“It’s the Magna Carta,” she said.
“Yes, Vivian, I had history lessons also.”
“The Magna Carta was signed at Runnymede,” she added, tapping the pen against her lips, thinking about the first line. It felt too familiar to be a coincidence. “Luke, I’ve read this somewhere, present a unity of vision. This house has a library, does it not?” She rose and dropped the parchment and pen onto the desk and crossed towards the door. She was in the hall and hurrying down the stairs as Luke caught up.
With lithe touches to the small of her back, Luke guided her throughout the maze of hallways of Bradstone Park, and they arrived in the thankfully empty library. The room was filled with tomes from ceiling to floor.
“Look for something on architecture,” she instructed.
As they skimmed the titles on the elaborate shelving, Vivian couldn’t help but marvel at the expansive book collection Bradstone Park possessed. She turned to make a comment to Luke, but he was peering at the spine of a book, his mouth turned down into a frown.
She glanced at the title. “Canterbury Tales? You have a small copy in your trunk.”
“I’d forgotten Andrew owned a copy.” Luke turned away from the book, and moved down the row.
She followed along behind him and wondered if there was more to his displeasure of a book than met the eye.
“Here are the books you’re looking for.” He nodded to a few shelves filled with volumes of varying sizes. The architecture books. She smiled at some of the familiar titles and began to remove anything that might contain what she was looking for.
Her hand lingered against the spine of a familiar book; her eyes narrowed as she read the title. Disbelief flooded through her, as it was a happy coincidence the Bradstone Park library would hold a book she’d read numerous times as a young girl. It had been a book of her father’s, though like him, it had not survived the fire.
The inscription in the front caught her eye, and her breath died in her throat.
Peter,
After many years, this seemed like the only fitting gift for such a parting. Enjoy your retirement, mate.
With friendship everlasting,
Victor
Vivian’s brows pinched together. The passage was familiar and yet it was impossible.
“What’s wrong?”
“These words.” She traced her fingertips across the inscription. “I’ve read them before. My father had this book in his library before the Abbey burned.” She lifted the book to her nose and sniffed. “Luke, it even smells like smoke.”
He sniffed the book. “It could just smell old, Vivian.”
Vivian frowned. He was right, of course. It wasn’t possible for this to be her father’s book. It had burned.
Luke read through the message. “My father’s name was Peter, but I don’t know who Victor is.”
Surprise washed over her. “Your father was Peter?”
He nodded. “He died fifteen years ago.”
“I know. Norah told me earlier.”
His gaze returned to the faded writing. “Why does this bother you?”
“We had a copy of this book at Kenswick Abbey, before it burned. Same inscription, same water marks on the pages. My father’s name was also Peter.”
She studied his face, but whatever thoughts bounced about in his head were not clear and she looked away.
“It’s not possible for it to be the same book,” she whispered, mostly to herself, the idea too unbelievable.
That one burned when the Abbey did. It’s simply a coincidence our fathers had the same name, like how practically everyone else in this country is named George. And yet….
It was the same book, she was sure of it. “Luke, how did this book get here?”
Luke sighed. “But it is not impossible, I suppose. At some point it was removed from your house, and was placed here. I’ve never seen this book before.”
“Would Andrew know? Or Clara?”
Luke shrugged. “Perhaps? They don’t live here primarily. They use a different estate as their family home. Bradstone Park is only ever used for family gatherings and house parties. The rest of the time it is open to the public.”
Vivian sighed. “Where anyone could have slipped the book onto the shelf.”
He nodded. “I can ask Andrew.”
“Yes, you might as well, just to be certain, but I will not hold out hope.”
Vivian forced herself to focus. She flipped through the pages, and quickly found what she looked for.
She pushed the book towards Luke. “Salisbury Cathedral was built nearly to completion within a single generation. As a result, the final structure presents a unity of vision.”
“Salisbury Cathedral?” He regarded the book in disbelief.
Vivian nodded. “And there is a copy of the Magna Carta there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Luke looked up from the book and his lips broke into a brilliant grin. “That bloody clever bastard.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My cousin must think himself terribly clever for putting all this together. He knew I wouldn’t have figured that out on my own. He was counting on my sharing this with you, and you recognizing the clues. Though I do not know how he knew you would know all this about gothic architecture.”
“Oh, I told him about that.”
“You did?”
Vivian snapped the book closed. “In the library that morning when we talked about Wells.”
“Did you now?” Luke’s voice was distracted as his gaze darkened with hunger. He dropped his gaze to her lips for a lingering moment, before he pulled her into his arms.
His kiss was heated, intense, and it melted away any lingering doubts she might have had about whether or not he desired her. The first time between them had been incredible but the spark that flared had not waned. If anything, it made her more ravenous for him.
The intimacy between them felt different, somehow. Perhaps it was what she knew about him or being in his childhood home. His caress felt more intimate, more personal.
He lifted her onto the desk behind her and stepped between her legs, her knees spreading wide at his intrusion. He wound an arm around her back and her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples hardened beneath her gown, and she reveled in the heat pooling between her legs. Knowing what was to come made her ready, eager.
