Ivy wasn’t completely persuaded that affection would be on the top of the Duke’s list of criteria. He was an excellent and patient uncle. But he was also a Duke with a solid grasp of the practicalities of life, estates, inheritances and all the fuss and bother that went along with them.
She sighed and turned away, looking for a quiet spot to rest her feet for a few moments. Lady Maud, well aware of the problem of dancing slippers, had thoughtfully managed to add many chairs around the edges of the ballroom, some tucked behind plants and pillars.
Ivy found an empty one, sat down with a little sigh of pleasure and unfurled her fan, prepared to enjoy the sight of several dozen couples moving in unison to the music. It was colourful, rhythmic and mesmerising, holding her attention for more than a few minutes.
“Well then. What have we here? The chaperone left out of the fun? Little Miss Nobody lacks a partner, I see.”
The slick and unpleasant tones of Albert Streatford sounded in her ear, and she turned, surprised to discover he’d approached her without her realising it. She must have been more preoccupied than she thought.
“I am catching my breath, Mr Streatford,” she replied politely, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.
A vain hope, of course. Instead, he sat down next to her, pulling a chair closer than she liked. It was a flagrant violation of polite behaviour. He’d not been invited, nor encouraged.
“Saving your energies, I’d wager,” he sneered. “Giving the Duke a bit of exercise later? After little Miss Perfect Prudence is tucked away in her bed?” He laughed, giving Ivy a face full of liquor scented breath. “So how is his Grace as a lover? Any good?”
Ivy sucked in a breath of shock. “Mr Streatford, I find your assumptions and your language as unpleasant as your presence. Please leave before I summon Lady Maud and ask her to remove you.” She snapped her fan shut, her pulse pounding with anger.
“Touched a sore spot there, did I?” He snickered. “Thought so.”
She rose, glaring down at him. “Sir, you are rude, and probably intoxicated. I shall assume the latter, because otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” His lips curved unpleasantly. “You’ll cry?” His lips turned down as he imitated a childish pout. “Stamp your foot? Have yourself a little tantrum?” He snorted. “That would be a bit out of character for the Duke’s whore, don’t you think?”
His eyes travelled over her in a leer that made her skin crawl. “I have to assume you’re a decent fuck, because you’re not much to look at.”
Ivy’s fury rose, choking her. Without a thought, she lashed out with her fan, catching the dishonourable Albert across the cheek.
He hissed in a breath and grabbed her dress. “For that, Miss, you’re going to pay.” He pulled hard on her gown, tipping her off balance as it ripped, and making her stagger. Taking full advantage, his other hand found her leg and darted upward beneath her skirts so fast she gasped and winced as something sliced her skin.
“Get your hand off me,” she cried out, trying to free herself.
“The lady made a request,” came a cold voice.
Suddenly, Ivy was free, a dart of pain running over her leg. She choked back a whimper and fell into her seat, blinking back tears as Albert was physically torn away from her by a pair of strong hands.
The Duke stood over him, fists clenched. “You are a disreputable lout, unfit to be in the presence of ladies.”
Albert, revealing his utter stupidity, assumed his usual sneer. “She’s no lady.”
That, obviously, sealed his fate, and the punch to the jaw that knocked him flat was well-deserved, in Ivy’s opinion. And she said so. “Thank you, your Grace. A fine blow.”
He glanced at her, his lips tight, his eyes ablaze. He looked like an avenging God in those few moments, and her heart thudded extra fast at the heat lurking behind that fierce blue gaze.
Then his expression changed. Ignoring the moaning lump of Streatford on the floor, he knelt in front of Ivy. “You’re bleeding.”
She looked down as he gently lifted the torn fabric of her dress above her knee. Sure enough, there was a gash down the inside of her leg, and a small trail of blood leading to her ankle. Her stocking was hanging around her ankle, and her garments damaged enough to reveal a slender white thigh.
“Dammit. He must be wearing a ring. I felt something sharp…”
“Oh my God…good heavens…”
The shocked cry of Lady Celchester brought a stampede of onlookers, and within seconds what had been a quietly resolved private dispute became a public scandal.
Ivy closed her eyes and sighed.
“He’s got his hand on her leg…”
“Look, that man is unconscious…”
“What happened?”
“The Duke is holding Miss Siddington’s leg. Beneath her skirts…”
Lady Maud and Hobson arrived and made their way to the couple at the centre of the buzz. She glanced at Albert Streatford, who had raised himself into a seated position and whose eye was rapidly blackening.
One look at Ivy’s face, and Maud took over.
“Hobson. Remove this…person. Find Lady Streatford and ask her to remove her son and herself at the earliest moment. Neither will be welcome at Sydenham House again. Ever.”
Silence fell as Maud’s words rang firmly across the gaping throng.
“Then ask Ellen to bring water and bandages to the small study. I believe Miss Siddington may have sustained some injury from that man’s ill-advised treatment.” She rested a hand on the Duke’s shoulder. “I will have a care of her, your Grace.”
He nodded and released Ivy’s leg. She
