by Clee, Adele
Buchanan’s statement roused a host of questions, roused emotions too complicated to consider when consumed by lust. And the sudden appearance of Vivienne Hart at the top of the stairs did little to calm Evan’s mental chaos.
“Sorry to have kept you.” She floated down, her silver slippers barely touching the steps. “I forgot to bring the silk cloak the countess gave me and had to wear this old thing.”
Evan hadn’t a clue what Miss Hart wore beneath the thick wool cloak, but the teasing braid dangling over her shoulder held him riveted. As did the smile so brilliant it could light the night sky.
His gaze drifted to her earlobes, free of adornments. And while he longed to take each one into his mouth and suck softly, old feelings of inadequacy surfaced.
“Wait here. I shall be but a moment.” Evan darted past her and mounted the stairs in his heavy cavalier boots, returning a few minutes later clutching a black leather box. He stood before her and raised the lid to reveal two pairs of earrings. “It’s difficult to know what to choose without seeing your costume, but pearls and diamonds complement any gown.”
Miss Hart’s eyes widened as she studied his offering, though she looked at him more than she did the sparkling jewels. “It’s kind of you to think of me, but I cannot wear another woman’s earrings.”
Her clipped tone said she had misunderstood. Like the new stockings she’d discarded in favour of Lamont’s dandified clothes, she assumed they belonged to a lover.
“They were my mother’s earrings, Vivienne.” Hell. A lump formed in his throat. “They’ve been in this box for thirty years. It would please me if you wore a pair this evening.”
“Your mother’s?” She pursed her lips so tightly her nostrils flared. She looked at him, at the box, dabbed tears from the corners of her eyes and blinked almost as many times as she swallowed. “I—I would like that very much. Pearls would be perfect with my gown.”
Evan offered her the box. He lacked the dexterity to remove something so precious without showing signs of his inner torment. Words failed to describe the strange combination of emotions as he watched her slip on the earrings.
Fitchett appeared, the wrinkles on his weathered face deepening into a smile upon noticing the pearls. “Turton insists on driving tonight, sir. He said he’d die of boredom if left in his sickbed.”
“Turton is to refrain from all strenuous activity for two weeks.” Thank the Lord the same didn’t apply to Evan. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist Miss Hart’s charms.
“Morris agreed to accompany him should he get into any difficulty, sir.”
Evan nodded. “Did Daventry send the invitations?” Having discovered evidence of Lord Newberry’s wicked misdeeds, Daventry often bribed the peer to do his bidding.
“Morris has them, sir. And Miss Hart’s mask is in a box in the carriage.”
Hmm. The mask might hold a clue to her costume. But Evan didn’t long to peer inside the box the way he longed to peer inside Vivienne’s cloak. The mere thought of the woman made him hard of late. Indeed, he was rather glad he wore a knee-length frock coat, else the thirty-minute drive to town would be embarrassing with a cockstand.
* * *
Lord Newberry knew how to host a lavish party. Carriages barged and jostled their way for a coveted place in a queue that stretched around Cavendish Square and as far as Henrietta Street. Doors opened and slammed as impatient guests, dressed in elaborate costumes, took to parading through the streets. A Turkish prince, a Greek goddess, and a monk passed the carriage window.
“Come, we should follow the crowd,” Evan said, eager for Miss Hart’s uncloaking. “The sooner we accomplish our task tonight, the sooner we can go home.” And amongst other reasons for spending time alone together, they had the problem of Mr Wicks’ involvement to address.
Miss Hart pulled her cloak tighter across her lap, though he glimpsed a cerulean blue skirt. “So, our first task this evening is to find the countess and inform her of our betrothal. Are you sure that’s wise?”
“We need to dangle the bait if we’re to separate the guilty from the innocent. We’re going to tell her we’ve been secretly meeting for months and have fallen in love. That I’ve secured a special licence and we will marry within the week.”
Daventry had sent his man to watch Miss Hart’s house in Silver Street. Both the countess and Mr Ramsey had called. Both had resorted to hammering the knocker, banging the window and rattling the sash. Both had questioned the widow living next door. Neither had appeared at Bow Street fraught with worry, keen to report her missing. Neither had visited the lawyer’s office in Long Lane.
