by Liz Carlyle
“Viviana if you had duns or gaming debts, why did you not come to me?” he demanded. “I would have taken care of you. I would have paid them for you.”
She turned her head and gazed out into the depths of the glass greenhouse beyond. “I had no wish, Quinten, to be further beholden to you,” she said. “Besides, I did not have debts. I did not live beyond my means. I could not afford to.”
“What, then?” he prodded. “Why can you not tell me? What difference does it make now?”
But it seemed to make a great deal of difference to him, she realized. Yes, after all these bitter years had passed, perhaps such simple, silly things still mattered.
Viviana exhaled, a slow, steadying breath. She already knew she was going to regret this. “I sent the money to Papà,” she finally answered. “Every month, I sent him what little I could spare. And pathetically little it was, too. Especially in the beginning.”
“But Vivie, that makes no sense. What need had he of money? Your father was a renowned composer.”
“Oh, si, a famous artist!” she said. “And like most of them, he served at the whim of his patron.”
“Bergonzi, yes?” said Quin sharply. “Is that whom you mean?”
Viviana nodded tightly.
“But Bergonzi employed him for many years, did he not?”
“After I left Venice, they quarreled,” she admitted. “Papà was told that there would be no further commissions for him. Not from the powerful Conte Bergonzi—and his displeasure meant, of course, no one else dared hire him.”
“But they later reconciled,” said Quin.
“Yes, later they reconciled,” she answered.
“Christ Jesus,” said Quin. “This is unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable?” she echoed softly. “What part of it, Quinten, do you disbelieve? Why did you think I was singing my heart out night after night? Why did you think I was fighting and scrabbling for every part I could get? It was for the money, caro. To make something of myself.”
Quin could not miss the ache in her words. “I believe you, Vivie,” he answered. “And had you told me this nine years ago, I would have believed it then, too. I—I would have done something.”
“Would you, Quin?” she whispered. “I wonder if that is so. I really do.”
Quin did not answer that remark. She had reason, perhaps, for her doubts. As a young man, his foremost concern had been an almost petulant wish to have his own needs met and his own insecurities assuaged. He had loved Viviana, yes. But he had been unable to see very far past that fact. Perhaps he would have seen or felt no obligation beyond it, either.
“Why did they fall out, Vivie?” he challenged. “Was it something to do with you?”
She shot him a dark, sidelong look, and said nothing.
“Was it over you, Vivie?” he repeated, his voice more demanding.
She pushed a hand into her hair almost wearily, and leaned back against the rough wooden wall of the work shed. “I really do not wish to answer that,” she said quietly. “And frankly, caro, it is none of your business.”
He took a step toward her. “I’m not sure if I believe that any longer,” he answered, his tone low and ominous. “I begin to think, Viviana, that there is much you are not telling me, and I mean to have the whole truth from you.”
Viviana felt a stab of panic. “I do not have to answer your questions,” she said, pushing away from the wall and heading for the door. “You are nothing to me. Nothing but a memory.”
He was faster. He turned, refusing to let her push past him. “This is not finished, Viviana.”
“Go to hell,” she snapped.
Somehow, he snatched her crop from her wrist. “You are wearing that expression out, my dear, and in two different languages,” he returned. “Why don’t you just call me a pig again?”
Her eyes widened. “You are a pig,” she said. “You are despicable.”
“Oh, don’t play the innocent with me, Viviana!” he said. “I understood a little more than you think I did that day in my study. And I understood something else, my dear. I understood your mouth was not entirely indifferent to my kiss, no matter what your riding crop said.”
She moved to snatch it back, but he jerked it from her reach. “Oh, I waste my time with you!” she said. “There must be another door.” On that, she turned and strode into the musky warmth of the greenhouse.
She strode down the straw-covered aisle between the elevated beds of lilies and asters. Farther along lay the tables of green, potted plants and rooting vegetables, and beyond that, almost hidden by a swath of lush palms, another exit. But she was nowhere near it when Quin caught her, snaring her by the elbow, and spinning her around to face him.
