Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Taming Ivy
The Taming Series, Book One
April Moran
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Taming Ivy - The Taming Series, Book One
Copyright © 2017 by April Moran
All rights reserved.
Cover by: Amanda Walker PA & Design Services
Formatted by: Christina Butrum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Of course, my ever patient husband, James is the first to be thanked. And our daughter, Alyssa, the joy in my life - thanks for letting everyone know my books are your favorite books you’ll never read. But the night you read my 7th-grade stories and poems aloud during a party will always be a treasured, hilarious memory.
My dear friend, Ladyne- I can always count on you to read the first draft, (and the second, third, on and on …) then tell me everything wrong and right with it! I might not have finished it without you. Thanks for the encouragement and the moments of reality.
Gary, for your awful, inappropriate word suggestions. And equally inappropriate book covers. I’ll never use them, but how you have entertained all of us!
My best friend of 40 plus years, Chris…you always have my back- I love you.
I could not have written this book without a little help along the way from some dear friends. My beta ladies- Ladyne, Gloria, Kelly, and Melody- thank you so much! For reading, encouraging and critiquing, every bit of it was invaluable, and I will be forever grateful. My sweet friend Karen, who always makes me feel I’m the greatest writer alive- and this was before she read a single word of my book, lol. You are always the first one to post a positive comment or a heart on my Facebook page. My mom and my two sisters, Jodi and Wendy, for sharing my love of romance novels. Jodi and Wendy—we can still do a Mountain Man and SueBee collaboration!
And special thanks to two people I’ve never even met…Amanda Walker and Christina Butrum. You ladies stepped up at the 11th hour and went above and beyond to help this new author get her novel ready for publication. Your assistance, advice, and patient understanding of my lack of knowledge is so appreciated. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
For my husband, James, my love and best friend. Thanks for understanding why I’m sometimes still in my pajamas, staring at my computer when you come home for lunch. I love you madly!
Chapter 1
London, England 1839
Sebastian Tyler Sheraton Cain, eleventh Earl of Ravenswood and last of his line, did not believe in love.
Nor did he trust in a woman’s ability to maintain an enduring faithfulness.
The notion of angels singing or being struck by lightning upon seeing a beautiful woman? Or having his composure rattled by a comely figure? Patently ridiculous.
And he most certainly did not believe in rekindling affairs. Friends and acquaintances joked that Lucifer himself stood a better chance of finding his way into Heaven. When Ravenswood decided a relationship was over, whomever happened to occupy his bed became something akin to hell-scorched earth. And like dead ground, nothing would grow there ever again. The affair was erased from memory and never revisited.
Never.
The flurry of emotions the earl’s appearance triggered in Lady Veronica Wesley’s foyer proved puzzling. He endured a half-hearted slap to his face and squeals of joy as Veronica launched herself into his arms. While the stoic butler ignored their passionate kisses, she dragged Sebastian upstairs, her schemes for his amorous entertainment described in exacting detail. Intrigued by her creative imagination, he neglected to mention the true reason for his afternoon visit.
For an hour, his former mistress fulfilled all whispered promises until Sebastian took control. Thankfully the bedroom walls were relatively thick, masking the sounds inside; harsh breathing, little cries of pleasure, the creak of the bed becoming louder as Veronica writhed beneath him, her jeweled fingers tangled in the open fretwork of the mahogany headboard. Her moans climbed in steady increments, higher pitched and desperate as the afternoon slipped away. Sebastian played with her forever, slapping her plump buttocks each time her pace slowed, his hands meshed in the long hair streaming down her back, anchored tight and controlling. Riding her with steady thrusts, he forced her to move faster, finally allowing her to tumble over the edge of satisfaction, her knuckles the palest shade of alabaster from gripping the headboard so hard.
Sebastian never gave her a moment to recover, tilting her hips aloft, rocking harder and deeper until she gasped. Veronica preferred it rough on occasion and this certainly qualified as such. After attending his needs in the most diligent of fashions, it seemed fair he fulfill a few of her preferences. Only he’d not taken into consideration Veronica’s genuine delight in his return. She’d taken more of his time than anticipated. Another hour, possibly more, was lost wh
ile seeing to her pleasure. And although he did not mind making love all afternoon, it was not his intention.
