“I should leave now, lest I not leave at all.” He lifted her hand, bowed over it, and kissed it. She felt that kiss all through her body. He did not straighten completely afterward, but hovered, looking into her eyes.
“It is hell, not getting what I want, Padua. I normally do, and right now I want you fiercely.” He kissed her lips briefly, then walked away.
CHAPTER8
Padua did not sleep well that night. Despite the wine, or because of it, she tossed in her luxurious bed. Images intruded repeatedly on her thoughts. Lord Ywain looking dangerous. Lord Ywain looking stern. Ives bowing for a kiss. Ives caressing her. Ives naked...
When she finally woke, her view of the prior night had changed severely. What had she been thinking? She had behaved outrageously, and she could not entirely blame the wine. Their conversation no longer appeared merely reckless, but stupid. Goodness, she would have to leave this house at once, so it did not appear she was really opening the door to a proposition.
Her servant came in as soon as she made a sound. The girl handed over a letter, then went about fixing the bed.
The letter came from the man who did not believe in seduction but who managed, with his direct honesty, to be extremely seductive.
Dear Miss Belvoir,
I trust that the servants have made you feel at home. Make free with the house as you wish. Do not rush to leave on my account, nor that of my family, none of whom intend to visit town for some time. When you decide your next destination, I would be grateful if you would write to inform me of the location.
Your servant,
Ives
It sounded as if they would not share dinners in the future. The letter made it clear he would not be visiting the house while she remained there. He offered no apology, however. Perhaps he did not have anything to apologize for.
She opened a wardrobe and removed a clean dress. The servant girl appeared at her side, took it from her, and pulled out other garments. As she stepped away to allow the girl free access, Padua noticed the stack of books on the wardrobe’s floor. She needed to bring those to her father. Not today, however. Today she intended to enjoy this house, as her host had instructed.
“There is breakfast in the morning room,” her girlsaid. “I sent down word you were awake, so hot food should be there soon.”
Breakfast first, then the library. She would make today a little holiday, and read to her heart’s content. All those words and noble ideas would help her forget she had been imprudent last night. They would block out memories of how her embarrassing behavior had allowed that conversation to take the turns it did.
Before she went down, however, she sat at the lovely inlaid writing desk and found some paper in a drawer. She wrote a quick letter to Jennie, to let her know she had found a refuge for a day or two.
Or maybe three.
***
Ives resolved that he would not spend one minute thinking about Miss Belvoir’s Dilemma the next day.
In the morning he visited Jackson’s on Bond Street, where he had arranged for an old friend, Jonathan, Lord Belleterre, baron, to join him for some sparring. Stripped to the waist, fists high, they went at each other. Ives threw himself into the exercise with enthusiasm.
Punch.He’d be damned if he would allow himself to be—punch—distracted again. Any interest in Padua—punch—Belvoir was the result of unaccustomed—punch—abstinence. He had crossed a line—punch—last night that he certainly would never—punch—ever—punch—cross again. He wasn’t a damned schoolboy in need of tutoring on ethics, least of all from Padua herself. As for her father, hell, the questions he had—punch—about that case needed to be resolved before he—punch—found himself compromised in other ways.
Belleterre called a halt. He strolled over to a chair, picked up a towel, and mopped his dark hair. Belleterre’s quickness and natural studied skill stood him in good stead in boxing, and he had achieved renown in the sport. Ives liked to spar with a man who did not require pulling one’s punches.
“Who is she?” Belleterre asked, dropping the towel.
“What are you talking about?”
“You are all force and little skill today. You are showing aggression for its own sake. I think you would be happier hitting a wall.”
“I don’t think I was that bad. You worked up plenty of sweat.”
“As I would if I boxed with an ape. So, who is she?”
Ives helped himself to a towel too. He mopped his head and chest.
“What makes you assume it is a woman?”
“You are giving in to some emotion, and it is not happiness. Since you have not been in court for several weeks, I do not think it is a pleading gone badly or a case lost. That leaves a woman. Are you still angry that your mistress threw you over?”
