Chapter 33
Ivy did not know how it had happened, but Owen had wormed his way beneath her skin until she could not fathom an existence without him.
The way he spoke to her, the way he touched her with equal parts reverence and mastery—it was all she had not known she needed.
She had never wanted to marry because she had not wanted to suffer as her mother had.
Under her father’s pressure, she had chosen Hartford as the best option.
He was kind and considerate, but he was nothing like Owen Brackley.
Hartford would never challenge her, never make her the center of his world, never look at her as if she set the stars in the sky.
Ivy licked her lips. Barnes thought Owen was in love with her. Even though Owen had not said the words, he had made it plain tonight that he liked her enough to marry her. That had to be enough, even if it was not everything, because it had become clear over the past few days that she did love him.
“What do you know about the act of lovemaking?” he asked, running his nose up and down her neck, one palm pressed to the wall by her head, the other still clasping her wrist.
“I read a woman’s book that said a lady should never let a man kiss her on the mouth, or under her dress. That she should only permit the act twice a week, and for as briefly as possible.”
He did not laugh. “Anything else?”
“Well, unlike the book I read, my older brothers do not talk about it as a chore.”
“Do you want me to explain what will happen?”
Ivy would have been humiliated to have this discussion with anyone else—even Diane—but with Owen it felt natural and safe. “Yes.”
And so, in frank terms, he described exactly what would happen. When he told her he would withdraw to prevent pregnancy and she tilted her head in confusion, he continued his explanation about how babes were made.
“My brothers know all this?” she exclaimed, incensed. “Do all men?”
“Men talk to one another. They see drawings and cartoons, and even photographs.”
Ivy was white with outrage. Meanwhile, women like herself were kept abominably insulated, told nothing except to bear it on their wedding day. They were told it was vulgar and sinful to enjoy sex, but it seemed men did not receive the same message. “Will you show me?”
His eyes were piercing. “Show you what?”
“All of it. The cartoons and the books.”
“I will have to acquire some, but yes.”
God, she loved him. Ivy took his hand and walked toward the bed, towing him behind her.
When she looked over her shoulder, his gaze was riveted on her behind, and his member was so stiff it looked painful.
She spun around and looped her arms over his neck, and then he was kissing her again.
He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, wincing slightly as he laid her on the bed.
“Your shoulder—”
“Is fine,” he said, standing to divest himself of his clothing.
Before she could admire the contours of his chest and shoulders, he was back on her, his mouth drifting over her rib cage.
He dipped his tongue into her navel and she squealed, her fingers spearing into his soft hair.
His fingers walked up the inside of her thigh and slid inside her again until she was shifting her hips against him.
Then he added a third finger, gently stretching her.
“Do not worry, I will fit,” he reassured her, somehow reading her unspoken thoughts.
He removed his fingers and kissed his way back up her body, taking her mouth and plundering with his tongue.
She was so focused on kissing him that when he slid his member through her sensitive tissues, it shocked her and she gasped.
He notched himself at her entrance and slowly began to penetrate her.
After an inch or so he removed himself, and then entered again, slightly deeper.
Each time, just as it began to burn, he pulled back out.
Over and over, his teeth gritted and sweat beading on his brow, he repeated the act until at last he was fully seated inside her.
Ivy struggled to take an entire breath, feeling full to the point that she was uncomfortable.
“Are you all right?” Owen rasped, brushing a kiss over her jaw.
“I think so.”
He gripped her hip in his wide palm and lifted, shifting the angle so that when he pulled out and entered her again, the pleasure made sparks flare behind her eyelids.
“Open your eyes.”
She obeyed, and when he pushed inside her, her vision blurred. “Is that a good unfocused look, or a painful one?”
“Good,” she gasped.
Owen continued to pump into her with maddening slowness, until she was fully adjusted and aching for more.
He read her body faster than she knew her own mind, because he picked up speed and then reached between their bodies to touch her where they met.
After that Ivy could not recall any specific moment.
