Sara Bennett (9 page)

Sensible and practical.

She might dream about stepping outside society’s boundaries with Oliver, but she could never be his wife. Nor would she wish to be. Being in the power of such a man had never been one of her dreams—quite the opposite, actually. She wanted to retain her freedom, to do as she wished, to help others. And yet…since she had met Oliver Montegomery she had begun to wonder whether that freedom of the mind and the spirit might also encompass freedom of her physical needs and passions. Men indulged themselves in affairs, why shouldn’t she?

Vivianna looked up at him again and discovered him still watching her, as if he found her features as endlessly fascinating as she found his. Now there was a touch of amusement creasing the skin about his eyes—or was it arrogance? Doubts began to gather. Maybe he hadn’t been seeking her help at all? Maybe he just wanted to embarrass her, to drive her from his life, to rid himself of her troublesome presence. Well, Vivianna would not be driven!

“I am afraid the Greentrees are neither an old nor an aristocratic family, so your aunt would not approve. But if I married you I would have to make a condition,” she said, and gave him a sweetly false smile.

He blinked; she
had
surprised him. Good! “Condition?”

“I would make you promise never to demolish Candlewood, and to pay for its upkeep and repairs into perpetuity.”

“Ah, I see. Unfortunately, that is not a condition I can agree to, Miss Greentree.”

“My lord, can you not see that Candlewood is perfect for the orphans? They are safe there, and there is room for them to run about and play. They can be children. Some of them have never been allowed to be, simply, children.”

He was watching her with a blank face and Vivianna heard her own passionate tones fade into silence. She was wasting her time, and suddenly to her despair she knew it. He wasn’t touched or moved; he simply did not care. And nothing she was going to say to him in regard to the orphans, no appeal she could make to him, would make the slightest difference.

Vivianna stood up. Her disappointment was a bitter taste in her mouth, but she did not let him see it. She made her voice cool and uncaring. “Perhaps, when you have chosen your bride, you can furnish me with her name? She may prove to be more amenable than yourself.”

He laughed softly and also rose to his feet. “I don’t know why I want you, Vivianna,” he said, and he did not sound drunk. He simply sounded cross. “There is something about you, something that makes me wonder what it would be like to undo your hair and take off your dress and your shoes, and lie you down upon my bed and make love to you over and over again. You are a distraction, and one I could well do without.”

Her face flamed, her voice was choked. “You seem to delight in trying to embarrass and humiliate me.”

“I do, don’t I?” He no longer sounded drunk, not at all.

“I had better go now.”

“Vivianna.”

He should not call her that—they were near-strangers—and yet her name sounded like a promise in his mouth. She looked down and saw that he was
holding out her glove toward her. She had dropped it as she stood up, in her haste to leave. Vivianna eyed it warily, as if his hand were a viper ready to strike. He knew it, too, and again was amused by it.

“I can keep it if you like,” he drawled. “A keepsake.”

Vivianna snatched the glove from him, but not quickly enough. His fingers closed on hers, cool and strong and remarkably steady. As she had known she would be, she found herself drawn closer to him, though her feet were unwilling and her heart beating hard.

“Oliver, please…”

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “Your lips are so soft and sweet, Vivianna, that I simply must…Ah,” a sound of deep relief, as his mouth brushed upon hers. And now the touch of him against her made Vivianna feel as if it had been she who had drunk the brandy, for her head was light and her skin felt too tight to fit her.

One arm came about her waist and with his other hand he cupped her jaw, holding her face still for his examination. His eyes were so close to hers it was like drowning in the deepest part of the ocean.

“Oh yes, there is passion in you,” he murmured. “It spills from your soul and makes sparks in your eyes and brings color to your cheeks. I can taste it”—he kissed her again—“on your lips. I would like to have you, Miss Greentree, all of you. I want to be the first to make you feel the hunger that lovemaking can bring—and I think I would be the first.”

She pushed her hands against his chest, but there was no movement. She had the mad notion that he meant to ravish her right here in his library, and she would put up no resistance. Because, in her secret heart, she wanted him to.

His mouth pressed to hers, his warm breath mingling with her own. His kiss deepened, and she tasted him, and the fire of desire caught light inside her. Was this the hunger he had spoken of? Because already she felt famished. Vivianna’s hands slid over his shoulders and clung there. Her eyes were closed, too heavy to open, but that only added to the experience, for now touch and feel, smell and hearing, were everything. The texture of his fine jacket, the moist heat of his mouth, the clean scent of his skin, the beat of his heart against her body, heavy and hard.