His hand trailed down, pushing aside her skirts and found the inside of her legs. Her knees fell further apart at his intrusion. He traced up her stockings, past the ribbons tied above her knee, further up to her heat. She was wet for him, her arousal slick as he traced a finger back and forth across her seam. Heat raced down to her toes.
“I could take you here, you know,” he said, his breath hot against her ear, as he nipped at her lobe.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged, but hoped he would. Intimacies in the library, against her beloved architecture books. It seemed almost poetic.
“Wouldn’t I?” He dipped his finger, then another, deep inside her and she shuddered.
She pressed her lips along his pulse, where she’d learned would drive him mad. “Do it then, since you’re so determined. I won’t stop you.”
He pulled away a fraction, his heated gaze mixed with hers as he took her measure before he hungrily claimed her again.
“Oh, halloos!” came a laughing voice and Luke broke the kiss. He looked up over her shoulder as Vivian regained her senses.
“Gads, it’s my sisters,” he grumbled and released her, but didn’t move away.
Oh, good lord. Vivian slipped from the desk and pushed her skirts down. She hoped the wrinkles from Luke’s attentions were not as noticeable as she feared.
“They are awfully adept at interfering,” she whispered through her smile.
“You have no idea,” he muttered quietly. Louder, he addressed his meddlesome sisters. “What brings you lovely ladies to the library on a day such as today?”
His four sisters grinned
at them, as if they knew exactly what they’d just interrupted. Thankfully Mara, the youngest, was not with them. That would be a rather awkward education.
“We are in search of a book, obviously,” Susanna said, her pregnancy apparent from beneath her lavender day dress.
Sarah’s brows peaked over her inquiring gaze. “What are you doing in here?”
“Books,” Luke said perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “We were reading.”
“Reading?” Clara’s brown eyes glittered with amusement. She didn’t believe them either.
“About what exactly?” Norah asked, her grin the widest, but she was the farthest away and only Luke and Vivian could see how entertained she was by this.
“Architecture,” Vivian replied and pulled the book from the table.
The four ladies glanced at the book.
“Yes, architecture,” Luke agreed. “I’ve found it …”
“Stimulating?” Clara asked.
“Hedonistic?” Sarah suggested.
“Inspiring?” Susanna offered with a wink.
Norah caught his eye, her gaze dropped lower for a half second before she reclaimed his gaze. “Uplifting?”
Luke wanted to groan. Parts of his anatomy hadn’t realized the time to stand and pay attention had been interrupted.
“Ah, it’s time we left. Vivian?”
Her expression was even, but he could see the current of panic radiate underneath. He held the architecture tome before him and they quickly escaped the library, to the raucous giggles and laughter of his married sisters.
Vivian and Luke made it to his rooms before they doubled over in laughter.
“Sorry about them.”
Vivian shrugged. “I don’t mind. They’re enchanting, really. And they love you to distraction.”
“And I them,” he admitted with a wink.
“Heavens, what they must think of me now!”
“Love, my siblings are no stranger to what happens between a husband and a wife. Sex is rampant in this family.”
She laughed and swatted him on the shoulder. “Must you be so crude?”
“It’s the truth! This lot has almost eight children between the four of them. They only started marrying three years ago. How do you think they got those children?”
“Yes, but they don’t do it in the library!”
“Oh yes they do. Besides, showing we have a healthy attraction to each other is more likely to endear them to you and not ostracize you.”
He captured her mouth again, his kiss searing in intensity, and Vivian felt her legs start to weaken.
“You should be wearing less clothing,” he said against her lips as she fumbled with the buttons from his waist coat.
She kept her gaze locked on his as her hands moved to the buttons down the bust of her gown. They were mostly for decoration but loosening the bustline would help her get out of the rest of it without a maid.
“Your gloves too,” he said and nodded to the coordinating cream gloves she wore.
Panic flew through her as she glanced down at her hands. Covered in fabric no one could see the mangled mess of scars beneath. She certainly didn’t want him to see it. Not now, not ever again.
“I know why you hesitate.” His voice was soft as he watched her. He hadn’t moved, but she felt him everywhere.
“I am not hesitating,” Vivian said, but it was a lie. She hesitated for him to see her hands, to see the destruction the fire had left in its path.
“Vivian,” Luke said, the last syllable of her name emphasized. He met her gaze, an and undercurrent of seriousness raced through his eyes. He did not smile, or joke, but merely looked at her, his face void of any sympathy or fear.
“I’m sure I could manage to enjoy myself with my gloves on,” she insisted. “Or we could wait until nightfall.”
He came towards her, his waistcoat and coat fell open, the buttons at the top of his shirt open to reveal a taste of the soft skin that lay beneath.
“I don’t want to wait.”
She didn’t want to wait either, and even she thought her arguments sounded weak.
“Vivian,” he stated without the teasing lilt she’d come to expect in his tone. “Remove your gloves.”
Defiantly, she shook her head.
“I’ve seen your hands before. That day you toured me around Kenswick Abbey.”
