Romance: Wanted by the Alpha Lion (A BBW Paranormal Suspense Romance) (Heroes of Shifter Creek Book 2) (139 page)

Thunder had heralded the coming downpour.  Hearing a shriek of laughter from outside, Ivy had gone to the window and peered down at the garden below.  To her surprise, she had beheld the sight of her younger sister Lily, holding onto her bonnet with one hand and lifting her skirt with the other as she hurried along the stone path leading toward the gazebo.  She had not been alone on her walk, either.  Major Fennimore had run along behind her, catching up to her in the gazebo’s shelter.  Despite the storm, Ivy had been able to make them out.  She had watched as Fennimore removed his coat and draped it around Lily’s shoulders.  And then he had leant in…

Ivy’s heart, which had been pounding since leaving the library, had begun to crumble in her breast.  It had become clear to her that Lily and the good Major had formed a close attachment to one another these last few days.  “How can I allow the happiness they have found to be destroyed?” she had whispered aloud to herself.  Helena’s last question to her had begun to repeat itself in her head.  Initially, Ivy had thought she would honor the bonds of family and not betray her cousins’ intentions, no matter how devious she had considered them to be.  But that had been before she knew Lily had an interest in Major Fennimore.  In the end, Ivy had known her loyalty to her sister to be stronger. 

She had to warn Major Fennimore before Lady Pembrooke could make her proposal.  Of course, Ivy had expected to be ordered out as soon as she had foiled those plans.  She had already decided she could not stay, and had planned to leave.  Ivy had packed her belongings and placed them by the door, telling one of the house servants to fetch the coach round for her.  She had then dashed out into the rain, splashing along to the gazebo where she found Lily and Major Fennimore sitting together. 

“My goodness!  Ivy!” Lily had exclaimed, when she had seen the state of her older sister.  “Are you all right?  You seem in a panic.”

Lowering her shawl, Ivy had spared their linked hands a glance.  There had been no doubt that they had fallen in love.  Yes, Ivy had told herself, she had to confess everything Helena had shared with her.  “It is indeed a matter of grave importance,” she had replied.  The lower half of her dress and her stockings had become soaked through in her brief run from the house.  Once she had caught her breath, she had turned her full attention on the handsome Fennimore.  “Major,” she had said, “there is something I feel you must know.”

She had then proceeded to tell him everything.  Afterwards, all three of them – Ivy, Lily, and Major Fennimore – haddecided to take their leave of Pembrooke.  The good Major had accompanied the sisters back to Sparrowhawk, where their early return had caused Mr. Hodgson and his wife some bewilderment.  Ivy had explained what had transpired. 

When they had recovered from the scandalous information about Pauline, the plot Lady Pembrooke had hatched to entrap Major Fennimore, and then the gladness of Major Fennimore’s confession to harboring affection for Lily, Mother had clutched her breast and tutted in dismay.  “Oh, dear,” she had said most fretfully.  “Do you realize what you have
done
, Ivy?  Your actions, while noble on behalf of Major Fennimore, may have just cost us the roof over our heads.”

The smiles had faded from Ivy and Lily’s faces.  “Whatever do you mean, Mama?” Lily had asked. 

Father had let out a grim sigh.  “I am afraid your mother is right.  Lady Pembrooke, while a blood relation, has a reputation for being most hostile whenever she feels she has suffered an inconvenience.  Since you have snatched away her sole means to protect Miss Pauline’s reputation, she may retaliate by ordering us to vacate Sparrowhawk.”

Ivy had chewed her lip worriedly at this unexpected development.  Then she had brightened and, filled with renewed exuberance, she had said, “Perhaps not, Papa.  Now that Lord Pembrooke has passed, all his property reverts to his brother, Lord Harrison Pembrooke.  He resides in London and it was there that Pauline had met the young soldier who did leave her in this unsavory way.  Helena confided in me that their uncle had forbade Pauline from marrying the fellow.  When word reaches him that she had tried to elope with him against her uncle’s wishes, and has now found herself with child, I daresay the brunt of his wrath will outdo any vengeance Lady Pembrooke might visit upon us.  He may even be thankful that we had intervened in their plot to see Pauline wed to another officer.”  She had glanced at Fennimore with a quick, apologetic smile.  “It would seem he has a marked aversion to men in uniform, despite his own brother having once held rank.”

