Lady Vice

by Wendy Lacapra

  Her gaze flew to his with the stinging swing of a trapball bat. Inwardly, he cursed his hasty reaction. A note of unintended irritation had crept into his voice. But after what they had just shared, how could she doubt him?

  “I see,” she said. “One tumble and years simply disappear? Even you do not have such a gift.”

  He trained his eyes to remain calm and coaxing. “You trusted me with your body. You can trust me with your heart.”

  She lifted her brows as if considering. She tilted her head, hair wisping over her skin. Then, her face fell. “I can say facing the worst will be easier, knowing we’ve shared a perfect night.”

  That was her allowance? Warning clanged like distant church bells. “Your tone gives me pause, love.”

  She sank into his pillow. “You said we had a lifetime to learn each other,” she said, in a voice so quiet, she could have slipped past sleeping Cerberus. “But while I am at risk, I cannot make promises.”

  Max brushed her hair away from her face. Her skin warmed his fingers, but her paper-pale cheeks cautioned. She was rapidly slipping away, damn her stubborn, benumbed soul.

  “I swore I would never let them take you. I honor my commitments. Do you understand?”

  She stretched her lips, an incomplete smile, brittle as a dry bone. “You will do everything you can, I know.”

  The ease, the closeness, the feeling of being wrapped in a protective blanket thick as Siberian snow cover, evaporated. He shrank, all at once becoming the defiant young man beneath her father’s glower. What, pray tell, can you give my daughter that would tempt me to release her to your care?

  Her father may have later admitted his wrong, but the moment’s degradation remained undiminished.

  “You believe I can protect you,” he said, bolstering his dignity. Lavinia must believe in him. She must—now and forever.

  “So valiant—you pitting yourself against the royal court.” She might have substituted the words “what a sweet little boy.” “Would you have me rob you of the fruits of your struggle and debase you as Vaile did me?”

  Debase? “I do not follow your logic.”

  After all he’d done, she still gazed at him with a skeptic’s eyes. The beast inside him paced like a caged and restless tiger behind weakened iron bars, purposing to toss her, like battle-spoil, into its cave and defend the opening with bared teeth.

  No. A gentleman did not hoard, he protected. And a lady was to be won, not conquered.

  Would that he could deftly maneuver a conversation with as much ease as his ribbons commanded his horses. He must urge Lavinia back, and to do so required stern and complete control.

  “I frightened you,” he said. “Why?”

  Her eyes flashed, reproachful, wary. “You really do not know?”

  He shook his head no.

  “You mentioned marriage. What if Montechurch—or the madam—reveal the whole truth?”

  “I will not let them hurt you.”

  She studied him in silent deliberation. “What if I must reveal the truth…to hurt them? I must use everything in my power to bring Montechurch to justice, including my shame.”

  His heart twisted. “I do not understand.”

  “Montechurch is, I believe, Vaile’s killer. If I am right, he will not stop until I am dead, too.”

  Cold formed in geometric patterns on his neck, extending into his hair and down onto his back. Ruin herself? Ruin them both? This could not be the only way.

  “What motive?” he managed.

  “Efficiency.” She dropped her head, shielding her face with a fanned curtain of hair. “By killing Vaile and framing me, he would exact a double revenge, cold and efficient.”

  Which was not a complete motive. “There is nothing efficient about this murder. Nothing neat. When Grimley came to question you, Montechurch hinted at your threat to shoot Vaile. Yet he declined to testify to the court.”

  “He thinks himself grand, but he’s rarely been challenged. Don’t you see? Monte did not testify because he was afraid of what he’d reveal about his own perfidy.”

  Monte? “What is Monte to you? How well do you know your husband’s cousin?”

  Her eyes were slick and thick with oily secrets. “Like the veins on the back of my hand.”

  The beast’s ears turned forward, back muscles rippling.

