A Bluestocking Christmas (5 page)

“Come now, Ivy. I’ve been watching you all morning, and it’s understandable why men find you so fascinating.” Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across earlobe. “Even I am quite willing to be seduced by you.”
 

Delicate pink lips parted in a soft gasp, and again he had to restrain himself from stealing a kiss. This was neither the time nor the place to dally with her. Not when he was certain he would want much more from her when he finally did kiss her. No, Ivy Beecham was going to be his—one way or another. That decision had been made for him the moment he’d heard that siren’s voice of hers. He just hadn’t realized it at the time. Anthony would have to be handled with care, but he would find a way to let the boy down easily. The question was—how hard would it be to convince Ivy to switch her attentions from his nephew to him?
 

“I can assure you, my lord, I have no intention of letting you seduce me. I’d just as soon kiss a toad. Now release me this instant.”

He didn’t move for a long moment. There was something about the way her pulse was beating wildly at the side of her neck that contradicted her adamant statement. His cock throbbed with need inside his trousers. Damn, but he wanted to bed her this instant.
 

With great reluctance, he took a step back. Her retreat was immediate as she sidled away and put several feet between them. The frosty glare she directed at him was meant to cut him down to size, but it merely served to amuse him. She’d issued a challenge, and it was one he intended to accept. Ivy Beecham was about to learn the difference between seducing a boy and a man.
 

He smiled. She might rage against the idea, but if there was one thing he knew, it was women. This one might act as though she wanted nothing to do with him, but if the price were right, he had no doubt she would welcome his attentions as long as he rewarded her well. It was simply a matter of letting her set the pace of their seductive dance, but in the end, the result would be the same. She’d be no different from any of the other women who’d come and gone in his life. She would succumb to him just like all the others.

“You’re even lovelier when angry.” Folding his arms across his chest, he laughed quietly as she stalked away from him. It was all part of the dance. She had only gone two feet when she whirled back around to face him.

“Exactly how much did you intend to offer me, my lord?” Her features were unreadable, and a flicker of disappointment lashed at him as he pondered her question. His emotional response surprised him, but then everything about his reaction to Ivy Beecham had astonished him.
 

“Perhaps you had a price in mind?” He narrowed his gaze as he waited for her to name a figure.
 

A part of him had hoped it would have been more difficult than this to acquire her charms. He was a fool even to have considered the remote possibility. No matter what their age or station in life, women could always be relied upon to find the highest bidder for whatever it was they had to sell. At least women outside of his social station were more honest about it.
 

“No, I simply wanted to know what price you were willing to put on your nephew’s affection for you.” She arched an eyebrow and eyed him with contempt worthy of the Queen herself. “The minute Anthony hears how you propositioned me, I have no doubt your relationship with him will suffer more than you realize.”

“What the devil!” he snapped. “If you think to threaten—”
 

“It’s hardly a threat, my lord.” She lifted her chin in a defiant manner. “The truth is, Anthony
does
listen to me, and I doubt you’ll earn his gratitude for insulting me as you’ve done here today.”

“By God, woman. If you make the boy more difficult to handle, I’ll see to it you’re out on the streets without a penny to your name.” The tables hadn’t been so neatly turned on him in quite some time, and it infuriated him. His anger only strengthened as she offered him a sweet smile of satisfaction.

“You are most certainly welcome to try, Lord Wycombe.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “But that might be more difficult to achieve than you think. After all, as you said, Anthony fancies me, and you’ve done little of late to endear yourself to the boy. Perhaps all he needs is a wife to support and believe in him.”
 

Without batting an eyelash, she wheeled about and disappeared around the corner of the bookshelves. As she vanished from view, Simon stared after her in disbelief. The witch had as good as said she intended to marry the boy.

“Christ Jesus.”
His fist slammed into a row of books. Damn the boy for getting himself mixed up with this conniving female.
 

If she got to Anthony before he did, there was no telling what his nephew would do. The boy had become extremely belligerent of late. Not even Anthony’s mother had been able to make him see reason. If the boy married this penniless hussy, it would break his sister Abigail’s heart.
 

Well aware that he had not a moment to lose, Simon stalked out of the book stacks toward the exit. As he passed the circulation desk, he saw Ivy watching him with a cold look on her features. Glaring at her, he bumped into a gentleman in his path.
 

As he apologized, he glanced back at his nemesis. A confident smile curved her mouth, and for the first time in his life, Simon wondered if he’d met his match. Not about to consider that possibility, he strode out of the library and headed for home.
 

