by Deana James
Vivian shot her a warning look.
Mrs. Felders sniffed. "Only three removes. He won't like that. Insists on a formal dinner."
At the top of the menu, Vivian wrote the instruction that the courses except for the salad should be served hot, but the green beans in particular should not be overdone.
"Light French wine." Vivian underlined the first word and signed the bottom of the sheet with a flourish. With a cool smile, she thrust it into Mrs. Felders's hand.
The woman's eyes narrowed to points of angry light. The paper crackled between her fingers. Vivian expected her to wad it up or rip it across, but she finally thrust it into the pocket of her apron. Her voice was hoarse and breathless. "You'll live to regret this," she prophesied. "Just mark my words."
Rising in the face of the woman's ire, Vivian realized that she had created an implacable enemy. Reasoning that the woman could be no angrier, Vivian swept her fingers across the surface of the table at which she sat and then showed their tips. She crossed to the window and shook a drapery that discharged a cloud of gray dust and lint into the crackling air. She rubbed her hand down the wardrobe, its wood grain devoid of wax and dulled by many handprints never wiped away. As a final note Vivian pointed out the fireplace with its smoke-stain blackening the mantel and the ornaments on it.
Mrs. Felders color had deepened to a dull puce. "We’ll see to this room as soon as I can free some of the staff, milady. Of course, we're short-handed and it may be some time. Winter is a hard time on the coast." Her breath hissed angrily between her teeth. Her expression foretold clearly that Vivian would not have a clean room before spring if she had anything to say about it. "1*11 go and deliver this to Cook now, so he can get started on it Of course the poor man may have a smothering spell. No one has ever complained about his skills before."
Before Vivian could dismiss her, the woman swept out, closing the door harder than necessary behind her.
Vivian wrapped her arms around herself, finding she was shivering with strain. Stumbling back, she sat down in the chair and held her cold hands out to the fire. A pitiful warmth rose from the bed of coals that was almost consumed. Shaking her head, she reached for the scuttle only to find it empty.
Damn! Damn Felders! Damn Sebastian! Damn poor old Sister Grace Hospitaler for bringing her here in the first place! Damn the earl and damn the viscount! And damn her lack of voice most of all! How could she continue to live her life like this? Perhaps Sebastian was right after all. Perhaps the abbey was all the life for which she was suited.
Tears started in her eyes. Why go on against such odds? She let her hands sink limply to her lap. They were dirty. She had handled the dusty draperies and filthy furniture, and now her hands were dirty. The sight infuriated her. She sprang to her feet. Suddenly, she wanted to drag Felders back by the hair of her head. She would make her-
A knock sounded at the door and then Addie's head came poking round the edge. "Oh, lor', milady, but you’ve set the cat among the pigeons." The girl giggled as she limped across the floor. "Mrs. Felders came stormin' down into the kitchen and fair threw that 'menoo' at the cook. She was slammin' around there and cursin' fit to scare the de'il hisself."
Vivian shivered at the draught that slipped in behind the maid. She handed Addie the coal scuttle.
"Right away, ma'am." The girl curtsied but did not stop talking. "Then Millard, the countess's old butler hisself, comes in and says, 'What's the meanin' o' this,' and she tells him to mind his own business and sails off in a huff." She grinned excitedly. "Lor', I wish'd I could read, so you could write me what you said."
Vivian patted her stomach and pantomimed eating.
"I figured you'd told her that the stuff she gets Cook to serve to his lordship ain't fit for hogs will."
Vivian started in amazement.
"Cook knows it, milady. He's tried to slip some things in, but the old earl, he don't taste too much, so with your husband”—she stopped and looked a bit nervous—”the way he is for near every meal, it don't really much matter."
At Vivian's expression, she shrugged. "I guess I shouldn't 've said that." She looked around. "It don't look real clean, now that I look at it."
Vivian waved a disgusted hand at the smoke stains that blackened the mantel and the painting above it. In fact the huntsmen and hounds pictured there were merely dim figures hunting perhaps unaccountably at twilight.
"Anyways, I’ve come to get started, for so she told me.”
Vivian straightened up at this piece of news.
"I wanted to get out of that part of house anyway 'cause they was about to have a reg’lar mixup down there.” Addie moved to the window and began to unfasten the swags that held back the over drapes. "You want I should start with these, milady? I can take 'em down and clean 'em and wash the lace behind 'em and have 'em back up by nightfall."
Vivian nodded. Curious as to what the "reglar mixup" might be, she left the maid to her work and walked downstairs. Angry voices rose to meet her.
"—time you got your comeuppance," Millard was saying.
"Jack!" Mrs. Felders screeched. "Don't you let him talk to me like that."
A deep voice rumbled unintelligibly, but the tones struck her as faintly familiar.
"—suggest you get some of your help together and get them to cleaning this place before—”
"You old fool, you don't—”
"Emma," the deep voice snarled, "don't raise such a stink. It's what you're paid for after all. Gawd almighty, don’t queer a sweet deal like this with your—”
The epithet struck Vivian to stone on the stairs. Her hand clutched at the banister for support. "Gawd almighty" was the favorite expression of the man who had brought her here. Step by step she began her retreat. But not fast enough.
The door behind the stairs flew open and the burly man she remembered strode across the front hall toward the door.
"Jack!" Emma Felders ran after him.
