The room was unfamiliar and the bed, although comfortable, not her own. Evening approached; the afternoon shadows growing long and purple on the walls, the lighting darkly gold. Someone held her hand in an almost painful grip; Ivy wiggled her fingers against it. A man’s dark, disheveled head rested on the coverlet and when she disengaged her hand to slide a palm over and through the thick hair of her sleeping guardian, it did not disturb him. Such beautiful waves, so glossy and black, sifting through her fingers like soft feathers.

Sebastian raised his head, pinning her with confused eyes, and Ivy's heart soared in a response so joyous she choked on an indrawn breath. The earl slumped in a chair beside her bed, but why? As she watched, he straightened, arching his back with a groan, then froze.

“What happened?” Ivy whispered when he quickly reclaimed her hand. He did not answer; instead, his fingers tangled with hers. Bringing them to his lips, he pressed warm kisses to her knuckles, his eyes closed as if in prayer or, perhaps even stranger, gratitude. The chair scraped closer, the sound impatient and startling in the room’s stillness. The relief that seemed to swamp him, the way he looked at her, as if it were an eternity since he laid eyes on her, was all so mystifying.

“I don’t understand.” Her gaze flitted about the room, finding some aspects of it familiar now, before drifting back to him.

Dark stubble shadowed Sebastian’s chin. Even darker circles ringed his eyes. Disheveled, looking as if on a bender for a week, his shirt fluttered open, rumpled and half-tucked. The buttons strained, mismatched to the opposite holes. It was so unlike him, the cool, elegantly collected Earl of Ravenswood, that Ivy felt unreasonable fear squeeze her chest. Something horrible must have occurred.

“You must remember.” His murmur was so soft; it was almost difficult to hear. “Please try, Ivy.”

Her brow furrowed. Remember what? Where was she? What catastrophe transpired to bring Sebastian to her side? When he cautiously brought a hand up to brush a curl from her temple, she shied away, baffled by her own immediate response to his gentleness.

Memories brushed her mind. Suspicion spiked within her, a thousand spears, hot and pointed digging into her flesh. He couldn’t be trusted; he’d break her heart again. She could not trust anyone. Not even someone she once loved…or those claiming to be friends.

When it rushed in, she crumpled. Buckling under the weight of it, she helplessly sought the warm strength of his arms.

“It’s all right, love, it’s all right.” Sebastian climbed onto the bed. Gathering her into his arms, he embraced her as a torrent of horrific images engulfed her.

“He wouldn’t let me go. I begged and cried, but he wouldn’t let…” Tears saturated the material of his shirt. She still did not understand how or why he was there, but she clung to him. In the midst of a desolate sea, he was a huge, solid rock, a lifeline she could not surrender. How she had missed him, the awful magnitude of it repressed inside her soul until this moment. Beneath her cheek, his shoulder was warm, his breathing deep and easy, large hands soothing as though she were a child startled awake by dreadful nightmares. Ivy wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave it.

“I’m here now. I’m here and the Devil himself would need to strike me dead before I let anyone harm you.” Cradling her face, he kissed away the tears staining her cheeks.

“Where are we?” Her question emerged in a choked whisper. Why, why is he suddenly assuming the role as my protector? It makes no sense.

“Bentley Park.”

Ivy swallowed, trying to regain control of her wildly careening emotions. She foolishly fell in love with this man at Bentley Park. Suddenly, it felt like wolves, not memories, ravaged her heart.

“Oh. My head hurts,” she said woodenly.

Concern flitted across his haggard features. Sebastian rolled from the bed but soon returned with a small brown bottle and a spoon. “It’s laudanum,” he explained. Ivy swallowed the bitter liquid without question. She hoped the drug would overtake her quickly, the pain of seeing him easing into a cloud of dark oblivion. It would be easier to forget his treachery there.

“Is the viscount dead?” Much of what occurred inside the coach was a blank space. Ivy remembered bits and pieces of Brandon’s cruelty and more vaguely, the moment Sebastian appeared to pull her tormentor off her. But nothing beyond that, or how they came to be at Bentley Park.

