Her Perfect Match: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 3

by Jess Michaels

  She had been sitting across from him in the carriage, but now she slipped over to his seat. Settling her head into the crook of his shoulder, she spread her fingers out across his chest and sighed.

  “In truth, it was easier to share this with you than I ever thought it would be,” she admitted. “I certainly did not expect I would end up confronted by my mother, with you standing by defending me, but since it has happened, I can truly say there is no one else I would have rather had at my side in that unguarded moment.”

  He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. A swell of love washed over him, brought on by her trust and her strength.

  “I would not have wished to be anywhere else,” he whispered. “Now rest. I’ll wake you when we reach London.”

  The events of the day had already taken their toll, for instead of arguing, Vivien settled closer, her breath heavy and slower as she drifted away into what he hoped would be a dreamless sleep. He settled into a more comfortable position and held her all the way to London.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vivien handed her wrap over to Nettle and smiled at her butler. If he had an opinion about the fact that she had spent two nights away from home, when in the years he had served her she had barely spent one away, he said nothing about it.

  “I trust nothing was amiss during my absence?” she asked.

  “No, miss,” he reassured her. “Though you did have quite a few cards left for you.”

  With a sigh, she took the stack he held out on a silver tray. She would end up throwing away the lion’s share of invitations and requests for her company anyway, but the chore of going through them all still fell to her.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile for him that was not forced. “Would you bring tea to my personal parlor?”

  “Indeed,” he said with a quick bow. “I shall have it prepared immediately.”

  She began to flip through the cards as she moved up the stairs toward her private chambers. As she expected, most were invitations to gatherings, inquiries into when her next party would occur and even one rather blunt and bold solicitation of her company.

  She sighed as she sat down in the comfortable settee beside her fire and sorted the piles into correspondence she would answer and what she would not even bother issuing a response to.

  As she sorted the cards, the door to her chamber opened and her maid, Rachel, came in with a tray laden with tea and cakes. The girl set it down and took a quick glance at the open door before she edged toward her.

  “What is it?” Vivien asked, surprised by her normally lighthearted maid’s odd behavior.

  “This message came for you yesterday,” she whispered and held out another envelope.

  Vivien pushed to her feet and took the message. She recognized the address of her solicitor scribbled across the front of the envelope. She glanced up and motioned for Rachel to shut the door.

  The girl did so and only then did Vivien say, “My solicitor sends messages here regularly—why the secrecy?”

  “The boy he sent over to deliver it must have been an assistant,” Rachel explained. “He was talking about houses in Italy when he brought it to the door.”

  “Oh great God!” Vivien said, blanching as she gripped the paper until it crumpled in her fingers. “What did Nettle say?”

  “Nettle wasn’t the one who answered the door. He had gone to visit a friend while you were away from home,” Rachel explained. “It was Mrs. Pratt who answered and I jumped in and took the missive for you myself before she could understand what the man meant.”

  Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. Mrs. Pratt was her housekeeper, and at least she was a discreet woman.

  “I told the messenger that he should not share a lady’s private information with her servant,” Rachel continued. “And he was quite rude, but he did shut his running mouth and present me with the letter. I would have left it with the other correspondence on your tray, but I didn’t want any of the other servants to somehow stumble upon it.”

  “I appreciate that,” Vivien said and opened the letter. She unfolded the sheets of paper within and read the first out loud. “‘Dear Miss Manning, After much search, we believe we have found a situation in Italy to meet your stated needs. Enclosed find the particulars and a few artist’s drawings of the home. Yours, etc.’”

  She looked up at Rachel before she turned to the second sheet. “You are the only other person who knows about my plans at present,” she said, uncomfortable in this attempt at intimacy, even though she wanted to share the moment with someone. “Would you like to see the house?”

  Rachel nodded. “I would!”

  Vivien drew a long breath and turned to the second sheet, a line of descriptives and figures on cost, which she skipped until she came to the first drawing of the home. She caught her breath. The little house in Naples was perfection. Beautifully built and with gardens along the front, it cried out as private and cozy, exactly what she had been seeking.

  “But what about Napoleon?” Rachel asked as Vivien handed her the sketch. The maid cooed even though her question had not been answered.

  Vivien waved her hand dismissively. “With enough money, anything can be done, even during a war.”

  She looked at the second sketch, a small collection of beautiful sites in the area near the house itself. She pictured herself walking the streets, buying bread, roaming the parks and museums of the city. Except in her mind she was not alone.

  Benedict was with her.

  She shook her head and shoved the paper toward Rachel before she got to her feet.

  Rachel nodded over the images and then set the papers aside. “So this is the place then, isn’t it?”

  Vivien hesitated. The location was everything she had requested from her solicitor, and yet she felt less than satisfied.

  “I…don’t know…” she admitted, more to herself than to Rachel.

  The maid moved closer. “Are you having second thoughts, miss?”

