She reviewed the list of visits the Salvation Saviours planned for the week ahead. Today the organization would visit a kitchen for the hungry and needy near Southwark. It wasn’t the safest location for a young woman to frequent, but her mother had never let the cause curtail her charity and Vivienne intended to do the same.
Lightning rent the sky in a jagged flash that brought with it a flood of bitter memories. It had poured then too, and he, a young man of fifteen years, hadn’t the life experience or acuity to manage his emotions once he’d learned the horrific details of his mother’s death. It was a nightmare that never went away, a heartache that never healed.
He allowed the memories to come, fortified with over a decade of muted acceptance and a bottle of expensive brandy. He’d let the past invade if for no other reason than to fuel his goal to locate Pimms and send the man straight to hell.
At times, he fooled himself with the belief he’d salvage a small portion of peace by ridding the world of the three men who’d raped his mother. With the cruel plan prompted by his father’s adultery and machinated by his stepmother, how could he understand love when he’d been taught rejection and deceit most of his life?
He poured a glass of brandy and stared into the amber liquor as if the deadened promise of inebriation could banish his turmoil, but the routine never succeeded. All those years ago the skies raged in kind to the torment he experienced as he’d ridden from his father’s house with new knowledge of his mother’s death.
His father was already in the ground and upon hearing a few words of information from a hired investigator, Sin visited the residence demanding answers concerning the last evening of his mother’s life. How ludicrous to believe he would gain satisfaction from the cold, insecure woman he never regarded as stepmother. Driven by desperation and vehemence, he’d challenged her with the accusation she’d instigated the confrontation of highwaymen to set upon his mother and ‘teach her a lesson’. And they had, three times, each taking a turn during the savagery of their attack.
To this day he carried remorse and regret in the belief somehow he should have saved her the way she’d saved him time and time again during his upbringing. His mother proved the only person to offer him unconditional love. She fought to better his life and with her death and no outlet for his resentment, he lived now without concern of social dictates, propriety or decorum. He was a bastard and Devil take him, he’d excel at the role.
He scrubbed a hand over his face to wipe away the sorrowful collection of facts. He needed to find Pimms and put an end to his unrelenting thirst for revenge. Perhaps then…
A ready image of Vivienne materialized and he scoffed. He hardly knew her and yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her: her scent, the taste of her tongue against his. A predictable and safe preoccupation considering the morose path of his thoughts otherwise. He downed the liquor in his glass and allowed his eyes to fall closed. He lied to himself in regard to the lady. Something, some unnamed emotion, provoked he know more—yet what good could come of it? Desire prodded. The truth of that realization never stopped him before. If for no other reason than distraction, he’d seek Vivienne out, satisfy his curiosity and put it all to rest.
But only after he finished with Pimms.
Only then.
He stood from his desk and pushed his glass aside. With Wilson absent it was time to ferret out information himself. His background afforded him plentiful knowledge of the predictable holes where rats chose to hide. He grabbed his cap off the hook and stepped out into the rain, determined to take up the reins and meet his goal.
The fusty aroma of overcooked beef assailed one’s senses upon entering the Bankend Street kitchen. This relief building and others like it were established due to the Poor Laws as sustentation of the city’s vagabonds and impotent poor. Any sturdy beggar was guaranteed a hot meal twice a day. Unfortunately, the voluntary charity enabled the unprincipled population of criminals and miscreants the same simple provisions. Someone like Pimms, for example.
Max had no idea whether his trip to Southwark would prove a waste, but his most recent message sent to Wilson was left unanswered and all the while Pimms planned a disappearance. Not wishing to portray quality and pursuing anonymity, he’d worn a plain tan shirt and trousers, though as his eyes scanned the crowd, an attempt at remaining congruous seemed futile. The occupants, mostly men, were seated at tables arranged in parallel lines, long benches their counterpart, where any lost soul or hungry child could escape the weather and fill one’s stomach.
