Forbidden to Love the Duke (21 page)

H
e was in heaven, determined to ignore the pain radiating down his arm. He stretched out beneath her, drawing her down between his legs. She was warm and supple against the desperate hardness of his body. The filmy light played upon the curves of her breasts and generous hips. He wanted to see, to claim every inch of her.

“Come here. Move up closer. You're going to ride me if I stretched you enough last night.”

He let her catch her breath before he grasped her bottom and lifted her over his engorged cock. “Ivy?” he said in hesitation. “Promise me you aren't going to faint?”

“I'm not made of china,” she whispered, breaking into a smile.

He smiled back, his heart hammering. He was thick and throbbing to push inside her, but he guessed she'd be tender from last night, too tight to use without some restraint. If he could hold back. He slid his hands up to her breasts and teased her nipples again until she shivered and arched her back in supplication.

“I'm right here, sweetheart. You'll feel me very soon.”

“I can feel you now.” She gazed down at him, her eyes half-closed in expectation. “Why are we waiting?”

Why? Because once he let go, his reflexes would take over and nothing would stop him. All his good intentions would vanish and he would turn wild.

The knob of his erection slipped through her copious moisture and then she was sinking down on him, her spine flexed, her breasts ripe and round. She was his goddess in the garden, a dream he'd lost and then found. She swallowed his prick in her snug body, not resisting even when he drew her down deeper and thrust upward.

She moaned, and he ran one hand up her back, tracing her delicate ribs as he escalated the rhythm of his thrusts. Her hair cascaded down to his damp chest. Lightly he stroked her hip again, encouraging her movements. When she caught her breath, he stroked his fingers across her belly and lower through the curls of her cleft. The muscles of her sheath tightened and he felt the pressure to the base of his cock. She was giving herself to him, and he'd never known sex to turn him feral one moment and gentle the next.

The shape of her body excited him, her full breasts with the silky pink areolas that he could lick for hours, knowing how easily he could bring her to the edge with a lash of his tongue. Her voluptuous derrière put forbidden ideas in his mind—all that sweet flesh, his for the pleasure of taking. The male in him reveled in her climax, his conquest. He waited until he knew she was lost in sensation before he impaled her once more, holding her hips steady as he came.

He clasped her to him tightly and buried his face in her hair as he recovered. His heart was thundering so
hard that moments passed before he realized that Ivy was slipping out from under him in panic; it was then he heard someone was pounding at the outer door. He released his breath and reluctantly flung himself off the bed.

“So much for privacy,” he muttered, darting around the room to collect their clothing.

“Who is it?” she whispered, and caught the shift that he sent sailing over the bed.

“Open the door, James,” an urgent voice said as if in answer to Ivy's question. “It's me, Wendover. There's been a problem at Fenwick.”

“Is something wrong with one of my sisters?” Ivy called out, allowing James to redo her corset and laces.

“Your sisters have suffered a fright.” Wendover's voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “I can't tell you until you let me in. The ladies are downstairs. I don't give a damn what the pair of you are doing. This is important.”

James, his shirt still hanging out, glanced at Ivy to make sure she was decent before he hurried through the sitting room to open the door. “What the hell has happened that couldn't wait another hour to tell us?”

Wendover strode into the room and shut the door behind him. “There's been a murder at Fenwick.”

“Who was murdered?” Ivy asked, her hand freezing at the back of her dress. “One of the servants?”

“Apparently it was a stranger who assaulted Lilac in the forecourt outside the gatehouse. A man chased her through the gardens and was strangling her.”

Ivy leaned against James. “Who stopped him? Someone stopped him, didn't they?”

“Yes. It was the gentleman from London who is leasing the gatehouse. It appears he killed the man in order to save Lilac's life.”

“Sir Oliver,” Ivy said in disbelief. “He
killed
a man to save Lilac?”

Wendover met James's sharp look. “That's what everyone seems to have witnessed. He's downstairs, James, for you to talk to. I thought I should come and tell you right away. Ivy, I thought, too, that you would want to be with your sisters.”

