He paused ten strides from the private box and as if he willed it, perhaps he had, Vivienne turned from the conversation and they locked eyes. His heart thudded a heavy beat while she, wide-eyed and bright with sudden awareness, held his gaze. It took only a moment and Adonis noticed, avidly following her line of vision. His expression became unreadable though he touched Vivienne’s arm to regain her attention and Sin growled, frustrated and torn, unable to react.
He dropped his attention to the carpet at the same time the audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. The loud thrum suffocated his misplaced emotion and he returned to sit beside Mirabel at a loss to explain why he didn’t bring her wine.
‘Do you know that man, Vivienne?’ Crispin leaned closer and adopted a protective stance, his shoulder brushing against hers as he asked the question a second time.
‘Hush.’ Sophie angled towards her brother from the other side. ‘I can’t hear a word from the stage.’
Vivienne’s palms grew damp, myriad questions demanding attention and yet she was thwarted by the very entertainment she anticipated with great joy. Daring a glance to Crispin who remained too close, too curious and far too protective, she found he hadn’t heeded his sister’s demand, his keen focus boring a hole into her confidence.
‘Are you acquainted with him?’
He spoke the last word in a distasteful tone she hadn’t heard from him before. ‘I met Mr Sinclair when I visited the gaming hell.’ Her whispered confession did little to mollify Crispin though he leaned closer, their noses scant inches apart. Another beat and a complete transformation overrode his earlier expression. His eyes grew heavy-lidded and his lips twitched, as if he fought an impulsive desire.
‘I worry about you, Vivienne.’
The honest, heartfelt concern cut her annoyance to the quick.
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t know what else to say and turned to face the stage, frightened he would misread the conflicted emotions she tried desperately to conceal.
A moment later, he turned too, though she doubted he concentrated on the actors’ dialogue. She couldn’t hold a thought for the strength of her emotion. Why was Max here? And more importantly, with whom? There was no way she could discover the answers, the hour performance now the cruellest torture, to know he sat nearby, perhaps only a few feet away beside a beautiful woman whom he would escort home afterward and then…
What if I were to kiss you there?
She gasped, her breath caught in her lungs. She was unwilling to release it despite the sharp pain it caused. She stared straight ahead, motionless, powerless to react, and then where she gripped the fabric of her skirt, twisted between her fingers in an effort to calm the maelstrom of unruly objections, Crispin laid his gloved palm atop her own, smoothing her clenched fist with a gentle stroke.
Tears stung her eyes and she willed them to cease despite her vision blurring.
Control. Exercise control. Do not allow the tears. Do not cry.
With a series of rapid blinks, she conquered emotion though she continued to face forward, spine rigid, staring at the stage until with one final touch to the back of her palm, Crispin removed his hand.
It was half four in the morning when Sin walked the floor of the Underworld, the last guest gone, receipts counted, and Cole on his way home. After the play, he’d returned to the hell, restless and unsatisfied, distracted by the raven-haired beauty who sat in the reserved boxes beyond his reach.
He had no claim to Vivienne. Nothing bound them together. They had no agreement beyond his lustful yearning, yet his desire to see her smile, taste her kiss, thrummed in his blood. Wasn’t his life complicated enough without sentimental feelings? It took years for the blight of his mother’s tragic death to diminish and he’d succeeded only by replacing it with a thirst for revenge.
The sudden thought reminded he hadn’t located Pimms. All this unnecessary nonsense: Vauxhall, Drury Lane…Vivienne. It kept him distracted, prevented his purpose. He paused beside the Hazard table where he’d lifted Vivi, placed her atop and kissed her senseless. His cock hardened in response to the memory the same way it had that evening: randy as hell and unable to do anything about it.
Gathering the dice, he thrust them against the felt with a black curse and left before they settled and revealed their faces. With her under his skin, a scratch he couldn’t itch, he’d never be able to focus on eliminating Pimms. Come a respectable hour he’d venture to Nettlecombe and pay Vivienne a call. That is, if the butler allowed him entry. Perhaps a stern reminder of his place in society would serve as the ideal elixir to adjust his priorities.
