Chapter 10
Owen dragged his palm over his jaw and took a long drink.
How could his day have taken such an alarming turn in only a few short hours?
He glared at Barnes, who sat amiably on the settee and droned on about the most boring topics known to man.
The dowager was rapidly losing interest, splitting her time between throwing triumphant smirks in Ivy’s direction, and calculating ones in his.
Miss Pithins, however, appeared to be absolutely enthralled by the lime content percentage on Barnes’s property.
Owen dropped his eyes before his gaze could return to his governess, and drained the rest of his glass while he stared at the piano.
Seeing Barnes for the first time in a decade had rattled him more than he cared to admit, so when he had learned that Ivy was to leave her position and marry another man, he had reacted without thought.
The despair on her face had angered him more than anything else had in years.
He had fondly come to liken Ivy to one of his wild horses, and to see her father try to break her was a goddamned shame.
He had spotted a slim opportunity to save them both, and he had taken it.
When she had told him the only man she wished to marry was Lord Hartford, it had done something odd and uncomfortable to his chest. He did not have any direct dealings with Hartford, but he knew the marquess was young and kind.
He was the sort of man who drifted through life with a soft smile on his lips, his head above the clouds, and his intellect focused on philosophy and what ifs.
He was the antithesis of Owen, who was grounded in doing, and doing as much as possible with his own hands.
Ivy had set her cap for a man who was gentle and pleasant, rather than rough and grumpy, and Owen could hardly blame her.
If she were looking for a man who would treat her like porcelain, Hartford was the perfect match.
And yet, he was not convinced Ivy did want a husband who treated her like a doll. She was vivacious and clever, and he rather thought she needed a man secure enough to appreciate her spirit in all its facets.
But what did he know about marriage? The only other woman he had broached the topic with had laughed in his face.
He went to take a drink, and was surprised to find his glass empty.
The proposition he had found springing from his lips in the corridor had seemed shaky at best, but the more Ivy had argued against it, the more he had found reason to like it.
Not least among those reasons was the fact that it would infuriate Barnes.
Barnes had destroyed their friendship and all their future plans ten years ago, and it felt good to finally return some of the anger and helplessness Owen had felt at the time.
After Barnes had struck him in the face and told Owen not to contact him again, he had left Harrow and never once responded to Owen’s letters.
He had ignored every visit. He had completely cut Owen out of his life without reason or explanation, so when the offer to visit family in Prussia had come, Owen had taken it, vowing to excise Barnes from his life.
Yet here he was, a decade later, sharing the same air as his former friend and discovering that forgiveness was the farthest thing from his mind. He wanted to hurt Barnes as much as Barnes had hurt him. And if in the process it helped Ivy, then it was all the better.
Owen glanced at Barnes, whose ungloved hands were clasped between his knees. Barnes seemed entirely at ease, but then, as if he could sense Owen’s gaze, he lifted his eyes. He never stopped talking about the chemical properties of soil, but if looks could slay, Owen would be lifeless on the ground.
Owen flashed him a satisfied smile, and Barnes practically snarled.
Despite his best efforts to avoid looking at her, Owen’s attention shifted from Barnes to Ivy, who was pacing at the back of the room. A tendril of hair had escaped her pins and was curling over her cheek, and her soft maroon gown complemented the enticing flush on her cheeks.
He winced as he realized where his mind had wandered, where his mind always seemed to wander with Ivy. The last thing he needed was to lust after the woman he was going to falsely court, when half the purpose of their ruse was to help her catch the eye of the man she did wish to marry.
She must have felt his gaze, because she stopped pacing and smiled at him. It was naught but a sweet tilt of her lips accompanied by that crescent-shaped dimple, but it was enough to make his stomach clench.
Miss Pithins finally stood. “My apologies, Mr. Bennett, but I must be on my way. Mama and I are to attend the church fair today.”
“It is time for my afternoon rest as well,” the dowager added, latching on to the excuse.
Barnes was the perfect gentleman as he escorted the women from the room and closed the door behind them.
He prowled to the decanter and poured himself a drink, glaring at Owen with challenge the entire time.