Tugging her hair until she squealed Sebastian laughed softly, abruptly withdrawing to flip her over. When Veronica moaned in dissent, he kissed her hard and said quietly, “Hush...I’m coming back,” just before thrusting inside her.
Veronica squeezed him tight, legs curled hungrily about Sebastian’s waist, using her thighs and inner channel muscles until his shoulders contracted and his fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her buttocks. Their movements became almost violent until another climax crashed over her and his own pinnacle was obtained in a blinding rush of sensations seconds later.
Dropping his forehead dropped into the curve of her shoulder, sweat from his brow mingled with hers. Veronica exhaled a shaky breath of blissful wonder.
“God, Sebastian, you’ve no idea how much I’ve missed this. No one else can...” She stopped herself, the breathless words dying as her damp palms skated along his flanks. Smiling softly, she continued, “You should not have stayed away so long, darling.”
A low grumble rippled through Sebastian. He rolled away to prop himself against the headboard she gripped with desperation just moments before. Covering his nudity with a flick of the sheets, he raked a hand through his hair and waited for her to regain control of herself.
When Veronica’s color back faded to a shade of fine ivory and her magnificent breasts no longer heaved, Sebastian’s brow rose by an imperceptible degree. He gave a subtle clearing of his throat and she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress at the sound, pulling a velvet coverlet up from the floor to be fashioned into a makeshift sarong.
“Brandy or bourbon?” Her voice was subdued.
“Bourbon.”
It was nearing three o’clock and a late February sun illuminated the lively street outside the townhouse on Piccadilly. But the murky interior of Veronica’s luxurious bedroom suited her, lending a mysterious, dusky glow to her exotic features. Using the coverlet as camouflage she stepped to an ornately carved sidebar. Glass clinked as the bottle touched a crystal tumbler.
Sebastian’s expression remained veiled. He understood why she pulled the drapes tight against the unforgiving daylight. Always curvaceous, Veronica was easing into plumpness, but he found no fault in that. That soft voluptuousness pleased him. And probably the other lovers she entertained in his absence.
Watching as she poured his drink, Sebastian felt a disappointing and infuriatingly familiar lack of fulfillment nag him. Despite the rigorous sex, his release proved empty rather bland. Sprawled amongst the tangled sheets like an indolent tiger, he wondered if his remoteness confused Veronica. He might as well be a stranger lounging in her bed instead of a well-known lover.
He’d never treated her with anything other than a casual indifference. A self-conscious attempt perhaps to retain the friendship shared before their affair began. That aloofness was necessary to maintain distance and it was his habit, as he came and went as he pleased, to never make a woman privy to his affairs. Veronica once foolishly questioned his frequent absences and it was that distance which allowed Sebastian to easily smile and say, “Now, that hardly matters in our situation, does it, my dear?” She was intelligent enough to never ask again, because if she had, he would have responded by obtaining a new mistress. No matter the state of the relationship, he’d be damned if a woman questioned his actions or dictated to him. Not ever again. Not after what he’d been through with his former fiancée, Marilee.
Fortunately, within Sebastian’s privileged world there was no shortage of willing prey. As he cut a wide swath through London and other cities abroad, the same women whispering of his atrocious habit of moving from mistress to mistress also sought his company, eager for the pleasure lavished upon them while they were his. Veronica resided happily in that category. Had he any intention of resuming their relationship, which he did not, Sebastian knew she probably always would. Hardly noble to think it but it was the truth.
She perched beside him, handing over a crystal glass. With burgundy velvet wrapped about her, a raven-hued lock of hair tugged between the fingers of one hand and a tumbler of bourbon twirling in the other, she presented an appealing picture. A huge mirror leaned against the far wall, reflecting every activity occurring in her bed and undoubtedly Veronica practiced this particular mannerism many times before it. She executed it perfectly. The precise, slow twirl of the drink, the perfect, sultry pout. The careful sip which drew attention to her full lips.
She broke the awkward silence first. “How did you find France, Seb?”
Sebastian downed the bourbon in one swallow. Get it over with, selfish bastard. Do not keep her hoping. “Quite easily once I crossed the Channel.” Because his particular brand of humor always eluded her in the past, it was surprising that her russet colored eyes narrowed with injured annoyance.
