Page 77 of The Duke of Desire
Chapter Seventeen
Ivy left the workhouse the following afternoon after delivering several pairs of stockings for the older girls. They’d been so grateful, and helping them had lifted Ivy’s spirits after her dreary mood the past few days.
It had also helped that West hadn’t been at the workhouse as he had the day before. She’d steadfastly avoided him, and yet had been deeply aware of his presence. She feared they were forever linked.
But they couldn’t be. She had no reason, and indeed no plans, to see him again. Maybe he was even on his way out of Bath this very day.Maybeshe’d see him as she walked by his town house in The Paragon. Her heart twisted.
Perhaps she ought to take a different route.
She was so mired in thought that she failed to see the other pedestrian until she ran into him. The man caught her by the arms, steadying her. “Careful, there.” He chuckled, and something about the sound chilled her to the very bone.
She looked up into the eyes of Peter Bothwick, now Viscount Bothwick, the man who’d stolen her virtue and turned his back.
Ivy nearly fell as she pulled violently away from him.
“Itisyou,” he whispered, his familiar blue eyes widening. She’d loved his eyes—they’d been the very thing that had drawn her to him. Arresting and clear, they’d looked at her as if she were the most beautiful and important woman in the world.
Eyes, it turned out, could lie.
She considered lying herself, but to what end? He knew who she was.
“By heaven, you are lovelier today than you were all those years ago. I thought it was you at the assembly, but I couldn’t reconcile it.” He shook his head, clearly baffled.
“Of course not,” she said coldly. “What would I be doing in a respectable situation like that after what happened?”
His mouth turned down, and she noticed all the lines around his lips. He looked as if he frowned often. Good. She hoped he was miserable.
“That was…regrettable,” he said, but his tone didn’t carry a hint of that emotion. Or any emotion, really. “We were carried away.”
“You said you would marry me.”
“I’m afraid my choices were not my own. My father, God rest his soul, had already chosen a wife for me.” He stepped closer, his gaze softening. “If I could go back and change what happened, I would. I’ve often wondered what happened to you, Mary.”
“Don’t call me that,” she spat. “I’m Miss Breckenridge now.”
“I see. That’s probably best,” he murmured. “You seem to have done well for yourself. Dancing with a duke… Is he courting you?”
The mention of West sent another ripple of distress through her frame, intensifying what was already a horrid encounter. “No. I am a lady’s companion.”
He tipped his head to the side, regarding her thoroughly, his scrutiny moving over her body. “I can’t imagine that’s terribly exciting. Or rewarding. I am married now, of course, but I do think Fate has ensured we would meet again.” He smiled, and she felt a surge of nausea. “Now that I’m the viscount, I’ll be spending the Season in London. My wife will stay home to care for our two chits. I’d be delighted to take you as my mistress. That would certainly be better than toiling as a companion.”
He’d bedelighted. “I would berevolted.” Decade-old anger and pain rushed over her, making her see red and causing her to shake. “You mention your children, and yet you don’t even ask after our child. Or did you forget that I was carrying?”
He blanched. “I—” He smashed his lips together and straightened. “What happened to it?”
“Itwas a girl, and she was born dead.” Ivy had delivered the child early. She’d been small and lifeless, and Ivy had been horribly relieved. But also devastated for the lives that could have been—both hers and her child’s—if things had been different. If she hadn’t been thrown out and ended up cold and hungry at a workhouse. If she hadn’t wasted away to practically nothing, she was certain the baby would have survived. It was a guilt and a shame she could never overcome.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s a blessing to be sure. Things would’ve turned out quite differently for you if you’d had a child clinging to your skirts.”
Ice coated Ivy’s veins. Her hands fisted. She longed to punch him in his smug mouth or kick him squarely between the legs. Her lip curled as she glared at him with all the vitriol she felt. “Yes, that would’ve been most inconvenient. But then you wouldn’t know anything about inconvenience. Or responsibility. Or honor. You’re a despicable human being, Peter. I’d rather go back to the workhouse than be your mistress.”
She stepped around him, intent on stalking off. But of course he wouldn’t let her go so easily, not like he had ten years before.
He grabbed her arm, his fingers biting through her clothing into her flesh. “What would your employer say if she knew who you really were?”
Ivy swung her head to look at him. “Do you really want to bring that up? I’m sure everyone would like to know that you’re the one who ruined me.”
He paled again, but his eyes were hard. “It would be your word against mine.”