Owen was tempted to cross the remaining space between them and connect his fist with Barnes’s jaw and demand to know what it was that had fractured their friendship, but he would not lower himself to begging for information again.
Barnes had made up his mind about him over a decade ago, and far be it from Owen to corrupt his former friend’s crusade against him.
“Heavens,” Ivy said, “she lasted longer during your boring monologue than most.”
Barnes’s eyes warmed fractionally when they settled on his only sister. “I did not even know what I was saying by the end. But alas, now it is the three of us, so let us wrap this up, Trouble. I want to make it home before nightfall.”
Ivy nodded. “I have decided to resign my post, brother. I will write to my governess friend to replace me, and I will await her arrival so that I can ease her into the situation.”
Barnes bobbed his head in satisfaction, then frowned as the part about waiting for her friend sank in.
“It will be especially important that I pass on my duties,” Ivy continued, hesitating only slightly before adding, “since I am being courted.”
Barnes seemed surprised, but pleased with her easy acquiescence. “Then let us write to Father.”
“No, you misunderstand.” Ivy stepped closer to her brother, her honey eyes pleading. “I am sorry I did not tell you before, but I was too stunned. You see, I cannot marry Mr. Reedly, because I am already being seriously courted by another gentleman.”
Barnes’s head jerked in confusion. “Who?”
“Someone with a title. You know Father will love that.”
Silence.
Barnes’s eyes slitted. “Who?”
“Lord Brackley.”
One moment passed, then two. Barnes looked over at him and must have seen the affirmation on his face.
What happened next was so quick that Owen did not have time to think.
Barnes set his glass down and charged toward him, shoving him against the wall.
“The hell you are! Over my corpse will you ever touch my sister!”
Ivy shouted in the background, but Owen was too busy dislodging Barnes’s arm from his throat. His former friend was strong, especially when fueled by rage, but Owen had spent a decade honing his body with hard work. He knocked Barnes’s arm away and shoved his friend off him.
“You touch me again, and I will lay you flat,” he growled. “That was your one free shot.”
“Enough,” Ivy snapped, inserting herself between them. “Barnes, you dolt, will you let me finish before you turn into a Neanderthal?”
Barnes ignored her, and that ignited Owen’s temper further. Ivy deserved her brother’s respect. “Pay attention to your sister.”
“Lord Brackley, I challenge you to a—”
“It is not real!” Ivy shouted.
Barnes paused his issue to a duel long enough for her words to penetrate his fury. He glared down at her. “What?”
“It is not a real courtship. Step away, Barnes, and listen for once in your life.”
With a dagger-filled look, Barnes reluctantly stepped back. His chest was heaving, and his cheeks were red. It took everything Owen had not to provoke the man into a good brawl, but he did not wish to upset Ivy.
Ivy very calmly picked up Barnes’s discarded glass and handed it to him. “Drink.”
He did.
“Good, now listen carefully, brother. I do not wish to marry Reedly. He is cruel.”
At that news Barnes stilled. Barnes was an ass, but he had zero tolerance for bullies. At Harrow he had garnered more than one black eye defending those who were smaller or different.
“Lord Brackley does not wish to marry at present, and we all know that, with his title, there will be more than one mama throwing her daughter at him,” Ivy continued.
“We have agreed to announce a mutually beneficial, but false courtship. Father will leave me be, and it will ease the pressure on Lord Brackley. Once enough time has passed, I will call off the courtship, preserving my reputation.” Her cheeks pinkened when she added, “And it may give me the opportunity to catch the attention of a suitor I would be willing to marry.”
Barnes rubbed his hand over the back of his head. “Do you have a particular suitor in mind? Perhaps Father can—”
“Lord Hartford.”
Barnes’s expression faltered. “The marquess?”
She nodded, and his lips pressed together. He knew as well as Owen that if Ivy’s father approached Lord Hartford now, the marquess would turn him down.
“I will remain here at Brackley Estate until the new governess is settled,” Ivy continued. “With my friend’s presence, along with the dowager’s, there will be no question about propriety.”
