Page 23 of A Most Unlikely Lady
Impossible! I have no right to indulge in such intimacies. Nor would she wish me to do so even if I could.
But still, his mind wandered down dangerous paths.
Heaving a sigh Edward couldn’t begin to decipher, Ivy turned back to him. The blush staining her neck created two rosy spots on her cheeks.
If I pressed a kiss there, would her lashes brush over my mouth like the wings of a moth?
An absurd, whimsical thought. Edward was not an absurd or whimsical man. He was logical. Feet firmly placed on the ground. Devoid of flight or fancy.
Would her pale skin glow in the moonlight?
Enough! I don’t give a flaming fig about skin glowing in the moonlight!
Except now he couldn’t help but wonder if hers would.
‘The children don’t come down to break their fast until half past eight. Cook should arrive in another half-hour, but we have a few minutes of quiet if you’d like to bring your coffee into the parlour?’
‘Would you like some?’ he offered.
She wrinkled her nose.
Like a wood sprite.
Nonsense. Like a normal woman.
‘No thank you. I can make some tea. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
‘I don’t mind talking in the kitchen.’ He pulled up a stool to the scarred wooden table and blew on his steaming coffee, hoping the rich scent would clear Ivy’s fragrance from his head.
She pressed her lips together. Perhaps she was hoping for a moment of solitude to gather her thoughts.
Terribly unfortunate. But if I’m off balance, then it’s only fair you should be as well.
‘So, tell me, Worthington, what master plan have you concocted to find this nefarious gentleman who crept through the window of my orphanage?’
Edward sipped his coffee.
Yes. Focus on the investigation.
Savouring the bitter taste of his morning brew as much as he was going to savour her reaction to his plan, Edward returned his cup to the table. ‘We are going to attend a ball together. Tomorrow night. The Widow’s Ball.’
He expected surprise. Perhaps some trepidation. The Widow’s Ball, after all, was a notorious affair just this side of completely scandalous. Certainly no place for innocent young misses or marriage-minded mamas of the beau monde. This fete was reserved for rakes, widows, and married members of the peerage looking for more than just a staid evening of measured dance steps and watered-down ratafia. It would be full to bursting with blue bloods seeking a darker kind of adventure. The perfect place to hunt a man willing to sneak into a bedroom full of young girls and wreak unknown havoc.
And the last place Lady Ivy would wish to be.
A fact he realised far too late.
‘The Widow’s Ball?’ Her fair eyebrows flew high enough to almost disappear into her hairline. ‘Are you mad?’
Edward wasn’t used to his plans being questioned quite so baldly. Generally, people nodded and hopped to. Even Reading, with his sharp wit and dry humour, kept any doubts he had to thinly veiled statements of pseudo-support rather than openly dismissing Edward.
He straightened his spine, rising to the full six foot five inches that intimidated all but Philippa. ‘Not quite. It is the perfect place to search.’
Ivy was seemingly unimpressed by his commanding presence. She rolled her eyes. ‘It is the perfect place to feed every gossip in the beau monde! I may be a gently bred miss who prefers the walls of ballrooms to the dance floors, but even I know what happens at the Widow’s Ball.’
Don’t ask. Take the high road. Be a gentleman, for God’s sake.
‘What happens, Lady Ivy?’ Something about her inspired a need in him to provoke. Pull her from her shadows. Nettle her into matching his fire with her own.
