Five. Five sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, waiting for Sebastian. Ivy drove herself mad during those nights.

On the sixth day, she listlessly accepted Brandon’s persistent invitation to an afternoon play. Members of the disbanded Pack seemed so innocent now when compared to her latest group of debauched admirers.

Brandon appeared genuinely concerned as he carefully handed Ivy up into the coach. Solicitous and calm, he inquired of her health, remarking how pale she was, before launching into a monologue of his activities since their last bit of time together. The steady monotony of his words lulled her. Soon, her thoughts bogged her down. She wondered why Sebastian had not come to her. And she might have convinced herself it was all a bad dream, if not for the rose accompanying the alibi note. And the tiny bite marks he left on her skin.

Ivy was so emotionally bruised she failed to notice the coach’s detour until it was too late. They had traveled past the outskirts of London, heading north at an alarming rate of speed when Brandon’s intentions became clear.

“This is not the route to the Lyceum.”

“Change of plans, my dear,” The viscount admitted gently.

“These new plans include abduction?”

His gaze roamed her features. “Merely a ride through the countryside, darling. Relax. You might enjoy a change of scenery.”

“I’ve no desire to see the countryside. Please turn the coach around and take me home.”

“My dear, that’s not possible. Now, do not be difficult. We have business in Gretna Green, you see, and our attendance is mandatory for these matters to work.” Brandon’s tension visibly increased as he spoke. “Your infatuation with Ravenswood ran its course, and I’ve grown weary waiting for you to accept my proposal.”

“I don't wish to marry you.” Ivy’s face flushed with anger. Would she go through life constantly abducted at one point or another?

“This is a necessity, Ivy. I want you for my wife, and you are in desperate need of a husband.”

“I’m in desperate need to be left alone by selfish men.” The viscount was subjected to her cold stare. “And I was not infatuated with Ravenswood. Like you, he was little more than another suitor, bedeviling my steps. The gossips read far too much into his courtship.” The lie tasted bitter on Ivy's tongue. No other man on earth was like Sebastian Cain.

Brandon smiled, his tone dispassionate. “Of course, I must ignore the favors you granted him if I am to take you for my wife. A sacrifice I’m willing to make.” He flicked a speck of imaginary dust from his coat. “Your intimacy with that man angers me, although there is a bright side. The punishments I will mete out for the loss of your virginity will do much to appease me.”

Ivy’s blood chilled at the mention of punishments. What the devil did he mean? Why was his smile so frightening? So…different? “I did not grant him favors.”

The viscount cocked his head. “Didn’t you?”

Why did she not see this coming? Brandon believed himself the leader for her hand, although with no encouragement on her part. Fear left her mouth dry as Timothy came to mind. She survived that particular abduction. She would survive this too. But as she traced the scar hidden beneath her glove, she wanted to scream with helpless fury.

Brandon’s smile turned cruel with her silence. “I lost a great deal of money wagering I would be the one to break you. On our return to London, all will be put to right, and with your fortune, my losses will be covered quite handily. Although, I don’t wish you to think I only married you for your considerable wealth, darling.”

“This will be annulled,” Ivy said.

“Do you take me for a fool, Ivy?” Brandon might as well be a stranger; none of his previous courtly mannerisms in evidence. “I will have you. Best to resign yourself to it.”

“You will not be able to keep me.” Her head tilted with a sudden thought. “Have you considered I might be with child?”

He frowned. “Ravenswood broke off with you over a month ago. If you were breeding, you’d know by now.”

“But, are you certain?” Ivy asked. “Five nights ago, I was in the earl’s bed. I could be carrying his babe now. You would claim his bastard as your own? Take that risk?”

“I don’t believe you.” His hand waved in dismissal, but a fraction of doubt quivered in Brandon’s voice.

“Oh, it’s quite true. He came for me at the Faringdon Ball. You probably saw Lady Wesley escort me to the gardens; she helped him, to take me away. My disappearance created much gossip but it was Ravenswood’s doing, of course. He cannot stay away from me. I do believe the man is quite obsessed. Something in the family bloodlines, no doubt. You know his cousin suffered the same affliction…” Ivy shook her head as if in remembrance. “That very night, Sebastian took me to Ravenswood Court. Stripped me bare, laid me out on his bed. Then he…”

Brandon shook with impotent fury. “Shut up, damn you, shut up! Even if true, it changes nothing! We will wed, and if you are with child, there are ways to rid you of it. One never knows with first pregnancies. They can be so tenuous, so very fragile. Accidents are such a worry. We would start anew, and none would question the brat you carry is mine. I’ll make damn sure of it, even if it means keeping you under lock and key.”