Cheapside and Southwark were caught in a downward spiral of illegal activity and yet with their central location, the areas tempted the criminal class with all the offerings of better London.
A peal of feminine conversation entered through the double doors before several women filed into view. A charity enacting their benevolent agenda, no doubt. He shot a glance to the oversized wall clock as the ladies’ conversation carried, the hall otherwise quiet, hunger a humble and silent companion. Something made him look back at the newcomers, he wouldn’t dare label it hope, more so their discussion seemed misplaced, and then he saw her, Vivienne, near the end of the contingent. She noticed him too, her green-eyed stare seeking his as if they were drawn together by a force other than their own. The women dispersed in several directions, layers of compassion peeled away to reveal the loveliest flower at the centre.
She smiled and his feet set into motion.
‘Mr Sinclair.’ Her voice held a note of bemusement that pleased him.
‘Max.’ He corrected, soaking her in, unsure how long their conversation would last. She was quality. He was—bloody hell he didn’t know what he was any more.
‘Yes, Max.’
Dammit, but he liked when she said his name.
‘Spreading goodwill, are you?’ He spared a quick glance around the room before his eyes returned to the beguiling beauty before him.
‘Yes. Carrying on my mother’s honourable work. Fancy I should meet you here though.’ Her brow lowered in an adorable furrow. ‘This is a place of lonely supplication and yet we met in the middle as if in a ballroom and we prepared for a waltz.’
‘I don’t dance.’ How easily she placed him in her world. Fanciful rubbish. Reality connected him more readily to the hospitality kitchen.
‘No, of course.’ She shook her head and the long ringlet that rested on her shoulder slid gracefully down her back.
Her hair, thick and full, begged his attention. How silky it felt as it coasted across his palms and he gathered her in his arms. He swallowed the words he meant to say. ‘I shan’t keep you then.’ The sparkle left her eyes with his dismissal. She hadn’t expected him to release her from conversation, but why prolong the inevitable? Besides, he’d come to Southwark with a purpose much different than hers. He forced a curt nod before he retreated.
‘Max.’
Her insistent summons waylaid his departure. He stopped, half turned in her direction, afraid he’d step back into her entrancing company all too easily.
‘You said I hold your vowels. When might you repay them? Lest you forget you’re on a path to reformation.’
Flirtatious minx. He barely managed to suppress his grin. How did she do that to him? ‘What do you have in mind?’
She appeared flummoxed by his reversal of enquiry. ‘I shall give it prudent consideration.’
A bit of sparkle returned to her emerald eyes. Dammit if she didn’t please him despite his vow to avoid her.
He held her stare a moment longer, then with a brief grin walked away, anxious to focus on locating information about Pimms for no other reason than to chase away the memory of Vivi’s proposition.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Crispin is beyond generous to include me in your plans for the theatre, Sophie.’ Vivienne entered the Daventry town house and handed her wrap to Henderson near the door.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We wouldn’t think of excluding you. I can’t wait to see the p
erformance and I’m certain my brother is looking forward to the evening.’ She offered Vivienne a meaningful stare that spoke volumes.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Although I’ll be careful of how much I allow my appreciation to show.’ A rueful grimace curled her mouth, unsure of how to react. They knew the situation remained delicate, both ladies concerned for Crispin’s feelings. ‘Your gown is exquisite. You will be the finest dressed at Drury Lane.’ She paused, a sorrowful catch in her throat. ‘I’d be lost if you hadn’t welcomed me back from—’
‘Not another word. This evening shall be about excitement and pleasure. Your gown is absolutely lovely by the way. Does it feel wonderful to wear colours again?’ Sophie was quick to smile.
‘Oh yes, although I’m not sure this rose silk qualifies. It’s lighter in colour than I noticed when I chose the fabric at the modiste’s last week.’
‘I think it is the veriest shade of pink—darker than the fetching bloom of colour on your cheeks and fairer than your rosy lips.’ Crispin joined the ladies in the hall. He cut a striking figure in his cutaway tailcoat. Vivienne knew someday a deserving lady would lose her heart to him, if only he freed his own to receive another’s love.