“God, I hope not. When I left him, he was very much alive.” Sebastian sank into the chair, watching her carefully, as if anticipating something unpleasant. “He’s very lucky in that regard. Considering.”

“Why did you come after me, Sebastian?” Her hands, which previously clutched his shoulders as she wept, now clenched handfuls of the coverlet.

“Your butler is a highly suspicious man. I’m not the only gentleman he dislikes.” He ignored the crux of her question. “He sent for Lady Morgan when you did not return and she, in turn, came to me. Demanding I rescue you.”

“Did her anger shock you?” Few people had actually witnessed Sara Morgan’s anger. She hid the emotion well behind a pretty veneer of blue eyes and soft blonde hair. It was a frightening sight when set loose, but Ivy adored her for it. China dolls were not known for tempers, and Sara’s made her very real.

“Surprised more than shocked. She was less than with enchanted with me. I was informed, in no uncertain terms, what she expected me to do.” Sebastian smiled while pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. “And I found myself following her orders.” He handed her the glass.

Sipping the water slowly, Ivy tried understanding him. Why did this man, once so intent on destroying her, rush to her rescue? Why, after shattering her with his treachery, did this man give two shillings for her wellbeing? Her head spun, trying to fathom Sebastian’s motives, to second guess his intentions. Forming defenses to his attacks exhausted her. Her fingers fluttered at her temple, probing a bruise there, before dropping back to her lap.

“I regret you were put to such trouble. I had no idea Basford would attempt something so reprehensible.” Ivy’s gaze flitted away from his penetrating one. “It was… unexpected.” Had Sara blackmailed him in some way? Used Bentley’s friendship against him? Threatened him with some manner of dire consequences? What might possibly bend the Earl of Ravenswood to do another's bidding?

“Timothy’s attempt at abduction was unexpected.”

Their gazes collided. Ivy’s breath escaped in a panicked whoosh. “What?” Oh no. No, no, no. Oh God, Sara…what have you done? You promised me.

“Ivy, tell me what happened. Sara related some of the details, but I want to know-I need to know. What did my cousin do to you?”

Physically, she moved not a muscle, but Ivy retreated from him. “You wish to compare our versions.”

Sebastian exploded from the chair. “So that I know how the bastard hurt you! So that no one ever hurts you again!” Agonized fury rolled from him in waves.

Ivy trembled. “No one ever wounded me as you have, Sebastian.” The softness of her words could cut stone. “It broke my soul, trusting you. Ruined me. All the while, you knew just what you were doing. That hurt the most. You knew you were breaking my heart. And you enjoyed watching me fall to pieces, didn’t you? Can’t you understand I suffered more at your hands?” Chin tilted, her gaze clear and steady, it was a stark contrast to the weeping Ivy he held in his arms only moments ago. “None of it matters now. There is no need to revisit the past. No need for empty gestures of atonement on Timothy Garrett’s behalf, and please, put aside any misguided beliefs the viscount must be punished for his actions. You cannot change what either man did. Or what you did.”

Sebastian’s eyes turned so haunted and dark it was staggering to see. “I ask again.” Sinking back into the chair, his low voice quivered. His hands raked through his hair. “Tell me. All of it.”

Ivy’s temper flared at the subtle hint of intimidation. Relating Timothy’s actions filled her with dread. It would provide Sebastian more reason to despise her, further justification for his hatred. But the opportunity to pour it all out, to tell her side specifically to this man, burned every barrier previously erected. Will he believe me?

“Timothy kidnapped me.” The words clung like icicles in her throat. She swallowed, fighting the urge to say more. He won’t understand…

“Go on, love.” Sebastian’s hand gripped hers. He seemed to tamp down an inner rage, but looking down at her, both his tone and his eyes softened. “I want every detail, Ivy. Do you understand?”

Ivy nodded, took a deep breath. She gave in.

“He was to take me to Regent Park that day. For a picnic on a lovely afternoon. I told Sara of our plans, although Timothy specifically asked that I not. He said she was jealous of our time together. You see, she became insistent on knowing these things, where we would be, what days we had plans. Even for harmless, silly activities like picnics or museum visits. She did not trust him, tried to warn me, but I did not believe her. I was so foolish. So naïve. I thought maybe Timothy was right, that maybe Sara was a bit envious of our friendship. But for some reason, I always told her what she wanted to know. I suppose something inside me knew Sara was right all along.”