“I meant…”
“I know what you meant, Ronnie.” He chucked her under the chin, feeling slightly guilty when she brightened with the calculated use of affection. It was still easy to manipulate her. “I did not find much to amuse me there.”
Exhaustion proved a more fitting description of his four years abroad, the remembrance of last month’s liaison enjoyed with three (almost) famous ballerinas tamped down. That first year away from England, one spent romping on the beach with a forgettable mistress on a newly purchased sugar plantation in the Caribbean, proved wearisome. After her, during his aimless drift across different countries, a lovely, lady in waiting to the Queen of Spain held his attention for a time. Comfortably situated in an airy villa just outside the palace, Sebastian developed an appreciation for hot, strong coffee every morning and enjoyed fiery lovemaking with the dark-haired beauty. Until her irrational jealousy led him to break the affair. That she also found him in bed with the wife of a French ambassador complicated matters. Sandwiched during and between those mistresses, including Veronica, were women selected to ease the loneliness and hold his boredom at bay.
Frowning at the hollow depth of recollections, Sebastian rotated the empty tumbler between his palms. “I was not in France the entire time.”
“I missed you, Seb. Terribly, I’m afraid.” Setting her glass down, Veronica slid closer. Her fingers rested against the lower portion of his belly before twining with sly intent in the whispery black hair snaking a trail beyond the edge of the sheet. “Had you sent for me, I would have come to you. No matter the others warming your bed. A familiar face might have been welcomed in your travels.”
“Perhaps.” Taking a firm grasp of her hand, Sebastian removed it from his abdomen.
A small clock on the fireplace mantle chimed the hour. Damnation. Two hours wasted yet it felt like much more. Rolling from the bed, he remembered squandering days in Veronica Wesley’s bed and quite happily, too.
That time in his life could be centuries ago. A lifetime ago.
Flopping against the abundant pillows in a huff, Veronica’s pretty face turned sullen. Sebastian hunted for his clothes, feeling her hungry gaze devouring his naked form. Finding his shirt lying on the floor near the door, he gave it a slight shake.
“I saw your aunt a week past at the Hadderly ball.” Her voice wobbled, thin and high. “It was her first social event after…everything.”
Sebastian paused in fastening the ivory buttons. Veronica was not stupid. She was beginning to understand the purpose of his visit and would say damn near anything to delay his departure. He hauled on his breeches in silence, hoping to find his boots quickly. Earlier she had yanked them from his feet with the skill of a master blacksmith removing shoes from a racehorse, flinging each expensive boot over her shoulder without a care for where they might land.
“Was she there?” Overturning a velvet-tufted ottoman, he trusted his revulsion in the subject matter was not too apparent.
“Yes.” Veronica seemed torn between wanting to say nothing more yet also wanting to please with information. Desperation to bind him to her by an
y means was chewing away the edges of her dignity.
Sebastian’s mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. Jealous women made excellent informants. And spies.
“Such a strange thing. Lady Kinley was ghostly white after speaking with your aunt. Everyone speculated as to their conversation, although none were privy to it.” Her restless fingers plucked at the sheets. “Lady Garrett departed immediately. She missed the entire fiasco.”
“Fiasco?” Sebastian murmured. Veronica held little fondness for the recent source of gossip in London’s uppermost echelons of society. And it was disgraceful - men flocking to that girl simply because one mad, infatuated soul took his life after the loss of her fickle attention.
“One can hardly describe it as anything else. Quite appalling, even if the ton is clamoring for Lady Kinley, proclaiming her this Season’s “Darling Incomparable.” It was scandalous... enough to guarantee Lady Hadderly’s ball would be declared a sensation.” An unconscious thread of admiration curled into Veronica’s tone. “Viscount Basford stepped in on Lord Walsingham and as they argued Count Monvair waltzed off with her. Basford stormed after the count, everyone began pushing and shouting. Lady Hadderly feigned a swoon, just after vowing to see them all banished for the rest of the Season from every ball. Not that she possesses that sort of power, but she does hold a rather high opinion of herself. In the midst of it all, Lady Kinley just vanished! While old Lord Hadderly shuffled about, howling about silly girls, fainting fits and ill-mannered men.”