No matter how much I might wish for him to love me, I cannot marry him, or any man. The thought was grim and her heart was hollow with an ache that couldn't be eased.
Chapter 5
Leo lounged against the banister, drumming his fingers on the polished walnut.
Ivy. A name as beautiful as the woman herself. He had nearly wrecked his Stanley when he'd caught a glimpse of her shapely legs in the air as she wriggled to right herself. Even now, his blood heated at the mere memory of how warm her stocking-clad calves had been beneath his hands.
Her face … something about it … Like he'd seen her before. Just when he thought he'd placed it, the memory would dissipate like morning mist. She was certainly unique, and he knew without a doubt he would not have forgotten meeting her. Her hair was a Gypsy black, rich and long. Eyes the color of cocoa. Her skin was a light olive. She had a hint of Italian in her blood or perhaps something else and it fascinated him. It also was damned dangerous. He couldn't let himself become distracted by her. Although she was younger and far more beautiful than his father's mistress, the parallel of the situation hadn't escaped him. If he started chasing Ivy's skirts, he would be no better than his father. London would be full of gossip about how he was just like Old Hampton. Every single reputable family's door would close in a resounding slam after that.
He gave himself a little shake, trying to forget the way her honey brown eyes had been as gold as honey and the way her smile had dazzled him. These were not the proper thoughts of a man ready to propose to another woman. Mildred Pepperwirth was to be his bride, just as soon as he stopped delaying and actually proposed to her. She was the logical decision. An English beauty, no muss, no fuss, and definitely no passion. A sensible wife for a sensible man. She was not a wild Gypsy who would tempt him into losing control.
Lord, Mother was right-he had become boring. The old Leo would have hunted down the most exotic of beauties or seduced the sweetest of ladies into his bed, showing them hours of pleasure at his hands. But when he thought of Mildred, there was no heat, no fire in his blood.
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But she was the best choice. A man could not pick his wife by how she affected his lusts, especially a man needing to revive his family's good name. He needed to focus his attention on Mildred. Not the alluring and mysterious Ivy with full lips meant for kisses and that husky laugh more suited for a gentleman's bedroom than polite conversation.
What I wouldn't give to let go, to take what I desire and seduce the raven-haired beauty …
"Ready." Her voice was soft and light and carried with it a natural sultriness. It would be so easy to return to his old ways, to guide her into a private room and kiss her until she was desperate for more. He straightened with a little shake and dispelled such wicked thoughts, then smoothed his hands down the front of his waistcoat and smiled as she descended.
Windblown hairs were swept back into place and her hat was gone. The motoring clothes had disappeared and she was dressed for afternoon tea in a pale rose-colored gown that gathered at her narrow waist and showed off her luscious hourglass figure. As she floated down the stairs, he admired the way the filmy gold lace overdress shimmered and set off her dark hair, which was gathered in waves and pulled back in a loose knot. She was breathtaking, and it took him a moment to swallow before he could speak.
"You look … " He stumbled over the compliment and then decided to skip it. "I'm sure you are anxious to see Mother."
Ivy grinned and lifted her skirts enough to reveal a layer of orange silk just above her crème-colored satin mule slippers. "Oh yes!"
She joined him at the bottom of the stairs, and he lifted his elbow so she could slide her arm through his. She did so and the movement brought her closer. A delicate aroma of oranges and flowers teased his nose, tantalizing him. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and inhale the barely detectable scent. It had been a year since he'd let the scent of a woman affect him … He banished memories of his wild days. It did not do to dwell on the past or on things he could not have-like Ivy.
Leo took Ivy onto the back terrace, where they found his mother sipping tea and staring off in the direction of the gardens. She seemed lost in thought.
"Mother, Miss Leighton has arrived early."
His mother glanced over her shoulder at them, the melancholy expression vanishing in an instant.
"Ivy dear! You look beautiful! Doesn't she look beautiful, Leo?" She stood and opened her arms. Leo's lips parted in surprise as the young lady flew into his mother's embrace.