Chapter 14
You have not looked in my direction once.”
The deep voice came only inches from her ear. Ivy startled, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh when she felt the viscount’s body heat at her back. He circled her and held out a glass of punch, his gaze skating over her tight expression before dropping to the gown he had bought her.
It was one of the most exquisite pieces of clothing Ivy had ever worn.
When she had opened the box, she had gasped with delight.
The warm amber was the color of clover honey and perfectly matched her eyes.
The skirts were wide, the bodice narrowed to a point at her waist, the neckline beautifully curved to show off the slightest swell of her breasts.
She had been wearing a cloak when they had left the house, and upon their arrival Owen had immediately been swept into conversation with his business partner and their host, Mr. Donnelley.
This was the first time he had seen her in the gown.
“I have looked in your direction,” she lied. In fact, she had been avoiding seeking him out, stupidly afraid that if she did, she would somehow give away their charade. “You have been too busy to notice.”
“I would have noticed.” He was staring at the gown with a tight expression on his face. “You look… nice.”
“The quality of your compliments renders me speechless.”
The corner of his lip tugged, as if he were almost going to smile. “Beautiful. You look beautiful, Ivy.”
Her heart gave one tiny, extra beat, but it was only because he was an adept pupil, not because of the way he had said her name, as if she were beautiful and not simply the dress. “Much better, my lord. Now, why does it matter whether or not I gaze at you from across the room?”
“Because you are supposed to be wildly infatuated with me.”
“Is that how one shows wild infatuation in polite society? By making eyes? Perhaps it is you who should be pretending to be infatuated with me.”
“In that case, I am failing as well. We have not convinced anyone I am courting you. We entered separately, and we have been apart the entire night. You may not have noticed, but now that gossip of our courtship has made the rounds, everyone is watching us, including Lord Hartford. We need to persuade him that you fancy me, and that I find you so desirable I cannot keep away from you.”
“Lord Hartford has not noticed me.” Ivy could see him now across the parlor, speaking with a cluster of men in black frock coats and shiny shoes.
His chocolate eyes sparkled with laughter, and his gloved hands gestured as he spoke.
He was not quite as she had remembered. When she had last seen him some years ago, she had thought him tall and handsome, but now that he was sharing a room with Owen, it was clear he was of average height, with narrow shoulders and a slight stoop.
Nevertheless, he was smiling kindly and genuinely, and despite the decided lack of emotion she felt looking at him, she knew she would be safe and respected as his wife.
Unfortunately, he did not yet know she existed.
“He has,” Owen said shortly. “Everyone has, and what they have seen so far is a woman stiffly removed from the man who is supposedly courting her.”
“You give my presence too much credit. They are all looking at you. This is your first social engagement as the new viscount.” Still, her eyes swept the room, and she swallowed.
The luxurious rooms that had been opened for the evening party were lit with hundreds of candles glowing against the crimson flocked wallpaper.
Women circulated the space, reticules dangling from their gloved wrists and curls hanging over their ears.
The men were outfitted in evening coats, and there was the low murmur of voices as a hired harpist played prettily in the corner.
During Ivy’s short perusal, a number of eyes had turned discreetly toward her before the owners had spoken to their companions in low tones.
For the first time, Ivy was the center of gossip, and it was not a nice feeling.
“I see what you mean.” Suddenly anxious to persuade society Owen truly was enamored with her, she awkwardly patted his arm. “My, my, how… ah… tall you are tonight.”
He sighed.
“I do not know how to do this!”
He tapped his finger on his glass, appearing as irritated and frustrated as she felt. Finally, he said, “I can teach you.”
“Teach me what?”
“Teach you how to seduce.” His jaw clenched as he looked at something over her shoulder. “I can carry us both through this, but I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“How would you make me uncomfortable?”
“Real seduction is visceral. If I do it properly, your heart should race.” His eyes fell to her chest, as if he could see where the traitorous organ had skipped a beat.