The horror of his suggestion was sickening. Whatever Ivy hoped to accomplish by revealing Sebastian’s actions, Brandon smashed to bits with brutality. Despite her intent to be strong, tears welled in her eyes.

Leaning forward, he cupped her chin with merciless fingers. “Get some rest, my dear. When we stop to change horses, I suspect I’ll need to restrain you.”

“You are despicable,” Ivy choked, jerking away to press against the far wall of the coach.

“And you keep adding to the punishments, darling. Addressing me in such a manner is worthy of something quite painful.”

They continued through the afternoon and as darkness approached, a heavy rain erupted. The two horses labored in the thickening muck. In some parts of the road, the mire quickly became fetlock deep. Rain beat mercilessly against the glass of the coach windows while a harsh wind buffeted the vehicle until it became difficult to remain seated. Brilliant flashes of lightening illuminated the murky black skies with growing frequency. As the storm grew, leaves and debris scuttled across the road and the horses whinnied loudly in protest as the coachman drove them onward with increasingly sharper cracks of the whip.

At one point, the coach skated sideways on a patchy sheet of mud, and Ivy’s heart lurched at the unsettling feel. The horses were slowed to a walk and she wondered if she dared an attempt at escaping. The coach moved so slowly, she might not be injured if she jumped. Would she reach the woods quickly enough to hide in the cover of darkness?

She would not be a helpless victim again, not as she had been with Timothy. She must fight until there was no strength left in her body. Sensing her intentions, Brandon moved to the seat beside her. Ivy reacted with the panic of a cornered fox. He gripped her upper arms and she bit at his hands, surprising him with her fierceness.

Brandon stared on the blood on his wrist then his hand lashed out, causing Ivy to crumple with a dazed sob, her hand to her jaw.

“Save the hysterics, Ivy.” With a punishing grip, he held her hands in one of his, leaving bruises on the pale skin of her wrists. His other hand clutched her face, fingers biting into the tenderness of her cheeks. “It will be so much better if you don’t struggle.”

“I’ll fight you with all I have.” Ivy’s response was a dizzy moan of pain.

He swooped in, kissing her so hard, his teeth ground against her own, his tongue whiplashing hers until she gagged. Ivy tasted blood; his or hers, she was unsure.

When Brandon finally released her, he laughed, licking his lips as if relishing the flavor of her, blood and all.

“Oh, very well. Fight, if you must. I’ll find pleasure in it too, that much is certain.”

* * *

Sebastian did not venture out, unsure of his composure if he should happen to encounter Ivy at any one of the social functions taking place around London. No illusions existed as to the sudden influx of invitations garnered upon his return from the wilds of Scotland. Hostesses and society matrons speculated if the two most notorious members of the ton appeared at the same place, fireworks would forthwith commence.

Of course, no one knew fireworks had already commenced. Sebastian hated himself for taking advantage of Ivy’s inebriated state, but an inner voice mocked the faint sense of chivalry. He’d do it all over again if the opportunity presented itself. He tasted her kiss even now…

There was still the matter of regaining Ivy’s trust. Winning her love again. He encountered no trouble when it came to obtaining the special marriage license; his level of power ensured its relative ease of procurement. But it did take longer than anticipated. The magistrate owing him a favor had only just returned from Paris two days before, the license arriving at Ravenswood Court that very afternoon. Now, the difficulty lay in convincing the bride to marry him, a bride who hated the very sight of him.

“Only yourself to blame, Ravenswood,” Sebastian muttered, flopping into an overstuffed leather chair. It was pouring rain and the steady drum of raindrops combined with his mood to make for a bleak, miserable evening.

Tomorrow would be better. It must be. Because tomorrow he would claim her. Tomorrow, he began the journey of regaining her trust and her love. Tomorrow could not come quickly enough.