“She won’t approve.”
“You’re of age. You don’t need her permission or her approval.”
“She will insist I return home until after the wedding.” The anxious hitch in her voice was unmistakable. “I cannot tell her I am staying at Keel Hall.”
“No.” Evan didn’t give a damn what the countess thought, but it took one malicious whisper to ruin a lady’s reputation, to ruin it for good. “We will say you’re staying with Ashwood. She cannot complain if you’re a guest of Lord and Lady Hawkridge.”
And considering Ashwood and his wife had agreed to attend the ball and play chaperone, it sounded plausible.
Miss Hart winced. “But she will be hurt, hurt I’ve not confided in her.”
“Whatever happens, you cannot mention the contract.” Did the countess know about the pact made between two privateers? Did she know about the cache of pirate gold? Either way, Evan’s task was to protect Vivienne Hart, and the less anyone knew of the hidden treasure, the better. “We’re in love. That’s all she needs to know.”
Her gaze drifted over his face, curious yet caressing. “I know how it feels to be in lust, Mr Sloane, no notion what it feels like to be in love.”
He knew next to little of the emotion. Nothing of paternal love, or the deep, abiding attachment shared by lovers. Nothing but what he’d read in poems. Nothing but the brotherly bond he shared with his colleagues.
“We will muddle through somehow.”
A sudden knock on the carriage window had Evan reaching for the blade hidden in his boot, but it was Ashwood who yanked open the door.
“You’ll not find the masked rider while cooped in a carriage.” Ashwood was dressed in a black domino, while his wife Eva clutched a crook and wore the garb of a shepherdess.
“It’s a masquerade, Ashwood, could you not be a little more inventive with your costume?”
“Says the man dressed as a pirate.” Ashwood doffed his tricorn. “It’s the best I could do at short notice, though at least we have matching hats.” His gaze drifted to Miss Hart, and he offered a warm greeting. “I’m one of the best enquiry agents in London, Miss Hart, though I am at a loss to put a name to your costume.”
“It’s a simple gown, not really a costume. I am not one for extravagance, my lord, and lean towards the understated.”
If it was a simple gown, why all the secrecy?
Ashwood offered his hand to Miss Hart, though his gaze dipped to her silver slippers. “Perhaps understated is best. At a masquerade, the more ostentatious the dress, the more one blends into the background.”
Evan reached for the blue velvet box on the opposite seat, itching to remove the lid. He alighted, waited while Ashwood introduced Miss Hart to his wife, and then handed her the box.
“Leave your cloak in the carriage. There’s always a crush at the cloakroom.” Equally, they might need to make a quick exit. And Evan wanted to see Miss Hart’s costume before other men had the pleasure. “If we’re separated, I’ll need to identify you amid the horde. I know I’m not looking for an Elizabethan courtier.”
“Based on the gold strands threaded through Miss Hart’s hair, I would wager she’s come as a Greek goddess,” Eva Ashwood said.
Ashwood laughed. “Based on the glint in Sloane’s eyes, she’s Aphrodite.”
“Peitho is the goddess of seductive persuasion,”
Eva challenged.
A blush as red as a berry stained Miss Hart’s cheeks. “I am neither Aphrodite nor Peitho, but I suppose I cannot hide beneath this cloak forever.”
She opened the box and removed an exquisite handheld mask decorated with blue and green spangles that sparkled like the surface of a sunlit sea. He should have known she would pick something alluding to their shared heritage, to their grandfathers’ love of the ocean.
Eva gasped. “It’s beautiful, Miss Hart.”
“Mr Sloane said to choose whatever my heart desired.”
Ashwood cast Evan a knowing look. “I’m sure he had no thought for himself when he made the generous gesture.”
Oddly, he’d thought of nothing but making her happy. Now, imagining the bounty of delights hidden beneath her cloak left every muscle tense with anticipation.
He took the empty box and placed it on the carriage seat, held her mask while she unbuttoned her cloak and slipped it off her shoulders.
