Page 43 of Season of the Scoundrel
“Now, were you two before I interrupted?”
When the duchess merely narrowed her eyes at him with a half-smile on her face, Ivy said, “She wonders why I’ve caused you to upend your normally cautious nature.”
Ross looked over at her, his gaze tracing over the features of her face, and smiled.
“Because when one finds what one has been looking for, one shouldn’t hesitate.”
The duchess inhaled sharply. “You were you looking for a bride then?”
“No, not with intention. I didn’t meet Ivy and decide she would meet the requirements of a role. I met her and felt something I never had before.”
“It is genuine then, what is between the two of you?” The duchess’s tone had softened, and the look she gave Ross was full of warmth.
Ross turned to Ivy. “I should have you told last night, and I’m sorry to say it now in this way, but I love you.”
Ivy squeezed his hand. “And I love you.”
“I will ask you again properly, but know that I want a true betrothal.”
They both turned back to the duchess, whose gaze was locked on her son.
“When I learned about the false betrothal, I thought perhaps it was some impulsive bout that you’d soon think better of and regret.” She looked at each of them in turn. “But I see the certainty in your eyes. I loved your father dearly, and I would not wish anything less for you than a love match, my son.”
With that, the duchess got to her feet and approached the settee.
“Miss Bridewell, it seems we will be seeing a good deal more of each other. Will the two of you still come to tea?”
“Yes,” Ivy answered for the two of them. She wanted the opportunity to speak to the duchess more.
“Then I shall see you both later.” With that, she swept from the drawing room.
“Never allow her to intimidate you,” Ross said as he bent closer.
“I won’t.”
“She’ll come to admire you as I do, and she’ll help you, if you wish it.”
Ivy felt a little wave of trepidation. Ross reached out and cupped her cheek.
“I love you, Ivy. Whatever comes, we face it together.”
“I love you too.”
She leaned into kiss him, and he sank his fingers into her hair, deepening the kiss.
When he lifted his head, he tipped it. “What is it?”
“How can you read me so well?”
“I quite like paying close attention to you,” he said, then chuckled. “Also…” He reached up and ran a fingertip along the skin between her brows. “There’s a little line that forms here when you’re fretting.”
“I still want to be a journalist. I’m still going to be curious and investigate matters that some in noble circles might not like.”
“I never expected anything else.” He arched a brow. “Did you think I’d keep you from those pursuits?”
“Are they proper for a duchess?”
He seemed to ponder a moment, then stroked his fingers along her cheek. “One of the benefits of the role is getting to do what one pleases.”
