Sebastian anticipated a curiosity regarding his escort of the countess. It was expected the first time he appeared in public with her officially upon his arm. People would whisper and point, speculating on their relationship and what it possibly meant when the Earl of Ravenswood spent every possible moment at Lady Ivy Kinley’s side.

Reality was Society’s fanatical need to witness it firsthand. The enveloping chaos as they descended from the coach was overwhelming. Snippets of conversation strung out in their wake in the struggle to gain the entrance of the opera house. One statement in particular, stood out from the rest.

“One must wonder, who will ruin whom?”

Ivy surely heard the taunts. Her tranquility amazed Sebastian. Perhaps it was why she surrounded herself with the Pack. They provided a dubious insulation from the daunting cruelty of the ton’s larger predators.

“Introduce us, Ravenswood!”

To his great annoyance, while Ivy grinned, he found himself doing just that. A ridiculous undertaking, as most were already familiar with the countess. Sebastian ground his teeth at their little games. Many of his old friends were a dissolute bunch, with more than a fair portion of debauched exploits, some he initiated. Watching as she interacted with them left him a tangled mess, burning with an impotent desire to prove his possession of her.

It was difficult to say from where this violent strain of jealousy erupted. It inched along Sebastian’s veins with insinuating stealth until he nearly strummed with it. He waited with clenched fists to witness the alleged exercise of Ivy’s feminine wiles, but those artifices were missing here too, as they had been for the past two weeks.

It defied explanation, but a surprising edginess existed within the countess. He discovered the more enthusiastic a man’s pursuit, the more remote Ivy’s demeanor became, a faint air of unattainability swirling about her like an exotic perfume. That aloofness carried an enticing magnetism, her cool half smiles drawing male attention with a perplexing lack of effort. Every time she spun away in another’s arms, men twisted in her wake, mute with longing. Did she know her casual indifference could drive a man mad with the need to tame her? Or did she not care?

Ivy laughed at a witty observation by Lord Whitmore while Sebastian felt every nerve and tendon within him tighten at the bright, rich sound of it. A crushing desire to have her smile at him, with him, because of him, for him, swamped him.

And there lay Ivy’s true power.

Entering the Ravenswood private balcony, he saw Alan and Sara from across the loud, glittering space. From Bentley’s private box, Sara’s concern conveyed itself across the expansive theater. She was too far away to rescue Ivy. Not that Sebastian would allow it. He had no patience for such nonsense tonight.

Removing their cloaks, he helped Ivy into a brocade and gilt chair, noting with distinct male pleasure how her skin glowed in the softened gaslight. How would the flesh concealed beneath the modest bodice of her gown taste? Would it possess a different flavor than the delicate line of her neck?

Ivy’s smile turned self-conscious. “Is something amiss, Ravenswood?”

“No.” Masking his hunger, he settled into his seat. “And you are to call me ‘Sebastian,' remember?”

Below the balcony’s ornately carved plaster wall, he used the tip of his finger to stroke the underside of her arm, tracing an indiscernible pattern on the patch of skin exposed below the gown’s capped sleeve. His gaze drifted to her lips.

It was foolish, succumbing to the need to taste her mouth inside the coach. Not once, but twice. He wanted to taste her again. It was damned difficult to steel his reactions. Once alone, he was afraid of his actions in the face of such temptation. Now that she had granted permission, all he could hear was her soft voice urging him on.

Moving so quickly was unwise. Before taking his full revenge, Sebastian wanted Ivy completely infatuated. Having sex was not enough. It would make him no different from her other lovers. No. She must be hopelessly, madly, in love with him and this meant wooing her.

His eyes shadowed, he said, “I was wondering…”

“Wondering…?” Ivy prodded.

“If your skin should taste of warm cream or fresh honey.” His words, edgy with erotic tension, wrapped about her. Ivy sucked in a breath. “Both, I imagine. I look forward to discovering the answer and you will too. Shall I tell you my findings later?”