Holy hell!
Evan gaped at the woman whose luscious figure robbed him of rational thought. Dressed in a satin cerulean blue gown with a silver diaphanous overskirt that shimmered in the muted light, Miss Hart looked like a delicate nymph burst from the sea. His hands throbbed with the need to explore every curve. His stomach muscles clenched hard. Oh, how he longed to capture this mermaid in true pirate fashion and plunder her senseless.
“Now I see why Mrs McCready feared you’d catch your death.” He’d likely expire, too, if his heart didn’t settle. “Though you look beyond beautiful, Vivienne.”
Her shy smile turned luminous. “I told Mrs Mulligan my husband believed a mermaid had saved his grandfather from drowning. That the least I could do was play to his fantasy.”
Oh, this woman played to every wild and wicked fantasy. “If I thought you’d come to my rescue, madam, I’d gladly throw myself in the Thames.”
Ashwood chuckled. “Newberry has a fountain. It might be safer to start there.”
“It’s not as rank or as murky.” Eva Ashwood laughed as she gripped her husband’s arm and led him towards Newberry’s mansion house.
Evan threw Miss Hart’s cloak into the carriage before escorting his nymph to join the queue of flamboyant revellers.
Being a man with a reputation for hosting extravagant events, Newberry sought novel ways to amuse his guests. Tonight was no exception. Amid the vast array of glowing candelabra and champagne fountains were the most bizarre group of entertainers the ton had ever seen.
Miss Hart tugged Evan’s arm as he led her past the nun with a monkey perched on her shoulder. “That monkey can do card tricks. He picked the ace of spades from the pack.”
“I imagine the card is marked,” Evan said cynically.
“And he made a shilling disappear.”
“The creature is skilled at stealing snuff boxes and pocket watches, too. By the end of the evening, his mistress will have more than a decent bounty.”
Miss Hart touched the pearl earrings dangling from her lobes and gave a relieved sigh. “I heard someone say there are fire eaters and snake charmers outside.”
Evan snorted. “The air chokes with the stench of perfume. One accident with a lit torch and the entire room would be ablaze. Can you imagine the chaos if a snake suddenly darted from its basket and took to the dance floor?”
She glanced at him and lowered her mask. “I must sound like a naive debutante, one easily impressed by freakish exhibitions.”
He touched her hand. “I have a rather jaded view of these events. Years of overindulgence leaves me weary.” Strange that he had been unaware of the fact until now. The only thing holding his interest was the captivating woman beside him.
They pushed past a group trying to knock a jester off a hobby horse and followed Ashwood to the grand marble fireplace.
Ashwood glanced up at the large portrait of the pompous Lord Newberry. “No one wants to stand here for fear the painting is too heavy for the rail.”
Eva laughed. “The painting has to be huge, for it reflects the depth of the man’s conceit.” She looked at Evan. “Mr Sloane, you’re not wearing your mask.”
“Charles Sloane never misses a masquerade, though I’ll have a devil of a time finding him in the crush. Someone keen to fuel our mutual hostility will alert me to his presence.”
Miss Hart lowered her mask again, drawing his gaze to the soft swell of her breasts. “Perhaps we should separate and search the mansion house. I shall look for those dressed as Cleopatra, and you can search for your cousin.”
“Second cousin,” Evan reminded her, for he wished to distance himself from the peer. “But based on the assumption someone wants to steal our inheritance, I would prefer to keep you in my sights.”
Masquerades were hunting grounds for debauched devils. He’d not have his sea nymph sneaking about the corridors, drawing the attention of every licentious rogue.
Miss Hart glanced enviously at the ladies twirling about the dance floor. “While everyone is here for pleasure, we’re here to conduct an investigation.”
With his growing need to make this woman happy, Evan wished he could forget about the case, too. “Once we accomplish our task, there might be time for a waltz.”
The sudden hitch in her breath, and the vibrant sparkle of her eyes, proved oddly satisfying. “Then we should start our search in the refreshment room where we can at least partake in a glass of champagne.”