Owen poured another glass of Scotch and tossed back a mouthful. It burned his throat as his eyes landed on Ivy’s form, the sweet curve of her bottom just visible beneath her skirts. Bloody hell. He averted his gaze before Barnes could catch him. Then he would really have a duel on his hands.
Barnes’s fists flexed as his eyes darted to Owen. “Are you truly entertaining this absurd scheme?”
Ivy answered for him, which was a good thing, because Owen honestly did not know what to say. “It is not absurd, Barnes. Unconventional and daring, perhaps. Do not ridicule something so precious as my chance to find a happy marriage.”
“Not every marriage can be happy, Trouble.”
“I will not settle for our mother’s life.”
Barnes flinched and set his glass on a side table with a clink.
He began pacing back and forth, his arms behind his back and his brows drawn in thought.
Owen could practically see his former friend’s hatred warring with his desire to make his little sister happy.
Even in his Harrow days he had had a soft spot for her.
“You intend to use your courtship to entice the marquess?”
Ivy nodded. “He does not know I exist. Arriving at society events on Lord Brackley’s arm could change that.”
“You do realize,” Barnes said at last, addressing Owen, “that under no circumstances would I ever allow my sister to actually tie herself to you?”
Owen ground his molars, tempted to ask why that was, but refusing to give Barnes the satisfaction of once again denying him answers.
“Why not?” Ivy asked, having no such reservations. Her eyes traveled between them. “What is your history? Owe—Lord Brackley has not been forthcoming.”
Barnes’s eyes went flat. “No, he would not be, would he?”
What did that mean?
“If she does this, and I strongly advise against it, she will remain untouched and her virtue intact so that her reputation is not ruined when she ends the courtship.” Barnes once again closed the distance between them, his boots silent on the carpet, until they were almost nose to nose.
“Do you understand that, Brackley? If you touch her, I will destroy your life.”
Barnes had always known how to rile him, but Owen would not allow a reaction this time, not when Barnes was threatening him over something he probably needed to be threatened over.
With her freckled cheeks, impish eyes, and curvy body, a man would have to be dead not to notice Ivy Bennett, and despite all of his internal admonitions, Owen had noticed her.
If Owen was going to go through with this hoax, he would have to be very, very careful.
No more admiring her curves. No more innocent touches.
No more letting his voice fall into that tone.
He was not going to marry Ivy Bennett or anyone else, for that matter, at least not for a good long time.
All he had to do was keep his hands and thoughts to himself. He could do that, surely?
“Barnes,” Ivy said sharply, “I am entirely capable of making decisions about my own body.”
“Ivy, if he compromises you, then he has to marry you, and I cannot allow that to happen.”
“Have you married every woman you have touched?”
“That is different.”
“How? Because society says so?”
“No, you do not understand. There are things about him you do not know. Hateful, horrible things.”
Her expression faltered for a moment, and something like doubt flashed in her eyes.
Owen could have defended himself—maybe he should have since Barnes was lying about him—but he had always balked at being forced into things, so instead he lifted a brow and remained silent in the face of Barnes’s accusations.
He tilted his amber-filled glass at Ivy.
“It is your choice. Back out now if you wish.”
She glanced between the two of them, Owen leaning casually against a writing desk and sipping Scotch, and Barnes hovering several feet away, vibrating with anger.
“The plan remains,” she said.
Barnes cursed and turned away. “I do not like you staying here.”
“With two other women in residence, I will be chaperoned at all times.”
“Not good enough. I want you to move home.”
“I will in due time, but I cannot leave the girls yet.”
“If you insist upon living with this meater, sister, then I have no choice but to move into Brackley Estate until this absurd charade is over.”
Owen barked out a laugh. “You are mad if you think I would allow that.”
“No, old friend, you are mad if you think I will allow this to happen any other way. I am home for two months before I must depart again, and I shall spend it here, watching your every move, haunting your every thought, my eyes peering into every dark corner. When I leave, Ivy will come with me. You two had best hope your little scheme has had its desired effect by then.” He stared them both down.
“The countdown to the end of your courtship has begun.”