‘Let’s not be late.’ Sophie retrieved her reticule and gloves from the sideboard. ‘I don’t want to miss a minute. How is it, Crispin, that you took the longest to dress and prepare? Your valet must have a megrim by now.’
Henderson stepped forward to hand the ladies their coats and Vivienne hid her laughter at Sophie’s tease behind her shawl. She was so thankful for their friendship. Her days were decidedly happier lately. Of course her mother was always with her and she still reserved doubt concerning her stepfather’s behaviour, but ever since stepping back into a schedule of duty and activity, she found herself with a lighter heart. A vivid image of Maxwell formed and she stifled a secret smile.
‘I take exception to your comment.’ Crispin winked in Vivienne’s direction. ‘We should be off.’ He approached her with a broad smile. ‘Milady, may I serve as your escort?’ He eased her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Vivienne accepted his arm, careful to keep her hold light as he handed her into the carriage and they set off for the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. Crispin had already purchased their tickets for the performance, although it didn’t matter which show they were to see. Vivienne’s enthusiasm matched Sophie’s, the two in a flurry of conversation before Crispin climbed inside.
‘You look breathtaking, ladies. It will be a wonder if any gentleman can keep his attention towards the stage.’ He smiled warmly from across the coach. ‘I am a lucky man.’
‘I understand the theatre is newly equipped with gas lights.’ Sophie hardly paused for a breath. ‘And Mr Kean is performing tonight.’ She promptly ignored her brother’s compliment but Vivienne couldn’t behave in kind.
‘Thank you.’ She offered him a kind smile. ‘It feels wonderful to be out in society again.’
‘Then I have accomplished my goal.’
Their pleasure was short-lived as the carriage rolled to an abrupt stop, Wellington Street blocked by two overturned chicken carts. Crispin frowned as he looked out the square window. ‘This is an unforeseen hiccup in our plans. Perhaps I’ll have the driver attempt a different route.’
‘If we advance a little further to Fleet Street and then make a left turn on Chancery, I believe we will be close enough to walk the remaining distance.’ Vivienne hoped no one questioned her sudden knowledge of this area of London. Having visited the Underworld twice and walked several blocks in her own adventure to the gaming hell, she wished to assist her friends more than fuel any strange suspicion, but instead of Crispin wondering at her directional keenness, it was Sophie who spilled the beans.
‘Oh, did you come this way when you visited that gaming hell?’ She fussed inside her reticule, at last retrieving the handkerchief she needed, unaware of her disturbing comment and the instant attention she’d garnered.
Vivienne remained quiet, though across the carriage Crispin’s expression transformed, a flash of several emotions lighting his face until he pinned her with a conflicted stare.
‘Oh dear.’ Sophie leaked the remorseful words.
‘You went to the Underworld? When I advised you not to visit? By yourself?’ Accusation stained each of the three questions.
She sat quietly, unsure of what or when to answer. Crispin no longer appeared the besotted suitor. He looked furious, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
‘Only to satisfy my curiosity.’ She offered a placating frown. ‘After our conversation my interest was piqued, but all was fine. You’ve no need to worry.’
His ill temper eased although the jovial mood that had enveloped their carriage waned in equal measure. It wasn’t until several minutes later that the driver gained a path forward and they jolted into motion towards the theatre once again.
‘Let’s not allow my slip of the tongue to spoil the evening. Come now, Crispin. You sound as bossy and overprotective as Father.’ Sophie chided. ‘Vivienne is a woman grown. She can go anywhere and do anything she likes. Thank heavens she’s out and about to reclaim enjoyment of all the festivities we’ll share this season.’ Thankfully Sophie didn’t add the obvious since her mother’s passing, though Crispin was smart enough to perceive it in her tone.
