Page 13 of An Earl by Any Other Name
Leo had to force himself to focus on Mr. Leighton and not on his personal desire to throttle his friend, who was pressing kisses to Ivy’s gloved knuckles.
He directed his gaze to his guest. “I understand you own the London News Weekly?”
A knowing smile flitted across Leighton’s face and he rubbed his chin.
“I take it you are not a frequent reader of the Weekly? It’s not traditional like the Post, I know, but I believe people should enjoy what they read and be entertained. Not everything in life must be dull and boring. Some reading ought to be for pleasure.”
Leo laughed, genuinely surprised. Leighton seemed to be more agreeable than he had expected. The man knew of his paper’s reputation and wasn’t the least bit offended that Leo wasn’t an avid reader. It spoke well of Leighton that he could view his enterprise with an unbiased eye.
“Ivy says you rescued her when the Hudson gave out on the road? I thank you for the services you provided my daughter.” Leighton’s eyes twinkled with a fatherly merriment as though he’d had to face trouble his daughter had gotten into before.
Leo had to bite his tongue at the sudden image of offering other types of services to Ivy, primarily those best conducted in bed. He’d love to service her all night…Damn! How had the young woman gotten beneath his skin so quickly? He hadn’t been this affected by a woman since he’d been a lad.
“I was happy to help. Apparently, there was a problem with the petrol. My mechanic should have the motorcar ready for you tomorrow should you have need of it.”
“Thank you.” Leighton turned to his daughter and placed her hand on his arm. “Ivy, it’s nearly time for supper. We should go change.”
Leighton’s smile was more a baring of teeth and directed at Owen, who was gazing like a moonstruck calf at Ivy. But Leo knew his friend. Owen was more dangerous than he appeared. He was not a young beau swooning over his lady. He and Leo could both have predatory tendencies where beautiful ladies were involved. One smile from a willing woman and either of them would seduce her right out of her gown. But not Ivy—Owen could not have her. Leo wouldn’t allow it, especially not under his roof. It was a good thing Leighton was protective of his child.
Leo and Owen watched the newspaperman and his bewitching daughter ascend the stairs. When they were out of sight, Owen chuckled. The sound was grating on Leo’s nerves.
“I think I’m going to enjoy this party.” His friend smirked. “You can have fun with Mildred. I plan to enjoy Miss Leighton.” He walked off, leaving Leo gaping and furious. Owen would bed the girl before the party’s end and move on to the next woman who caught his eye and leave poor Ivy ruined. She deserved better than that. She deserved a man who would respect her. Of course, she deserved wildness in bed, but out of it, complete respect. She wasn’t like other women of his acquaintance. He wouldn’t have cared overmuch if his friend had been out to seduce them. Ivy…was different.
And he couldn’t seem to stay away from her.
* * *
Supper at Hampton was an unexpected pleasure for Ivy. As the daughter of a lady’s maid, she had always dined in the downstairs hall with the other servants. Tonight, though, she was a guest, decked out in a blue gown with a yellow chiffon underskirt visible beneath the parting folds at the front of her gown. Her sleeves were made of fine netting and fell to her elbows in a kimono-like fashion she adored. The gown hugged her curves and flared at her ankles in a train, creating a lovely S shape that was all the rage in London.
Her hair was pulled back and up in a loose collection of waves about her face and gathered into a soft roll at the top of her head. Nestled just over the crown of her hair was a glittering band of stars, a piece of jewelry her father had bought during a trip to India a few months ago. Against the darkness of her hair, she knew the stars glinted and shone like the night sky. When she had come down for the evening, Leo’s lips had parted and his eyes had widened.
She had to admit, she did feel rather beautiful this night, but was she beautiful enough? Lacking self-confidence was unusual for her. Her father had raised her to value her mind, her intelligence, her compassionate heart, and beauty, but only to the extent that she did not focus on it beyond reason. She smiled, remembering what he often said: “There’s more to a woman than her figure and face. A man can only love a body so long. ’Tis the mind and heart of a woman that brings him to his knees and makes him love you.”
