Free THE DEFIANT LADY by Samantha Garman

“Go on.”
    “What, no condemnation or shock?”
    “Neither. You are a pugnacious hoyden.”
    “That sounds like an insult.”
    “On the contrary. I meant it as a compliment. Tell me the story.”
    Ivy rested her hand on the black rook and began, “I was finishing my last ballet class of the day, and Willow was waiting for me so we could walk home together. I changed, and met her outside, and as we began our trek home she started to cry. Some local boys had been taunting her, you see. They were calling her names like ‘bastard’ and ‘whore child’.” She smiled without humor. “Paris claims to be so modern, but apparently it is just a smooth veneer of propriety with a mass of proletarian behavior beneath the surface.
    “I left Willow at home, crying in our bedroom. I snuck out, and found the ringleader of the young boys who had been harassing her. They teased and insulted me, but I marched up to the leader and punched him square in the nose.”
    She made a fist as she remembered that day. Her heart had been pounding with fear and anger, but her steps had never faltered. She had been the avenging angel her sister needed. “My fist hurt for three days, but they never bothered Willow again.”
      “You are magnificent,” he breathed. He reached a hand out and laced his fingers through her curls. As he sought her mouth, she closed her eyes and sighed when his lips covered hers. His tongue swept inside, and she kissed him back, straining closer. Her heart beat rapidly, like a thousand winged creatures taking flight.
    He ended the kiss and she growled in frustration. She wanted his warmth, his desire. “Not yet,” she murmured audaciously, and then pressed her lips to his for another searing kiss.
    “God, you will be the death of me,” he gritted out when they finally pulled apart. “You make me want to sweep the chess set off the table, lay you down and slowly lift your skirts.” She shivered at the lust in his voice, and he went on, “I want to make you quiver with need and watch your eyes glaze with desire.”
    “You shock me, sir,” she said on a pant.
    “We will have honesty between us, Ivy. Never doubt how much I desire you.”
    “It overwhelms me,” she admitted. “But I am not afraid.”
    “It should,” he murmured. “Your innocent candor has the power to sweep away all my noble intentions. I should leave.”
    She stared at him and asked, “Must you go?”
    “It would be dangerous for me to stay. I do not know how much more I can take…” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and exited the room.
    Ivy closed her eyes, touched her lips with her fingertips and shivered. Passion this strong should have terrified her, but for some reason she felt incredibly safe in Cy’s arms. When he spoke of what was between them, any resistance she might have felt melted away. Was this how it was between her mother and father? Was this the reason her mother had thrown caution to the wind and accepted what small offerings she was given?
    Ivy pursed her lips. Though Cy had promised marriage, he had not promised love. Was she destined, like her mother, to be with a man who could only give her a small piece of himself?
    Would that be enough for her?

    ***

    His night was haunted with visions of Ivy. He dreamed of her silken, ivory skin, his body covering hers as she writhed beneath his as he made her soar. When he awoke, he was left shaken and short of breath. He was strung tighter than a bow.
    He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Ivy. He yearned to possess her as she possessed him; to know that sleep could not claim her because she was restless from wanting. Every time he kissed her, he lost more control, needing her touch, needing to feel her tentative, innocent hands journey over his smoldering body. When she had taken control and kissed him, he thought he would die of lust.
    Gritting his teeth in distress, he threw off the covers and put on a dressing robe. He made his way downstairs to the