Sara Bennett (16 page)

A sound beyond the door, out in the corridor. Vivianna jumped back, covering herself, suddenly aware of where they were, how dangerous this was. The danger was part of the excitement, she accepted that, but that did not mean she wanted to be found here by Mrs. St. Claire or Lady Chapman.

She began to tug up her bodice, though the rasp of the cloth against her breasts was almost painful.

After a moment of watching her struggle, Oliver gave an impatient sigh and turned her gently but firmly about, refastening the back of her dress himself. “We seem fated to be interrupted,” he said. “I see another long sleepless night ahead.”

Vivianna glanced at him over her shoulder. “I did not realize. Do you mean that you suffer, because you do not…?”

Oliver’s brows lifted. “I suffer,” he agreed.

She smiled.

Oliver ran his hands over her shoulders and down over her bodice, cupping her breasts through the cloth, and his breath was hot against her ear. “That pleases you, you little devil,” he whispered. “There is nothing saintly about you after all, is there, Miss Greentree?”

Vivianna shivered from his hands and his warm breath, but her voice was firm. “I am no shrinking violet,” she agreed.

He laughed. “Indeed you’re not.”

He dropped his hands and stepped away, and she was sorry, but also relieved. She had enjoyed the feel of his mouth on her, but she had felt as if she were on the verge of losing control again. The seductress in her
had awoken and stirred and Vivianna had set her free, but there had not been enough time for her to test all her powers.

Tell him how you feel….

“I cannot sleep either,” she said quietly.

Oliver looked up from straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair, his dark blue gaze suddenly intense.

“I dreamed of you,” she went on, forcing all thoughts of self-consciousness from herself, concentrating on him, on pleasing him, and on pleasing herself. “I dreamed you were touching me, your fingers inside me, and then I…”

“You climaxed,” he said, but there was a rigid tension in him that made her think he was very interested in what she was saying.

“Yes. I wished you were in my bed with me. Your bare skin against mine.”

He groaned and shook his head. “Go away, Vivianna, please. Go home. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible.”

Vivianna went to the door, but stopped to glance at him once more. He was watching her with a mixture of longing and irritation, as if he did not like the things he was feeling.

“Go home,” he repeated, “and get some sleep.” His eyes narrowed. “Believe me, you’ll need it.”

Vivianna closed the door behind her and found she was quite breathless. Her breasts still ached and her lips felt swollen, but she did not mind that. She did not mind that at all.

Inside the room Oliver rubbed his hand over his jaw and stared at the empty fireplace. There were too many vital matters happening right now to risk them for an affair with Vivianna Greentree.

I dreamed about you.

Her words drifted through his mind and he shook his head again, as if he would dislodge them. Why had her admission shaken him so? And yet the thought of Vivianna dreaming of him, thinking of him, alone in her bed at night, made him desperate to hold her in his arms. Not to kiss or touch her, although he would do that, but rather just to hold her. To hold her close and warm, and enjoy the feeling of no longer being alone.

Lord Lawson was weary. He felt the weariness in his mind, in his eyes, in his very bones. He was so close to his goal, so very close. Sir Robert Peel might well be the next prime minister, but Lawson knew he would follow soon after. He could taste victory.

He clenched his fist in sudden anger. This weariness was Oliver Montegomery’s fault!

He had believed he was safe. Candlewood was to be demolished, and with it any chance of discovery. That Anthony had hidden the letters in that monstrosity he was so fond of was no longer in question. They were there, somewhere. The idea that they might be found at any time had almost driven Lawson mad, but when he learned the house was to come down, the relief had been indescribable.

And now there was a secret chamber…. Curse the man! To drop that little gem into the conversation like that, as if it had no importance whatsoever. Lawson had no doubt Oliver would find the hidden chamber, he was lucky like that. He would find it, and the letters inside it, and then all would be lost.

Lawson knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

All these years he had worked toward his own success and now one mistake was threatening to pull him down. Disgrace. Scandal. It didn’t bear thinking of, and he wouldn’t think of it! Surely a man of his talents
and intelligence could overcome a drunken fool like Oliver Montegomery?