‘Agreed. The last thing I desire is to appear the stuffy prig when I have the two loveliest belles on my arm tonight.’ He made a genuine effort to appear content though his smile looked forced. Drat Sophie and her blathering.
‘I left word with my stepfather that I would be your houseguest this evening. Since the theatre ends at so late an hour, it made better sense for me to stay for the evening than to be out on the road in the dead of night. I hope your Cook doesn’t mind an extra place setting at breakfast.’ This titbit brightened Crispin’s mood considerably. He began tapping the carriage floor with his toe, like an energetic woodpecker.
‘Sophie didn’t mention it.’ He cast his sister a glare that expressed scandalized betrayal. ‘How delightful.’ His face transformed to a grin of genuine happiness.
The carriage rolled to a stop before they could discuss it further and it was just as well. Vivienne walked a dangerous line attempting to balance Crispin’s feelings, her loyalty to Sophie’s friendship and her own view of the future. Thank goodness tonight would provide light-hearted entertainment; her brain was already fatigued.
‘Here we are, Mirabel.’ Sin flicked a hand to indicate the fifth row on the lower floor of the theatre where two seats faced the curtain. ‘I hope I’m a suitable replacement companion this evening since your plans were cancelled last moment. Nudge me if I fall asleep or otherwise cause you embarrassment.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Mirabel settled in the seat closest to the stage. ‘Thank you again for this favour. Ever since I received these tickets I’ve anticipated the show and, just for one night, wished to pretend life existed in the theatre only.’ Her gaze skimmed left and right in appreciation. ‘A little like I’m the one playing a role tonight: a different girl, a different life, instead of…’ she paused, appearing unsure of how to continue ‘…well, you know.’
He noted the sadness that crept into her eyes as she finished the sentence. ‘Gentry isn’t all it’s perceived to be.’ The words sounded hollow though he believed it. ‘And whoever gifted these tickets proved himself a fool for not escorting you. The seats are well chosen and you are fine company.’ He folded himself into the seat beside her, relieved to claim the aisle for no other reason than to have the extra room. Meanwhile his mind spun in a different direction altogether. This was the type of entertainment Vivienne would expect: theatre, opera and ballroom soirées. The stark difference in their lifestyle cut deeper. He should forget her. He wished he knew how.
Instead the opposite ensued. The more he tried to rid her from his mind, the more she was there: the sweet purity of her skin, lingering fragrance, the sensual noise she’d made in the bac
k of her throat when he’d pressed her against the window glass and brought her to climax. He shifted in his seat. God dammit, was he the only man over six feet to attend the theatre? The chairs seemed incredibly small.
‘Are you listening?’ Mirabel’s voice rose an octave.
He snapped his attention to the left. ‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ She shook her head, an amused gleam in her eyes. ‘I suppose it would be too much to hope for clever conversation when I can tell your thoughts are elsewhere. I’m satisfied you’ve filled the seat beside me tonight.’
‘Overfilled.’ He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Seeking a means of amends for his poor attention he cast a glance to the refreshment area across the theatre. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘That would be perfect.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Without pause he headed to the attendant, wishing to return to his seat with their glasses before the curtain rose.
Things didn’t proceed as planned. Third in line to secure beverages, he surveyed the crowd, the section of audience closest to him without a spare seat. His eyes wandered to the crowded ground floor boxes where the private and privileged enjoyed the performance.
It was Adonis who caught his interest: Adonis and his lookalike sister who snagged his attention. Vivienne’s lovely dark hair blended into the secluded intimacy of the private box, though he found her a heartbeat after locating the gentleman. Cornered in the looking-glass house, she’d claimed the man as a friend and he had no reason to doubt her word, yet a simmering white heat sparked his anger; the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed. Inhaling a deep breath, he refocused on the refreshment attendant, though he shot a glance towards the box as if he had no better sense. A glutton for punishment, he saw the trio engrossed in lively conversation. When only one person remained ahead of him in line, he abandoned the stand and walked towards the aisle directly in front of the ground floor loge area.
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