Ivy’s body prickled with anticipation as they made their way back to the club.
Not that she thought they would walk in and he would immediately ravish her, but because she knew what she wanted. And now so did he.
Although if immediate ravishing was in the offing, she would acquiesce enthusiastically.
He had insisted on carrying her purchase, so both books were tucked under one arm, while he held her elbow with the other. The sun still shone, but the shadows were growing longer, and she knew there wasn’t much time before she had to return to work.
But it had been a lovely respite. And things with him felt . . . better. If not settled. Because she was definitely unsettled when she was around him.
“I’m thinking about your fervent hope,” he said in a low voice, the tone of which sent a shiver down her spine. It promised all sorts of things, things that could only be spoken of in quiet tones between the two of them. “And, knowing your inability to stop working for more than a few hours, I wonder if we can combine the two.”
“It will take more than a few hours?” she blurted in surprise.
He laughed, a knowing chuckle that made everything warm all over.
“If I have my way, yes.” A pause. “And I will have my way.”
“Ah.” Trying to keep herself from gasping or moaning or just wrapping herself around his entire body.
“The day after we first met, we spoke about a special wager night. Where the customers could stake whatever they desired. Or that their opponents desired.”
She licked her lips, since her mouth suddenly felt dry.
“And what is your idea?” She sounded breathy. Something it appeared he heard, as well, since his grip tightened on her arm and he seemed to emit some sort of growl.
“I propose that we practice. Play the game ourselves to see how it goes. If you want to.”
If she wanted to? He knew the way to her heart—no, not that, not her heart—the way to her interest was to combine her personal and professional passion.
“I do want to.” So very much.
“I’ll need time to prepare. I want to have everything as we think it might be when we do the real thing. So—three days? That would make it the day before Ana Maria’s ball.”
“That sounds excellent.” As though she were truly an employer approving an employee’s plans, and not an eagerly lustful female anticipating a partner’s sexual play. “Will you require anything?” she asked.
“That is an intriguing question,” he replied. His voice was full of wicked promise. “I require only your complete and utter participation. That if it doesn’t feel right, that you will let me know. I may not win our specific wager, but I will walk away with your pleasure at the end of the night.”
Her body reacted immediately to his words, her breasts feeling as though they ached within her gown. The image of him sucking her nipples made her breath catch, and she faltered so that he had to steady her.
“I plan to have you off your feet for the entire evening, Ivy, so this is a good start,” he said, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “Even as I am on my knees.”
If she didn’t have his arm for support, she would have definitely fallen over then. Because the image of him kneeling before her, his hands roaming on her skin, his mouth—well, his mouth just there, even though she wasn’t certain that happened. But if women did that to men, then it stood to reason—and passion—that men did that to women, as well.
She wanted him to do that to her.
She wanted to do that to him.
She wanted it all. It was, as he’d said, her most fervent hope.
And it was only three days away.
Sebastian strode down the hall after escorting Ivy to her office. Not that she needed escorting, but he needed to be with her as long as possible.
He was sorely tempted to kiss her, but he wanted to ensure that she was as desperately hungry as he was, that she was anticipating their evening together with as much eagerness as a desert traveler coming across a cool spring.
Plus Samuel was waiting for her, so it wasn’t practical.
He walked into his room, nodding at Mrs. Buttercup as he shut and locked the door behind him. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a grin. Byron and Keats weren’t there, likely out walking with Octavia.
Good. He needed the time to be alone, so he could plot out just what he was going to do in three days. They would fuck, he knew that, but he also knew it wouldn’t be a fast coupling. He wanted to savor it. He wanted to make it as pleasurable as possible for her, which meant taking his time.
Running his hands over her luscious curves, cupping her breasts in his hands as he lowered his mouth to lick and suck her nipples. Sliding down to kiss her belly, to grab hold of her thighs as his mouth plunged into her warmth.
And now he was hard, with only his hand as a recourse.
He stroked his erection with his right hand while he undid the placket of his trousers with the other, his cock springing free after he’d opened them. It took just a moment to put his hand inside his smallclothes to grasp himself.
It wasn’t her soft, small hand, but it would do. Especially if he imagined it was hers, her bright, curious eyes watching him as she ran her hand up and down his shaft.
Perhaps she’d be sitting on the tabletop, her legs spread so he could see her soft folds as she stroked him. Watching his face to see what he liked, adjusting her grip and tempo in response. Putting her other hand to use on herself so he could see what she liked.
He gripped himself harder, stroking faster as he envisioned the scene. Thinking about her fingers rubbing herself, her eyes growing hazy as she brought herself closer to climax.
You first, he might whisper.
She’d shake her head, unable to resist a dare. A gamble. No, you. And she’d increase her rhythm on him, perhaps drawing her other hand away from herself to play and tug at her nipple as she kept her eyes on his cock.