“Well, then,” Father had said, after some consideration of Ivy’s words.  “If what you say is true, then there will be dark times ahead for Lady Pembrooke and her daughters.”  He had then held up a finger of warning.  “But do not think us clear of any backlash from this, my dear girl.  Lady Pembrooke is your mother’s cousin.  Lord
Harrison
Pembrooke could decide he wants nothing more to do with her or any of her kin, including us, and may resolvethat he does not wish to be our landlord.”  He had taken that moment to look around at the walls and ceilings of their home.  “Best to err on the side of caution, and begin looking into other properties in the event that we should find ourselvesput out.”

In the days and weeks that had followed, Major Fennimore had made his formal proposal of marriage to Lily.  Lord Harrison Pembrooke had in turn dealt with the matter of his late brother’s wife and two daughters.  Lady Pembrooke and Pauline been sent far north, where it had been decided that Pauline would have her baby and live with her shame.  Helena had been forced to return to London with her uncle in the hopes of saving her from bringing further embarrassment to the family through an arranged marriage of her uncle’s discretion.  

“My poor cousin,” Mother had said.  “This never would have happened, had she only given her husband a male heir.”

While he had been harsh with his own sister-in-law and niece, Lord Harrison Pembrooke had not ordered Ivy and her parents to be removed from Sparrowhawk.  Instead, he had increased the price of their rent.  This had caused some dismay with Mr. Hodgson, who had to release a few of their servants in order to make ends meet.  “Perhaps once Lily is married, we can consider moving to a smaller house,” he had remarked one evening over supper.  “All that will be left will be Ivy – until, of course, a husband can be found for her.”

And so it followed, that once Lily had walked down the aisle with Major Fennimore, Ivy had found herself at this very uncertain point in her life.  She felt as though she stood on tiptoe at the edge of a cliff, waiting for one good, strong gust to sweep her away – from her home, her parents, and her happiness – to a new world where she would become wife to some man she did not know nor love.  She knew her parents would seek a rich man of title for her own security, as they did not want her to wind up as Lady Pembrooke, living on a meager allowance in some cold, northern village.  No, Ivy would have to marry a wealthy man – preferably one who owned properties her familymight rent – and produce a son in order to secure both her own financial future and that of her parents, who would never again have to worry about losing their home.

***

“Ivy?  Ivy, dearest, come quick!”

Hearing her mother calling to her, in what sounded like urgency, Ivy packed up her drawing supplies, tucked her leather bound sketchbook under her arm, and hurried back to the house.  It had been three months since Lily’s wedding.  Ivy found herself missing her younger sister, who had departed Little Amberton with her military husband and now lived in London as he awaited his next orders.  Ivy would often go to visit with Rose, but more than not she found herself alone, wandering the rooms of Sparrowhawk that had once rang with the laughter of three girls.

Her mother caught her as she stepped through the door.  “Quickly,” Mrs. Hodgson said in a hushed voice, as she bustled Ivy off in the direction of her bedchambers.  “Change your clothes, dear.  Something nice.  And wash those hands!  You’ve been at the charcoals again, I can tell.”

“What’s going on, Mama?” Ivy asked, as her mother finished unlacing her dress.  She pulled it off her arms and pushed it down her hips, leaving her in her undergarments.  Ivy poured water into the bowl on her wash stand and began to scrub at the black dust on her fingertips.

“Lord Esmond Letham is in the sitting room with Mr. Hodgson as we speak,” Mother said.  She shuffled around in the wardrobe containing her daughter’s dresses.

Ivy stopped in the midst of washing her face with a flannel.  “Lord Letham?”  She twisted around to look at her mother over one shoulder.  “The local magistrate?”

“Yes, dear, that’s the one!”

Ivy lowered the cloth slowly, water dripping from her chin and the tip of her freckled nose.  She knew of Lord Letham, who lived ona sprawling estate with a beautiful old manor known as Wisteria Castle.  A tall, physically imposing gentleman of middle age, he could be called handsome for a man of his years, with his brown hair shot through with silver and deep lines in his face.  He had the weathered look of one who enjoy spending much time out of doors, and the reputation for being quite the huntsman.  Very rarely did he attend social events, and when he did he spoke very little.  These qualities of his personality had seemed to intensify after the recent loss of his young wife, Madelene. 

