Forbidden to Love the Duke (12 page)

I
vy walked toward her family's residence, unable to believe her eyes. A pair of masons teetered on ladders, filling in the turret's stone trim. The huge crack above the front door had been repaired. And the garden—it had been denuded of its protective thorns and laid naked to expose row upon row of young rosebushes that only experienced gardeners could have planted.

She swallowed. The duke must have done this. He had rendered Fenwick elegant again, romantic—and vulnerable to all who passed. He had begun the work of restoration.

Was this why he'd insisted she take the afternoon off? Perhaps he felt guilty that she had injured herself. Had he planned a birthday surprise for Lilac and tricked Ivy into coming home? Her throat tightened. Persuasive, calculating, he seemed unwilling to waste time between mistresses. Elora had indicated that she was no longer game. Ivy was the logical next choice. She wouldn't be surprised to find that he plotted her seduction down to the last move.

The front door stood open.

She stepped into the house, hiding her flower bouquet behind her back, and made her way to the great hall in trepidation. She expected the duke to be hiding in a corner somewhere. The guests seated at the table gave her guarded smiles. In attendance sat three gentlemen, and two ladies whom she had never met. She looked uncertainly first at Lilac, whose smile could mean anything, and then at Rue, whose averted gaze said this was not her doing. She glanced at Rosemary, who shrugged as if to detach herself from the entire scene.

She stared at the covered silver dishes on the table, at the glittering candelabrum, the bowls of imported fruit and wheels of white, crumbly, blue-veined cheese. A place had been set at the end of the table, the empty chair where her father had presided over the festivities. It was the seat of honor, reserved for the master of the house, and Ivy's heart missed a beat.

She'd held out hope until the last moment that it was her arrogant duke who had arranged this surprise. She waited for him to put in an appearance until another man entered through the screen's passage, looking only at her.

She was so disappointed she could have thrown the flowers in his face.

Sir Oliver might be an attractive buck, with scads of admirers in London. To judge by the cheers that greeted him, he had already taken over the house. But as Ivy gave him a restrained smile, she decided that she preferred her scoundrels dark and masterful. The type who unmasked their passions in private.

“Welcome home, Ivy,” he said warmly. “I'm glad that your gaoler released you for the day.”

*   *   *

James paced his study. He climbed the stairs to Ivy's room a half-dozen times and turned back before reaching her door. Dusk stole over the park. At last he heard the porter opening the gates, carriage wheels churning the gravel drive.

He walked back into his study. He was determined not to show how his anxiety had mastered him. Indeed it was later than he expected. But it wasn't yet dark. He wouldn't chastise her when he had given her permission to go in the first place. He stared at the letters on his desk, listening for her footsteps. He hadn't heard from his brother. He had written Curtis to tell him only that Mary and Walker were staying at Ellsworth, not the reason why.

Where was their governess?

Sharing the company of her sisters, telling secrets, laughing, perhaps even confessing that she and James had grown close? God, what was he thinking? Committing to Ivy would mean he'd be responsible for marrying off a brood of beautiful and independent women. He would never know a moment of peace again in his life. Or of loneliness. What a compelling if untidy fate.

He waited another half hour before he rang for Carstairs. “Is she here?” he demanded the instant the steward walked through the door.

Carstairs hung his head. He didn't pretend to misunderstand. “The carriage has returned, without Lady Ivy, Your Grace.”

The muscles in his shoulders tightened. His arm ached. “Why?”

“The footmen only know that a gentleman said he would return the lady in his own vehicle. Do you want to ride there to fetch her yourself?”

“Most assuredly not. Let her pay the consequences. I granted her a privilege. I felt sorry about the injury to her hand.”

Carstairs coughed lightly. “Perhaps there's a reason why she is returning with this other person. Her sisters might have wanted to come along for the ride.”

“Or the gentleman might not have wanted my servants to witness what he had planned during the drive here.”

“All will be well, Your Grace.”

“A dalliance in a carriage? Who would be so brazen?”

Carstairs chuckled. “You would—” He broke off at the lethal stare that James leveled upon him. “Most disappointing, Your Grace. She seemed like such a fine young lady.”

“And he seems like such a piece of dung.”

“Ah, yes,” Carstairs said carefully. “Well, do not fret. All will be well.”

