Romance: Wanted by the Alpha Lion (A BBW Paranormal Suspense Romance) (Heroes of Shifter Creek Book 2) (143 page)

Banbury continued to make apologies in the days that followed.  As he had promised, he had sent a carriage to fetch her.  He had her personal lady’s maid lay out clothes for her to change into when she arrived.  To her surprise, Ivy had found a new dress of purple and grey stripes waiting for her.  “Susanna,” she said, calling to the maid.  “What is this?”

“It’s a dress, Your Ladyship,” Susanna replied.  “Mr. Banbury had it delivered from London just yesterday.  He said you should wear it, when you came back to Wisteria Castle.”  She smiled and nodded to the fabric.  “He said it was time you stopped wearing all black.  These colors are still suitable for a widow in the first year of mourning.”  She looked at Ivy.  “Do you like them, Your Ladyship?”

“Yes,” Ivy found herself replying softly, still somewhat perplexed that Banbury would order clothing for her even before she came back.  Perhaps he had waited until the dress arrived to visit Sparrowhawk.  She almost considered putting the garment aside but something made her decide against that.  “Help me put it on?”

“Of course, Your Ladyship!”

With Susanna’s help, Ivy was soon laced into the new dress.  She pinned up her hair and donned a black lace bonnet.  It took her some time before she felt ready to leave her chambers and move about the house.  She found that every member of the staff had missed her, and each one greeted her with a smile, a bow or a curtsey.  Ivy’s heart ached.  At least by coming back now she would have a chance to say proper goodbyes to all of them when it came time for her to make an official departure.

She made her way to the study.  She tried not to think about the last time she had faced Banbury in this room.  Sunshine poured through the windows.  Banbury stood in one of the streams of light, the brass buttons on his brocade waistcoat glinting.  He turned his head and the sun caught his eyes in such a way as to show their true color, a deep mahogany brown.  He gave Ivy an open appraisal and smiled.  “You look stunning, Lady Letham,” he said. 

“You flatter me,” Ivy said, and could feel a blush rise to her cheeks.  She averted her gaze and smoothed her hands down over her skirt.  “I do believe I should express my gratitude for the dress.  It was quite an unexpected surprise.”

“Consider it an offering of peace between us,” Banbury said.  “Those colors are far more suitable for you.  Black denotes mourning when we have lost someone we love.”  He paused.  “I would say you have endured enough of that.”

Ivy tilted her head, her brows coming together in a light frown as she considered his remark.  “And by ‘endured enough,’ do you mean the wearing of black?”

“That,” he conceded with a nod, “and the mourning of someone you quite clearly did no love in any way.”

She stared at him.  “I did try,” she said.

“I believe you did,” he replied.  He looked down.  “You would not be the first woman to confess to such feelings – or lack thereof – where my uncle was concerned.  I am told by my mother that his first wife often seemed fearful of him.  Contrary to what
you
may believe of
me
, I never saw Lord Esmond Letham as a saint.”

Hearing that Madelene had feared Esmond made Ivy wonder if he had been as forceful with her.  Perhaps her ill health had come in part from being pressured to have children; sadly, it had been the thing that ended her life.  Ivy recalled how Lord Letham had told her how much he had loved his first wife and how those feelings had been reciprocated.  As she had never known Madelene personally, she could not attest to this as truth, or if it had been just Esmond’s way of avoiding any blame for his part in her death, convincing himself that theirs had been a perfect and loving marriage. 

“Everything you said about him,” Banbury went on, clearly choosing his words with care, “I had confirmed with members of the staff, as you had suggested.  They had been reluctant to speak ill of the dead, but your maid and Mr. Poole had been more forthcoming with the information.”  He paused, hands fidgeting at his sides.  “I wanted to offer my deepest apologies for all that you had to endure.  I am not of the belief that a woman should be subservient to her husband as to allow herself to be abused in any way.  She should be cherished, and shown only love and respect, for in giving these things to her, she shall surely return them tenfold.”

Ivy found herself smiling at his heartfelt statement.  She pressed a knuckle to her lips for a moment before nodding.  “Mr. Banbury,” she said, “when you find yourself ready to marry, I do believe with that attitude you shall one day make some young lady very happy.”

