A Bluestocking Christmas Read online

  “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 fier
y 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.”

  “Your mistake?” Anthony directed a baleful stare at Simon.

  “When I was your age, I thought I was in love.” Simon’s body tightened as the past pushed its way out of the dark place where he kept all the humiliation of that time in his life. It still stung even after all these years. “She was a tradesman’s daughter, and when I proposed she accepted. The moment my father learned of our engagement, he made it a point to illustrate the difference between a commoner and someone of our station. I never forgot that lesson.”

  “I’m not you, Simon, and you—”

  “The matter is not up for discussion,” Simon snarled.

  Tension knotting his muscles, he brushed past Anthony to stalk toward the sideboard, where he poured himself a stiff bout of whiskey. It was way too early in the day to indulge in spirits, but he didn’t care. Simon tossed the amber liquid down his throat and coughed slightly as the fiery liquid burned its way down into his chest.

  It had been a long time since the anger and pain had flooded his limbs as it was doing at this moment. Images of his father and Elizabeth rose up out of the past to taunt him. His conviction that Elizabeth was beyond reproach had been so strong that he’d challenged his father to find fault with her. His father had done just that. The bastard had bedded Elizabeth and deliberately allowed Simon to stumble upon the two of them.

  “Damnit, Simon, you can’t judge Miss Beecham or any other woman based on their position in society.” Anthony’s belligerent tone made Simon whirl around to face his nephew.

  “I can, and I will, because my father taught me how easily a commoner’s daughter can be bribed. He made a settlement on the woman I thought loved me, and he bedded the bitch,” Simon said with contempt as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His father had taught him a valuable lesson, but he’d never forgiven the bastard for being his tutor.

  “Bloody hell,” Anthony exclaimed in a hushed voice.

  “I understand your fascination with Ivy Beecham. She’s an enticing morsel, but marriage is out of the question,” Simon bit out.

  “I have no desire to marry her,” Anthony said with quiet, steely precision.

  Frowning, Simon studied his nephew’s face for any sign of deception. For a man so in love, the boy was giving the woman up far too easily. He couldn’t remember the number of times the boy had waxed poetic about Ivy Beecham’s charms. The lad had given the woman his highest accolades, calling her lovely, pleasant, amusing, and kind. There had been more than a dozen different descriptions of the lovely Ivy’s charms.

  “Did you hear me, Simon?” His nephew’s gaze was harsh and cold as their eyes met.

  Simon expressed his satisfaction at Anthony’s announcement with a sharp nod. Relief sailed through him at the boy’s sudden about-face. At least his nephew wouldn’t be crushed when Simon made Ivy his mistress. And if there was one thing he was certain of at the moment, it was that he intended to have Ivy in his bed within the week. If only to prove to Anthony and himself that Ivy was no different that Elizabeth had been.

  “I’m delighted to see that you’ve come to your senses.”

  “I never lost them you arrogant bastard,” Anthony snapped. “I was never in love with Miss Beecham. She simply helped me find the means of writing poetry to Olivia.”

  “Who in the hell is Olivia?” Simon stared at his nephew in amazement.

  “The woman I intend to marry. In two months, I’ll be of age, and we’ll be married a few months afterward.”

  “Where the devil did you meet this woman?” Simon glared at his nephew. “The very fact that you’ve not mentioned her before makes me believe you’re worried your mother and I will disapprove of her.”

  “Olivia is more than suitable, which is beside the point. Mother needs to learn her place when it comes to my personal matters as do you, Simon. Would you allow me to meddle so liberally in your own affairs?”

  Anthony arched his eyebrow with obvious disdain as he calmly met Simon’s gaze. Again, the youth demonstrated a maturity Simon hadn’t seen before. And the boy was right—no one would dare to interfere with his personal matters. He frowned with displeasure. It didn’t change things. He was still Anthony’s guardian, and he was determined to make sure the boy would make a match appropriate to his station in life.

  “We’re not discussing me. We’re talking about you and the fact that the family has yet to meet this Olivia of yours. We know nothing about her, whether she’s suitable or not.”

