“I think you need to come inside and sit down,” the duke said, taking the box from her hand. “You do not look yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I said you need to come inside. You are upset. I can see it in your eyes.”
And his voice implied he was not giving her a choice in the matter. For five years Ivy had made all the decisions for herself and her sisters. She questioned now whether she could submit to this man for a year, when after only five days she balked at following his orders.
* * *
James led her from the garden into the house and ordered her to take refuge in his study. He kept a tight hold on the box. Evidently she’d been too upset to notice the card inside, which he was inordinately curious to read. Her reaction to the pearls had provoked his suspicious nature. His initial thought was that she was unaware she had an admirer, and he would sew his lips together before admitting he was relieved she didn’t appear to care for another man.
The red bow disturbed him. Red indicated passion. Someone’s heart involved.
Was someone blackmailing her? Could it involve an unpaid debt she had overlooked, or an old insult on her father’s part? James would not tolerate such goings-on in his house. Intimidation of the weak aroused his wrath, an emotion that simmered close to the surface of his skin since he had been forced to return home.
He poured a small measure of sherry into a glass and offered it to her. She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want it.”
“I insist.” And when in obvious reluctance she raised the glass and drank, making a face, he surreptitiously reopened the box and unfolded the paper inside.
My dear Lady Ivy,
Consider these pearls small compensation for the careless act I committed in London. This necklace is only the beginning of the amends I must pay to redress my wrong against you.
I have not been able to put you from my mind.
May I dare to hope the same of you?
Your servant,
Sir Oliver Linton
Her voice startled him into dropping the irritating message. “Did you just read my personal correspondence?” she asked in an incredulous voice.
“Sorry,” he said insincerely. “It’s a bad habit. I tend to peruse anything that comes across my desk. Here.” He pushed the box and its offensive missive toward her and reached for the bottle. “Have another drink. We can’t have you reading fables when you look frayed at the edges.”
“I can’t tend to the children when I’m foxed.”
“You can’t watch over them when there’s a wolf prowling after you, either.”
“Are you referring to yourself?”
“Take that drink. One of us needs to calm down.”
“Stop plying me with sherry and false sympathy.”
“He’s plying you with pearls.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“It would seem he wants to know you. His name is Sir Oliver Linton.”
“He almost ran me over in the street,” she said, her voice growing high enough to hurt his ears. “An accident is not the start of an affair.”
“It can be. Most men don’t need an excuse, only an opening.” He scowled, watching her slide the letter into her lap as if she weren’t boiling herself with curiosity to read it. He shouldn’t have made that remark; his father had often said that the devil found a willing helpmate in his eldest son. “Why does his name seem familiar?”
Ivy was reading the message now, blinking and blushing as she did. “I’ve no idea,” she said, not bothering to look up. “Perhaps he’s sent you pearls in the past.”
He surprised her by walking around the desk and pulling her from the chair, the letter crushed between them. “If he’s trying to cause trouble, I’ll take care of him.”
She blinked again. He noticed that her breath came faster, and he wondered if her response was due to some guilt on her part or, as he preferred to think, her reaction to their closeness. “You can trust me,” he said somberly.
“It certainly doesn’t appear so from our present position.”
He laughed to subdue an uncontrollable urge to prove her right. His throat tightened as he fought his baser instincts. He was used to acting on his urges. But then he hadn’t found a woman this appealing in a long time. “I’m not surprised that another man desires you.” What surprised him was his resentment of the fact.
“That isn’t at all what he said. He wants to make amends.”
Amends, his sweet arse. James recognized an overt move on a woman when he saw it. She ought to have recognized it for the cheap trick it was, too. Playing on her sentiment. Returning her mother’s necklace. Surely she wasn’t so easily swayed by the rogue’s gesture. James could smother her in pearls if that was her pleasure. The thought of her in nothing but pearls brought his blood to a boil.