Page 16 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

I vy paced the foyer as she waited for Ross’s carriage to collect her.

“You look lovely,” Lily said from the drawing room threshold. “I’m certain Blackbourne will think the same.”

“I’m not as worried about how I look as how I should behave. How does a future duchess behave?”

Lily smiled, then approached and laid a hand on Ivy’s arm. “You’ve seen how I behave as a duchess. Not so very differently than I did as Lily Bridewell. Do you think I’m doing it wrong?” Her teasing tone did allay some of Ivy’s worries.

She knew who she was, and Ross thought she could pull off this scheme. The opinions of others had never mattered to her so much. As a wallflower, few had ever bothered having an opinion about her at all, and she’d rather liked than anonymity.

Lily hadn’t changed dramatically after becoming Duchess of Edgerton, but she was subject to much more scrutiny. Where she went, how she behaved at the event she attended, the things she said, they were all noted.

Ivy preferred observing others to being observed, but no one could fail to notice the lady who strode into a room on Ross’s arm because he himself was so terribly noteworthy.

Outside Edgerton House, Ivy heard a carriage roll up and moments later, someone rapped at the door.

The butler admitted Ross and the way his eyes lit when he looked at her made all her worries fade.

“Miss Bridewell,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Yet he’d called her Ivy so many times that the formality struck her. She much preferred it when there was no polite pretense between them.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” he said to Lily.

“Blackbourne, I hope you two enjoy the soiree.”

“I think we will,” he told her. Then he offered his arm to Ivy. “Shall we be off?”

Inside the carriage, they sat on opposite benches.

Once the horses were off and they pulled into traffic, Ross seemed unsettled. He’d watch her a moment and then turn his gaze out the carriage window.

“You look beautiful,” he said into the quiet, flicking a look her way.

“Thank you.” He did too. Something about the stark contrast of his black and white evening suit only accentuated the broad breadth of his shoulders, and in the shadows of carriage, all the angles and counters of his handsome face were even more appealing.

“May I speak plainly?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

“Of course. I always want us to. When you called me Miss Bridewell earlier, it felt wrong,” she admitted with a half-smile.

“I don’t wish you to think I will take advantage of our agreement.”

Ivy tipped her head. “Advantage?”

“If you have any regrets about what happened the last time we were in a carriage together?—”

“I don’t.” Ivy had thought about the kiss often. Too often. But never once had she thought of that moment with regret. “Do you?”

“No.” He leaned forward on his bench. “Not a bit. I merely want you to know that whatever boundaries you set between us will be honored.”

“You needn’t worry.” Ivy nodded as if to reassure him, but the truth was that the moment he’d walked into the townhouse this evening, she’d thought of the kisses they’d shared and wondered when the next would be.

Perhaps she should be more fastidious about boundaries. The whole point of their false engagement was to safeguard their reputations, but boundaries weren’t what she wanted with Ross.

In fact, she only wanted more closeness, to know him better, to spend time with him. Perhaps he had a magnetic appeal to everyone who encountered him, but she was the one sitting across from him.

She was the one his gaze returned to again and again. It was heady, as if she’d sipped too much wine.

Before she could say more, their carriage rolled to a stop as it joined the queue of disembarking guests in front of Lord Grainger’s St. James Square home.

Ross handed her down, then looked at her expectantly. “People may stare. They may whisper. I find it best to behave as if it is expected. As none of it unsettles you.”

“Does it ever unsettle you?”

After they were admitted, handed over their coats, and were announced, Ross laid his hand over hers where she held his arm and scanned his gaze around the room.

Ivy’s anxieties had been warranted.

A sort of hush and the titter of whispers and conversation grew, and it felt as if everyone’s eyes were suddenly on them.

But with those who gaped too long, Ross held their gaze until they turned away.

With those who whispered he stared them down until they felt his attention. A few looked duly chastened.

Then he moved her to a spot near the edge the room and leaned down to whisper. “Sometimes it does unsettle me.”

“But you’ve grown used to it.” Ivy still felt a bit like a butterfly pinned to a board for everyone’s inspection, but he’d silenced much of the reaction with a few looks.

“Mmm. Though as your sister would remind me, I’ve also avoided society when it suits me too.” He glanced at her. “And tonight is different because of you.”

Ivy caught a few ladies with their heads turned her way, the gazes assessing her. “They’re curious about why you chose me. Perhaps jealous.”