  “I’m more than capable of determining whether Olivia is suitable for me to marry,” Anthony said calmly. “And you and mother will meet her when I deem it appropriate.”

  “When you deem—”

  “Yes, Simon. When I think it’s the right time.” Anthony’s expression wasn’t that of a stubborn boy hell bent on having his way. Instead, the look on his nephew’s face was that of a man resolute in his decision. “I refuse to let you intimidate Olivia the way you did Miss Beecham.”

  Simon almost laughed out loud at the comment. Ivy Beecham hadn’t been afraid of him. She’d been ready to roast him and serve him up for supper.

  “I can assure you, Anthony, your Miss Beecham was far from intimidated by me.”

  “No, you’re correct on that score. I can’t see her being all that overwhelmed by your presence,” Anthony said with a nod, and a small smile touched his lips before his expression hardened. “I expect you to apologize to Miss Beecham.”

  “Apologize.” Simon stared at his nephew, caught off guard by his authoritative demand. “Why the devil would I apologize for doing my duty as your guardian? What was I supposed to think about your Miss Beecham when you so profusely shared your admiration for the woman over and over again?”

  “Don’t be a horse’s ass, Simon,” Anthony growled his impatience. “You thought the worst and didn’t even bother to discuss the matter with me. Now you’ve insulted my friend, and that’s all she is, a friend.”

  “I’m still not convinced Miss Beecham was only eager to be your friend.” Simon’s jaw tightened at the growing realization that he might have actually misjudged Ivy.

  “Miss Beecham did nothing more than help me research poetry at the library so I could impress Olivia.” Disgust darkened Anthony’s expression. “She was quite helpful, nothing more.”

  “I’m certain she was.” Simon found it impossible to keep a note of cynicism out of his voice. “I imagine she saw you as the fatted goose all trussed up for the taking when it came to your finances and social stature.”

  Once more, Simon experienced a nudge of misgiving when it came to Ivy’s motives. Perhaps he’d been too hasty. Doubt took a small bite out of him. What if Anthony was right? What if Ivy had simply been acting in the way a good friend would? He dismissed the notion immediately. Anthony was blind to the possibility that Ivy Beecham was without flaws. He didn’t l
ike the idea of having made a mistake where she was concerned. It would mean an apology was in order, and he’d never been very good at apologies.

  Turning away from his nephew, Simon picked up a stack of invitations from his desk. The woman might have thought to seduce his nephew, but she was about to have the tables turned on her. He would enjoy seducing the avaricious, but tempting, Ivy. Behind him, Anthony uttered an expletive.

  “Miss Beecham was right, Simon. Your attempt to seduce her was the height of arrogance.” Anthony’s comment made Simon smile with satisfaction. So Ivy Beecham had realized seduction had been his intent. It meant she’d been disturbed enough by him to label their encounter a seduction attempt. The thought pleased him. He shot a brief glance over his shoulder at his nephew.

  “So the esteemed Miss Beecham thought I was attempting to seduce her simply because I offered her a settlement to stay away from you. She was foolish not to accept the money if she knew your affections lay elsewhere.”

  With a silver letter opener, Simon slit open the note card he held. As he pulled the parchment out of the envelope he stared down at the note, his mind focused on Ivy. Why hadn’t she taken the money? This time the probability that he’d misjudged her was far too strong a possibility to easily discard the thought. His fingers tightened on the delicate notepaper and it crumpled slightly beneath his grip. Behind him, Anthony uttered a small oath of disgust.

  “For your edification, Miss Beecham doesn’t need your money. She’s wealthier than the two of us put together.”

  “If that’s true, why is she working in the London Library?” Simon snorted with disbelief as he turned to face his nephew.

  “Because she loves books. It’s her passion.”

  Anthony’s voice was fierce as he defended the woman. It was difficult to fault his loyalty. He wouldn’t have Carlton blood running through him otherwise. As for passion, Ivy was going to realize there were other things besides books to be excited about.