Page 24 of The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
“Ah, hello you two,” Silas said, exiting the drawing room. “Miss Leavold, I’m glad to see you’ve returned to us.”
He took my hand and made to kiss it, but Mr. Markham stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough.”
“Enough what? I’m only being polite!” But his protestations were belied by his wide grin.
Mr. Markham merely shook his head and steered me into the drawing room. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see Molly O’Flaherty’s pretty befreckled face after having heard her with Mr. Markham, but his hand was so warm on my back and the desire to be near him so urgent and overwhelming that I was doing as he bid even before I knew I was doing it.
The day passed in the warm torpor of the wealthily bored. There were half-hearted games of cards and suggested picnics or outings, a lazy lunch that dragged on for hours, lots of needlework that was picked up only to be immediately thrown to the side. And all the while, I made a point to avoid Molly and Mr. Markham, to avoid even looking at them, because I could not look at Mr. Markham’s face without imagining what it looked like last night. Were his eyes closed when Molly kissed him? His cheeks flushed?
I felt my own face warm whenever these thoughts intruded, and finally, an hour or so before dinner, I claimed a headache and went to my room. I tried to read, I tried to pace, nothing helped rid me of the twin burdens of desire and jealousy. One fed the other until I was entirely consumed by both.
A few hours passed and there was a knock at the door. Adrenaline shot through me—eagerness and fear—and I walked to the door as calmly as I could force myself, only to open it and find one of the lady’s maids there. She handed me a note, curtsied and left.
It was from Mr. Markham. I sat down and unfolded it with slightly shaking hands.
I expect you to come down after dinner.
—J M
A thrill shot through me at this confirmation that he wanted my company, but at the same time, I felt a stab of irritation. I wasn’t going to be at his beck and call, answering his every whim, not when he had Molly O’Flaherty to do it for him. And besides, I still felt somewhat outside of the group, left out of their jokes and their shared stories, a novice when it came to their libertine games.
I would go down, I decided, but not right away. I would put in an appearance later—sneak into the room while they were in the middle of some raucous diversion—and then leave shortly thereafter. As twistingly painful as it was to have witnessed Mr. Markham’s—I couldn’t saybetrayalbecause I was not his to betray—interlude, then, I still needed to be around him. I hungered for just one glance, just one word…one semi-accidental brush of hands or shoulders.
I chose a sapphire satin with a slightly fuller skirt and a neckline so low that I suspected if I were Catholic, I would need to be shriven after wearing it. I wore the black ribbon again since I owned no necklace or brooch to ornament the ensemble, made sure my hair was still adequately pinned, and then sat down to wait. I calculated that dinner would last at least a half hour more, and then it would be another half hour or hour after that when the men joined the ladies in the parlor.
A knock at the door interrupted my calculations. Probably another note reminding me that I needed to come down. I unlocked the door and opened it, finding not a maid but Mr. Markham himself. I stepped back in surprise but not before he stepped inside.
“I couldn’t wait to see you. And I see you are already dressed,” he said, pleased. “I like this one. Turn, please.”
“I am not a mannequin in a shop window. You must contrive of ways to admire my figure discreetly, as other men must do.”
“There’s very little about me that is discreet, Miss Leavold,” he said. “Suppose I were tomakeyou turn.” He placed his hands on my bare shoulders and spun me around, once slowly and then faster and faster.
There was dizziness and the beautiful dress swirling around my feet and the warmth of his hands on my shoulders, and a soft laugh escaped from me. When I finally came to a stop, I saw that Mr. Markham was smiling too, but once he saw my face, his expression stilled into something serious.
“Your eyes are sparkling,” he said. “I wish you could see them as I see them right now. They are truly arresting.”
I said nothing, and I couldn’t have spoken even if I knew what to say because my breathing stuttered and my pulse raced.
His hands grew tight on my shoulders. “Ivy—”
“Well, aren’t you a pair of lovebirds,” Molly said from the doorway. I realized, too late, that we’d left the door open. Her voice was teasing but her eyes were—not hostile exactly—but sharply observant.
“Miss O’Flaherty.” Mr. Markham’s voice was cold. He released my shoulders with a stern admonition to come downstairs and then left the room, leaving Molly and me together.
She studied me, her eyes raking up and down my form in a manner no less lascivious than Mr. Markham’s. She licked her lips. “You do look a treat tonight, Ivy. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands off you.”
The jealousy unfolded in her presence, making itself larger and stronger and stifling my thoughts. “The dresses were his to choose,” I managed to say politely enough. “It’s only natural that they would be to his liking.”
“Oh, but it’s you that is to his liking, angel.” Molly stepped forward and drew a lazy finger across my cleavage. Gooseflesh pebbled along my skin. “Yes, quite nice,” she said. “You know, dear old Jules asked us to stay away from you, said you’d had a hard enough life without uscorruptingyou. But you know what? I think you’ve earned a little fun after the life you’ve had. And besides—you are too tempting to resist.”
And then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against my neck. I should have stepped back, should have pushed her away—the memory of her voice in the dark last night made my hands itch with the temptation—but then the sensation of her mouth on my skin was so delightful, so soft and entrancing, that I didn’t. Her fingers continued to trace circles on my chest. “He wants you, you know.”
“I know,” I said. It was difficult to sound calm and collected while her tongue flicked unknowable patterns on my skin.
“He’s saving you for himself. Selfish.” She nipped at my collarbone and a noise escaped my throat. I could feel her lips curl into a smile, and she nipped again.
She pulled away and looked at me. I knew I was flushed, that my breath was coming faster, that my body didn’t want her to stop.