James shook his head in disgust. “Not if my suspicions are correct.”

B
y the end of the birthday luncheon Oliver decided that he might have fallen in love with Ivy were he capable of the emotion. There was something different about her since she'd gone into service for the duke. Her skin glowed with a sensuality that Oliver had not noticed during their first encounter. Of course one didn't expect a woman to exude vibrance when she was lying in the street.

He had invested heavily in her heritage. He'd borrowed money he could not repay and made promises he could not keep, unless he found the treasure hidden inside this house. He had also written and sold more poems during this last fortnight than he had the entire year. She and Fenwick had inspired him, and that inspiration was in itself worth a fortune.

That Ivy treated him like a distant cousin, and that Fenwick's treasure might turn out to be a myth, only whetted his appetite for his quest. He thrived on uncertainty. The day Oliver's life became predictable would be the day he crawled into his own coffin and closed the lid.

“Ivy,” he said when the guests began to drift from the table and he finally had the chance to be alone with her. “Would you walk with me in the garden before you leave?”

She glanced wistfully at Lilac; Oliver thought her reluctance to accept his offer was rather insulting considering what he'd done to impress her. “It's Lilac's birthday,” she said in a voice that put him in his place as if he were one of her charges. “I have to spend some time with her. And Rue. Besides, the duke's carriage is waiting to take me back to the park.”

That was what she thought. Oliver forced a smile and picked up a half-empty bottle of wine from the table. “I understand. Family comes first. We'll have our tête-à-tête soon enough.”

*   *   *

Five minutes later Ivy and Rue had retreated to the orchard at the back wall, seated amidst the sun's waning rays and the bees that swarmed around a cluster of lavender. “I don't have much time.” Ivy searched her sister's face. “Tell me everything. I am gone only a few days and a man sits at Father's place? Why have you allowed Sir Oliver to act as if he were one of us?”

Rue frowned. “Lilac thinks well of him. Rosemary doesn't. I don't have an opinion at all. We thought you'd be pleased about the pearls and the repairs. We hoped he might save you from the duke.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“If Sir Oliver is a genuine suitor for your hand, your
only
suitor in England, and is willing to wait a year to marry you, provided you can fend off the duke for that amount of time, then you'll be the first of us to have a husband.”

Ivy leaned back. “I'm stunned.”

“The duke hasn't already forced himself upon you, has he?” Rue asked, biting her lip.

“What if he has?” Ivy swatted crossly at a bee. “What if I admitted that I'd forced myself upon him?”

“You—you wouldn't?” Rue said, smothering a laugh.

Ivy laughed. “I don't believe that the three of you, four counting Oliver, have decided my entire future in a matter of days. How could you allow him to change Fenwick?”

“He's madly in love with you.”

“He's mad.”

“Ivy, the duke has a certain reputation.”

“So does Sir Oliver.”

Rue's humor faded. “But he wants to court you.”

“A romance based on an accident in London,” Ivy mused. “We weren't ourselves that day, were we, Rue? Are you ever going to tell me what happened in the hotel? You haven't been the same since.” She waited but Rue said nothing. “It can't be all that horrible or we wouldn't be sitting here together as we've done hundreds of times.”

Rue turned her face to the wall. The bees had started to disappear. The sky turned a shade darker before she spoke again. “I'm too ashamed to tell you.”

“You can tell me or Rosemary or Lilac anything.
Anything.
”

Tear after tear slipped down Rue's face before she worked up her courage to speak. “I went out into the hall of the hotel because there was a party being held in several rooms. I wanted to find a servant to ask the guests if they could please make less noise.”

“I must have been dead to the world.”

“You needed to sleep. I took care not to wake you. But I never found a servant, only a group of young men who mistook me for a woman of the night.”

“And you corrected them?”

Rue nodded. “Eventually. They offered me money.”

“Please, Rue . . .”

“That's all I can say right now. One gentleman took me into a private room and—we, oh, I can't say what happened. We talked. It's over, and the problem is that I thought I'd be able to forget him. I never believed in love at first sight. Do you?”

“I might.”

Rue sighed. “I'm afraid I don't have time to explain everything before I leave.”

“Leave?” Ivy said in bewilderment, wiping her sister's face with her fingertips. “Because of what happened?”

