Struggling to retain the pleasant state of drifting dreaminess with the jostle and sway of the coach soon became too much to ignore. Or maybe something else woke her.

Lifting her head, Ivy recognized the fire in the depths of Sebastian’s gaze.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice wrapping about her, stroking her, it seemed, from the inside out.

She realized, with dawning awareness, the horrific position she was in. Sprawled in lethargic abandonment, ensconced in a circle crafted of his arms, breasts pressed flat against his chest, her hips were flush with his. Ivy braced her hands on his broad torso, frowning.

“I already know the answer.” Sebastian laughed at her silent dismay. “How I enjoy it when you snuggle up to me. Anytime you feel so compelled, my arms are always open.”

Ivy’s backbone fairly cracked from rearing back so quickly, although his loose embrace preventing her from going very far. “I am not snuggling.”

Sebastian countered with a grin of devious pleasure. “Oh, one could hardly call it anything else.”

“You are a cad,” Ivy retorted.

“No,” he rebuked calmly. “I’m a man in love.”

The urge to slap him literally caused her fingers to twitch. “Tell me, Sebastian.” She could not help herself, her words dripping with bitterness. “Was this great love discovered before, or after you decided I was not a whore?”

Chilly silence invaded the coach. In an imperceptible motion, Sebastian’s arms constricted. “Careful, my love.” His warm, teasing manner vanished. “A sharp tongue can cut one’s throat.”

Ivy swallowed hard. She shouldn't push him too far, not when she was at his mercy. “Let me go.”

“Never.” The distance between them narrowed then disappeared. “We both know I’d have to slice myself open to remove you from my blood.”

It would be easier to resist if he took what he wanted in anger, but his mouth was gently searching upon hers. The devil. He knew just how to kiss her, with varying degrees of pressure and softness, his tongue sweeping then probing, swirling and teasing in alternating assaults. Ivy wanted to struggle, and maybe she would have if Sebastian did not end the kiss. He released her just as she gathered her outrage.

When she did not immediately move away, his brow arched. “We are almost to Beaumont. It’s unwise to ravish me now, my eager little wife. I fear there is no time to finish matters. Tonight, however, I shall see to things properly.”

Ivy choked on an indrawn breath, scrambling away in a flurry of skirts and red cheeks to the opposite seat. “You are despicable!”

He laughed and raking a hand through his hair, his eyes held a twinge of regret. “So you keep telling me.”

Constructed of warm, pale gray stone, Beaumont rose from the lush countryside, both imposing and welcoming at the same time. A gracefully curving gravel driveway lined with English yews stretched to the cobblestone-paved courtyard fronting the huge five- story building. An enormous stone terrace was anchored by massive stacked stone walls arching away from the main house like a pair of burly arms.

Two dozen stone steps spanned nearly the entire width of the mansion. In Ivy’s mind, they led like the hangman’s steps to a pair of double, English oak doors stained a rich walnut color. A grand, white marble and oak portico shaded those doors while smooth stone columns traversed the length of the grand terrace. From the main rectangle of the house, twin wings flared out and away. The wings were additions, but so well integrated one hardly realized they were not original to the footprint. Sebastian casually mentioned they contained the fifty-two bedrooms for the manor, with his personal suite of rooms taking up much of the south wing.

Occupying the focal point of the curved circular driveway, a grand, triple-tiered stone fountain filled the air with the lyrical sound of trickling water. An assortment of spring blooms surrounded it, softening all the gravel and stone and hard surfaces with a bright cheerfulness. A late afternoon sun bathed everything in a pinkish, golden light and the vast expanse of emerald green lawn dotted with yews and oaks gave Beaumont a lavish verdant appeal.

Servants poured from the house as the coach approached the base of the terrace steps. They busily lined up in order of household rank. Stableboys and grooms trotted almost in unison from the direction of the stables. With the exception of the grounds staff, all wore the distinctive Ravenswood colors of dark blue and silver.

Ivy passed a hand over her hair, smoothing loose curls into place. She chose not to don her gloves when departing Bentley Park, so she pulled them on now. Sebastian watched, his eyes tender, as she peeked out the window.

“There is no need to worry, Ivy. You are lovely.”

“What they must think…” Caught between her teeth, her bottom lip was worried back and forth. As the coach rolled to a stop, Sebastian reached for her.

“What they will think,” Passing a thumb over her lip, he halted the fretful motion, “is that I am a fortunate man, and Beaumont once again has a beautiful, gracious woman to call Countess.”

When a footman rapped on the door, Sebastian hopped down, turning to offer his assistance if she wished it.

Despite snapping at him earlier, Ivy was grateful for his words of encouragement. She descended the coach, holding tight to his hand.

* * *

There were far too many servants for an estate so rarely visited. Ivy recalled Timothy Garrett remarking once that both he and his mother both preferred Town, even though it was dreadfully dull during the summer months. Country life, he explained, was the epitome of dreariness, regardless of the time of year. Ivy disagreed but had kept her opinion to herself.

A hum of excitement existed at Beaumont, an air of vitality and comfort. It cascaded over Ivy all at once. This was home. She had yet to meet the first person, but everyone smiled warmly, pleased to welcome her. Stealing a glance at Sebastian, she felt a surprising tranquility emanating from him. He was relaxed, the smile spreading across his features genuine and real.

