Page 33 of Season of the Scoundrel
“Our first public outing together.” She seemed to ponder the prospect as she slipped on her gloves, then looked up at him.
“Are you up for it?” He arched a brow.
Suddenly, a bit of her hesitation ebbed. She wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. Notching up her chin, she tried for as much confidence as she could muster at the prospect of being weighed and measured by the mamas of society who saw her as the wallflower who’d poached an eminently eligible duke.
“Of course I am.”
CHAPTER 9
Ivy paced the foyer as she waited for Ross’s carriage to collect her.
“You look lovely,” Lily said from the drawing room threshold. “I’m certain Blackbourne will think the same.”
“I’m not as worried about how I look as how I should behave. How does a future duchess behave?”
Lily smiled, then approached and laid a hand on Ivy’s arm. “You’ve seen how I behave as a duchess. Not so very differently than I did as Lily Bridewell. Do you think I’m doing it wrong?” Her teasing tone did allay some of Ivy’s worries.
She knew who she was, and Ross thought she could pull off this scheme. The opinions of others had never mattered to her so much. As a wallflower, few had ever bothered having an opinion about her at all, and she’d rather liked than anonymity.
Lily hadn’t changed dramatically after becoming Duchess of Edgerton, but she was subject to much more scrutiny. Where she went, how she behaved at the event she attended, the things she said, they were all noted.
Ivy preferred observing others to being observed, but no one could fail to notice the lady who strode into a room on Ross’s arm because he himself was so terribly noteworthy.
Outside Edgerton House, Ivy heard a carriage roll up and moments later, someone rapped at the door.
The butler admitted Ross and the way his eyes lit when he looked at her made all her worries fade.
“Miss Bridewell,” he said, his voice low and warm.
Yet he’d called her Ivy so many times that the formality struck her. She much preferred it when there was no polite pretense between them.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” he said to Lily.
“Blackbourne, I hope you two enjoy the soiree.”
“I think we will,” he told her. Then he offered his arm to Ivy. “Shall we be off?”
Inside the carriage, they sat on opposite benches.
Once the horses were off and they pulled into traffic, Ross seemed unsettled. He’d watch her a moment and then turn his gaze out the carriage window.
“You look beautiful,” he said into the quiet, flicking a look her way.
“Thank you.” He did too. Something about the stark contrast of his black and white evening suit only accentuated the broad breadth of his shoulders, and in the shadows of carriage, all the angles and counters of his handsome face were even more appealing.
“May I speak plainly?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her.
“Of course. I always want us to. When you called me Miss Bridewell earlier, it felt wrong,” she admitted with a half-smile.
“I don’t wish you to think I will take advantage of our agreement.”
Ivy tipped her head. “Advantage?”
“If you have any regrets about what happened the last time we were in a carriage together?—”
“I don’t.” Ivy had thought about the kiss often. Too often. But never once had she thought of that moment with regret. “Do you?”
“No.” He leaned forward on his bench. “Not a bit. I merely want you to know that whatever boundaries you set between us will be honored.”
