Chapter 13
Padua realized she was not alone a moment after she congratulated herself on translating an Italian inscription in one of the engravings. Not a sound had been made, but she recognized the presence in the room from the way the air changed. She knew who it was too.
She did not look over. She dared not until she calmed the reaction that spread through her. Delight. Excitement. Anticipation. None of those involuntary emotions boded well for her.
He walked toward her. She had to look then, and acknowledge him.
“You are deeply into that tome,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Eva showed it to me. It is full of engravings of paintings and buildings from the places she visited.”
“The places you want to visit too?”
She nodded, and turned the page. “I expect you have been to most of them.”
“Not as many as you may think. Like most men my age, a grand tour became difficult with the war. I did go over after it ended. I visited Venice and Florence, but I did not go to Padua, for example.”
“I still envy you.”
He reached around her and turned another page. “You will get there. I do not doubt it.”
She did not see the new picture. His closeness distracted her. His confidence that she would achieve her dreams touched her. She wished she had such faith in herself. He could not know how for a woman the passage of time alone eroded one’s self-confidence.
His breath warmed her neck and shoulder when he reached to turn the page again. She controlled the way her body trembled only by drawing on all of her force of will.
She closed the book and turned in her chair. She pulled her blue wrap tighter. “I think I will go to my chamber now.”
“Not yet.” He held out his hand, to help her to stand. “Sit for a while, and reassure me that my family did not overwhelm you.”
She should go. Every instinct shouted that she should.
She accepted his hand. He led her over to a divan. She sat. He sat beside her.
The pulse of her heart seemed to throb out of her and right into the air.
What had already occurred between them existed in the small space that separated their bodies, begging for attention.
Even at fifteen she would have felt the lure Ives had become since he joined her in the library, and she was far older now, and hardly ignorant.
“I enjoyed our little dinner party,” she said. “I was not overwhelmed. Eva has been only kind, and it is a revelation to see how three brothers treat one another when they are not being watched by anyone who matters.”
“I will not accept your description of yourself.”
“I meant that no serious guests were present, to interfere with your camaraderie and jokes. You all could be as outspoken as you wanted. I doubt you behave the same when you are among your equals at London dinner parties or balls.”
“I suppose we did let our guard down, despite your presence. We have not all been together in some months.”
“I am glad no one stood on ceremony. If conversation had remained formal and steady, I would have wondered if it was because of me and felt bad for robbing the reunion of its joy.”
He turned toward her. His arm rose to rest on the back of the divan. “They are all curious about you.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing about your father. I explained that you are a damsel in distress who needed to leave London for a while. I also told them that you are not my mistress.”
“Wouldn’t they recognize your mistress?”
“Not currently, since there isn’t one.”
She took more pleasure in hearing that than she should have.
His gaze shifted to the top of her head. She felt vague movements in the hair on her crown, as his fingertips toyed with some curls. The small stimulation sent happy chills down her spine.
“They also wonder if I intend to seduce you.”
“Don’t they know you don’t seduce?”
“It is not something I have explained to them. Even if I had, bringing you here would make them speculate. Lance is suspicious enough that he has forbidden it.”
“I am trying to picture him saying that.” She laughed. “I suppose if the duke forbids it, I am safe.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I don’t think so.” He kissed again. “I do not indulge Lance during his fits of hypocrisy.”
She did not pretend she did not like those soft kisses.
She imagined where this could go if she did not stop it. She reacted with less alarm than good sense would dictate. That was probably because her body sabotaged her by purring deeply at the notion she might know the peak of sensual pleasure again.
“I suppose if you were of a mind for that, this chamber would be ideal, assuming no servants or family entered,” she said nervously.
His breath warmed the skin on her shoulder.
“You are clever at using tables, and that table where I read is large and sturdy, for example. Without the lamp it would be shadowed but not too dark in here too. Not that I am suggesting we repeat our last indiscretion. We both agreed that would be ill-advised.” She forcibly stopped the nervous flow of words from gushing forth even more.
