Sara Bennett (14 page)

Both sisters were eyeing Oliver expectantly, as if he should instantly agree to offer classes in horse riding. No wonder they had so many people helping them—no one dared tell them no!

“I am amazed,” Oliver said, and was.

Vivianna watched him suspiciously. “Of course, the main thing we supply to the children, apart from education and good food and a safe place to live, is affection. Some of them have never been loved in all their lives, my lord. Can you imagine how that must feel? To be lacking in something so simple and yet so important as love?”

“Well…” He could not remember his father paying him any particular attention. He had been pushed off onto nannies and tutors until he went to school. Had he suffered particularly? He didn’t think so—he hadn’t expected any differently—or perhaps he had been a resilient child. But he had a feeling if he explained all that to Vivianna she would see it differently.

“We only have a small number of children at the moment, but we hope that as time goes on we will gather in more. Of course, we will need many generous donations from people who feel as we do. For now a roof over their heads is the most important thing.”

Oliver supposed that he was meant to say that, naturally, they could keep Candlewood, and with his
goodwill. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Candlewood needed to come down—Lord Lawson had to believe it was so. The demolition of Candlewood was pivotal to his plan to trap Anthony’s killer. He had offered to rehouse the orphans in Bethnal Green. Why couldn’t they accept that his position was nonnegotiable?

As he stepped through the doorway, his gaze fell upon the place where his brother’s body had lain, lifeless, at the bottom of the stairs. And for a moment Oliver could not breathe.

It hadn’t bothered him so much when he visited the other times. He hadn’t allowed it to. He had steeled himself and gotten through it. But today, perhaps because of Vivianna, he felt vulnerable and unprepared, and it struck him with the force of a sledgehammer.

When he had first seen Anthony lying there, he had believed that, in his despair, Anthony had shot himself with his own gun. It was only later, as shock and grief began to wane, that the doubts crept in. He began to remember the hints that Anthony had let drop about Lord Lawson, his great friend Lawson, and piece them together.

It went something like this: Anthony had accidentally come into the possession of letters that, if made public, would cause a scandal that would destroy Lawson’s grand political career. Anthony had been torn as to what to do with these letters, and it had been this dilemma that he had come to discuss with Oliver the night he found Celia there. The night Anthony had died.

At first Oliver did not think it could be murder. His mind was too full of the scene with Celia and Anthony, and all the things he should have said and done. He had sunk into a gloom so deep he had wondered if he would ever escape it. And then, a couple of months
after Anthony’s death, Lawson had come to see him. They had sat in the library with a bottle of brandy, long into the night.

Of course, Lawson was full of condolences and spoke of his own sorrow, and they repeated stories about Anthony, and shed a tear or two for Anthony, and then…Then Lawson had began to talk about some personal papers Anthony had been keeping for him.

“Nothing very important, just some old letters,” he’d said indifferently, his ice-blue gaze on Oliver. “Have you seen them?”

Oliver had felt the gloom in his heart shiver like lifting fog.

“Have another brandy, Oliver. That’s it. Did Anthony ever mention the letters to you, by the way?”

Lawson was smiling, but there was something in his face that struck Oliver like a steel blade on bone. After a moment Oliver had forced himself to look away, to pretend he was drunker than he really was, and when he had lain his head in his arms and pretended to pass out, he had heard Lawson searching methodically through the drawers of the desk. Searching for the old letters that meant nothing to him….

When Lawson had gone, Oliver had sat and stared into the fire and felt his brain working properly for the first time since Anthony had died. He remembered Anthony’s hints and comments about Lawson, the worry line between his brows those last weeks before he died. Everything clicked together and the picture that formed was sickeningly clear. And the odd thing was that if Lawson had said nothing, Oliver probably would never have put it all together.

A few nights later, when Lawson asked him about the “old letters” again, he pretended not to know what Lawson was talking about. Of course, Oliver
had realized by then that he, too, was in danger. If Lawson believed for a moment that Oliver was a threat to him, then he would kill him. Oliver had decided he must play a part—he would be a drunken and worthless gentleman who was swiftly running through his fortune. A fool who was of no harm to anyone but himself. And thus Oliver could keep an eye upon Lawson, without Lawson being aware of it.

During the weeks that followed, Oliver searched in every place he could think of for Lawson’s papers. He looked everywhere, but found nothing. Because, of course, if Anthony had been in the possession of letters important to Lord Lawson, then he would have brought them with him to Oliver’s house the night he found him with Celia. After that dreadful scene, he would have forgotten all about the letters, and when he had set out alone on his long walk to Candlewood, he would have taken them with him, tucked securely into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Candlewood was where those letters would be now. In the hidden chamber his grandfather had always hinted at and whose secret he had passed on to Anthony, the grandson who shared his obsession.

