THE DEFIANT LADY (14 page)

 
“I promise,” she said easily.

“When we marry, we pledge fidelity. I take that vow seriously, and you will too.”

“I do not want a life like my mother’s,” she said so softly he almost did not hear her. “She settled for so little. I do not want the same.”

Cy’s heart was beating rapidly from tense emotion, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort and reassure her. Forcing Ivy’s head back, he looked down into her emerald green eyes.

“I will give you all that I am. I will give you my name, my oath to be true to you, and so much more,” Cy said as his lips met hers in an intense, fervent kiss.

“Our fights are quite passionate, are they not?” Ivy asked once they had pulled apart.

Cy’s laugh was strained. There was only so much his body could handle these days. It seemed he only had to look at Ivy to become aroused, something that became increasingly frequent and difficult to stifle.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Willow popped her head in and smiled. Ivy tried to move out of Cy’s arms, but he would not let her. Eventually, she gave up.

“Grandmother wanted to make sure Ivy did not dispose of you prior to the wedding.”

Cy straightened his jacket and smiled. “Not yet.”

Ivy laughed. “If word got around that I dispatched my fiancé, it would be
much
more difficult to acquire a new one.”

“Doubtful. There would be a line of wealthy, respectable, titled men outside your grandmother’s home in minutes of hearing the news.”

Ivy looked at him with humor. “Hmmm. Something to consider.”

Chapter XI

London, England

After having left Ivy, Cy walked to White’s where he found Caldwell sitting in a corner with a few of his friends. The repugnant man was in the process of enjoying a meal, and Cy grinned menacingly, stalking towards him like a lion ready to pounce on its prey. Caldwell had been too bold with Ivy, and Cy would not stand for it. He approached the group of men quickly and in near silence.

Looking up, Caldwell visibly paled. His two friends had stopped their conversation and watched Cy with fear in their eyes. He paid them little notice.

“Afternoon, Caldwell,” Cy gritted, his gaze stony. “Let me get down to the matter at hand. Your attention towards my fiancée is unwelcome.”

Caldwell plastered a callous smile on his face as he rose from his chair. Cy hoped Caldwell tried to throw a punch; it would give Cy a good reason to pound him into the ground.

“Worried about some friendly competition?” Caldwell goaded, either not seeing Cy’s face had darkened with rage, or too stupid to care.

“If you so much as breathe in Miss Sinclair’s direction, I will beat you into a bloody pulp,” Cy threatened. He was well within striking distance of Caldwell, but they were at a gentleman’s club, and Cy did not want to be the first to fell a blow. However, he was more than prepared to defend himself if Caldwell dared attack.

Caldwell coldly sneered, “Big words. Perhaps she prefers a more refined man, such as myself.”

Cy’s desire to remain clearheaded evaporated, and his fist connected with the right side of Caldwell’s jaw, knuckle to bone. Cy had managed to put some weight behind the punch, and instantly Caldwell’s tongue lolled and his eyes rolled in his head. Cy was not a small man, and Caldwell’s body went limp and came crashing down onto the chair behind him. His friends reached out to hold him up, but they were too late, and Caldwell’s unconscious body fell off the left side of his chair and slumped onto the floor.

Straightening his coat, Cy looked at the other two men, whose mouths were agape in shock, and politely said, “Witherington, Rutherford. Good day.”

There was a spring in his step as Cy walked out of White’s. He began to whistle.

***

Two weeks later, Cy escorted the Duchess, Willow and Ivy to the opera. They sat in Cy’s private box, which had a perfect view of the entire stage. Cy leaned close to Ivy and said, “I have a present for you.” He pulled a small, black velvet bag out of his breast pocket and handed it to her.

Gently, she took out a pair of gold-rimmed opera glasses. She looked at him as he said, “They were my mother’s. She loved opera and theater. I hope you enjoy them.”

Ivy felt her throat tighten and her green eyes misted with emotion. “Thank you. It is a most lovely gift. I will cherish it.” She reached over and clasped his hand tightly, wishing they were alone so she could give him a kiss.

“Ivy, is everything all right?” the Duchess asked.

Ivy nodded. “Cy gave me a pair of opera glasses that belonged to his mother. I cannot think of a more perfect present.” She said it genuinely, and looked at her fiancé whose face was bathed in a naked look of tenderness.

