THE DEFIANT LADY (8 page)

She smiled thoughtfully and asked, “Are you courting me, sir?
After
the betrothal?”

He winked. “I must make sure you have no reason to leave me at the altar.”

“Ah,” she replied in understanding. “Then by all means, court away.”

Cy laughed. “Do you play chess?”

“No.”

“Care to learn?” He reached for the bell on the side table and rang for a maid to bring them a chess set. After the maid left, Ivy picked up the ornately carved pieces and began to examine them.

Cy then began to teach her the rudiments of chess. An hour later she had him laughing uproariously when she groaned, “This will take years to master! I am making up my own rules.” She then moved her Queen illegally and jumped a few spaces so that her Queen was in front of Cy’s King.

“Check mate.”

Cy looked at her for a moment and then remarked good-naturedly, “Then I get to make up my own rules, too.”

She inclined her head. “Naturally.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “I want stories. I want to know everything about you. I am ravenous for information.”

Warmth settled low in her belly, desire twirling through her. Only Cy had ever made her feel this way, like she had performed a dozen pirouettes in a row. She felt lightheaded, her breathing shallow. His mouth was close to hers, the male scent of him doing dangerous things to her mind.

“Tell me about your life in Paris, your childhood.” He reached out to stroke her cheek.

She smiled, enjoying his outward show of affection. She thought for a moment. “I pummeled a boy when I was thirteen years old.”
 

Cy choked on his laughter. “Go on.”

“What, no condemnation or shock?”

“Neither. You are a pugnacious hoyden.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“On the contrary. I meant it as a compliment. Tell me the story.”

Ivy rested her hand on the black rook and began, “I was finishing my last ballet class of the day, and Willow was waiting for me so we could walk home together. I changed, and met her outside, and as we began our trek home she started to cry. Some local boys had been taunting her, you see. They were calling her names like ‘bastard’ and ‘whore child’.” She smiled without humor. “Paris claims to be so modern, but apparently it is just a smooth veneer of propriety with a mass of proletarian behavior beneath the surface.

“I left Willow at home, crying in our bedroom. I snuck out, and found the ringleader of the young boys who had been harassing her. They teased and insulted me, but I marched up to the leader and punched him square in the nose.”

She made a fist as she remembered that day. Her heart had been pounding with fear and anger, but her steps had never faltered. She had been the avenging angel her sister needed. “My fist hurt for three days, but they never bothered Willow again.”

 
“You are magnificent,” he breathed. He reached a hand out and laced his fingers through her curls. As he sought her mouth, she closed her eyes and sighed when his lips covered hers. His tongue swept inside, and she kissed him back, straining closer. Her heart beat rapidly, like a thousand winged creatures taking flight.

He ended the kiss and she growled in frustration. She wanted his warmth, his desire. “Not yet,” she murmured audaciously, and then pressed her lips to his for another searing kiss.

“God, you will be the death of me,” he gritted out when they finally pulled apart. “You make me want to sweep the chess set off the table, lay you down and slowly lift your skirts.” She shivered at the lust in his voice, and he went on, “I want to make you quiver with need and watch your eyes glaze with desire.”

“You shock me, sir,” she said on a pant.

“We will have honesty between us, Ivy. Never doubt how much I desire you.”

“It overwhelms me,” she admitted. “But I am not afraid.”

“It should,” he murmured. “Your innocent candor has the power to sweep away all my noble intentions. I should leave.”

She stared at him and asked, “Must you go?”

“It would be dangerous for me to stay. I do not know how much more I can take…” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and exited the room.

Ivy closed her eyes, touched her lips with her fingertips and shivered. Passion this strong should have terrified her, but for some reason she felt incredibly safe in Cy’s arms. When he spoke of what was between them, any resistance she might have felt melted away. Was this how it was between her mother and father? Was this the reason her mother had thrown caution to the wind and accepted what small offerings she was given?

Ivy pursed her lips. Though Cy had promised marriage, he had not promised love. Was she destined, like her mother, to be with a man who could only give her a small piece of himself?

Would that be enough for her?

