Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1) Read online

  Snagging yet another drink from the same scowling servant, Sebastian gave Christopher his fiercest glare. He would like nothing better than to slice this young lord, and every other man here, into thin, bloody ribbons. Tossing back the liquor, he realized he had swallowed, in short order, three tumblers to Christopher’s one.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Sebastian drawled, leaning back against the cold plaster wall. Seeing Christopher’s hands tremble the slightest bit, he discovered a tiny shimmer of satisfaction in frightening the young man. These damned fools…it would serve the little witch right if she came in and no one was there to pay court. Yes, he should do exactly that. Terrify them until they all departed. The alcohol seeping through his veins brought a slow, steady surge of hot rashness with it. No one would challenge him. Nor dare stop him.

  “You are scowling quite fiercely, my lord.” Christopher was hesitant as he added, “and you do not seem the type to put forth a proposal in this manner.”

  “What might that type be?” While noting Christopher’s slight stutter was absent, Sebastian took inventory of the group assembled, measuring each man. Seeing the Viscount of Basford, his rage spiked to even further heights. The man deliberately disregarded the warning to keep his distance.

  “Well, my sort, actually. You do not fit in, precisely. I wonder why you are even here. You see, I don’t expect Lady Kinley to accept my proposal, but I never miss the chance to ask her. None of us do,” Christopher admitted with great candor. “But, why should you allow her the opportunity to refuse you?”

  “Are you so sure Ivy will refuse me? And, if you know she will reject you, why subject yourself to the humiliation?” His bluntness was offensive, but he didn’t care.

  After a moment, Christopher answered, and Sebastian had the distinct impression this young man pitied him. “Surely you know the answer to that, Ravenswood.”

  Sebastian knew...he knew exactly why every man was here. The same reason he was here. The chance to possess lightning, to win the game.

  To capture and tame a butterfly.

  “Rejection is not as crushing as you might believe,” Christopher finally said with a smile. “Lady Kinley is always kind in her refusals. Even I, with my clumsiness and my cursed shyness, am the bigger man for having asked her. She accepts me as she does the others, no more, no less. As an equal. She never fails to treat me as such.” The younger man leaned forward, an eager glint in his brown eyes. “You might not understand, but my status as one of her suitors has greatly impressed a young lady my family has deemed acceptable. There are hopes of making a successful match in the very near future, which my mother believes is due to Lady Kinley. Having been allowed to practice courtship, Mother says we owe Lady Kinley an enormous debt.”

  “Practice?” Sebastian scowled. “What the devil are you babbling about, Andry?”

  Christopher waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Ah, come now, Ravenswood. We both know Lady Kinley would never wed a man like me. Her advice has been most helpful on how to best to present myself. My father has remarked on more than one occasion that if I possess the courage to pursue the countess, then I should have little trouble courting a mortal woman. And he was quite right.”

  Good God. Were other men using Ivy in the same manner? For even worse reasons? Damn. He should have instructed Gabriel to investigate every member of the Pack rather than focusing solely on evidence of her affairs. He had no idea what manner of men pursued Ivy, let alone their secret agendas. Was she even aware of being used?

  Sebastian thought of Lord Kessler and Ivy’s assistance to the earnest young lord with hidden archery skills. One of the ladies from Bentley’s country party was now thoroughly enamored of Kessler. They were quite the item, thanks to Lady Ivy Kinley and her subterfuge.

  Acquiring another brandy, he nodded toward an older man. “What of Viscount Batten? Does he require the countess’s assistance in courting women?”

  Relaxing at Sebastian’s more amiable tone, Christopher shook his head. “Batten courts Lady Kinley out of loneliness. He lost his dear wife and their infant during childbirth two years ago. Perhaps heartache led him here, an opportunity for companionship with no attachment.”

  Sebastian mulled this over then pointed out Count Monvair.

  “Impoverished royalty.” Christopher’s brow furrowed with quick disapproval. “As part of the Pack, he enjoys greater accessibility to other heiresses. Of course, if she accepted his proposal, he would be overjoyed to spend her fortune. She is far too intelligent for that old trick, but he is witty and charming and amuses her.”