But by the time Oliver had worked all of this out in his head, Candlewood was already occupied by the Shelter for Poor Orphans. Oliver had tried searching the house a number of times, the last one with the help of a carpenter, but to no avail. The only way he could find the secret chamber was to dismantle Candlewood stone by stone.

And he’d do it, too.

That is, if Vivianna, blast her, would let him get on with it!

“Lord Montegomery?”

They were waiting for him, the two fair-haired sis
ters with their earnest smiles, and Vivianna, beautiful and good and not to be trusted.

Oliver said, “Lead the way,” as if he had not been standing there in the doorway staring at nothing, and followed them into his grandfather’s house.

Vivianna was of the opinion that the visit went downhill after that.

The Beatty sisters had laid out tea in the same small, shabby parlor as on her previous visit. Oliver did not seem to notice, nor care. Vivianna had seen the way he stared at the place where his brother had died—she was certain that was what he had been looking at. For a long moment it was as if he had gone away, and then, when he came back and rejoined them, he was…locked up. His feelings were hidden, deep inside him.

The Beatty sisters spoke to him at length about their hopes and ambitions for the shelter. No one could doubt their dedication and sincerity. Oliver listened to them without interrupting, and he seemed to understand and to care. Vivianna was certain he cared—she had seen the expression on his face when Miss Susan spoke to him about Ellen and Eddie. Oh, he cared, all right…just not enough.

When the two sisters were done, he sat back and fixed them with his dark blue eyes. His tone was measured and reasonable.

“I understand, ladies, that you are seeking to make better lives for these children. I have never said I disagreed with your work, nor failed to comprehend the importance of it. All I have ever said is that you cannot continue to carry it on here, at Candlewood. I have offered you premises elsewhere. I offer them again now.”

Miss Susan shook her head, tears starting to her
eyes. “You don’t see at all!” she burst out. “This is their home. We have a garden, we have woods to walk in. Fresh air! Where can we find air to breathe in London?”

“I breathe in London.” Oliver’s face was implacable, his mouth had turned mulish, and Vivianna knew with despair that he had not changed his mind. And he would not. They were wasting their time.

She rose to her feet. “I think we should leave,” she said, trying to stem her anger. “Perhaps Lord Montegomery would benefit from time to think—”

“I do not need time to think,” he retorted, also standing. “You have a little over seven weeks to evacuate these premises and find another. My offer still stands.”

No one said a word.

Outside, Vivianna climbed numbly into the coach where not so long ago she had felt wildly alive. The children were now busy at their lessons, but there were plenty of faces at the windows, and plenty of hands waving. Oliver waved back, but he had lost his spontaneity. It was his attitude toward the children that Vivianna had found most surprising. Instead of merely tolerating them, or ignoring them, or treating them with disdain as for some reason she had expected him to do, he had smiled at them and made them laugh, and treated them as if they were interesting and pleasant company.

She had not expected to see that side of him, and now her heart was aching. Just a little. But then again, she reminded herself angrily, some men had the knack of making others feel special. That did not make them paragons of virtue. In his younger days, Toby Russell had been known for his charm, and look at him now. No, she could not trust Oliver Montegomery further than she could throw him.

She dared not.

The coach lurched forward, and soon Candlewood was behind them.

“I am very disappointed,” she said quietly. “Despite your assertions, I had thought you might finally see the error of your ways.”

Oliver gave an exasperated bark of laughter. “Vivianna, I would like to please you, but in this matter I must say no.”

“But—”

“I must have Candlewood back. I must demolish it. There is no other option.”

He looked grim. The lazy indolence was gone from his blue eyes. She knew then that there was something more to this than he had told her.

“No other option?”
she repeated, narrowing her gaze at him. “You sound as if you are on a mission, Oliver. Surely the guilt you feel for your brother’s death cannot be extricated by demolishing his house?”

“You do not know anything about the guilt I feel,” Oliver said bleakly. “And you are wrong if you think I hope to cleanse my soul by removing the house,” he went on, bitter self-mockery in his smile. “I hope to avenge my brother, Vivianna, not placate his restless spirit.”

“Avenge him?” Vivianna frowned.

Oliver shot her a cold look full of Montegomery arrogance. “Enough. I have said too much. You have that effect on me, Vivianna. The matter is closed.”

