Sara Bennett

by Lessons in Seduction

  “I see.” Lawson glanced at Vivianna again, clearly waiting to be introduced. When Oliver didn’t oblige, Vivianna assumed it was because he was still angry with her, and she stepped forward and held out her own hand.

  “Lord Lawson, how do you do?” she said briskly, ignoring the surprised lift of his brows at her forwardness. “I am Miss Greentree, patron of the Shelter for Poor Orphans.”

  “Ah.” Lawson took her hand firmly. “I have heard of you, Miss Greentree. But I am a little surprised you would accompany Oliver here to the opera, not when he is being so stubborn about Candlewood.”

  Oliver laughed idiotically. “She’s a glutton for punishment,” he said. “Now, Lawson, you’ll have to let us by. Things to do, you know.”

  Lord Lawson bowed, but his gaze remained on Vivianna. “Goodbye, Miss Greentree. If I can ever be of any assistance…”

  “Thank you,” Vivianna managed, but Oliver’s hand on her arm was like iron, and he was pulling her steadily away. “Will you stop it!” she hissed. “What is the matter with you? Why did you pretend like that?”

  “None of your business, Vivianna.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot, I mustn’t ask questions. You prefer me with my mouth closed.”

  “Unless I want to put my tongue in it,” he answered in that droll, hateful way.

  Vivianna said nothing. He was beyond reaching with logic, and besides, she was still reeling from what had happened between them during the opera.

  By the time they reached the street, the coach was waiting and he followed her to the door. His hand was still strong on her arm, helping her in, but when she had been seated, she saw that Oliver had stayed outside. He was looking in at her, his face a shadow against the gaslights on the street, his expression unseen. But Vivianna heard the coldness in his voice.

  “I will leave you here.”

  “Leave me?” There was an anxious note in her voice, but she swallowed it back, and with it the sense of panic. There would be no journey home with him, no chance to right the wrong, no time to apologize.

  “My coachman will take you home, Miss Greentree. I prefer to walk.”

  “Walk to Aphrodite’s?” she said bitterly, and then wished she hadn’t.

  He did smile now; she saw the gleam of his eyes. “No, I think not. I have had enough of love for profit for one night.”

  Her heart lurched a little, but she held it in check. She told herself it did not matter to her. “Then I will say goodnight, Lord Montegomery. Thank Lady Marsh for the chance to see an Italian opera, and I hope she is well again soon.”

  He stepped back and bowed. His voice had a grave finality. “Goodbye, Vivianna.”

  “Oh, and Oliver…” She managed a smile, though her face hurt with the effort. “I think I will be taking Lord Lawson up on his offer to help.”

  Just as she thought, he did not like that. Something in his eyes flickered, but it was gone as quickly. “Drive on!” The coach jolted forward, and her last view of Oliver was of him turning away and walking into the crowd outside the theater—the flower sellers and link boys, the street women, the hungry and the homeless.

  This was not as she had envisaged the evening ending. No wonder she felt bereft. Protect your heart. Easier said than done. Would she ever see him again?

  Of course she would! There was still the matter of Candlewood, and she must continue to try and save it for the children, and Lord Lawson had offered her his services. But she admitted to herself that inexperience had caused her to make a dreadful mistake. She had thought it was the right moment to speak of Candlewood, but it wasn’t. Maybe it had all been a mistake; maybe she had confused her passion to save the shelter with her passion for Oliver.

  Vivianna groaned and put her face in her hands.

  When she reached Bloomsbury, Helen was abed and Toby was out. She was glad to climb into her bed and be left alone.

  For a time she lay in the candlelight and listened to the stillness. Queen’s Square was not one of the busy areas of London. It was old and out of fashion, but what it lacked in savoir-faire it made up for in quiet. The people who lived here were those, like Helen and Toby, struggling with their finances, or those who were on the fringes of polite society, or seeking to make their ways into it.

