Page 19 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

W hen Ivy woke late the next morning, she reached for Ross, then remembered she’d insisted on returning home the previous evening.

For a long while, she let her mind revisit the night they’d shared.

She reached up and touched her lips, squeezed her thighs together at the memory of the way he’d touched her, the pleasure he’d brought her to.

My love. Those two words echoed in her mind and her heart felt full.

She couldn’t be sure how long they’d held each other, but she’d wanted to stay with him last night . The moment had felt so right, she’d almost blurted her confession—that she loved him.

Did those two words he’d spoken in the heated moments between them mean he felt the same?

Last night, she’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t worry about the future. That she’d let herself have those moments with him beyond any talk of betrothals or what would come after.

And she didn’t regret a single moment. In fact, she knew now that Ross, a future with him, was what she wanted. She needed to tell him.

The hows and the ways that she would grow into the role of his duchess still weren’t entirely clear, but her own sister was a duchess. Lily had embraced her role with grace and a determination to remain true to herself.

Ivy told herself she could do the same.

So she washed and dressed, preparing herself to face Lily’s questions before she could get out the front door again.

There was a possibility none of the family had heard her return late in the evening, but the servants knew, of course.

And Edgerton House’s servants were loyal to their mistress. Lily would be told.

When Ivy went into the dining room, she realized she’d missed the chance to eat with the others.

“Shall I bring you tea and something to eat, miss?” one of the maids asked as she came into the room to reset the table for luncheon.

“No, Jane. I’ll wait for lunch.”

“Very good, miss.” The young woman went back to her work.

A moment later, the family’s butler entered the room. “Ah, Miss Bridewell, Her Grace has asked that you join her in the morning room.”

“Thank you.” Ivy drew in a deep breath and went to find Lily.

Her sister sat her escritoire, where she usually took care of correspondence or writing in a journal she kept.

“I didn’t come home until late last evening,” Ivy blurted the words, determined to get the truth out and deal with whatever recriminations might come so that she could tell her sister what she felt, what she’d decided. “I was with Blackbourne.”

Lily didn’t respond for a moment and simply settled her pen on its tray and laid her correspondence aside. Then she turned to face Ivy.

“What is truly between you and the Duke of Blackbourne?” She raised a hand before Ivy could respond. “Beyond the false betrothal. It has been quite clear to me since the first moment I saw the two of you together that there is more.”

Ivy clasped her hands before her. “I love him, Lily. I know it’s only been a matter of days, but I know what I feel. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, or ever wanted to feel for anyone.”

Lily’s mouth curved in a soft smile. “It can be a bit frightening.”

“It’s terrifying.” Ivy sank down onto a chair across from her sister.

“I wouldn’t change it. I don’t want to feel less, but what I do feel for him is so overwhelming.

Even now, I feel his absence. I want nothing as much as I want to be with him.

” Ivy’s eyes stung with tears. “I don’t want to lose myself in him either. ”

Lily reached out and took her hands. “You won’t. You’re strong and stubborn and have always known your own mind. Opening your heart to love doesn’t make you less, I promise. All those things you wanted before you met Blackbourne, they may change, or perhaps they won’t.

Ivy swiped a tear a way. “He seems to like me just as I am.” My love. “He seems to love me for exactly who I am.”

Lily reached into her pocket and produced a handkerchief.

Ivy took it and dabbed at her eyes. “Did you ever imagine love would turn me into a watering pot?”

Lily chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, a good cry is terribly liberating.”

“Even for a duchess?”

Lily released Ivy’s hands and crossed her arms. “I don’t know where you’ve gotten these notions of what a duchess should be, especially seeing that you’ve seen me be entirely imperfect and yet still fulfill the duties expected of me.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Lily laughed. “I will help in any way you ask me to, but as you said, and please never forget it, Blackbourne feels the way he does about you because he sees and admires who you now.”

One of the maids rapped at the door, and both of them turned that way.

“Pardon, Your Grace, a visitor for Miss Ivy.”

“Who is it?” Ivy asked, hoping it was Ross.

“The Duchess of Blackbourne, miss.”

Lily gave her a look that seemed both warning and encouragement. “Hold your ground,” she whispered. Then to the maid, she said, “Tell the duchess that my sister will meet her in the drawing room.”

Ivy stood and swiped a hand down her dress, then reached up to check the pins in her hair.

“You are stubborn and fierce Ivy Bridewell, as worthy as any woman in England to be Blackbourne’s duchess,” Lily told her once the maid had gone.

“It sounds as if you think she’s here to dissuade me.”

Lily sighed. “I think perhaps she might be. But what you must know is that it does not matter what she wants. Only what you and Blackbourne have decided together.”

Ivy nodded, not confessing that she and Ross had gotten so lost in each other last evening, they hadn’t truly agreed to anything.

Still, she made her way to the drawing room, sucking in deep breaths to steel her nerves.

“You’re Grace,” she said by way of greeting as she stepped into the drawing room.

Ross’s mother had not taken a seat. She seemed to perusing the knickknacks Lily had arranged on the fireplace mantel.

When she turned to Ivy, her expression was unreadable. “Miss Bridewell, do forgive the unexpected call, but I thought it best we speak privately about a matter that’s come to my attention.”

Ivy gestured toward a damask chair and waited until the duchess lowered herself onto it before sitting on the settee.