As if to prove his point, he shut his eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

Vivianna glared at him, fuming, as the coach made its way home. As if that would stop her! She was not in awe of him, and that tone of voice would not prevent her from doing what she must. She clutched her bag in
her hands and heard the rustle of Aphrodite’s letter. The sound was not exactly comforting, but it helped to remind her that she was not beaten, not yet. Not by a long way.

As the coach dwindled into the distance, Eddie watched from the window, rested his chin on his hands, and sighed. He had hoped to show the gentleman the stone lion. The gentleman had seemed interested and Eddie needed to tell someone. He couldn’t tell the two old ladies. Oh, they were nice enough, and he liked them, really, but they would flap about and say it was dangerous. Miss Greentree would scold, too, but in a kind way because she was a kind lady.

Eddie didn’t want them to stop him exploring.

He had a feeling the gentleman would understand, and that he might even do a bit of exploring, too. For several weeks now Eddie had gazed down into the black hole beneath the stone lion, noting how the stairs vanished into the darkness. There were things down there, interesting things, he was certain of it. The next chance he got, he’d creep down those stairs and see what he could see.

At least he would if he wasn’t so afraid of the dark.

On second thought, maybe he’d take Ellen with him. For a girl, she wasn’t too bad. He could hold her hand and pretend he was looking after her.

Eddie smiled, already feeling braver.

“I
t’s nice to see you again, Miss Greentree. Miss Aphrodite is expectin’ you.”

Vivianna smiled at Dobson a little nervously. “I received her message this morning. Is she recovered?”

Dobson winked. “I told you she’d be right as rain in no time, miss. She’s waiting for you, if you’ll come this way.”

Again, in the upper reaches of the house, Vivianna could hear the tinkle of a piano and a woman singing. Did Aphrodite’s protégées live here? Were they just biding their time until the men who enjoyed their favors provided them with cozy establishments of their own? It seemed an idle sort of existence, and not one that she envied them.

Dobson opened the door to the room with the pastoral tapestry, and Aphrodite rose with a rustle of black silk skirts. Her face was a little thinner and paler, her dark eyes a little larger, but otherwise she was unchanged.

Or was she?

Vivianna thought she sensed a new tension in the courtesan that she had not been aware of before, as if she were holding her feelings even more in check. But a moment later Aphrodite had taken her hand with her usual aloof and beautiful smile and asked her to be seated. Perhaps she had been imagining the difference, thought Vivianna. Besides, her mind was just too full of Oliver to concentrate much on anything else.

Last night she had dreamed about him. Her body had arched beneath his hands and his mouth had kissed and sucked upon hers, while his fingers brought her again to pleasure. It had swept through her, throbbing heated waves that made her moan aloud, and pulled her out of her sleep. As she lay in her bed, the ripples receding, a warm glow suffusing her, she could not pretend it hadn’t happened. Even in her dreams Oliver made love to her, and she responded.

“I want to thank you for introducing me to Elena, and for your advice, Madame,” Vivianna said, trying to keep the hint of desperation from her voice.

Aphrodite was watching her from a chair, and at the same time fiddling with a jet bracelet. Rings flashed on her fingers and her slender neck should have been bowed down with the weight of her precious necklaces. If her jewelry was any indication, then Aphrodite was indeed a fabulously wealthy woman.

“So I did help?”

Vivianna prayed Aphrodite could not read minds. “Yes, thank you, you did.”

“Does Lord Montegomery still see you as the respectable Miss Greentree?”

Vivianna hesitated. “I—I’m not sure. I do not think he ever believed me to be entirely respectable. But then,
he
is not respectable, is he?”

A frown marred Aphrodite’s brow. “Oliver does
not need to be as careful of his reputation as you do, Vivianna.”

“Because he is a gentleman,” Vivianna said darkly.

Aphrodite smiled. “Yes, there is that. However, it is my experience that when an English gentleman looks at a woman, he sees her in either of two ways. Either she is respectable or she is corrupted. The former he will place upon a pedestal and marry; the latter he will not.”

“I do not wish to marry him!”

“Perhaps not, but you may wish to marry a gentleman someday. It would be a pity if your reputation was ruined and the choice taken from you.”

Vivianna shifted impatiently. “I have told you before, I do not care what society thinks of me. The shelter is my main concern, and what I can do to save Candlewood. Why are you worrying about my reputation, Madame? Surely that is my concern?”