Then why did he feel as if he were being purposely led down a path he had no desire to follow?

There was something wrong. Lawson felt his weariness begin to lift. Yes, that was it. Something was not as it seemed. Oliver? Could it be Oliver?

His first reaction was to laugh and dismiss his doubts. Oliver had reached the point of no return and Lawson had watched his downward slide with scorn and some pleasure. Anthony had always been so fond of his younger brother, so tolerant of his follies. Anthony had believed that in Oliver there was a great man and in time he would declare himself. But Anthony was a fool, after all. Lawson had offered him a chance to live, had explained how important it was that the letters remain secret, but Anthony had not wanted to listen. He hadn’t understood that the good of the nation was more important than such a minor consideration.

What a fool! Lawson had lost count of the number of times he had told a lie or arranged a situation to his own benefit through bribery or worse. Sometimes it was necessary to force a path through the obstacles in order to win the day. Everyone knew that!

Oliver…was he really what he seemed? Lawson would find out, and if Oliver had been playing him for a fool…Lawson smiled. Well, Oliver would pay the same price as his brother.

Vivianna, returning to Queen’s Square after a visit to Aphrodite and an hour of shopping in busy Regent Street, found Aunt Helen all aflutter.

“Lady Marsh is here!” Helen hissed, catching Vivianna’s arm as she began to divest herself of her
packages—she had bought presents for all her family. “She has been waiting almost half an hour. I think she was on the verge of leaving when you came in.”

Vivianna stared at her blankly. “Lady Marsh? Lord Montegomery’s aunt?”

“Yes, yes.” Helen gave her an agonized look. “She is very formidable, Vivianna. I do not think I could have stayed with her much longer without saying something quite idiotic.”

“I see.” Vivianna straightened her back and gave a determined smile. “Lead me to her, then, Aunt Helen,
I
am not intimidated.”

With obvious relief, Helen did so.

Lady Marsh was ensconced upon the large armchair in the corner of the sitting room, like a queen upon her throne. She sat bolt upright, her gray hair smoothed into submission beneath her muslin bonnet, her gray silk gown subtle in its richness. Lady Marsh—despite marrying a man beneath herself—was every inch an English aristocrat, and she wanted them to know it.

Vivianna made her curtsy. “Lady Marsh, how kind of you to call.”

Lady Marsh inclined her head, but her eyes—dark blue, just like Oliver’s—fixed upon her. “You were out a very long time, Miss Greentree.”

“I am sorry. I was looking at the shops in Regent Street.”

“Not alone, I hope?”

“No, I had my maid with me.”

“Good. A young lady cannot be too careful when it comes to her reputation.”

Vivianna had the urge to tell Lady Marsh who she had been visiting before shopping, but wisely bit her lip.

“Sit down, Miss Greentree, I wish to speak with you.” Lady Marsh glanced at Helen. “Alone.”

“Oh.” Helen backed toward the door, relieved. “Of course, of course. I will leave you to talk or…I will leave you.” The door closed.

Vivianna lifted her brows at Lady Marsh, thinking her rude, and waited. Lady Marsh gave a thump on the floor with her cane, and Vivianna noticed how twisted her fingers were within the gloves. She had heard that the woman was an invalid, and it seemed the rumors were true. It must have cost her much to come here today, and if that was so, then what she had to say was clearly important to her.

Vivianna’s annoyance at Lady Marsh’s high-handed behavior, and her indignation on her aunt’s behalf, faded a little. “What did you wish to talk to me about, Lady Marsh?” she asked, more gently. “I am here now.”

Lady Marsh seemed to read her thoughts in her face, for she gave a sardonic smile, also very much like Oliver’s. “I am not at death’s door yet, Miss Greentree, although some would have you believe I was. I have come to see you because I like you. There are not many young ladies I like, but I find you are one of them. My nephew likes you, too. He is not an easy man to manage, but you seem to have the knack.”

Vivianna smiled—she could not help it. “I do not want to ‘manage’ him, Lady Marsh. I only want him to change his mind about Candlewood.”