Did she want Leo to love her? If she was honest with herself, a small part of her did want that desperately, but the rest of her was stoutly against it. She had plans for her life that didn’t include marriage and certainly not love for a man who didn’t believe in her dreams. Still, watching his eyes on her as she had come down for dinner had filled her heart with a foolish hope.
She was seated in the middle of a long mahogany table in the dining room. Light gleamed off the polished silverware, and the flames from the many candles flared and danced. On either side of her sat Owen and Leo. Across from her was the infamous Mildred Pepperwirth with her parents, Lord and Lady Pepperwirth. Leo must have insisted that the Pepperwirths attend the house party because Ivy would have bet her most expensive diamond earrings that the dowager would not have wanted Mildred anywhere near Leo while her scheme to enliven his spirits was under way.
As the courses began to appear at the table, Ivy listened to the conversations around her. She selected a bit of the potatoes with caviar and crème fraîche from a plate offered to her. The Pevenlys and Athertons, both couples a few years older than Leo, were charming and amusing. They shared stories of fun nights with Leo in London that had him blushing and shifting in his seat. Apparently, if Mr. Pevenly could be believed, Leo was tone-deaf and had been forced to sing at a recent social gathering.
“I’m not a songbird,” Leo muttered darkly as everyone laughed.
“Indeed, it seems you are not. Neither am I,” Ivy admitted. “I play much better than sing, but still am only passable. A shame, isn’t it? Not as accomplished as other ladies, I suppose.” Now she was teasing him, and she knew he could tell because the fine lines at his eyes crinkled as he tried to hide a smile.
“Accomplishments are overrated. I’d take a decent conversationalist, even a suffragette, over a woman who could only sing or play. Good heavens, can you imagine?”
They both dissolved into a barely contained silent fit of laughter at the idea of him being married to a woman who only sang and played. It would be a dreadful bore to live a life with someone one could not converse with. She knew she could not survive such a match. Her husband, if she ever changed her mind on marriage, must be able to talk with her on a great many things and, more importantly, listen to her.
With the cold weather outside, the cook had outdone herself with a wonderful creamy butternut squash soup. She caught Leo watching her as she tasted the soup.
“You like it?” he whispered.
“Hmm, yes.” She couldn’t help the little noise of pleasure escaping her lips. Mrs. Beedle had often cooked this particular recipe when Ivy had been a little girl. She desperately wanted to know if the cook still worked here. She hadn’t thought to ask Gordon earlier. The upsetting idea of Leo marrying Mildred Pepperwirth had quite erased all other thoughts.
“Mrs. Beedle has been making this dish since I was a lad. It’s perfect for the weather, don’t you agree? Just the thing for warming up one’s…body.” His whispered words made her shiver a little. She couldn’t help but remember the sinful embrace in the garden, how his body had warmed hers. Butternut squash soup warmed her up, but not nearly as effectively as Leo’s lips upon hers, and she had a strange notion that he meant to remind her of their kiss. He opened his mouth to speak but a footman appeared between them, serving duck confit covered in garlic, thyme, and bay leaves. Ivy took the opportunity to focus on the duck and avoid the temptation of Leo’s focus on her.
Mrs. Atherton and Mrs. Pevenly were entertaining and witty, sharing thoughtful discussions on social news, whilst their husbands touched on the politics of the day. Ivy’s father was lost in an intimate conversation with the hostess, and unfortunately, Ivy was all too well aware that she and Mildred had not uttered a word to each other since they’d been formally introduced.
Ivy shot glances at Mildred. Her hair was a rich chestnut and pulled up in a tumble of delicate knots and waves above her head. A diamond circlet rested in the crown of her hair and she bore it with all the pomp and dignity one could expect from a viscount’s daughter. Yet despite her naturally lovely looks, as even Ivy had to admit she was fair, there was a cold distance in her features, as though the idea of descending from the clouds of Olympus to interact with mortals was impossible. Not only impossible but also distasteful.