Aphrodite’s dark eyes were so compelling, it really was as if she were reading Vivianna’s mind. “The life of a courtesan is an honorable one,
mon chou.
She may share herself with many men, but she gives much in return. I have been the companion of many men, some of them I have been very fond of indeed, but only one have I loved. When I was young, I was very poor. I saw this life as my way out of poverty, and I took it, but in doing so I forsook love. Now that I am older I want that love again. I understand that it is
love
that is the most important element of all in our lives.”

“Why are you—”

“I am telling you that you must not burn your bridges, Vivianna. I do not want to see you forced into a life you will end up regretting, because of one selfish man’s desire.”

Aphrodite was worried for her. Perhaps she sensed
that there was more to Vivianna’s feelings for Oliver than a business transaction. Vivianna felt her heart soften. She leaned forward and held out her hand. After a moment, Aphrodite reached out her own cool fingers and clasped Vivianna’s.

“You are very generous and very kind,” Vivianna said firmly. “Thank you for your care of me. But I will manage very well, you will see. I cannot deny that I…I am curious in these matters. I have enjoyed Oliver’s attentions—they are new and pleasurable—but I am fully aware of what I am doing. He is not coercing me in any way, I promise you. What I do, I do willingly.”

Aphrodite squeezed her fingers. “That is what worries me,
mon chou
! Tell me, do you think Oliver is a man who will marry for love, or will he marry for duty, while enjoying himself elsewhere?”

Vivianna already knew the answer to that question. “Duty, but that has nothing to do—”

“Then that is how
you
must look upon this situation. You are doing your duty, you are trying to save your shelter. You must not love him, or believe he loves you. If you do, he will hurt you.”

It was clear Aphrodite was speaking from a vast experience, and Vivianna could not dismiss her words. But instead she found her thoughts straying to the trembling of her body and the ache he made wherever he touched her; his hot blind kisses, as if he were as much enthrall as she, and the way in which he had looked at her afterward.

Surely if Vivianna was drowning in him, then Oliver was also lost at sea?

Aphrodite was watching her, and there was sadness in the line of her mouth. She shook her head impatiently. “You do not listen to me!” she declared.

“I do, really I do. But I am not the sort of girl who can stand back. My feelings are too close to the surface, and when I feel, I feel with every part of me. I can never play the part of indifference.”

“Vivianna, at all costs you must protect your heart!”

This time Aphrodite was adamant, her dark eyes echoing Vivianna’s passion.

After a moment Vivianna nodded, suddenly deflated. The advice was good, but it was also unaccountably depressing. She had been so looking forward to her next encounter with him. Since Oliver Montegomery had come into her life, everything had become brighter and warmer and a great deal more colorful. Now the world appeared monochrome once more.

“Yes, I see. I understand. Thank you, Aphrodite.”

“Good.”

The other woman finally seemed satisfied with the seriousness of Vivianna’s response. “Now, what happened? And do not play games with me, for I will know if you are. Tell me, from the moment you said good morning, what happened between Oliver and yourself.”

Vivianna shifted nervously in her seat.

“Come,
mon chou,
think of me as a very old relative who has seen everything and is shocked by nothing!”

Vivianna smiled. She supposed it was silly to be self-conscious; Aphrodite must have seen and experienced a great deal and she would not be shocked by anything that Vivianna said. This was business, she reminded herself, and she must treat it so.

“I did as you said, Madame. While we were riding in the coach I played at ignoring him, and soon I had drawn his attention to me. And then I touched myself
and I leaned towards him and I—I licked my lips. It was quite simple, really; I enjoyed it. But then he…well, he began to kiss me—kiss me and touch me—and I forgot what I was doing. I’m sorry….”

“Touch you where?”

Vivianna felt her face heat, but the fact that Aphrodite was so matter-of-fact about it helped her to be so, too. “He put his hand under my—my petticoats and touched me…in an intimate manner. I felt…it was very nice. And then I…it was…I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven,” she finished in a rush. It was the only way in which she could explain the sensation Oliver had caused within her.

“You experienced the
petite mort,
” Aphrodite said quietly into the silence. “The little death. The climax to your love play.” She tapped one finger on her chair arm and Vivianna noticed with dazed eyes that the rests were shaped like Egyptian sphinxes. With her dark hair and eyes, Aphrodite could well pass for Cleopatra.

“That he could bring an innocent to such a point so quickly and in such a situation says much for his skill. I did not realize….” Aphrodite tapped the sphinx’s head once more. “To be blunt, he has your scent now, Vivianna. He will be difficult to control.”

I have your scent. You’re mine.

Vivianna felt her eyes grow wider, and yet something inside her thrilled to the thought that Oliver wanted her like that.

