“Can I come in?”
Ivy raised her head, her traitorous heart catching as she saw him. It had been over a week since the incident, and while they hadn’t avoided each other as they had before, they hadn’t spoken alone since then. She’d noticed he had kept himself perfectly in line, even though there had been some customers who had attempted to lure him into an argument.
What was it about people that made them want to cause that kind of trouble? She suspected that it was natural human behavior coupled with who he had been—his arrogance was tempered now, but it was still there. Imagine how insufferable some people found him when he was the duke, wielding his authority as lightly as if he was turning over a card.
He was dressed in an immaculate suit, and she wondered if he had pressed it himself, or—more likely—if he had cajoled Carter or Octavia or one of the club staff to take care of it for him.
“Please.”
She gestured to the chair in front of her, folding her hands on the desk surface as he took his seat.
For a moment—a long moment—he regarded her intently. As though he was trying to read her mind.
I don’t know my own mind, so you’ll have no luck, she thought ruefully.
“Can I take you out today?”
She blinked, startled. “Take me out? Where?” She gestured to her desk, to the room in general. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“You always have work to do. What about fun? Didn’t your sister mention how you didn’t have enough fun?”
Ivy felt her cheeks heat as she recalled what “fun” they had engaged in. No more of that; she was his employer, and she needed to prove she could maintain a calm mien. As opposed to, say, stroking his penis through his trousers. Among other things.
“I think I’ve had enough fun,” she replied, trying to make herself sound stern and in command. Instead, however, she sounded wistful. Recalling how it all felt?
“We can do or not do whatever you like,” he said, his gaze still intent on her face, his tone low and earnest. Not as though he was trying to charm her into something, but as though he actually wanted this. Whatever this was. “I thought we might visit some bookshops. Perhaps have a cup of tea at a café.”
Books and tea?
“Are you running a fever? You are offering to drink tea?”
He grinned, crossing one long leg over the other. “I know that might seem odd, given my forthright opinion on the beverage.” His expression grew serious. “But I miss you, Ivy. Not just—” And he gesticulated between them, his meaning clear. She felt herself flush even more. “I miss talking to you. I know you said eventually you wanted to take a cottage somewhere and read books and drink tea. And while it doesn’t sound ideal to me, if it sounds ideal to you, I want you to get the chance to prepare. You’ll need plenty of books if you’re going to live there for the rest of your life.”
Ivy’s breath hitched at his words. The rest of your life. Before, when she’d wanted to escape and keep Octavia safe, it had sounded wonderful.
Now, however?
She had to admit it sounded boring. Admit it to herself only, though, since Octavia would get that smug look on her face and he—well, he might draw the wrong conclusion about what she wanted. She’d told him she would never get married when they’d first met, that she had no expectations. No matter how delightful their interludes were, they both knew they were temporary. She couldn’t do anything to make him question that.
“Books and tea,” she repeated, rising from her chair. “I’ll get my wrap, and we can go out. Samuel will welcome the chance to open the club without me. He has been pressing me to relinquish some of the day-to-day duties.”
“As I have,” he murmured, getting up from his own chair as she walked by him. So close she could smell his scent, the faint warm odor of freshly pressed wool.
She missed him, too. Not just that, although now that she had experienced that, she missed it very much. But she missed him, the camaraderie they shared, the ability to analyze any situation quickly and come up with a clever summation.
Octavia was interested in the club, but she was interested in the day-to-day workings of it, not what would make it a success or a failure over the long term. He was the only person thus far who she’d sensed had as much global understanding of what it meant. Samuel came close, but Samuel hadn’t much experience with the aristocracy, and didn’t understand what it would take to make them loyal customers.
Sebastian did. Far more than she, and she was of the world also.
If she had to work with him, just work with him, doing none of the other things, she would be satisfied. She would have to be, especially since she would have to keep herself in check. He could likely find someone else to sate his appetite—had he already?—but she already knew she would not enter into such a relationship lightly, and she was too busy to entertain the prospect, anyway.
If only—
But the scenarios she was dreaming of would require that they meet outside of the club, beyond the employer/employee relationship, and it was inconceivable to think that a powerful duke would have ever treated her as an equal.
He treated her as an employer now, not as an equal. It didn’t seem as if they would ever be able to bridge the great divide between them.
“Where to?” she asked, taking his arm. He glanced down, only to frown when her hat obscured his view of her face.
“I’ve only been to the bookshop a few streets away,” she continued, her words floating up from underneath that stupid hat. “It has a limited selection.” She tilted her head to look at him. Much better. “It would increase sales if the proprietor rotated his stock more frequently, or at least cleaned more often. There are books there that clearly haven’t been touched in years, judging from the dust. It does not offer a pleasant experience.”
