Improper Pleasures (The Pleasure Series #1) (22 page)

James stopped himself from going after her, promising her
things he could not. Or at the very least, dispute her statement about his
honor.

Astra strode around to the back of Ivy’s house, not the
least bit shocked by her own audacity. She could add trespassing to a list of
growing indiscretions. A quick survey of the gardens where she and Ivy had
shared tea proved unrewarding. Very well. Astra would just look in all the
windows until she found her friend.

Ivy’s face suddenly appeared behind a fogged glass pane.
Draped in a ruby nightgown, her artfully arranged features seemed drained of
their usual
joi de vive.
Her pallor waned as she stared out into her
backyard with unseeing eyes. Astra paused, suddenly realizing that Ivy’s butler
might have had a valid reason for turning her away at the front door. Before
Astra could retrace her steps and leave Ivy to her requested privacy, Ivy’s
eyes widened and color returned to her bloodless lips. Astra straightened and
waved.

Ivy did not wave back, but an unguarded smile tugged at
her mouth before the drapes fell back in place. A moment later a door Astra had
mistaken for another of the many windows lining the back of Ivy’s manor house
opened. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, Lady Keane?” Though Ivy’s words
were formal, her tone was playful. She was barefoot after all.

“I came to persuade you to change your mind about
attending our ball.”

Astra reached into her matching silk bag and pulled out
the short note from Ivy.

Ivy sagged slightly and wrapped her exposed arms across
her chest. Her uncombed hair fell around her shoulders, her toes curled beneath
the hem of her silk nightgown. Though it was nearly ten o’clock, Ivy had
apparently just risen.

“Astra, don’t dally on the wet grass. You’ll ruin your
slippers. Come inside.” Ivy turned and disappeared through the door.

Astra lifted her gown and quickly followed, noting that
not only were her slippers damp, but the hem of her gown showed a dark stain. A
flush crept to Astra’s cheek as she recalled another stained gown stuffed at
the bottom of her wardrobe. She had spent a sleepless night contemplating what
had occurred between she and James the night before. Never had she felt more
like his mistress. He was aggressive, determined and unrestrained.
Unfortunately, the heated encounter still left Astra wet and wanting more every
time she thought of the scandalous, open-air coupling. How could she have
ruined herself so thoroughly so quickly?

Darkness enveloped her the moment she passed through the
shuttered French door. She blinked to find Ivy sitting on a large four poster
bed awash in deep plum hangings. A bank of rose-hued pillows propped Ivy up
while she sipped from a tea cup.

Ivy gestured with the cup. “Hot chocolate?”

“No, thank you. I had breakfast.” Astra found a padded
chair at the end of the room, a polite distance away from Ivy’s unmade bed.

“A staunchly English ration of kippers and eggs, I imagine.”
Ivy patted her bed before Astra could arrange her skirts to sit down. “Not
there. Here.

Astra hesitantly moved to the bed. She noticed the tea
service that sat on a tray atop the richly embroidered bedcovering. Tiger’s and
peacocks danced in exotic colors of Moroccan red and Madras yellow across the
pot that held Ivy’s cocoa. The pattern echoed on the gold-rimmed tea cup from
which Ivy sipped.

“Most mornings I forgo the kippers in favor of broiled
tomatoes.” Astra crawled onto Ivy’s large bed and leaned against a bank of
pillows on the opposite side.

“Astra, you were foolish to invite me to your soiree and
even more foolish to come here again.” Ivy set her cup in its saucer.

“Lady Phillina sent me to discover why you declined the
invitation. She was very disappointed. She was quite close to your mother, you
know.”

“The only blessing about my mother’s untimely death was
that she did not live to see what I have become. “The distance Astra had noted
in Ivy’s stare earlier returned, but she quickly shook it off and smiled pleasantly.
“Let us spare the elder Lady Keane as well.”

“I don’t think she suspects…” Astra struggled for the
right words for such a delicate situation.

The sharp look Ivy tossed Astra encouraged her silence.
“There will be talk. Whispers. There always are. I am not welcome in polite
society. Nor will I ever be again.” Ivy brought her teacup to her lips and
sipped loudly. She directed her fierce green gaze beneath her eyelashes. “Which
works to my favor since I enjoy lying abed all day and chocolate to kippers.”

