Kissed at Midnight (8 page)

“Hush, little one,” Ivy cooed to Elsie, rocking her in
her arms, but the child was having none of it. She squalled and cried and
released little sobbing sounds that wrenched at her heart.

Ivy swept a hand over the
baby’s hair and put a hand to her rosy red cheeks. They weren’t naturally rosy,
however.  Bright, ugly patches of colour marred her pudgy cheeks.

“What’s wrong, little one?”
she asked. Oh how she wished babies could talk. It would make things so much
easier.

She paced the nursery,
singing, talking, swaying—anything to comfort the child. Elsie had been
restless all night and Ivy’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Of course,
she hadn’t slept properly for two nights since that moment with August.

August.
She
had begun to think of him that way. It was hard not to when they had shared
such a moment. Very well, not a moment—a kiss.

A beautiful, sensual,
heart-destroying kiss.

She’d kissed a few boys in
Surrey. They were silly kisses she concluded. Nothing like August’s kiss. His
lips had been firm, hard, his breaths heavy and intense. Everything about the
kiss had made her want to beg for more at the same time as filling her with a
sense of utter satisfaction.

Two days ago, and she had
barely seen him since. If he wasn’t out, he was locked in his study. He took
the occasional moment to see Elsie but he hardly acknowledged her. Either she
was an awful kisser or he simply did not like her and regretted it.

What a shame for she could
never regret it. Her first proper kiss.

Ivy studied the red-faced
baby and drew in a breath. That was it. She would not tolerate this any longer—for
Elsie’s sake at least. He could ignore
her
but he wouldn’t ignore Elsie.
She had grown fond of the dear child, and seeing her suffer was more than she
could bear.

With a determined stride,
she carried the baby downstairs and rapped on the door of the study. By the
time the door was open, Elsie had calmed, apparently happy with her new
surroundings, but her skin was clammy and her cheeks still red.

August scowled when he saw
her. She spotted ink stains on his fingertips and a dark smudge on his
forehead. “Miss Davis, what can I do for you?”

He stepped back as she
strode in. The air smelled slightly stale, like old cigars yet she knew he
didn’t smoke. Lamps lit the study and the curtains were drawn. She shook her
head at the stacks of paper covering almost every surface. He had three desks
in total and a large mahogany bureau to the left. A bookcase spanned the
opposite wall. Facing her were books of several colours—green, red, brown—all
with gold lettering.

Elsie wriggled so she put
her to the floor, allowing the child to crawl and explore. Arms folded across
her chest, she eyed August and saw annoyance flicker across his face. His jaw
flexed.

“Miss Davis?” He leaned
against the desk. “Ivy?” he tried more softly when she didn’t respond.

She could not quite pin down
why annoyance made her skin heat more with every second, as though someone had
lit a furnace inside her. Did she expect the master of the house to take the
time to talk to her? Not particularly. Yet he behaved as though that kiss had
done nothing, as though it had not burned him to his soul. Her lips still
tingled at the mere thought.

She pursed her lips and
pressed down her annoyance. It was folly, these emotions, but she’d never been
one to keep emotions to herself. Her mother claimed she would never get
anywhere in life if she always showed everything she was feeling and perhaps
she was right. Not that the observation changed anything. Ivy was who she was.

“Elsie is unwell.”

He swung a glance at the
child who had picked up an errant piece of paper and was sucking on the corner.
He huffed and snatched the paper from her, causing her to let up a little wail
before something else of interest caught her eye and she crawled off once more.

“She looks perfectly fine to
me.”

“You heard her last night,
did you not? I know you don’t sleep heavily. You rarely rest as it is.”

“Are you my keeper, Ivy? Do
you take note of my sleeping habits? I hired you to look after Elsie, not
myself.”

He was right of course. For
some reason it bothered her that he went to bed so late and rose often. She
heard the bed creak sometimes and his light footsteps as he prowled around like
a beast in the night. Her breathing hitched every time she saw the glow of
candlelight sweep past her door and she waited, clutching her sheets with the
ridiculous hope he might press open the door and steal into her room. Dreams of
him drawing off her bedding and slipping in beside her made her as restless as
Elsie. How would it feel to be in his embrace? To feel his clever lips
elsewhere?

Ivy secured her gaze on him
and forced aside these thoughts she had no place thinking. He was her master.
And she would be gone as soon as she found a singing role. Nothing could come
of it even if she thought he was interested.

Which, from the glare he
gave her, he definitely was not.

“She is restless and hot,
August.”

She had to suppress a grin
when his eyes flared at the use of his name. They might have agreed to drop
formalities but it still felt foreign to say his name. And he felt the same
about hearing it apparently.

He bent to scoop Elsie up
and she plucked at his necktie. It was the most content she’d seen the child
all week.

“What’s wrong, sweeting?” he
murmured. She caught the softening of his gaze on the child before his
expression shuttered. “She is hot.”

“She has missed you I
think.”

Seeing the child content in
August’s arms, she wondered if she had been wrong. Perhaps Elsie was fine and
just needed the comfort of her guardian. After all, he was all she had known
for quite a while until Ivy came along.

Hand flat to the infant’s
forehead, he released a sigh. “You may be right. I think she is unwell.”

Gulping, Ivy nodded. She
hadn’t wanted to be right but she really still did not know what she was doing.
She needed August’s assurance that her suspicions were correct.

He stared at Elsie for
several moments and that soft expression was back. It made Ivy’s heart do a
strange dance in her chest. She longed for a look like that.

The notion shocked her. It never
mattered her parents weren’t affectionate, it didn’t matter no man had paid her
much interest. She had singing. That filled her world. But now... what if
singing was not enough?

“Take her,” he said, handing
the child to her. “I’ll fetch the doctor. Mr Whitworth is but ten minutes away
on foot. Easier than trying to take the carriage.”

