Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1) Read online

  “Do not hurt her, Seb.”

  “I’ve no intention of doing so.”

  Giving Sebastian a silent, thorough consideration, Alan wordlessly clinked his glass to his and returned to Sara’s side.

  Bentley was becoming quite fond of Ivy. He would not stand by and allow her destruction. He would be heartbroken to discover the truth later. Sebastian felt a twinge of apprehension to realize he might lose another close friend because of a woman. A strange wistfulness abruptly overcame him as Nicholas March, the absent piece to the former trio of the friendship, rose to mind.

  The three of them became men together, experiencing adventures and surviving the various scrapes young gentlemen of leisure were wont to find themselves in. Sebastian foolishly believed nothing could destroy that bond. Then, Marilee twitched her tail, pitting friend against friend. Nicholas attempted to explain his betrayal only once; the dreadful night Sebastian discovered his fiancée’s unfaithfulness. He cut Nicholas’ excuses short in a fierce rage. While Alan struggled to pull them apart, they brawled like commoners on the steps of Nick’s London townhouse.

  Two days later, they met on a misty field in Regent Park. Sebastian had Alan and Timothy for seconds, but Nick stood resolute and alone. He refused to name seconds, remarking with a rueful smile only two men were worthy enough to serve at his side, and unfortunately, they stood on the field opposite him. Alan, pale and visibly shaken that morning, lamented the loss of their friendship while Timothy spewed curses and insults, threatening to shoot Landon himself if Sebastian did not.

  To his credit, Nick ignored the brash young man, and seemed strangely willing to die in Sebastian’s quest for satisfaction. True, he fired his weapon first, but into the air and not at his target, while Sebastian missed his aim at the last second, the bullet skimming the outer edge of Landon’s upper thigh.

  Afterward, Sebastian wondered why Nicholas never corrected the gossip or laid the blame for the duel at his feet. Nick merely smiled whenever the three of them encountered one another, those dark, green eyes of his glittering with something oddly resembling pity. His manner, considered cold by those outside their tight circle, evolved into something cruel and mocking. Six months after the duel, he set sail in his private yacht to various ports for the next two years. The departure, without a word of explanation, nearly drove the Duke of Richeforte, into an apoplectic fit of rage. It put the old man abed for close to a week and from all accounts, that pleased young Nicholas immensely when he learned of it.

  Maybe it was due to the incident with Bancroft, or maybe it stemmed from seeing Nick the night of the opera, but Sebastian could not ignore the bizarre spasm of nostalgia for his deceitful friend. The walls of his chest clenched, an uncomfortable, hot tightness rattling his bones. He dismissed it to seek out the countess, finding it far easier to forget old betrayals and the disloyalty of those once trusted in the sunshine warmth of Ivy’s smile.

  Chapter 9

  During a restless night of tossing and turning, Ivy reached a conclusion. Sebastian playing at groom was an awful idea; he would inevitably turn the situation to his advantage. Before she was hopelessly muddled in a tangled mess, before he mucked one stall, or bridled a single horse to use as leverage, she must forego the bet. At three in the morning, her concession speech, complete with an appropriate level of sarcasm and humor, was concocted and rehearsed until it sounded perfectly believable.

  Ivy intended to grab a scone and a gulp of tea in the dining room on her way to the stables, but a few guests, uninterested in the ride planned for the day, lingered around the table. She politely avoided questions regarding the activities planned for the earl, vastly relieved when no one ventured to make an inappropriate remark. Lord Bancroft stumbled in, sullen and bleary-eyed, to sit at one end of the huge table, studiously ignoring her.

  A small crowd milled about the stables when Ivy arrived. They called out encouragement to someone inside. More people trickled into the courtyard as she weaved her way through and coming to a stop outside the double doors, she groaned. She was too late.

  “I say, you missed a spot,” the Earl of Granger remarked. “Right there, Ravenswood.”

  “Oh. Many thanks, Granger.” With a quick scoop of the muck rake, the offending bit of matter flew out of the stall and onto the polished boots of the stocky blonde earl. There were howls of amusement, echoed by the chuckles of a few stable boys gathered in the aisle ways. Fascinated to see a member of the nobility undertaking their task, each secretly hoped Ravenswood might undertake the mucking of all fifty-five stalls.