At the same moment, he turned her head and silenced her further with a kiss on her lips.
“Remember how we agreed to that?” The call to his conscience squeaked out, an irrelevant question now.
He took her face in his cupped hands and kissed deeply.
The intimacy undid her. She grasped his arms and kissed too.
Their tongues battled and he won. His kisses dominated her, claiming with no quarter.
Her breasts and thighs turned so sensitive he might have been licking at her skin the way she wished he would.
If she raised her lids she could see that library table. Yes. She wanted him to touch and kiss her until she was insane again and cried from the intensity. She wanted those feathers on her inner legs making her throb.
The kisses stopped and she gazed into eyes severe with thought mere inches from her own.
Yes. A calculation. A decision. Yes.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Go up now. Quickly.”
She did not move for a few moments. Surely she heard wrong. She did not want to go. Couldn’t he tell?
He turned his back on her and stepped away.
Embarrassment and frustration crashed together. Dazed, she stumbled away. At the door she looked back. He stood there, arms folded, gazing at nothing, his profile set like it had been carved of stone.
* * *
You are supposed to be the sensible brother. Hell, yes.
Ives paced his apartment like a caged animal. Sitting proved impossible. Nothing could distract him.
He had behaved most sensibly with Padua. Honorably. Did he now enjoy the peace of the virtuous?
He wanted to punch the wall.
Not for you the bored wives, as with Gareth.
Not for you the whoever catches one’s eye, as with me.
No, indeed. That was too messy. Inefficient.
Contracted mutual pleasure made much more sense.
There could be no misunderstanding, no dramatic partings, no anguished poetry.
Also no lies and no regrets. And precious few infuriating nights like this one after the bargain had been struck.
Not for him the bored wives, and definitely not the daughters of prisoners in Newgate. He avoided itemizing yet again just how stupid it would be to take up with Padua Belvoir.
Nothing but trouble there. Damnable trouble. Whether she was the innocent daughter or the conniving accomplice did not matter. He would regret it. He already did.
He paused his prowling in the middle of his dressing room. A sliver of ruthless clarity entered his fevered mind, and he grabbed it for closer examination.
He acted as if he would face future choices, but the choices had already been made. He was in deep already. Whether through design or accident, whether due to desire or negligence, his position regarding the Belvoir case had been compromised. He lied to himself if he pretended otherwise.
Which meant he had nothing to lose.
* * *
Padua prepared for bed, then sent the servant away.
She moved the lamp to a table in her bedchamber, wrapped her blue shawl over her nightdress, and opened a book she had brought with her from the school.
A novel by Miss Austen, which she had salvaged from the rubbish after Mrs. Ludlow confiscated it from one of the girls and declared it scandalous.
Padua had not found those parts yet, and was losing hope there would be any.
She remained unsettled by Ives’s kisses.
She was grateful he had sent her away. Wasn’t she?
She did not really want an affair with Ives.
Did she? She was fortunate one of them had behaved with sense and honor.
Not her. No, she sat with a book on her lap, trying to ignore the excitement and arousal that still simmered, trying to convince herself she was relieved, not disappointed.
She could not lose herself in the story the way she had yesterday. What attention she could give it only made her cross. Mr. Darcy was in the process of making the worst proposal any man could. It was the sort of proposal Padua Belvoir might receive in the unlikely event she ever heard one.
The lowest rap sounded on her door, so low she almost did not hear it. Wondering if perhaps Eva had seen the light under the door, she went and opened it.
Ives stood there in his shirtsleeves. No coats, no cravat. No pretense.
He did not say a word. He did not have to. He announced his intentions with his mere presence, and through the way he looked at her. She sensed a tautness in him, much like that in an animal right before it released its physical power.
Her mind spun with a hundred thoughts jumbled together. She should think about her reputation. She should pretend joy and triumph had not rung like bells in her head when she saw who it was. She should not allow his beauty to sway her, but, oh, his appearance awed her now worse than ever before.
The suspense in the air heralded pending disaster or victory. The excitement in itself mesmerized her, but he did too.