  Queen’s Square was not like Mayfair, or the Boulevard de la Madeleine.

  That was when she remembered the red leather-bound book that Aphrodite had given to her. Her life story, or the beginnings of it.

  She had not had a chance to look at it before—she wanted to be certain she would not be interrupted. Now she rose again from her bed and searched in her trunk, finding the book tucked away among her plain woolen Yorkshire gowns.

  For a moment Vivianna felt strangely wary of opening it. What if it was dreadful? Maybe she would be better off not knowing? And yet curiosity won her over, and Vivianna finally opened the book and, moving the candle nearer, settled herself to reading at least a part of it.

  It is 1806 and I look out of my window and down into the narrow street, piled high with the filth of generations of families, of men and women and children, trapped here, just as I am. And I wish I could escape this life of mine.

  My mother works for a milliner on Dudley Street, and brings home barely enough to pay for the ale my father drinks. He works in the stables on George Street, but sometimes he doesn’t come home. There are other children, four brothers and three sisters, and we sleep and live in this small place. Outside the air is full of smoke and dust and dirt, and the smells of so many people packed into one small area of London.

  This is the Dials. Seven Dials. And this is what I have to look forward to. Unless I leave in a wooden box, says Jemmy. He makes me laugh. He works in the stables with Da, and he loves it. His dream is to have horses of his own, maybe drive a coach or a cab, or work for some gentleman as a groom.

  Jemmy tells me to stick with him and everything will be all right. He says we have love for each other, and that love makes all the difference. But does it? I think even love like that between me and Jemmy would wear out in this place. It might even turn to hate, eventually. I think I’d feel trapped, like a fly in a jam jar, buzzing and buzzing against the sides and never being free.

  I don’t want to hate Jemmy.

  Vivianna found herself intrigued. The young girl, never named but obviously Aphrodite, observed the lives of those about her with quiet despair. She didn’t want to be one of them. Soon she had turned her eyes, instead, toward the ladies and gents she saw on her way to one of the slop-shops, or sewing rooms, on Monmouth Street, where she now worked. The slop-shops made clothing for some of the top modistes, who then sold them to the wealthy for far more than the girls could imagine.

  Elena was there, young and full of hope. But whereas Elena gazed upon the clothing worn by the rich, and dreamed of one day having her own shop, or of being a modiste with a list of aristocratic clientele, Aphrodite looked at the ladies and gentlemen themselves.

  And longed to be one of them.

  Jemmy wants us to marry soon. He has saved a little from his work, and as he has no family to support—he was left when he was five and has lived by his own wits ever since—he puts it aside. He hides it in a space in the wall, behind the bed, at his lodgings. He says we can use it to rent a room of our own, and to make a start.

  He says we can even leave the Dials and go into the country.

  I don’t know, though. I see lots of country people here in London, looking for work, looking to better themselves. More of them come every day.

  1809—A gentleman spoke to me today. I often see him, outside the slop-shops. They say he preys upon girls, offering them food and a warm bed, and then he sells them into disorderly houses. I would not go with him, but I like to talk with him, just to listen to his voice. Elena pulled me away and swore at him. I told her I didn’t mean any harm, that I just wished I could talk like him, all la-di-dah.

  I don’t think she believed me, though.

  Soon Aphrodite was carry
ing clothing from the slop-shop to the different modistes. She was pretty and personable, and generally liked. She would stay and chat, and make even the most sour-faced person smile. There were always plenty of ladies and gentlemen about such places. One gentleman, whom she called Henry, was particularly attentive. He had come to pay for some clothes for his mistress.

  But even as he spoke of her, his eyes were all for Aphrodite.

  Henry says he is rich, and he could teach me to be a lady. I would have to learn to speak, to walk, to dress, even to think properly. Everything! But he says I am a quick study and I can do it.

  I amuse him; I make him laugh. He says that is what men like best, a woman to make them laugh. I think he is bored with his life and looking for diversion. That is what I am to him, his current diversion. But it will not last. His eye will stray and he will see something else.

