Chapter 26 #2
She sat across from him and tore a hunk off the bread and popped it between her lips. He stared at her mouth as she delicately chewed and swallowed.
“Owen?” The way she spoke his name suggested she had said it more than once.
“Yes?”
“I have something I must confess.”
His eyes lifted to hers, and whatever she saw in them made her lips part and her legs shift beneath the table. “You do not need to confess to me, Sunshine. I am a sinner, not a saint.”
Her cheeks flushed at the words, and he tried not to think about that flush creeping down her chest, or how rosy her skin would look in the aftermath of pleasure.
The balls clicked in his hand, and he also tried not to think about how he could use them to enhance her pleasure.
He was supposed to talk to her about what had happened in the field.
He was supposed to reassure her that it would not happen again, and that he was going to act the ultimate gentleman, and yet all he could picture was slowly untying her dressing robe until the silk panels parted, lifting the hem of her nightdress and…
“But I do,” she said, her voice breaking into his wicked fantasy.
“You do not have to fret, Ivy. I already know that you arranged the meeting with Mr. Jones, and I am not angry.”
She perked up. “What did you learn?”
His lips twitched at her eagerness. “Many concerning things that I need time to think about.”
She was clearly displeased with his answer, but to his surprise did not push the issue. “The meeting with Mr. Jones is not what I must confess to. I spent the entire carriage ride to London thinking, and I came to the conclusion that I must tell you the truth for your own safety.”
The haze of his lust slowly began to dissipate. “The truth about what?”
She exhaled, the little puff of air lifting one of the strands of hair on her forehead. “IteachdefenseclassestowomenandIhavebeen spyingonyou.”
The words came out in such a jumbled rush that he could not separate them. “Say it again. Slower. I will not bite.” The comment slipped out before he could stop it, and something hot uncoiled in his belly at the memory of nipping the skin on her perfect, smooth neck.
She took a deep breath. “I teach secret self-defense classes to women over the modiste’s shop. And I have been spying on you.”
Owen sat back, his head spinning. He felt as if his arrival in London had somehow dislodged secrets left and right.
“Spying on me,” he repeated. Anger began to form in the pit of his stomach as he thought of the impostor who had borrowed money in his name and then dragged his reputation through the dirt.
Was she spying for him? Betrayal, thick and sour, coated his tongue. “For who?”
She traced her fingertip along the wood grain of the table. “A woman.”
“You will have to elaborate,” he said coolly.
“I only know her as the Dove. She gathers information from governesses across the country to help right wrongs done to those who do not have the power to right things themselves. She holds the ton accountable for their crimes.”
“And what crime have I committed?”
“None.” She lifted her head. “She thought you were entangled with the hysteria sweeping the city, as you were seen in a number of the households with affected women.”
That he had not expected. “Impossible.”
She nodded. “I know that now. When you told me your most recent trip to London had been two years ago to meet with the Duke of Houndsbury, I passed along the information. But she still thinks your name is in some way tied to it—and she is worried about your safety.”
Her confession eased some of the anger coalescing in his heart. He was not pleased to learn that his privacy had been violated, but at least she was not working for the impostor. It also allowed one more piece of the puzzle to tumble into place.
“It must be the man impersonating me.”
“The man impersonating you?”
Owen told her about what he had learned from Jasper, and watched as she began to vibrate with excitement.
“Of course!” She jumped from her seat, the neckline of her dressing gown widening to reveal more of that maddeningly proper nightgown.
“When you were abroad and your father was ill, someone took it upon himself to pretend to be you. Using your name, he visited numerous gentlemen of the ton and convinced them to invest in his factory. That is why the governesses swore they saw you visiting houses across London!” She took a step toward the kitchen door. “I must write to the Dove at once. I—”
He moved so quickly that she let out a squeak when he rounded the table and advanced on her. “Your letter can wait. We are not done talking, Sunshine.”
She swallowed.
“You teach self-defense classes. That is where you go each week, not to visit your modiste friend.”
“Oh yes, there was that part of my confession.”
“You teach grown women the skills you teach my sisters?”
She nodded.
“Are you even friends with the modiste?”
She shook her head.
He leaned forward and pierced her with his eyes, connections falling into place one by one. “Did the modiste sew my wound, Ivy?”
“Not exactly.”
“How exactly did I come to have a bullet removed from my shoulder, then?”
“The Dove.”
He paused at that, resting his hand over her head on the wall. So this mysterious Dove had asked Ivy to spy on him, and then had saved his life. He did not know if he was angry about her interference or grateful for her stitching skills.
His jaw worked as he tried to get a grip on this odd sense of betrayal, when Ivy gently cupped his cheek.
Her fingers were cool and soft, and he could not make himself shake them off.
“I am sorry, Owen. I did not know you well when I agreed to pass along information about you. I thought you might truly be involved. I did what I thought was right at the time.”
“And once you discovered I was innocent?”
“Then I became committed to proving your innocence. And I was worried about your safety.”
He let his hand fall. “My safety?”
“You were shot by a man who clearly has a vendetta against you.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “You know what I am capable of. I thought I could clear your name and protect you while we finished out our ruse.”
He scraped his palm over his jaw, assessing the fierce woman standing in front of him.
Her chin was held high in defiance of his ire.
Ivy Bennett did what she thought was right, whether that meant risking her job as a governess to teach little girls to defend themselves, riding the streets at night to teach older women the same, or spying on her employer to help solve the mystery of hysteria that was injuring so many women.
He could be angry that she had violated his privacy—and he was—while still understanding that she had done it with the best of intentions.
“Any other confessions, Sunshine?”
She licked her lips, and at the look in his eye, took a step back, pressing herself against the wall. “No.”
“Good. Because I have one.”