Rue gave her a watery smile. “Have you read the letter I sent you this morning? I've accepted a position as companion to an elderly viscountess. She's taking the waters with her niece, and I'm to start when she returns.”

“Well, congratulations, then. It's a relief, I suppose. At least you'll be safe with an older woman.”

“Bored to tears, too. Oh, dear.” Rue nudged Ivy's hand. “Oliver is walking towards us, and it's getting late. Don't you have to leave?”

Ivy shook herself. “I should have gone an hour ago.”

“It was good to talk,” Rue said.

Ivy rose from the bench. “All you've done is give me more to worry about.”

“What about your duke?” Rue teased.

“What about him?”

Ivy met her sister's gaze. Sooner or later Rue would reveal everything. Ivy knew there had to be more to her tale. The sisters couldn't keep secrets from one another, even though some took years to share. In fact, Ivy had never confessed that she'd kissed a rogue at a masquerade ball, years ago. Or that the duke was that man.

And that she had kissed him again and craved his kisses too much for her own good.

“Dearest.”

At the sound of Oliver's voice, Ivy turned and she and Rue came to their feet. Within moments he managed to insert himself between them. Ivy sighed and grudgingly took the arm he offered. Rue pretended to shake out a stone in her shoe and ducked the forearm that hovered above her head.

“I'm afraid it will be dark soon,” he said, bearing Ivy toward the house with an impressive show of urgency. “I wouldn't want to cause you grief. I've informed the others that we're leaving.”

The sky darkened with every step they took toward the manor. Ivy hoped the duke would understand. “At least his carriage is swift,” she muttered.

Oliver slowed. “Whose carriage?”

“The duke's, of course.”

“Didn't I mention it to you? I sent his carriage home.”

She unhooked her arm from his, feeling the blood drain from her face. “You did what?”

He shrugged. “I wanted a little time alone with you and it seemed the only way. How else am I to court you?”

Ivy shook off his arm and said nothing. She decided it would be best to save her wits to answer the duke when she returned to the park.

J
ames had his spyglass focused on the light carriage stopped outside the park's gates. He stood motionless, but inwardly his temper burned like a bonfire. So did his old war wound. He didn't give a damn that a duke should be above prying into his governess's personal life. If there was any immorality to take place on this estate, James would be the responsible party, thank you.

Then again the governess should not conduct her love affair on her master's property. There was little doubt that James was witnessing a clandestine romance. Before his very eyes she had just kissed the bastard who had brought her home. Now she appeared to be running away from the goat, leading him on a merry chase through the garden maze. What was she going to let him do when he caught her? Nothing if James moved fast enough.

“Hellfire and damnation,” he said through his teeth. “I'll tear the little satyr apart hoof by hoof.”

“Not Lady Ivy?” a shocked voice said at his waist.

He nearly dropped the spyglass out the window.
Sliding off the sill, he turned to the small girl who had caught him during his embarrassing display of emotion. “Mary, what are you doing out of bed?”

She shrank away from him. It did not take much for him to guess why. He knew he reeked of brandy. His shirt was half-tucked into his trousers, and he was muttering to himself about committing murder.

“She's only a little bit late, sir. Don't make her leave. I don't like being alone.”

He knelt before her. “I don't like it, either. But surely you know I would never hurt a woman.”

“I heard you say you would.”

“I wasn't referring to your governess. She doesn't have hooves, does she?”

“Well, then, who were you talking about?”

“That's none of your concern, Mary.” He squeezed her arm. “Go back to your room, and don't come out again tonight, even if you hear a row. I promise you that she will not come to harm from me.”

She pulled free, her eyes welling with tears. “Don't quarrel with her. I love her, Uncle James, and she loves—”

He sighed, his gaze strained back to the window. “She what? She loves you?”

Mary nodded uncertainly.

“I'm sure she does, darling.”

“She might love other people in the house, too, Uncle James.”

“Other people?” he said distractedly. “You mean like Walker?”

“I mean you.”

James turned to her again. “What makes you think that?”

“She has a funny look on her face when she sees you. And she forgets what she was doing when you come into the room.”

“That could simply mean I make her nervous.”

“Be nice to her tonight.”

“Yes, Mary. I will. Now go—”

“I know. I know. Go back to my room. That's all I ever hear.”