THE DEFIANT LADY (22 page)

Backing her up against the closed door, Cy teased apart the layers of tulle that covered her body, his fingers grazing silken skin.

“I want to be inside you,” he whispered harshly.

“Yes,” she moaned, a fresh surge of lust flowing through her veins.

Cy pulled down the straps of her dress to reveal pink nipples. She shivered under his gaze, just as he bent to take one perfect bud into his mouth. She gasped, and leaned into him as she grabbed his head to keep her balance.

“Cy,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and desire.

“I know, love,” he said gruffly.

He slowly moved them away from the door and lowered her to the carpet, ridding himself of his shirt. The candlelight showed a perfectly formed, muscular chest, and Ivy yearned to stroke him.

“Touch me,” he pleaded.

She complied and reached out to put her hand on his thundering heart. His gray eyes were liquid silver and his gaze was burning her with desire. She pressed kisses all over his chest, and when her tongue touched his nipple, he cried out.

“Should we move to a bed?” he gasped.

“Why?” she murmured huskily. Her hand trailed lower, covering the bulge in his tight trousers.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” he mumbled. “I want to see you, feel you.” He divested himself of the rest of his clothing and helped her out her dress. “I have never seen such perfection.” He traced a silky breast and his thumb brushed an erect nipple. Her magnolia flesh fit in his hands perfectly, and she stared at him with emerald eyes full of love.

Cy leaned over and covered her body with his, and she enjoyed his rippling hard muscles pressing against her sensitive skin. He kissed the side of her neck as his hand skimmed her body and settled on her curly red mound. He began to stroke the inside of her thigh and inched closer to her silky, wet center.

“I want to make you scream with pleasure,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Cy,” she breathed as he slowly inserted a finger into her warmth, gasping at his tender invasion. He began to move his finger back and forth. She thrashed around and grabbed his neck as she pulled herself closer.

“Oh God,” she moaned as he slid another finger into her, tantalizing her core, making her ravenous with need.

Removing his fingers, he nudged her legs farther apart seeking her moist entrance with his straining manhood. “I cannot wait any longer.”

“Please.” She begged for something she knew not.

“It will hurt.”

“I trust you.”

When he eased into her body, she stretched to accommodate his size. She was hot, feverish. She was scorched from the inside out. He thrust forward with love and lust, and she cried out in pain.

“I am sorry,” Cy said in a labored voice.

She sobbed in discomfort, and Cy pressed tender kisses along her hairline and jaw; it was a paltry distraction. When her cries turned to whimpers, he began to move. Moans of her pleasure echoed off the drawing room walls. He was fanning the flames of her desire, pitching her forward until she was bathed in ecstasy, the pain of his entrance a dim memory.

Cy’s brow beaded with perspiration as he maintained steady strokes. Her legs opened wider, taking his shaft in deeper, welcoming him, bringing him home.

As he thrust, she knew she was on the brink of exploding. She screamed, the culmination too much for her to stay quiet. Gripping him tightly, she rode out the waves of pleasure until they were small eddies. With a shout, Cy gave in to his own release, thrusting hard, burying himself deep inside her.
 

“I had no idea it could be that way,” she breathed in awe.

“I did. From the first moment I saw you.”

“Is this the true reason you wanted to marry me?” she teased. She felt warm, sated; her insides gooey like melted chocolate.

Leaning up, he looked into her eyes and cradled her cheeks in his hands. “Do you forgive me? I should have confided in you. It is a mistake I will never make again.”

She tenderly stared at his impassioned face. She was nothing like her mother, she realized. She had not fallen in love with a man who could only give part of himself to her. Cy gave her everything he was, and the realization of it was so beautiful she nearly cried.

“You wanted to protect me. I see that now.” She burrowed close to him and he wrapped his strong arms around her.

There was a knock on the door interrupting their intimate moment.

“We are occupied!” Cy yelled out, thinking it was a footman or a maid.

Ivy stifled a giggle.

“My Lord, it is the Duchess of Cavehill and…company,” the harassed butler said through the closed door.

