Page 47

Edward stopped. He started to lift her off him, but she grabbed his hands, halting him.

‘No. Don’t move.’ She could hear the sob in her words and wanted to disappear. Hide away. Find the darkest shadow and make it her home. She shut her eyes, unable to look at him.

‘I won’t.’ Edward slid his hand up her side over her shoulder to her spine. He ran his fingers up and down in soothing strokes. ‘Look at me, Ivy.’

Squeezing her eyes tighter, she shook her head. Ivy was lost in the darkness.

‘Look at me.’ His soft, deep voice vibrated in her heart.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

‘Tell me what feels good.’

She tried to think about his words. Focus on something other than the searing heat of invasion. ‘I don’t know what…’

‘Don’t think about the pain. Think about breath in your lungs. Cool air on your skin.’

‘Your hand on my back.’

‘Yes, darling! My hand on your back.’ He continued rubbing. His other hand slipped up her side until he cupped her breast and kneaded slowly. ‘What else?’

‘Th-that’s good.’ She arched her back as he leaned close and pressed a sweet kiss against her nipple.

As Edward continued to rain soft kisses over her chest, Ivy realised the shock of invasion wasn’t nearly as painful as the fear of her father’s words. And her father was wrong. Edward did stop.

‘Stay here, with me. It’s just us. You and me.’ As Edward crooned the words his hand kept stroking up and down her back. His other hand slipped back down, gripping her hip. ‘You’re safe, Ivy.’

The panic ebbed with every stroke of his hand.

When his thumb inched closer to her slit, traced the seam where their bodies met, desire reawakened.

The burn of fullness shifted. Pleasure painted the edges of pain as her channel stretched around him.

She took a shuddering breath and tensed her inner muscles.

A white arc of sizzling sweetness zinged through her. She clenched again, chasing the lightning, and Edward bit his lip. His hand stuttered on her back.

What a wonder.

She could make him react just from… She tightened once more and watched his pupils blow wide.

Fascinating.

Edward found her clitoris, pulsing and swollen. He rubbed the pad of his thumb in soft circles and Ivy clamped around his cock harder as echoes of pleasure became a keening cry of sweet need.

‘God, woman. You are killing me.’

‘Tell me what to do.’

‘Ride me, Ivy. Just as you were before.’

She could do that. Tilting her pelvis, she lifted up, the drag of his thick shaft through her aching channel made easier by the wetness she provided.

She slid down, grinding herself against his thumb, taking more of him into her.

Up again. Down harder. She bottomed out and something sharp and bright came to life.

Fingers dug into her bottom, urging her on. Faster. Deeper. Closer. Flesh slapped flesh, sweat trickled down her spine. He reared up, fastening his hot mouth over her nipple, sucking hard, nipping with sharp teeth as he thrust up with his hips, hitting that bright spot again. And again. And again.

Waves of stunning glory washed through her as she flew apart. Wrapping her arms around him, she held tight, riding him over the cliff’s edge. Moments later, he pulled free, his cock painting ribbons of white over his belly and chest.

Ivy collapsed on top of him, uncaring of the sticky mess. Replete. Exhausted. Sore. Sated. Complete.

* * *

They didn’t talk and the silence felt sacred. A soundless sanctuary.

Edward took a towel from the washbasin next to his bed and cleaned his body.

Rinsing it in the shallow bowl, he came back to the bed and gently moved her legs apart, wiping the blood from her thighs.

There wasn’t much. She’d bled more when she fell and scraped her knee.

She’d always imagined rivers of blood and endless pain.

But after the first shock, it had been nothing like her frightened imaginings. It was beautiful.

Ivy felt strangely raw. Not her skin. Not inside where she pulsed still with a memory of their joining.

But in her chest. In the vast, unmappable topography of her soul.

She was supposed to be comforting him, but perhaps comfort was like love.

Impossible to offer without also receiving in equal measure.

He lay on his back and pulled her onto his chest. She could hear his heart thumping a soothing rhythm as he dragged the blanket over them. Ivy breathed in his scent of coffee and mint, her eyes drifting closed. She couldn’t remember feeling so safe.

When next her eyes opened, sunlight streamed through the window, and she was alone. A note lay on the pillow next to her.

Ivy, I’m sorry. You deserve better.

‘Bastard!’

* * *

‘So you just left?’ Philippa sat in her front parlour, a steaming cup of tea in her hand and a scowl pulling down her crimson lips.