  There was a hopefulness in her maid’s voice that was unmistakable and Vivien turned to look at her with a smile. “I do not really know. The Season is only a few weeks old and already I have completed nearly every duty on the list we compiled together. Now this house has fallen into my lap and it makes the idea of leaving London so very real. Can I do it?”

  Rachel tilted her head. “I cannot imagine you unable to do anything you put your mind to, miss. Though I admit, I would rather you stay. I realize if you left London to begin a new life, you would likely not take any of your current staff with you. And I do like working for you, miss.”

  Vivien touched the girl’s hand briefly. “Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate that more than you know, for I realize that working for a woman such as myself must be trying at times.”

  Her mind trailed for a moment. A woman such as herself. Right now she didn’t know who that woman was anymore. This final Season should have been about frivolity and fun, but instead all she could do was focus on Benedict, and allow herself feelings that could only bring her harm.

  Even now, the idea of leaving him behind had her in a panic of sorts. It pressed on her chest and made her long to see him, touch him, remind herself that he was still hers, even for a short time.

  She shook her head. “For now I shall set this aside and think on it before I respond to the solicitor.”

  There was relief on her maid’s face as she handed the paperwork over to Vivien. “I shall keep my knowledge to myself as long as you’d like, Miss Vivien.”

  “I know that.” Vivien smiled. “Now will you fetch Livermore? I have a message I need to write to someone and I’d like him to deliver it immediately.”

  Rachel hurried from the room to do her bidding and Vivien sat down at her escritoire to pen a missive. Not to her solicitor, but to Benedict. Because all these thoughts of leaving made her long to see him.

  And that longing did not seem to be anything she could deny to herself. Not anymore.

  B
enedict stared up at the ceiling as he tried with all his might not to explode at his brother. He’d found Derek waiting for him when he returned from his outing with Vivien an hour ago. Ever since, his brother had been calmly talking to him.

  Talking at him was a better descriptive. He’d been regaled with reminders on his place in life, on Vivien’s place, on his promises to seek out a bride this Season…on everything and anything that was private in his life.

  How he was able to reign in his frustration was truly a miracle. Finally, his brother paused to draw breath and Benedict looked at him.

  “Is there a reason you hate Vivien so much, or is it just her place in life that makes you despise her?” he asked.

  His brother hesitated and true surprise came to his eyes. “I—I do not hate Vivien,” he stammered.

  “Don’t you?” Benedict asked, rising to pace the room. “Because I don’t think you have ever expressed a positive word about her. You rail on and on about her and yet you do not know her at all.”

  Derek considered that a moment. “I know what she presents to the world.”

  Benedict looked at him over his shoulder. “If people always went by that, everyone would believe you to be a bore.”

  His brother chuckled. “Well, that may be true,” he conceded. “But there is a difference between being seen as a bore and being seen as…”

  He trailed off but the word hung in the air between them. The same word her mother had used to describe her. Whore. He flinched at the thought of it, especially now that he knew so much more about Vivien’s history.

  “She is not a whore, she is a survivor,” he said softly.

  Again his brother was quiet and Benedict could feel him treading lightly, trying to find the right way to say what he wished without starting a war, without closing Benedict’s ears and mind.

  “Perhaps you are right that I do not know her. That we are all far more than the faces we present to Society and the world at large. But I do know you, Benedict, you cannot deny that.”

  “As much as I sometimes want to, no I cannot. You are my brother and one of my best friends,” Benedict acknowledged. “Which is why your opinion on this matter troubles me so much.”

  Derek nodded. “I realize you think that I am like Mother, that I only want to see you married properly and producing spares in the background just in case the unthinkable happens.”

  Benedict drew back a fraction at his brother’s cold assessment of their mother’s desires. “You do not truly think those are her thoughts.”

  Derek arched a brow. “Being the oldest, I hear far more of them. Does she care for me, for us? Of course. But she also cares about ensuring the continuation of Father’s line. At this moment that means her top concern is marriage and children for all of us.”

  Benedict shuddered. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of it in that manner. In truth, I have been avoiding spending more than a short time with her since she decided I should begin to search for a bride seriously this Season.”

  “You mean since you began spending all your time with Vivien Manning,” his brother said softly. When Benedict said nothing in return, his brother continued, “The point is that her desires may be a bit…mercenary, but mine are not. I remember what you went through when your affair with this woman ended three years ago.”

  Benedict pursed his lips and returned to his place on the settee across from his brother. “And now that you’ve said this, let me remind you that I also know you. Although we are only two years apart in age, you have spent a lifetime trying to manage every aspect of my life. You have big brothered me until I sometimes wanted to scream, though I appreciate the sentiment behind all that protection and direction.”

  Derek smiled, but Benedict ignored that and continued.

  “The problem is, dear brother, this time I do not need, nor do I ask for your council. You cannot control this, force this or manage this, no matter how much you might desire it. Who I am with and why I chose to be with her is really none of your business.”

  Before his brother could argue that fact, the door to the parlor opened and Benedict’s butler stepped inside the parlor.