  If I am going to make my decision it must be soon.

  He has a house in Mayfair.

  Vivianna could read the temptation between the lines. Aphrodite wanted to go with Henry, but what would become of her, and what would become of Jemmy? Quickly she turned the page.

  I have said yes. I have told him I will meet him tomorrow and I will go with him. He tells me he has friends, and I will never want for anything. Especially when I have learned to be a lady.

  I have not told Elena, or my family, or Jemmy. I don’t know what I will say to them all, but especially to Jemmy. He will hate me, and yet I know I cannot do as he wants me to, I cannot be what he wants me to be.

  This is best, for us all.

  And then, at the bottom of the page:

  Jemmy has joined the army and gone to fight Napoleon.

  I do not suppose I will ever see him again.

  Tears flooded Vivianna’s eyes.

  Was this the love Aphrodite had spoken of, the man she had loved and left behind and now regretted beyond words? Strange, that a woman who had done so much, seen so much, lived such a rich and full life, should regret something that happened when she was a young girl, at the beginning of it all.

  Beyond her room, Vivianna heard Helen’s voice, and then Toby’s deeper tones. He was home, then. After a moment Helen began to cry. Vivianna wanted to keep on reading Aphrodite’s diary, but she knew she could not. Helen would need her company and support when morning came. Fascinating as the beautiful courtesan’s life was, it had nothing to do with her.

  She closed the diary and hid it away again, promising herself she would read more as soon as she was able.

  After he had left Vivianna, Oliver wandered for a long while, undecided upon his destination. His body ached for hers, but he was glad it had come to nothing—could come to nothing. He had known all along that even if he had her, it would not be the end of his reluctant obsession with her. More likely it would be the beginning of something more.

  She was not the woman he had wanted her to be.

  Now he knew the truth.

  It was Candlewood she thought of when she was kissing him and touching him. It was Candlewood making her gasp and cry out when he did the same to her. She had believed she could barter her body for his compliance.

  Oliver had met too many women like that in the past year. He was jaded with them and their view of the world. He had thought Vivianna was different; he had wanted her so much to be different.

  But beyond his disappointment, now there was something more to keep him awake at nights.

  Lawson and Vivianna.

  He had no doubt Vivianna would contact Lawson and take up his offer of help. She had said as much. And Lawson, his cold eyes smug and confident, knew he had found a lever to use on Oliver.

  “Bastard,” Oliver muttered. “Murdering bastard.”

  Lawson, through Vivianna, would try to stop Candlewood’s demolition—he would use her crusading spirit to buy himself time.

  He looked up at the dark, cloud-strewn sky. Lawson was a dangerous man. A killer with powerful friends. On their way home from Candlewood, Oliver had let slip to Vivianna that he wanted to avenge his brother. She hadn’t forgotten it. She would repeat it to Lawson. Naturally she would, because Lawson would assure her that he and Anthony were the best of friends. She would tell him everything.

  The game would be up—Lawson would know Oliver was on to him. A year of slowly reeling in Anthony’s killer would have been wasted. But, more than the destruction of all his hopes and plans, Vivianna would be in Lawson’s power. She would be in danger.

  Oliver’s blood turned to ice.

  He took a deep breath and looked around. The white columns of White’s were right in front of him and he didn’t even remember making the journey. Lawson was probably there now—the opera had long since finished. There was a chance Oliver could still salvage his plan. He could throw Lawson off the scent, make him believe Vivianna was of no importance. He had to try. With a tired shrug of acceptance, Oliver climbed the steps and made his way inside. The gaming rooms were as full as ever, and there were quite a few members deep in conversation, or partaking of a late supper in the dining room.

  Oliver refused a number of requests by his acquaintances to join them. Instead he sat with a glass and a bottle of brandy before him, and pretended to be busy with his usual pastime of getting drunk.

  “Oliver!”

