Arabella had had much bigger problems, like being fatally ill, but I didn’t mention that to Esther. I just made a neutral noise, which she took as encouragement to keep talking. I mostly ignored her, now that I knew the gossip wasn’t about Mr. Markham, and debated about going to the party. Because it was a difficult debate. I wanted to go more than anything. And I didn’t want to be a spectator. I wanted Mr. Markham to fuck me there. I wanted mouths and hands on me. I wanted people to watch me and I wanted to watch other people while Mr. Markham’s face was between my legs.
But I shouldn’t want those things.
And there was the crux of the problem. Silas claimed that I was trying to force myself back to sleep, but I wasn’t sure. It was more like standing at the edge of a cliff and deciding whether or not to jump. Because with Mr. Markham, I couldn’t be sure if I would survive or be dashed against the rocks. And once I leapt, it wasn't something I could take back.
“…and after they died, the estate got sold off, and the bastard got shunted somewhere else without a cent. Isn’t that shocking?”
Esther had been talking this entire time. Reluctantly, I turned my attention to her. “It is sad to be sure. But shouldn’t Mr. Whitefield have provided for him in the will, if he truly wanted to protect him?”
Esther nodded vigorously. “But they say after Arabella died, he lost his senses with grief. He doted on her, you see. And so he died not soon after. Pneumonia, the doctors said, but really everyone knows it was of a broken heart.”
It was dark, so Esther couldn?
??t see me roll my eyes. “I don’t see what’s so shocking about the story. I just assume almost every man of stature has a bastard child somewhere.”
“You’re right,” Esther said. “But it’s our job to balance the unfairness of all this philandering with knowledge. Men may be free to do what they like without getting in trouble with the church or the courts, but a woman’s chief weapon is her tongue, and we can make sure no man escapes unscored by it.”
Sometimes I really liked Aunt Esther. “It’s a wonder you’re still unmarried,” I said, but I said it warmly, and she laughed.
“I simply haven’t met a man who can handle me yet, my dear. But when I do, then I’ll submit to the yoke immediately.”
In my mind, I was biting Ivy’s neck hard enough to make her cry out.
While I’d waited for Gareth to fetch my bluebells for the day, I’d constructed several perfect ways to punish my wildcat for running away. As I absent-mindedly squeezed and stroked myself through the fabric of my pants, I dreamed all these ways up like houses and lived in them fully, resisting the urge to pull out my dick and truly bring myself relief. I didn’t want it this way. I only wanted her.
I dreamed of things I would almost certainly do—tying her up, fucking her in the ass, wrapping one hand around that smooth column of a throat—and things I would never do. It was those things that had me desperate at the moment, the thoughts of things I had done with other women but that I would never be able to do with Ivy—not because they were anything but arousing to me or because I didn’t think she would enjoy it, but because I was so fiercely possessive of her that sharing every part of her, cunt included, would drive me to a jealousy so vicious that I wouldn’t be able to control myself.
But I lost myself in them now, picturing Ivy bent over a table and then tied that way, her legs spread and her sex exposed to anyone who wanted to see. I would let men I trusted—Silas, the Baron, Gideon—finally sample all of her. I’d watch them come inside her, I’d watch them take turns, I’d watch her face as the Baron thrust into her without a shred of mercy, and then I’d watch as she came apart with pleasure at the onslaught.
Fuck. Just the thought of using that many cocks to punish her was enough to make me nearly lose it in my pants, like a boy in school.
I took a deep breath and steered myself away from thoughts of my wildcat. Or at least thoughts of her naked. I was about to visit her, and when I did, I intended to honor my unspoken promise to court her properly, to win her back with the part of myself that wasn’t all darkness, if such a part existed. I would prove my devotion to Ivy by being the kind of man she didn’t think I could be. An honest one. A loving one.
But once I had her back, she’d better be prepared.
As I rode in the cab to her residence, I wondered if Ivy’s aunt would like me. Approve of me. Part of me didn’t care in the least, but the rational side of me knew that demonstrating the strength of my love for her would involve winning over her family as well. Her family of one.
As it turned out, she was the one waiting for me in the parlor when I arrived at her house that afternoon, and my stomach clenched upon entering, because for a moment, I thought I was looking at Violet. The same blue eyes, the same fair hair. The same fine features straight from a painting. But then she smiled, and I relaxed. Esther was no doppelgänger. Shorter and curvier, with a face much more disposed to happiness.
“Mr. Markham,” she greeted, not making to stand. “Ivy will be down shortly. She went to lie down after her meal.”
“Is she feeling well?”
Esther met my gaze with a frank expression. She may be a socialite, but she wasn’t a simpleton. “I think we both know the answer to that. Now, I assume those are for me?”
I offered her the bouquet of white roses that—yes—I had brought as a bribe for her regard.
“Thank you.” She examined them for a few seconds then dropped them on the couch next to her. “Now, have a seat, will you?”
I sat, leaning back and crossing my legs so that my ankle rested on my knee. I wasn’t nervous, but I was anxious. I wanted to see Ivy. I wanted to touch her. Every moment since I’d left the ball last night had felt like an hour, an eternity. All I wanted was to be home, with her in my bed and with the world far away.
“Did you murder my niece?”
The question was abrupt, but in a way, not unexpected. I knew what people thought of me, what Esther must have heard about me. In fact, I was almost grateful that she simply came out and asked, rather than letting her unspoken suspicions poison things between us.
“No, I didn’t kill Violet,” I said, looking her in the eye. “We were unhappy. And I was not the best husband I could have been to her because of that. But I didn’t kill her. The constables saw fit not—”
“We both know the constables would have thought twice before charging a man like you with murder, Mr. Markham,” Esther said coolly. “So I don’t care what they saw fit to do. But I do care if you are a dangerous man. Because as much as I’ve tried to persuade Ivy away from you, I see now that it’s likely to fail. And I need to know that she’s safe with you.”