  “Damnation, Ravenswood, you got me with that one!”

  “Hmm,” Sebastian murmured. “That was the point.”

  It was impossible to see all of Sebastian through the iron bars. Only the top of his head and those broad shoulders were visible as he labored within the box stall. While Ivy debated what to do, one woman detached herself from the group to walk toward her.

  Touching Ivy’s arm, the lady grinned. “Who knew Ravenswood might stoop to such efforts to gain a woman’s favor?” Lady Caroline Robertson was a lovely woman with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. A young, wealthy widow, she was popular and well thought of, and discreet in her affairs, enjoying a favorable reputation among interested gentlemen. Ivy believed the widow’s estate bordered Beaumont, Sebastian’s country estate, but she wasn’t certain. A tiny flame of resentment licked her with the thought.

  “How lucky you are, my dear, to have the earl attending you today.” Caroline’s warm eyes touched on the stall where Sebastian worked so diligently then drifted back to meet Ivy’s.

  “I intended on releasing him from the wager.” Ivy grimaced when another toss of the rake garnered more laughter.

  “That wouldn’t do at all, my dear. If you believe he will allow you to forgive a debt, you’ve much to learn. The man always pays what he owes. And collects what is due.” The lady’s smile turned unconsciously sultry.

  What remained of Ivy’s self-confidence disappeared like a puff of smoke. A romantic connection once existed between the earl and this old friend. Perhaps it still did. Strange how such matters held a great clarity now. Was it possible others could see what lurked beneath the surface when she and Sebastian were together? It was a disquieting thought.

  “Have you known the earl for long, Lady Robertson?” The devil prodded her to ask the question.

  Caroline’s laugh was far from malicious. Waving to a gentleman arriving at the stables, she admitted, “Long enough to know the man is an awful tyrant! Now, there’s Lord Daven, the handsome thing. He’s to be my companion today. Try not to tweak Ravenswood’s nose too much.” Then, with a sly wink, she added, “Unless you are interested in his ideas of retribution.”

  Excusing herself, Caroline nearly sprinted across the courtyard, calling out to Lord Daven. Ivy stared after her in confusion as Sara came up to link arms with her.

  “It would be for the best if you released him from the wager.”

  Nodded at the group standing precariously close to where Sebastian worked, Ivy said, “I’m afraid to get any closer to tell him. Besides, I’ve just been advised Ravenswood will not allow it.”

  “I should stay close to you today.” Sara smoothed away a few scone crumbs from the sleeve of Ivy’s riding habit. “It’s not safe, darling.”

  “If I go through with it, I intend to keep him busy with plenty of demeaning tasks. He’ll not have time to attempt, nor think of improper things. And should he find a spare moment, the man will be so irritated, seduction will be the last thing on his mind.”

  “It’s not safe,” Sara repeated when Sebastian lifted his head, scanning the faces of those gathered around. Like a tiger on the hunt for the lone gazelle left on the plains, he found Ivy in the crowd.

  Ivy’s heart swelled. The man was worldly and handsome and oh, so dangerous. Her previous trepidation concerning his pursuit suddenly seemed to be a moot point. After all, he was no different from other members of the pack…regardless
of the anticipation tingling in her veins every time those grey eyes of his slid her way.

  Sara groaned in exasperation as Ivy returned Sebastian’s heated stare with an answering smile. The air between the two of them fairly crackled with electricity and people were whispering of it. “If you are not careful, you will find yourself truly ruined before this weekend is over. You are already being referred to as Ravenswood’s Lady Butterfly by some here.”

  “It is much better than Poison Ivy,” Ivy replied with firm practicality. “Sara, you worry overmuch. In the midst of all these people, I am perfectly safe with the earl. As safe as you are with yours.”

  Had Ivy bothered to notice, she would not have missed the guilty tremor in Sara’s voice, nor the flush in her cheeks when her friend breathed, “Safety in numbers, my dear, is vastly overrated. Certain men have little problem overcoming even that dubious handicap.”