“Oh God!” Ivy whispered, feeling embarrassment climb up her cheeks. “They are going to know!”

“Hush,” he said, even though his own face suffused with color. They flew into action. “Give us five minutes, and show them to the library,” Cy called to the butler. He threw on his clothes and helped Ivy with her dress, but they both knew they could never restore order to her hair.

He gave her one last lingering kiss, clasped her hand and opened the door. They walked down the hallway to library where the Duchess, Willow, Beaufort and the Count and Countess of Langley were all seated, waiting for them.

Ivy’s face heated when she saw her grandmother taking in her appearance. The woman clamped her mouth shut even though her eyes shined with knowledge. Seating Ivy in the chair behind his desk, Cy moved to stand next to her.

“Caldwell?” he asked getting down to the matter at hand.

“Bound and gagged and on his way to America,” Langley said with a smile.

“It is only half of what he deserves,” Willow said with disdain.

“Agreed,” Cy said. “I would have liked to break one of his legs.”

Everyone murmured agreement at his sentiment.

“At least he is gone,” Ivy said.

Cy looked at the Duchess. “I prefer if Ivy and I did not have to wait a week for the wedding.”

“That may be our best course of action. Ivy’s absence from the ball was duly noted.” The Duchess sniffed.

“Caldwell dragged Ivy into the garden maze. If that bastard has ruined her reputation—” Ivy placed a hand on Cy’s arm to calm him down. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“If only people assumed you two had run off into the night…” The Duchess trailed off thoughtfully and then looked at Willow and Beaufort. “It is no secret the both of you were there together, as well. People will talk.”

 
“Beaufort and I will get married,” Willow blurted out.

The Duchess gasped in shock. “Willow!”

Ignoring her grandmother and everyone else in the library, she looked at Beaufort. “You are going to ask me to marry you, are you not?” she demanded.

Beaufort gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose. It would be the honorable thing to do.”

“I am waiting,” Willow pressed.

“Would you like me to get down on one knee?” he asked in exasperation.

“You may remain seated,” Willow replied magnanimously.

“Thank you. I would have preferred to do this in private, you know.”

“Do get on with it, man,” Cy said. “We have other things to take care of tonight. Like procuring a last minute marriage license.”

“Hush, this is a very important moment,” Ivy chastised.

Beaufort quirked an eyebrow in wry amusement. “Yes, I am so glad to have an audience when I ask for Miss Sinclair’s hand in marriage.”

“Under the circumstances, Beaufort, I do believe you may call me Willow.” She smiled beautifully.

“Let us get out the champagne to celebrate,” the Countess of Langley said.

Everyone started conversing and chattering away. Beaufort leaned over and whispered in Willow’s ear, “I did not technically ask you to marry me, yet.”

“Foregone conclusion, is it not?” she asked.

He grinned. “I suppose so.
 

“You are going to make me very happy,” she predicted.

Shouting with laughter, Beaufort said, “As if you would settle for anything less.”

Chapter XVII

London, England

Cy smiled at his wife of six hours who was sitting next to him in the carriage. At the moment, she was trailing a seductive path with her fingertips down his thigh.

“Careful, darling. I do not have time to properly satisfy you before we reach our destination.”

She chuckled. “Beaufort’s plan is brilliant.”

 
“He is the Earl of Bedford, now.”

“I had forgotten,” Ivy said absently.

“There has been a lot of commotion in the past twenty four hours.”

“Caldwell is America bound, the Marquess of Westonshire reinstated Bedford as his heir, Bedford and my sister became engaged, and I got into a yelling match with Grandmother.”

“You forgot the most important part,” Cy said softly. “We got married.”

“So we did.”
 

“Tell me more about this fight you had with the Duchess.”

“After we left your townhouse and returned home, I confronted her.”

“It was not her fault, Ivy.”

“You enlisted her aid to keep the truth a secret from me.”

“It was for your own good.”

She looked at him. “Do you want to start another fight?”

“The last one ended quite nicely. You would up naked in my arms,” he remarked dryly. “Go on.”

Sighing, she continued. “She did not apologize for her high-handedness.”

“She is a duchess.”