The lights went down for the first act. Her breath came in quick, shallow pants and biting back a small laugh, Sebastian decided it was unfair to use his expertise against her. Resting his arm on the top line of her chair, his fingers stroked the delicate curvature of her throat and collarbone. Disobedient curls at the nape of her neck twirled around his fingers with sly eagerness, as if impatient to be trapped within his hands. From that point on, he merely toyed with those curls.

Ivy seemed determined to follow the plot of the opera, but Sebastian’s attention and that of the boisterous crowd made it difficult. Avid spectators seemed far more interested in the scene presented in the Ravenswood box. Several attendees peered through their opera glasses in the countess’s direction only to hastily look elsewhere when the earl’s stony visage manifested in their viewfinders instead.

By intermission, he had his fill of being gawked at by friends and strangers alike. Until Ivy shared her speculations as to what might happen during the next acts, he considered throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of there like a bloody caveman. Now, he dreaded spoiling her enjoyment of the play, and that irritated him too.

Resigned to another couple of hours in hell, Sebastian left her beside one of many pillared columns adorning the grand lobby. Formal waiters could not keep pace with the demands of the large crowd, and at Ivy’s smiling request, he was off in search of refreshments. How quickly he fell into a servient pattern; one set by the Pack and sweetly governed by her whims.

Returning with two goblets of champagne, he paused to exchange brief pleasantries with an old friend of his father’s.

“You do understand the lady cannot help it. We all had a part in making her the epicenter of attention.”

The familiar drawl snapped Sebastian’s head about.

Nicholas August Harris March, the Earl of Landon and imminent heir to the Duke of Richeforte, stood as part of a group of two other men and three women. With his darkly gold, tousled hair and glittering green gaze, he commanded attention. Two of the women applied themselves enthusiastically to the task. A flame-haired beauty dangled on one arm, a hopeful expression carved upon her face, while the other, a pretty brunette sipped champagne. Tristan Buchanan, Viscount of Longleigh, watched in bored amusement, his arm wrapped about the waist of an ebony-haired infamous actress.

“She’s quite the challenge, if you don't mind that sharp tongue of hers,” Lord Marcus Connell remarked.

Nicholas’s eyes twinkled. “I happen to have quite a fondness for the female tongue. Sharp and otherwise.”

“Really, Landon,” the redhead pouted, ice blue eyes flashing. “If I did not know you better, I’d believe you are considering joining the Pack.”

“Darling, you actually do not know me at all. I have reasons for keeping my distance from the lady, stunning though she is.” Nicholas squeezed the pretty baroness while slanting a glance toward Sebastian. “You see, I should hate to lose your scintillating company. Not to mention the field around the countess is always a bit congested.” A contemptuous smile lifted his beautiful mouth. “And recent participants do not play well with others when a lady’s treacherous heart is concerned.”

The two men locked gazes, Sebastian’s stonily accusing, while the man he once called ‘brother,’ boosted a brandy snifter in a restrained salute.

Sebastian struggled to keep his attention on the prattling conversation of his father’s friend, but old resentment rose to choke him. Excusing himself with a feeble excuse, he spun fully toward Nicholas.

Nick’s eyebrow rose. Emerald eyes luminous with an almost cruel light, his voice vibrated with delight in recognition of his new audience.

“Of course, the worst of it is, the moment one turns his back, a fresh victim slips into the vacant spot,” Nicholas chuckled softly. “How troublesome it must be to those so very dedicated in their pursuit! Everyone knows I’m not one to suffer fits of jealousy and I most certainly do not follow the Pack. After all, what a lady does, and with whom, when she’s not entertaining me is none of my concern. As long as I find my pleasure, what do I care?”

The others laughed, excluding the baroness. Unamused, her fingernails dug into the muscles of the earl’s forearm, and with the elusive grace of a seasoned bullfighter, Nicholas extricated himself until he stood a few paces away. To regain her grip, the baroness needed to reach out, making it obvious the distance was intentionally placed. A clever trick, designed to embarrass a lady with her own boldness.