Everyone in Little Amberton had been aware of Lady Letham’s delicate health.  Ivy had seen her around town on occasion, shielding her pale skin from the sunlight beneath a parasol.  She had been a bit older than Rose, perhaps twenty-five years of age.  Soft-spoken and reserved but well-loved by the locals, she had been ill for some time.  According to popular gossip, she had succumbedto consumption.  The local midwife, however, had claimed that Lady Letham ultimately died in childbirth.  That had been over five months ago.  Many of the townspeople had turned out for the funeral.  The only time anyone had seen Lord Letham since that time had been whenever he came into town to perform his duties as magistrate.  He could be found wearing a black armband as a sign of his mourning.  Otherwise, he had kept to himself.

“Why would he be here?” Ivy asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer.  She dropped the flannel into the bowl and turned around fully to face her mother.  “Oh, Mama – please, tell me you haven’t!”

“Now, Ivy,” Mother said, in that chastising tone she often reserved for her daughters whenever they misbehaved.  She selected a dress and smiled.  “Lord Letham is a wealthy man.  True, it is said he had a tendency to be reclusive and never attends social functions in Little Amberton, but that could be due to his commitment to his work as magistrate.  More importantly, he is a man of forty years and he has no heirs.  He is in the market for a new bride, hopefully one who will give him a son to inherit his lands and fortune.”  She smiled brightly and held out a pale yellow dress with white ribbons to Ivy.  “Now, be a good girl and put this on while I fix your hair.”

Begrudgingly, Ivy stepped into the gown and turned around so Mother could lace it up.  She sat down at the dressing table and stared blankly at her reflection as Mrs. Hodgson made quick work of her disheveled locks, adding little white silk flowers as she twisted them up neatly around her head.  The pressure to find her a husband had intensified over the past week.  There had been other prospective suitors, most of them fair but not quite meeting the precedent her father had set.  Lord Letham, however, would be the perfect candidate.  Ivy could see no way to avoid this.  If Letham found her comely and decided to have her, Father would accept.  All that would remain would be the wedding itself, and Mother had already begun to plan that particular event.  Ivy even had a dress made of white silk and lace hanging in her wardrobe, waiting for the day when she would walk down the aisle.

“There you are,” Mother said at last.  She cupped Ivy’s chin in her hand and admired her handiwork.  “I daresay it will only take one look and Lord Letham will see you as one of the most beautiful girls in all of Little Amberton, a most suitable bride.  Now – come along.  Mustn’t keep Lord Letham waiting!  And please, Ivy,
do
smile.”

Ivy obliged, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, if only to humor her mother.  She could already feel the doors around her heart closing, her hope of marrying a man she loved to be shut away forever. 

***

Marriage to the local magistrate did have its advantages, if only for a very brief courtship.  Before Ivy knew it, she stood at the altar dressed in a white gown adorned with ivory ribbons and flowers made of silk and intricate lace.  Her long hair had been pinned up and decorated with small pearls and fresh hawthorn flowers, with a little sprig of ivy tucked in among the ringlets to offset the white blooms. As she had no other unmarried sisters, her cousin Helena had been granted a reprieve and returned to Little Amberton to attend Ivy as a bridesmaid. 

For his part, Lord Letham looked quite handsome in his black velvet coat, maroon and gold brocade waistcoat, ivory breeches, black boots and black hat.As they did not wish to wait the required three months and because they knew no one would contest, there had been no reading of the bans; Lord Letham had merely purchased a special license approved by the Archbishop of Canterbury, allowing them to be married at their earliest convenience.  He did agree to a wedding in the church where Douglas presided as clergyman, the same one where Ivy’s two sisters had been married before her.     

Immediately following the ceremony, they had all adjourned to Sparrowhawk for a traditional wedding feast.  Ivy picked at her food and smiled genially to anyone who wished to offer congratulations.  After a time, Mrs. Hodgson took her daughter’s hand and led her off to her former bedroom, where she closed the door before sitting her down on the bed.  “Well, my dear,” she said, with a great sigh.  “You are now a married woman.”

Ivy nodded and looked down at her white gloved hands folded in her lap.  The events of the day still had yet to catch up to her, and she believed it might take some time for her to grow accustomed to the fact that she was now
LadyLetham
.  “So it would seem,” she murmured.

“As your mother, it is my duty to inform you of your wifely duties, and how you must now serve your husband.”

