Chapter 5
Theatre Royal Drury Lane
Ivy's mind was reeling. What had just happened? How did Adam Cleaver of all people manage to make her feel like...That?
Her cheeks were bright red, her bosom heaving as she panicked internally to herself. Whatever he had just done to her, no matter how he had just made her feel, she still very much loathed Adam Cleaver.
"See," Adam grinned, raising an eyebrow while tucking a tendril of hair that had fallen over Ivy's face back behind her ear before leaning into it. "I told you I would make you enjoy it."
She stared out in front of her, defeated and speechless, and somewhat embarrassed; even though no one but the two of them knew what had just occurred, she loathed knowing that he had had such a hold over her in that moment, and worst of all she had allowed him touch her, to put his mouth on her like that, her Mother and Father would die of shame if they knew! Ivy was brought swiftly back to reality as Adam stood up soon after, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt before holding out his hand to her. "Come, let us go and get a drink."
Back down at the Foyer their parents were waiting, faces alight with pride as their children descended the staircase arm in arm. Peter nodded his head in approval at his daughter, who appeared to have taken in their conversation earlier and seemed to be in a better mood than before; or at least was pretending to be, which was good enough for him.
Ivy fought with herself to hide her discomfort, smiling politely back between Lady Cleaver and her Mother, who seemed to talk about her as if she were not there; nattering away about what shade of white she should wear on their wedding day, or perhaps ivory to more compliment her complexion! She wanted to disappear, to hide away back in her room with Heidi, and pretend that her entire life wasn't being planned out for her; to marry a man she couldn't stand, and there was not a thing she could do.
Ivy was also very much aware that her Father had his eye on her and was expecting her to be on her best behaviour; pleasing and gentile, a proper lady for this proper gentleman. Heaven help her if she threw one of her tantrums now!
"Much better," Lord Pryor said, lowering his head to her ear; his voice so low only she could hear it. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, and gently pushed her back toward the man he had promised her to before walking away. Adam seemed glad to have her back by his side, placing a possessive hand on the small of her back as he drew her a little closer to him.
"Where did Bellamy get to?" Adam muttered, scanning the room, his arm still settled on Ivy's back, "I want to show off my Fiancé." She cringed, leaning her body away from him a little which he quickly noticed, coaxing her back with a firm hand which now gripped her waist.
"I am not your Fiancé," she spat back as her eyes met her Father's from across the foyer, pleading with him, but she was instantly dismissed with a steely glare and a turned cheek. Adam looked down at her after stopping a server to relieve her gold tray of two flutes filled with bubbling champagne, handing one to Ivy.
"Yes you are, and soon you will be my wife. If I have my way it will be before the season is over." Her whole body tensed up as he leaned down, she felt his breath tickling her neck which sent an unwelcome shudder down her spine, and even further down between her legs. "And darling, I always get my way."
"Before the season is over?" She repeated, not trying all too hard to conceal the terror in her voice, "But the season ends next month!"
"Indeed," he replied, rather non chalantly, still searching the packed foyer for his friend.
"I am an impatient man, Miss Pryor, and I insisted as part of my deal with your Father that we are to be married as soon as possible." She looked out towards her Father once again who was laughing along with Lord and Lady Cleaver, sipping on champagne, acting as if he was genuinely enjoying himself, at the Ballet of all places. How could he betray her this way? Her own Father!
Adam finally stopped searching for Edward and held out his arm to Ivy instead as the lights of the foyer then dimmed, indicating that the interval was almost over and people were to return to their seats for the final part of the ballet. "No matter, I'll find him later. Come on, I for one cannot wait for the second half, I think have a new found enjoyment for the Ballet."
He winked at her and clicked his fingers at a passing server as they ascended the stairs, who was coming down to refill his empty tray. "Boy! Fetch a bottle of brandy and bring it up to the box, we're in need of something a little stronger!" The boy nodded as he rushed down the stairs to follow his orders.
Back in the darkness of their very private section of the Cleaver's family box, Adam led Ivy by the hand to sit back down on the couch, patting the boy sharply on the back who had returned in a lightening flash with a large decanter of brandy with the King's royal crest engraved into it, and two short glasses. Ivy watched as he poured out two stiff drinks at the small table beside the couch, swallowing his in one gulp and refilling his glass before walking around to hand her one, sitting down next to her.
The low chatter of the theatre soon turned into silence as the lights went out; the bright white spotlight shining back on the stage, and the orchestra started up again.
"When will you stop lying to yourself?" Adam muttered quietly, putting his glass down before shuffling over a little so their thighs were pressed up against one another's. He took a thick curl that hung against her breast, playing with it between his fingers as his other hand caressed her waist, reaching over a little to whisper into her ear. "You were purring like a kitten when I had my mouth on you earlier. You were so, so, wet for me." He lowered his head to the back of her neck, planting soft kisses down the nape; trailing his lips along the back of her shoulder; feeling her body suddenly tense in his arms.
"Stop it," she breathed nervously as Adam pushed the glass she was still clutching up to her lips with his free hand. She cleared her throat and shook her head, tilting it away from the glass. "No, thank you," she said. He pushed it back towards her face, more insistently this time.
"Drink it," he demanded, "it will relax you." She stared at him for a moment, his eyes black in the darkness, except for a lustful glint that flickered back disarmingly at her. She raised the glass and placed it to her lips timidly, her nose crinkling at the acrid aroma coming from it. Grimacing as the strong, sweet liquid seeped down her throat, Adam tipped the glass up from the bottom so she would finish every drop; her skin becoming flushed as the brandy made its way through her bloodstream. "There's a good girl." He took the empty glass from her hands and set it down on the floor by their feet, turning her by the shoulders to face him. She felt warm inside, her mind becoming a little foggy.
"You are going to make a very nice little wife," he said, taking in her features as a faint glow of light flooded the theatre from the stage so he could see her better for a moment; her eyes like burning liquid gold under full black lashes, her deep pink lips with the most delectable Cupid's bow; the deep brown of her long, thick hair that had just a tint of bronze, and the same faint fragrance of peaches as if it emanated from her very pores. He swept his thumb across her bottom lip, dragging it down a little. "Our children shall be the finest looking in all of England for sure."