She nodded eagerly. August
had taken charge and would make everything better. To share the responsibility
with him brought her more relief than she thought possible.

For the past year, she had
been alone, trying to survive and make her way in the world. Determination
governed her every move and forced her to strike out on her own, but to have
someone there to simply offer reassurance lifted a great weight off her
shoulders. It was a weight she hadn’t been aware she’d been carrying around.
What else could the man do?

August strode out of the study,
leaving her holding the baby as she peered at the stacks of paper that
signified his life, his work. How very out of place she was in this life of
his.

***

August groaned aloud when he
spotted Mrs Pepperwhite hastening towards him along the street. Today it was a
bright blue concoction. The entire population of peacocks must be naked of
their feathers now thanks to her hat. Odd how Ivy wore some fairly ghastly
colours yet never failed to look utterly striking.

“Mr Avery,” she greeted him breathlessly.

“Mrs Pepperwhite, forgive
me, I am in quite the hurry.”

“Of course, I simply wanted
to check all was well with the child, particularly given the girl you’ve taken
on. You know a nursemaid is no replacement for a mother.”

This statement never failed
to amuse him, but not today. Mrs Pepperwhite had been dropping hints of
marriage and motherhood since her husband had passed. Yet the woman did not
have a maternal bone in her body.

This woman, a good five
years older than Ivy, might have maturity on her side but he wouldn’t trust her
for one moment with Elsie. She’d have her handed over to a nursemaid within
minutes.

Not that he would wish her to
be in such a position. He masked a shudder. The woman was attractive in a way
but her stiff manners and forceful attitude did not appeal one bit. Perhaps, he
thought, she was too similar to him. He’d never considered himself so stiff
until he met Ivy. Now he felt like an iron rod next to a summer flower blowing
in the breeze when standing with her.

“Miss Davis is doing quite
well,” he assured her, “but I must be getting on.”

“I’m simply saying you
should keep a close eye on her. I hear all sorts of tales about these girls.
Theft, seduction, scandal. All sorts.”

The temptation to tell her
that Ivy was more at risk of seduction from him than the other way around
burned on his tongue. But Elsie’s red cheeks and heated skin flared in his mind
and pushed the words aside. “Mrs Pepperwhite, forgive me, but I need to fetch
Dr Whitworth.”

“You are not unwell I
trust?”

“No, but Elsie is.”

Understanding swept over her
face. “Ah, that does not surprise me. A girl like that is not suited to looking
after a child. For the baby and for your sake I would watch her carefully.
Better yet, find someone who knows how to take care of an infant.”

August tightened his lips.
He refused to believe for one moment Ivy was guilty of neglect. If anything, he
was the one who could be accused of such. He trusted Ivy. She had proved
herself if not completely capable, at least trustworthy and hard-working.

“Good day to you, Mrs
Pepperwhite,” he said curtly, catching her astonished expression before
striding past her.

He moved hastily, ignoring
the dipped heads and the occasional greeting. His palms grew clammy. Mrs
Pepperwhite was wrong. He knew people and he trusted his instincts. They had
allowed him to get where he was today.

But he also relied on
numbers and measurements, and he had never really had any facts to back up his
assertions of Ivy. Her references were well enough but hardly spoke of experience,
and she had admitted herself she was no nursemaid. What if he had been too
blinded by her beauty and vibrancy to realise she was not suited to looking
after Elsie?

The doctor’s house took him
less than ten minutes to reach according to his pocket watch. It felt longer.
Similar in style to his own house, albeit slightly smaller, the cream facade
held a plaque that indicated the occupant’s profession. He strode quickly up
the stairs and knocked several times, feet tapping impatiently.

A tiny grey-haired woman
answered and he might have felt like quite the oppressive giant had she not
held a steely cast to her gaze. This was the gatekeeper, he realised, and
should she deem his emergency not so urgent, she would likely send him away
with ease.

“Is Dr Whitworth in, ma’am?”

“No, sir, he is calling on a
few patients.”

“I have a sick child. I fear
she needs urgent attention.”

“Of course. If you could
leave your card, I shall have the doctor call on you as soon as he can. Are you
local?”

“Yes, Elm Street.” He drew
the card holder out of his pocket and handed one over. “Will you please inform
the doctor it is quite urgent?”

“Naturally.”

Her pursed lips told him
he’d insulted her with his impatience but he cared little. Elsie’s health was
more important than manners at this point. “When shall we be likely to see
him?”

“After lunch most likely. He
has several calls to make.”

“I see. Well, thank you for
your help, ma’am.” By some miracle, he sounded like he meant it.

As he began his walk back to
the house, at a pace that made his skin hot, he pondered Mrs Pepperwhite’s
words again. Was she right? Did he need to think about a wife? Certainly not Mrs
Pepperwhite but someone else? Work allowed him little time to court women and
he doubted many would understand his busy schedule. However, he was rich enough
to appeal to some gently bred ladies. And Elsie needed a mother.

Unless he heard from his
cousin in America. His only other relation aside from an uncle in India, he
believed. She would surely have an interest in knowing the child. Perhaps she
would want to be a mother to her.

Ivy was right, he had been
ignoring them both. Work kept him busy and, truth be told, he could not face
the governess.

Not after that kiss.

He stepped onto the road to
avoid a group of several well-dressed ladies and a harassed-looking gentleman
before skipping back onto the pavement. That damned kiss. What had he been
thinking? Now he couldn’t look at her without remembering the taste of her on
his lips. At night, he longed to feel her warm skin against his. Most mornings,
he woke hard and hot and heavy, desperate with the need to be buried deep
inside her. She accused him of ignoring them, but it was for her protection. If
he didn’t, he was not sure what he might do.