Chapter Fifteen
Vivienne paced the length of the guestroom at Daventry House. The modest fire flared in the hearth, the decorations were comfortable and cheery, yet her emotions seemed as scattered as the hairpins strewn across the bedside table. At a loss, she pulled the sash of her wrapper tighter and padded to the foot of the bed where she sat in contemplation of this evening’s circumstances.
The night had proceeded smoothly thanks to Sophie, who knew little of the confrontation Vivienne experienced with Crispin, but aided nonetheless. Through intermission and during the carriage ride home her friend chatted so voraciously the mood eased. Vivienne fell into the discussion and it became effortless. Once inside everyone made to their bedchambers and Vivienne released a breath of relief, welcoming the quiet of the guestroom for no other reason than to be alone with her thoughts.
Now with unrest she rose and walked to the decorative shelving near the window, littered with bits and pieces of life: family miniatures, portraits interspersed with vases, books and statues. She touched a fingertip to the china figurine of a mother holding a child. Would she ever have a home and family to call her own?
A sudden knock on the door mocked the silence. She moved to the door and opened it a crack. Crispin stood on the other side.
‘I needed to check on you and assure you are well.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘Did Sinclair upset you? Harm you in some manner?’ His voice was low but a world of concern filled the words.
How could she answer with any degree of truth? She couldn’t stop thinking of Max. He was with her at all times, no matter that they’d only shared a few random moments. Well, perhaps not so random…but surely meaningless to him.
‘Yes. I’m fine.’ She pushed her mouth into a smile and cracked the door wider, wishing to prove she indeed spoke the truth.
‘Good.’ He nodded with quiet insistence. ‘I enjoyed spending this evening with you.’ He paused, his eyes cast away for a moment before he again matched her attention. ‘We’ve known each other a long time. I would hope you’d confide in me if need be. Without a brother or proper father, you’ll always have my protection but I’d prefer you didn’t think of me in a familial role.’
The impact of his confession made her heart lurch. ‘Thank you. I know I can depend on you. You’ve always shown me kindness.’
He flashed a smile, his eyes bright despite the dim hallway candlelight. ‘I would very much like to spend more time with you. Perhaps on the morrow we could walk together. The delphinium is in bloom throughout Hyde Park.’
Did she imagine it or had he angled his posture the tiniest bit closer? Sophie slept like a rock and was likely already dreaming. No one was about besides Crispin at her door. She should end their conversation before it became more complicated.
‘Let’s discuss it further at breakfast. I’m sure Sophie has ideas for the day.’ Did her voice sound normal? It was hard to tell with her pulse pounding in her ears. Yet it wasn’t fear driving her, but the frantic worry she would somehow wound him and cause further poor feelings. She made to close the door.
‘One last word,’ he whispered, as if the entreaty was highly confidential.
‘Yes?’ She glanced up and stalled at the beseeching look in his eye.
‘May I kiss you?’
Crispin spoke the words but oh, how horrid of her heart to remind
her Sin had not asked, but taken. He’d pulled her to him and captured her mouth in passion and command, and she’d allowed it, enjoyed it, remembered the scorching heat of it still. Good Lord, his kiss had melted the stays in her corset.
The moment stretched, an answer to Crispin’s question pending.
‘I don’t believe that would be proper.’ She took a small step backward. ‘I’m not dressed.’ Perhaps not the smartest choice of words. ‘And it’s late and I need my rest.’ At least she’d possessed enough good sense not to mention the bed.
‘Yes, of course.’ He gave a polite nod, though his expression displayed utter dejection. ‘Breakfast then, and a walk in the park. Tomorrow.’ He gathered himself in pieces, similar to his disjointed withdrawal, and she firmly shut the door.