‘What else should I have done? You, of all people, know the depths of my sins, Philippa. I’m the last person who deserves a woman as sweet, brave, and courageous as Ivy.’

‘Good God. You sound as dramatic as a young miss at her first ball. Should I ring for Stokes to bring you some smelling salts?’ She took a sip of tea before placing the dish on the table in front of her.

Edward’s sharp laugh was devoid of any joy.

He sat across from her in a velvet wing-back chair, but his frustration made it impossible to remain still.

His leg bounced up and down in a manic beat.

‘I thought you would take a little joy in my suffering. After everything I’ve done to you, it must be satisfying. ’

Philippa rubbed her thumb and forefinger in endless circles. ‘One would think. But no. I find no joy in your pain, Edward. Unlike some people, age has granted me wisdom.’

‘The great Duchess of Dorsett admits to ageing? Mayhap I do need smelling salts.’

Her eyebrow took wing as she leaned forward. ‘I admit no such thing. I’m merely explaining why my intelligence far surpasses your own.’

‘Ah. Well. Never mind, then. Proving your superiority to me is nothing new.’

‘Exactly. But I do have something new to share.’

Edward felt a sense of dread wash through him. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to hearing it.’ He tried to keep his voice light, but his jest fell short.

Philippa tsked. ‘Brace yourself.’

Edward took a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded for her to proceed.

‘I forgive you, Edward. Not for Liza’s death. And not for what I was forced to endure.’

‘Because those are unforgivable crimes.’

‘No. Because those are not your crimes to carry. I forgive you for telling your father.’

Edward shook his head. The sting of tears threatened as he rejected her words.

Philippa stood and walked to him, crouching down in a shocking display of improper posture and forcing him to meet her gaze.

‘I forgive you, Edward, for the crime of acting like exactly what you were. A stupid boy full of pride. But I have come to realise that is the only crime of which you are guilty. The same as every other young lad in London.’

He wouldn’t accept her words. If he let go of his self-hatred, if he accepted Liza’s death was not his to carry, then he would lose that burden and, in doing so, lose part of Liza. It made no sense, but holding his guilt felt like holding her memory. ‘No. It was my fault.’

Philippa covered the hand he fisted on the armrest of his chair. ‘It was not. And it’s time for you to let it go, Edward.’

Bowing his head, Edward allowed the tears to fall. ‘What if I can’t?’

‘You must.’

‘I’m so sorry, Philippa.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘So am I, Edward. But the truth is, everything that occurred after you went to your father in a silly fit of jealousy was beyond your control.’

‘But if I hadn’t said anything?—’

‘Liza would have told your father herself. She was bound and determined to profess our love, even when I warned her of the consequences. And if I was able to convince her to stay quiet, someone else would have discovered us. We were hardly discreet. Just as full of blind confidence as you in our false faith that love would conquer all.’

Philippa’s words slowly sunk into his mind, fracturing long-held beliefs and seismically shifting his understanding of truth.

He could imagine Liza striding up to their father, her heart-shaped face full of defiance, declaring her love for Philippa.

And their father’s reaction would have been the same.

He still would have demanded Liza marry the man of his choosing or be banished to bedlam.

If what Philippa said was true, Liza’s fate was inescapable, and Edward was just the pawn who brought it to fruition.

‘So you see, Edward, your actions only hurried along events that were destined to occur.’

As the weight of guilt lifted, the ache of grief rushed in. ‘I miss her. Every day.’

‘Every moment. Yes. I know. But she would never want you to live like this.’

He lifted his head and stared into Philippa’s cobalt eyes. It was strangely like looking in a mirror. ‘What about you?’

Philippa pulled back and rose to her feet, her face hardening into the lines of a woman in complete control.

‘We aren’t discussing me. We are talking about you.

And what an utter mess you’ve made with Ivy because of this ridiculous martyr mentality.

No one likes a sad sack, you know.’ Turning, her blackberry silk skirts swished around her legs.

She tucked a non-existent loose hair back into her intricately coiled twist. Looking over her shoulder, she speared Edward with a scathing glare.

‘Punishing yourself for the rest of your life is very melodramatic of you. Rather Gothic, if you ask me. I expect better from the Commissioner of Scotland Yard.’

Edward leaned back in his chair and took his first deep breath in forever. Perhaps Philippa was right.

Of course she is. She’s always right, the bloody harridan.