Forbidden to Love the Duke(31)

Sir Oliver stood at her side. “What a shame. Do you think it would help if I put in a word? On your behalf—you know, explain to him that you had been in the company of a well-known person?”

“Don’t you dare,” Ivy said quickly. The last thing the duke would appreciate was knowing that she’d spent the afternoon with Oliver.

“And I was hoping for a tour of the house.”

“Come next May, Sir Oliver,” Rue said, her shadow falling between him and Ivy. “You can admire the gardens at their finest. You will be inspired.”

His strained smile intimated that he hoped for more than a horticultural tour for inspiration. “My traveling carriage will be quicker than that antique which brought you here, Ivy. Honestly, my dear, you’d have been faster gliding on a sleigh without snow.”

“That’s not the vehicle that almost ran me over?” Ivy could not resist teasing. “Oh, forgive me. I shouldn’t have mentioned it again.”

His smile transformed his face. For the first time Ivy saw past his superficial veneer to the charisma of the poet who sent the ladies of upper-crust London into raptures. Yet Ivy didn’t feel the least tug of attraction toward him. “But of course you should. Tease me all you like. It is the reason I am here.”


* * *

Ivy rushed through her good-byes to her sisters, even though she felt unsure about abandoning them to a man as ingratiating as Sir Oliver.

“I feel responsible for him,” she whispered to Rue as they embraced beside the straggly hollyhocks.

Rue smiled rather wickedly. “Don’t worry. Rosemary is keeping her eye on him.”

“What about Lilac?” Ivy asked under her breath.

Rue laughed. “She considers him useful for some odd reason.”

Ivy considered Oliver to be an annoyance. He’d wasted the precious hours she’d wanted to spend at Fenwick with his aimless flirtation. Yet on the bumpy ride back to Ellsworth, she managed to forget him entirely.

She promised herself she would make up the time she’d wanted to spend with her sisters on her next visit. Perhaps by then, she thought, as the carriage drew into Ellsworth and she hastened through the house, she would have collected a few more anecdotes about the duke to share with her siblings.

She walked into her bedchamber and peered at the clock on the mantelpiece. Half an hour late. The old carriage horses couldn’t travel these country roads as they had done years ago. The journey to London had taken its toll on the faithful bays. She stripped down to her shift. Well, at least the duke hadn’t caught her.

She bent over her washstand, splashing water over her face, and stared in the mirror. She froze, not at the cold, but at the reflection of a man sprawled across her tidily made bed. The duke might not have caught her.

But she had caught him, sleeping, in her bed.

She lifted the pitcher, counted to ten, and reconsidered. She set the jug down silently and picked up a towel, draping it over her bare shoulders.

She looked at him again in the mirror. He hadn’t moved.

She turned, water slipping down her breasts, and walked to his side. She wondered if he was dead drunk or flagrantly courting an invitation. Clearly the woman he awaited had not made her eagerly anticipated arrival, which meant that while Ivy was envisioning the duke engaged in unspeakable sins, he had been here . . . snoring softly on Ivy’s bed.

What was she to make of this?

Why on earth had she rushed back to the park, terrified of being late?

“Your Grace,” she said, nudging his big stockinged foot. “Are you in your cups?”

“Cups.” He opened his eyes, perusing her semiclad figure like a man who’d never tasted a drop of liquor in his life. He was alert, keen, a waking beast. “I couldn’t find you at the appointed time, so I came in here to check. I must have dozed off. The children exhausted me. Did something happen at Fenwick to keep you?” He glanced at the clock. “You’re late. We can’t allow that. A governess should be prompt.”

Her temper simmered. She hadn’t been able to enjoy a decent visit at home with her shoes off and now this—this—intimidating spectacle expected her to behave as if it were acceptable for him to await her return in her bed.

“Your Grace, I might not have moved about in high society as often as you. But we both know that a duke doesn’t nap in the governess’s bed. I am in the act of undressing.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” He sat up, crossing his legs in the middle of her bed. “I’ll cover my eyes.”

“You shall leave the room.”

“You could use the screen.”

“Excellent idea.”