Ivy’s voice turned softer, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Your cousin did not take me to the park that day. He arrived in a hired hack, said his carriage threw a wheel and he was too rushed to have another readied. Once I was in that dilapidated coach, once we were on the outskirts of the city, he told me we were going to Gretna Green. He kissed me, put his hands under my skirts- touching me where there was nothing to bar his way. Claiming he loved me, and I was his. I could not get away. I fought so hard, and he seemed to enjoy that until I bit him. He struck me, and that seemed to excite him more. He…he tore my dress from my shoulders, forced me down against the seat…”

Her eyes became hazy, the words dropping to a whisper. Sebastian squeezed her hand tight, caught in a silent pit of his own violent anger.

“I realized my only hope…to keep him from violating me, was to leap from the coach. Can you imagine? I probably would have broken my neck, but it was preferable to what Timothy wished to do. I managed to shove him away enough to open the door, and almost tumbled out before he slammed the door shut. My hand was in the opening…a bit of metal sliced my palm open.”

Ivy smiled ruefully. “I thought it cut my hand off. I screamed and screamed, it hurt so terribly. It must have scared the wits out of Timothy, and all the blood certainly didn’t help. The driver pulled the coach to the side of the road, calling out to my welfare. Timothy awoke as if from a delusion. He wrapped his cravat around my hand, sobbing, begging my forgiveness. Then he got out, explaining to the driver there’d been an accident and we needed to return to London. They argued over the price. When Timothy got back into the coach, he made me drink from a little bottle hidden in his waistcoat. I suppose it was the medicine for his headaches. It made me very woozy and the next thing I knew, I was at Kinley House and Brody was stitching my hand.” Tugging away from Sebastian’s grip, she examined the neat white scar slashing across her palm.

“The wound was easy to conceal if I wore gloves. The bruises and my swollen face proved more difficult. I left for Somerset Hall and remained there almost a month. Sara concocted a tale that I’d been thrown from my mare and cut my hand on a rock.” Ivy frowned, lightly tracing the wound with a fingernail. “Shortly after, Timothy began sending the letters. He would personally bring them to Somerset but I refused to see him, so he left them with the butler. I was so afraid, I hid in my room, hoping, praying he would just go away. Disappear. Something desperate existed within him, something so terrible it was incomprehensible. Sara said he was obsessed. I knew he would harm me if I were ever alone with him again, but how was I to avoid him in public? I could not hide at Somerset forever. When I returned to London, he came to Kinley House every day, always with his letters.”

Sebastian handed a bit of paper to her. When Ivy finished reading, it drifted to her lap.

“This was on Timothy’s desk when he was discovered? I received fifty-eight similar letters. All within a month’s time. Sometimes, I received two a day. They were all the same, begging, demanding, threatening. He wanted to see me, to continue our relationship…” Ivy’s guilt trembled in her words. “I think maybe, I should have seen him. I had no idea he would hurt himself. He was so sweet and so kind when we were introduced last year, so charming. I liked him very much. Being his friend was a great joy, but when he needed my friendship the most, I selfishly turned away from him.” She searched Sebastian’s features for signs of recrimination, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Can you forgive me? I never meant to…”

Sebastian enveloped her. “Don’t dare apologize for Timothy. Knowing how you suffered at his hands, I am ashamed to claim him as a blood relative.” Cupping Ivy’s face in his warm hands, he stared intently at her. “You are not to blame for his death. Even if an accident, it was by his hand. And God help me, were he not dead already, I would kill him myself.”

“But, I should have…”

Sebastian interrupted her. “Stop. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to some, your aunt for one. She’ll never forgive me. Do you think you might speak to her?” There was no keeping the hope from her voice. She could not explain why it mattered Rachel Garrett absolve her of guilt, but it did. It mattered a great deal, actually.

“She is well aware of what her son did. She heard everything Sara related to me and while she does not believe it to be true, she will do as I say when we return. If she cannot accept matters, I will have her removed to one of my other estates.”