***

His night was haunted with visions of Ivy. He dreamed of her silken, ivory skin, his body covering hers as she writhed beneath his as he made her soar. When he awoke, he was left shaken and short of breath. He was strung tighter than a bow.

He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Ivy. He yearned to possess her as she possessed him; to know that sleep could not claim her because she was restless from wanting. Every time he kissed her, he lost more control, needing her touch, needing to feel her tentative, innocent hands journey over his smoldering body. When she had taken control and kissed him, he thought he would die of lust.

Gritting his teeth in distress, he threw off the covers and put on a dressing robe. He made his way downstairs to the library, poured himself a liberal amount of brandy and settled down to wait for dawn, knowing it would not ease his torment.

***

Her afternoon with Cy in the library left her shaken. She could not believe her own shamelessness, or Cy’s deliciously naughty words to her. It left her breathless and mortified that she had spurned him on, but helpless to stop it. She did not think young women were at all eager for this sort of attention. It only proved to her that she was, indeed, not a lady.

That night, Ivy pleaded to have a headache so she could be excused from dinner. She went to bed early, but sleep eluded her. Watching the dawn’s rays creep through the blue curtains, she finally decided to rise. She had not slept much, and there was no point lingering in bed. She did not ring for a maid but chose instead to dress herself in a dark purple riding habit. She walked to the stables and apologized to the sleepy stable boy, who promptly saddled the lively mare Cy had given her. She mounted the horse and rode off at a breakneck pace. She took in deep breaths, hoping to dispel the tension boiling with in her.

Ballet used to soothe her in every way, but now she turned to riding. In the past, she had only enjoyed riding moderately but now found great pleasure in it.
When had the change come?
she wondered.

As she looped around the countryside, she slowed her mare and headed back towards her grandmother’s property. She decided it was best not to question life further, and declared to be more carefree and willing to accept the things that were happening to her, for she was unable to change or stop them.

When she arrived back to the manor, she had an early breakfast alone and then went upstairs for a nap. Ivy awoke in early afternoon, feeling quite restored.

 
A maid bustled into her room and said, “Miss Ivy! Thank goodness you are finally awake! The Earl of Stanton is downstairs!”

Desperately wanting a bath, she replied, “Please tell him I will be down shortly.”

‘Shortly’ turned into an hour. She found Cy in the drawing room playing chess with Willow, who seemed to be a much better student than Ivy. He rose when she entered and reached for her hand. She noticed the shadows beneath his eyes and wondered about them.

“Forgive me for making you wait,” she said.

Cy kissed her hand. “Not at all. Your sister was indulging me in a game of chess.”
 

He smiled at Willow, who replied, “I am quite intrigued with this game now.”

Ivy shook her head. “Then perhaps you should help me the next time I play against the Earl. I have no skill for the game and will need every bit of help.”

They all laughed.

“Good to see you, My Lord,” Willow said with a curtsy just before she threw her sister a swift look and left the room. The door closed, and Cy and Ivy were alone.

“How did you sleep?”

Ivy grinned sheepishly. “I saw the dawn, then went for an early morning ride, came home and then promptly took a nap. And you?”

He tugged on her hand and kissed her palm. “I, too, saw the dawn. Come, I have a picnic planned for us.”

“A picnic?” she asked.

He grinned. “I am appealing to your sense of adventure.”

On their way out, a smiling maid handed them a basket. Cy took Ivy’s hand in his and led her outside into the sunny day. As they made their way through open fields, Ivy noticed the new blooms of spring.
 
A plethora of purple, pink and blue flowers scattered their path, their fragrance tickling her nose.

Cy escorted her to the top of a hill around a bend, just out of view of any possible passersby. He spread out a plaid blanket that was in the basket and made sure she was settled before he took a seat next to her. She made a grab for the basket and began to unpack it. Delighted, she pulled out cold chicken, rolls and dried fruit. They sat together quietly and exchanged thoughtful looks as they ate.

Once they were finished eating, Cy took out a deck of cards and grinned, “Ready for a game?”