She brought up her hand to slap him, but he caught it and jerked her against him. His mouth came crushing down on hers, already hot and uncontrollable. He bound her to him, one arm about her waist, driving her head back as he tasted her. Viviana’s battle ended as it began, quickly, in a flash of unrestrained emotion. She gave herself up to it, opening her mouth fully beneath his.
Quin surged inside, twining his tongue with hers until her knees literally went weak. She felt her hat go tumbling into the straw. His mouth moved to her cheek, then skimmed hotly along her jaw with a soft groan. Her head swam with the scent of warm, damp earth, flowers, and Quin.
“Let me,” he whispered. “Let me, Vivie.”
She tried to shake her head. “No.”
His hand had slid beneath her riding coat, urgently seeking. Through the layers of linen and silk, he weighed her breast in the warm cup of his hand. Her nipple hardened traitorously to his touch, and a small whimper escaped her mouth.
Quin slid his mouth down the length of her neck, and she shuddered. “Stop, Quin. Please. I—I cannot. Don’t…don’t make me.”
Lightly, he thumbed her nipple through her shirt. “Do you like that, Vivie?” he whispered. “Tell me.”
“You—you know I do,” she answered. “Please. Not here.”
“Where, then?” His voice was a tempting whisper.
“Tonight,” she managed, trying to buy herself time—and sanity. “I shall…I shall come to you tonight…somewhere. Anywhere.”
“Will you?” His hand was slipping loose the fastenings of her coat, then pushing it away. “Anywhere?”
“Anywhere,” she whimpered, her resistance fast failing. “Anything.”
“Anything,” he returned. “I like that, Vivie.”
His mouth settled over her breast, suckling her through the layers of shirt and chemise. He slid his broad palm over her buttocks, and made slow, lazy circles through her skirts, urging her closer. He drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking none too gently, and it was all too much. Viviana felt that old, familiar spiral of lust bottom out in her belly and tug at her very core. Her breathing ratcheted up. Too fast. Too shallow.
His hungry mouth left her breast, only to be replaced by his hand. “Must I, Viviana?” he whispered, his lips hot against her ear. “Must I wait?”
Viviana mumbled something inarticulate. Somehow, he drew her away from the aisle and pulled her down into one the piles of straw which lay in mounds between each bed. She came down on top of him, straddling one of his thighs. Roughly, he pushed her coat from her shoulders. She let it slide off, eager to be free of it in the hot, musky air. Madness. Oh, this was madness!
But she let him pull her down to him, and kiss her again, slowly and sweetly, his tongue plunging almost lazily into her mouth now, as if he had all the time in the world. She returned his kiss, unable to resist the urge to ride down hard on the wide, solid muscle of his thigh. Oh, she wanted him! Wanted and wanted him. In all the years, the wanting had never seemed to end. She kissed him again, opening her mouth hotly over his, aware that this was foolish beyond words. Knowing she would regret it.
His fingers slid into her hair, stilling her movements so that he might kiss her more intently. Part of her hair fell down, and went slithering over her shoulder.
Her hands found his shirt, and tore it from his breeches.
“Good God,” he whispered when her palms slid up his belly, all the way to his chest, and over his strong, broad shoulders, bringing her body almost fully against his. “Good God, Vivie.”
She felt his hand fumble between them, felt the pressure of his hand as he tore at the buttons. She sat back and watched as he struggled with the last. Never had she felt so wanton. So desperate to do something foolish. “Let me,” she said, releasing it. She pushed down the fabric of his breeches and drawers. His throbbing erection sprang free from the crumpled clothing, and she took it in her hand. She drew her fingers down his length, amazed at the heat and hardness.
Quin made a sound in the back of his throat. Viviana closed her eyes and stroked him again. She was in too deep to stop. She was aware that they might be caught at any moment. That they lay in a pile of straw, with nothing but glass between them and the heavens. And still, she did not stop. Instead, she slid back, stroked one hand up Quin’s chest again, and bowed her head to take him into her mouth.