“Nevertheless, he seems quite taken with you, Miss Greentree.”

Vivianna felt the color in her face. A little earlier she had been discussing with Aphrodite how taken with her Oliver was….

“I told him about the dream,” Vivianna had said, trying not to feel self-conscious under Aphrodite’s scrutiny. “It pleased him, I could see that.”

“Of course it did,
mon chou
. And he came to this meeting? A thing he professed to hate, just to see you?”

“I think he must have. I cannot believe he came for his own edification. Besides, he was very rude to some of the other guests.”

Aphrodite had smiled. “He fights it, but he cannot win. You must play along with him, Vivianna, listen to your body, and then, when the moment is right, you will close your hand upon him and force him to your will.”

“When will the moment be right?” Vivianna had asked softly.

“You will know. The seductress inside you will know.”

“Miss Greentree?”

“I—I am sorry, Lady Marsh. I am sure that your nephew is not at all—”

“I am sure he is, and that you know it, no matter how modestly you may protest.”

Vivianna laughed. “You must be right, then, Lady Marsh.”

“I am always right,” the older woman said. “You may not know it, but Oliver has altered a great deal since his brother died. He needs someone to help him forget that particular episode, although his feelings for his brother, of course, do him proud. But it is time for him to put Anthony’s death behind him and move on. He has his life before him, and he is the last of the Montegomery line.”

“He needs a wife and an heir,” Vivianna replied.

Lady Marsh’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed he does. I am
a little surprised, however, that you would say so. And yet…I am glad you speak plainly, Miss Greentree. I prefer it. This new generation is far too easily shocked for my liking.”

“Then I will be plain, Lady Marsh, for I prefer it, too. My interest in your nephew is his ownership of Candlewood. That is all. And I think you exaggerate
my
importance to
him
.”

Lady Marsh thumped her cane again. “Hmm, well we shall see. There was something more I wanted to ask you before I leave. My nephew is accompanying me to the opera tomorrow evening, Her Majesty’s in the Haymarket. Italian Opera—it is all the rage these days—the queen is very fond of it. They are performing
L’elisir d’amore
—
The Elixir of Love.
Sounds appalling to me, but it might be just the thing for Oliver. Will you join us?”

Vivianna’s amusement at Lady Marsh’s description of Donizetti’s opera gave way to genuine surprise. The invitation was so unexpected. “I don’t know if I—” she began.

“It would please me very much, and you will be able to speak to my nephew about your shelter. Surely such opportunities should not be missed, Miss Greentree, in the circumstances? How many days is it now, until your orphans must vacate?”

She was right, of course she was. A rebellious tingle of excitement curled through her. Yes, she wanted to see him, to talk with him, and Lady Marsh—who seemed so supportive—would be there, so matters could not get out of hand. It would be a perfect opportunity.

“I accept, ma’am.”

Lady Marsh’s harsh face relaxed into a smile of approval. “Excellent. Now, if you would call my servant to help me, I will bid you farewell.”

The servant—a burly man—was called, and Lady Marsh was helped, painfully, to her feet and assisted to her carriage. When she had gone, Vivianna wondered what it had all meant. Was Lady Marsh looking her over, in preparation to adding Vivianna to her list of possible wives? It seemed ridiculous and frightening—Oliver was the last man she wished to marry!—and yet…there
had
been speculation in the old woman’s gaze as it rested upon Vivianna.

What, she wondered, would Oliver think of that?

Vivianna smiled, and could not seem to stop. Oh yes, she admitted it with a little shiver, she was looking forward to seeing him again. And she was suddenly very happy that Lady Marsh had given her an excuse to do so.

O
liver nodded at his aunt’s elderly butler as he stepped inside her Eaton Square house. “Is her ladyship ready, Bentling?”

Bentling looked slightly to the left of Oliver’s eyes and straightened his stooping shoulders. “Her ladyship has become indisposed, my lord. I am afraid she will not be accompanying you to the opera after all.”

Oliver frowned. “Oh?” But still Bentling would not meet his eyes.