“Unmarried ladies take lemonade,” he teased. If they made love later this evening, he would have her dizzy with desire, not sparkling wine.
“Tonight I’m a mermaid, and mythical creatures do as they please.”
“Oh, I intend to discover exactly what you find pleasing.” The sooner they found the countess and made their announcement, the sooner he could take his nymph home.
Cleopatra proved a popular choice of costume. Lady Farringdon had squashed her large frame into a gold silk dress. Mrs Finsbury had discarded her black wig and wore her cobra crown perched on top of golden locks. While in the refreshment room, Ashwood noticed another Cleopatra saunter past the door. This time, the woman’s slim frame and elegant bearing suggested it could be the countess.
Evan handed Ashwood his champagne flute. “Wait here. I’ll follow the Egyptian queen and see where she’s heading.”
“I’m coming with you.” Miss Hart swallowed the last sip of champagne and placed her flute on a passing footman’s tray. “We should make the announcement together.”
“We will note your direction and linger in the background, in case we’re needed.” Ashwood grinned at his wife. “Let’s find a discreet alcove so we may keep watch.”
When in his wife’s company, Ashwood would struggle to notice a herd of elephants stampeding. The more time Evan spent with Vivienne Hart, the more he understood his friend’s obsession.
“We shall reconvene here in twenty minutes.” Evan placed his hand at Miss Hart’s lower back and guided her into the hall.
The heat of her body warmed his palm. It was impossible to concentrate on the figure in gold who stopped in the corridor to pass pleasantries with a sailor. All thoughts led back to the same pressing question. How would he survive another night without making love to Vivienne Hart?
Then the countess glanced along the corridor, forcing Evan to pull Miss Hart into an alcove. Their bodies collided. She grabbed hold of his shirt. Obscene thoughts bombarded his mind. The need to devour this woman’s mouth gripped him like an opium addiction.
“Vivienne,” he whispered as he pressed her soft, pliant body to the wall, let her feel the length of his growing erection.
Her breath caught. “Mr Sloane, I …”
“Tell me what you want, Vivienne. Tell me what you crave.”
The swell of her breasts rose to greet him. “I want … I want you.” She held her mask in place and touched her lips to his—a kiss so gentle, so sweet, so damn arousing.
His cock jerked in response.
Mother of all saints!
He smoothed his hand over her hip, reached around to grip her bottom.
Lust, the overwhelming need to push into her warmth and thrust to the hilt, robbed him of all logic and reason. Perhaps it was the taste of champagne on her lips or the lawless air of the masquerade that left him playing out a host of erotic fantasies in his head. He traced her lips with his tongue, ready to plunge deep—until a cough from behind brought him crashing back to reality.
Evan dragged his mouth from Miss Hart’s and turned to meet Ashwood’s mocking stare. “Your quarry is on the move, Sloane. Might I suggest you save the pleasantries for later?”
Chapter 12
Strange how a chaste kiss could awaken one’s primitive desires. Strange that when deeply attracted to a man, a lady forgot about propriety and thought of nothing but her carnal cravings. The pulsing between Vivienne’s thighs was so intense she didn’t give a fig why Cleopatra had slipped into the library with a Roman emperor.
“Might the emperor be Lord Hollinshead?” Mr Sloane whispered as they stood outside a door on the first-floor landing. “Might they seek a private moment to indulge their whims?”
Vivienne watched his mouth move, remembering the earthy taste she found so compelling, remembering the gentle stroke of his tongue across her lips, just how delicious—
“Miss Hart? Might the emperor be the countess’ husband?”
“What? Oh, no. I highly doubt it.” Lord Hollinshead was a known philanderer who kept more mistresses than horses. “Surely you’ve heard the gossip. They live in separate houses and rarely attend the same functions.” The countess had persuaded Vivienne’s mother to move to London to ease her dreadful loneliness. “The lady hates her husband with a vengeance.”
“Does she have a lover?”
One did not pry into such a powerful lady’s affairs.
Vivienne was about to reply, but Mr Sloane touched his finger to her lips. “Hush. I can hear raised voices.” Yet he made no attempt to listen.