  Sebastian feigned concentration on the muck shovel gripped tight in his hand. Was Sara reminding Ivy to have a care for her reputation? Warning her away from him? Considering the challenge thrown at Bancroft last night, it would not be farfetched to think so. His interest in her was clear enough; upon their return to London, it would become blatantly obvious.

  Ivy would ignore Sara’s warnings. She was close to succumbing, ready to drop into his lap like a bit of ripe fruit. The Revenge Situation, as he now referred to it, was moving along very well indeed.

  After wiping his hands on a hot towel a stable lad offered him, he made his way to where the horses waited. On the other side of the courtyard, Ivy hugged Sara and began walking toward him. Hiding a smile, he whistled a light tune as he tightened the sidesaddle’s girth and adjusted the single stirrup on the mare assigned to her.

  “I did attempt to catch you before it was too late. How could I know you were so eager to muck stalls?” Ivy stroked the dark bay mare nuzzling into her palm. “Hello, Lilly. Oh, you are a beauty, aren’t you?”

  “Merely fulfilling my part of the wager.” Sebastian’s bow was mocking. “As your slave, I’m yours to command.”

  “You are not to be my slave.” Her grin held no artifice. “Just a groom.”

  “Let us not quibble over the designation.” Removing the halter, Sebastian dropped a bridle over the mare’s head, slipping in the bit with practiced ease.

  “I do hope you have been given a steed befitting your new status. A cart horse, or a mule perhaps?”

  Sebastian gathered up the reins to lead her horse from the railing. “I brought my own.” His nod indicated a dark gray stallion standing apart from the others. Occasionally, the beast flung out a massive rear hoof, followed with an inquisitive look from liquid dark eyes to observe the victim. When a boy carrying a grain bucket jogged by, the stallion bared his teeth and gave a low whinny. Recoiling in surprise, the lad dropped the tin container, spilling half the oats. The horse nickered in satisfaction, dipping his head to the limits of the reins tethering him to the post and lipping up the feed in record time while the youngster collected himself and the empty bucket. Shaking an angry fist, he hurried on before the stable master learned of the mishap and boxed his ears.

  “Dear Lord,” Ivy breathed. “He is most certainly not a servant’s mount.”

  Sebastian chuckled, wagging a finger at her in mock disappointment. “Like his owner, he is quite capable of behaving when necessary.”

  The gray calmed with a quiet word from Sebastian, and as the bay mare came alongside him, nickered softly and lowered his head.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of,” Sebastian said to Ivy. “Raven has certain ideas how he should be greeted. Keep your hands level and approach from the side, so he may see you better. I’m unsure how he formed these opinions, but it’s easier to humor this small vice than to try and change him.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Ivy retorted. “But I’ll blame you should I come away with half an arm missing.” She stroked Raven’s neck, wary enough not to get too close, but the horse stepped toward her, bumped his finely sculpted head into her chest and promptly dozed off in contentment.

  Sebastian leaned in. “See? Nothing to be frightened of. In fact, I daresay he likes you.” Holding Ivy’s gaze across the expanse of Raven’s broad head, he smiled. “Your touch soothes him.”

  “Do you think so? He seems half wild and not to be trusted.”

  His laugh was soft. “Some things are better left wild. Like the roses I sent you. Their scent lingered far longer than ordinary hothouse roses, I vow.”

  “That’s true although I despise roses…” Ivy bit her lip at the confession.

  Sebastian cocked his head as her voice trailed away without an explanation for such a puzzling admission. Didn’t all women enjoy flowers, regardless of the variety, especially if a man thought to give them? Was this why she never kept the floral arrangements sent to her? He assumed she rejected the gifts simply because she relished toying with the men who gave them.

  Ivy caressed Raven’s smooth forelock, her mouth tight against any further insights to the cogs of her mind. Sebastian allowed the moment to slip by and decided to focus instead on luring her to him.

