Chapter 24
Owen did not have a chance to speak with Ivy before it seemed half the house was packed into the carriages and headed to London.
His sisters had been so dismayed to be left behind that Owen had found himself agreeing to open the London town house for the Season.
Once it was ready, he would send for them.
The prospect of spending months in a city bustling with people and noise was enough to put him in a terrible mood, but what had really made him grumble and glower at every person who had crossed his path was that he had not been able to find a moment alone with Ivy since their tryst in the meadow.
Every minute had been spent preparing the estate to function in his absence, even as his every thought had been consumed by the memory of their kiss.
He could not stop picturing the way her plush mouth had opened beneath his, or how their tongues had tangled so perfectly.
The kiss had felt fluid, as if they had been doing it their entire lives, rather than the awkward first kiss of two people who had yet to learn each other.
She had smelled so sweet that even walking into a room and breathing in her lingering scent now made him hard. Her hips had been soft and athletic between his palms, her pulse rapid beneath his fingertips. Absolutely everything about her was perfection.
And then she had let him bring her to crisis, and it had been the single most exultant moment of his life.
The way she had let him work her body, the flush across her cheekbones, the dark shadow of her lashes over her skin as her lips parted and her lungs heaved—it was fodder for his every fantasy.
She had melted under his praise, until she had been as pliable in his hands as wax.
When she had reached her peak and shattered in his arms—he never could have imagined how possessive he would feel watching her, knowing that it was he who had brought her there.
He had given Ivy her first taste of true pleasure, and the hidden, dominant part of him was convinced that now meant she was his, even as Owen forced himself to replay her reaction when she had thought they were about to be caught and she would be forced to marry him.
Ivy did not want to marry him. She had wanted practice so that she would one day be able to satisfy Lord Hartford.
Bloody hell.
Owen scrubbed his hand down his face, swaying with the gait of his horse as they ambled beside the carriages.
When he had discovered what she was teaching his sisters, that she was indeed the wildly capable and fierce female who had taken down the highwayman while he lay bleeding to death, he had been so awed that he had not been thinking properly.
He was far from angry about her unsanctioned lessons.
In fact, he was thrilled. The savage satisfaction he felt at the thought of one of the little girls kneeing a lad who had become too bold was undeniable.
It was a shame not every girl received such tutelage.
He had not lied about his fantasies about warrior princess Ivy.
The dreams had started when he was still bordering on fever and severely wounded: in them, she would incapacitate their attacker, and then she would run to him and begin kissing him all over.
The first time he had had the dream he had felt uncomfortable, like he had gone to a place he should not have, but then it had happened again, and soon he had begun to fantasize about warrior Ivy when he was conscious.
He had told himself it was acceptable because it was not the real Ivy he had been lusting over.
Then he had discovered she truly was the woman of his dreams, and his entire world had stopped spinning. He had acted without thought to consequence, and although it had been reckless and stupid, he could not bring himself to regret it.
It was painfully clear to him now that he wanted her beyond all reason, and it was equally clear that if Ivy was going to escape their arrangement with her reputation intact, he would need to put as much distance between them as possible in London.
What took place in the field could not happen again, and he needed to tell her that.
Owen ignored the sinking pit in his stomach and attributed it to his dread at having to live in London. It had nothing to do with the spunky ray of sunshine that had wriggled her way beneath his skin.
No, it had nothing to do with her at all.
Owen probably should have ridden in the carriage, but he could not stand to be in confined quarters with either Ivy or Barnes, although for entirely different reasons, so he had made his excuses and chosen to ride instead.
When they reached the inn after hours of traveling, he barely glanced at Barnes before escaping to his chamber.
The next day was a continuation of the first. He studiously avoided Ivy in her brother’s presence, while being keenly aware of her the entire time.
He needed to find time alone with her to talk, but with Barnes hovering like an old mother hen, he found his temper growing shorter with each passing hour.
When they reached the Brackley town house, Owen was dismayed to discover it was falling apart as surely as the country estate.
The skeleton staff had done the best they could to prepare for their arrival, but they could not fix the water stains on the wallpaper, the out-of-date furniture, or the crumbling mortar between bricks.
Barnes studied the foyer with lifted brows.
“Do not even say it,” Owen snapped, walking past. “Fale!” he roared.
The butler hurried forward, dotting his hairless brow with a handkerchief.
“Hire some goddamned staff, will you? This place is falling apart. We need several ladies’ maids, a full kitchen staff, and whoever else you think will be necessary to competently run a household of twelve. ”
“Twelve, my lord?” the butler gasped.
“My sisters will be arriving for the Season whenever this heaping pile of bricks is ready. On that note, hire a mason, a carpenter, and a roofer.” He paused as Ivy drew even with him, her little navy hat squashed atop her head.
She took in the chandelier overhead that had not been dropped and dusted in what looked like a solid decade.
The marble flooring was chipped, the mahogany railing scratched.
For a brief moment he felt embarrassed that he had brought her to a house that was a short cry from ruins.
“Fale,” he continued, nodding to Barnes and Ivy, “meet my guests, Mr. and Miss Bennett.”
The butler’s eyes widened even further, and he dropped into a hasty bow.
“What do you think, darling?” Owen asked Ivy sarcastically.
“I think it has a lot of potential.”
“Do you, now?”
She nodded, that blasted dimple appearing in her cheek. “It only needs a little care.”
He studied her for a moment. Without taking his eyes off her he said to Fale, “Although Miss Bennett is my guest, I am also courting her under the chaperonage of her brother, which means that whatever she wants, she is to have. Do you understand? If she wants to redecorate the house entirely in pink, I expect the wallpaper to arrive the next morning. If she wants quail eggs for breakfast every Tuesday, find them.” He finally tore his gaze from her smooth cheeks and touched them on his panicked butler.
“And give yourself a raise, Fale. You are going to need it.”
Owen stormed off toward the study, leaving the servants to lead Ivy upstairs to her chamber, which was to be in the opposite wing from his for propriety’s sake.
Barnes easily caught up with him. “Why are you giving her so much power?” he asked, keeping stride. “In a month she will be gone.”
He did not know how to answer.
Barnes stared at the side of his head as if he were trying to figure out a mathematics problem. “She has terrible taste. Her chamber at home is entirely yellow. It is her favorite color. Your house will look like the outside of a canary when she is finished.”
Owen could not help smiling. Yellow was a perfect fit for the ray of sunshine being led up his staircase. “The house could use brightening.”
Barnes hurried in front of him, forcing Owen to a stop. They stared at each other, a mere foot separating them. “I hope you are not developing feelings for my sister,” Barnes said coldly. “She is not yours to have, and never will be.”
A muscle twitched in Owen’s jaw. “You should be thanking me, Bennett. When I am finished parading her around town, she will have Hartford prostrating himself at her feet.” He leaned forward and snarled, “Now get out of my way.”
“You are acting nastier than usual, Brackley.”
“Only to you.” He shouldered past Barnes, wishing instead he could knock out his former friend.
Barnes was right; he was in a foul mood, and for the life of him he did not understand why.
All he knew was that the next day he and Ivy were going to present themselves to the ton with the sole purpose of making her more enticing to Hartford, and something about the fact now made him sick.