This made Banbury smile, a dazzling smile that seemed to outshine the sun and creased the corners of his eyes.  “It is my sinceresthope that when you find a suitable husband for yourself that he will be someone more to your liking, as well.”

“We have that hope in common, then,” Ivy said, amused. 

For a moment, they stood there, neither speaking, the awkward silence that began to open up between them causing them both to shift.  Finally, Ivy broke the spell.  “Well!  I suppose I should go back to my packing, then.”  She curtseyed and turned to go – only to feel a hand catch her wrist.  Instantly, her heart began to race, the instinctive alarm that rang through her harkening back to that day when Esmond had grabbed her, and forced himself upon her.  She sucked in a breath, eyes widening, and looked up at Banbury, tense and ready to flee or fight.

Something in her expression must have startled him because she saw him blink and he released her almost immediately and took a step back.  “Forgive me,” he mumbled.  If he had meant to say something else, now he appeared to be at a loss for words.  “I…forgive me.”

Ivy blinked at him several times.  He offered her no harm.  Then why did he try to stop her from leaving?  She could still feel the pressure of his fingers on her skin, warm and strong but without the force that her late husband would have used.  Flustered, Ivy decided it would be better to just put some distance between herself and Mr. Banbury for the time being.  Gathering up the skirt of the dress he had chosen for her, she continued her retreat without another word.

She returned to her rooms.  She tried to focus on packing but found herself thinking about what Banbury had said.  She sat down and stroked absently at the spot on her wrist that he had touched.  Seeing her drawing materials on the desk, she pulled them over onto her lap and opened to a clean page.  Sketching often calmed her mind, allowing her to order her thoughts.  She toyed with the charcoal for a moment before putting it to paper.  Simple strokes soon began to take form.  She wanted to be happy.  She wanted someone to love and respect her.  A strong but compassionate man, one who would not hurt her, to whom she would give herself willingly.

Susanna came in sometime later with a tray.  “Afternoon, Your Ladyship,” she said with her usual cheer.  She set the tray on a table.  “Since you haven’t been to the kitchens, Cook asked that I bring you some of the blackberry scones she made today, along with some chamomile tea.”  She prepared a cup and took it over to set on the desk beside Ivy.  She glanced down at the sketchbook and her eyebrows lifted in surprise.  “Oh, my, that’s very good!  When did he pose for that?”

Ivy started at the question, pulled from her daydreams.  “Who?” she asked. 

“Why, Mr. Banbury, of course!”  Susanna nodded to the drawing.  “That
is
a portrait of him, isn’t it?”

Looking down at the page, Ivy saw for the first time what she had been sketching for the past hour.  It had been from memory, of course, but she had not been aware that it had been anyone in particular.  Considering how her thoughts had been preoccupied with the last conversation she had had with him, she could not deny that the face on the page – the eyes in particular, intense and hooded by thick brows – belonged to none other than Mr. Graham Banbury.  “Yes,” she said, “I suppose it is.”  Heart pounding, Ivy closed up the portfolio and put it up onto the desk.  She started to reach for the tea when she noticed her blackened fingers.  “Susanna, do you have something…?”

Before Ivy could finish her request, Susanna handed her a freshly dampened cloth from the wash stand.  Ivy blushed and grinned up at the young girl.  “Thank you,” she said, and set to cleaning her hands.  Susanna presented her with a scone when she finished.  Ivy took a bite and groaned around her mouthful.  “Mm!  Either I am ravenous or these are just the most delicious scones I have ever tasted.  Quite possibly both!”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments to Cook,” Susanna said.  “Will there be anything else, Your Ladyship?”

“No, thank you.”  As Susanna left the room, Ivy took another drink from her cup before reaching for the second scone.  She glanced over at her portfolio.  Cautiously, she leaned over and flipped it open, going to the most recent sketch.  She stared at it and on impulse she started to grab at the edge, ready to rip it out, crumble it up, and toss it in the fireplace.  For whatever reason, she hesitated.  He had apologized to her so many times – even his last words to her had been “
forgive me
.”  Words she had never heard from her late husband.  Ivy let out a long, pensive sigh.  “Some lady will be very lucky, indeed, to have such a man.” 

Very carefully, she closed the portfolio, leaving the drawing of Mr. Banbury intact.  For now.