That much was true, but it didn’t change her mind. Then, he was nobody to her. Now… now she was his wife and wanted nothing more than to keep the illusion that she was unscarred. Beautiful. She didn’t want him to see this ugliness life had brought her.
“And you touched me last night without gloves.”
“It was dark.”
“I could still feel.”
“Yes, but you could not see.”
“I can see now.”
“Precisely,” she replied.
“Vivian, they don’t matter to me.”
“The last person who said that to me turned out very different than what he promised.”
Luke’s gaze searched hers and she hoped he would give this up. Let her have her bit of misery. Let her hold onto her pain.
“Who was this?” he asked, unwilling to let it go. He’d told her the great secret of his life. It seemed only fair to do the same. Maybe if she told him the story, he would not pester her about her scars. Maybe he would leave it alone.
She held her arms tight behind her back, though he tried to gently coax them before her. The gentleness in his gaze held her attention, as did the warmth his touch spread throughout her limbs. For so long she’d relied on herself, accepted her pain and trauma unto herself, and refused to share the burden with anyone. But now… with Luke…
Trust your heart, as it probably knows more than your head will realize.
“You asked before how I knew Lord Catford.”
He didn’t reply, simply watched her with an intensity she could not place.
“I met him last year. Though I knew him before that. He was a friend of my brother, Percival. He was friendly with me before he left with Percy to fight in the war. When Percy died, Catford wrote to us to offer his condolences. We struck up a correspondence of sorts, a friendship through letters. He asked when he would see me in London for the Season, and when my Aunt Barfield made the proposal for me to join them last year, I accepted.”
Vivian looked down where his signet ring hung heavily against her bosom. Her time in London last year had been nothing but misery, but he needed to know. He needed to understand to leave this part of her alone.
“I went to London, eager to see him again, thinking there could be something between us, more than a friendship. At first, he was… nice. He was practically courting me, but it was all done without any official declarations. He claimed to be terrified of my Barfield relations, and making the journey to the Abbey to speak with my mother would take too much time.”
“Vivian, what did he do?”
She found Luke’s gaze again. “Nothing compromising. He made some advances at a ball one evening, and I rebuked him. I allowed his advances at first, I suppose, as it seemed innocent enough and I thought he was to propose. But when he pushed for something more, I denied him.”
Luke swore under his breath and looked away.
“We argued. He became rather physical, and I kicked him, in a way that made him very embarrassed.”
“You kicked him in his—”
“No!” Vivian laughed. “Nothing of the sort. I merely knocked his legs out from beneath him and he landed on his bum, before of all his friends. In my attempt to flee, he grabbed at my hands, and my gloves were yanked from my fingers.” Vivian paused and glanced at the ceiling and fought for the will to continue. To fully recall of her humiliation. “And he was disgusted. Revolted. And I became Revolting Vivian, a moniker that plagued me through the rest of my days in London.”
“Revolting Vivian?” Luke asked, but he was not laughing. If anything, he was angry. A rage rippled through him like Vivian had n
ever seen before.
She shrugged. “It has a certain ring to it.”
“Vivian. Allow me to see your hands, please.”
She searched his gaze, but found none of the pity she had feared, nor the humor or the hint of teasing she had come to expect.
Slowly, she relented and allowed him to pull her arms before her and remove each glove. Tenderly, he traced the tip of his finger over the silvery lines of scarring, interwoven across the backs of her hands, around her wrist and part way up her forearm.
She shivered under his attentions, and the gentleness of his touch settled uncomfortably around her heart. She’d never been touched in such a way. Most people who saw her scarring pulled back in repulsion. But not Luke. Luke seemed to take no notice; to him they did not matter.
“How could this be revolting?” he asked quietly. “How could you think these would determine who you are?”
“People have always recoiled from the sight of them. My hands, my mother’s face… people have not been kind. As an attempt at self-preservation, I sort of… hid them away.”
“You’ve hidden yourself away,” Luke stated, but did not release her hands.
“Perhaps.”
“Vivian, the scars of your past do not define you. People’s opinion of those scars do not matter.”
“That is easy for you to say. You’ve not had—”
“Are you truly going to berate me again for having an easy life?”
Vivian stopped. She realized how false her words were now. He had endured loss like few others had. If anything, she should know the pain he carried. The guilt he felt.
“No,” Vivian admitted. “That would not be fair. But Luke, your scars are not visible for everyone to see and comment on. Looking at you, no one would think your existence not perfect.”
“I know what it feels like to have people’s pitying stares follow me around. Why do you think I ran off to become someone else?”
“It’s just easier for you. Your worth is not determined by your beauty and what you can offer a husband.”
“Is it not? I had zero marriage prospects when I was simply the lesser-born son of a duke. As an earl, I’ve had women thrown literally at my feet. Why do you think I escaped these past months and ignored everything Kenswick? Why do you think I married the person I chose, instead of awaiting the inevitable marriage trap? I was not about to go a Season unmarried with the conniving likes of the beau monde waiting to ensnare me.”
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 21