“May I see them?” Willow inquired. Ivy offered them to her. “They are gorgeous. Well done, sir.” She gave the glasses back to Ivy.

The gaslights flickered, signaling guests to their seats, and moments later the curtain rose. They were swept away into a different time and place, but Ivy’s mind soon began to wander. She picked up her present, pressed them to her face and let her eyes travel around the opera house. She stilled her movements just as she caught a pair of glasses staring directly at her.

It was Lord Caldwell.

Bile rose in her throat and her head started to throb. He was watching her, motionless.

Cy placed his hand on Ivy’s. He must have noticed her hands were ice-cold, because he leaned over and asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, I am fine. Excuse me one moment, I need to use the powder room,” she whispered, leaving the opera box. Quickly, Ivy dashed into the ladies’ water closet, sat down on the plush white sofa and tried to compose herself.

Thoughts raced through her mind. Caldwell knew she was engaged. Everyone knew she was engaged; it had been announced in
The
Times
. Would Caldwell do more than accost her at balls and stare at her across a room? Was she safe?

When Ivy left the sanctuary of the water closet, she quickly detected the object of her concern leaning casually against a pillar not far from her. She stopped in mid-stride, the breath leaving her body.

“Feeling ill?” he inquired.

“Not at all,” she said through a tight throat.

There was a predatory quality about him that was completely disconcerting. His eyes were ice blue, and she felt cold when they were leveled on her.

“I hope you did not leave because of me,” he said as he pushed away from the column and striding towards her.

She looked around, glad to see two ushers in red livery standing at the end of the hall. Caldwell would never do anything with witnesses so plainly in sight…would he?

She lied baldly in reply. “Of course not. The music was a trifle loud, and I had a bit of a headache. I just needed a few quiet moments to myself.”

There was an amused smile on Caldwell’s lips as he came to stand close to her. It was then that she noticed the bruise on his jaw.

“What happened to you?” she demanded.

“Do you care?” he asked huskily.

“Not in the least. I am guessing you had an encounter with my fiancé?” She could not stop her smile.

He sighed. “All because you had to tell him I sent you flowers. Did you enjoy them?”

“As much as one enjoys an incurable malady,” she retorted. “I threw them away.”

He feigned hurt. “They were
quite
expensive. I hope that is not how you respond to all of my gifts.”

Ivy’s eyes darted towards him and she said in a mixture of fear and anger, “I do not
want
any gifts from you!”

“When you see their extravagance, you might change your mind, pet.”

As he moved to put his hand on her face, the doors swung open. The performance was over and the audience spilled into the common area. She was safe in the presence of so many people, and she sighed in relief when she realized Lord Caldwell had disappeared. She looked for Cy, but he was nowhere to be found. He was probably still in the opera box waiting for her to return, she realized.

When she was able to move through the throng, she took the staircase that would lead back to Cy’s opera box. The Langleys had stopped by for a brief conversation before departing. Cy laughed at something Langley said and then finally noticed her presence. Immediately, he left the comfort of his seat and went to her.

“There you are. Have you been in the powder room this whole time?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Lord Caldwell accosted me outside of it,” she said quietly.

Cy’s eyes darkened with rage. “Did he touch you?”

“No—almost—but no…he is the reason I went to the powder room. I saw him staring at me from across the way, and his gaze made me…He said he would not stop giving me gifts.”

He roughly pulled her to him, and it was enough to turn everyone’s focus onto them.

“What happened, Ivy?” Willow asked in a worried tone.

“Caldwell,” Cy spat out. “He approached Ivy again. He is becoming rapacious.”

“What are you going to do?” the Duchess asked. She looked at Ivy, who was trembling in Cy’s arms.

Cy did not answer. Instead, he took hold of Ivy’s hand and all but dragged her down the stairs amidst the nobles discussing the opera.

“Do you think he left?” Langley asked, walking in stride next to Cy.

“I hope not,” Cy gritted.

“There he is.” Langley pointed. Caldwell was conversing with his two friends from White’s, Witherington and Rutherford.