“Of course. Thank you, Wendover. James was showing me—”

“Let's go, then,” James said, clearing his throat. “We'll find out what this is all about. Don't fuss, Ivy. Your hair looks fine. Your sisters have seen it loose before.”

T
hey assembled in the drawing room. Ivy reassured herself that Lilac and Rosemary, aside from their understandable pallor and rumpled cloaks, had survived the attack mostly unscathed. In fact, it was Sir Oliver who looked shaken. He drank both the brandies that Wendover offered him. Really, what had she expected? He had just killed a man to protect her sisters.

Even though he had a reputation as a duelist, it would be abnormal for him to be unaffected by taking a man's life.

Her eyes met his. She turned her head and found James watching her in frowning silence. Guilt flared inside her that she hadn't yet told him about last night. The attack wouldn't have happened if Fenwick had remained hidden behind its thorns. If she hadn't gone to London.
If, if, if.

She blinked at the sound of Rosemary's voice. “We've left Quigley in charge of the house,” her sister said, “which worries me greatly. It's true that he chased off his assailant with a shovel, but only because the man appeared not to carry a firearm. Quigley's getting on in years.”

James reached down to straighten his cravat, a unconscious gesture that melted Ivy a little inside. She wanted the solace of his arms around her. “What did they look like?” he asked.

“They wore masks, like highwaymen.” Rosemary's voice was reflective. “I did not see either of them as closely as Lilac and Quigley did.”

“I'm glad I didn't see his whole face,” Lilac said, putting her hand to her throat. “But he had red-brown hair and fine clothes like a gentleman.”

“A gentleman he was not,” Wendover said from the window in a contemptuous voice.

“Perhaps it was a random robbery,” James suggested. “The house looks deserted, and they might have been two thieves who happened upon the place in their travels.”

Ivy hazarded a glance at Oliver. “Two robbers wearing masks in the morning?”

“Robbers abound in every part of England,” he murmured. “Some men wait for opportunity to prey on weakness.”

“The house no longer looks neglected since Sir Oliver had the garden cleaned and the mortar work repaired,” Rosemary pointed out. “Besides, the dead man had a disgusting obsession with Lilac.”

Lilac leaned from her chair to put her hand over Rosemary's. One would think it was Rosemary whose life had been in immediate danger, and not the other way around. Unspoken anger constricted Ivy's chest. She should have been there, and yet it was Oliver who had saved the day. Why could she not summon more gratitude for his actions? She couldn't bear to think of anyone harming Lilac.

“I'll be fine,” Lilac said. “What Rosemary means is that as this miscreant was trying to strangle the breath from my body, he kept insisting that I yield my treasure to him.”

James rose from his chair, his face dark with unconcealed fury. “Where is he now?”

“Hopefully six feet under,” Oliver said, coming to his feet. “I sent the footman to the magistrate to have his body taken off the premises. The other man escaped.”

“How?” James asked.

Oliver wavered. “I'm not sure.”

“There was a small carriage on the bridge,” Lilac said, looking unexpectedly at Captain Wendover.

“Can you describe it?” he asked her gently.

“No.” She shook her head as if she just realized it herself. “I never saw it. I
heard
it. Few travelers cross the bridge. Those who have in recent years only caused mischief.” She colored, as if realizing James could interpret her remark as an insult. “I wasn't referring to present company, of course.”

James smiled wryly. “I understand.”

“I was outside, you see, taking tea to Sir Oliver in the gatehouse. I broke some of our best china on the man's head and dented our silver tray. I even threw an urn of red geraniums at him, which I think only aggravated his rage.”

“Good heavens,” Wendover said, shaking his head in admiration. “I'd like to have seen that.”

Lilac gave him a shy smile. “That's how I was able to fend him off until Oliver shot him. Rosemary frightened off the other one with her gun, but Quigley had done a bit of damage by that time.”

“It's a blessing that Rue wasn't there,” Ivy murmured, catching Rosemary's eye.

Rosemary nodded. “Yes. We would have had two dead bodies for the magistrates to dispose of then.”

Sir Oliver looked up at the duke. “There will undoubtedly be an inquiry.”

“I don't anticipate that to be a concern, do you?”

“I shouldn't think so.”