Her husband had been happy here. He still found happiness here. And Ivy loved Beaumont without hesitation simply because Sebastian loved it. The instant connection was startling. She was prepared to dislike it only because it equated with her forced marriage.

Sebastian led her to an elderly couple waiting at the bottom of the terrace. “This is Jasper and Annie Bancroft, our butler and housekeeper. Jasper, Annie, this is your countess, Ivy Elizabeth Cain, Countess of Ravenswood, Kleychord Keep, Monterey, Hammocks Glen, and Roseburn, the Countess of Somerset and Viscountess of Kinley.”

Hearing all the titles made Ivy dizzy. Knowing they were now hers made her achingly aware of just how much she was now his...The Earl of Ravenswood’s newest acquisition.

Ivy could see these two ruled Beaumont with a stern yet gentle kindness. Annie, even while welcoming her new mistress, admonished a young maid for slouching.

“Milady.” Jasper’s smile was broad, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes disappearing into the edges of bushy white eyebrows. Tall and robust for his age, his hand held his wife’s elbow while he bowed to Ivy. “We are most pleased to welcome you to His Lordship’s home.”

“Anything you need at all, milady, you just come to me. Yes, mum, you just ask old Annie and we’ll see you are taken care of right and proper. No need for you to want for anything. Milord can vouch for that, we take fine care of him when he comes to stay, that we do. We always have, and we shall do the same for you, that we will!” Annie chattered, curtseying and grinning all at once. The plump housekeeper was infectiously exuberant, blue eyes twinkling. Her face hardly touched by the passing of time, her age was somewhere around sixty, the few wrinkles she possessed crafted of laughter and cheerfulness.

Ivy could not fit in a single word. Sebastian quickly realized her predicament. The housekeeper’s steady stream of chatter came to a halt when he lifted a hand. “As you can see, Annie does like to go on. Why don’t you both begin the introductions of the staff to Her Ladyship?”

Each servant was presented, including Lizzie, a young blonde Annie declared suitable to serve as Ivy’s maid. Jasper introduced the footmen, the under-footmen and so on. Next came the kitchen staff and their leader, Monsieur Bouchard. A tall, slender elderly man with a twirling steel-colored mustache, he possessed the strange habit of clapping his hands before each introduction of those beneath his command.

Following him was the Head Stablemaster, numerous grooms, stableboys, and groundskeepers. By the time it was over, Ivy’s head spun with dizziness. Although her own family’s estate was large, Beaumont was enormous, with seventy-five servants in the house itself and another hundred keeping the grounds and the stables in order. Having grown up with her own servants, Ivy never had any reason for personal introductions to each one. Meeting this army of staff was overwhelming. And exhausting.

Only one person lacked introduction. Standing by the coach horses, he waited patiently to be motioned forth.

A hulk of a man, he stood a foot or so taller than Sebastian, with arms the size of oak trunks and a chest as wide as a barrel of English ale. Dressed in dark, brown breeches of fine broadcloth and a stylish waistcoat of deep navy blue, he was much more than a mere servant. Slicked into a modish cut, his hair was a thick, wonderful mixture of various browns, dark, light, golden chestnut. A woman might murder for hair the shade this man possessed naturally.

Twinkling with benevolence, his eyes were a clear shade of russet. In addition to his impressive size, his most recognizable feature was a thin, jagged white scar. Inching out from the temple, just below the hairline, it sliced his left eyebrow in two and ended just above his eyelid. The man possessed the most fearsome presence, certainly not a fellow one would cross in an alleyway on a dark night. Or anywhere else, for that matter. At Sebastian’s directive, he stepped forward.

“This is Gabriel Rose. Gabriel, your countess.”

Ivy caught Sebastian biting back a smile at her look of wonderment. Such a beautiful name for such a formidable man. It probably caught more than one person off guard.

“Milady.” Gabriel’s voice was melodic. Bowing at the waist, his movements exhibited a surprising elegance.

“Gabriel, ah, has been very busy since our return to England, which is why you’ve not been afforded a chance to meet him before now.” Sebastian grinned. “He’s what you might consider my man of affairs. I trust him with my life and now, I trust him with yours.” Noting the man’s fierce scowl, Sebastian threw up his hands with a chuckle. “And yes, you may take a well-deserved rest very shortly.”

“Good,” Gabriel grumbled, loud enough for only Ivy and Sebastian’s ears. “I spent enough time carting that damn devil of horse yours all over God’s green Earth, and these last few months in England traipsing back and forth on the errands you required seeing to.”

The words, words no servant would dare voice aloud to an earl or master, Sebastian met with a hearty laugh. Ivy stared at Gabriel quizzically but did not feel any fear of him. His eyes were too kind. She decided she liked him at once.

“Mister Rose, if my husband places his trust in you, then I shall do the same.” Ivy extended her hand, and when Gabriel took it, she shook his firmly.

“I owe Lord Ravenswood my life. Now, it belongs to you as well.” Gabriel bowed, turning her hand to place a respectful kiss on the back of it. “It would honor me if you called me by my Christian name.”

“I should like that very much, Gabriel. I hope I may call you as close a friend as my husband does.”

“A better friend one could not hope to have.” Sebastian slipped his arm around Ivy, giving Gabriel a conspiratorial wink. “You’ll find it a more pleasant task to watch over her.”

Gabriel’s response was calm, his eyes sparkling with humor. “I expect it to be just as eventful.”