A Bluestocking Christmas (4 page)

 
In truth, this was the last place he’d expected Anthony to encounter an unsuitable woman. When he’d suggested that the boy take up an intellectual activity within this tomb, Simon had thought the boy would be free of distractions. Of all the conceivable possibilities, the thought of Anthony meeting a woman of undesirable character here had been the furthest from Simon’s mind. Frowning, he returned his gaze to the woman behind the circulation desk and grunted his displeasure.
 

Why the devil couldn’t the boy find a woman his own age to dally with and preferably in the same social sphere? Ivy Beecham appeared closer to Simon’s age, making her at least five to ten years older than his nephew. Simon growled his displeasure again. Across from him, a library patron rustled the paper he held and shot Simon a glare of irritation. Arching his eyebrow, Simon returned the man’s hard stare. White eyebrows furrowing to form a straight line, the older gentleman uttered a barely audible harrumph before burying his head back in his paper.
 

Soft laughter drew Simon’s attention back to the woman behind the circulation desk. A soft pink flushed her cheeks as she handed an elderly man a book. The patron grinned as he took the leather volume, then caught her hand and brushed her fingertips with his lips. The red in her cheeks deepened as she shook her head in reproach. With a laugh, the dapper gentleman shrugged with amusement and walked away.
 

Something about the scene irritated Simon. It was easy to see how the woman had seduced Anthony into thinking he was in love with her. Even from here, she presented an enticing picture. Sunshine streamed in from one of the windows above her to reveal auburn highlights in the dark brown of her hair. Skin the color of an unripe peach still possessed a rosy hue as she assisted another patron.
 

Tall and with abundant curves in all the places Simon liked the most in a woman, Ivy Beecham was a tempting sight. The high neck of her white shirtwaist was clearly meant to give her the appearance of a serious academician, but all it did was emphasize the voluptuous curve of her full breasts. Of its own accord, his cock stirred in his trousers. Irritated at the way his body reacted, he clenched his jaw as he fought to control his arousal.

A moment later, she completed another book transaction and smiled at the gentleman in front of her. Simon inhaled a sharp breath. Bloody hell. No wonder Anthony had succumbed to the witch’s charms. She had the smile of a siren, and even a well-seasoned gentleman would find her silent entreaty difficult to resist.

Ivy Beecham was most definitely trouble. The sooner he disposed of this matter the better. He shifted in his seat as his quarry moved out from behind the circulation desk to head down one of the book aisles. Tossing his paper aside, he stood up and followed her into the depths of the library.

Ahead of him, she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Determined not to lose his chance to speak with her away from prying eyes, Simon increased his pace. As he rounded the bookshelf where he’d last seen her, a glimpse of her voluptuous curves vanished down another aisle. Damn, but the vixen was quick.
 

Lengthening his stride, Simon charged after her with determination. He made a sharp right into the aisle she’d round seconds ago only to come to an abrupt halt. The woman arched her eyebrow at him in a matter-of-fact manner as she narrowed her gaze at him.

“Is there some reason you’re following me, sir?”
 

Soft and husky, her voice caressed him with the silky indulgence of a midnight lover. Immediately, his groin tightened in a primal response. The fact irritated him.

“Are you Ivy Beecham?”

“Yes.” She frowned with puzzlement. “May I help you in some way?”

“I’m Lord Claiborne’s guardian.”

“I’m sorry, whose guardian?”
 

This time a frown furrowed her delicate brow as she tilted her head to one side. The movement exposed the lovely line of her neck, and he imagined his lips nibbling on her. The faint scent of lilies whiffed its way beneath his nose. She smelled delectable. Would she taste as luscious as she smelled? A sudden image of her beneath him filled his head, and his jaw tightened as he acknowledged his attraction for the woman. Aware she was staring at him with just a touch of irritation, he struggled to control the effect she was having on him.

“Anthony Dardnay, the Earl of Claiborne,” he said in a tight voice.

Recognition lit her face as she smiled at him. It was the most bewitching smile he’d ever scene, and his body stirred to life at the sight of it. Annoyed at his inability to remain unaffected by her, Simon clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a detached expression. He refused to allow Ivy Beecham’s exquisite body or smile deter him from the task at hand.
 

“Oh! You must be Lord Wycombe.” Her smile surprised him. It wasn’t the false simper he’d expected, and she seemed genuinely happy to meet him, nothing more. He frowned as she extended her hand to him. “Anthony has spoken of you often. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Simon glanced down at her outstretched hand, struggling with the tempting thought of touching her. Something primal flooded his senses as he stared at her long fingers. He could easily see her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping his flesh until he expelled his seed in a rush of pleasure. Simon swallowed hard as sanity reclaimed his thoughts.
 

Deliberately, he refrained from raising her fingers to his lips. The snub made her flinch, and the flash of pain darkening her sapphire eyes sent a twinge of regret through him. He ignored the sensation. Ivy Beecham was dangerous. She was a threat to the family and Anthony’s future. The woman needed to be dealt with swiftly.

“I’m afraid this is far from a courtesy call, Miss Beecham,” he said in a cold voice.

“I don’t understand.” She gave a slight shake of her head as an expression of wariness crept over her lovely face.

“I’m here to instruct you to stay away from my nephew. He’s young and too easily swayed by a pretty face.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her bewilderment emphasized how much her voice was like the call of a siren. He gritted his teeth to avoid answering its seductive promise.

“I realize you had hopes of a more permanent relationship with my nephew, but that is out of the question.”

“Permanent relationship—”

“Forgive me, Miss Beecham, but I’m well acquainted with women of your ilk, and I have no intention of letting Anthony marry you.”

“Marry?”

