed the achingly beautiful voice of a celestial being.
"This is obviously a mistake,” Basford sputtered. "I’ve no idea what you want or why you are here.”
Ravenswood emerged from the shadows. A sinister figure clad in black, he so perfectly resembled an avenging angel of death that Basford's mouth dropped open in astonished horror. This could not be happening. It was truly a nightmare, a by-product of the opiates that sham of a doctor prescribed.
"Really?" Ravenswood’s laugh was the sound of the Devil poised to collect a new soul. "You’ve no idea why I’ve come? I warned you once. Do you remember? You should have kept your distance from her.”
The viscount’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to squawk, "You ended things with her! You’ve no standing to demand a duel. No right!"
Gabrieltsked- tsked,his head shaking in mock disappointment. Arms bulging, he was in no danger of becoming fatigued as Basford hung suspended. "Wrong answer, my fine gent. Must you insist on annoying the earl? This won’t end well, should you continue.”
"No need for a warning. It seems we’ve passed any point of negotiation.” Boredom etched Ravenswood’s tone. His impassive gaze raked the viscount. “Make it appear an accident.”
"Wait! Wait!" The man twisted with desperate futility. "What do you want? A duel? Good God, man! You broke my arm and three of my ribs when you pitched me out of my own damned coach. It will be weeks before I can meet you on the field!"
"You are most fortunate I did not kill you that night. And this conversation bores me. Mister Rose, proceed as you will.”
Gabriel lowered the viscount to the floor, happily preparing for the ‘accident’.
"Wait! Goddamn it! I'll leave the country. You won't see or hear from me, I swear it. Won't tell anyone why, I'll just go. France, Ireland, you name it and I’ll go there.”
Ravenswood swiveled to face the viscount. His lips twisted with a cruel smile as he considered the offer. "Strangely enough, that was an option I was willing to extend. From the kindness of my heart, you understand. It’s probably terrible to give you false hope, but would you care to hear the others?"
Basford’s head jerked in the affirmative.
"Very well.” The earl stepped closer, his black cloak swirling in a dark cloud.
