Page 48 of The Duke of Desire
Chapter Eleven
After West left the library, Ivy tried to read her book. Where she’d had meager success before his arrival, she now suffered complete failure. She read a passage and realized she hadn’t comprehended a word. Now, after not even turning a page for probably a quarter hour, she gave up entirely and tossed the book down on the nearest table.
She heard his voice in her head, dark and seductive, repeating,“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking right now.”
Every muscle in her body had tensed with anticipation. Even though he’d gone, she still couldn’t fully relax. It was as if she were on the edge of a cliff staring out into a beautiful crystal pool. It called her name, coaxing her to jump. It would be terrifying but exciting at the same time. And she knew—justknew—she wouldn’t regret it.
Not like she regretted her past indiscretions.
This was different. West wasn’t promising her a future he had no plans on delivering. He was offering her the present. And wouldn’t she be a fool to deny herself?
Aside from hearing his voice, she could see his penetrating stare, feel the beat of his heart when she’d touched his chest, smell that tantalizing masculine scent that made her senses come alive with want.
Oh yes, she wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted Peter. She nearly laughed at comparing herself now to the girl she’d been ten years ago. She’d been silly and naïve, and she’d paid the ultimate price.
Stifling a groan, she stood and went into the hall, where the air was filled with raucous laughter and urgent whispers. Ivy knew they were discussing Emmaline and her folly. How she wished her friend hadn’t walked headlong into scandal.
Still, a part of her knew how hard it was to be rational when in the throes of love. Emmaline was older and at least a bit wiser than Ivy had been, but she’d fallen prey anyway.
And now West meant to go after her. He would charge in and save the day, like some knight of old. The seventeen-year-old girl buried inside Ivy wished she’d had a knight. But then she’d be married to Peter, and she’d matured enough to know that she would’ve been miserable. He was a lying, dishonorable jackanapes. She briefly wondered if he had married and promptly felt sorry for his wife.
Lady Dunn gestured for her, and Ivy made her way to the table. “I’m a bit sleepy this evening. I’d like to go up.”
“Of course.” Ivy helped her from the chair as the viscountess grabbed her cane, which was leaning against the table.
“I’ll go up too. I don’t wish to tax myself,” Mrs. Marsh said. She was maybe five years Lady Dunn’s junior, and they’d been friends for years. She’d been feeling a bit unwell the past few days, but today seemed to have regained her stamina.
The two ladies walked from the hall and started up the stairs with Ivy following. When they reached the top, Lady Dunn clucked her tongue. “I just couldn’t stand any more discussion of Miss Forth-Hodges. My goodness, you’d think she was the first young lady to run off to Gretna Green with a gentleman!”
Mrs. Marsh nodded. “Indeed. Yes, it’s scandalous, but if they end up married, it certainly won’t be the end of the world. And she’ll be a viscountess.”
“Precisely. I only hope Townsendisa gentleman and isn’t taking advantage of the poor girl’s heart.”
Ivy wanted to tell them what West planned, but couldn’t. To do so would reveal that they’d spoken, and she didn’t want to draw attention to that. She suddenly realized that had likely been their last encounter. She would have no occasion to see him again, unless he sought her out at some event in London next spring. He’d undoubtedly be engaged with his next paramour by then.
Ivy’s chest clenched, and she was surprised to feel a sob gathering. Mentally chastising herself, she kept her gaze pinned straight ahead and nearly ran right into Lady Dunn.
Belatedly, Ivy realized they’d stopped to part ways with Mrs. Marsh.
“Good night, then,” Mrs. Marsh said with a smile.
“Good night.” Lady Dunn led Ivy toward their room, and soon they were ensconced inside.
As Barkley helped Lady Dunn prepare for bed, Ivy went into the dressing room where her cot was located. She removed her stockings and her gown—none of her clothing required the assistance of a maid—and went to put it away. She moved slowly, her mind focused on her conversation with West.
“If you were inclined to, say, visit the library tonight—late—my chamber is in the southeast corner of the house.”
It wasn’t yet late. What was the definition of late in this instance? She heard Barkley leave and pulled on one of her morning gowns. Loose and comfortable, it was her favorite piece of clothing. She tied up the front of the gown and traipsed back into the bedchamber to say good night to the viscountess.
Lady Dunn patted the side of her bed. “Come and sit for a minute, dear.”
Ivy obliged, perching on the edge of the mattress.
Lady Dunn smiled, the creases around her eyes deepening. “I was very proud of you today at the workhouse. If I could, I would write to your parents and tell them what a lovely daughter they have.”
She couldn’t, however, because Ivy had told her they were dead. That was much simpler than the truth, and anyway, she couldn’t think of two people who would be less interested in what Ivy did. And pride? Ivy doubted they’d ever felt that for her. They’d saved all that for their two sons. Sometimes Ivy thought of her younger sister Fanny. She’d been just nine when their parents had insisted Ivy leave, and she hadn’t understood why Ivy had left. In fact, Ivy doubted Fanny even knew that their parents had made her do so. If so, Fanny likely would have run away with her. Not that she hadn’t tried.
Ivy pushed through the tight burning in her throat and managed to say, “You’re too kind.”
