Forbidden to Love the Duke(55)
Ivy looked taken aback. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
She swept up her skirt in her hand. “Not any of it.”
James realized he’d just been snared in a trap of his own making. “What precisely does that mean?”
“I shall henceforth maintain a professional demeanor and distance from you at all times,” she said, raising her chin.
He made the dreadful mistake of laughing again. “Ivy, we both know that maintaining a distance between us is impossible.”
Her mouth thinned. “For you, perhaps.”
His blood flared. She couldn’t be serious. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, his gaze flickering over her as if they were opponents in a tournament.
“If it strengthens your will to think of it that way, then yes. It’s a challenge.”
He blew out a breath. “You’re challenging my will? For how long?”
“I doubt you can survive a week without trifling with a woman. You kissed me while you were waiting for Elora to arrive.”
“That’s different. Elora is in love with my brother.”
She walked sedately to the door. “You didn’t know it at the time.”
“But I did know that Elora and I were wrong for each other. Why else would I have written advising her not to come to Ellsworth?”
“Good day, Your Grace.”
He darted around her to the door she had just opened, placing his arm against the panels. “I don’t think we’ve established all the rules yet.”
Ivy tried to open the door all the way. “What good would it do? You would only override them. Your Grace, kindly remove your person from the doorway. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.”
“Do you see me trembling in my boots?” he asked, his voice evocative of last night’s pleasures.
“Do you think me incapable of resorting to violence to escape you? It isn’t something I’d enjoy doing, but if you drive me to it, you might see a different side of me.”
She pulled a little harder at the door. He ignored the pain and grinned.
“If I didn’t fall for Sir Oliver’s silly poetry,’ she said, “I’m assuredly not going to be swayed by a man behaving like a bully.”
“Bully? You think this is bullying you?”
“Well, you aren’t letting me leave.”
“Only because I hadn’t finished talking. But since you are intent on breaking my elbow, I wonder in truth who is bullying who. Just don’t bring up that poet in my presence again.”
“As you wish. Should I meet him again, it will be in secret.”
He felt his anger rising. “That is not my wish. I showed you last night what I wished for you to do.”
Her cheeks turned red. “What you really want is my property,” she said, pulling at the door with every word.
“Correction,” he said, realizing he should have the sense to move before she broke the door. “What I really want is you as my property.”
“Subtle as a sledgehammer, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t exactly try to hide how I feel toward you.”
“It’s impossible.”
He shook his head, smiling at how easily he could fluster her. “It’s inevitable. Do you think I couldn’t court you if I set my mind to it?”
All of a sudden she looked more than flustered. She looked furious. “It isn’t in my nature to be cruel, but in my opinion you deserve a setdown, waste of time as that will probably be.”
“Criticizing one’s employer is not part of a governess’s job.”
“Satisfying said employer’s unspeakable desires are not, either, unless I missed that in the contract.”
“You didn’t read the contract.”
“No. I was desperate and I trusted you. But right now, well, let me just say that Sir Oliver is famous in London for collecting hearts. If I didn’t fall for his nonsense, why should I fall for yours?”
He snorted. “I wasn’t the only one with unspeakable desires last night, and do not ever compare me to that jingle-maker again.”
“Poet. He is a poet. Women love his poetry. They swoon at his feet.”
His lips curled in derision. “Then why aren’t you swooning at his feet instead of attempting to shatter my bones?”
“Because I have work to do, and if Your Grace would be so kind as to release me, I shall go about my duties.”
He shrugged, lifting his arm. “There. You are free.”
She reached for the doorknob. “Seven days, remember.”
He stared at the back of her neck. What he remembered was nibbling past her shoulder to her plump breasts. And her voice, urgent, low, when she had climaxed.