Chapter 29
Owen had wanted to take her home after the carriage incident, but she had refused.
After an hour of mindless chatter over tea with Lord and Lady Quincy, she wished she had conceded, especially when, after Owen brought up business, the men had retired to Lord Quincy’s study, leaving her with the lady of the house, who sniffed approximately thirty times a minute and ran a handkerchief underneath her nose until her upper lip was raw.
There was a cloying scent in the room that was starting to give Ivy a headache, and she would not have been surprised to discover that the lady was allergic to her own perfume.
When Owen came to collect her, his lips were flat and his eyes cold.
“What did you learn?” she asked as he took her arm and positioned himself between her and the street.
“I have learned that the impostor looks like me, or has disguised himself well enough to pass as me.”
She gasped. How was that possible?
Owen’s eyes darted down the street and probed into every passing carriage.
“Before today, Lord Quincy had not glimpsed me in over a decade, so when the impostor appeared on his doorstep with the business proposition, he looked enough like me to convince Quincy it was me. Jones left me a list of other men he knows have invested with the false Brackley, and all of them are passing acquaintances at most, leading me to believe the impostor purposely avoided anyone who knew me well.”
“Did Lord Quincy give you the details of the investment?”
“He said ‘Lord Brackley’ had an idea for a new textile mill that would quadruple his investment within the year, so he did not ask too many questions.” Owen snarled at that.
“It appears ‘Brackley’ upheld his promise: A mere six months later, Quincy’s first dividend check arrived, and it was twice his investment. ”
“Considering the factory’s conditions, I am unsurprised.”
“The impostor started a business by trading on my reputation, and tied my name to an abomination.”
Ivy tugged gently on her arm. “You are holding me too tightly, Owen.”
He immediately relaxed his grip. “Sorry, love.”
Her heart beat faster. He had used the term of endearment before, but she knew it could not mean anything. “I have been thinking that perhaps the carriage accident was not an accident.”
“I agree.”
His immediate response surprised her. “You do?”
“It was another attempt on my life, and you almost died for a second time because of some madman’s agenda against me. That is why when we arrive at the town house, I am sending both you and Barnes home.”
She stopped, and he stilled with her, obviously having anticipated her reaction.
“You cannot send me back to my mother’s house now.
” Her skin crinkled with dread. “You cannot strip away my chance with Lord Hartford when he has only just declared his intentions. Please, Owen. What is the point in saving my life only to let my father destroy it?”
He stared down at her, his brows furrowed.
“When I said home, I meant Brackley Estate. Hartford will not be courting you.” The distress on her face must have been apparent, because his tone gentled.
“Ivy, I kissed you on the street in front of a good number of people. You are thoroughly compromised. I ruined any chance you had with Hartford today, and I am sorry for that. I know you wanted him, but it is me you shall have to marry unless you wish to live your life as an outcast.”
At the plain recitation of her circumstances, Ivy finally acknowledged what she had avoided admitting to herself all morning: The Viscount Brackley had compromised her.
She had barely seen the carriage before Owen had shoved her to the ground and slammed his heavy body over hers, protecting her with his life.
And when it had been over, he had cradled her face as if she were the most cherished person on the planet, brushing his lips across her cheeks like he had needed to taste her warmth to know she was still alive.
It had made her chest ache in a way she did not fully understand, and when she had realized they had an audience and what it all meant, she had forced the entire incident from her mind out of sheer panic.
But now that he was acknowledging it, Ivy too had to face that it was real, which meant she also had to admit to herself that she felt nothing but relief.
She liked Owen. She liked how he talked to her and how he kissed her.
She liked that beneath the grumpiness, he was caring and thoughtful, and how he tried to act as if he were not thoroughly entertained by the gossip she shared, even as his lips curved into a half smile.
She liked how he handled his horses, with love and respect and calm command.
Her cheeks heated as she thought of how he had handled her similarly in the kitchen. And his study.
She had set her sights on Lord Hartford because he was a rare example of kindness, but that was before she came to know Owen.
Owen was nothing like her father. Owen would, quite literally, take a carriage wheel to his back before he ever hurt her or allowed her to be hurt.
When he had discovered what she was teaching his sisters, he had been proud.
Never once had he made her feel bad for who she was, or scoffed at her dreams, or demanded she act more ladylike.
He had growled his way into her life, and had accepted her for exactly who she was.
The mere thought of talking poetry with Lord Hartford day in and day out, and having to hide her lessons again, had begun to make her skin itch.
She had been loath to acknowledge it because she had not felt she had a choice.
In truth, there was only one man who made her burn with desire, who made her laugh, who made her so frustrated she wanted to scream, and it was Lord Brackley.
But a quick glance at his face told her he did not feel the same.
Just because Owen was unlike anyone she had ever met, it did not mean he felt similarly about her.
He had had lovers before, including a woman still willing to move from Prussia because she realized she had made a grave error in letting him go.
He was a powerful viscount with a reputation for fearsome deals and quality horseflesh.
Until today, he had had so many options, so many women available to him who would have been perfect, who would have elevated his station if he had decided to marry in the future.
Time and again he had made it clear how much he did not wish to marry at present, and now he was being forced into marriage with her. She would be the yoke around his neck, the reminder that the worst had happened: He had compromised a woman and had been forced to take vows.