He pressed his thigh between hers, crushing her petticoats and skirts, until she could feel him through the layers of cloth. Intimate. He bent his head and kissed her, little nibbling kisses, down her throat. She arched her neck and tried to breathe, clinging to his shoulders as if she would spin away if she let go. He held her firm, one arm about her narrow waist, and pressed his face to her bosom, his breath hot through her wool dress and boned corset and linen chemise. Her skin was afire.

“You are wrapped up like a gift,” he said, and when she forced her lids to open, his face was in front of hers again, his eyes blazing. “Hooks and buttons and laces.”

She could hardly breathe; her voice was shaky. “There is safety in hooks and buttons and laces. There is time for ardor to turn to good sense.”

His hand molded to her breast. “I can feel your stays,” he said, “but I can feel you, too.”

“I can feel you,” she managed. And she could feel the warmth and the gentle strength of his hand.

“I want to put my mouth on you. Have you ever had a man’s mouth on your breast?”

“No!” she gasped in protest, but already the image
of it was sending tremors of delight through her, almost too much to bear.

He bowed his head, as if he, too, were struggling with control. And then, with a groan, he kissed her again, his tongue in her mouth, and she found it was a simple matter to return the favor, to feel him and explore him and want him…good Lord, she
wanted
him….

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He knew how to make her want him, and in a moment she would be beyond thought or control. The plain fact was he was experienced and she was an innocent. If she did not learn better, she would never be able to do as she willed with him. He would use her and discard her.

Vivianna would not save the shelter; she would not even be able to save herself.

It took all her effort to pull away, to put distance between them. When all she wanted to do was sink back into his embrace.

He looked as beyond thought as her, but even as she stood, trying to breathe, watching him, his eyes regained their cool composure, his mouth its lazy smile.

“Should I apologize?” he asked her. “I did warn you.”

Vivianna pushed at her hair, found it loose and tangled about her shoulders. “Yes, you did,” she said. Her voice was growing stronger and calmer, as gradually the turmoil inside her ebbed. She picked up her hat from the sofa and, tucking her hair beneath it, tied it firmly under her chin. Probably not as neat as when she had set out, but it would do.

“Vivianna,” he said, and there was that note in his voice again, half pleading and half demand. She felt her own treacherous senses respond and did the only
thing she could. Reached out to the bellpull, and gave it a sharp tug.

“Go on. Run away,” he mocked. “Go back to Yorkshire. That’s the only way you’ll escape me now. You’d be wise to heed the warning.”

“You’re trying to frighten me into leaving,” she said firmly.

He laughed angrily. “I wish I could.”

The door opened and Hodge stood there, his servant’s face without expression. Vivianna moved toward him. From somewhere she found a normal voice, and used it.

“Thank you for seeing me, Lord Montegomery. I hope you will consider what I have said.”

The outer door closed on Hodge’s disapproving face, and Vivianna went down the steps feeling as if she had been buffeted by a great wind. Except that the storm was inside her.

Her aunt’s coach was waiting, and Vivianna climbed within. It was then that her body seemed to collapse, and she gave a soft groan of relief. But as she drove out of Berkeley Square, Vivianna had to fight to stop herself from turning around, to not give in to the urge to go right back to him.

To Oliver.

It was then that the plan unfolded before her, the audacious plan that had been formulating in her head ever since her visit to Aphrodite’s. All this time she had been pushing it away, telling herself logic and good sense were enough, and all the time the solution to her problem was right there, waiting for her to catch its eye. Vivianna needed to save the shelter by persuading Oliver to change his mind, but she could not bully him—Madame had been right. Madame had also
been right when she said that Oliver found her amusing and refreshing.

His tastes are jaded and he is looking for something new and different. Play upon that, if you dare. If you are skillful enough you can achieve your aim.

In short, he wanted her, sexually. It was true; he had told her so on numerous occasions. Oh yes, partially it had been an attempt to send her wailing back to Yorkshire—Vivianna may be innocent, but she was not a fool—but the way in which he had kissed her, touched her, looked at her showed he had not been playacting all of the time. Oliver Montegomery lusted after her. She was in possession of something he very much wanted—her body.

It was true Vivianna could not bully him into submission, but she could
lead
him….