The Ivy Astra witnessed now was not the same woman who
dutifully went to church every Sunday, nor the sedate lady with whom she had
shared tea with a few weeks ago. This Ivy lounged like a lazy house cat with a
bedroom that put one’s mind to the wicked.

“Perhaps there will be whispers, but I promise you Lady
Phillina would not hear them even if they were spoken directly into her ear.
And there were whispers at church and you bolstered through that. Reverend
Fitzgerald will be in attendance and he will support you. I think you will be
surprised by your welcome.”

“Will Darien be attending?”

Astra could not tell by Ivy’s question if her ex-fiancé’s
attendance would sway her or absolutely guarantee her refusal. “Lord Blackmore
will of course be invited, but he and James had a misunderstanding early on
when James called on him unannounced, and it is unlikely he will attend.” She
didn’t bother adding that Lord Blackmore rarely appeared at social gatherings,
which Ivy no doubt knew being the cause of his celebrated reclusiveness.

Ivy cocked her head and studied her. “Why is my attending
your party so important to you? Guilty conscience?”

Astra studied her hands, knowing perhaps that was part of
her initial reasoning. Why should Ivy be ostracized for her past when Astra was
presently doing the very thing that landed Ivy a pariah? But that was not the
only reason, though her motives were just as selfish.

Astra glanced up and met Ivy’s cynical gaze. “I need a
friend.”

Ivy’s face fell and for a moment, Astra thought Ivy’s eyes
had dampened. She suddenly reached her hand across the bed to Astra. “You have
become James Keane’s lover, have you not?”

Astra took Ivy’s offered hand and squeezed. “You were
right. I have made a dreadful mistake. I care far too much for him. But heaven
help me, Ivy, I can’t find it in myself to end it, or even regret it.”

“End it?” Color suffused Ivy’s cheeks. “What has he done? I
am not without friends in London who would gladly assist me in any number of
unsavory matters. Shall I have him beaten?”

“No!” Astra withdrew her hand from her friend’s, realizing
she was serious. “He’s done nothing to warrant that.” Ivy continued to
unblinkingly scrutinize Astra. “The problem is that I’m in love with him.”

Ivy relaxed a bit. “I warned you. Does he know?”

Astra shrugged. “I have not said as much, but last night
we argued. Over another woman. I was jealous, perhaps unfairly so.”

“An unforgivable sin in a mistress. And how did he react?”

“He wasn’t exactly angry.” Astra dropped her gaze, her
cheeks flooded with heat. Though James’s ardent response had been confusing, it
was far from any sort of declaration of tender emotion. In fact, there was
little emotion involved at all. “And though he claims he has no interest in
becoming betrothed, he is still young. He vowed to let me know the moment
circumstances change.”

“How thoughtful. But in the meantime the bastard is
already interviewing other women to share his bed? You should tell him that
sort of callousness belongs in London, not on the grounds of his own
household.”

“I fear he’s sizing up a wife. Not intentionally, mind
you, but offers are being dangled before him. Offers that I’m not sure he
should refuse.”

“You knew that would happen eventually.” All the bluster
left Ivy and she returned to her calm, detached self. She picked up her cup and
sipped loudly. “It always does. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you must stop
being his mistress.”

“I would hate him if he even suggested it,” she said too
vehemently. Not that she suspected James would keep a mistress when he had a
wife, though it was done all the time. She had no doubt James Keane would be a
loving, devoted husband. A doting father. The thought brought so much pain,
that Astra was forced to bow her head to hide the surge of agony she
experienced.

Ivy took her hand again. “And the woman in question will
be at the ball?”

Astra nodded. “She is beautiful and young…and fresh.
Everything that I am not. But the worst of it is that she is kind, and her
father is very, very rich.”

“Oh, yes, the worst kind of threat. I hate the nice ones.”
Ivy tapped her full lips. “What do you propose to do?”

“Nothing. What can I do?”

“If you love him…” Ivy sat up on her knees. Her hair hung
around her shoulders in dark hunks, making her appear a mischievous girl again,
and the purple smudges under her tired eyes grew instantly fainter. “Well then,
you must do something.”