  “Viscount Basford?”

  “Thus far, he is the only one capable of winning her hand. Excluding you, of course.” Christopher amended with an apologetic smile. “Basford has convinced himself, and others, Lady Kinley will marry him. I admit I suspect him responsible for keeping that terrible rumor circulating, the one regarding your cousin and, forgive me for repeating it... Poison Ivy.”

  Sebastian grimaced at the reminder of Ivy’s notorious nickname. “Is there evidence to back your allegations?”

  “No,” Christopher sighed. “Only a feeling. But, oddly enough, every time the rumors reach a peak, the viscount becomes the favorite. At least until you entered the race. I cannot discount the happenstance of it all. Such a shame. I never believed Lady Kinley to be the catalyst for….” his words trailed off, unsure how to speak his opinion on the matter.

  “Pray, continue,” Sebastian drawled, taking a sip from his glass.

  Christopher took his own healthy gulp of brandy. “She is always thoughtful. Even when angry or ignoring us, she remains kind. I cannot believe she would intentionally harm someone.” Giving Basford a disapproving glare, he murmured, “I pray the viscount will not ever win her hand. He would not be good to her. There are rumors of his cruelty, of certain unsavory interests, despite his excellent name and courteous nature. He would not have her best interests at heart. No…he would not be good for her.”

  Ivy entered the room, eliciting a flurry of activity. Men rose like a flock of multicolored ravens but she seemed not to notice, staring through them, searching the conservatory until she located Sebastian leaning against the far wall. He could not bring himself to return her warm smile.

  Tomorrow it would be all over London he had attended one of these notorious dinners, presumably to ask for her hand. Beside him, Christopher smoothed his black evening coat with a nervous hand, standing straighter, narrow shoulders squaring as Ivy glided toward them.

  What a piece of work Countess Ivy Kinley was. No one could be that kind and good. So innocent and sweet of nature. There wasn’t a woman alive capable of being the angel Andry depicted. Yes, she might help the Pack find wives, but only so a new victim could fill the vacant spot left behind. Her deeds came from boredom, not benevolence. It was an opportunity to play men so she possessed a never-ending supply of fools, lined up in worship for as long she liked.

  They all deserved each other, Sebastian thought. Fury rose in a choking wave until he had to swallow past it.

  Every man present had his own ulterior motive, but no one was there to destroy her as he intended.

  “Lord Andry,” Ivy addressed Christopher first and he lit up with adoration. “Is it true you’ve discovered a new species of butterfly? How fascinating. I’m looking forward to a discussion on the subject.”

  His chest puffed with pride. “I’ve recently had that specimen mounted and readied for viewing, should you care to see it. But tell me. Is it your opinion I should share it with Lady Lindsey?”

  Ivy reached to squeeze his forearm. “You must! She’ll be astounded you found such a remarkable creature. And you must tell me her thoughts on the subject.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Christopher turned to Sebastian with an explanation, “Lady Anne Lindsey and I have much in common, for which I can thank the countess.”

  “I cannot take too much credit, Lord Andry. You two would have discovered your similar interests eve
ntually. But I would ask you a question. Might you have any information regarding bumblebees and their habits?” Flashing Sebastian a conspiratorial grin, Ivy missed the dangerous gleam in his iron-grey eyes while Christopher cocked his head, stuttering some scientific fact to which no one paid the slightest heed.

  The sight of her captivated every man in attendance, her skin glowing with the richness of fresh cream when contrasted to the warm apricot hue of her gown. With a bodice low enough to fuel the imagination, the silk fabric skimmed her body before flowing out in a graceful circle. Sebastian glanced at his hands. They itched with the need to pull her to him. Lust, anger, brandy and jealousy whipped within him to create a poisonous, boiling stew.

  She believed he had come to beg for her hand on bended knee.

  Bended knee? She’d get his knee alright…she’d find herself thrown over his, her curvaceous bottom punished for daring to make a fool of him. He’d spank her to within an inch of her life and relish watching her prettily apologize with tears and soft kisses before he took from her flesh what was his by right of revenge.