  She frowned. “I do not approve of your look. I have no feeling for Monte but disgust. He was Vaile’s constant companion. He is a despot and a braggart and, when in jeopardy, he becomes a howling child.”

  He cursed the jealous beast to silence. So she knew her husband’s cousin well enough to call him Monte—what did that prove?

  “Why grant him the intimacy of an endearment?”

  “Vaile called him Monte.” She held his gaze, defiant, challenging. You could have trusted me.

  “Does Monte have a weakness other than the secrets you keep?” he asked.

  “Perhaps.” Memories cast patterns on her face like reflected clouds on a barley field. “He is terrified of his father. When his father demanded his presence, Monte became ferocious with Vaile and, in turn, Vaile with me.”

  “Boot dirt,” he said, with disgust. “Both of them.”

  “Together, their weaknesses were multiplied, but are they so different from the rest of your sex?”

  “Night and day!”

  She shrugged, rolling his astonishment off her shoulder like a loose lock of hair. “If you say so.”

  “I hope you aren’t lumping me into a lot with them,” he said.

  Distrust rested in her eyes, thick and dangerous as bog mud. “I haven’t much experience with men of honor.” Her voice went low and gritty—the same voice she’d used at Sophia’s. “Monte, on the other hand, I know.”

  The warning bells that had been so distant now clanged inside the room. Suddenly, he knew she was already formulating a plan.

  “What do you intend?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin.

  “For the thousandth time, Lavinia, I am on your side.”

  Her eyes remained fixed to the bed. “If I must, I will confront Monte myself.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She lifted her head, alert as a hunted fox. “Are you forbidding me?”

  Montechurch’s agonized cry for Lavinia reverberated in Max’s bones. “Hell, yes.”

  “I will consider your wishes, but trust my own judgment.”

  Within himself he heard a growl—low and sustained. Hers was a careful answer, a wise answer, an answer the gentleman in him should honor.

  What if she could influence Montechurch? Dare he dismiss such an opportunity?

  He’d heard a tale in India about trickster weavers who told a maharaja about cloth so fine it could not be seen by those of low birth. Such a fabric never existed, of course, but in the tale, that did not stop the foolish maharaja from paying a fortune for air, all because he was certain of his superiority.

  Was Montechurch such a man? Could he be tricked?

  Even if he was, must Lavinia be the one to tell the maharaja he was naked? They had both lost so much already. And, once the whole truth came out, the story of her marriage to Vaile would follow Lavinia for the rest of her life.

  Follow them both.

  Competing impulses locked horns like Scottish stags in vicious confrontation. If he forbade her, she would assume he was rejecting her, not the idea. Revealing Montechurch for the blackguard he was could bring him down.

  But she should, for surety’s sake, listen, damn Satan’s shriveled soul.

  “He’s mad, Vinia. Not eccentric mad, but chained-to-Bedlam’s-floor mad.”

  “No one knows his madness better than I.”

  Their eyes locked and a phantom doubler to his chest left him winded. “You would do this, no matter what the threat—no matter what my wishes?”

  “I don’t yet have a specific plan. We are finding out as much as we can about Monte and the brothel.”

  So great was the danger, the
warning bells stopped ringing, leaving an empty, eerie silence in his soul.

  “What brothel?” he asked.

  “Monte owns Iphigenia’s brothel.”

  A huge piece of the puzzle moved into place. He frowned. So much for the money he’d spent on expert solicitors.

  “How did you find out he owned the brothel?” he asked.

  “I did not know until Emma told—”

  “Emma?” he asked, his tone a tad strident. “Who is Emma?”

  She searched his face with an odd expression. “Her Grace, the dowager duchess of Wynchester. She insisted I call her by her given name. She is quite friendly.”

  Add one more to the side of avenging females. Before they had left Vaile House, Wynchester had warned him the harridan would meddle.

  “Friendly,” he said broodingly. “Is that what they call it?”

  Her eyes widened. She dropped one knee and sat straight. Not good.

  “You disapprove of Emma.”