“Miss Bridewell,” she said, her tone inquisitive and slightly cool. “I understand the engagement between you and my son is a ruse. Is that true?”

Ivy gripped the fabric of her skirt and steeled herself. “Initially it was, Your Grace.”

“I do not believe my son would enter into such an arrangement, and I cannot imagine what you did to persuade him to do so. Ross is not a liar. He’s a man of honor.”

“That’s why he suggested it.”

The duchess made a scoffing sound and let out a bleat of choked laughter. “He would never do such a thing.”

“But he did, Your Grace, to protect my reputation. After we both attended an event at Lord Penrose’s home, rumors began.”

The duchess’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “So it’s scandal. He’s known you for all of a week and already he’s embroiled in scandal.”

“Well, no, because we agreed to the false betrothal to stem any scandal.” Ivy’s nervousness began to ease. She had nothing to hide, nothing she was ashamed of, and it was clear that the duchess didn’t understand her son as well as she thought she did.

“Miss Bridewell, my son’s duty is to choose a duchess, not to spend his time squiring a false fiancé through London society.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” This was the part that would be difficult. “You see…I said that the engagement was initially feigned, but now...”

The duchess’s eyes widened. “Now what, Miss Bridewell?” She tipped her head, studying Ivy. “What is between you?”

“We care for each other.”

For a moment, the older woman closed her eyes. “Does he return this affection you seem to hold for him?”

“I believe he does, Your Grace.” Ivy sat up straighter and lifted her chin a bit.

“He’s so careful. So strategic. Even as a boy, he never took a decision lightly.” She drew in a breath and studied Ivy. “And yet he’s upended all of that for you. I cannot help wonder why.”

Behind them the study door opened.

They both looked back. Ross stood in the doorway. He looked windblown, a bit disheveled. He wasn’t wearing a necktie or a suit coat. Just his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. He looked magnificent.

“Your sister sent word of your visitor,” he said, his eyes locked on Ivy. “I came immediately.”

Then he turned his attention to the duchess. “Mother, do you mind if I join this tete-a-tete?”

“Are you truly giving me a say in whether you do or not?” she asked him, a bit of amusement in her tone.

“No. Of course I’m not.” He strode in, sat beside Ivy, and reached for her hand.

Ivy slipped her palm against his and rested their joined hands on his thigh.

“Now, were you two before I interrupted?”

When the duchess merely narrowed her eyes at him with a half-smile on her face, Ivy said, “She wonders why I’ve caused you to upend your normally cautious nature.”

Ross looked over at her, his gaze tracing over the features of her face, and smiled.

“Because when one finds what one has been looking for, one shouldn’t hesitate.”

The duchess inhaled sharply. “You were you looking for a bride then?”

“No, not with intention. I didn’t meet Ivy and decide she would meet the requirements of a role. I met her and felt something I never had before.”

“It is genuine then, what is between the two of you?” The duchess’s tone had softened, and the look she gave Ross was full of warmth.

Ross turned to Ivy. “I should have you told last night, and I’m sorry to say it now in this way, but I love you.”

Ivy squeezed his hand. “And I love you.”

“I will ask you again properly, but know that I want a true betrothal.”

They both turned back to the duchess, whose gaze was locked on her son.

“When I learned about the false betrothal, I thought perhaps it was some impulsive bout that you’d soon think better of and regret.

” She looked at each of them in turn. “But I see the certainty in your eyes. I loved your father dearly, and I would not wish anything less for you than a love match, my son.”

With that, the duchess got to her feet and approached the settee.

“Miss Bridewell, it seems we will be seeing a good deal more of each other. Will the two of you still come to tea?”

“Yes,” Ivy answered for the two of them. She wanted the opportunity to speak to the duchess more.

“Then I shall see you both later.” With that, she swept from the drawing room.

“Never allow her to intimidate you,” Ross said as he bent closer.

“I won’t.”

“She’ll come to admire you as I do, and she’ll help you, if you wish it.”

Ivy felt a little wave of trepidation. Ross reached out and cupped her cheek.

“I love you, Ivy. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

“I love you too.”

She leaned into kiss him, and he sank his fingers into her hair, deepening the kiss.

When he lifted his head, he tipped it. “What is it?”

“How can you read me so well?”

“I quite like paying close attention to you,” he said, then chuckled. “Also…” He reached up and ran a fingertip along the skin between her brows. “There’s a little line that forms here when you’re fretting.”

“I still want to be a journalist. I’m still going to be curious and investigate matters that some in noble circles might not like.”

“I never expected anything else.” He arched a brow. “Did you think I’d keep you from those pursuits?”

“Are they proper for a duchess?”

He seemed to ponder a moment, then stroked his fingers along her cheek. “One of the benefits of the role is getting to do what one pleases.”

Laughter erupted from Ivy. “The arrogance…”

“But it’s true. Perhaps you see it as a cage, but the power to do good is worth considering too.”

“You needn’t persuade me.” Ivy reached up and slipped her fingers along the vee of his shirt to stroke the warm skin of his neck. “But you are very persuasive.”

He bent his head and nuzzled his cheek against hers. “All I want is you.”

“Then I suppose we should begin planning a wedding.”

They both laughed and then Ross kissed her, long, slow, dizzying kisses. “Will you marry me, Ivy Bridewell?” he whispered against her lips. “Will you be mine?”

“Always.”