Such a daring and exciting plan must also include some danger, and yet Vivianna asked herself what it was she was really risking. She had already declared her intention to thumb her nose at society, to live to enjoy her own freedom. And she had already begun to experience the pleasure that freedom could give her, the pleasure of being with a man who may not be suitable in other ways but who was physically attractive to her. Oliver appeared to be that man. So she would be risking nothing that she was not already prepared to risk.

But Vivianna knew her own limitations. She could not seduce Oliver Montegomery. The idea was ludicrous. She needed help. Vivianna needed to learn the ways of women whose bodies were their trade. She needed to tease him, cajole him, outrake the rake.

Vivianna needed to find herself a teacher in seduction.

A
t Queen’s Square, Lil was waiting for Vivianna. “I was about to come and fetch you, miss,” she said, her narrowed gaze inspecting Vivianna. Checking for signs of debauchery? Vivianna wished she could laugh at the idea, but debauchery was no longer as unlikely an outcome as it had once seemed. “Is everything all right, miss?”

“The Beatty sisters seem to believe I can make everything right,” Vivianna said bleakly.

Lil’s pretty face was compassionate. “Poor miss. Is there anything more you can do?”

“Murder him,” Vivianna murmured, but shook her head when Lil’s eyes grew big and round. “It was a joke. Don’t worry, I will think of something.”

“I’m certain you will,” Lil agreed. “You’ve a kind heart, miss, and a good one.”

“Thank you, Lil,” Vivianna said, touched, and yet there was a trace of guilt in her heart right now. For her aim in besting Lord Oliver Montegomery was not entirely altruistic, not this time.

“Everyone at Greentree Manor knows that Miss Vivianna always has her way when it comes to her orphans.”

Lil made her sound rather bossy, Vivianna thought. The truth was, Vivianna had never fully recovered from her abandonment as a child, and she had set herself the lifelong task of trying to make things right for other children not so fortunate as herself. She could never find her own mother, she knew that now and had long ago accepted it—it was quite likely that her mother was dead—but that did not mean she could not give others a happy ending.

Suddenly she felt terribly homesick for Greentree Manor, for Yorkshire and the moors. She wanted Lady Greentree, and her two sisters—Marietta with her fair hair and blue eyes and irrepressible smile, and Francesca, dark-eyed and wild-haired, a law unto herself. They were her family, and she missed them. London was vast and uncaring, and her errand appeared hopeless. It seemed that Oliver wanted to destroy the shelter, and his brother’s memory with it, to fund his profligate lifestyle.

There was nothing she could do to stop him.

Apart, that is, from throwing herself into his arms and allowing him to make love to her, “over and over again.” This was the time to strike, while his passion was still hot, while she had a good chance of persuading him to do as she wanted. The fact that she wished to experience physical passion with Oliver Montegomery was a secondary matter, but it would help her to approach her new task with a certain…enthusiasm.

“Lil,” she said, looking up.

“Yes, miss?”

“Would you know how to…”

Lil waited expectantly, her face turned to her mis
tress, her brown eyes fixed trustingly upon Vivianna’s. And Vivianna knew she could not ask Lil to teach her the finer arts of ensnaring and enslaving Oliver Montegomery. Lil probably knew a great deal more than her mistress about such matters—her past was colorful and worldly—but Lil had tried to put it behind her. She considered herself “respectable” now, and the word meant a great deal to her. It would be unfair to place her in such a position. No, Vivianna must ask someone who was more pragmatic about such things, someone whose profession it was to understand the ways of men.

“Miss?”

“Never mind. Is Aunt Helen in her sitting room? I will join her in a moment.”

Aunt Helen was resting her eyes—her euphemism for taking a nap—but she sat up as Vivianna entered. She looked wan and tired. Vivianna had heard her aunt and Toby arguing long into the night, and afterward the sound of her aunt weeping had gone on even longer.

Vivianna found it difficult to believe that once Helen Tremaine had been the belle of the Tremaine family. “My sister could have taken her pick,” Lady Greentree had told her sadly, “but she chose Toby Russell. He was a rake even then, and not to be trusted, but she believed she could change him for the better. Poor Helen.”

“Could your family not have forbidden the banns, Mama?”

Amy Greentree had sighed. “My brother Thomas was in India, in the army—he and my dear husband were friends and brothers-in-arms. My younger brother, William, did make some effort, but Helen promptly ran off with Toby, and William let them wed
to hush up the scandal.” Lady Greentree had bitten her lip. “He lost his temper and said if she was determined to marry a cad, then he wished her well of it.”