  “Not disapprove, exactly. You do not know her very well, you must admit.”

  She drew her legs into her chest so she no longer touched him. Surely, the bed had turned to peat bog, and he was sinking.

  Her eyes accused. “She called you her lovely young neighbor.”

  “Wynchester told me—”

  “Wynchester?” She stretched the name from wan disbelief to shrill displeasure.

  He took her hand. “Tell me what else she said about the brothel. Let’s just forget I said anything about—”

  “No. What did Wynchester tell you?”

  He’d awakened standing in the center of an unfamiliar room packed with strangers. “Nothing. Wynchester told me nothing.”

  Her color lightened as her anger receded, leaving something worse—resolve. She stared into his eyes for a long, silent moment and then started shaking her head no.

  “What are you negating?” he asked warily.

  “You,” she said. “I thought I understood you. I thought you understood me. I told you we are strangers.”

  “Please do not retreat.” He reached out. “I only suggest caution.”

  She flinched, avoiding his touch. “Yes, I imagine you would. You, who trust no one.”

  Did he trust her? He wanted to say yes, but his trust was too young, too green, and the vine had not yet fully covered the walls he’d built between him and everyone else in the world.

  He blinked as if to shake a daze. “What is happening here?”

  She widened her eyes with brows raised, as if he’d asked the year, month, and monarch. “You forbade me to use my own judgment, and then you insulted my friend.”

  “No.” Their conversation played at a double-time trot. “I don’t believe I did either.”

  “Am I to doubt my hearing as well?”

  He was suddenly shoeless in a ballroom strewn with glass. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and remembered the way she had held to his back in the moment of her surrender.

  This is Lavinia. My love. My life. My duty.

  When he opened his eyes, only he and Lavinia remained. Two people across a treacherous but navigable river. No matter—he’d cross rivers of fire if requisite.

  “This is me, Vinia. Me. We share history. We’ve just shared passion. Even if I had strong concerns about the dowager, would you choose her part over mine?”

  “I do not wish to.” Her eyes remained full of glossy hurt. “But judge her and you judge me.”

  One misstep and he’d lose. She was already perched on the side of the bed, ready to flee.

  “If I wish you to be cautious with the dowager, is that the same as judging you?”

  She set her chin. “I went to a brothel, Max. Men—who knows how many—have seen me naked. They have seen me fucking—do not look away—what I did was fucking.”

  Another phantom doubler. “The dowager was a madam. It is hardly the same.”

  “So you are judging her.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Christ. “I do not know the dowager but for the occasional neighborly greeting.”

  “But she was a madam, so she is worthless.”

  “I never said…” He exhaled harsh and fast. “Look, I haven’t judged Maggie, have I?”

  “Maggie is a servant. Emma is our equal.”

  “Is she?” he asked.

  She could not be serious. Their equal? The dowager duchess had been a mistress and a madam and God knew what.

  “Proud Max,” she derided. “I was afraid of bringing shame to your name in the eyes of others. But I already shame you, don’t I? I always will.”

  She reached for her dressing gown, but he cast himself in the way.

  “Forgive my harshness,” he said. “Come back to me. You cannot shame me. I depend upon your good opinion more than you depend upon mine.”

  She sat back, curled her arm around her leg, and rested her chin on her bent knee.

  “Is that true?” she asked.

  “I swear.”

  “I spoke in anger,” she said quietly.

  “Come.” He held out an arm. “Let me bring you comfort.”

  She gazed at his hand with wary longing but held herself apart.

  Male vanity. Had Sophia not warned him that Lavinia would withdraw? She’d been right once more. He rolled his neck, intentionally softening.

  “Would you like to don your shift?”

  She considered, then nodded. He retrieved her shift, and she pulled it over her head. He waited until she settled back into the mattress—more comfortable, now covered.

  “Let us start again,” he said.

  “You have asked that of me before.”