Ivy flinched at the thought of being an obligation to the man she had grown to care for. “Perhaps we can find a way out of it.”
“Ivy, darling, I kissed you repeatedly in front of at least three dozen people.”
“Only on the face. You were shaken up. You did not know what you were doing.”
The look he gave her was unreadable. “If you do not marry me, it will ruin you. Plain and simple.”
She tugged her lip between her teeth, her thoughts bouncing to what a ruined life might mean to her, and if it was preferable to being Owen’s eternal albatross.
“Do not tell me you would rather be ostracized from society than marry me?” His voice sounded confused and… hurt?
“I do not wish to live as your obligation.”
He towered over her, the brim of his hat blocking out the weakening sunlight as clouds moved in, his expression thunderous.
“How could you think that? I am the one who stole your chance to marry Lord Hartford. I am the one who thoughtlessly, foolishly compromised you. If anything, I am the obligation.”
“Yes, but it turns out, I rather enjoy your company.”
“Tell me more about that,” he murmured silkily, cupping her elbow. “What about my company do you enjoy?”
Ivy had never flushed so much in her life as she did in Owen’s presence.
It was rather humiliating. “I enjoy your kindness and that you listen to me, really listen to me, and that you were not angry when you discovered what I have been teaching your sisters. I enjoy that you are good to your siblings, and that you have even tolerated Barnes when he has acted abominably toward you.”
The heated expression on his face faltered, and he stared down at her with wonder. “You were not talking about what we did in the kitchen?”
“Do not mistake me, I enjoyed that very much, but that was not what I meant.”
He continued to stare at her, his lips parted and his hand firmly wrapped around her arm as if he were processing some emotion and needed to ground himself with touch. “You enjoy me?” A little line appeared between his brows. “You enjoy me for more than how I can make you feel?”
She sensed the answer was important to him, and when she recalled the letter from his former lover, she thought she understood why.
His father had hated him, and his best friend had abandoned him.
His lover had not thought him good enough to marry, until she had realized she missed their physical relationship.
Had anyone ever told Owen Brackley that he was a good man?
That he had value beyond the horses he could provide men, and the pleasure he could provide women?
He had grown up without approval and had made himself into a man who did not require it.
But did not everyone deserve to know they were valued?
Ivy lifted her arm, and he automatically released it.
She brushed her fingertips across his cheek, and his eyelashes fluttered as he leaned ever so slightly into her touch.
“I thought you must know all the wonderful things about yourself, but perhaps you do not. Perhaps no one has ever told you that you are a good friend, even when that friendship is not deserved. That you are solid and dependable, and everyone at your estate respects you because of it. They know that if they need something, you will provide it, and that you will carry some of their weight on your shoulders to make their loads lighter. You give your sisters the love and acceptance they so desperately crave, and you are a constant beam of affection in their lives when no other adult has been. Perhaps no one has ever told you that we can all see through the grumpy exterior to the generous-hearted man inside, the man who helped his governess by pretending to court her, and who makes everyone feel safe to be exactly who they are.”
His emerald eyes burned as his fingers lightly encircled her wrist. “Ivy Bennett, I do not deserve you.”
“That is what I am saying, Owen. You deserve everything you want.”
“And what of your desires?” he asked. “You set your sights on Lord Hartford, and I have taken that option from you.”
Ivy pulled her lip between her teeth. “I never wanted Hartford, Owen. I wanted kindness and safety. Never once have I wanted to kiss Hartford, or do with him what we did together. He is sweet and handsome, but I cannot think of him as anything other than a friend. While you… well, you are all of those things and more.”
He leaned forward, his breathing erratic, his magnetism drawing her like a moth to a candle, when someone bumped into her, knocking her into his arms.
Owen snarled after the adolescent, holding her close to him as if he could be her armor. “Are you all right?”
Ivy nodded and he released her. She felt the absence of him as one might feel the absence of sunlight during the day hours. “Let us go,” he said gruffly. “You and Barnes need to pack.”
“Owen, I am not leaving.”
“You are. Nothing has changed in that regard.”
Maddening! And after all the nice things she had said. She set her jaw. “I am not.”
“If something happens to you because of me, I shall never forgive myself.”
“If something should happen to you because I am not here, I shall never forgive myself.”
They stared at each other, neither acquiescing. “I could make you.”
“You could try.”
“Do you understand how I felt when that carriage was careening toward us? I could think of nothing but you. If something were to happen to you, that generous heart you claim I have?” He thumped his chest. “It would blacken into coal. You have very quickly become my conscience and my light. Do not damn me to a lifetime of knowing I could not save the one person—” He cut himself off.
Ivy’s heart twisted behind her rib cage, slow and sinuous. Was she falling in love with this passionate, kindhearted grump?
“Owen, I was given a mission. Although I have cleared your name, I have not helped the ‘hysterical’ women. Worse, there is a man posing as you who is possibly involved. I cannot leave now. You will simply have to support my decision, and trust that I can take care of myself.”
His jaw clenched as he wrestled with his need to control the situation. Finally, he clasped her elbow and drew her close, dipping his head so that his lips brushed her ear. “You are going to drive me to madness, Lady Brackley.”
She had won this battle, but there was one more to conquer when they arrived home. If gossip traveled as fast as she suspected, Barnes would already know she had been compromised and would have to marry the one person he hated almost as much as their father.