  “Are you ready to ride, Countess?” Dark with subtle meaning, the words curled around Ivy. When she swayed, he lowered his head to hers. He was so close to those sweet lips he longed to taste again. Unable to erase the flavor of her from his mind, he relived the night of the opera many times. How she came undone on his fingertips, as though she never experienced a climax before. How she clung to him when the wave overtook her. It was so bewitching, the way she reacted to his touch. He longed to slip his hands between her legs again, to elicit the same response again and again until she was limp with pleasure and begging for more.

  Raven’s eyes snapped open as the grip upon the leather reins tightened

  One quick kiss. No one watched them. He could steal a kiss. Just to sustain him until they were alone. The spark of panic in Ivy’s turquoise eyes told him she realized his intent.

  “Come along, you two!” Alan’s voice was booming, tight with frustration. “If you insist on making calf eyes at each other all day, we can’t be blamed when you are left behind.”

  Everyone was mounted and ready to depart, staring with ill-concealed amusement and curiosity. Sara, her blue eyes wide with alarm, seemed on the verge of wringing her hands.

  Ivy moved until Raven’s sleekly muscled form was between them.

  “Coward,” Sebastian whispered, his lips curved in a grin. “No kiss for your groom?”

  She blinked. “I hardly think it proper to go about kissing grooms here at Bentley Park, but I shall consider it.” Pulling Lilly’s reins from his loose grip, she stepped to a nearby block to mount the mare on her own. No doubt overhearing her words, a young groom nearly broke his neck jumping to assist her.

  Sebastian did not trust himself to reply, and while she swiftly regained her composure, he stood gawking like a simpleton.

  Giving the groom a smile of thanks, Ivy settled into the saddle. “Well, maybe not a groom,” she clarified, gazing down from her lofty height, “but perhaps a gentleman who offers his assistance without expecting something in return?”

  It was that enigmatic half smile, the flash of challenge in her eyes driving Sebastian’s insatiable need to conquer her. His hands tightened on Raven’s reins until the stallion stomped a hoof, tail swishing in irritation.

  “It’s unwise to play games with me, Ivy,” he warned in a low voice, swinging up onto Raven’s back. “You won’t care to pay the price.”

  Her reaction was a cool shrug. “You’ve yet to fulfill the wager you lost. Perhaps you are not as lucky as you believe.”

  “We’ll see who emerges the true victor.” He nodded at the group trotting away from them. “Shall we join them or stay behind and devise a new wager?”

  “You can be quite insufferable,” Ivy said with admirable calmness. “In fact, you recently were referred to as a tyrant.”

  Sebastian’s gaze roamed over her. She
was so damned beautiful, perched atop the dark mare, wearing an amethyst riding habit and those eyes flashing blue green fire at him. As a tyrant, he could snatch her down from that horse and have his way with her, do things that would have her pleading for more. “We can explore that, if you wish.”

  In reply, Ivy nudged her mount forward, quickly trotting after the others while Sebastian chuckled at her avoidance of him and his suggestion.

  The outing was enjoyable, although Sebastian insisted on stopping often for varied reasons. To check the bit on Ivy’s mare, to ensure the girth was tight enough, to alter a strap here, a strap there, adjust the stirrup on her saddle. Soon, others gleefully joined in to suggest items requiring his scrutiny.

  Each time an inspection was undertaken, he demanded she dismount. Hands encircling her waist, he would swing her from the back of the horse, permitting her to find her footing only after an excruciating long glide down his body. Keeping his back to the others shielded his actions from curious eyes.

  The party stopped beside a small, curving stream to allow the horses a bit of water and Sebastian stood at her knee, ready to tug her down once more.

  “I insist you put a stop to this,” Ivy stared down at him, gripping the reins.

  “What do you mean?” She’d been subjected to the journey down his body seven times thus far, and although immensely pleasurable, Sebastian neglected to consider the pure torture of it. By sheer willpower alone, he suppressed the erection lurking inside him, but it twitched to life each time she shimmied down his length.

  “You know exactly what I mean!” Ivy hissed.

  The first time Sebastian helped her dismount, she should have slapped him senseless instead of tolerating his actions. He knew she enjoyed his attentions even if she struggled to maintain an air of outraged modesty. Bloody hell…she played this innocent act with practiced flair, her dedication to the performance admirable. If he didn’t know any better, he might have fallen for it.