  Swallowing the rest of his brandy, he handed the glass to a servant before he cracked it.

  She tricked him, tangling him with these worshiping fools. But now, with witnesses to her downfall and to her heartache, the time had come to destroy her. It was time to take the final payment.

  “My lady, you are ravishing as usual.” Taking her hands into his much larger ones, Sebastian raised them to his lips. She wore elbow length silk gloves. Remembering the scar on her left hand, he again pondered which of these men might be responsible. And why Ivy protected his identity.

  Flushing with uncertainty at the coolness of his tone, Ivy’s gaze skittered away. When she attempted to tug free, he did not release her. The others grumbled but Sebastian did not care.

  “I must have a word with you. It is a private matter.”

  “Later, after…” Her smile was suddenly wide and warm. As if she knew, knew what he wanted to do and found it agreeable.

  “Indulge me.”

  “Ravenswood, if you would only-”

  Taking her by the elbow, he propelled her through the crowd, ignoring comments he’d best wait his turn. With great difficulty, he held the urge to punch the nearest belligerent face daring to voice an objection. The only thing restraining his fists was the reluctance to become one of the numerous scuffles Alan previously described. That pompous butler Ivy employed would appreciate any reason to toss him into the street.

  Entering the oval foyer, Sebastian placed a firm hand on the small of Ivy’s back and guided her down the hall. Furthest from the conservatory was her father’s private study.

  Jonathan Kinley was in Ireland and would not be present to save his only daughter. Which was most fortunate. Sebastian did not intend to allow anyone or anything to stay him from the course set two months prior. Shutting the door, he turned the key. The soft click of the lock tumbling into place echoed in the room.

  Ivy backed away until her father’s desk bumped her hip, bringing her up short. The spark of abrupt panic in her eyes gave Sebastian a small twinge of enjoyment.

  “Surely you are not afraid of me, Ivy,” he murmured, and her chin jerked up at the unexpected taunt. Advancing until any chance of escape was blocked, he eventually caged her against the desk. “I’m curious why you invited me tonight?”

  “I wanted to see you.” As if searching for something deep within him, her gaze probed his. “This afternoon you gave all indications you wanted to see me. I don’t understand why you are angry. I’m sorry...” Puzzlement mingled with radiant hope in her sea green eyes. Of course, she was confused. She was accustomed to men blindly pledging their devotion, not questioning her tactics.

  “Sorry.” He mocked her words so she winced to hear them on his lips. “Are you sorry you’ve tied me to those other fools dancing a merry jig to the tune you play?”

  His hands rested on either side of her hips, bracing against the desk. Leaning into her, his breath blended with hers. He was so close the golden freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose could be counted. But he had no wish to count them. Damn it, he wanted to kiss them. Each one.

  “What are you talking about, Sebastian? I don’t understand.” Baffled by the accusation, her brow knitted. Trying to determine the thread of the conversation, she supplied in tentative explanation, “It’s the monthly dinner…”

  Although his voice retained a level of admirable control, Sebastian clutched the edge of the desk, his nails digging into the oak. He did not trust himself to touch her. “The goddamn monthly dinner. Damn you, I’ll not play your games, Ivy.”

  Seeing his knuckles turn white, she slumped in abrupt understanding.

  “Oh, Sebastian,” she said in a strangled whisper. “Do you believe I would toy with you in such a manner? There are those placing wagers on who shall emerge the victor in this battle. But this is not a game. Not to me. Never to me.”

  “Isn’t it, Ivy?” he said flatly, leaning forward to brush her lips with his own, the flick of his tongue teasing the sensitive corner of her mouth. It was the only part of her he allowed himself to touch, and even that left him reeling with desire. “This is all a matter of battle lines, after all. You schemed and plotted and planned, haven’t you? Now, you think you have me, a prisoner of war, like every other bastard out there. I nearly gave you what you wanted most. Me. On my knees. Another victim for your damned collection.”