***

The last of her belongings had been loaded onto the carriage.  All that remained had been a final farewell to the servants.  They all turned out, lined up in front of the house, each one bowing or curtseying to her.  Ivy hugged Susanna’s shoulders, and touched Poole’s shoulder.  “I will miss you all,” she said, when she finished going down the line.

Banbury stood nearby, dressed in a deep scarlet waistcoat and light-colored breeches.  He cleared his throat.  “Might I invite you to make a last tour of the gardens with me, Lady?” he asked. 

While Ivy knew it would break her heart to end her stay here with a walk through her favorite part of the estate, she agreed.  “One last look,” she said.  “One to last for the rest of my lifetime.”  To her surprise, he offered his arm.  She took it, and they started toward the sculpted hedge archway leading into the gardens.  The wisteria was in full bloom, covering the trellises with their hanging blossoms of snowy white and various shades of violet. 

They reached the gazebo overgrown with vines and ducked inside.  Ivy sat down on the bench and smiled up at the pinpoints of sunlight filtering down through the leaves and flowers.  “This was always my favorite place to come,” she told Banbury.  Her smile faded and she looked down at the fieldstone floor beneath her feet.  “I felt happiest here.  It is the only place in all the estate grounds that felt untouched by
his
presence.”  She did not have to say Esmond’s name, nor did she feel the desire to ever do so again.  “I shall miss many things about Wisteria Castle, but none so much as this.”

Banbury sat beside her.  “You would always be welcome to return, and spend as much time as you like here,” he said.  Ivy looked up at him, startled by this offer and then puzzled by the expression on his face.  “I confess that I would very much like to see you again, as well.”

Ivy blinked at him.  While their acquaintanceship had begun with some rather insidious accusations, once they had reconciled they had discovered how much they shared in common.  Banbury had a similar passion for reading and had been a patron of the arts for several years.  He had laughed when telling stories of his mother’s many balls and how he had learned to dance at an early age, something he still enjoyed to this day.  Suppers had become more pleasant, and he would play pianoforte as she sketched.  She did not want to admit it before, but Ivy realized that she would also miss seeing Banbury every day, and being able to talk with him.  That he would invite her to come back made her heart begin to beat faster.  “I think I would like that, as well, Mr. Banbury,” she responded softly.

“Graham,” he corrected, with a warm smile.  “I feel we have become familiar enough with one another to warrant the use of first names.  Do you not agree…Ivy?”

Hearing him say her name made Ivy’s breath catch in her throat.  She managed a slight nod and barely got out the word, “Yes.”  They gazed at one another for a long moment.  Before Ivy realized what was happening, Banbury –
Graham
– began to lean in toward her.  She did not pull back.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed when his lips brushed hers.  “Oh…”

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms.  Her hands slid up to rest on his broad shoulders as his circled her waist.  She could feel the heat of his fingers against her back through her clothing.  As improper as it was for them to be doing this, she could not, did not wish to fight it.  Ivy found she craved this, the touch of a man to whom she had already begun to feel an attraction. 

Graham managed to work his way up beneath her skirt.  He pressed his hand against her womanhood through her undergarments, making Ivy gasp and shiver.  She felt dizzy as he stood her up before him.  Ivy could feel him tugging at the string that cinched her drawers at her waist; a moment later, they slipped down around her ankles.  She saw him fumbling with the buttons on his breeches and caught a glimpse of his manhood as he released it from its confines.  Flushed with arousal, she allowed him to pull him down onto his lap, sitting astride him with her arms wound tight around his neck.  He kissed her throat and used his hands on her bottom to guide her up and down.  Never before had Ivy felt this way.  She quivered and cried out in a mix of surprise and elation as her insides seemed to melt like the wax from a candle burning bright.  She felt the moment when Graham found his release, and they both sagged together, panting and moaning softly.  Ivy clung to him, still trembling.  “I never…thought it could be possible,” she whispered, overcome with emotion.  “That it could be this way.”

“This is as it
should
be,” Graham told her, equally breathless.  “Never have I known anyone quite like you.” He slid his palms up her back and spread his hands across her shoulders as he held onto her, as though he could not bear to let her go.  “I should like to marry you, Ivy.  You deserve to be loved.  Never believe otherwise.”

Ivy buried her face in Graham’s neck, and this time her tears were not of pain – this time, she wept for joy.

***