“Mama, please,” Ivy said, holding up one hand to ward off any further comments.  “I think I would wither from embarrassment to hear you speak of such things.  I know you have had this discussion with my sisters but you may rest assured that I have enough knowledge of what will transpire tonight in my marriage bed to see me through.”  She gulped and looked away again.  “Lord Letham wants an heir.  That is the main reason for this marriage.  I have seen how animals breed and know what to expect.”

“Oh, Ivy!”  Mother caught the girl’s hand again and clasped it between both of hers, giving it a tight squeeze.  “Please do not equate the intimacy between husband and wife to the rutting of beasts!  How very coarse to even suggest!  While I will admit that it may seem a bit daunting at first, rest assured you will see it can be a wondrous thing.  You mustn’t be frightened.  As Lord Letham is a man of experience, he will guide you, and you will learn what he enjoys, and how to take pleasure while surrendering to his wills.”  She smiled, reaching up to cup her daughter’s cheek.  “I know this will be difficult for you, my headstrong girl.  All will be well.  I daresay you may find yourself becoming quite enamored with Lord Letham once you have lived with him for a time and shared his bed.”

Ivy doubted this, but she had promised her mother that she would try her best and keep an open mind as well as an open heart.  Perhaps she would find that she and her new husband shared many interests, and that they would discover new things about one another the more time they spent in each other’s company.  Love did not always happen immediately, as it did for Rose and Douglas.  It took a little longer to find Lily and Jonathan.  For Ivy, it might take a bit more time.  Until then, she would follow matrimonial protocol and behave accordingly.

Following the meal, Lord Letham announced that he and Ivy would be returning to Wisteria Castle.  “Come, my wife,” he said, offering his hand to escort her to the carriage that would spirit them to his estate.  Ivy took a moment to hug Lily and Rose, even Helena, and to kiss her parents’ cheeks.  She allowed her husband to help her up into the open carriage adorned in colorful flower garlands for the occasion of their wedding.  Letham climbed up after Ivy and settled in beside her.  He tapped the driver and they began to ride away.  Ivy twisted around to see her family waving to her, calling out cheerful farewells.  She raised a hand to return their goodbyes.  Sadness began to creep into her breast, enclosing her heart.  While she had often traveled away from home to visit relatives in London, she had always returned to Little Amberton and to Sparrowhawk.  Now, for the first time in her life, she realized she would not go back for more than a social call.  Her home, now, would be Wisteria Castle, with her husband.

Esmond remained mute through the journey, gazing out at the passing scenery.  Ivy took that opportunity to do the same.  The sun had just begun to set when she felt him take her hand.  Ivy jumped a little, startled, until he pointed and said, “Look, there.  Wisteria Castle.”

Ivy’s eyes widened when she saw it.  In the growing darkness, she could still make out the imposing, large grey stone manor towering over the land and standing taller than some of the surrounding trees.  The carriage wound its way along the gravel pathway that ended at a large circle in front of the house.  All the servants had assembled in their best dress to welcome the return of Lord Letham and his new bride.  The men bowed and the women curtseyed as Esmond introduced each one in turn.  Finally, he faced Ivy.  “Shall we go inside, my dear?”

“Yes,” Ivy replied.  A moment later, she let out a yelp of surprise when Esmond swept her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold.  For a man twice her age, he showed amazing strength and virility.  He spirited her up the grand staircase to the second floor, past enormous oil paintings in gilded frames, to the master bedchambers.  There, he set her on her feet again in the middle of the room. 

The servants had seen to everything.  Flames danced behind the screen in the bedroom fireplace, casting shadows upon the walls.  The large, four-poster bed had been turned down.  Ivy stood and stared at it, her heart pounding.  She had told her mother that knew what would be expected of her this evening but even so, she did not relish the thought of it.

Esmond closed the door.  Ivy pivoted to face him.  He paused, and she could see his gaze traveling over her, assessing her.  He managed a slight smile before closing the gap between them.  Again, he said nothing but she had been warned that he was a man of few words.  His hands found her shoulders and he urged her to turn back around again.  Ivy allowed herself to be maneuvered.  She gulped softly.  She started only a little when she felt him tug at her wedding dress, fumbling with the fastenings. 

“I could get one of the maids to help remove it,” Ivy blurted after a moment.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lord Esmond said.  “I should like to do this, myself.”  His voice was a low rumble, touched with more amusement than she had ever heard from him in their brief acquaintance and courtship.  “I like to think of it as…opening a gift.”