The shocked and horrified look on her face made him hesitate. Was he mistaken about her? No, of course not. No woman of respectable means or social standing would be working in the London Library. It was the perfect setting to ensnare a rich, doddering old fool looking for a young wife or mistress.

“While I’m sure it would be a step up for you financially and socially, I cannot allow him to marry a commoner.”

Simon barely missed the sting of her hand as she took a swipe at him. Dodging the blow, he captured her wrist in a tight grip and jerked her toward him. The softness of her body curved into his, and he drank in the soft, exotic fragrance of lilies. In a split second, his body tensed with an anticipation he’d not felt in a very long time.
 

Damnation. Perhaps he’d be better off making the woman his mistress instead of ordering her not to see Anthony again. Not only would it destroy the boy’s affections for the woman, but he was certain it would be an enjoyable pastime to soak himself in Ivy Beecham’s hot honey. He immediately rejected the idea.
 

Anthony might think he was in love, but Simon knew firsthand the pain of someone destroying his illusions about a woman. Even if it had been for his own good, the devastation that had followed the brutal revelation had still been a crushing blow. He could never hurt the boy like that. He cared too deeply about Anthony and his nephew’s happiness. Yet as he stared down into Ivy’s brilliant blue gaze, he almost forgot why he’d come here in the first place. He clenched his teeth with irritation.

She’d gone still in his embrace, and the outraged expression on her features was an extraordinary performance. The indignant glare she directed at him seemed so genuine it gave him pause for a several beats. Could he have been wrong? No, Anthony had been quite clear about his intent toward Miss Beecham. The woman was simply an excellent actress intent on deceiving him as to her real intentions when it came to his nephew.

“Release me, my lord,” she said quietly. The frigid tone of her voice was icy enough to freeze the Thames in the spots where it wasn’t already bearing a layer of ice. “Now.”

The single word was emphatic, and he did as she asked, although his body protested the loss of her warm curves. She took a step back to study him in silence, anger flashing in her blue eyes. Again, he questioned his assumptions about her before discarding them just as quickly.

“I came here today—”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I have no intention of marrying Anthony or anyone who’s a member of the peerage.” Her obvious contempt startled him before he narrowed his gaze at her.

“That is a comforting thought,” he said with wry skepticism. “But to ensure that you don’t change your mind where my nephew is concerned, I’m prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for your word to break off all association with Anthony.”

The gasp of horror that escaped her proved as surprising as everything else in their conversation up to this point. With a look that labeled him little more than a lowly insect, she wheeled away from him and stalked down the aisle. Stunned, it took him several seconds to stride after her. The instant Simon caught her by the elbow and drew her to a halt, she jerked away from him. The movement forced her to press her back against a row of books.

“If you touch me again, my lord, I’ll scream.”
 

The quiet fury in her voice furrowed Simon’s brow in aggravation. This wasn’t going at all like he’d envisioned. Frustrated by her obstinate behavior, Simon glared at her. The sooner he made her understand he intended to keep her away from Anthony, the better.

“Name your price, Miss Beecham. I’m sure I can afford it.”
 

“I don’t want your money,” she snapped. “And I
don’t
want to marry Anthony.”

“Are you saying he’s unsuitable?” he asked with a sudden sense of amusement. He felt his mouth quirk as he stared down into a pair of sapphire eyes that glittered brightly with anger. Would passion make her eyes sparkle as brilliantly?

“Anthony is little more than a boy,” she said with a sniff of disgust.
 

 
“Agreed. But
I’m
not a youth,” he drawled as an idea took shape in his head. “Perhaps alternative arrangements could be made.”

“Alternative…you’re despicable,” she snapped as she tried to move past him.
 

Simon immediately braced one hand on the bookshelf behind her to block her path. For the first time he was beginning to enjoy himself. If she wanted to play games, he was more than willing. In fact, he was certain that playing with Ivy Beecham would be an exceedingly pleasurable diversion. He tilted his head to study her profile as he trailed his forefinger across her cheek.

 
She slapped his hand away, but he noticed her breathing had hitched slightly. That boded well for the future. He’d been without a mistress almost a year now, and Ivy appealed to his carnal nature in a way that surprised him. Yes, Ivy Beecham was proving to be not only intriguing, but exciting as well.
 

 
“Despicable?” His gaze locked with her angry glare, and his mouth curved in a mocking smile. “Then I’m in excellent company, my sweet Ivy.”

“I am not your sweet anything,” she bit out fiercely. “I find you contemptible.”

“Do you,” he murmured.

Simon bent his head toward her. He could almost feel the tension seizing control of her body. It was like an electric pulse between them, and it set his heart racing. He was so close to her as to feel the warmth of her sweet breath against his mouth. The urge to capture her lips in a slow, leisurely kiss made his body stiffen with a need for satisfaction. Tempering the impulse, Simon brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, and it pleased him to see a small shudder ripple through her.

“You’re quite lovely, Ivy. I can see why Anthony finds you so captivating.”

“I…I didn’t give you permission to use my name,” she said in a breathless voice. The husky sound tightened his groin muscles as he fought to keep from pinning her against the shelf of books and crushing her mouth beneath his. Damnation but the woman was a seductive mix of experience with an elusive sense of innocence.
 

“Ah, but I like how the sound of your name rolls off my tongue,” he said with an honesty that surprised him. “I’m beginning to realize why my nephew is so fascinated by you. Seducing him must have been quite easy for you.”

 
“I did
not
seduce Anthony,” she gasped.
 

The way her blue eyes widened in horror made him even more appreciative of her acting talent. God, but she would be magnificent on the stage. Even more magnificent in his bed. Once more, she tried to dart past him, and he immediately blocked her path by caging her against the shelves with his outstretched arms.