A Bluestocking Christmas (9 page)

In the back of his head, a voice whispered a warning. Ivy Beecham was a dangerous combination. It would be easy to fall into her web. Simon laughed at the thought. Experience had taught him better. He was the one who posed the greatest threat in any relationship he indulged in with Ivy.
 

Amused, Simon walked into the floral shop around the corner from Ivy’s house. The question now was what to offer Ivy next? Humility wasn’t his strong suit, but he was willing to concede his behavior yesterday called for it. He’d been a brute, and his apology needed to be sincere if he was to win his way into Ivy’s salon. With a grimace of chagrin, he selected a single white rose.
 

The color was the fashionable way to admit one to apologize, and it would also serve as a white flag. Something told him the silent message would please Ivy, and that it would gain him access to her faster than anything else. At the counter, he paused for a long moment, pondering what to write on his card. Of all the quotes he’d written so far, this one needed to be exceedingly humble, yet amusing as well. Simon searched his mind looking for just the right quote.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud then laughed again at the shopkeeper’s surprised expression. Ignoring the poor woman’s startled look, Simon quickly wrote out Catherine Fanshawe’s words, taking a small amount of poetic license with the quote.

Wycombe…’T was whisper’d in heaven,’t was mutter’d in hell, And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell.

He stared down at the words and grinned. If that didn’t make Ivy laugh then he’d been wrong about her quick mind. He snorted at the idea as he shoved the note card into its envelope and paid for the rose. Ivy would understand his surrender as easily as he’d understood her attraction to him.
 

The memory of her pressed into the bookshelf and the flutter of her heartbeat made his groin tighten with anticipation. He had no doubt Ivy was attracted to him, and capitalizing on that fact was going to be a pleasurable exercise in seduction. Rose in hand, he returned to Ivy’s house and climbed the steps to announce his arrival with a hard press to doorbell. Behind the door, he heard the sharp sound of the bell jangling, and he smiled. Confidence bolstered his spirits as the door opened. The butler eyed him with a hint of dismay, and Simon capitalized on that fact.

“I’m expected,” he lied in a bored drawl. “Please convey this humble token of my esteem to Miss Beecham. I’ll await her reply in the foyer.”
 

The tall man in front of him hesitated before taking the card and rose from Simon. The man looked decidedly uncomfortable as he opened the door wider to allow Simon into the house. With a smile of satisfaction, he stepped into the large foyer to await Ivy’s response to his latest message.
 

As the butler crossed the floor into what Simon presumed was the salon, he stared around the front entrance. The quiet elegance of the entryway made him clench his teeth. Anthony had been right. Ivy had no need of money, and it was quite possible the woman might view him as a fortune hunter. He scowled at an exquisite statue sitting on a small table.
 

The knowledge made him question his shameless assumption that the Voltaire Papers would intrigue her enough to give him the chance to woo her. The sudden sound of laughter made him jerk his head toward the door the butler had passed through. A small smile of triumph curled his lips as the butler emerged from the room and held the salon door open to allow him entrance. That was one battle one, but there were more to win if he was to win the war.

Simon walked into the salon and halted just a few feet inside the door stunned to find himself feeling a bit awkward. Yesterday she’d presented the appearance of a straight-laced spinster, but today she was a seductress in her red gown. At first he thought she was completely unaffected by him. Her serene expression made him grit his teeth. Had he overestimated his ability to make this woman fall into his arms?
 

His gaze skimmed over her and the way her fingers fidgeted with the skirt of her gown made him certain that behind Ivy Beecham’s calm appearance was a woman on edge. Certain she would not come to him, Simon crossed the room to stand in front of her. He bowed slightly and waited for her to offer him her hand.
 

Tension filled the air, and Simon looked up to see her sapphire eyes dark and stormy with anger and something else. He frowned. He’d done more than anger her. His actions had wounded her. Remorse crashed through him. Ivy jerked back away from him then gathered her skirts and swept around him with an abruptness that took him by surprise. As she passed him, his nose caught the scent of her. Yesterday she’d smelled like lilies, today it was crisp and sweet like citrus. Desire rose inside him, and he quelled the sensation. All in good time. Simon straightened upright then turned to face her.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly. “I insulted you yesterday, and I regret that.”

 
“My lord, is there some reason why you called on me today?” Her expression was cool, but he saw the fire in her eyes.
 

“I thought we might make a fresh start between the two of us.” He placed his hands behind his back as he studied her.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I see little point in doing so.” The slight hitch in her breath made him smile.
 

“I would have to disagree.” He narrowed his gaze at her as he watched her heartbeat flutter erratically on the side of her neck. His hand itched to brush his fingers over the spot. He smiled at her in a congenial manner, his hands fisted behind his back.

 
“You can disagree all you like, but I see no reason why we should become better acquainted as our paths are not likely to cross in the near future.” She sniffed with indignation and glared at him as if she could burn him at the stake.
 

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I intend to see you quite a bit. In fact, I even plan on taking you to the library gala this Saturday.”

“
Me.
To the fundraiser?” She snapped. “What on earth makes you think I would go anywhere with you?”

Biting back a laugh, he closed the distance between them. Ivy didn’t retreat, but the tension between them went up several notches as he drank in her tart scent. Every inch of him hardened as he ached to pull her close and taste her mouth. The image of him slowly undressing her made his mouth go dry. Christ Jesus, he’d drive himself insane with want if he continued to let his imagination run away like this. He swallowed hard.

 
“Because I have something
you
want.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against her ear. Fire singed his mouth as he fought not to pull her into his arms at that very moment. He nibbled at her earlobe with his lips. Her soft gasp made his cock stiffen, and he nipped at her ear in a playful manner.