Traitorous emotion formed a lump in her throat. She extinguished the side table lantern, save the light of one candle, and climbed beneath the counterpane with languid grace. Once abed she traced her eyes over the soothing floral embroidery designed in pale green on the linen canopy overhead, but her heart and mind wouldn’t settle. She felt horrid, dreadful and disloyal for having turned Crispin away, and yet her thoughts ran anxiously to Max, leaving all considerations of Crispin’s feelings in chaotic abandon.
Max.
He’d taken someone, some woman, to the theatre. She wanted to be that woman. She wanted him to hold her, whisper in her ear, kiss her…kiss her there. She closed her eyes, remembering the flare of heat in his eyes right before he’d captured her mouth. His lips were hot upon hers, branding her with his kiss, the delicious pressure and scintillating stroke of his tongue… How she’d trembled with emotion, her pulse in frenetic invigoration.
She smoothed her hand across her breasts, heavy and sensitive, to rest her palm on her heart. She possessed little experience with men, hardly aware of her own body, never mind the intricate sensations of desire and passion. With assertive pressure, she moved her hand down the front of her night-rail, her flat waist sloping into the curve of her hips. She yearned to have Max coast his hands over her skin in intimate exploration, to see him stripped of all clothing, tangled in her bed sheets. She wanted to feel the heat and weight of his body, skin to skin. These were wicked forbidden desires but she ignored her chiding better sense in favour of carnal temptation.
If only…
Her eyes shot open with an immediate decision that caused her heart to pound, sensation to spiral from her chest to her stomach. He needed to repay his vowels. While she didn’t know entirely what ownership of someone’s vowels entailed, the truth remained she held his debt. He needed to resolve it and now she’d discovered the ideal solution. She turned to her side and pushed the pillow further under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed a soft smile. Indeed, hope won out and tonight she would have pleasant dreams.
Max exited the hackney, paid the driver and walked the final block. Nettlecombe represented old money, tradition and a plethora of aristocratic customs he cared nothing about. He wasn’t one to attend drawing rooms or frequent the homes of proper society, and he preferred it that way. Still he found himself on the front steps of Vivienne’s residence, a simple task of asserting the right questions to the right people. He’d learned she’d recently come out of mourning and now lived with her stepfather. He wondered at the nature of their relationship.
He dropped the brass knocker with an impatient rap. The door cracked open promptly and he offered his card to the stoic butler who showed him into a sombre salon decorated in navy fustian and some other pretentious fabric favoured by peers.
How could Vivienne live here? The sparse sober interior of this residence hardly represented the effervescent moonlight captured in her smile, the sparkle in her eyes. At first glance, the house possessed an ominous forbearance that left him uneasy at best. He surveyed the room, curious as to why the interior lacked the feminine influences commonplace in most every home.
Home.
He’d not had a comfortable home since his early years before Eton. He’d likely never have one again. Remorse and its eager twin, regret, sliced through him. He did well enough without needing. Needing led to disappointment and pain. He inhaled a sharp breath, his impulsive visit an error in judgement. What the hell was he doing here anyway? He was a fool as well as a bastard. He pivoted on his heel, caught unaware as an elderly gentleman entered the room.
‘How may I help you, Mr Sinclair?’
‘Huntley.’ He matched the earl’s discerning stare, forced to explain his visit. ‘I’ve made a mistake.’
‘If you’ve come to invite me to your establishment, indeed you are correct.’ This said matter-of-factly. ‘Or inveigle a loan, attempt a misguided investment, any of the shrewd business transactions you’re accustomed to instigating.’
Max scolded his expression into something acceptable. He’d done his research. The man before him possessed great wealth, as did he. This man lived a discreet lifestyle; so did he. Yet the similarities stopped there. He would never be part of this callous world and that reality suited.
‘You haven’t come to see Vivienne?’
Max may have remained silent too long, the earl’s impatience palpable in the room as if by logical deduction and apt conclusion the man proved himself a shrewd thinker.