  “No, no, that’s not what I wanted,” she cried out, eyes wide with the ugliness of his words. “I only want you. You, Sebastian. I want to be with you the moment I wake in the morning, and I miss you when I finally fall asleep at night. Nothing else matters, nothing other than you and me.”

  “Oh, butterfly. Can’t you tell me the truth?” Sebastian nibbled her lips. When she gave a little sob of pleasure, he did it again, hating himself for enjoying it as much as she did. If she possessed a single ounce of self-preservation, she would be terrified. But Ivy was captive to the emotions he aroused within her, still willing to let him in, still hoping he meant her no harm. “There is so much more than desire between us, isn’t there? History and secrets.” He referred to Timothy, but she failed to make the immediate connection. “Tell me, Ivy. There is something you want from me, isn’t there? Come on now, tell me the truth.”

  “I am telling the truth, I swear it! Only, I thought-”

  “What?” When she hesitated, he nipped her ear, demanding, “What did you think? What do you want? The same you require from the others? Complete and utter devotion until I die? Or just until you tire of me?” The words were a hiss of condemnation.

  “I thought you cared for me,” Ivy whispered, her arms winding about his neck. “I-I wanted you to keep the Pack at bay, so they would lose interest in me. When we formed a relationship, I hoped it would be understood I’m not a threat. Or a challenge to be won. I know it was wrong to use you like that…I tried to tell you, the night of the opera. Do you remember? But you said, you said you did not care. You said nothing would keep you from me.” Her words caught on themselves, unsteady and high pitched with desperation. “Oh, Sebastian, you do care for me. You must… after everything…”

  The words, “after everything I let you do,” went unspoken but Sebastian heard them as loudly as a scream.

  His hand ran up the outside of her leg to her hip, skimming along the silk of her skirts to come to rest in the small of her back. The partial confession infuriated him even as the night of the opera haunted him. My intentions are not entirely honorable... she told him then. He ignored that warning.

  She tricked him, but he allowed it, blinded by his craving for her. She thought she won the game. Fury drummed in his veins. With a sudden dizziness, Sebastian realized he was capable of physically hurting her.

  “Were you expecting a proposal? Don’t lie to me, damn you.” The kisses he pressed along the edge of her voluptuous mouth were deceptive in their gentleness.

  “N...no,”
she choked out.

  She was a liar. She lied straight to his face. She expected the Earl of Ravenswood on his knees. Her victory stung with the pain of a thousand nails driven into his flesh all at once.

  “Liar. You don’t wish for me to propose?”

  “No…yes. I don’t-Sebastian, please.”

  His lips stretched into a thin line of cruelty. “I do have an offer for you, sweetheart.”

  Her breath escaping in a shaky puff of relief, Ivy immediately relaxed in his grip. He bit back a laugh at her astounding vanity. She still believed he meant to ask for her hand. Instead, she delivered the instrument of her downfall.

  He liked the way her breath came in soft gasps. He loved her hands sliding through his hair, how she pressed against his chest in thankful submission. It would be so easy to toss her skirts, to take her right there. He had carried this lust for an eternity. It was part of his soul; this incessant want and desire part of the fabric twining the two of them together. To rip everything to shreds, he needed only to claim her.

  This, this would be his victory, the moment he snatched triumph from her, made her pay his price. His path lay clear and open, waiting for him to seize it without mercy.

  With one hand, Sebastian swept the neat and orderly desk clear of items. This was what he’d dreamed of, what he desired and craved from the moment he clapped eyes on this deceitful, cunning, bewitching little countess. Every delectable inch of her would finally belong to him.

  He lifted her, depositing her on the edge of the desk while hiking her skirts at the same time. Pushing apart her knees with rough hands, he positioned himself between her legs. She did not fight, did not cry out in horror or even seem frightened by his sense of urgency. The mere mention of a proposal untwisted doubts and melted any resistance. She unbent and opened as Sebastian pressed his arousal against her. Cupping the back of her neck, she was a willing prisoner while his mouth crashed upon hers in a seething flurry of dark desire.

  Devouring the sweetness of her lips was not enough. He needed more.