Nicholas’ glance found Sebastian’s. For the space of a heartbeat, the two men shared a memory. As young men, with Alan’s enthusiastic input, they perfected this move to avoid the clutches of overly eager females.

The flash of former friendship was brief.

Sebastian looked away in a haze of anger, Nick’s words slowly registering. “...the moment one turns his back, a fresh victim slips into the vacant spot.”'

His eyes searched for the spot where he left Ivy. She was not there.

“So damn vague of you, Landon,” Viscount Longleigh chuckled. “I thought you avoided the debutante set like the damned plague they are. Will you share details?”

“Come now, Longleigh. There are ladies present.” Nicholas tipped the chin of the quiet brunette, earning her sultry smile. The flame-haired baroness silently fumed as attention was lavished on someone else. “In a private setting, I might divulge such information. As it is, we are all aware an affair is one thing, claiming a woman as your own is quite another. Rest assured, if I were ever inclined to stake a public assertion of sole possession, on the countess or any woman, she would not find herself left alone to fend off those who are, shall we say, a bit overzealous. Careless and loose my affections might be, a man would certainly face my wrath if caught trespassing upon my claim.”

Sebastian stalked away, gritting his teeth as a roar of laughter accompanied Nick’s next words, “But then again, our lovely countess probably objects to being staked and claimed. One must be extraordinarily careful, considering her reputation.”

Beyond the last of the pillars, he found her. Relief flooded him, fighting for space with a tide of jealousy.

Ivy’s back pressed against one of the last marble columns in the hall. Bleeding into the dark edges beyond the gas-lit brightness of the lobby, it was a perfect spot for lovers to steal a hasty kiss or two. Viscount Basford held her arm, the angle making it difficult to determine her reaction. Neither heard Sebastian’s approach.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Brandon’s tone was peevish.

“Oh yes! The performance is quite incredible, don’t you think?”

Brandon seemed poised to give her a rough shake. “You know that’s not what I mean, Ivy. Him. Are you enjoying yourself with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ivy’s head tilted. “Ravenswood and I have many things in common. I enjoy his company very much.”

“You have but one thing in common…” The viscount bit out.

Sebastian scowled. The damned fool had one thousand pounds riding at Brookes he would be the one to tame Ivy Kinley. Basford’s hold was tenuous at best; the countess was slipping through his grasp as quickly as his recklessly wagered money.

“Be very careful, Ivy.” Brandon’s head dipped toward hers. “You have no idea what Ravenswood is about, although I confess a particular admiration for his methods. He ought to be ripping you to pieces for that business with his cousin. It’s quite brilliant how he’s managed to disguise his intentions thus far. Devious, actually. I’ve no wish to see you hurt.”

“Basford,” Ivy warned in a sharp voice, “you’ve no right to speak of Lord-”

“I’d much rather rip you to pieces,” Sebastian interrupted.

The viscount dropped Ivy’s arm as if forged of hot iron. Smoothing his cravat, he quickly recovering his bearings. “I only repeat the same observation others have made, Ravenswood.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug, his gaze narrowing as Sebastian approached. “Am I in danger simply for extending greetings to Lady Kinley?”

“Not in present company.” Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with the yearning to exterminate Basford, on the spot. How inconvenient for the man to caution Ivy of his intentions. Were he not holding two goblets of champagne, he might actually punch the other man in the mouth.

But this called for a different tact, one excluding a brawl at the elegant opera house. With slow deliberateness, Sebastian remarked, “I imagine my behavior at the Sheffield Ball seemed odd, but I was in a peculiar mood that evening. In atonement for my dreadful conduct, I’ve placed myself in Ivy’s service and shall accompany her to any social event she desires.”

A smile of unapologetic blandness met Brandon’s glare. Knowing the use of Ivy’s given name would needle the viscount to the point of distraction, Sebastian’s lashes dropped as he finished smoothly, “Of course, I should hate to be a nuisance, hounding her, if my devotion was not…wanted.” The pointed pause left no doubt as to his opinion of the Pack.