“Has anyone ever told you how lovely your ears are?”
 

His words caused her to jump away from him, and his groin started to ache at the look on her face. Ivy’s lips parted slightly as her breaths came in short, frantic gasps. Her beautiful eyes were wide with panic, and there was awareness shimmering in her gaze that told him her panic wasn’t because she was afraid of him.
 

Her fear was that of a woman coming to grips with her desire for something she hadn’t realized she’d wanted until this moment. It was the most enticing, seductive look he’d ever seen. Again, his cock stirred in his trousers. As he studied her face, he saw her regroup and a haughty expression settled on her face.

 
“I can’t think of
anything
you have that I might possibly want, my lord.” At her cold tone, he quirked an eyebrow and smiled with a sense of pleased satisfaction.
 

“Not even the Voltaire papers?” His blithe statement made her stare at him in disbelief.

“I don’t believe you,” she exclaimed when she recovered her equilibrium a moment later. “An anonymous buyer bought the papers at a private auction several years ago.”

“Yes, they were, and they cost me a king’s ransom too.”

“I doubt you even know what the Voltaire papers are let alone being able to determine whether or not they’re the originals,” she said in derisive tone which smarted almost as badly as her glare of disbelief. “They’re most likely forgeries.”

“You underestimate me, Ivy,” he said stiffly. It was the first time his knowledge had been questioned by anyone, and he didn’t like the sensation. “The papers are quite genuine and written in the man’s own hand. France has never seen such a writer or satirist, than Voltaire, and I think it’s time others share in my bounty.”

“If I were to believe you—
if,
mind you—what do the Voltaire Papers have to do with me?”

“I’ll agree to give the London Library the papers, providing you agree to let me escort you to the library’s social function this weekend.”

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped as she stared at him obvious horror.

“Oh, I’m quite serious.” He said with a satisfied smile. “I admit, it’s unusual for me to resort to bribery to obtain the pleasure of a lady’s company, but I’m certain it will be a worthy sacrifice.”

“But why? Why would you do such a thing?” Completely befuddled, her lips moved as if she wanted to argue but didn’t know what to protest.

“Because I’m intrigued by you, Ivy.” When she remained silent, he pushed his advantage. “So we’re agreed then?”

“Aren’t the Voltaire Papers a rather steep price for the privilege of escorting a mere commoner to the library benefit?” she said in a withering tone of voice. “What will people say?”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said quietly as the full impact of her scathing contempt rolled over him. His words yesterday had cut deeper than he’d expected. Regret sailed through him. “I admit I could have been less rude, yesterday, but I won’t apologize for keeping my nephew’s best interests at heart.”
 

Apologies never came easy for him, and he refused to grovel. Impatiently, he waited for her reply. The moment she nodded her agreement, triumph settled in his limbs. He’d won the first battle, but there were others to fight. For a moment, they watched each other in silence, and she was the first to look away.
 

A delicate blush crested over her cheek as she turned her head so he could only see her profile. She was like an ingénue with a hint of maturity that suggested she wasn’t quite as innocent as she seemed. He frowned. Seducing an innocent was hardly the mark of a gentleman, but if Ivy held true to his expectations, he didn’t expect her to be an innocent. He glanced about the salon and noted the numerous shelves of books.
 

“You’re an avid reader.” His comment made her jerk her head back to him, and something akin to trepidation swept over her features.

“Yes…I enjoy all types of literature,” she murmured as she slowly walked toward where he stood by the fire.
 

“Name your favorite author.” He watched her come to a halt as she eyed him with surprise. She tilted her head for a moment clearly thinking through her answer before she answered him in an emphatic tone.

“Alexander Dumas, I think. He has a masterful way of telling a story.” She smiled at him, and Simon’s chest tightened at the effect it had on him.

“Based on the authors you quoted, it’s obvious you’re well-read for a woman.” He grinned at the way she bristled.
 

“Is it your habit to insult people simply to prove your superiority?” There it was again, that pained note layered beneath a note of stiff indifference.

“No,” he said soothingly. “Something about you brings out the worst of me.”

“Then perhaps we should reconsider our agreement about Saturday evening,” she said in a hopeful tone as she sidled toward the chair near the fire.

“A valiant effort to escape the inevitable, my dear Ivy, but a hopeless one nevertheless.” He watched her nervously toy with the skirt of her gown, and her gaze flitted toward the chair, then back toward him. His gaze followed hers, and he caught sight of the bound book tucked into the crevice of the chair. Ivy rushed forward to grab the book, but Simon reached it first. As she tried to take it from him, he held it up out of reach.

“Return my book to me this instant,” Ivy snapped her expression one of embarrassment more than fright.
 

Simon arched his eyebrow and looked at the book he was holding out of her reach. The moment he read the title, his muscles hardened with a lust he’d not experienced in a long time, if ever. His gaze returned to Ivy, and she blushed deeply.
 

“How much of the book have you read, Ivy?”
 

“What do you mean?”

“
The Golden Lotus
—how much have you read?” he asked quietly as he pinned her with his gaze.
 

“That’s none of your business.”
 

The manner in which she tilted her chin upward at a defiant angle told Simon she’d read quite a bit of the book. Instantly his cock stiffened, forcing him to turn away from her to hide his arousal. The thought of her reading
The Golden Lotus
made him rock hard. As he’d suspected, Ivy Beecham wasn’t quite the paragon of virtue his nephew thought.
 

The knowledge disappointed him as he realized he’d been hoping he was wrong about her. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to show her how pleasurable the erotic moves depicted in
The Golden Lotus
could be. Controlling his lust with supreme effort, Simon cleared his throat and turned back to Ivy. His gaze never leaving her face, he moved forward to stop mere inches from her. A shudder rippled through her.