Page 15 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

A s they stepped into Blackbourne House, Ross was intensely aware of Ivy at his side. That kiss had lit something inside him, as if a part of him had gone cold and she’d sparked it back to life.

“Your Grace.” Ross’s butler approached, looking uncharacteristically harried.

“What is it, Vickers?”

“Her Grace arrived some twenty minutes ago and is awaiting you in the drawing?—”

“I shall take it from here, Vickers,” his mother said as she glided into the foyer.

Ross’s first instinct was to step in front of Ivy, to shield her and her men’s clothing from his mother’s perusal, but it was too late.

His mother’s eyes were already taking her in from boot to brow. “Are you going to introduce me to your companion, my dear?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy notch her chin up a bit, and amusement hummed through him. He barely resisted smiling. As he suspected, she would not be intimidated by his mother, who was formidable enough to unsettle almost anyone if she put her mind to it.

His mother seemed to notice too and her lips tilted up in a slight smile. She admired nothing as much as someone with inner strength.

“Mother, may I present Miss Ivy Bridewell.” Once he’d looked at Ivy, it was hard to tear his gaze away. “Ivy, my mother, the Duchess of Blackbourne.”

Ivy curtsied. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Your Grace. Forgive my unorthodox clothing this evening. We were…” She glanced at him. “On a mission of sorts.”

“Indeed?” His mother looked genuinely curious. “Is it one you can tell me about?”

“No,” Ross said, cutting in when Ivy hesitated. “Not yet.”

“How very mysterious of both of you.” His mother looked more amused than dismayed, and he was grateful she didn’t press for further details.

“Would you excuse me, Your Grace?” Ivy asked. “I’d like to change my clothes.”

“By all means.” His nodded. “Please rejoin us in the drawing room.”

After a single glance his way, Ivy headed upstairs, presumably to go back to his sister’s room.

His mother didn’t say a word, just pivoted on her heel and strode into the drawing room.

Ross knew he was expected to follow, and he did.

Though he didn’t particularly like that she’d blindsided him by arriving unexpectedly.

Still, he’d known some manner of confrontation would be forthcoming as soon as he’d sent her a telegram.

“She’s pretty and has mettle, that I will acknowledge.” His mother had already taken a seat in her favorite chair when he entered the room. He closed the pocket doors behind him.

“Yes. I agree, of course.” He was tempted to add praise to his mother’s list of Ivy’s merits, but he resisted. She wasn’t finished with her assessment, he suspected.

“And does she often accompany you on…missions while wearing men’s clothing?”

“No.”

His mother tipped her head when he hesitated. “Who is this young woman who’s bewitched you in a matter of days?”

“The daughter of a viscount. The sister of the Duke of Edgerton. Eminently suitable.”

The sound that emerged from her wasn’t quite a laugh, but not a full-throated scoff either.

Though he’d been on the verge of reclining on the settee, he remained standing because the sound sparked a flash of anger. Lashing out never worked with this mother, but he didn’t need to. He was the Duke of Blackbourne. No one would tell him who to marry.

“It isn’t a matter for debate, Mother. My decision has been made.”

“What are you about, my dear?” She assessed him through narrowed her eyes. “How did you come to this decision? I sense this is not quite what it seems. You’re not an impulsive man, yet I suddenly receive a telegram that you intend to marry a young woman I’ve never even heard you mention.”

“Our acquaintance is a relatively new one, but my choice wasn’t an impulsive one.

” He had considered the benefits of their scheme to feign an engagement, and what he felt for Ivy was certainly new and unexpected, but he wasn’t willing to pick apart for his mother’s sake.

He hadn’t even fully done so himself. But from the moment he’d suggested the plan, he hadn’t felt one whit of regret.

For several ticks of the mantel clock, she studied his face, as if trying to divine all that he was not prepared to divulge.

“You’ve come unexpectedly,” he told her softly. “I know what it must look like?—”

“In truth, I don’t know what to think. Especially since you seem unwilling to divulge any details.”

“Will you be staying here or at Claridge’s?” Whenever she and his father had fallen out, she’d taken up a suite at the hotel and often preferred it now to Blackbourne House when visiting London.

“At Claridge’s,” she said, her gaze still assessing him. “Is that a not-so-subtle suggestion that I should retire there rather than harangue your fiancé this evening?”

“Why don’t we arrange a time for all of us to take tea or luncheon together?” Ross would far prefer to face his mother when he and Ivy had a chance to prepare for her inquisition.