He felt the orgasm growing, his movements more rapid, until he spasmed, feeling the climax through his entire body. Gasping at how intense it was, far more than what was usual when he was on his own.
Three days was a lifetime away.
“It’s just us here, Ivy.” Octavia waved at the closed door as she spoke. “Come on, tell me.”
Ivy didn’t bother to feign innocence. “He and I, we’re—”
“Oh, Ivy!” Octavia launched herself toward her sister, wrapping her in an enormous hug. “I told him you should get married.”
Ivy froze in Octavia’s embrace. “Uh—we’re not getting married.”
Octavia drew back, a puzzled frown on her face. “You’re not? But then what are you—ohh!” she said, her eyes wide. “You’re—Ivy!” she said in a shocked tone of voice. “What happened? How on earth do you discuss such a thing? I am impressed by you, sister.”
“Reach in that cabinet behind those bottles and hand me the whiskey. I’ll need it before I tell you. But I will tell you—no more secrets, remember?”
A knock on the door made both of them turn. “Yes?” Ivy called.
“The post, miss,” Carter replied. “And a footman brought something also.”
The invitation to Lady Ana Maria’s party. Something to distract Octavia with. “Come in.”
Carter opened the door, handing the small stack of letters to Ivy. The invitation was on top, and Ivy picked it up and waved it toward her sister. “I forgot to mention this”—because I was too preoccupied thinking about getting my hands on Sebastian—“but Sebastian and I ran into his sister, and she said she would be sending an invitation to a party. I presume this is it.”
Carter was still in the room, clear interest in her expression.
Ivy sighed. “We might as well all look at it.” She undid the seal, then withdrew the letter and read it quickly, handing it to Carter. “It’s in four days, we were invited to the Duke of Hasford’s town house for a party to introduce Lady Ana Maria to Society. It’s not precisely her coming-out ball, since she is a bit older than the usual debutante, but it seems as though she hasn’t been properly introduced.”
Carter handed the letter to Octavia, who barely glanced at it before addressing Ivy. “What will we possibly wear? It’s far too late to get anything made up, and I don’t know if we have anything suitable.”
Ivy nodded. “I’ve thought of that. We’ll go pay a visit to Madame Delyth’s, she makes clothing for theater people, I am certain she will have something she can rig out that will work.”
Octavia grinned in response. “Perfect! The two most unsuitable ladies in London wearing clothing that might have appeared on the stage. I do like your thinking, Ivy.”
Ivy returned her sister’s grin with a self-deprecating smile. “I know how to operate in a crisis,” she said in an overly modest tone.
“I can’t wait until the party,” Octavia exclaimed.
And I cannot wait until the evening before, Ivy thought.
“Carter, can you go into our wardrobes and check if we have the appropriate accessories to attend an evening function?” Octavia asked.
Carter curtsied her acquiescence, a pleased smile on her face. Ivy knew the maid’s status would be improved in her circle of friends if it was known her employers had attended a party at the Duke of Hasford’s town house.
“Shut the door, if you please,” Octavia called as Carter walked out.
The door shut behind her, and Octavia turned to Ivy, her expression of delight replaced with an interrogative look.
“You have to tell me everything.”
Ivy felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Nothing’s happened yet!” she said. “I mean—”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “So things have happened, but not all the things? My goodness, Ivy, you are far more adventurous than I would have imagined!”
It likely wasn’t a good thing for Ivy’s reputation that Octavia was so admiring.
“I don’t know what has come over me, I have to admit,” Ivy said slowly. “He’s—well, he’s good to converse with, and he is very sharp in terms of business. And then—”
“And then—?” Octavia prompted as Ivy fell silent.
“I do like him. Very much.” Had she admitted as much to herself yet?
Likely not, since she was terrified of getting hurt. Too late, a voice chided in her head. He’s going to leave, and you’ll suffer.
“So why aren’t you thinking of marriage?” Octavia asked, sounding both puzzled and judgmental. That was a talent.
“He hasn’t asked.” Of course it was far more complicated than that. But hopefully it would satisfy her sister.
“That wasn’t my question.” So much for satisfying Octavia’s constant curiosity. “You came to London thinking we would only be here for a short time, just long enough to make us able to have a modest life on the beach or whatever.” She sounded thoroughly scornful, and Ivy wondered at her own cluelessness not to realize that life would not suit Octavia, no matter how much it might suit Ivy.
Even though she wasn’t certain it would suit her now. It was a terrifying thought, the idea that she might deviate from her course of action. Usually, always before this, she saw what she had to do and she did it. She didn’t question herself or the steps she’d take to achieve her goals; she’d just do.
But now, the plan she’d laid out for herself wasn’t as appealing. It wasn’t just due to his appearance in her life. Although the sensual pleasure she’d felt with him definitely added to her wanting to stay here. How could she be a loose, scandalous woman in a small town?