“You would be bored to tears if you attended all social functions with me, Ravenswood.” Ivy stepped between the two men circling one another with the bristling dislike of rival roosters. “Thank you for the champagne.”

Handing over one goblet, Sebastian’s gaze flickered around the lobby. Their darkened corner of the lobby was drawing quite the crowd. Nicholas stood at its back edge, grinning.

“You have no idea the number of gentlemen who favor our sweet countess,” Brandon said tightly. “Lady Kinley is very dear to all of us. I’m afraid there may be no room for others in our midst.”

“And I’m afraid I don’t care, Basford.” Sebastian’s lips stretched with a lethal smile. “In fact, I’m certain of it.”

Brandon’s expression grew fierce with increased abhorrence, Sebastian’s with aloof detachment. The cold silence turned uncomfortable, especially when Sebastian began examining his meticulously groomed fingernails. A flare of bright red infused the viscount’s features at the blatant dismissal.

A flickering of lights accompanied the faint sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments. Ivy exhaled in relief at the signal for patrons to resume their seats, thinking the veiled trading of insults could cease. “Please excuse us, Lord Basford. I should terribly hate to miss a moment of tonight’s performance.”

Nearly stomping his foot in frustration, the viscount had no choice but to kiss Ivy’s offered hand and bow to his newly confirmed rival.

Unable to let the matter go without a warning, Sebastian propelled the countess forward with a firm hand to her lower back so she could not overhear. His advice was an icy growl. “I’m a selfish man, Basford. It would be wise to keep your distance.”

Sebastian did not caress Ivy upon returning to their balcony seats. They watched the remaining acts of the opera in silence, and other than assisting her in donning her cloak and lightly holding her elbow as she stepped up into the coach, he did not touch her. A tightly coiled air wound between them during the return to Kinley House until Ivy turned to him, her confusion apparent.

“I’ve angered you in some way.”

“It is of no matter.” His hands fisted at his sides. Why had she stood on the darkened edge of the lobby with Basford? Why did she allow the viscount to hold her elbow? If she only knew how close he was to snatching her up and kissing the memory of every man from her wicked soul, she’d be too frightened to speak.

Ivy’s lips tightened. Cold stillness stretched out like an endless deserted beach until the coach clattered to a stop.

Only when he was seconds from losing her, did Sebastian relent. He did not trust himself. The night was too dark, her eyes too mysterious as she gazed at him. He was too full of desire. Too full of unexpected jealousy with the realization he was only one of many in her damnable Pack. And he wanted to be the only one.

“Ivy…I’m not angry with you.”

He wanted to kiss her. To touch her. To work these odd tangles out in the most dissipated way possible. The distance between them in the warm, shadowy confines of the coach ought to be enough to protect her. But it wasn't.

Which infuriated him. Shielding her from danger should not be his priority.

I am the danger.

“I know the viscount is vexing. He concerns himself unnecessarily for my welfare. Discounting him, I had a lovely time. Thank you, for…everything.” When her cheeks flushed Sebastian knew she did not refer to the entertainment provided by the opera.

“I enjoyed myself as well.” This was the problem. He was out of sorts, and he did enjoy himself. Too much. Until Nicholas March reminded him of a woman’s treachery and Basford reminded him of all the others pursuing Ivy’s affections.

Sebastian never doubted his self-restraint before. His ability to remain immune to any woman’s charms always served him well. It fell to pieces with Ivy. Not only did he conduct himself with an embarrassing lack of control, he topped it by threatening a rival in an unprecedented display of jealousy. No, things were not going to plan and damned if he wasn’t to blame for half of it.

When the footman tapped on the coach door, Sebastian swung it open, jumping out and brushing the servant away. He assisted Ivy down, her small hand enveloped in his causing a shimmer of protectiveness to coil inside him. These bedeviling emotions were unfamiliar; worse than a punch to the stomach.

Trailing her up the brick steps of the house, he watched the condescending butler swing open the door, and before he contemplated the madness of his actions, Sebastian followed Ivy inside.