She regarded him for several minutes and then got to her feet. “Very well. But let’s do so within the next day or so. I am attending a soiree Wednesday evening at Lady Warwick’s, and she’ll quiz me about your betrothed.”

“Tea on Wednesday then. Here at the townhouse.”

With that, she nodded and made her way toward the foyer. When they stood on the marble floor of the entryway, Ross cast a look up the stairs, wondering if Ivy would emerge before his mother departed.

She didn’t, even in the time it took for her to don her hat, gloves, and coat and for him to direct the butler to have the Blackbourne carriage brought around to transport her.

He waved her off and then considered whether to go up to see about Ivy or wait for her to come down.

“Has she departed?” she said from the top of the stairs, then descended.

When she was before him, Ross’s mind filled instantly with the memory of their kiss.

“She has.”

“I hope you didn’t rush her off on my account.”

“I didn’t.”

“Though I agreed to this scheme, lying to a duchess suddenly seems quite daunting.”

“If you prefer, I’ll tell her the truth. Whatever you like.”

She smiled. “Are you going to capitulate to me so readily for our entire false engagement?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“I might.” It was the oddest feeling to want to capitulate for her sake. He’d just told his mother that he was stubborn. His decisions once made were inviolable, yet Ivy’s desires mattered now too.

He’d stood watching her too long. The air between felt charged.

“I should return home,” she said, her voice a little breathless as her eyes dipped down. She studied his lips a moment, and pink bloomed along the apple of her cheek.

A smile crept up on him, along with a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t sought or felt in a long while—of desiring a woman and being desired in return.

But she wasn’t just any woman. She was now his betrothed, as far as the public was concerned, and a woman whose article his paper would print.

Somehow, in a mere few days she’d become embedded in his life, and he wasn’t sorry in the least.

“Blackbourne?”

“Did we not agree you’d call me Ross?”

She licked her lips and gave him a chagrined smile. “Ross, shall we tell your mother the truth then?”

“Yes. I’ve invited her to tea on Wednesday with the promise we’d meet with her together. Forgive me for not asking you first.”

“Wednesday will be fine.” Her brows furrowed. “There’s a bit of worry in your tone. Why?”

Ross gestured toward the drawing room, and Ivy followed him inside.

When she sat on the settee, toward the far edge, he took the spot on the other end, turning slightly toward her.

“She’ll likely quiz us about how we met, and she’ll ask about your family, no doubt.”

“And how I could ever consider myself worthy of becoming your duchess?” she teased.

“Not quite that blunt. I told her there was to be no debate on the matter. My decision would be final.”

Ivy’s eyes widened. “You will have to tell her otherwise one day.”

Not if I can help it. He didn’t know if the kiss had been an impulse on her part or if she too might wish that this could grow into something real.

“Ivy—”

She listed toward him, he matched her movement, inching nearer to her on the settee. Ross would have sworn there was a fire blazing in the waning hearth for how the air heated whenever he was close to her.

He saw her swallow, watching the movement along the soft skin of her throat, aching to touch her there. Kiss her there.

“What will you do with the information we discovered at the docks?” she said on a whisper.

Ross immediately sat up, pressing back against the cushions. “I shall pass the information with my contact at Scotland Yard. Inspector Morgan. He’s trustworthy and diligent, and he’ll look into the matter thoroughly.”

“I’d like to come with you if you do go to speak with him.”

A protective instinct rose up, but he knew she’d chafe if he expressed it.

“I’ll send a message around to him. If he wants to meet, we’ll go together.”

The smile she gave him in response made something loosen in his chest that he didn’t even know was tangled.

“I should probably return home,” she said a moment later.

“Of course.”

They stood and as he walked her to the foyer, he debated mentioning the invitation he’d received from Grainger.

“I’ll see you Wednesday then?” she asked.

“Or you could accompany me to a soiree tomorrow evening? Lord Alec Grainger, a business associate of Penrose’s has invited me.”

Her eyes widened a bit. “Because they’re so eager for you to invest?”

“That’s my assumption.”

“Our first public outing together.” She seemed to ponder the prospect as she slipped on her gloves, then looked up at him.

“Are you up for it?” He arched a brow.

Suddenly, a bit of her hesitation ebbed.

She wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.

Notching up her chin, she tried for as much confidence as she could muster at the prospect of being weighed and measured by the mamas of society who saw her as the wallflower who’d poached an eminently eligible duke.

“Of course I am.”