Sebastian barely noted the melodious chimes of the doorbell down the long hall. Even the sounds of a scuffle and raised voices in the foyer failed to intrude on his melancholy. Only when the door to his study flew open, crashing against the opposite wall, did he acknowledge the intrusion.

Soaking wet, furious, Lady Sara Morgan stood in the doorway. Aunt Rachel hovered behind her, face pinched in outrage at the young lady shoving her way into their home in the midst of a thunderstorm. Sebastian regarded his friend’s fiancé with a puzzled frown. What the devil was she doing?

“Get up,” Sara snapped.

Sebastian smiled then realized her seriousness. The girl’s coiffure was a saturated mess; a blonde curl drooping over one eye, the rest hanging in a tangled mass down her back. Her dark rose silk evening gown was hopelessly rain-soaked and most certainly ruined; the matching slippers splattered with mud and sopping wet. She'd catch her death of cold if she didn't get out of those garments and into something warm and dry.

“She barged in, demanding to see you. Jackson informed her we were not receiving guests, but she pushed her way through.” Rachel sputtered with rage while Sara, sweet, gentle Sara, wore the countenance of an avenging angel. Or a rampaging murderess. Either possibility was terrifying. Neither boded well.

Other than to lift a sardonic eyebrow at her soft-spoken, steely command, Sebastian did not move.

Sara swung toward Rachel with clenched fists. “I won’t repeat myself, Lady Garrett. Be silent.”

The older woman’s thin lips clamped shut.

“As for you, my lord,” Sara snarled, advancing on Sebastian with deadly intent. “I told you to get up.”

“To what do I owe this little visit?” Ignoring the directive, Sebastian extracted a cigar from the ornate humidor on his desk. Lighting it with an unhurried air, he reclined in his chair, drawing deep then exhaling so the smoke swirled high overhead.

Just beyond Sara, Gabriel Rose appeared in the doorway, huge and menacing. His brows raised in silent query. Should he remove the girl or allow her to stay?

Sebastian gave a subtle shake of his head. He had no desire to see his friend’s fiancée manhandled from his home.

“Ivy…” A shimmer of fear flitted in Lady Morgan’s gaze. She glanced at Rachel then focused on Sebastian, her voice stronger. “It’s Ivy.”

One would never know by looking at him, but every nerve in his body drew up tight as a bowstring at the mention of Ivy’s name. For a moment, he believed Sara had come to exact vengeance, either for his most recent seduction, or that terrible night in Lord Kinley’s study. He certainly deserved punishment for both. Indeed, there were many things he was guilty of, things he would most likely burn in hell for.

Did Ivy tell Sara of his misdeeds? That others might learn of his brutal treatment caused a moment of concern before calmer reasoning prevailed. No, she would not share those private matters, those intimate details and heartbreaking moments. She would keep their secrets. God help him, Sara came for something far worse, something very frightening. It must be if she was desperate enough to beg his assistance.

“Yes?” Sebastian drawled, a portrait of casual indifference. “Pray continue?”

“I don’t know what else to do, where to go. She’s been taken.” A widening puddle of raindrops formed at Sara’s feet. An expensive rug hung in a state of imminent ruination. Her shoulder’s slumped in despair. “Lord Ravenswood, she’s been abducted.”

Sebastian felt as though someone kicked him in the stomach. Exhibiting an aura of calm he did not feel, he knocked ashes from the cigar into a heavy cut crystal dish, his gaze meeting Gabriel’s above Sara’s head. The man immediately departed to begin gathering necessary items.

“Are you sure Lady Kinley is not with Edwardson? I hear she discovered a new appreciation for boxing and he recently obliged her. Or, perhaps she’s taking part of the gambling at Madam Cheverly’s with Lord Grantville.” The acid in Sebastian’s tone was harsh enough to etch stone and directed inward. My God, Ivy…is it true? Have you already turned away from me? Perhaps you flew from me of your own choice. To escape my cruelty. “There appears to be a great number of gentlemen providing the countess with an escort lately. Perhaps “abducted” is too a strong word.”