Brody eyed him with ill-concealed suspicion, but Ivy gave him a smile of pleased acceptance. Then her eyes widened as Sebastian unfastened the frogs of her cloak. Sliding the garment from her shoulders, he handed it to her butler without a second glance at the man.

“Would you care for a brandy?” She politely offered once she found her voice. If possible, Brody stiffened even more. Still holding the cloak, he glared at Sebastian as if he were a snake slithering into sight and which now needed disposing of. Quickly. Without mercy.

“Not a good idea,” Sebastian muttered, although he’d sacrifice his black soul for a bottle of the stuff. Or better yet, aged bourbon, if it might dull this strange edge. Yes, a whole case of the stuff, just to be sure. God, his fingers twitched with the need to touch her.

Ivy turned to the butler. “That will be all, Brody. Thank you.”

“I’ll see His Lordship to the door.” Brody’s alarm was apparent even in the dimmed light of the foyer.

Sebastian flicked him a warning glance. Damned if he’d be bullied by a servant. “I’ll see myself to the door.”

“Um, yes,” Ivy nearly stuttered. “The earl is perfectly capable of seeing himself out.”

“But milady! It is not proper!” Brody’s face paled to a distinct shade of green as thoughts unexpectedly escaped into words.

Sebastian’s mouth tightened into a constricted line of imperialistic disapproval. His glare at the insolent servant should have incinerated the man on the spot.

“It’s quite alright.” Ivy’s laugh was smothered behind a gloved hand. “Brody, I’m fine. You may go.”

Shoulders drooping with defeat, the man gave the two of them one last concerned glance, executed a crisp bow and quit the room.

“You should dismiss him,” Sebastian said.

“I would not ever do such a thing. Brody has been with us since before I was born, having been my mother’s butler at Somerset Hall before she married my father. He’s a fine man, a loyal servant. I’m very fond of him.”

“He doesn’t care much for me.” Why it mattered that the butler like him or not, Sebastian could not say.

“Oh, that’s nonsense. But he is always rather gruff with gentlemen, and I suppose I've grown accustomed to it.”

“Very well. Keep your beloved butler.”

Sebastian removed his hat and gloves, tossing them onto a nearby table. He paced the perimeter of the foyer, boots clicking with measured treads on the marble floor. Coming to a halt, he leaned against one of the carved marble pillars defining the space.

Ivy pulled off her gloves as well, setting them carefully on the same table, along with her pier glasses.

“Are you sure you won’t take a brandy?”

Something indefinable flickered in his eyes as he studied her profile. “I must be going.”

“Yes, of course.”

There was a slight tremble of her hands. When she bit her lower lip, he grinned. “Come here, Ivy.”

“What if I don’t wish to?” Her voice was hesitant resistance. Sebastian’s smile was complete wickedness.

“You have no choice.”

“Don’t I?” Ivy traced the edge of the marble table with an index finger. “Everyone should have choices. Mine is to remain safely out of reach.”

He chuckled at her naivety. “Oh, little butterfly... a minor point to be considered before inviting me to stay.” Her eyes met his, bright with sudden alarm and Sebastian blew out a sigh of exaggerated patience. “Very well, I shall come to you.”

Ivy attempted to keep a healthy distance but her retreat did not deter him. If anything, it increased his lethal determination, his eyes glowing with the excitement of the chase.

He finally cornered her against the far wall of the foyer, where the shadows were the deepest and most secret, where the low gaslight of the chandelier did not quite reach. Bracing his hands flat on the wall on either side of Ivy’s head, Sebastian leaned in and then did not move at all. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent, that intriguing blend of oranges and lilies. That damned perfume had tied him in knots for the better part of two weeks. He wanted to devour her - just for that scent alone.

And although there was no logic to it, he was going to give her a chance to save herself.

His hands lightly curled into twin fists, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Sucking in a deep breath, he released it and his words were a hoarse whisper.