“Caldwell!” Cy lashed out. The man stopped in mid-conversation and stared at Cy with glacial blue eyes. “I demand satisfaction at tomorrow’s dawn.”

Witherington sputtered, “Come now, Stanton. What is all this talk of satisfaction?” His jowls flapped ridiculously as he spoke, his face beading with sweat.

Caldwell looked bored, and foolishly so. “I have not the faintest idea why you are demanding such a thing, Stanton. This has all been a misunderstanding.”

The lobby of the opera house had grown quiet as patrons watched Cy’s tête-à-tête with Lord Caldwell.

“Surely your fiancée told you she enjoys my attentions. Otherwise, what reason would I have to pursue her?” Caldwell taunted. He then looked past Cy and smiled at Ivy who gasped.

Ivy’s hand was still clasped in Cy’s, and his grip tightened as his voice shook with anger, “I will see you at dawn in Hyde Park, Caldwell. Twenty paces with a pistol. If you do not show, I will assume you are a sniveling coward. I already know you have no honor, but I doubt you would want to be considered a weakling as well.” Cy ground his last words out through a clenched jaw.

“I am no coward, Stanton. I name Rutherford as my second.”

Rutherford, a tall, gangly man fingered his collar nervously and began to look ill. He swallowed audibly.

“Langley will act as mine.” Cy turned abruptly, taking Ivy with him. He had not let go of her hand for even a moment.

The surrounding crowd blazed with gossip, speculating on the outcome of the duel. It was not until Cy and his party was outside that Ivy spoke. “What are you doing?”

“It is about honor, Ivy, and Caldwell has none. He must be stopped before he hurts you. Am I to wait until it is too late?”

Ivy bit her lip as she buried her face in his chest and whispered, “I do not want you to get hurt.”

“Take comfort, Miss Sinclair,” Langley said. “Stanton is an excellent shot.”

It only made Ivy more concerned.

“I will come to your house after the duel is over,” Cy said to the Duchess.

She nodded. “Well done, Stanton. Caldwell is out of control.”

Cy escorted them to the Duchess’s waiting carriage. “I will see you soon,” he promised Ivy as he closed the door.

When the coach took off, the Duchess said with a little too much force, “All will be well.”

Willow agreed. “Of course. That man can handle anything. I would not want to be Caldwell.” She laughed, but it was strained.

“Why must he do this?” Ivy asked. “It is dangerous.”

“You heard what he said about honor, Ivy. Stanton is a gentleman. He is protecting what is his,” the Duchess explained.

Ivy wondered what the dawn would bring.

***

As streaks of dawn appeared, Cy stood in a loose white shirt, fawn colored breeches and brown riding boots. He glared at his opponent, who was trying to ignore Cy as he made himself ready. Witherington and Rutherford stood next to Caldwell and spoke in low voices, no doubt trying to puff up Caldwell’s nerve.

Langley looked at Cy. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Cy nodded curtly. “The man must be stopped. He has made advances towards my fiancée, and he is dangerous.”

Langley wisely did not say a word. Even Cy knew he was unreachable in his anger, his vision blurry red, and there was be no reasoning with him. Cy had never gone to such lengths to protect a woman. He cared about Ivy, more than he had ever cared for anyone.

“Is the doctor here?” Cy asked.

“Yes, and he has assured us of his tact, as you requested.”

Cy smiled without humor and said sarcastically, “Because
that
is our biggest concern. I cannot trust Caldwell to act with decorum.”

When both parties were ready with their pistols in hand, they approached each other slowly and stood back to back. Witherington and Langley were off to the side fifteen feet away and watched, ready to intercede if necessary.

“You are men of honor,” Langley called out. “You will do well to remember it.”

Cy nodded and clenched his jaw. He was not worried about
his
honor; it was Caldwell’s he was concerned about.

“
Count it!
” Caldwell spat, apparently ready to settle the matter.

Light finally peeked through the trees as the two men stood back to back. Caldwell and Cy had agreed that Langley would count twenty paces, and then each man would turn and shoot. There was a good chance that one or both of them would be killed or seriously injured.

Langley started the count.

“One!”

Langley’s voice rang out in the clear, early morning.

“Two!”

A cool breeze stirred the leaves that crunched beneath Cy’s feet.

“Three…Four…Five!”