“So, he believes himself to be the seducer, he thinks he is in charge of the situation. You must not let that happen.
You, mon chou,
must become
his
seducer.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I want to do it.” She looked into Aphrodite’s carefully expressionless face. “Tell me what I must do.”

Aphrodite smiled. “Your lessons grow more interesting, Vivianna. We are playing for high stakes now, but if you are willing to play deep then so am I.”

Vivianna nodded. “I am willing. Tell me, Madame. Please.”

“Very well, but it may not be what you expect to hear. The secret to seducing Oliver is inside yourself, Vivianna. Ah,
non,
quiet now, and listen to me,” as Vivianna tried to protest. “The seductress you seek is within your own body, it is just that you have never sought her out, you have ignored her. Now she has been aroused, and if you are brave enough you must allow her to take command.”

“I don’t think—” Vivianna began doubtfully.

“That is your trouble,
mon chou.
You
think
too much. Your mind is your enemy when it comes to seducing Oliver. You allow that little voice in your head to talk you out of what you should be doing. Do not listen to your mind. It is your body you must heed. It is the seductress inside you, inside your body, who will help you most now.”

Vivianna did not entirely understand—had she been listening to the seductress within when she had been in the coach with Oliver? She had enjoyed herself, until she lost control of the situation, and even then she had enjoyed it. But she had agreed to be tutored by the courtesan and so she must listen.

“Now that he has had so much, he will want more of you,” Aphrodite said bluntly. “You must make certain that he is grateful for each new favor, grateful enough to give a little bit of himself into your keeping. He will think he is the master, that he is taking what he wants, but in truth, each time he takes, you will own him a little more, and a little more, until he is yours entirely.”

“It sounds simple, Madame, and I understand what you are saying, but can’t you tell me something more…more practical? Something I can do next time we are together?”

“Of course,” Aphrodite said quite gently. “I go too fast and you are new to this. I think, next time you are together and he holds you and kisses you, you must tell him what you would like him to do. What pleases you. Say to him, ‘I like it when your tongue touches mine.’ Or, ‘I like it when you kiss me there, or there, or there!’ Set him to do your bidding. I am not telling you to speak like a coquette; he does not want that. He is attracted to you because you are not of the
demimonde
. Men like Oliver want to be the first to awaken the woman of their choice to passion. He is like a hunter seeking his prey, but at the same time he will be very pleased to know that you are enjoying his attentions.”

“Should I touch him?” Vivianna asked, trying to sound as practical as the courtesan, but still feeling rather light-headed.

“Do you want to?”

Vivianna blushed. “Yes.”

Aphrodite smiled. “Good, then I think you should touch him. Rest your hand upon his arm, let your fingers trail across his sleeve. Brush them against his chest, lightly, innocently. Lean in close to him when you speak, so that he has your scent. When he touches the peak of your breast, touch his. Watch his face, learn what he likes best. Believe me, his brain will soon be boiling like a turnip in a pot.”

Vivianna laughed.

“And if he touches you again intimately, make him feel as if he has given you a most wonderful gift. Make him feel strong and important, Vivianna. Play upon
his ego. Although it is you who will be controlling the moment, he must believe it is he.”

Then, as if they had been discussing nothing more scandalous than the weather, Aphrodite rose and rang the bell for a servant, and they took tea and macaroons. Vivianna sipped and nibbled, but could not help but wonder what her family would think if they could see her now, taking tea in the home of a famous courtesan. Her mother would be shocked and appalled, probably, although her sisters would understand, particularly Marietta. Marietta was quite as daring as any young lady Vivianna knew.

“Tell me a little of your family, Vivianna.” Aphrodite looked genuinely interested.

“What will I tell you?”

“Whatever you wish,
mon chou
.”

Vivianna wondered whether she could tell Aphrodite not to call her “my cabbage,” but she supposed that would be impolite. Besides, she was growing used to it.

So Vivianna spoke about Lady Greentree and their home, and the moors, and how Marietta was beautiful and daring but rather lacking in foresight—“Impulsive,” sighed Aphrodite—and how Francesca preferred the company of her dog and the moors and liked to see herself as a heroine of old—“Dramatic,” murmured Aphrodite.

“While you, my dear Vivianna, you are passionate.”

Vivianna laughed. “I fear so!”

“All the more reason to protect your heart. When a heart like yours is broken, it will not mend so easily.”

Vivianna nodded, accepting the warning and the kindness that went with it. Who would have thought she could feel such empathy with a courtesan? A
woman who stood outside the ranks of respectable society? And yet, in light of how Vivianna herself felt, it made perfect sense.