Well, she could, but she would quickly run out of gentlemen to be loosely scandalous with. Never mind that the only person she wanted to do any of that with was him.
Drat.
“But it seems,” Octavia continued, and Ivy had to remind herself what her sister was discussing, “that you might be rethinking all of that. Especially since I will not be accompanying you, no matter how enjoyable it might be to live in a place where every single person knows your business.” She paused. “So my question stands—why haven’t you considered marriage? If not to Sebastian, then to some other gentleman who strikes your fancy?”
All the answers that rushed through Ivy’s head—that she needed to keep Octavia as her first priority, that no gentleman would want her given her scandalous past, or even that she wasn’t certain she could stand to be with another person who wasn’t a relation for the rest of her life—rang hollow, and she knew Octavia would see right through her.
She was scared.
Scared of committing to someone or something forever. Scared that things would have to change as her life changed.
She was scared. And that was not whom she believed herself to be, strong and determined. So she’d need to consider everything she knew about herself as well as what actions she wanted to take in the future.
The first step, thank goodness since it was the step she definitely wanted to take, was to be bold and adventurous with him, even though such behavior would ruin her in Society’s eyes. But she wasn’t in Society, her wager and taking her inheritance to purchase a gambling house instead of a husband had already taken care of that.
So she should do as she wished.
“Perhaps I will consider a different future,” Ivy said slowly. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you do not want what I had envisioned, so I should start to think what I want.” She paused. “But he and I—that’s not a permanent possibility. I just don’t believe he’ll stay out here when he could return to his aristocratic family none the worse for wear. He’s slumming it with us, and eventually he’ll leave.” Eventually he’ll leave.
If she kept repeating it to herself, would it hurt less when it inevitably occurred?
Octavia opened her mouth as though to argue, but apparently decided against it.
Ivy continued. “But that doesn’t mean it’s him or nobody. You’re correct, I need to be open to the possibilities.”
“Huzzah!” Octavia cheered.
“Huzzah,” Ivy echoed.
The bigger question was what possibility would be the best one for her? And how would she possibly achieve it?
“You’re certain you want five yards of ribbon, sir?”
The clerk accompanied her question with a curious look. Not surprising since Sebastian doubted he looked much like a person who would be dabbling in ribbon.
“Yes. Five different shades, a yard each.” He kept his tone firm, hoping the clerk wouldn’t ask him how he was planning to utilize the ribbon. I’ll be wrapping it around the lovely naked form of my lover, and hoping she’ll be doing the same to me.
My lover.
It was odd to think of Ivy, gorgeous, delightful, intelligent Ivy, as his lover. Not just because they weren’t technically lovers yet, but also because it seemed such a narrow word for who she was to him. She was his employer, his friend, his fellow disgrace from Society.
He should thank Nash for bringing him to Miss Ivy’s on that fateful evening, the same day he’d found that everything he’d ever known was a lie.
Only to discover, eventually, the truth about himself—that he would be able to survive and thrive, even without the trappings he’d taken for granted. That he could find connections that weren’t dependent on who he was.
That he wouldn’t return to that time, even if it were offered with all the trappings he’d taken for granted before.
“Sir?”
The clerk’s tone was impatient, as though she had been speaking for some time.
“Yes, pardon?”
“Do you want the red or the blue?” The clerk held up two spools of ribbon, one in each hand. “I’ve already cut the purple, green, white, and pink.”
“The red.”
The clerk nodded, putting the other spool down and reaching for the scissors.
“No, all of it,” Sebastian said. It was far too tempting an image to resist—Ivy swathed in ruby-red ribbon, lying atop the gaming table. Perhaps still wearing her stockings, but nothing else.
“All of it?” the clerk said in surprise.
“Yes.” Sebastian dug in his pocket for his money, tossing coins and bills on the table. “Take what is owed.” Since he had no idea how much any of this would cost, nor how much of his current money it would take. Just that he needed to buy it.
So much for leaving his aristocratic habits behind.
But it would be worth it. Well worth it.
“Welcome, ladies!”
The dressmaker greeted Ivy and Octavia at the door to the shop, waving them inside.
The first impression of the room was one of exuberance: bright patterned bolts of fabric on large shelves, boxes and bags stuffed with accessories of all kinds, spilling out their contents on the massive table in the center of the room. The proprietor was equally exuberant—the fabric of her gown was a dizzying array of colors, ornamented with randomly scattered flowers and bows. The effect was whimsically charming, and Ivy couldn’t help but smile.
Even though the thought of her wearing something similar to Madame Delyth’s gown was slightly terrifying.
“Come in, have a look around. Your note said you have an evening affair to attend?”
Ivy’s eyes widened in shock until she realized Madame Delyth could not possibly have been referring to that.