When we return. There was much inferred from his simple statement. Did he mean the two of them together? Why should it be necessary to remove his aunt from his home? Sebastian assumed they would face the problem together. It abruptly dawned on Ivy the earl was in her room, without the benefit of a chaperone, and she only clad in a nightgown. After so many instances of shared intimacy, his boldness should hardly shock her, but it did. “Sebastian, who has taken care of me?”

He frowned, as though her question was inane after everything she just went through. “I have, of course.”

“Do not joke with me.” Ivy clutched a handful of the coverlet to her chest, slumping in the bed at the same time. Others must know he was in her room now, so brazenly casual, regardless of her state of undress.

“Your health is a serious matter, Ivy, and I do not jest. Since arriving last night, I’ve been the only one to care for you.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “I intend to continue doing so as your husband.”

“My husband!” she inhaled. “You’ve lost your mind. I’m not marrying you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “The hell if you aren’t.”

“I cannot marry you.” Agony suffused her whisper. Yes, he absolved her of Timothy’s death, placing blame entirely on his cousin. However, the earl did not seem overly concerned with making amends for the torment he caused her. “I can’t.”

“The hell you can’t. And you will.”

“I won't.”

“I’ve already informed your father you are,” Sebastian said smoothly.

“How did you manage that before you even asked me? When? When did you tell my father this?”

“Before leaving London, I tasked Sara with relaying the news to him.” Ignoring her distress, Sebastian calmly fluffed a pillow behind her head.

“Am I to understand you planned on marrying me before you even found me?”

“I did. I obtained the special license early yesterday morning as a matter of fact.” His smile was determined.

“Before Basford abducted me?” Ivy twisted the coverlet into knots.

“Yes, love. And regardless of your views on the subject, I will kill that man.”

Ivy covered her eyes with her hands. “You cannot. I won’t allow it.”

His brow rose. “You won’t allow it. He abducts my fiancée and I’m not to hold him accountable?”

“I was not your fiancée then just as I am not now. You’ve no right to take over any aspect of my life -” Her words trailed away because, with eyes dark and hard, Sebastian leaned over her. Possessiveness was stamped on his face.

“Oh, I have the right,” he growled. “Basford will experience the consequences of his actions. You. Are. Mine. You’ve been mine since I laid eyes on you at the Sheffield Ball surrounded by the damned Pack. The first time I kissed you, that afternoon in your music room, I bound you to me. When I showed you the universe in the palm of my hand the night of the opera, you bound yourself to me. As we lay beside that stream here at Bentley Park, I became yours as well. The night of the Faringdon Ball only sealed our mutual fates. You are mine. If you require a moment to adjust to the idea, I understand. But, make no mistake, Ivy. You will become my wife as soon as a minister is procured.” Sebastian withdrew another document from a pocket on the coat draped across the back of his chair. He waved it at her. “Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t care to know.” Leaning against the pillows, Ivy closed her eyes. It was not pretense on her part. The laudanum was making her lightheaded and giddy. Besides, she was too exhausted to battle with Sebastian. Fighting him required all her strength.

“It’s the marriage license I obtained after the Faringdon Ball.” Dropping an octave, his voice became husky with emotion. “When I knew I could not live without you.” He laid it atop Timothy’s last desperate letter. Ivy knew an absurd desire to tear both in half. A lot of good it would do. Such childish endeavors would not deter Sebastian.

Fighting back a yawn, she said, “You don’t understand, do you, Sebastian? How could I ever trust you? How do I know you aren’t waiting to carve me up with your own particular brand of cruelty? I will not marry someone I cannot trust…no, I’m not marrying you.”

The laudanum worked its magic, dragging her deep into the downy depths of the pillows. Sebastian’s rugged face melted into a hazy mirage as a silky, warm lassitude slipped over her. Too drowsy to do much else, she frowned in disagreement while his words drifted like snowflakes around her.

His threat contained a gentle finality.

“How shall you explain your refusal, Ivy? Because I will tell everyone, anyone who will listen, that we are madly in love, that I have compromised you most thoroughly, and you are possibly carrying my child. You will be my wife. I want you. I will have you. One way or another.”