Page 47 of A Most Unlikely Lady
Once upon a yesteryear, Ivy would have been like one of those ladies walking with a chaperone through Mayfair on her way back to her father’s house after visiting with Millie. She would be dreading whatever evening activities would be expected of her. Helping her father host a dinner for important lords, dressing for a ball where she would spend the evening dusting the wall with her gown or hiding away in her room, hoping her father would not visit in the darkest hours of early morning.
Now, she was the headmistress of an orphanage and planning an evening of reading to the children, retiring to her clean little bedroom with her fluffy kitten, and disappearing into her penny dreadful while sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Free from fearing any unexpected visitor.
But what about expected visitors? What aboutinvitedvisitors?
Because even feeling frustrated with Edward hadn’t dissipated the attraction simmering beneath the surface of her skin. Tension had been building within Ivy since Widow Lovemore’s ball, and her argument with Edward in Philippa’s parlour only drew the strings tighter. Her anger toward him strangely highlighted his physical appeal. Which made very little sense.
How can a woman want to smack a man and kiss him at the same time?
After their conversation at the ball, Ivy found herself thinking about kissing far more than usual.
That’s because I never used to think about kissing at all.
Now, it popped into her mind at the most inopportune times. When she was lying in bed trying to go to sleep. Tallying the weekly budget. Even during their carriage ride home.
And a lot of good all this imagining is doing me.
So instead, Ivy spent the remainder of the day focusing on something that did make sense. Taking care of the children. She didn’t see Edward when the girls and boys traipsed in from their playtime to tackle their chores. She didn’t see him in the dining hall at dinner when Sarah sat on one side of her and Henry sat on the other, pouring her water whenever her cup reached halfway empty. She didn’t see him in the ballroom when she read the children the next chapter ofThe Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Not that she was looking for him. In point of fact, she was glad he wasn’t skulking around. The last person she wanted to see was Edward Worthington.
Take your perfectly shaped mouth, strong thighs, smouldering glare, and stupid glossy black hair, ball it up, shove it in your pipe, and smoke it.
When the children were abed and she was bringing her pot of hot chocolate up from the kitchen, the wavering light peeking out from under his door caused her slippered feet to pause.
Should she check on him? Had he even eaten?
It’s not my responsibility to ensure he eats. I’m not his mother. I’m certainly not his wife.
The very thought caused a flutter in her chest. A rather fizzing kind of flutter.
Ridiculous. The last thing I want is to be married.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Stupid organ. What could you possibly know about anything?
And now, she was arguing with her heart.
Brilliant.
Lifting her chin, she started to walk away when Edward’s door flew open.
* * *
Ivy jumped back, bobbling her burden. With fast hands and determination only melted chocolate could inspire, she managed to right the tray.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, mindful there were twenty-seven children supposedly sleeping. The last thing she needed was to wake them or, more likely, pique their curiosity and have them pressing little ears against the door to better hear the raised voices echoing down the hall.
‘I was coming to find you,’ Edward hissed back.
‘Why? I’m going to bed.’
Edward took the tray from her hands. ‘I need to show you something.’ He turned and walked back into his room. With her tea tray.
With my bloody hot chocolate. Blackguard.
Ivy stormed after him, shutting the door behind her so the children were less likely to hear her blistering tirade against the thieving scoundrel.
‘That’smyhot chocolate.’ She pointed to the pot as Edward carefully placed the tray on his rumpled bed.