He smiled down at her. “You can’t stop yourself from thinking about business, can you? Perhaps you should consider opening a bookshop near your little cottage when this is all a memory.”
“Humph,” she replied, glancing away as though uncomfortable. Interesting.
“I thought I’d take us to Hatchards. You haven’t been there, have you?”
She shook her head. “No, though I’ve heard of it.”
“And then tea. All the tea we can buy, and I will drink it.”
She laughed. “It’s not as though it is my most fervent hope that you drink tea, by the way. I find it rather endearing, honestly, that you loathe it so much.”
“What is your most fervent hope?” He regretted the words as soon as they emerged from his mouth. He knew what his most fervent hope was, and it involved neither books nor tea. Damn it. He was trying to treat her as a friend, not as a lover. And yet here he was, asking her questions that might lead to a disconcerting place.
She exhaled, squeezing his arm as they walked. “I can’t answer that,” she said in a quiet voice.
Can’t or won’t?
Does it matter?
“The shop is just over there on the next street,” he said, congratulating himself for not speaking the words aloud.
“Ah,” she replied in a stiff tone of voice.
Hatchards was busy, and Sebastian and Ivy were separated nearly right away. She wanted to purchase some novels for Octavia, while he was hoping to find something to give Ana Maria. She’d received so few presents in her life that it was a joy to give her something as simple as a new handkerchief. Thankfully, since that was likely now all that he could afford.
He scanned the volumes on the shelves, shaking his head in dissatisfaction as he read the titles. Ana Maria had no need of books that purported to teach her how to live a righteous life; if anything, he wished there was a book that would give her instruction on how to misbehave.
Likely Hatchards was not the right establishment to find that kind of book. And it would be odd for her brother to give it to her, anyway.
Scratch that idea.
He browsed through a few more aisles, grimacing when he saw the collected works of Plato, Aristotle, and the other boring philosophers who thought they were better than everyone else.
He had thought he was better than everyone, too, and yet it turned out that he was entirely wrong.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, drawing a book from the shelf. Its illustrated cover featured a young woman wearing plain clothing, carrying a broom and a mop, a cap on top of her head. But the artist had given her a delighted expression, and there were curls escaping from the cap while an older woman with a witch’s hat atop her head looked on, a fond expression on her face. “Cinderella!”
It was almost too perfect. He grinned as he tucked it under his arm, anticipating the look on Ana Maria’s face when he gave it to her.
Perhaps he’d save it for the night of her party, since it seemed she was determined to have him there. At least he’d have a purpose, and he could borrow it to read if the ballroom and the guests became unbearable.
“Oh, she’ll love this one,” Ivy murmured to herself as she plucked a book from the shelf. The title, Count Peccadillo and the Lost Hours, was written in garish red letters, a few trickles appearing to indicate blood dripping from some of the letters.
“There you are.” Sebastian walked to her side, peering over her shoulder at the book. “That looks about right for Octavia I’d say.” He sounded amused.
“Sebby!”
Ivy and Sebastian turned at the sound of the lady’s voice. Mr. de Silva’s sister stood in the aisle, a wide smile on her face.
She wore a purple cloak that ended halfway down, the skirts of her dark pink gown showing underneath. The cloak had black military-style frogs closing it, and the gown was ornamented by wide black bands of shiny fabric running vertically along the bottom. The entire effect was certainly remarkable, but it suited the lady’s overall joyous demeanor. Ivy couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Ana Maria,” Sebastian replied, sounding stiff. “Miss Ivy, may I present my sister, Lady Ana Maria? Ana Maria, this is Miss Ivy.”
Lady Ana Maria extended her hand for Ivy to shake.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Ivy. Perhaps we might actually have a conversation, now that I am not occupied with Sebastian’s dogs.”
“A pleasure.”
Lady Ana Maria clapped her hands together and glanced between the two. “And you are both here, this is perfect!”
“Ana . . .” Sebastian began in a tone of warning.
“Hush.” Lady Ana Maria spoke in an older sister tone of voice, one Ivy knew well herself. She shot a pointed look toward her brother, who immediately closed his mouth. “This is between me and the lady. Miss Ivy, I would like to personally invite you to my coming-out party. That is, I am well overage for a debutante, but I never got to . . .” she said, her expression regretful. “Anyway, I am finally having one, and Sebastian promised he would be in attendance. I would love it if you and your sister could come, as well.”
“I don’t think—” Sebastian tried again.