“Call for your butler. Your maid. Better still…call for your father.”

“What?”

He confused her. Understandable. How did one respond to being hunted in her own foyer then instructed to call for help?

“I dismissed Brody,” she stuttered, “My maid has been abed for hours. As for my father, he’s presently not even in London…I don’t understand…”

Sebastian’s eyes snapped open, hot pinpoints of desire flaring in their depths. The opportune moment to take yet another piece of her presented itself. And he possessed precious little self-control with her anyway. “It can’t be said I denied you a chance to escape, Countess.”

His mouth swooped down to claim hers, a torrent of heat and sexual frustration. The interlude in the carriage was tame compared to this assault. A greedy flame ignited within him. Ivy tasted so goddamn sweet, kissing her should be crime. Thrusting his tongue deep, he gathered as much of her into his mouth as possible. There was a flash of a struggle before Ivy sighed. Her arms curled about his neck.

Although Sebastian trembled with the effort not to do so, he did not crush her to him. It was a simple defense mechanism. Without it, and he would likely take Ivy Kinley right there in the shadowy corner of her elegant foyer.

It was far too soon for that. She did not love him. Yet. It was not possible to crush her heart. Yet. But soon, judging by her enthusiastic responses, soon he’d have everything from her.

As her arms squeezed about him, he maintained the distance between them, her breasts barely brushing his chest as he ravaged her mouth. Holding her was embracing liquid fire. She filled his hands to overflowing, her curves somehow bending around him. Dear God, it was a bloody fight within his soul not to throw her against the wall and sink into her heat. As the kiss went on, his legendary resolve inevitably slipped. Would she stop him from whatever he wished to do?

One touch of her. One touch and no more. Slowly, Sebastian gathered handfuls of her skirts, his free hand wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her in place. Pulling the frothy petticoats to one side, up past her knees, the bunched mass hung over his forearm. His hand swept beneath the drifts of fabric.

Ivy accepted his palm splayed across the upper part of her thigh. Having breached this forbidden land so easily, he dared to steal more. His fingers trailed higher, over the garter holding her stockings. Discovering the smoothness of bare skin above a circlet of soft lace was magical. His core jerked with lust when Ivy quivered. Her mouth melted into his. Sebastian pressed closer to the bewitchment of her body. Defenses be damned. He needed more of her.

Heat spiraled about them both.

His hips fit the space between her thighs perfectly, as though he were always meant to be there. The skin beneath his fingertips felt as fine as newly woven silk. He imagined the color to be of honey-tinged cream, the hidden curls at the apex of her thighs surely a soft, gilded chestnut. Sebastian’s groan rumbled deep in his chest. He knew how she would taste on his tongue, buttery and sweet, like honeyed milk.

He scattered new kisses in different places. Delicate kisses to the faint freckles skating across her nose, shutting his eyes to the dazed light in hers. His lips grazed her chin, trailed down her throat before leisurely traveling up to nip her ear. He smiled with understanding as her breath came in desperate little gasps. Her breasts swelled against the limitations of her gown, and he considered dragging the bodice down to fully savor her. When her fingers slipped through the thick black waves of his hair, pressing his head harder against her, he decided he would do that too. In a moment.

“Stay still,” he ordered when she swayed and dizzily clutched at his shoulders. And when his fingers swept into the heat between her thighs, Sebastian found he was the one suddenly motionless.

The feel of her on his fingertips drove him insane. She was soft and wet, those low, panting sighs of hers arousing him to a fever pitch. He wanted to push himself into her, as deep as possible…to bury himself in velvety warmth, cradled within her and with her heartbeat all around him. Somehow, he managed to remain still, waiting for her decision. Either come to him or stop him. She must be on the verge of stopping him. She had to be. She could not allow this to continue…

Ivy shifted. Her legs parted, allowing him greater access. Like a butterfly opening her wings. Inviting him to explore. To plunder and claim.

Revenge, the need to see her destroyed. Timothy's death. None of it mattered. The only thing he cared about, here, now, was how to possess her.