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 Viv
ianna 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.
Chapter 6
At 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 mistress, 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.
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