“That’s not Ivy!” Sara cried out. “That pale, hollow, glittering creature is not Ivy!” Rushing around the corner of the desk, she grabbed Sebastian’s arm, frantically seeking an answer in the slate-hued gaze regarding her so calmly. “That girl staring through me with those brittle eyes is not the sister of my heart. That vacant girl walking about as though dead inside is not my dearest friend. Can’t you understand? She’s not been the same since that night of the Pack’s last dinner. Whatever you did to her, whatever you said, whatever happened between the two of you, you destroyed her. I don’t know if she will ever come back, if she will ever be the same. Or if she can come back, but do not dare pretend to be indifferent, Ravenswood. I know you care. Dear God in heaven, you must care.”

Rachel’s laugh sounded shrill and oddly cold in the cozy warmth of the finely appointed study. “What interest could he have in that trollop? What a twisted plot you devised together, now that the earl tossed her to the side. She’s always been one to seek attention.”

Sara released Sebastian’s arm, turning to the older woman. “You don’t know anything about Ivy. You have only your hate of her, but you are wrong. Wrong! You think Timothy was so blameless, so innocent? You have no idea what he did to her…no idea at all.”

“I know she drove him to his death!” Rachel sneered. “She teased and tormented him until he took his own life!” Latching onto Sara’s arm with a cruel hand, fingers biting into the soft flesh, she tried yanking the younger woman toward the door.

Sebastian stood to intervene.

“Let go, madam!” Sara pushed with enough force to send the woman stumbling. Rachel landed on her backside, her head knocking against the mahogany wall with a hard thud. Too stunned to react immediately, she moved with slow, careful movements, rising from the floor on unsteady feet to stare at Sara with newfound respect.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say and you both shall listen to every word,” the girl vowed through gritted teeth, tiny fists clenched as if ready to strike anyone who attempted to leave the study. “Do you hear me? Every word.”

“Sebastian! Call for the bobbies!” Rachel probed at the lump rising on the back of her head. “Where’s in God’s name is Gabriel? Surely your damned man can handle removing this chit-”

“He kidnapped her,” Sara interrupted quietly, her eyes glittering blue ice as the awful truth was exposed.

Lady Garrett and Sebastian both stared at her.

She continued with relentless intensity. “Timothy Garrett abducted her. Attempted to carry her to Gretna Green. When she fought him, he struck her. Only Ivy would not give up. She attempted to jump from the coach and when she managed to get the door opened, Timothy slammed it shut. Somehow, Ivy’s hand was sliced open on a bit of metal. It must have terrified him. With all the blood, he probably thought she was dying.”

Sara wiped tears from her eyes. “He had the coach turn back, carried her back to Kinley House. Lady Garrett, believe what you will, but I saw Ivy’s face, the bruises, the scrapes; the wound she suffered attempting to escape. And, I’ve known her pain, her heartache when your damaged son took his life. Simply because he could not possess her when he thought she belonged to him.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I swore a vow. I swore never to say a word. Never, not when she was vilified for refusing to see Timothy and not when she was blamed for his death. She trusted him, cared for him. She was his friend when he least deserved it and he abused that trust so horribly. When he died, Ivy wept so many tears. She felt responsible, although there was nothing she could have done to save him or to heal the madness inside him.”

Sara’s eyes bore holes into Sebastian. Was precious time wasted coming here? Attempting to sway the man who delighted in breaking her friend’s heart? “I told her Timothy was unnaturally obsessed, that he’d changed from last season. The medication he took for his headaches, it turned him into someone possessive, bitter and ugly, in words and actions. It made him a monster that we no longer recognized.

Ivy’s heart is so tender beneath that icy veneer she presents to the world. She believed she could help him, that her friendship was enough. You’ve seen the scar, Ravenswood. Have you not wondered about it? How it came to be there? Brody stitched it, with the late countess’ own sewing kit. Ivy never told anyone the truth; she even hid it from her father.” Sara’s words caught on a heart-wrenching sob as her emotions finally overflowed. “She would never have told a soul.”

A dreadful silence filled the room, with the exception of Lady Morgan’s soft weeping. Sebastian was so overcome with regret and shame, it was difficult to draw a proper breath of air. His chest tightened until he could only rub it, hoping to ease the unrelenting pain. Tossing the cigar into the fireplace, he unlocked one of the drawers of the desk, drawing out the marriage license and Timothy’s well-worn last letter.

What have I done to her? What has my family done to her? Forgive me, Ivy. My love, my very heartbeat, forgive me.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Sebastian, you can’t believe this farce! My Timothy would never do such a thing…they fabricated this tale to make him the villain. He cannot defend himself against these lies!”