‘My reason is of no matter.’ He took the final steps needed to reach the doorway. ‘I shouldn’t have troubled you.’ He paused, the spark of fury in the earl’s eye good cause.
‘Then leave and take with you the message you’re not welcome here. There is a reason for societal lines. My stepdaughter is far beyond your reach. You are not to see her nor contact her.’
Max didn’t need the reminder. Anxious to be rid of the vitriolic earl’s company, he left directly after.
Vivienne stood in the front hall of the Daventry town house, just returned from a refreshing walk in Hyde Park. She was allayed Crispin drove the gig to the stable, which afforded a private moment with Sophie.
‘I’ve had a wonderful time but I should go home.’ She gathered her bag from the corner closet where she’d left it earlier. ‘My stepfather will be wondering why I’m gone so long.’ And there was the unsettling matter of vowels to be negotiated with Max.
‘Has it been difficult?’ Sophie placed a hand on Vivienne’s arm in concern. ‘Adjusting to life with only the two of you in the house? I think about it often. My parents are rarely home, yet I know they are there if I need them. Have you managed?’
‘I’m not sure difficult is the right description. I never knew I had so many tears. I struggle even now to keep them controlled.’ Vivienne frowned with the comment. ‘But I’ve missed you more than I imagined and visiting here brings back a wealth of warm memories.’ She hesitated, unwilling to say more. ‘We’ll plan an outing soon where we can talk more and share our secrets, just as always.’
‘I’d like that. I spend too much time with Crispin as it is.’ Sophie gave a little laugh with her admission. ‘If only you were long in the tooth or possessed hideously crossed eyes, perhaps he wouldn’t hound me to arrange for you to visit. He begs your attention so often, we rarely share time to talk without his company.’ Her expression changed to one of contrite perplexity before Vivienne embraced her in a tight hug.
‘I promise. We’ll think of some way to resolve the situation without hurt feelings. I couldn’t bear it otherwise. I have so much to tell you.’ She paused, considering the emotions bombarding her brain. ‘Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about Mr Sinclair. His enigmatic allure haunts my better sensibilities and I have no one to tell me whether I’m infatuated or just plain mad.’
Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, we must plan soon. If I can’t visit the Underworld, I want to live it through you.’
Vivienne rode home anxious and unsure how to solve her problems. With certainty, Crispin had shifted his interest from admiration to pursuit, no longer content with their friendship. Her stepfather’s attitude presented a different conundrum altogether
: at times protective and then, by contrast, borderline obtrusive. As repellent as the conclusion was, there were instances when she’d caught him viewing her with what could only be described as unnatural affection. On these odious occasions, she’d assuaged her panic with reasoning it could not be, the notion he would consider her in that manner too loathsome to accept.
She’d barely cleared her mind of these worries when she entered Nettlecombe. Her stepfather was in the front parlour where it appeared he awaited her return.
He didn’t spare a welcome. ‘You had a caller whilst you visited the Daventrys.’
‘Was it a friend of Mother’s? Someone from the Salvation Saviours?’ She couldn’t fathom who else it could be, her circle private, acquaintances few, never mind she’d only recently returned to society.
‘He left his card.’
The four words were said with ominous loathing and a foreboding shiver skittered down her spine before her eyes took in the white card extended in her direction. Joy, misplaced and far too eager to dismiss this situation and imagine another, caused her pulse to skip. Why would Max visit?
‘How do you know this man, Vivienne? Have I granted you too much trust?’
Her stepfather’s troubled tone and pinched grimace alerted her that she needed to choose her words carefully, but he continued before she could assemble her reply.
‘He holds his head high for someone of low birth.’
The derisive words caused her to bite her tongue, even though she was anxious to contend his insult. ‘He seems a respectable man.’
In a rare occurrence, her stepfather laughed, though the sound held no humour. ‘How would you judge a man of his ilk? You are far too naïve and sheltered to understand the depth of Mr Sinclair’s depravity.’ His voice gentled, as did his expression. ‘With your mother gone, I hold responsibility for your welfare.’
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