“Sebastian.” There was that tone again. Lady Ana Maria had intriguing hidden strength of character, it seemed.
Ivy’s chest grew tight at what he was likely thinking, if not about to say: I don’t think the owner of a gambling house is an appropriate guest at a young lady’s coming-out ball. Even if we have touched one another with mouths and hands and such.
“Thank you for the invitation, my lady, but—”
“No.” Lady Ana Maria used her older sister tone again. “Please don’t decline, I don’t know many people, and I like even fewer of them.”
“We have just met,” Ivy pointed out dryly. “You could end up disliking me.”
She heard Sebastian smother a snort of laughter. At least he wasn’t trying to find a way to prevent her from attending.
“But you seem nice, and parties are fun—aren’t they?” It sounded as though she might not actually know. “And Sebastian will be there because he promised he would, so you’d know someone. I mean, besides me.”
Ivy knew it was the worst idea to accept, but sometimes one had to agree to the worst ideas because the person proposing them was so earnest and kind. Not to mention someone who employed the older sister tone as effectively as oneself.
“Yes, thank you. In that case, my sister and I will be there.”
Lady Ana Maria’s smile grew even wider, though Ivy would not have thought that possible. “I will send the invitations.” She leaned over to kiss Sebastian on the cheek. “Goodbye.”
She stepped away in a whirl of vibrant color, leaving Ivy feeling as though she’d been flattened by a strong wind.
“Your sister is very insistent,” she said.
“Yes, she certainly is.” He sounded rueful as he took her arm. “Let’s pay for our books and then go find something to drink.”
“Tea?” she asked in a mischievous tone.
“If I must,” he groaned in mock agony.
She chuckled as they walked to the front of the shop.
As it turned out, there was a small café a few blocks from Hatchards. Sebastian glanced around to make certain he didn’t know anybody there, since he didn’t want to get into a fracas. Again.
Thankfully, the customers were primarily nursemaids with their charges. Unless he had mortally offended some child in some way, and he was fairly certain he hadn’t, they could have their drinks in peace.
He glanced at the menu, shrugged, then handed it to Ivy. “At least they offer a variety of the loathsome beverages.”
She took the menu, looking briefly at it before setting it down on the table. They sat across from one another, very close because the table was quite small, the chairs little spindly things that Sebastian thought were designed with women and children in mind, not with grown men who liked to sit comfortably.
“What will you have?” the server asked.
“Tea for two, please,” Ivy answered.
The server nodded, taking the menu as she walked away.
“You didn’t purchase any books for yourself. Only for your sister. Why was that?”
She looked self-conscious. “I suppose it is because I tend to think of Octavia first, and me second.”
“You know that’s not the way to live, don’t you?”
She sighed. “I do, especially since my thinking about Octavia generally isn’t in line with what she is thinking about herself. So perhaps I am not as altruistic as I think I am.”
He leaned forward. They were only about six inches apart from one another. Her tobacco-colored eyes were focused on him, and he felt a sudden but not unexpected desire for her. To see those eyes sultry in passion, to have her gaze at him with sated approval.
Goddamn it.
“You are that, it is also that you believe yourself to be correct at all times, as well.” He drew back as the server walked over to lay their tea things out.
“So I am nobly suffering for no good?” Her laugh was rueful. “That is remarkably idiotic. I should think about what I would like to do.”
“And what is that, Ivy?” He held his breath waiting for her reply.
“You asked me before what my most fervent hope was. I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t answer. But the answer is that you know, Sebastian,” she said in a low voice, looking up at him with a purposeful look on her face.
“I believe I do,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even and measured. “I didn’t know if things had changed between us, and I didn’t want to presume—”
“Things have changed between us. But not everything. I still want the same things I did before.”
He took a sip of his tea. He still hated the taste, but it gave him a chance to think. He’d never had to think of what to say or how to say it to any woman he’d been involved with before—if things weren’t mutual, then it ended. Simple as that.
But she was anything but simple. And he was anything but cavalier in his dealings with her. That had changed.
“I am glad,” he said at last.
“You promised we would play,” she said in a whisper. “And now that I know you aren’t on the brink of ruining my livelihood with your arrogance and temper—”
He snorted in response.
“I want us to continue the game. It can only be for a short while, anyway.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why, but there was no guarantee that she would answer as he wished. Not that he knew what he wished in the first place.
Things were certainly a lot simpler when he was a duke. For the obvious power and money reasons, yes, but also because he hadn’t had to care about anyone beyond his family. Or he hadn’t bothered to care.
Now he cared. He thought he might care very much.
That unnerved him.