“Though he seems to be quite fond of me, he’s given no
indication that he feels anything deeper. And even if he did return my
affection, it would be a youthful folly, not sound judgment. I am older than
he, past my prime for bearing children and I have no family connections.” Astra
forced her gaze to meet Ivy’s. It was a relief to finally have a confidante.
“Honestly, I cannot offer him what the young Miss Bainbridge can.”

“Perhaps I will attend this ball to surmise the situation
for myself. But on one condition.” Ivy moved the tea service.

Astra cheered, willing to agree to anything. For some
reason, she felt the social gathering to introduce James to his peers would
turn the tide of things. Change everything and Astra dearly wanted Ivy there.
Perhaps she needed a friend, or perhaps she just wanted someone near who knew
the truth. Someone to share some tears and some hot chocolate with when James
was forever out of her life.

“Go on. I did not come here to be denied.” Astra squared
her shoulders.

“You will take a few lessons from me for this ball. Now,
what are you wearing?”

“Well, it’s just a country dance and I am recently out of
mourning. I have a nice lavender gown that might be appropriate.” Astra had not
considered her gown. Attracting attention to herself had been something she’d
avoided for so long, she was not sure how to be anything other than sedate.

“Follow me.” Ivy leaped off the bed. “I’ve a dozen
smashing gowns I’ve yet to remove from their wrappings. We shall find you
something breathtaking to wear to your ball. My seamstress from London is
scheduled to pay me a visit. If we don’t find something that suits you from my
wardrobe, Jenny can conjure a miracle in less time than it takes other
seamstresses to sew a hem.”

Astra stood. “Ivy, please don’t go to so much trouble on
my behalf. My funds are not yet settled and I fear I can’t afford the expense.
In any case, it will not alter the course of the inevitable outcome. I must
learn to live without James. He has his future and I fear I’ve already had
mine. Please, just be my friend.”

Ivy turned. “That, I already am. But you will be the envy
of every woman
and man
at that party. I promise you, it will be a night
James Keane will not forget for a very long time.” She headed for her wardrobe,
than glanced over her shoulder, a mischievous grin making her beautiful face
glow. “And the expense will be my pleasure. Occasionally, we fallen women do
deserve our petty revenges.”

***

Astra returned to Eastlan just in time to meet James in
the garden as his note had requested. The formal missive had been delivered by
an almost smiling Mr. Rudd. Inside, a strong, surprisingly legible script
requested that she meet James in the garden at two o’clock to discuss the
improvements she wished to make to the garden before the ball. Though the note
was detached and formal, the fact that she had not mentioned changes to the
grounds warned that James had something else in mind for the subject of their
meeting.

The day had turned unseasonably warm and the sun burned
away all but a few wispy clouds that lingered in long streaks across the
painfully blue sky. Astra tugged at the brim of her hat and maneuvered the
steps, heading toward the over-sized statue of Euterpe, the muse of music, that
dominated the garden. James strode toward her from the direction of the pond, a
grin that rivaled the grandeur of the cloudless day lighting his face. Astra
let out the breath she had been holding since this morning’s note. She feared
he might end their affair after last night. Thankfully, he had not appeared to
stumble upon good judgment any more than she.

“I am glad you could find the time to meet with me on such
short notice.” He paused a respectful distance from her and bowed a formal
greeting. The tension to touch was palatable. Last night’s shadowy carnal
mating had not cooled his lust any more than it had Astra’s. His gaze glowed
with banked need.

“I can always find time for your requests, my lord. And
how kind of you to consider my suggestion for improvements to the grounds.”

“I fear I have started without you.” He offered her his
arm. “Shall we?”

Astra rested her palm on his sleeve, and let him politely
guide her toward the pond and away from the house. “How long are you going to
keep me in suspense?” she said under her breath. “I can tell by that naughty
grin this has nothing to do with gardening.”

“I never said it had anything to do with gardening. I
believe there is a certain gazebo that you are partial to.”

She suddenly noted that he was freshly washed and his hair
was not quite combed. He smelled of lime soap. Usually James was dressed and
out of the house before she had risen. “You did not clean out the gazebo
yourself this morning?”