They bled together in a hazy, pleasure-fueled dream of kisses, slick skin, and soft bites.
By the time she had peaked twice more, Ivy’s limbs were trembling and she was so overstimulated that she did not think she could take much more.
Owen kissed her, long and lingering, and then pulled out and spilled onto her belly.
After several moments he rolled over, pulling her into his side even though she was sticky with his release. Ivy curiously touched the substance with her finger, and Owen’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Now, that is a sight I like far too much. How do you feel?”
“I feel happy.” She was a bit sore, but otherwise the experience had been wholly pleasurable, and she knew that was because it had been with him.
Owen dropped a kiss to her hair. “I am going to apply for a special license. I want to marry you as soon as possible.”
“Then the ton will really talk.”
“They will not talk too much, or else they shall find themselves blacklisted from England’s finest horses.”
Ivy pressed her hand to his chest, marveling at how warm his skin was and at his crisp and wiry chest hair. She walked her fingers to the puckered and pink skin of the healing bullet wound. “What are you going to do about your brother? About the factory?”
“I am going to visit the factory tomorrow. It is mine in name, after all, and I believe everyone who works there has earned a paid holiday.”
“Oscar will be livid.”
He nuzzled into her neck. “Then he will come find me.”
“I do not like it.” It was dangerous. Oscar had already proven he was eager to kill Owen. What if he took another shot at Owen from afar? Owen could not be prepared at all times. She would have to be extra vigilant if she wanted him to survive long enough to become her husband.
Ivy had been to country balls before, but she had never attended such a crush as the opening ball of the Season.
The ballroom was bursting with gleaming jewels, scents of pomade and perfume, and flashes of colorful fabrics and feathers.
Music from the recessed orchestra swirled around her, as heady as the chatter and energy in the air.
Although the crowd was perhaps thinner than typical due to the hysteria, there were still a number of the ton ready to see and be seen once again.
Ivy’s eyes dragged across the Italian-inspired frescos on the ceiling before dropping back to the throng of nobility.
With her gloved fingertips resting on Owen’s forearm, they greeted their host and hostess, the Marquess and Marchioness of Southampshire.
The marchioness had welcomed Ivy with a touch of frost to her voice, but after her husband had taken a good look at Owen’s dark expression, his own welcome had been jovial.
“Punch, love?” Owen asked outside the refreshment room. They were to be announced into the ballroom soon, and Ivy knew every pair of eyes would be on them.
“No.” Two women with outrageously tall feathers in their hats swept past with their chins held high, giving her the cut, presumably for the compromising situation she had found herself in the day before.
“I am keeping a list of everyone who slights you.”
“You cannot refuse to sell horses to everyone who is cold to me, Owen. You will have no clientele left. Besides, I am capable of holding my own.”
“I most certainly can stop selling to everyone who is cold to you, and I will. I do not care if it runs my business into the ground, which it will not.” He was so confident that she shook her head in amazement.
“Why would you do that?”
They squeezed their way through two groups of gentlemen talking back-to-back.
“Because when we marry, you become mine, and I become yours. That means your problems are my problems, whether you want them to be or not. I will be your bedrock, supporting you while you are building your business giving self-defense lessons.”
Ivy came to a halt. “My business?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish.
“Only if you want. I am planning to buy a saddlery on Thackery Street. When I visited, there was a spacious second floor being used for storage. I thought it might be a good place for your lessons. It is discreet, but large enough to accommodate a good number of women.”
When she continued to gape at him, he said, “If you do not like it, we will find a different location. Or not, if you abhor the idea.”
Her heart felt stuck in her throat. “When did you visit the building?”
“First thing this morning.”
“We were not betrothed then.”
He took her arm and guided her forward. She did not think he was going to answer, but after a few moments he leaned down and said, “I was going to give it to you regardless.”
Ivy experienced a whole-body flush. Even when he had still thought she was set on marrying another man, he had planned to gift her the space for her lessons so she could continue teaching, even if Hartford did not approve.