  “An apprentice does not learn his trade on the first day, or the first year. We will start again and again and again…”

  “Really, Max?” Her eyes were red and heavy and burdened with unshed tears. “How many times are you willing to try?”

  They’d come closer but were not safe. He searched the horizon for some solid, common ground. My Vinia. Words came to him from memory…“Until the last syllable of recorded time.”

  Her neck dipped and the tension fell from her arms. She glanced up. “An encore of Shakespeare?”

  “I must borrow from the bard. I am in trouble here.”

  Layers of turmoil, unfathomable as the woman herself, stretched through the silence. Was he rising or sinking?

  “I shall borrow another… ‘Love does not alter when it alteration finds’.”

  Water clumped her lashes together—definitely rising. She blinked. “Oh Max.”

  He threaded their fingers, soft and small through large and dark. With his other hand, he wiped muddled tears from beneath her eyes. She sighed, drooping. Unresisting, she allowed him to draw her into a tender embrace.

  “It is an ever-fixed mark,” he continued, his chin resting on her head, “that looks on tempests and is never shaken.”

  She sniffed. “We are in a tempest.”

  “The boat is rocking,” he replied. “How can I make it stop?”

  “I do not know,” she said.

  He held her close. “I will not stop trying.” He hesitated. “Because I love you.”

  Her breath snagged on a ragged inhalation.

  “An ever-fixed mark,” she said, quiet and low, “of which I am not worthy.”

  Understanding reordered the pieces vanity had scattered. “Do you think you are too damaged”—astonishing, truly—“for me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And, though it slashes another mark into my selfish soul, I love you still.”

  Unspun wool, coarse and replete with thistle leaf needles, clogged in his throat, rendering him silent. He wrapped his legs around her body, fully encircling her in a loose grip. He rocked to the side, so that her head rested in the crook of his arm. She looked into his eyes.

  “Max,” she said with longing.

  “Tell me again,” he said, rough but sure. “This time, without apology.”

  “I love you.” She touched his heart with thei
r joined hands. “Now you tell me again—while I can see you.”

  “I love you,” he said, leaving feeling bare. “You are everything I need. Please come back to me.”

  “I am here,” she said.

  “Then stay this time.”

  “I want to,” she murmured. “I want to believe in love, peace, and refuge.”

  “Love, peace, and refuge?”

  She nodded. “The promise in your arms.”

  Love, peace, and refuge. Yes, he could imagine a place where honor ruled and the beast’s strength lived tame within the gentleman.

  “Can happiness,” she asked, “follow a union so cursed?”

  “Cursed? No, blessed. We found each other, did we not?”

  “We’ve stolen a night,” she said, echoing his earlier thoughts.

  “Stolen? Proud Max would never steal.” He coaxed a small smile. “We’ve borrowed from the future. And, if you are willing, we will borrow again. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, until the last—wait.” He stopped and frowned. “How did you get in here?”

  Her smile widened, turning sheepish. “I came through your bookcase.”

  He glanced uncertainly to the solid wood. “How?”

  “Emma and her duke used the case for secret meetings. She gave us this gift at Thea’s behest.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “I have been an ungracious recipient, no?”

  “Somewhat.”

  The dowager had been a madam, then a mistress. A queasy rush slid snakelike through his gut. The dowager was now his future wife’s friend. Did he trust Lavinia’s judgment or not?

  “Is my getting to know Emma that important to you?” he asked.

  “I cannot explain, but yes. I carried my failure. No one—not you, not Sophia, not Thea—could make the burden any lighter. But Emma understood, and my burden grew light.”

  “I will call the dowager friend,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “And do you believe me about Montechurch?”

  He thought of Montechurch’s desperate howl.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  Her eyes cleared—the clouds parting to reveal a glowing moon.

  “If we work together,” he added, “we will be stronger than if we work apart.” But that didn’t mean he’d stand down—not fully. “To that end, swear you will not execute a plan without discussing the details with me first?”