The walk from St. James Square to Mayfair was a short one, but it would allow him time to formulate a plan to keep Anthony from making a terrible mistake. Marriage to that woman would leave the boy heartbroken and destitute in less than a year. He was certain of it. Simon was even more certain he’d move heaven and earth to prevent that very thing from happening.

~~~~

“He was quite arrogant then, wasn’t he?” The ghost’s rueful observation made Ivy clench her teeth as Simon’s lean, muscular body swirled and vanished in a misty cloud.

“He was a contemptuous bastard,” she said as she glared at Simon’s vanishing image.
 

“And yet you were still attracted to him.”
 

There was a note of hopefulness in the phantom’s voice that made her scowl at him. Deep in the back of her mind, she recognized an expression on his aging features that looked like sorrow, but it barely registered as she remembered how insulting Simon had been that day in the library.

 
“No,” she exclaimed vehemently.
 

 
“Surely, you can confess to a small amount of attraction.”
The ghost’s expression had grown somber, and she frowned at what could have passed for disappointment shimmered in his silvery gaze. The look compelled her to tell the truth, despite her desire to deny it.

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “Despite his beastly behavior, he excited me.”

“Perhaps he’d even captured a small part of your heart at that point.”
The phantom’s voice was gentle yet probing, and she shook her head as she was forced to blink back tears.

“No, not then,” she whispered then shivered at the painful ache making its way through her body. “It was later. The day he apologized. It was his way with words that captured my heart.”

Ivy turned away from the ghost wanting desperately to escape this terrifying world her imagination had created. It was the only explanation. She’d lost her mind and was trapped in a nightmare of her own making. She closed her eyes and silently offered up a prayer that the man beside her would vanish and she would be back in her salon grappling with her loss. The man sighed softly before he reached out to clasp her hand in his.
 

“This is not a dream, Ivy. And I’m not a figment of your imagination.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” she asked with a rising sense of panic. She didn’t think she could bear to be shown anything more.

“You wished you’d never allowed Simon into your life. I can grant you that wish and erase all memory of him from your mind. But before I have the power to do that, or anything else…”
He paused slightly, an odd look of dread flashing across his wrinkled features.
“I have to show you what you are giving up.”

“How can I give up something I never had,” she whispered in a broken voice as she stared into the white cloud of nothingness that surrounded them.

“We shall see,”
the ghost said in a tone that was both strange and yet vaguely familiar to her at the same time.
“Come, we only have a few hours until the midnight hour.”

Ivy didn’t object as the old man grasped her hand firmly in his. It was pointless to protest anyway. The ghost’s determination rivaled Simon’s, and without a way back to her own world, she had no other choice. With a small tug, the phantom pulled her back into the swirling mist. The dense cloud brushed across her skin like a cool breeze, and her heart sank as the phantom hurled them through the mist toward a memory she was certain would prove painful to watch.
 

Chapter 3

 
“Simon!”
 

Anthony’s shout of fury pierced the study’s tranquility and Simon closed his eyes in resignation. Ivy had gotten to Anthony first. Rising to his feet, Simon rounded his desk and moved to the center of the room. Patiently, hands clasped behind his back, he waited for his nephew. The study door flew open and struck the wall with a resounding crash.
 

The vicious crack of wood against wood only served to emphasize the strength of his nephew’s fury. Simon frowned slightly then arched an eyebrow as Anthony charged into the room. With the speed of a mad dog, his nephew closed the distance between them. Before Simon realized what was happening, Anthony planted his fist into the side of Simon’s jaw.
 

“Bloody hell,”
Simon growled as he reeled backward from the force of the blow.

The unexpected assault forced him into a defensive posture, and it was only years of discipline that kept him from instinctively returning the blow. His jaw throbbing, he glared at his nephew. He’d expected anger, but this physical contact was completely out of character for the boy.

“You
bastard.
” Anthony was panting as if he’d run the entire distance from the library. “If it were still legal, I’d call you out for insulting Miss Beecham the way you did.”

Flexing his sore jaw, Simon frowned at his nephew. There was a new maturity to Anthony he’d not seen before. Although his nephew had hit him, the boy stopped short of instigating an outright boxing match. It was the action of a man intent on defending a woman’s honor, yet showing restraint in doing so. When had his nephew become a man? And where in the hell had he learned to throw a punch like that? Simon shifted his jaw again, working the muscles to prevent them from locking up.

“I hardly call it an insult to speak bluntly with a woman of her stature.”

“You know nothing about her,” his nephew snarled.

“Enough to know she’s not suitable for you.” Simon scowled at the tall youth in front of him for being so shortsighted. “And I might add that she threatened to blackmail me.”

“You’re lying.”

His anger easing, he turned away from Anthony and walked to the fireplace to stare into the flames. He hated to destroy the boy’s illusions, but it was time his nephew faced facts. Simon had no doubt Ivy would make the perfect mistress, but marriage was out of the question. If he were to agree to such a proposal, it would lead to nothing more than a miserable existence for Anthony and any children the marriage yielded. And if there was anything he understood, it was how a commoner would make for a poor wife and mother.
 

He released a low grunt of disgust. The only bearing the past had on this conversation was convincing Anthony his current infatuation wasn’t worth his emotional outburst. The important thing was to explain that fact while doing everything he could to spare his nephew’s feelings. Particularly when Simon intended to make Ivy his mistress at the earliest possible moment.
 

The sudden image of a pair of vibrant sapphire eyes and auburn hair filled his head. His body instantly tensed at the memory of how her anger had made her even more beautiful. Beneath that prim, straight-laced manner of hers, he was certain a fiery passion lay hidden only to be discovered. There were fires burning deep inside Ivy, and he intended to see them consume her when he made love to her. Turning to face Anthony, he shook his head as he met his nephew’s furious gaze.

“No, Anthony. I’m not lying,” he said quietly. “When I offered to pay Miss Beecham to end your liaison, she told me she didn’t want my money.”

“As Miss Beecham tells it, she simply asked what price you were willing to put on your relationship with me,” Anthony bit out. Simon grimaced at the accusation in his nephew’s gaze.

“I don’t deny offering her money to stay away from you. As your guardian, it was the appropriate action to take. The truth of it is Miss Beecham made it clear she didn’t want my money. Instead, she indicated that perhaps what you needed was a wife.”

“Maybe I do,” Anthony snapped. “But that’s my business. Not yours.”

“Until you come of age, it
is
my business.” Simon studied his nephew for a moment, reluctant to dredge up his own past simply to make a point. He drew in a sharp breath then exhaled it. “And I don’t intend to let you make the same mistake I almost made when I was younger.”