The Duke's Revenge (25 page)

Her heart missed a beat. God, she hated
him.

“
Well, wife, what do you
say?” he asked.

She could feel the sharpness in his voice.
“I would love that, thank you.” She turned to Christine and
smiled.

“
Great!” Christine said
and pulled Ivy from Max. The two women went outside into the spring
sunshine and stopped near the pond. “Now tell me,” Christine began,
“how do you feel about your wedding?” she said and waved her fan
about her flushed face.

“
I was very nervous,” Ivy
admitted.

“
I know, I was nervous,
too,” Christine said.

“
How do you meet your
husband?”

“
It was by no mean
romantic. You see, I met my husband on the street. He saved me from
a beating.”

“
Your husband is so
noble,” Ivy said, looking at the white lilies near her feet.
Maximilian, now her husband, was the complete opposite. She was
sure he would never save her from a beating. She should thank the
Lord for the mere fact that he hadn’t yet beaten her up
himself.

“
You think? I thought so,
too.” Christine smiled.

“
And what happened next?”
Ivy asked, liking the sound of the rhythmic dripping of the stream.
It was like music to her ear.

“
He gave me a job at
Huntingdon Hall, and I in turn gave him lots of headache.”
Christine giggled.

“
Oh dear, why was
that?”

“
At the time, you see, he
didn’t know that I was a woman.”

“
What?” Ivy asked in
confusion.

“
I was dressed as a boy at
the time. It was for my protection, you see.”

“
Oh!”

From inside the house,
Lady Grace Westwood watched her daughter from where she stood in
the drawing room, gripping the glass of champagne in her hand. How
did it become this, she wondered. Why was Ivy marrying
her
man?

“
Hello there.”

She jerked from her bitter thought and
turned to the young man beside her.

“
Ah, I see that you are
wondering who I am. Let me introduce myself.” He bowed low and
said, “Lord Sherington at your service.”

“
The Earl of
Sherington?”

“
Indeed, Lady
Westwood.”

“
You know who I am?” She
narrowed her eyes at him.

“
Indeed, my lady. I must
admit, I am smitten with your daughter. She is a picture of
beauty.” He turned and watched Ivy and Christine through the window
with his eyes twinkle.

“
She is, is
she?”

“
Indeed, my lady, although
you do not look please for her to have catch such a rich man and a
man with a
great
title for that matter. A duke is hard to come by, my lady, I
assure you,” Sherington said, his eyes suddenly lost its
twinkle.

“
I believe my feelings are
none of your concern, Lord Sherington,” Grace said. “And it is true
that a duke is hard to come by,” she snapped and walked
away.

Sherington smiled with amusement as he
stared after her.

“
What the hell are you
doing here?”

He jumped and turned.
“I’ve come to congratulate you,
your
grace
.” He bowed mockingly, his eyes
sharp.

“
You have one minute to
remove yourself from my house. If you don’t go, I’ll kick you out
myself,” Max snapped.

“
In your wedding day?
Isn’t it a bit harsh, your grace? Think of your beautiful wife and
your guests,” Sherington said with his brows raised.

“
Remove yourself,
Sherington. You know very well I don’t give a damn about anything.
If I want to murder you here and now, I would.” Max took a
threatening step forward.

Sherington frowned and moved a step back.
“I’ll bring you down one day when I have the chance to fight you,
you bastard,” he sneered quietly so that only Max could hear
him.

“
I can’t wait,” Max said.
“Now get out.”

“
Indeed, your grace.”
Sherington bowed, and before turning, he said, “Your wife is damn
beautiful and I promise you that one day I’ll have a taste of
her.”

Max grabbed Sherington by the collar and
lifted the man up. Sherington squealed, his legs dangling just
above the floor.

Merrick rushed forward and whispered to Max,
“What are you doing?”

The guests turned and stared at them. Max,
aware that he was drawing attention to himself, turned to glare at
Sherington and then threw the man down.

“
You’re not worth it,
Sherington.” He turned to the two footmen standing at the door.
“Take him out.”

The two footmen rushed to the middle of the
drawing room and pulled Sherington up. They dragged him toward the
corridor with Max following behind them. Outside the two footmen
shoved Sherington out the door, and he stumbled onto the courtyard.
He got up and sneered at Max.

“
You’ll pay, you
bastard!”

Max narrowed his eyes and said, “I know you
wrote me those pathetic letters, Sherington. I warn you if I see
anymore of those, I’ll throw you in prison. Don’t say I don’t warn
you.” He turned and nodded at the footmen. “Make sure he doesn’t
come near Edington Mansion.”

They nodded, and he walked back into the
drawing.

***

Max forced himself to sleep but couldn’t. He
tossed and turned in bed. Finally, he gritted his teeth and got up.
He stared at the empty bottle of whisky that he had finished only a
few hours ago sitting on the table.

Why the hell couldn’t he sleep tonight?

And she, he thought, she would be blissfully
asleep knowing that her future was secured after she had trapped
him into this damn marriage.

He should have seen it coming; after all,
she was as money hungry as her mother. He should have known that it
was their plan to catch him. And he was blind to their strategy
because his mind was fully occupied by his plan to avenge his
brother’s death. He was sure that she, this wife of his, had got it
all planed out with her dear mother to catch him. Otherwise why the
hell were they so eager to agree to such a notorious proposal? What
noble lady would want to become a mere mistress to a duke when she
could become his wife?

What to do, he wondered as he glared at the
empty wineglass.

She deserved to be punished was the first
thought that sprung into his mind. He turned to look at the door
with narrowed eyes. And then he smiled.