“I had thought Uncle William more forbearing,” Vivianna had said. She did not know her uncle very well, but he had always seemed a bluff, kindly sort of man. Her Uncle Thomas—the elder brother—had died before she came to Greentree Manor, so she had never known him. It was Uncle William who was now head of the Tremaine family.

“William?” Lady Greentree had laughed. “He is not forbearing at all, my dear. He likes to have his own way, does my brother William. Let us just say that I am eternally glad that my dear husband took me to live in Yorkshire, and William lives in London.”

“Vivianna? I was asking you how you are faring with Lord Montegomery and the shelter.”

Helen was clasping her hand, and Vivianna shook off her abstraction and squeezed her aunt’s trembling fingers. “Not very well, I’m afraid. Never mind, I mean to persist. You know me.”

Helen sighed. “I think you are very brave, my dear. Toby says there are rumors about Lord Montegomery, and not very nice ones. He says…well, perhaps I should not repeat it, but then again if it will help you…he says that rumor has it that Lord Montegomery stole his brother’s fiancée, and his brother killed himself.”

Vivianna made a face. “I have heard that rumor.”

“The girl was Celia Maclean. A tragic tale. Evidently they were…well, it was more than a kiss. She has never married and, of course, her reputation is quite ruined.”

“But
he
continues to go about in society,” Vivianna said.

“Well, dear, he is a Montegomery, one of the
best
families, and a man. It is different for a man.”

It was grossly unfair, in Vivianna’s view, but Helen did not seem able to see that, or if she did, she accepted it as the natural order of things.

“My brother William may call in the next day or so, if time permits,” she went on. “Of course he is very busy, but as head of the family, he likes to keep an eye on us all.”

“I’m sure he does, Aunt Helen.”

Vivianna planned to visit Aphrodite’s in the next day or two, but she would not tell Helen that.

“I trust William,” Helen added, and her once-lovely face looked old and bleak. “These days, he is the only man I do trust.”

The evening shadows were long as Oliver, in his disguise of scuffed trousers and plain jacket, strolled out into the London streets. As usual he was thinking of Vivianna Greentree. The woman seemed to have a knack of wearing the ugliest clothing and of bundling her hair up so tightly it could not possibly do her any good. And yet, despite that, and her preaching ways, Oliver found himself thinking about her almost constantly. It was doing his peace of mind, and his concentration, no good at all.

He turned into a narrower, darker street. Why had Vivianna really come to his house? He had begun to wonder if Miss Vivianna was suffering the same ache of the flesh as he, but of course that could not be. Probably he was imagining the blurred look in her eyes and her enthusiastic responses—a case of wistful thinking. It was the shelter that motivated Vivianna. Everything she did was for the sake of her orphans. He could not trust her—these days there were few people
he could trust—but that did not mean he could not enjoy himself with her.

For a long time after Anthony’s death, the future had ceased to exist. Now there was a sense of life-to-be-lived stirring inside him. As if there may be a future for him, after all. And little though he may trust her, it had begun with the arrival of Vivianna.

He saw again her face, dreamy after he kissed her, and felt again her fine skin and soft mouth, smelled her sweet, wholesome scent. She was a meddlesome nuisance, interfering with his plans—Candlewood must be demolished, that was the crux upon which everything else revolved. His strong attraction to her was an added complication and had taken him by surprise. Did she realize how dangerous their association had become? He had always prided himself upon his ability to control his desire, had always despised those men who believed it their right to force a woman against her will, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to stop.

Oliver passed a lane so narrow a man would have to turn sideways to walk down it—eyes watched from the darkness—and finally reached the place he had set out for. Torches flared at the front door, and there was noise and the smell of ale issuing from within. He strolled inside.

It was not the best of places, but neither was it the worst. Once a respectable inn, it had degenerated, the customers coming from the miserable lodging houses in the area to escape the crowding, at least for a while. Because it was mediocre and forgettable, few gentlemen frequented it, and that was as he liked it. Oliver found his way to a quiet table in a shadowy corner and sipped his ale, prepared to wait as long as he had to.
He had only been there some ten minutes when the familiar figure slipped into the chair opposite him.

“Sergeant Ackroyd.”

Dark eyes and hair, a ferrety face that had never been handsome.

“Yer lordship,” Sergeant Ackroyd said, and glanced about nervously. He, like Oliver, was wearing plain clothing that had seen better days.