Ivy feigned wariness. “Oh no, the last time I played cards with you I managed to get myself engaged. Who knows what could happen next…”

“The worst has already happened,” Cy joked. “We will not be wagering today.”

“Every moment I spend with you, I find myself more and more comfortable in your presence,” he admitted.

She blushed at his brash statement. “I never thought such a simple afternoon could be so enjoyable.”

Looking at Cy, she noticed the admiring look on his face. She swallowed as she stared at his sensual mouth. He reached for her, his arms stealing around her body.

“Ivy,” he breathed as his mouth moved dangerously close to her supple, pink lips.

As if of their own volition, her hands roamed up his strong chest, and her fingers settled into the hair at the base of his neck and pressed her lips to his.

She opened her mouth, letting his tongue sweep in and entwine with hers. Ivy did not know if the resulting sounds of pleasure were hers or Cy’s; it did not matter. She wanted him desperately, and she clung to him fiercely. He tilted her head to the side and trailed his lips down her flushed cheek, over her feminine jawline and down the side of her tender nape. When his hand found her breast, she arched against him and gave in to the tumultuous pleasure. She was lustful and deprived and she did not care.

Cy loomed over her as he gently positioned her on the blanket. The dying afternoon sunlight was behind him, bathing him in an ethereal glow. She reached up to touch his cheek, and slid her hand down to his chest again so that she felt his rapid heartbeat.

“May I?” he asked huskily even as his fingers went to the small buttons of her riding habit.

Unable to form a response, she nodded, wanting his warm hands on her sensitive flesh.

He sighed as he exposed her creamy skin. Cy’s head, covered in immaculate dark hair, bent over her chest as he kissed her collarbone and moved lower. With a few deft movements, he liberated her breasts from her bodice. For a long moment, he simply stared. His gaze was reverent and hungry.

“They are perfect,” he said of her round, creamy breasts with dainty pink nipples. “Better than my dream.”

“Dream?” Ivy asked, her voice breathy with banked longing.

He did not answer, but his smile was slow, hot, and it inflamed her. He reached out to gently tease her nipple. It puckered. Without warning Cy did something Ivy never expected; he took one ripe bud into his mouth and sucked.

She gasped in unexpected pleasure as he continued to assault her virtuous flesh. When she thought she would die of sweet torment, he moved to the other mound and paid it lavish attention. She arched against him, realizing her body recognized the ancient call of desire.

“So beautiful,” he said huskily. His eyes seemed almost black with desire, and he smiled gently. He moved even lower as he slowly spread her shapely legs and hiked up her skirts.

Ivy weakly attempted to make him stop, her mind knowing she should, but her body betrayed her. “Cy…” she breathed. She was oblivious to everything except the quaking hunger within her.

“It is all right, love.”

He gazed at her curly red knoll that gently shielded her most intimate prize. Touching her with one finger, he let out a male grunt of satisfaction. “You are so wet,” he rasped. “Slick with desire for me.”
 

She threw her head back in ecstasy, uncaring that her body was bared to him. And then he did something so intimate, so incredible, Ivy thought she would burst. Cy put his mouth on her delicate, rosy core and began to lick her honeyed folds. He sucked on her throbbing bud as she thrashed from all-consuming pleasure. A warm fire started to burn low in her belly, and its glow spread. Cy tongued her faster and faster, and when she could take no more, she buckled and nearly screamed, colliding with swells of pleasure that washed over her.

“Dear God,” she whispered, refusing to open her eyes.
 

When she finally did, Cy was smiling, looking like he wanted to pleasure her again. The way she felt, she was inclined to let him. He touched her lightly and she trembled. She was ready for more, and Cy eased a finger into her tight sheath, working his finger slowly. Instinctively, Ivy opened her legs farther, taking him in deeper. He inserted another finger and her damp heat enclosed him as Ivy erupted in passion for the second time. Gently, he disengaged himself and pulled her skirts lower, giving her a moment regain her breath.

“Did you enjoy that, love?” he asked.

She turned liquid green eyes to his face and smiled slightly. “I think I did,” she admitted.