“She used the exact same excuse!” Ivy snorted with laughter. “She claimed to know how well we would suit one another.”

“Are you upset by the outcome, my dear?”

“Not in the least,” Ivy replied breezily.

“Is everything resolved between you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Does everyone in society already know we were married?” Ivy inquired.

“News travels quickly, especially among the servants,” Cy quipped. “They will assume we are incurable romantics who simply could not wait any longer to be married.”

“When I tell them about the ballet studio you had commissioned as a wedding gift, everyone will believe it.” She looked at him tenderly. “Thank you. It is lovely.”

He kissed her palm. “A lovely gift for a lovely woman.”

Last night, after celebrating Bedford and Willow’s engagement, Cy stole Ivy away for a quick moment so he could show her what had been built for her. The studio was large, and long mirrors covered every wall. Wooden bars were placed on two sides of the room and a pianoforte graced one corner. It brought tears to Ivy’s eyes when she realized how much time and effort had gone into such a thoughtful gift for her. If Cy had not already professed his love, she would know how he felt from the gift.

“It made Grandmother angry since she believed I had given up ballet long ago.”

“I never want you to stop practicing. I love who you are, Ivy. Will you dance for me?” His voice was deep with desire as he pressed a kiss to her lips. It was meant to be quick and chaste, but Cy apparently had other ideas.

“To hell with time,” he muttered pulling away from her. He sank to the floor of the carriage.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, as he reached for her skirt.

“The only thing I can, darling. I have to touch you.”

Her breath hitched in her throat when he pulled up her skirts, pushing apart her drawers.
 
His finger danced across her skin, and she felt herself grow heavy and wet between her legs. She heard him hum in pleasure.

Bending his head, he glided his tongue across her swollen bud, and she cried out.

“Hush, love, or passersby will know what we are doing.” He grinned devilishly, returning his attention to her.

Stifling a cry, she came, saying his name over and over again.

He tugged down her skirts and took his place on the plush seat next to her, brushing at his pants to make sure they were dust free. The carriage came to a halt.

“Do I look presentable?” she asked breathlessly.

Chuckling, he stroked her face. “Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are sparkling. You look like a fallen angel.”

She sighed. “If you weary of tending to business investments, you should seriously consider becoming a poet. You say the most beautiful things to me.”

“This is only a small taste of the pleasure I will give you. Tonight will be very fulfilling,” he whispered hotly, reaching for the door of the carriage.

The moment Cy and Ivy were announced as the Earl and Countess of Stanton, the gossiping nobles stopped in mid-conversation to stare at them. The whispers began almost immediately. Cy took her hand as they approached their hosts, a middle-aged couple that was at the pinnacle of society.

The Duke of Bellington slapped Cy on the back firmly and said, “Congratulations, my boy. Took matters into your own hands, did you? Could not wait even a week?” He elbowed Cy playfully, while the Duchess of Bellington threw him a look.

“I would have loved to be at the wedding,” the Duchess said wistfully.

“And we would have loved to have had you there, Your Grace,” Ivy said graciously, “but I am afraid when one is in love, even a week seems too long to wait!”

The Duchess sighed. “You both are absolutely precious.”

“Careful, Stanton,” the Duke said to Cy. “One more romantic gesture like that and you will make the rest of us married chaps look bad.”

Cy smiled and shrugged. Ivy smiled gorgeously. “My husband is such a thoughtful man. Did I tell you what he gave me for a wedding present? He had a ballet studio built just for me! He knows I love to practice!”

The Duke shook his head. “Ruined. You have absolutely ruined the rest of us.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Cy said, not looking at all contrite.

They paused in conversation to welcome the arrival of the Duchess of Cavehill and the Langleys. Willow, who was on the arm of her fiancé, the Earl of Bedford, the newly made heir to the Marquess of Westonshire, trailed behind them. The Marquess completed their entourage.

The elderly man carried an elegant cane, but it was all for show as his carriage was still erect. When his grandson had contacted him late the previous evening, the Marquess agreed to make him his heir on the condition that Bedford leave the military and stay close to him. They had lost too many years already.