“What news do you have for me?”

The policeman’s gaze met his and flicked away as quickly. “Not a lot to report, yer lordship. The gentleman in question ain’t been about much. Stuck indoors on government business, so I hear.”

Oliver thought,
He thinks he’s safe; he thinks he’s won. I want him to feel like that. It will make the shock even greater when he learns that he hasn’t.

“No one has called on him, then?” he asked aloud.

“No one as shouldn’t, yer lordship.”

Oliver had asked Sergeant Ackroyd not to call him that, but the man had ignored him. He seemed to gain some sort of pleasure from saying it, or maybe it was just the fact he was hobnobbing with a peer of the realm.

“Well, keep watching. I am about to set a small test for our friend. I want to see how he reacts.”

“I’ll keep me eyes peeled, yer lordship, don’t worry.”

Oliver nodded, and left him there. Sergeant Ackroyd would do his job, now Oliver had to do his.

Aphrodite’s was sober by daylight; more like a boy’s grammar school than a disorderly house. Vivianna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and considered her options. The hackney cab had gone—she
had sent it away, afraid that if she didn’t she would change her mind and turn craven at the last moment.

This was no time for second thoughts and doubts. If she was to sway Oliver to her will, she must use every weapon she possessed, but she must understand the game first.

With a deep breath, Vivianna climbed the steps to the door beneath the portico and gave it a resounding rat-a-tat-tat. The echo reverberated within, and in moments heavy footsteps approached.

The doorman peered out at her. His battered face looked tired, his graying hair was not so neat, the neckcloth at his throat was untied and dangling, and his coat was plain black. But his gray eyes were sharp, and they narrowed in recognition.

“Oh, ’tis you,” he said, and swung open the door, though he remained in the way, blocking her entrance with his broad-shouldered form. “What do you want now?”

“I want to see Madame.”

“You want to see Madame?” He appeared amused rather than surprised. “What do you want to see her for? She don’t take no respectable women here, only the unrespectable ones.” And he smirked at his own wit.

Vivianna refused to be intimidated. “I don’t want to work here,” she retorted, “I just want to speak with her. Now let me in.”

He eyed her a moment more, his eyes sparkling with humor, and then with a shrug he stepped back. Pretending that her nerves were not stretched to their very limit, Vivianna followed him inside.

Polished wood shone richly; there was a strong scent of roses from a Chinese vase upon a pedestal. The sound of a piano being played drifted down the staircase. The doorman continued to observe her, as if
her reactions were a source of fascination to him. He was beginning to annoy her.

“This ain’t any old academy,” he informed her with an air of pride. “Miss Aphrodite runs a superior establishment. Not any old riffraff are allowed in here, only gentlemen, and only those who got the class and the blunt. Plenty so-called ‘gentlemen’ call themselves gentlemen and ain’t. Miss Aphrodite, she’s a real lady herself, and she knows what makes a real gentleman. She were famous in her day, she were. A famous
courtesan
.” He drew it out as if it were three words. “She had earls and dukes visiting her every day of the week, she did. A Frenchie, a prince it was, gave her a chateau just for spending one night with him. Miss Aphrodite, she’s a great lady.”

“Dobson!”

He froze, his battered face comical in dismay, and turned around. Vivianna also turned toward the voice.

Madame—or Miss Aphrodite, as Dobson had called her—was standing in the gallery above, dressed in another simple but very elegant black gown, her hair arranged in soft ringlets about her face and drawn into an intricate knot on top. Jewelry—a gold and emerald and topaz necklace—circled her throat, and her fingers flashed with precious stones. As she descended the stairs with a rustle of silken petticoats, Vivianna wondered whether the display of wealth upon her person was a reminder of her past glory.

“Miss Greentree? I did not expect to see you here again. Have you come for your cloak? Surely you could have sent a servant for such a trifling task?”

In truth, Vivianna had forgotten all about her cloak, but she used the excuse now. Better to tread carefully, she thought. If she blurted out her real reason for being here, she might find herself once more out in the
street and the door to Aphrodite’s closed firmly behind her.

“I hope you do not mind me coming, Madame?”

The woman smiled, and there was something in it at once comforting and yet startling. As if a beautiful and inanimate painting had suddenly come to life. The floor rocked beneath her feet, and then steadied. Vivianna took a sharp breath, wondering if the London air was beginning to disagree with her.