Ivy closed her eyes.  She had already come to terms with the fact that she would never be looked upon as anything more than a brood mare despite the titles her marriage to Lord Letham afforded her.  No, now she saw herself as a mere trinket to be unwrapped. 

As Esmond had been married before, it took him little time to remember how to liberate a woman from her garments.  Each layer fell away, dropping to the floor at Ivy’s feet.  She shivered despite the warmth of the fireplace when she felt him reach up and pull out the pins holding her hair in place.  The mass of dark curls tumbled to her bare shoulders, flowers and pearls still caught up in the strands.  Only then did he turn her around to face him again.  Ivy averted her gaze, her cheeks flushed.  She had only ever been this exposed in front of her mother, sisters, and the occasional lady servant – never before in front of a man. 

A hand tucked her under the chin and applied the slightest pressure to force her to look up.  Lord Letham gazed at Ivy for a moment, his brown eyes once again taking in the sight of her until heleanedin and down to kiss her.  As his lips lingered, his hand drifted down her throat.  She inhaled in surprise when his fingers brushed across her breast.  Esmond took that opportunity to seal his mouth over hers, tongue slipping between her teeth.  His other arm wound ‘round her waist and pulled her up close to his still-clothed body.  Ivy stiffened but otherwise made no attempt to repel him.  The kiss felt different but not unpleasant, and the caresses seemed to spark a fire low in her belly.  Perhaps this might not be as bad as she first presumed. 

Lord Letham broke away from the kiss.  He lifted her up off her feet again and deposited her upon the bed.  Ivy lay there, watching as he made quick work of pulling off his own clothing.  Her eyes widened when she got her first glimpse of his manhood.  She had never seen a naked man before, much less one in the state of such arousal.  Casting aside the last vestiges of his attire, Esmond climbed up onto the bed with Ivy and covered her body with his own, skin on skin.  He used a knee to separate her legs while bowing his head to nuzzle her breasts.  Ivy gasped.  She could not understand the sensations playing throughout her.  Of course, she had experienced arousal and even pleasured herself upon occasion in secret before, but this was another person’s hands touching her, stimulating her.  She felt a strange combination of fear and desire.  Then, she felt something large, hot, and blunt press against her maidenhood.  She cried out.  Esmond grunted, and began moving against her, inside her, inciting a burning ache that made her clutch at the sheets. 

It ended as quickly as it began.  With a final stroke, Lord Letham went rigid, shuddered, and let out a long groan.  Ivy felt another wash of heat deep within her.  Any arousal she may have experienced had abandoned her with the pain of penetration and Esmond’s frantic, merciless thrusts.  She bit her lip to hold back a sob when he withdrew from her and left the bed altogether.  She watched as he walked over to a wash stand.  Ivy turned away and curled up on her side.  She could hear the sound of water being poured.  She clung to the pillow and tried to fight back the tears that filled her eyes.

Her husband returned to the bed a few minutes later, now dressed in a long nightshirt.  “You may go to your rooms, now,” he told her.  “Go back through the corridor, second door to the left.”  He turned away.  “Good night.”

Ivy blinked.  She had just been dismissed, like a common servant, no longer needed after performing her duties as wife.  She knew her own parents shared a bed, the same bed in which they had conceived three daughters.  Why would her own husband send her away?  Still dazed, Ivy sat up.  Her legs ached and felt a bit wobbly as she stood.  She glanced back to see Lord Esmond shifting about, getting comfortable, before settling in to sleep. 

Ivy bent to scoop up her discarded wedding dress and undergarments.  Hugging them to her chest with one arm, she opened the door and let herself out.  The hall beyond was cold and dark.  Shivering, she padded to her personal chambers.  Another fire burned, and sleepwear had been laid out for her.  She dropped her armload of clothing.  Covering her face with both hands, she sobbed. 

It took a few moments to compose herself again enough to proceed to the pitcher and basin.  She cleaned herself, the sight of blood on the cloth after she washed between her legs making her shake a little.  She had heard that bleeding was quite common on one’s wedding night, marking the loss of one’s purity.  “Farewell, my innocence,” she whispered, and rinsed out the cloth. 

She finished her bath and pulled on her night gown.  Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she burrowed into the bed that would no doubt be hers for the remainder of her days. 

***