He cried out, another choking, inarticulate sound. Already, sweat had beaded on his brow. The heat of the sun seemed to beat down on them, roiling up the damp from the moist beds of green. She held his throbbing heat in one hand and drew her tongue all the way along its length.
He had taught her this one lazy, rainy afternoon; how to make a man almost mad with her hands and her mouth. Apparently, it was a lesson she had not forgotten. Quin was almost shaking beneath her. “Christ Jesus, Vivie,” he panted. “Stop. Stop.”
She did as he asked. His hands went to her skirts, dragging them up. He found her drawers, and slipped one finger into the slit. Viviana felt her desire flow forth, and moaned as she rode down on his hand.
“Get on me,” he ordered, tormenting her with the ball of his thumb. “Now, Vivie.”
She opened her eyes and looked down at him, half-mad with lust. “We could be seen,” she whispered. “Quin, we could be caught.”
“Good God, Vivie, I don’t care,” he answered. “Let them watch. Let them envy us.”
“I’ve gone mad now, I know it,” she whispered, taking his cock in both hands. “But I burn for this. Dio, Quin! We are like animals together. We have no business being near—”
“Later,” he interjected. “We’ll sort it all out later. Come, love. Take me deep.”
Still in her boots and skirt, she pushed away her drawers and mounted him, taking him fully with one smooth stroke. “Oh, wicked, wicked girl,” he said on a groan. “Oh, holy God.”
She rose onto her knees and let the pace of his body take her. Never in her life had she felt so wanton. Never had she wanted anything so much. The rich, earthy scents of the greenhouse surrounded them, and grew hotter. She pushed the fabric of his shirt all the way up as she rode him, and watched the muscles of his abdomen flex and relax. Closing her eyes, she let the rhythm wash over her, until time seemed indefinable, and regret seemed so ephemeral.
Oh, this would not last. Not for either of them. It had come on too fast. Too hot. Another few strokes, and she cried out, feeling perfect ecstasy edge near. Beneath her, she felt Quin surge, felt him set his hands on either side of her hips, and thrust one last and perfect stroke. Viviana shattered as he trembled beneath her, her voice sobbing softly in the heat.
She came to her sense to find she had collapsed onto Quin, her face buried in the dampness of his neck. She drew a deep, unsteady breath, rich with the scent of sweat, soap, and bergamot. Quin. Always, always Quin.
“Oh, God, Vivie,” he whispered, his voice soft with wonder. “You are a dangerous woman.”
Viviana pulled herself from the sensual fog, and sat up a little. “It isn’t me,” she whispered. “It…it is us, I think. Together, we are like…like polvere nera. Like gunpowder.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And may it always be so, Vivie. I should rather endure your temper and your horsewhip a thousand times over, just to have one moment like this with you.”
She said nothing but simply pressed her lips to his forehead, praying he would say no more.
He crooked his head to look at her. “There could be many more days like this, Vivie,” he whispered. “Did you ever think of that? Do you ever wonder whether…whether it really is too late for us?”
She had thought that nine years with Gianpiero had been payment enough for her sins. But she had had no idea what a just price truly was. For an instant, she considered telling him everything. On her next breath, she realized what an unforgivable mistake that would be. The truth would make him hate her. And so she said nothing. Instead, she lifted herself off him and turned away to right her clothing.
“Vivie?” His hand came up to cup her cheek. “Vivie, look at me. Is it? Is it too late?”
She turned and looked at him, just as he asked. “It is too late,” she whispered. “Too late for anything more than this, Quin.”
“Why?” he demanded, rolling up onto one elbow. His face had gone suddenly bloodless. “Why does it have to be that way?”
She could not hold his gaze. Blindly, she pulled on her jacket. “We have separate lives now, Quin,” she answered. “Yours is…here. Mine is not.”
“Vivie, you cannot deny what we have,” he began.
“Chemistry,” she interjected. “Pure, physical…magic, Quin. Yes. I know what we have. What we have always had. But life is not so simple as you make it out. Life is filled with hard choices.”