“Miss Greentree will be attending, however,” Bentling went on, showing signs of strain under Oliver’s steely stare, “and her ladyship says that you should call upon her at Queen’s Square and collect her forthwith. She wishes you to give Miss Greentree these”—he held out a pair of opera glasses—“with her good wishes.”

“Does she, now?”

Bentling swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Oliver sighed. “Tell my aunt…I hope she is better
soon, although I doubt she needs my good wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oliver knew the signs well enough, and knew he should be angry with his aunt for her obvious machinations. He wasn’t, though, he thought, as he went back down the steps to his coach. He and Miss Greentree would be alone together at the opera—not exactly proper, he supposed, but not exactly improper, either. The front of Lady Marsh’s box, at least, would be well within view of other patrons, and what was wrong in asking a woman to accompany him to the opera? Other men did it all the time. But Miss Greentree was young and attractive and unmarried; her reputation might suffer. Perhaps that was his aunt’s plan, that he be forced to propose to Miss Greentree?

Oliver grinned to himself as he climbed back inside the coach.

It would be a brave man who married an unwilling Vivianna. She would make his life a misery. And a joy. He closed his eyes at the sudden image of her, here in this very coach, in his arms. Perhaps being alone with her was not such a good idea after all—she was a complication and he didn’t need any more of those. He would call upon her and explain that his aunt was ill, and suggest another night.

Regret filled him, but he ignored it. A few weeks ago he had never heard of Vivianna Greentree; how could he suddenly be feeling her loss? As if…as if she were a part of him, he thought suspiciously.

The house in Queen’s Square was lit up and waiting for him. “Miss is just coming now, my lord,” the maid who answered the door informed him.

“I am afraid that—”

“Montegomery, how do you do?”

He felt the skin at the back of his neck bristle. Toby Russell, the sort of man he despised and usually avoided. Toby’s handsome face was deeply lined, as though his vicious ways had caught up with him at last, and there was a calculating air to his smile.

Oliver bowed politely. “Russell, I have come to collect your niece.”

“I know, I know. Lovely girl, isn’t she?”

Oliver did not allow the other man to see what he was feeling. “My aunt thinks so. It was her invitation.”

“Ah, nice to know she is looked upon favorably in that quarter, eh?”

Oliver wondered whether it would be very rude of him not to answer at all. “My aunt is an invalid and does not get out much,” he said neutrally.

“Of course, of course.” Toby eyed him cautiously, as if he were a firework that had fizzled out and yet still might go off.

Oliver heard the sound of steps on the stairs. Vivianna’s. He knew her step. He knew the rhythm of her movements. He could smell her soap and the scented water she used in her hair. It took all his willpower not to hurry to meet her.

“Here she is!” Toby said unnecessarily.

Vivianna came down the last flight of stairs. She was wearing a cream shot-silk dress that caught the lamplight and gleamed and shimmered as she moved. The full skirts rustled about her and the fitted bodice was lower than any he had yet seen her wear, disclosing the opulent swell of her breasts—he remembered those breasts, naked in his hands…. He blinked, took in the dark green lace-trimmed shawl that was arranged to display rather than hide her charms, and the cream lace mittens that reached almost to where her short sleeves ended. Her hair was simply dressed in
long, loose ringlets at the sides, the remainder fastened in a heavy knot at her nape.

She gave him her beautiful smile, as if she were truly pleased to see him. And then she saw her uncle. Vivianna’s eyes turned wary, and the smile less brilliant. “Lord Montegomery,” she said politely. “Your aunt said eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock, eh? Well, it’s near enough to it, isn’t it, Niece? Why make a fuss over a few minutes?” Toby asked her testily, thinking he was being amusing.

Vivianna fiddled with her shawl, enduring him until he had finished, and then she glanced to Oliver for her answer.

“The opera starts at eight. My aunt does not mind being late—she finds missing the first act a blessing, I think. But in actual fact I—”

She was watching him inquiringly, her hazel eyes honest and warm, that smile curving her mouth. He had been about to tell her that they were not going after all—that his aunt had tricked them into a situation he did not feel comfortable with—but suddenly he knew he didn’t want to say that. Toby Russell was standing listening, so smug and awful, and Oliver wanted to take her away from the man. More than that, though. He wanted her company, he wanted to be with her, even for a short while.