“Your fingers should tingle, and your entire body should feel too hot and too tight. It can be uncomfortable and confusing, especially when it is only a lesson.”
Her blood turned slow and honeyed in her veins even as his words stirred her temper. “Owen, I can handle a few simple lessons on seduction. Do not flatter yourself about my reaction.”
His gaze returned to her, so heated and possessive that she took a half-step back. “Are you certain? I may not have the flowery language of flirtation, but I know how to make a woman… feel.”
“I certainly feel like you are adept at complimenting yourself.”
His lips curved into a full smile, and Ivy felt as if she had just accomplished the impossible. She had made the grouchy, unapproachable Viscount Brackley smile, no matter how reluctant it was.
His smile faded. “If at any point it feels like too much, tell me.”
“All right.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise I will tell you if your seduction is simply too good,” she said, barely refraining from laughing.
But he was not laughing. His eyes traced over her skin, and her merriment slipped away at the scorching heat of it.
“We will start simply. The first lesson,” he said in a deep voice that sent chills up her spine, “is that when you are mad with desire for a person, every near-touch can be a prelude to lovemaking.” His breath ghosted over her cheek, and his fingers almost brushed her waist as he crowded into her space.
Absolutely nothing he was doing was inappropriate, and yet she felt her body inexplicably swaying closer, as if she were a sunflower swiveling toward the sun.
“My heat, my breath, my eyes on your skin,” he continued, allowing his gaze to roam over her until it felt like an actual touch.
They dropped lower, to her neck, where her pulse beat rapidly.
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and she wondered what it would feel like if he pressed those lips to her skin.
“They can make you react as surely as my hands or mouth. I need you to blush now, Ivy, as if I am whispering sweet lovers’ words to you. ”
“I cannot blush on demand.”
He smiled wickedly. “Lord Hartford is watching. No, do not look,” he added quickly when she reflexively turned to check. “Remember, you are too caught up in me to care that anyone else is here.”
She nodded. “Right. Mayhap if I hold my breath, my cheeks will redden?”
He leaned so close that the front of his coat brushed the swell of her breasts. “Did you know, Ivy, that you have a beautiful throat? It is so smooth and delicate. I want to wrap my hand around it and squeeze a little. I want to see if being dominated by me makes you we—weak.”
He had cut himself off, and she was not certain what he had been about to say, but even so, no one had ever talked to her like that, not even the crass footman she had kissed when she was sixteen years of age.
Involuntarily, she imagined how it would feel to have Owen’s huge palm cupping the side of her neck and his intense jade eyes focused on her while he showed her all the things she had only heard about while skulking in the shadows around her brothers.
Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and her breath came out in a sharp burst of something that was curiously, horrifyingly close to arousal.
“There we go, Sunshine. That blush is perfect.” He backed away, his inscrutable expression evidence that he was entirely unaffected by their little exchange, and the knowledge only made her flush harder.
How mortifying! Had he been right, after all?
This would not do. “That is a good start, my smitten girl. I will find you later to introduce you to Lord Hartford and teach you lesson number two.”
Bloody hell. Owen left the room and stepped outside to breathe in the crisp October air. The half-bare branches bobbed in the breeze, and he prayed the stinging temperature would douse his desire.
Ivy had been fumbling in there. At his estate she was bubbly, bossy, and competent.
She was here, too, except for when it came to him.
He did not know if it was because of Barnes’s watchful eye, the presence of her precious Lord Hartford, or because a good number of the ton were intently scrutinizing them, but she had frozen.
She had been unable to even look at him, and when he had approached, she had stiffened like a woman who had no interest in being courted by him, perhaps even disliked him.
The only way he had figured he could get her to resemble more of a lovestruck woman than a board of lumber was to teach her about seduction. He had thought to impart a few bits of wisdom about body language and the power of words.
He had known his words would affect her. He had spoken them so that they would, but what he had not known was how her reaction would affect him. Her response had been stunning. Beautiful. So bloody perfect that even now, he was uncomfortable in his trousers.