  “Yes, Evans?” Benedict asked, though he kept his focused stare on his brother, who did the same right back at him.

  “I am sorry to intrude, sir, but a message was just delivered.”

  Benedict kept his gaze on Derek. “I shall read it later, Evans. Place it on the sideboard on your way out.”

  “I will do so, sir, but the man who brought it said it was urgent. It is from Miss Vivien.”

  Benedict wrenched his stare from Derek and pushed to his feet. “From Vivien?” he repeated.

  Evans held out the letter. Her handwriting was swirled and delicate across the paper and he soaked in the way she had written his name like it was a caress.

  “Thank you. Is the man still here waiting a reply?” he asked as he tore the seal and slipped the note out.

  “No, he has returned home.” Evans bowed from the room and left Benedict to his letter…and his brother.

  I realize my man’s statement of urgency may have alarmed you, she began without a greeting of any kind. I assure you I am well. But I do wish to see you immediately, if you can manage it. Yours, V.

  Benedict stared at the sign off. Yours. He had always wanted her to be his. And right now her call to him was more important than anything else.

  He turned on his brother as he placed her letter into his pocket, holding it there for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Derek, but I’m afraid I must go.”

  His brother pushed to his feet and stared at him. “We are in the middle of a rather important conversation. You cannot leave in half an hour?”

  “No,” Benedict said simply, without further explanation. “You may finish your tea, of course, and have the run of my home. Evans and the others will fetch you anything you’d like—”

  “I’m not talking about tea,” his brother interrupted in frustration.

  Benedict shrugged. “Good evening, Derek. Tell Jocelyn I passed along my highest regards.”

  He left his brother standing in the middle of the parlor, gaping after him as he called out his name. But as Benedict rushed outside and swung up on a waiting horse, he didn’t care about the consequences his dramatic exit would cause.

  All he cared about was responding to Vivien’s siren’s call.

  When he arrived at her estate, Benedict was taken directly upstairs. He expected to be brought to her public bedroom or parlor, but instead Nettle motioned him to the private chamber he had seen a short time before. The very one he had asked to share with her, but she’d refused.

  “Miss Vivien is waiting for you,” the butler said, then bowed away and left him standing in the hallway, staring at the smooth surface of the door. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed inside.

  Immediately, he staggered to a stop. Vivien stood in the middle of the room. She wasn’t wearing a sensual nightshift or a deeply cut silken gown. She hadn’t highlighted her already beautiful eyes with kohl or made herself look anything like the image she presented to the world. She stood before him in a plain, gray gown, her blonde hair done loosely so that strands of it fell around her shoulders. She smiled as he stepped inside the bedroom, but there was a nervousness to the expression.

  “Are you well?” he asked as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice cracked. “I am fine. I hope I didn’t worry you, I only…I wanted to see you.”

  “Here, in this chamber,” he said, glancing around him.

  She did the same. “I told you that someday I might allow this to be a place where we made love,” she explained. “If you would still like to—”

  He didn’t allow her to finish. In three long steps, he crossed the room and drew her against him as he kissed her. He felt her surrender almost immediately and the sweetness of it nearly brought him to his knees.

  Instead, he gathered her into his arms and carried her
to the bed, her bed…the place where she truly slept and dreamed, and set her on the pretty brocaded coverlet with as much gentleness as he would use if she were his innocent bride.

  He continued to kiss her, tasting her, letting the desire he felt inside him begin to boil before he stripped her of her gown or touched her intimately. His actions seemed to frustrate her as she squirmed to get closer, cupping the back of his head and encouraging him for a deeper, more passionate kiss.

  Her fingers trailed up his stomach and she began to unbutton his shirt, their kisses continuing through her work, building to a crescendo of passion that drove him to want her, take her, make her his.

  She stripped his shirt away with a throaty sound of satisfaction and only then did he pull away to stare down at her. Her eyes were bright with wanting, but she didn’t look like the experienced mistress he had taken so many times. She looked fresh and young and so beautiful that it hurt him.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” she asked softly.

  He smiled. “I was thinking how lucky I am to be here. With you.”

  Her own smile wavered slightly, but she never broke eye contact as she reached behind her and expertly unhooked the first two buttons on her gown. He followed suit and stripped the others free. Her dress drooped as she shrugged out of it and the chemise beneath. It was more than he could bear and he fell against her, pushing her back to recline on her pillows as his kisses rained down on her throat and to the curves of her breasts.

  Vivien gasped as Benedict sucked one hard nipple between his lips. Her reaction wasn’t only from the pleasure his action created, which was intense and powerful, but from the fact that his touch seemed so…new.

  She almost sobbed as he pushed her dress lower and pressed his warm lips to her belly, her hip, baring her and lavishing attention on every inch of skin he revealed.

  She was being worshipped and she reveled in it. Her legs fell open as he tugged her dress away and tossed it over the side of the bed. Heat filled her cheeks as he stared at her nude form. How long had it been since she felt awkward about her body? Years, almost a decade, and yet with him she felt shy.