“Are you ready, Miss Greentree?” Oliver said quietly. “The coach is waiting outside.”

She glanced away, again fiddling with her shawl, and he knew she was remembering what they had done in that same coach. And all the while Toby’s eyes were flicking between them, watching, while he came to his own conclusions. Ignoring him, Oliver held out his hand. Gratefully, without a moment’s hesitation, Vivianna rested her fingers upon it.

The maid at the door hurried to open it, and Vivianna thanked her by name and with a proper smile. Then, with a cool nod to her uncle, she allowed Oliver to accompany her outside. He helped her into the coach, arranging her skirts about her so that they would not be crushed, and then climbed in opposite her, instructing the driver to drive on.

“Your uncle watches over you very particularly,” Oliver said.

“Yes.” Her voice was restrained. “He does.”

“You do not like him.”

“Is it that obvious?” Vivianna glanced at him and sighed. “I admit he is my least favorite relation. I love Aunt Helen dearly, of course, and feel very sorry for her. I have another uncle, my mother’s brother William, and he is always very kind to me. But I cannot like Toby.”

“He is a blackguard,” Oliver said seriously. “Never trust him, Vivianna. He would do you harm if it was in his own interest.”

She was quiet, and he watched her, wondering what she was thinking. At last she said softly, “I have just realized. Lady Marsh is not here. Are we going to collect her now?”

“No, I am afraid not. My aunt is unwell, and she has asked that we go to the opera without her.”

Silence again. Now, he thought, she would ask to be returned to her home. But she said nothing and, as the wheels of the coach rumbled on over the cobbles, he began to relax a little. Gas lamps glowed against the night mist, making little haloes along the street, and people strolled in the evening air. Everybody seemed to be out enjoying themselves.

“When I first arrived in London,” she said, “I thought it crowded and noisy and smelly. A ghastly
place. A sprawl of humanity with no heart or soul. Now I am growing used to it. In fact I quite like it.”

“Not like Yorkshire, then.”

“Not like Yorkshire, no.”

“I did not intentionally deceive you, Vivianna. I meant to tell you that my aunt was unwell, but your uncle—”

“Put your back up.”

He laughed at the droll note in her voice. “We understand each other, then, do we?”

She met his gaze and held it. “Yes, I think perhaps we do.”

Her Majesty’s Theatre had been renamed when Queen Victoria ascended to the throne, and it was a venue where only the queen’s favorite Italian operas or French ballets were performed. Most nights the magnificent building was full to capacity. Outside, flower sellers held up their neat and fragrant bunches, while the crowd streamed by. Vivianna admired Nash’s elegant colonnade, and inside, the gas chandeliers that lit their way. Lady Marsh, explained Oliver, hired a private box for the entire year, despite the fact that she rarely attended the opera.

“Because she is an invalid?”

“Because she loathes it.”

Vivianna smiled, enjoying herself and the feel of his hand lightly brushing her waist as he led her through the door to their box. His touch was enough to set her body tingling. He was very handsome tonight in his black and white evening dress, his trousers tapered to black shoes, his tailored black jacket and his white frilled shirt and white cravat. His silk top hat he carried in one gloved hand. He was probably the most handsome man here, she decided seriously.

The chairs were padded brocade, and when they were seated, Vivianna admired their view of the theater. It was overflowing with patrons, from the colorful occupants of the stalls to the tier upon tier of boxes full of gentlemen in evening dress and ladies beautifully gowned, to the noisy and unseen gallery far above, where there were cheaper seats to be had. Some dandies in the stalls had turned their backs on the curtained stage and were eyeing the new arrivals through their monocles.

Vivianna ignored them when they focused en masse upon her. An officer in a red coat covered in medals and ribbons was speaking in a loud voice to a smallish plump lady with dark ringlets, wearing a wide-skirted white satin gown, a sash about her tiny waist, and a necklace of diamonds about her white throat.

