The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 4) Read Free Page B

watch Julian like a starving predator as we went about our days. Watch the narrow hips under his pants, the tight forearms when he rolled up his sleeves. The stubbled line of his jaw as he answered letters and bounced the baby on his knee while he read.
    That evening, I sat in the dining room at seven, fully expecting to be sent off on my own again and dreading it. The hours by myself had been amazing—relaxing and clarifying and peaceful—and each time I’d returned to my family, I’d been so incredibly grateful for Julian orchestrating all this. But now that I had regained my equilibrium, begun to remember who Ivy was beyond being George’s mother, I remembered who else Ivy was. She was Julian’s wildcat, and without him, nothing felt right.
    “Mrs. Markham,” Julian said to me as he walked in the dining room. “You may stand. That chair will not be necessary.”
    Confused, I stood.
    He turned to our new butler. “Please arrange for my dinner to be brought in, and my dinner alone. Mrs. Markham shall eat hers later. And after the meal is served, I’d like this room cleared, and there are to be no interruptions for the next hour.”
    If the butler found anything odd with these directions, he didn’t show it. Instead, he hurried to obey, the door swinging shut behind him.
    My chest tightened with excitement, my stomach doing flips as Julian went to the clock on the dining room mantel and checked his pocket watch against it.
    “Am I staying here tonight? With you?”
    “Oh, yes, wildcat, you are staying. Do you remember our signal?”
    Our signal. The word I would speak if the pain—physical or emotional—grew too much for me.
    “Bluebell,” I whispered.
    The pocket watch shut with a click and he turned. He was already hard, his dick a thick ridge straining against his pants, but the rest of him seemed completely composed, completely in control.
    “I hope you’ll keep that word close at hand, my wife.” His eyes glinted green in the candlelight. “Very close.”

 

    My meal was brought in, and after my plates were laid on the table, Wilson bowed and left the room exactly as I had asked. I locked the door behind him and turned to face my wildcat, whose cheeks were deliciously stained with color. Color that I’d put there with my days of teasing and torture.
    I walked over to her and lifted her chin with my finger, examining that blush like an artist would examine his painting, pleased with the effect the flush had against her skin, my cock swelling at this small thing.
    I wasn’t blind—I’d seen the need building in her the past few days, like a geyser threatening to erupt—and it was entirely on purpose. Her words the other day by the stream, go ahead , had unlocked something in me, some determination, some need to master her that had laid dormant since George’s birth.
    Go ahead.
    It was almost like a taunt, a dare, daring me to try to make her want me, and I had never been one to turn down a dare. And so that night when I’d stayed up late in the library, determined to find a way out of this, I’d listened to the darkest parts of myself, the parts that could sense what she needed from me, the parts that delighted in the idea of giving her those things.
    And bit by bit, I had resurrected my wildcat, summoning her back to life like a magician summons a shade. Night after night, she came back to me and George with more of that feral perfection in her face, and night after night, I witnessed her frustrated desire growing and growing until she was practically frantic with it.
    I had coaxed her back from whatever place she’d gone, and now it was time to remind her of why she would stay.
    I let go of her chin.
    “Mrs. Markham—” I loved calling her that, calling her by my name, and I especially loved it in moments like these, moments laced with discipline. “—there will be no need for your dress either. Please take it off.”
    Her breath caught, and she hurried to obey, fumbling with her