“I will, of course, offer whatever help the young ladies may require.” He paused, glancing across the room at Ivy. She could see the questions in his eyes, the doubts, and she would be damned if she would let Oliver spoil the intimacy that she and James had built. “Why did you presume to have the garden cleared, Sir Oliver?” James asked.

Sir Oliver did not appear disconcerted at all by the question. “I believe you're aware that due to my carelessness I almost took Lady Ivy's life in London. It isn't a secret that I have developed a tendresse for her.”

“Which she does not return,” James said evenly.

Sir Oliver's expression did not change. “That remains to be seen.”

A dark warning flared in the duke's eyes. “No, it doesn't,” James said. “Last night she agreed to be my wife.”

“Ivy!” Lilac said with a jubilant laugh, and Rosemary gave one of those smiles usually reserved for the rare times she had written a book that satisfied her impossible standards. Ivy was delighted to see their pleased reactions to the news. If only Rue could have been there, too. If only the gathering had not been caused by such a gruesome event.

And there would be more trouble to come, judging by the tension Ivy sensed between the duke and Sir Oliver. Why couldn't Oliver concede like a gentleman and
go on with his life? He couldn't have fallen truly in love with Ivy during a chance encounter outside a shop.

“Last night?” he said in a voice fraught with such doubt she wondered then whether he was possessed of a madness that made him oblivious to the opinions of others.

James didn't appear to care. To look at him now, masterful and brimming with arrogance, he showed no sign of vulnerability, and she knew without a doubt that he would fight to keep her.

“Congratulations,” Oliver said with no pleasure in his voice. “I regret I won't be able to attend the wedding. It's time for me to meet with my publisher in London.”

“Oh, Oliver.” Lilac rose unsteadily from the low sofa. “Are we going to lose our protector and tenant? Is there nothing we can do to make you stay?”

There was another uncomfortable silence. The duke stared at Sir Oliver in naked dislike. “You have taken lodgings at Fenwick Manor?”

Wendover pushed off from his position at the window. “Why don't we leave the ladies to take tea while we finish this conversation with Sir Oliver in your study, James?”

Ivy didn't know whether this was a good idea. She wanted to act as a barricade between James and this man to whom she was now indebted for saving Lilac's life. Was it too much to hope that this turn of events would even out their association? Could he not make a graceful exit?

In fact, much to her surprise, he did just that. First he bowed. “Ladies,” he said to Lilac and Rosemary, “your hospitality shall linger always in my heart. I regret that you had to witness the horrendous deed I committed in your defense.”

“You aren't leaving us forever?” Lilac interrupted, having regained her balance. “I've come to enjoy the romance of harboring a poet in the gatehouse. And after your heroism today, how can we do without you?”

Ivy stood up, determined to keep James and Oliver apart for as long as she could. “The tea is cold, and I should see to the children. Sit down, Lilac. I shall be right back.”

James turned as she stepped forward and took her in his arms. “Dearest, you should stay with your sisters.”

“The children might be distressed, James. I should see to them.”

“You should stay here,” he said firmly.

“Please,” she whispered.

His mouth grazed her cheek. “Do what you are told. One of the footmen can find the children.”

She could sense Oliver watching them, even though he appeared to stare straight ahead. If she'd thought she could have gotten away with it, she would have feigned a swoon or a case of hysterics. She might fool James with such dramatics. She wouldn't deceive Rosemary and Lilac, however.

“Be careful,” she whispered, catching the cuff of his sleeve.

He paused impatiently. “I am walking to the study, Ivy. What do you think will befall me on that perilous journey? Will the statue of Heracles come to life and try to snatch my girdle?”

“You aren't wearing one.”

“I might have been this morning,” James replied. “The physician was attempting to truss me in bed when I woke up.”

She shook her head, about to answer until she
realized Oliver was right behind her. She turned as Captain Wendover opened the door.

“These must be your lost cherubs.” Sir Oliver gestured with his beaver hat to the two children huddled together in the hall. “Eavesdropping on us? That isn't polite, you know. Your governess ought to pay more attention to her duties.”