“My choice is how and where to live my life, Vivie,” he answered. “I’m tired of wasting it. I want to be with you.”
“It is not possible.”
“It is,” he countered, his voice firm. “I have never wanted anything else, Viviana. I know that now. I am willing to do what I must to have that. Do you understand me?”
She rose to her knees in the pile of straw, and slowly tidied her shirt and coat. “In a few weeks or months, Quin, I must return to Venice with my children,” she said. “You will forget me then as you forgot me all those years ago. And I will forget you.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Will you, Vivie?”
“I will try, si.”
“And it’s just that easy for you, is it?” he growled. “Well, by damn, it’s not like that for me.”
She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. “How many tears, Quin, have you shed for me these last nine years?” she asked.
“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” he said.
She touched him lightly on the cheek, and gentled her tone. “Quin, caro, your life is here,” she said. “You are Lord Wynwood now. You have responsibilities.”
“Nothing Herndon cannot manage,” he returned. “In less than a week’s time, he and Alice will be married. He will be a part of my family.”
Viviana looked at him incredulously. “You would actually go away with me?” she whispered.
“I am willing to do whatever is necessary,” he answered. “I said that, and I meant it. I want to put an end to this foolishness which has separated us all these years. Viviana, I…I want us to marry.”
Viviana found herself blinking back tears and swiftly turned away. She had waited a long time to hear those words, and now they were bittersweet indeed. How could she wed Quin, knowing he would inevitably discover what she had hidden for so long? She dared not do it. Indeed, she would not.
She jerked awkwardly to her feet. “I am too old for you, caro mio. I have three children, and many responsibilities. Find someone your own age, and be happy.”
He made a sharp, incredulous sound. “Too old? Oh, Vivie, that won’t wash. And I adore your children. It cannot be easy for you, raising them alone.”
She shook her head. “Think of your mother, caro,” she said. “A marriage between us would kill her. No, Quin, I won’t do it. Stop asking me.”
He rolled up onto both elbows and watched her as she mechanically picked the straw from her clothes. His shirt was still rucked up, exposing an expanse of lean, taut belly, and his
hair was tousled almost boyishly. But his expression—oh, she knew it well.
Quin rose almost languidly to his feet. “What a liar you are, Viviana,” he said, stabbing his shirttails back into his riding breeches. “Yes, I heard all about that little bucking-up you gave my sister last night. You told her, I believe, that Mamma’s wishes could not come first. That there were more important things.”
“Alice is with child,” said Viviana.
“As you may well be, too,” said Quin. “Did you ever think of that, Viviana? Did you?”
Viviana felt the blood flow from her face. The panic rose like bile in her throat.
Quin leaned into her. “What if you were, Viviana?” he rasped, seizing her arm. “What then?”
Viviana jerked away. “I would not marry where I did not love,” she said. “I have already made that mistake once. I shan’t make it again.”
“Conceive my child, Viviana, and you will be making it again,” He gripped her arm so hard she wondered he did not bruise it. “Besides, I don’t believe for one moment, Vivie, that you don’t love me. A woman cannot make love as you do and not feel love, too.”
“Believe it, Quin,” she answered, pushing his hand away. “What we have is pure lust. I do not love you, and you do not love me.”
“There they are again, Viviana,” he answered. “Those two little lies that ruined our lives. I wasn’t confident enough to disbelieve them the first time. But I sure as hell don’t believe them now.”
“Then you are a very arrogant man,” she said, scooping up her hat. “I am leaving now. And if you are any manner of gentleman at all, Quin Hewitt, you will not follow me. You will not press your suit where it is not wanted. You will stay away from me, my children, and Hill Court in general. Do I make myself plain?”
His eyes hardened to small, black slits. “Quite plain.”
Stiffly, she inclined her head. “Then I bid you good day,” she said. “I wish you well, Quin. I will leave you to find your own way out.”
Thirteen
An Adventure in the Forest.