She didn’t look to be much older than Vivianna, but when she noticed Vivianna staring, gave her a reproving frown.

“She doesn’t like to be watched,” Oliver murmured at her side. Then, meeting her blank gaze, “The queen, Vivianna. Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.”

“Oh!” Vivianna felt horribly embarrassed, but still she gave the box another glance. “Is her new husband there? Prince Albert?”

“Yes, there he is, in evening dress. Tall with dark hair, very serious—the ladies think him very handsome.”

Vivianna saw him. He was much taller than the queen, and Oliver was correct, very handsome and very serious. As she watched, Victoria rested her gloved fingers upon her husband’s arm, as if she could not resist touching him, even in public. They were in love, then, just as Vivianna had heard.

“Vivianna.”

“I’m sorry. Am I staring again? It is all so exciting. I
do not go to the theater very often. And I have only been to an opera once, although I read as much as I can about such things. I believe this one is by Donizetti.”

“L’elisir d’amore.
Rather sentimental, but some of the melodies are quite bearable. The tenor is Rubini, and Madame Grisi is playing the part of Adina.”

Some of the dandies were calling out, and Vivianna saw that a woman with bright red hair had seated herself in one of the boxes. Her gown was very low cut, her bosom almost spilling over, and she was wearing more jewels than the queen.

“Who is that?” she whispered, leaning closer to Oliver.

“Someone you shouldn’t have heard of,” he retorted.

Vivianna examined the redhead closely. “You mean like Aphrodite?” she said.

He smiled. “Yes, like Aphrodite.”

“But
you
know her?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

His eyes were dark, intense, and very close to hers. She felt his breath upon her skin, and despite her determination not to, her lashes fluttered down, hiding her feelings from him. She could feel the pulse in her neck, hear the rush of blood in her ears. For a moment the noise of the theater was washed away beneath the tide of her desire.

“I want you,” he said, his voice a whisper in her ear. “And I think you want me, too. Don’t you?”

Vivianna drew back a little and looked again into his eyes.

“Don’t you?” he insisted, and there was something naked and vulnerable in his face.

She should lie, she supposed. Tease him. Play at in
difference. But she could not. This was too important for teasing or lying. The passion and desire between them lay heavy, so that she was finding it difficult to breathe.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

The opera had started. Vivianna did not speak again, and neither did Oliver. It was as if, now the truth had been stated between them, they had to consider their next words very carefully. Perhaps, she thought, he wanted to draw back. Perhaps he had not expected her to say what she did.

Doubts gripped her, making her feel faintly queasy.

What would Aphrodite think, when she learned what Vivianna had done? Would she approve or shake her head with displeasure?

Rubini’s voice soared, along with that of the beautiful Madame Grisi. The audience was spellbound. Someone called, “Brava!” Someone else cried, “Hush!”

“Do you speak Italian?” Oliver asked her softly. His hand reached over and covered hers, where they were clenched together in her lap.

She jumped. “I…no, I don’t. Mama could not find an Italian instructor who would make the journey across the moors.”

“Ah.” He had taken off his gloves, and his fingers were strong and warm, and they held hers firmly, possessively.

“I understand the story despite the Italian, I think. The woman…”

“Adina.”

“Yes, she will not marry the man…”

“Nemorino.”

“He has bought a love elixir, but it does not work,
and now Adina is going to marry someone else…the soldier.”

Oliver’s breath warmed her cheek. “Very good.”

“Will the ending be a happy one? Or is someone going to die?”

His eyes clouded, as if he were thinking of his own circumstances, his brother and the woman he had been meant to marry. “You will have to wait and see, Vivianna,” he said, but his voice had lost its lightness.

“Tell me about Celia Maclean.”

She had asked the question on impulse, and she could see that she had surprised him. He drew back a little and removed his hand. Vivianna supposed she was setting him a test. A chance to tell her the truth about himself, to be frank with her, to answer some of the questions that puzzled her about him. There was always the likelihood that he would refuse, and she must not be disappointed if he did not answer…