Ivy slipped out between him and James to confront the children. Sticky red jam coated Walker's cheeks, and he backed up slowly when she reached for him, content to let Mary suffer the consequences of being caught first.

But Mary didn't move, didn't utter a word. She stared up at Sir Oliver, a confused look on her face. “Mistress Mary?” Ivy said, holding out her hand. “Shall we wash up and take tea with my sisters? They're dying to make your acquaintance.”

“This can wait until we're out the door,” James said behind her, and at the sound of his clipped voice Mary darted around Ivy and Oliver and threw herself like a heroine in a melodrama at his mercy.

“You aren't going to die?”

James frowned, holding her away from him. “Fanciful girl,” he said in a tender voice. “Of course not.”

“But I had a dream—”

“Just go into the drawing room and let me introduce you to my sisters,” Ivy said softly. “The footman can bring some damp towels. Don't touch anything or anyone until you're clean.”

“Our mother never allowed us into a tea party,” Walker said, wiping his hand on his shirt.

Sir Oliver made a face. “I don't wonder why.”

“Were you acquainted with my lady mother, sir?” Mary asked boldly.

Ivy drew a breath. “That's not an appropriate question.”

Sir Oliver frowned. “I don't believe so.”

Mary gave a shiver and stepped closer to Ivy.

“Are you ill, child?” She grasped Mary's hand and motioned at Walker to follow. “Come. Have a sit-down with my sisters. They always make me feel better.”

She whisked the children into the drawing room, aware of the pensive look on Oliver's face. Hadn't she used the children's ailments as an excuse for the physician's visit to the house? Had Mary recognized his voice from last night? It was unlikely but possible.

But if Mary could put Oliver's face to the few words he'd spoken, it would seem as if Ivy were hiding Oliver's visit from James.

The longer she waited to tell him, the worse keeping silent would seem. Should she ask her sisters' advice? No, not after what they had experienced today. She would wait until Oliver had left the park.

*   *   *

The three men sat in the study, taking brandy, the details of the death at Fenwick not a subject gentlemen cared to discuss in the presence of ladies. Wendover had put into words what James was thinking: “It's remarkable to me that those young women can speak of the incident as though it had occurred a decade ago and not today. And how astonishing that they went into action.” He shook his head. “I understand now, James, why there could be no other duchess for you in England.”

James failed to suppress a grin of agreement. “The Fenwick sisters haven't descended from royalty for nothing. Remarkable, yes, in so many ways. But vulnerable, too.” His gaze fell on Sir Oliver. “Tell me more about the attack.”

Sir Oliver shifted in his chair. “There wasn't time to think. I was asleep when the men staged their assault. It was early, but the gardener was up catching snails, and Lilac was bringing me my morning tea, despite the fact that she knows I am not an early riser.”

“How inconvenient for you.” James rolled a golden sovereign across his desk.

“I stay up late to write, you understand.”

“And last night?” James said. “The moon was full? It inspired you, and so on?”

“I was up until the sky lightened. I've fallen behind in my work, which is why I must leave now for London.”

“What did the men look like?” Wendover asked.

“As I said, I was asleep when they attacked. I ran barefooted down the gatehouse stairs with my gun. Quigley had beaten back his assailant with his rusty old shovel. The second man seemed intent on violating Lilac.”

James caught the sovereign before it reached the edge of the desk and tossed it in the air. He reached for it and missed. “Does it not seem strange that he would commit a sexual act in front of witnesses?”

Sir Oliver looked James in the face. “I have long ago given up searching for reason in the irrationality of mankind. My talents are better put to use writing poetry. I might die in poverty, but at least I shall have invented worlds I can understand.”

“And their description?” Wendover asked again.

“For the last time, my mind was muzzy. The attack happened too quickly to take notes for a fashion magazine. The men wore masks. Did I not say that? The one who escaped appeared to be less agile and perhaps older than his dead accomplice. Or perhaps he seemed
slow because Quigley had rendered him several stunning blows while I went to Lilac's aid. The man I killed was dressed in a gray or brown jacket and trousers. Again, it is difficult to give an exact description as Lilac had battered him with an urn of geraniums before I ended his abuse with my gun.”