“Ivy could not defend herself when Timothy tried to take what would never belong to him.” Sebastian gathered up the documents and stalked to the door.

“You are not going after her. I forbid it.” Rachel threw herself in his path. “She is a disease and it is good riddance, I say. Good riddance!”

He stared at the woman. How she could blame Ivy for Timothy’s death was inexplicable. “Of course, I’m going after her. How can I not? I highly suggest staying out of my way, madam.”

Brushing past her, he took Sara by the arm and pulled her into the hall with him. Their ancient butler, Jackson, held his overcoat and assisted in tucking the papers into a deep, inner pocket for safekeeping. The foyer was a mass of activity, servants running to and fro. Gabriel trotted down the stairs, carrying a box containing a brace of pistols. He handed it to Sebastian along with two leather pouches full of gold coins. “Raven will be ready momentarily. I would like to accompany you, but what are your wishes on the matter?”

“Ride ahead to Beaumont. Tell the staff to prepare themselves for my arrival and the countess. I’ll send word to you when I’ve secured her.” Sebastian drew up short…he neglected to inquire who dared to kidnapped her. Christ, if Nicholas March was involved in any way, he might actually rip the man apart with his bare hands.

“Who has her?” he snapped at Sara.

He was forced to repeat his demand before Sara, staring at Gabriel Rose with wide-eyed curiosity, answered.

“Viscount Basford. He came for her this afternoon under the pretense of taking her to an afternoon play at the Lyceum. Ivy’s butler sent for me when she did not return, and an inquiry at the viscount’s house revealed his immediate departure for business in Scotland. I’ve no doubt they are headed to Gretna Greene. I was four houses from here at the Waring musicale, which Ivy was to attend as well. It's how Brody knew where to find me. You must understand, I had no one else to ask assistance of, Ravenswood. Alan is at Bentley Park; it would have taken far too long to send word to him.”

Sara’s gaze drifted to Gabriel. She’d never seen a man with so many bulging muscles and such kind eyes before. And such a fearsome scar as the one slicing his face. “Lord Kinley is unaware of these developments, but should Basford make it to Scotland, there will be no choice. The marriage will stand.” Forcing her attention back to Sebastian, she added softly, “Although I despise you for trying to destroy her, I pray I’m not wrong in believing you care for her…even if only a little. If you do not, Ivy does not deserve your contempt. She’s been in such pain these past few weeks. She’s not been…herself.”

Sebastian’s blood was little more than raging ice in his veins, but a curious sense of relief flooded him. Thank God, Nicholas’s name did not spill from Sara’s lips. Or Clayton or Danbury. Those men pursued women for sport and cruel pleasure. Basford on the other hand… goddamn Basford. The viscount was obsessed with claiming Ivy for his wife, eager to claim her fortune. Those facts made him a man easily dealt with. Hopefully he would not harm her until she was firmly and legally under his control, but what then? His sexual tastes would destroy Ivy.

Sebastian pulled Sara into a quick, unexpected embrace. “Forgive me, for what I put her through, for hurting her. I mean that with all sincerity. Do not worry. I will retrieve her.” Pleased to see her nod, her eyes shiny with fresh tears of relief, he said, “Stay here as my guest and repair yourself. Word will be sent to your family, and fresh clothing obtained for you. Bentley will have my head if I fail to see to your safekeeping. I beg a favor, if you’ll indulge me. I shall leave it to you to inform Ivy’s father of the situation. Indeed, the next time he sees his daughter, she will be the new Countess of Ravenswood.”

Sara gripped his arm, her jaw dropping with astonishment.

“Do not swoon. I only received the special license today and was gathering my courage to beg her hand in marriage.” Sebastian felt immeasurable relief saying the words aloud. Even with the task at hand of rescuing his love, he was lighter, calmer than he felt in months. “I’ve made a bloody mess of things but, I cannot, and will not, live without her. If need be, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to her.”

Cocking her head, Sara considered the dark, moody earl who hurt Ivy so terribly. “I fear you’ll have the Devil’s own time convincing her.”

Sebastian grinned. “The Devil and I are well acquainted, but for this, I ask for divine intervention. Since my standing with the Lord is a bit shaky, Lady Sara, will you say a prayer for the both of us?”