Chapter 390: Couldn’t Stop Kissing Her Frantically

Quentin Blackwood’s heart clenched. He held Ivy Sherwood’s hand, cherishing this rare moment.

Every second felt stolen, a moment he craved more than anything.

’Ivy...’

He called her name in his heart.

As if sensing something, Ivy Sherwood nuzzled her face against his chest. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. "Uncle..."

Quentin Blackwood reached out and gently brushed the corner of her eye with his thumb, wiping the tear away.

Then, he bent down and lifted Ivy Sherwood into his arms.

Quentin Blackwood left the private room. Julian Grant was still waiting outside. "Quentin, are you taking her home?"

Quentin Blackwood stopped. "If Ivy Sherwood asks, tell her Elijah Hawthorne was the one who took her home."

Julian Grant froze for a moment, not understanding why.

Quentin Blackwood carried Ivy Sherwood out of the club to his car, which was parked just outside. He settled her onto his lap inside the car, his eyes heavy with suppressed emotion.

"Drive."

He couldn’t bear to let go for even a second. Only when he held Ivy Sherwood in his arms did he feel a sense of contentment.

The drive was far too short. Before Quentin Blackwood felt he’d had enough time with her, they had already arrived.

He carried Ivy Sherwood upstairs, keyed in the passcode, and entered her home.

The home was as warm and cozy as ever, kept impeccably clean by Ivy Sherwood. Quentin Blackwood placed her on the bed, but as he moved to stand, he realized she was still clutching his shirt.

Ivy Sherwood was not sleeping peacefully. She seemed to be murmuring something.

Quentin Blackwood heard her clearly. "Why did you lie to me..." she murmured.

’I’m sorry, Ivy.’

Quentin Blackwood’s heart ached as he looked at the girl before him. She had started crying again at some point, tears tracing paths down from the corners of her eyes.

Quentin Blackwood knelt, once again wiping away the tears from the corners of her eyes.

It was as if she were made of water; the tears were endless.

He lowered his head and kissed her long eyelashes. Unable to stop himself, his lips trailed down, landing on Ivy Sherwood’s nose before descending further, brushing lightly against her lips.

That single touch made it impossible to hold back. His self-control shattered in an instant. Quentin Blackwood grabbed the back of Ivy Sherwood’s head, roughly biting at her lips and tasting her sweetness.

The strong taste of alcohol exploded on his tongue. Quentin Blackwood was like a long-dormant beast, and Ivy Sherwood could only be his passive prey.

Quentin Blackwood knew all too well how wonderful she tasted. All the longing he’d felt for her over the past few days erupted at once. The kiss deepened. He held her head, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her with a desperate frenzy, wanting nothing more than to cast everything aside and be with her.

But he carried too heavy a burden: Old Master Sheridan’s final wish. The old man had given his own life to save him.

If he refused, knowing Joy Sheridan, she might take her own life. And if the Sheridan Family was truly wiped out, he could never be with Ivy Sherwood with a clear conscience.

Though he seemed heartless, Quentin Blackwood was, in fact, a man who valued loyalty and relationships above all else.

He didn’t know how long it was before he finally let Ivy Sherwood go.

Ivy Sherwood’s eyes were narrowed to a slit. She seemed to be awake, yet not quite.

Her arms wrapped around his waist. Her voice was low and brimming with hurt. "Uncle... is that you?"

She seemed to be trying to force her eyes open, but she just couldn’t.

"Go back to sleep," Quentin Blackwood said, patting her back, his gaze still just as deep and dark.

Even though he had just kissed her, it wasn’t nearly enough for Quentin Blackwood. He wanted more. He wanted all of Ivy Sherwood.

’But...’

Ivy Sherwood lay on the bed, and Quentin Blackwood stayed silently beside her. He didn’t know when he would see her again, or if their next encounter would be as peaceful as this.

Quentin Blackwood simply watched Ivy Sherwood’s face—a face long since engraved upon his heart—from the dead of night until the sky began to pale with the first light of dawn.

...

When Ivy Sherwood woke up the next morning, she was greeted by a splitting headache.

She sat up, dazed. ’How did I get back to my own home?’

She remembered being invited to dinner by Elijah Hawthorne last night and then drinking a lot. Her last memory was of being at the club; she had no idea who brought her home.

’But why do I seem to remember seeing Quentin Blackwood?’

’It must have been a hallucination. I probably just miss him so much that I’m even dreaming about him.’

Ivy Sherwood gave a bitter smile. Quentin Blackwood was far away in Aethelgard; how could he possibly be in Lustre?

’Besides, he hates me so much, so why would he hold me? It must have been a drunken hallucination.’

Ivy Sherwood pressed a hand to her forehead. ’I’m supposed to hate Quentin Blackwood. I should be dreaming about killing him, not about him holding me.’

’I even dreamed that he kissed me. It was just like before—rough and not the least bit gentle.’

’His eyes held an emotion I couldn’t read. Now I know,’ Ivy Sherwood thought. ’That complexity in his eyes... it must have all been hatred for me.’

Ivy Sherwood got out of bed and went into the living room, where she found a bowl of hangover soup on the table.

She froze. ’Who made this soup?’

So someone really had brought her home. Her heart leaped, and she hurriedly pulled up the feed from the security camera by her door.

She’d installed it back then to keep an eye out for Gabriel Walker. Plus, the smart lock also had a camera function, so she was sure to see something!

Ivy Sherwood quickly pulled up the footage, only to find that the video from last night was gone.

Actually, she hadn’t checked the camera in a long time. It seemed to have broken at some point—the past half-month’s worth of video was missing.

Ivy Sherwood then checked the smart lock, only to find its recording function hadn’t been enabled. There were no records at all.

So she couldn’t see who had been there last night.

She had Elijah Hawthorne’s number, so she gave him a call.

He picked up almost immediately. "Miss Sherwood, calling so early. Did you not have your fill last night?"

"Mr. Hawthorne, I wanted to ask... I drank too much last night. How did I get home?"

She nearly held her breath as she asked.

There was a pause on Elijah Hawthorne’s end. "I brought you home, of course. You have no idea how much you had to drink. I never would have guessed Miss Sherwood could hold her liquor so well."

A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes. So it really was him.

’Of course,’ she thought. ’How could it have been Quentin Blackwood? He can’t even stand the sight of me.’

"Is something wrong, Miss Sherwood?"

"No, nothing. I just wanted to thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Hawthorne. And for the hangover soup."

"Well, it wasn’t easy getting you home. Just remember, you owe me one. I’ll expect you to return the favor."

"Alright," Ivy Sherwood agreed.

"Are you free today, Miss Sherwood? There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you."

"What is it?" Ivy Sherwood asked, confused.

Elijah Hawthorne said, "I’ll come pick you up downstairs in a little while. You’ll find out when you get here."

After hanging up, a smile played on Elijah Hawthorne’s lips. ’That Quentin Blackwood is really something else,’ he thought, ’handing me a favor on a silver platter.’

He had no idea what Quentin Blackwood was thinking. The man obviously couldn’t let go of Ivy Sherwood, even rushing all the way from Aethelgard, only to not even show his face.

’Still, this works out. It gives me an opening.’

He glanced down at his fingertips, recalling the feeling of touching Ivy Sherwood’s face last night. ’Looks like a lot of secrets are about to come to the surface!’

’That Quentin Blackwood, making work for me... Well, I can’t let him off the hook that easily either.’