Page 31 of A Most Unlikely Lady
‘Don’t.’ Worthington stepped forward, the heat of him touching her like a caress. ‘You’ve nothing to hide, Lady Ivy. I did wonder if…’ As if realising he was about to expose a secret meant to stay hidden, he snapped his mouth shut.
‘Wondered what?’
He cleared his throat, his eyes straying up to her hairline instead of holding her gaze. ‘If Philippa would be able to find you a gown in the time allowed. She has outdone herself.’
Liar.
If only she could divine his thoughts. But perhaps it was better she didn’t know. Stepping back to allow him entrance and create much-needed space between them, she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you.’
Philippa, Hannah, Millie, and Penny emerged from the parlour.
‘Ah. I see you found several women willing to step in for you this evening. How lovely.’ Worthington raised his brows and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels.
Philippa narrowed her eyes and smacked her ever-present fan against her skirts of burgundy and midnight silk. ‘Ivy explained your plans. It’s clear you haven’t adequately prepared for her absence from the orphanage, so we have all agreed to share the responsibility. While you two are hunting down the intruder, someone needs to be here protecting the children. Who better than the Queen’s Deadly Damsels?’
Edward’s well-shaped mouth curved in a smirk. ‘I’d hardly call you a damsel, Philippa.’
‘But I am most certainly deadly. Be careful, Edward. If anything happens to Ivy, you’ll be answering for it.’
An unspoken message passed between the duchess and commissioner. Ivy glanced at Millie, Hannah, and then Penny. Based on the similar expressions of curiosity each woman wore, it was clear none of them knew what secrets Philippa and Worthington shared. Her interest in the commissioner deepened. Perhaps she was not the only one with demons in her past.
Worthington gathered Ivy’s coat from where it hung near the door and helped her put it on. For a brief moment, she felt the heat of his breath on the back of her neck and shivered, but then he stepped away.
Oh my.
This was going to be a long night.
‘We shall be off. Are you all staying tonight?’ Edward looked at each of the women in turn.
‘No. I am.’ Millie’s flaming-red hair shone like a beacon even as she twitched a blade free and palmed the weapon. ‘Drake will be joining me later. We’ll be staying in your room, Commissioner. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Given the size of the cot in that room, I have my doubts either of you will find enough space to lay flat, let alone sleep.’
Millie’s wide smile lit up the entryway. ‘I had some of our men bring over a bed. We shall leave it for your use.’ She winked at him. In any other woman, it might be flirting, but Millie was so obviously in love with her scarred major general husband, the gesture was a simple extension of friendship.
The commissioner responded with a grateful smile. Ivy belatedly wondered how he had fit himself on the cot she provided the night before. He hadn’t spoken a word of complaint, but based on his relieved expression, he must have been terribly uncomfortable.
‘Drat. I didn’t think of that,’ she muttered.
Worthington offered Ivy his arm, easily smoothing over the awkward moment. ‘I’ve slept in far less comfortable accommodations.’ He spoke softly so only she heard, then to the group, ‘We shall wish you all goodnight. I will bring Ivy back when our investigation has concluded and return to my own house this evening confident in the knowledge you and your fine husband will be protecting the children tonight.’
Millie smiled her thanks, and the other women offered their wishes for a successful hunt, which felt very odd. Ivy had been on fox hunts before, but hunting a man was altogether different.
Before she could process her nerves about spending the evening with Worthington, they were snugly tucked into his sporty barouche and bumping their way toward Widow Lovemore’s grand mansion in Mayfair to attend the Widow’s Ball.
8
Philippa should be thrown into the dankest cell in Newgate. Surely she dealt in deals with the Devil to contrive a dress for Ivy that was so wholly distracting. The duchess was punishing him. There were countless reasons for her to do so, but he would bet it was because she knew he was entertaining lascivious fantasies about Ivy.
The insufferable woman is always right. One day, someone will prove her wrong.
But it would not be this day, and it would not be Edward.
Ivy Cavendale was quite possibly the most beautiful creature he’d ever encountered. She stood next to him, her hand protected in the crook of his elbow, her lithe figure shining like a beacon of hope in a sea of debauchery as they surveyed the crush crowding the dance floor at the Widow’s Ball.
Though it was still early, wine and spirits flowed heavily as titled lords and ladies left their staid rules of propriety at the entrance to Widow Lovemore’s lavish ballroom. Panels of crimson and cream silk draped the walls. Innocence contrasting with heady desire. It was Widow Lovemore’s theme for the evening. Red and white roses – no doubt costing the wealthy widow a small fortune – filled vases and bowls throughout the spacious room, lending their heady scent to the miasma of beeswax, body odour, and cloying perfumes. The large French doors lining the west side of the ballroom had been thrown open, welcoming revellers onto a palatial courtyard. Torches lit pathways into the garden beyond where any number of activities could be embarked upon with some degree of privacy amongst the ornamental trees, artfully designed hedges, and whimsical fountains and lawn sculptures.
Although the patrons of this particular ball weren’t overly concerned with privacy. The widow had placed chaises longues, large wing-back chairs, love seats and various other pieces of furniture along the edges of the ballroom in darkened corners and alcoves. Several were already occupied with writhing bodies. It was the one ballroom where a wallflower might find herself in far more peril sticking to the shadows than dancing a waltz on the chalked floor.