  He didn’t jump, although his entire body went rigid and his heart began to pound. As if he had suddenly come face-to-face with tremendous danger. Slowly, taking his time, Oliver rose unsteadily to his feet.

  “Lord Lawson.”

  Lawson returned his bow briefly.

  Behind him, Toby Russell’s handsome, dissolute face appeared, his eyes as watchful as ever. “Lord Montegomery!” he said with false joviality. “This is a surprise, eh? I thought you were at the opera with my niece. Don’t say it’s finished already? Those things usually go on for hours, don’t they?”

  Lawson gave Toby a curious glance. “With your niece, Russell? Is the forthright Miss Greentree your niece?”

  “She’s come down from Yorkshire. She’s my wife’s sister’s girl.”

  “And you asked her to the opera, Oliver?” Lord Lawson was smiling at him, but there was calculation behind it. “Alone?”

  Oliver affected disinterest. “Lady Marsh asked Miss Greentree to the opera and then fell ill. I took the young lady in her place.”

  Toby raised his eyebrows, but before he could question Oliver’s statement of events, Lawson said, “I thought you were hanging out for a wife, Oliver. Perhaps your aunt sees Miss Greentree as filling that role?”

  “Not me, my lord. I have no intention of being leg-shackled yet. Look at Russell here, he’s a warning to us all.”

  Lord Lawson laughed loudly and Toby smiled in a manner he probably believed to be good-humored, though looked anything but.

  “She is a pretty thing, Oliver, this niece of Russell’s.”

  “I suppose she’s attractive in a countrified way,” he said offhandedly.

  “So you didn’t enjoy the opera?”

  Oliver yawned. “No, my lord, I didn’t.”

  “Strange, that wasn’t what I thought.”

  Oliver felt his blood freeze as he looked into Lawson’s famous ice-blue eyes. There was amusement in them, and triumph, but worst of all, there was knowledge. Lawson had seen them, or someone else had done the spying and then reported to him. Oliver knew he should have thought of that—he should have planned ahead. And yet it had been innocent enough, until he kissed her.

  Then the situation had spun rapidly out of control.

  How could he have been so blind and so stupid? He must defuse the matter, brush it off as one of his escapades. He wasn’t supposed to care what happened to someone like Vivianna, and Lawson wouldn’t expect him to.

  But he did. Despite what he had said to her tonight, despite what she had said to him, she mattered to him. He realized it now as he sensed the danger he had brought down upon her, and he also realized just how much.

  “Ah.” Oliver wagged his
finger at the other two men. He made himself smirk and swagger a little, playing at being the drunken fool. “Then you know, Lawson, that Miss Greentree isn’t very happy with me.”

  Lawson smirked back while Toby looked from one to the other in frustrated silence. “And why is that, Oliver? Do enlighten us, and I will tell you whether your story tallies with my own. What did you and Miss Greentree talk about at the opera?”

  “Damned if I know. I wasn’t particularly interested in her conversation,” he said.

  Lawson laughed, but his eyes were bright with contempt. “Do you often copulate with girls in public, Oliver? Very bad form. Especially when Her Majesty is present.”

  Toby’s eyes popped. “You did what?”

  “I didn’t manage it,” Oliver went on thoughtfully, as if he were discussing a horse race and not a woman’s honor. “I tried, but she wasn’t having any. I do believe I’ll have to let that one go. I don’t think Miss Greentree will come out with me alone ever again. Or that her uncle here would allow it, eh, Russell?”

  Toby looked annoyed, but Oliver thought it was because he felt an idiot for not seeing the truth before now, rather than that any harm might have been done to Vivianna.

  Lawson gave Oliver a wink. “I don’t know, Oliver, you used to have quite a reputation where the ladies were concerned. Strange, but my information is you were more interested in gazing into her eyes than watching the opera. But you’re not the man you were, Oliver, are you? Maybe these days you need someone else to hold her down for you, open her legs while you find the right—”