He left his room and walked to the door of
his target. He opened it and slipped in. As he approached the bed
in the centre of the room, he saw her laying there. Her slight
figure was delicate in the dimness of the candlelight. He sat on
the bed and reached out for her.

Ivy woke with a start. She widened her eyes
when she saw who it was.

“
Your grace!” she
whispered. “What are you doing here?” She tried to pull her hand
away from his captive.

“
You don’t need to act in
front of me, Ivy, you’ve got me where you wanted,” he said,
gripping her wrist tighter. “You’re everything like your damn
mother; money hungry and all. Is this what you have been dreaming
off? Luxury? Too many gowns and jewelries to count? Too many
servants to serve you? Oh, you’ve got what you want all
right.”

“
Please, it’s not like
that,” she said, shaking her head, hurt at the way he had summed up
her character.

“
Don’t lie, Ivy, isn’t
this want you wanted? To become a duchess? A wife to an important
man? A wife to a very rich man?” He pulled her toward him. “Aye,
now that you are a wife to this rich and important man, this rich
and important man will make you his damn wife,” he growled and
assaulted her lips.

Once he let her go, she struggled herself
free, scrambled off the bed, and ran to the other side of the room.
There she stood, watching him with her back against the wall.

“
Your grace, please you
are drunk,” she said, hugging herself.

Max narrowed his eyes. The way she stood to
protect herself from him only heighten his anger and desire to
ravish her. “Come here!” he growled.

She shook her head. “No, your grace, you’re
drunk.”

“
Ivy, come here!” he
snapped.

She didn’t move and shook her head. He
glared at her, and when she still didn’t obey him, he got up and
stalked to her. She ran toward the door. He caught her around the
arm and pulled her to him.

“
No!” She fought him with
her small hands banging against his chest. She tried to pull
herself from his imprisonment, but he held onto her tighter. She
found herself trapped between him and the wall.

He caught the back of her
neck and tilted her face up to look at him. “This is what you are
asking for, my
dear
wife.” He kissed her and thrust his tongue against her closed
lips. His hand was shoving the material of her nightshirt down her
shoulders.

She closed her eyes. She could do nothing
but cry.

He moved his head back and stared down at
her. Her tears did nothing to soften his iron heart. He simply
gazed down at her and said, “Madam, your tears are useless,” and he
started pulling her nightshirt down to her waist.

All that Ivy could do was to watch him while
he stripped her to nakedness. Once he had gotten her nightgown down
to her angle, he turned his attention to her body. He stared at her
whiteness. His eyes seemed to bore into her, making her stomach ach
with a longing that he always made her feel; but at the same time,
he scared her that she wanted to run away and hide.

He turned his gaze to her pale face. As his
head came toward hers, his hand cupped her breast. He squeezed it
in his large hand while his tongue explored her mouth.

Ivy could not fight and submitted herself to
his lovemaking. He moved his hand from her breast and wrapped
around her small waist. He lifted her light weight to him, and
thrust his rock hard thigh up between her legs so that she saddled
him. He lowered his kiss from her mouth down to her throat and then
lowered to her breasts. He took one nipple into his hot mouth and
began to play with it.

Ivy groaned as the hot sensations rushed
through her body. She hated him for doing this to her, but she
couldn’t seem to control her body as the hard pleasure he gave her
climbed.

Max took off his Banyan and threw it away.
He lifted her up until her womanhood met his stomach and then he
shoved his large body against hers, squeezing her between himself
and the wall. He took her there, hurting her so much that she
whimpered out into the night like a little trapped animal.

CHAPTER 22

Ivy stared blindly out the window as the
carriage inched its way in a snail pace through St. James’s street
toward Carlton House. There were many carriages a head of them, and
perhaps a hundred more behind them which would probably by now have
reached the top of Bond Street.

Ivy did not care much for balls. She was
both physically and mentally tired of the season; attending endless
morning calls, dinner parties and balls itself. She was always
meeting the same people who ruled their domain in the ton with an
iron fist, and they rarely let new faces in unless those faces
happened to be very rich or famous indeed.

She glanced at her husband
sitting across from her. He was so big and his presence made the
interior of the carriage, and herself included, seemed rather small
and insignificant. He was dressed in his usual sober black attire,
the line cleanly cut and defined. His flaxen hair was neatly
brushed back which seemed to enhance his already high forehead. He
did not look at her but stared out the window at the overcrowded
commoners along the street, jostling and shoving each other just to
steal a peek at the nobility’s grandeur as they made their way to
the Regent’s Ball on this day, the 19
^th
June of 1811.

They had not said one word to each other
since they had climbed into the carriage about an hour and a half
ago. For the past weeks, too, she had been avoiding him as much as
she possibly could. The morning began with them having their
breakfast separately; he, a bit earlier and in the dinning room;
and she a bit later and in her dressing room. The food that the
cook had made for her was very grand indeed, though she found that
she could not handle much of it. Every morning she woke up with a
splitting headache, and her body couldn’t seem to do its proper job
either. She felt as though she had no energy to do anything and the
mere smell of food would make her rush to her camber pot and throw
up. Usually she would make herself eat at least a piece of toast
and drink a cup of tea after that.

After her
light
breakfast at ten
o’clock, she would then do her morning calls. By then her sickness
would have subsided, and she would usually visit Christine at
Huntindon House which was only a couple of blocks down from where
Edington Mansion was. In other times she would visit Lady Hartland
or Lady Mornington for a little chat and tea. After that she would
come back home and wandered around the house, feeling lost and
alone, until such time as the dressing up to the next session of
dinner parties or balls.