enough ahead of him at one point, however, to duck into a room at the far side of the passage. With her hair atumble and her dress practically falling from one shoulder, she shut herself in with the hope that Wilmott would give up his search for her and return to the library.
Watching the door as she heard footsteps pass on the other side, she backed farther into the dim room and bumped squarely into what she thought was a huge table. But as her hands met the baize that lined its top, she realized she was in the billiard room.
“You could hide behind the drapery, but may I suggest the settee instead? It’s so much less obvious.”
Recognizing that awful voice, she spun around and searched the room for her new tormentor. It was Ivan, ofcourse, and he stood at the other end of the room by the window seat, nursing a brandy.
“You!” was the only foolish word that could escape her lips. Her eyes met with his and it was all she could do not to run back out to the passage.
With excruciating slowness, he studied her. He seemed to take note of her disheveled hair, then his gaze slid down her dress, only to raise again and rest at her heaving, well-displayed bosom.
“You seem to have misplaced some of your clothing since dinner,” he stated dryly, his eyes flicking from her bodice to her face.
Before she could answer, a voice rang out in the passage. “Lizzy! Come on out, Lizzy old girl!” When she heard Wilmott checking all the rooms in the passage, she tensed. If he found her in there with Ivan, no doubt he would be most displeased—displeased enough, perhaps, to decide not to marry her. But then, the thought of hiding from him in front of Ivan was too humiliating even to consider.
Standing in indecision, she listened as the doors banged in the corridor. It was obvious Wilmott was getting angry, and with each successive empty room, his fury seemed to increase.
“Lizzy!” he shouted in the room next to them.
“There’s a key in the lock. Turn it,” Ivan stated. She looked at him as if he were mad. It was a terrible decision. To have her family’s future ruined because she’d angered her fiancé, or to willingly lock herself in a room with Ivan Tramore—her nemesis.
Her eyes turned to the key. If only Wilmott would miss this room! But as his footsteps neared, she knew she couldn’t be so foolish as to rely on that. So, feeling more than seeing Ivan’s look of triumph, she tiptoed to the door and turned the key. The bolt shot home with an almost imperceptible noise, and Wilmott was shaking impotently on the handle before she could even take a step back from the door.
“Lizzy? Are you in there, old girl?” Wilmott called out to her through the doors. Wild-eyed, she turned to Ivan. Would he say something? Would he further ruin her by calling out now, letting her be found locked in a room with him?
Her eyes pleaded softly with him. And for some reason, Ivan complied.
Soon Wilmott’s footsteps moved on. The banging of doors continued down the passage, and Lissa knew she would always be grateful that Powerscourt was such an enormous castle.
As she leaned on the billiard table, weak from relief, Ivan stepped nearer. He’d put down his brandy and came to stand squarely before her. His lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. Suddenly his hand pulled at one fallen shoulder of her gown.
“I see Billingsworth was out for a little slap and tickle. Did he get any?”
Furious, she shoved his hand away. “Of course not,” she answered icily before making her way to the door. But just as her hand was about to take the key, she found Ivan holding it.
Disconcerted, she said, “I thank you for helping me. It was . . . uncharacteristically chivalrous of you. But now Wilmott is gone and I must return to the conservatory.”
She put her palm out, expecting him to hand her the key. Yet to her horror, she watched him place it on top of the billiard cue cabinet completely out of her reach.
“What are you doing?” she
Watching the door as she heard footsteps pass on the other side, she backed farther into the dim room and bumped squarely into what she thought was a huge table. But as her hands met the baize that lined its top, she realized she was in the billiard room.
“You could hide behind the drapery, but may I suggest the settee instead? It’s so much less obvious.”
Recognizing that awful voice, she spun around and searched the room for her new tormentor. It was Ivan, ofcourse, and he stood at the other end of the room by the window seat, nursing a brandy.
“You!” was the only foolish word that could escape her lips. Her eyes met with his and it was all she could do not to run back out to the passage.
With excruciating slowness, he studied her. He seemed to take note of her disheveled hair, then his gaze slid down her dress, only to raise again and rest at her heaving, well-displayed bosom.
“You seem to have misplaced some of your clothing since dinner,” he stated dryly, his eyes flicking from her bodice to her face.
Before she could answer, a voice rang out in the passage. “Lizzy! Come on out, Lizzy old girl!” When she heard Wilmott checking all the rooms in the passage, she tensed. If he found her in there with Ivan, no doubt he would be most displeased—displeased enough, perhaps, to decide not to marry her. But then, the thought of hiding from him in front of Ivan was too humiliating even to consider.
Standing in indecision, she listened as the doors banged in the corridor. It was obvious Wilmott was getting angry, and with each successive empty room, his fury seemed to increase.
“Lizzy!” he shouted in the room next to them.
“There’s a key in the lock. Turn it,” Ivan stated. She looked at him as if he were mad. It was a terrible decision. To have her family’s future ruined because she’d angered her fiancé, or to willingly lock herself in a room with Ivan Tramore—her nemesis.
Her eyes turned to the key. If only Wilmott would miss this room! But as his footsteps neared, she knew she couldn’t be so foolish as to rely on that. So, feeling more than seeing Ivan’s look of triumph, she tiptoed to the door and turned the key. The bolt shot home with an almost imperceptible noise, and Wilmott was shaking impotently on the handle before she could even take a step back from the door.
“Lizzy? Are you in there, old girl?” Wilmott called out to her through the doors. Wild-eyed, she turned to Ivan. Would he say something? Would he further ruin her by calling out now, letting her be found locked in a room with him?
Her eyes pleaded softly with him. And for some reason, Ivan complied.
Soon Wilmott’s footsteps moved on. The banging of doors continued down the passage, and Lissa knew she would always be grateful that Powerscourt was such an enormous castle.
As she leaned on the billiard table, weak from relief, Ivan stepped nearer. He’d put down his brandy and came to stand squarely before her. His lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. Suddenly his hand pulled at one fallen shoulder of her gown.
“I see Billingsworth was out for a little slap and tickle. Did he get any?”
Furious, she shoved his hand away. “Of course not,” she answered icily before making her way to the door. But just as her hand was about to take the key, she found Ivan holding it.
Disconcerted, she said, “I thank you for helping me. It was . . . uncharacteristically chivalrous of you. But now Wilmott is gone and I must return to the conservatory.”
She put her palm out, expecting him to hand her the key. Yet to her horror, she watched him place it on top of the billiard cue cabinet completely out of her reach.
“What are you doing?” she
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