If they were not conspiring in this ruse and he’d walked into the room with his future duchess on his arm, she’d feel envy too. Admitting as much to herself made her mouth suddenly dry.

When she looked up at Ross, he smiled. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

“I rather like not doing this alone.” He held her gaze. “I like walking into a room with you beside me,” he said with an earnestness in his eyes that made her cheeks flood with warmth.

She wished they weren’t in a crowded room. The urge to kiss him nearly overwhelmed her.

“Blackbourne, so good of you to accept my invitation.” The resonant voice was one Ivy had heard before.

“Grainger,” Ross said, turning to the handsome nobleman who’d she’d refused to allow to touch her at Penrose’s party. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“And Miss Bridewell.” Grainger made no attempt to reach for her hand this time. He merely nodded in her direction. “Or should I say the future Duchess of Blackbourne.”

Ivy exchanged a look with Ross. The official announcement had not yet made the papers.

“Tittle-tattle travels quickly,” Grainger said with low chuckle. “While my sister holds court here with our guests, would you join me in my study, Blackbourne?”

Ivy immediately held a bit tighter to Ross’s arm. She wasn’t a coward, by any means, but she didn’t relish being left in this sea of curious onlookers. But even more, she wanted to know what Grainger wished to discuss with Ross.

“A few moments of your time. It won’t take long,” Grainger assured, his gaze flickering down to their linked arms.

“A few moments then,” Ross told him, then gave Ivy a look as if to reassure her.

Ivy released his arm and nodded.

When the two left the drawing room where most of the guests were gathered, Ivy accepted a drink from a passing footman and sipped at the tepid lemonade.

A redhead wearing a striking sapphire gown approached with a smile. “Miss Bridewell, welcome. I am Madeline Grainger. I don’t think we’ve met. When my brother told me to invite Blackbourne, I didn’t know he’d be accompanied by his betrothed.”

“I was glad to accept his invitation,” Ivy said, vaguely recalling the woman from her last Season. Her beauty made her memorable, but Ivy didn’t recall ever meeting Lord Grainger at all.

“How is your sister?” Miss Grainger asked. “The duchess and I both attended the same tea a few weeks ago.”

“She’s well.”

“And pleased with the felicitous news?”

“Yes, of course.” Ivy felt a flare of irritation. She knew her match with Blackbourne would be scrutinized, but was it so unthinkable?

“You and the duchess must join me for tea soon. I’ll send an invitation.”

“Thank you.”

As the lady offered her a nod and turned as if to stride off and mingle with other guests, Ivy said, “Would you direct me to the retiring room, Miss Grainger?”

“Of course, my dear. To left, down the hallway. It’s the third door you’ll come upon.”

“Thank you.”

A pair of ladies, who’d been watching her on and off looked as if they planned to approach the moment Grainger sister stepped away, but Ivy wasn’t interested in more questions or even more congratulations paired with assessing glances.

What she truly wanted was to know what was transpiring between Grainger and Ross.

She tried not to bolt from the room and made her way with as much poise as she imagined a future duchess should possess. But as soon as she was in the house’s main hall, she picked up her pace, stopping at each door to listen a moment, hoping to hear the sound of Ross’s voice.

Then she heard a bark of male laughter to her left and stepped toward the closed door it had emerged from.

“Who has made such spurious claims?” Lord Grainger asked.

“Rumors travel in society, as you know,” Ross replied.

“Ah, yes, and you know that well, Blackbourne, considering your hasty engagement.”

Ivy closed her eyes, imagining what Ross’s response to that might be.

Just then a couple of ladies exited the retiring room one door down and Ivy took a few quick steps to tuck herself into an alcove behind a potted palm.

“I barely remember her from last Season. Did she make an impression on you?” one said to the other.

“Not at all, and here I thought Blackbourne was saving himself for a true diamond.”

“She seems rather plain…”

Their voices drifted off as they turned and made their way back into the Grainger’s drawing room, and Ivy forced herself to unclench her teeth.

For the first time since she and Ross had made this mad pact, she felt the error of it. No one was going to believe that he’d choose her of all the eligible ladies in London. Before meeting him, she’d never wanted to be chosen by anyone but a London publisher who might see merit in her work.

Perhaps they should end the ruse sooner rather than later. Then he could go on to find a lady who’d be the perfect duchess, and she could focus once more on her writing.