Octavia spoke as Ivy was trying to keep herself from blushing. “Yes, we’ve been invited to the Duke of Hasford’s home to honor his cousin Lady Ana Maria.”
Madame Delyth clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! I believe I have a few gowns left from the production of Twelfth Night.”
“It’s not a costume party,” Ivy said.
“No, of course not. But the gowns were quite modern in construction, and they should be grand enough for a duke’s home. Let me go find them.”
She bustled out in a whirl of color as Octavia turned to Ivy, a delighted expression on her face. Ivy gazed at her sister, recalling how she had felt when she’d been fitted for her first evening gown. She’d been so naive then, even though she’d felt wise beyond her years. But at that time she’d envisioned a future with a kind, loving husband, a home filled with children, perhaps a dog or two.
Not being the owner of a gaming establishment catering to anybody with a penny in their pocket.
“What are you thinking about?” Octavia said, peering at Ivy. “You look so wistful.”
Darn her sister for being so observant.
“Here we are!” Madame Delyth announced, her arms overflowing with fabric.
She dumped the gowns on the table and began separating them. “I thought perhaps the green one for you,” she said, nodding toward Octavia, “and then this one for you.”
Ivy gasped as Madame Delyth plucked the gown from the table. It was beautiful, far simpler in design than Ivy would have anticipated, made of a sumptuous gold fabric that practically glittered.
“Ivy, that’s lovely,” Octavia said.
“It is.”
Madame Delyth raised the gown up, walking toward Ivy. “Let’s see if it suits your coloring before you try it on. I do have others, but—”
“This one,” Ivy interrupted. Now that she’d seen it, she couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. “This is the one.”
“It complements you,” the dressmaker said in an admiring tone. “It makes your hair look richer, and your eyes sparkle. Don’t you think so, Miss Octavia?”
“I do. Ivy, it’s perfect.”
“Let’s hope it fits.”
“It will fit, and if it doesn’t, I will alter it. No need to worry about that, I promise you,” Madame Delyth said reassuringly. “You can go over there and try it on. And then we’ll see what else it might need.”
Ivy took the gown, her breath catching as she thought about his reaction to seeing her dressed like this. Properly, as though she were still in that world. As though she were someone he might have met while still a duke. Neither of them who they used to be, but returning to that world nonetheless.
“Ohh, Ivy,” Octavia sighed as Ivy returned wearing the gown. “It truly is perfect.”
“Just a bit of hemming, and I’ll have to adjust the neckline,” Madame Delyth said, examining Ivy. “You have a lovely bosom, you should show it more.” She motioned for Ivy to turn around. “It won’t take but a few days.”
“Good, because the party is in three days,” Octavia replied.
“I will have it to you by the day before,” the dressmaker promised. “I am so glad it will be getting more use, it is truly one of my favorite creations. You look better in it than the actress who wore it on stage,” she added in an admiring tone.
“Thank you.” Ivy looked down at herself, the fabric swamping her feet. “I wish I weren’t quite so short,” she commented ruefully.
“I can use the fabric from the hem to run up a little purse that will match. Perhaps ornament it with some ribbons.”
“What an excellent idea,” Ivy replied.
“You’ll need gloves, too,” Octavia said, examining Ivy with a critical expression. “And a necklace of some sort for your lovely bosom.”
Ivy made a face at her sister, who just laughed.
“I cannot help you with the jewelry, but I do have some gloves you could try.” Madame Delyth walked to the other side of her table and drew a box down from one of the shelves. “I believe they are—yes, here they are.” She handed them to Ivy, who placed them against the fabric of the gown.
The gloves were made of gold satin, just a little worn at the thumb, but nobody would notice that. They were a slightly darker color than the gown, and one might have supposed the combination would be overly opulent, but instead the effect was of a lustrous regality, the warmth of the two shades of gold making for a literally rich feel.
“This is all too much,” Ivy said, shaking her head.
“I’ll bill you,” Madame Delyth promised, a wicked glint in her eye. “And besides, when those ladies see you looking so fine, they’ll demand to know where you purchased your gown.” She shrugged in false modesty. “And you will tell them from the most exclusive couturier in London. So it will be well worth it.”
“Thank you,” Ivy replied. She glanced down at the gown again, taking a deep breath. For one night, she was going to return to her previous life as a respectable Society lady. To feel what it might have been like if her father hadn’t gambled away her future and she hadn’t taken it back.
If she had the chance, would she want to return permanently? What did she want, anyway? She’d promised Octavia she would consider her own wants and needs—and part of that was continuing her activities with Sebastian—but she still didn’t know what she wanted for her future. Or perhaps she did. She just had to be brave enough to get it.
But wearing this gown, and the accompanying confidence it roused, she was fairly certain she could do anything.