Page 30 of Season of the Scoundrel
“I didn’t forget.” She hadn’t. Every interaction between them was seared in her mind. Too often, he invaded her thoughts, but she could hardly admit as much.
His gaze slid down to her lips. She could see in his eyes that he wanted what she did—a real kiss.
Ivy reached up, wrapped her fingers around the lapel of his coat and leaned toward him.
Blackbourne bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. A warm, tentative kiss, much like their first, but then it turned to more. His hand came up to cradle her nape and he took her mouth hungrily, as if she was all he wanted, as if he’d been desperate for a taste of her.
Ivy had never felt such yearning in her life as she did in that moment—desire for this powerful, magnetic man, but also a yearning for more. She clutched at his shoulder, needing him closer somehow, feeling a hunger she’d never known.
Then the carriage slowed as they arrived at Blackbourne House.
Blackbourne broke the kiss, then immediately stroked his fingers down her cheek as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching her.
When the carriage stilled, he got out first, then reached up to help her down.
They walked in silence to the front door, but Ivy heard her blood rushing in her ears. Her whole body felt flushed. And some brazen part of her wanted to kiss him again the moment they were inside the townhouse.
CHAPTER 8
As they stepped into Blackbourne House, Ross was intensely aware of Ivy at his side. That kiss had lit something inside him, as if a part of him had gone cold and she’d sparked it back to life.
“Your Grace.” Ross’s butler approached, looking uncharacteristically harried.
“What is it, Vickers?”
“Her Grace arrived some twenty minutes ago and is awaiting you in the drawing?—”
“I shall take it from here, Vickers,” his mother said as she glided into the foyer.
Ross’s first instinct was to step in front of Ivy, to shield her and her men’s clothing from his mother’s perusal, but it was too late.
His mother’s eyes were already taking her in from boot to brow. “Are you going to introduce me to your companion, my dear?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy notch her chin up a bit, and amusement hummed through him. He barely resisted smiling. As he suspected, she would not be intimidated by hismother, who was formidable enough to unsettle almost anyone if she put her mind to it.
His mother seemed to notice too and her lips tilted up in a slight smile. She admired nothing as much as someone with inner strength.
“Mother, may I present Miss Ivy Bridewell.” Once he’d looked at Ivy, it was hard to tear his gaze away. “Ivy, my mother, the Duchess of Blackbourne.”
Ivy curtsied. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Your Grace. Forgive my unorthodox clothing this evening. We were…” She glanced at him. “On a mission of sorts.”
“Indeed?” His mother looked genuinely curious. “Is it one you can tell me about?”
“No,” Ross said, cutting in when Ivy hesitated. “Not yet.”
“How very mysterious of both of you.” His mother looked more amused than dismayed, and he was grateful she didn’t press for further details.
“Would you excuse me, Your Grace?” Ivy asked. “I’d like to change my clothes.”
“By all means.” His nodded. “Please rejoin us in the drawing room.”
After a single glance his way, Ivy headed upstairs, presumably to go back to his sister’s room.
His mother didn’t say a word, just pivoted on her heel and strode into the drawing room. Ross knew he was expected to follow, and he did. Though he didn’t particularly like that she’d blindsided him by arriving unexpectedly. Still, he’d known some manner of confrontation would be forthcoming as soon as he’d sent her a telegram.
“She’s pretty and has mettle, that I will acknowledge.” His mother had already taken a seat in her favorite chair when he entered the room. He closed the pocket doors behind him.
“Yes. I agree, of course.” He was tempted to add praise to his mother’s list of Ivy’s merits, but he resisted. She wasn’t finished with her assessment, he suspected.
