Page 32 of Season of the Scoundrel
“I should return home,” she said, her voice a little breathless as her eyes dipped down. She studied his lips a moment, and pink bloomed along the apple of her cheek.
A smile crept up on him, along with a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t sought or felt in a long while—of desiring a woman and being desired in return. But she wasn’t just any woman. She was now his betrothed, as far as the public was concerned, and a woman whose article his paper would print. Somehow, in a mere few days she’d become embedded in his life, and he wasn’t sorry in the least.
“Blackbourne?”
“Did we not agree you’d call me Ross?”
She licked her lips and gave him a chagrined smile. “Ross, shall we tell your mother the truth then?”
“Yes. I’ve invited her to tea on Wednesday with the promise we’d meet with her together. Forgive me for not asking you first.”
“Wednesday will be fine.” Her brows furrowed. “There’s a bit of worry in your tone. Why?”
Ross gestured toward the drawing room, and Ivy followed him inside.
When she sat on the settee, toward the far edge, he took the spot on the other end, turning slightly toward her.
“She’ll likely quiz us about how we met, and she’ll ask about your family, no doubt.”
“And how I could ever consider myself worthy of becoming your duchess?” she teased.
“Not quite that blunt. I told her there was to be no debate on the matter. My decision would be final.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “You will have to tell her otherwise one day.”
Not if I can help it.He didn’t know if the kiss had been an impulse on her part or if she too might wish that this could grow into something real.
“Ivy—”
She listed toward him, he matched her movement, inching nearer to her on the settee. Ross would have sworn there was a fire blazing in the waning hearth for how the air heated whenever he was close to her.
He saw her swallow, watching the movement along the soft skin of her throat, aching to touch her there. Kiss her there.
“What will you do with the information we discovered at the docks?” she said on a whisper.
Ross immediately sat up, pressing back against the cushions. “I shall pass the information with my contact at Scotland Yard. Inspector Morgan. He’s trustworthy and diligent, and he’ll look into the matter thoroughly.”
“I’d like to come with you if you do go to speak with him.”
A protective instinct rose up, but he knew she’d chafe if he expressed it.
“I’ll send a message around to him. If he wants to meet, we’ll go together.”
The smile she gave him in response made something loosen in his chest that he didn’t even know was tangled.
“I should probably return home,” she said a moment later.
“Of course.”
They stood and as he walked her to the foyer, he debated mentioning the invitation he’d received from Grainger.
“I’ll see you Wednesday then?” she asked.
“Or you could accompany me to a soiree tomorrow evening? Lord Alec Grainger, a business associate of Penrose’s has invited me.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “Because they’re so eager for you to invest?”
“That’s my assumption.”