Vivian tried to hurry, but her heel caught in her skirt and held her. She reeled backward, hanging onto the railing as she shifted her foot.
"Damn it. It's not like you have to do the work yourself." He turned back to the housekeeper-and caught sight of Vivian. With a mocking smile he swept off his hat. He took a step toward the foot of the stairs. His greatcoat flapped open revealing a horse pistol tucked into the broad leather belt at his waist. "Milady."
The sight of the weapon alarmed her so that she struggled even harder to free her skirt. She could not doubt that he was dangerous.
Emma Felders turned, too. All the hatred, all the venom in the world blazed from her eyes. She clenched her fists.
The door to the study opened. "What in the name of all that's holy is all the commotion about?"
"Lord Larnaervon." Emma's face smoothed immediately. That is, the hatred disappeared, to be replaced by an expression of extreme annoyance. "She's disrupted everything. This beadrattler." She pointed up the stairs at Vivian, who had finally managed to get her heel off her skirt and catch her balance.
"Indeed!" The earl glanced up the stairs, then at the man and woman. "Ah, Jack, back so soon. Good. Good. I need to see you. So long as you're here, you might as well come in."
Jack Beddoes nodded. Without another glance at either woman he followed the earl into the study and shut the door.
Emma Felders's face turned puce. Vivian stared in amazement then whirled on the staircase. Wishing she could giggle, she fairly ran back up to her room.
************************************
Before Addie left with the draperies and curtains, Jem had come to clean the fireplace. "And see that y' do a real good job of it," the girl commanded. "Don't just swish that broom around the edges and call it clean."
"Nobody's complained afore," Jem defended himself sullenly.
"That's as cause Lord Piers don’t really give a care. You know how he is." Addie warmed to her subject. "Gone most of the time until the countess took sick and when he was here, being in his cup
s."
Vivian flashed her a look of warning and disapproval.
"Ooh, milady, pardon me." Stammering an embarrassed apology, Addie hastily gathered up the draperies and curtains and beat a hasty retreat.
The sweep ran his brush up into the chimney and was immediately covered with soot and ashes. It billowed out into the room accompanied by his curses and groans as he wiped it from his eyes. A glance over his shoulder in the direction of the lady and he lifted his broom and gamely burrowed on.
Unable to stay in the mess, Vivian retreated to the draughty hallway where she waited, arms wrapped around her.
"Milady." The valet Watkins called to her from Piers's room. "Come and wait in here. There's a fire in the hearth and the chimney draws well. I take care of it myself."
Vivian hesitated. Still, it was chilly standing in the hallway. She had been cold all morning. While she stood undecided, two maids came strolling down the hall. At least she assumed they were maids. Buxom and garbed more like farm women than attendants in an aristocratic household, they stopped short at the sight of her, then ducked their heads briefly before carrying their mops and pails into her room.
"You'd best wait in here," Watkins urged. "They'll do their jobs better without your watching them." He looked down the hall. "Here comes the one to oversee what they do."
Vivian glanced over her shoulder. Face like a thundercloud, Emma Felders bore down the hall. Without waiting for another invitation, Vivian hurried through the door that Watkins held open for her.
Piers's bedroom was warm and clean. Trembling inwardly, she looked around her, seeing his room and realizing that she had noticed nothing about it the day before. A cheery fire leaped in the grate. Naturally she gravitated to it and held out her hands.
"Just set yourself down, milady. I don't expect his lordship back before late this evening. Would you care for some refreshment?"
Relaxing slightly she seated herself and nodded eagerly.
"Tea, ma'am?"
A loud thump from the room next door made her jump. They exchanged knowing looks, then she rewarded him with a warm smile and a nod.
"It might take awhile. They are unused to giving service. Likewise, I can imagine the kitchen is in turmoil. I shall probably have to prepare the tray myself." He chuckled to himself as he strode out.
************************************
"Vivian. Viv-i-an."
Her eyes flew open. She heard Piers's voice calling her. Her whole body tensed. Her hands clenched on the arms of the chair. She looked up, her eyes still half blinded by the light.
He laughed. "Dare I hope that you have come back for the same reason you came the first time?"
Where was she? What was she doing here? She must have dozed off in his chair. Horrified, she sprang to her feet. The sudden movement drove the blood from her head and she staggered. He caught her and gathered her in against his body. The dampness of his clothing chilled her as it drove the last bits of drowsiness from her brain.
"Having a wife might not be such a bad idea," he said thoughtfully, "if I could have you waiting for me when I come home." She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grasp. "A kiss. A kiss of welcome."
She pushed harder, but he shook his head. "Just a kiss. We've done it before. It's a natural thing. Not something to get so excited about."
Resignedly, she stopped struggling. He smiled. "Now, you kiss me."
Pertly, she rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek.
"What a disappointment," he teased. "I don't kiss you like that. Come." He tightened his arms around her waist. "Kiss me properly."
She tilted up her chin and pursed her lips.
"That's not the proper way. Here, let me show you." The chill of his hands had seeped through her clothing, making her unmistakably aware of where he was holding her. One arm was around her back, the fingertips pressed against the side of her breast. The other hand curved over her buttock, its fingertips hooking upward. Fear slashed through her belly. She shuddered as he lifted her against his body.
He felt her response even as he touched his mouth to hers. Then his tongue came out and caressed her lips. Ever so slowly, and warmly, he touched them, the hot, moist tip tracing their shape, the indentation at the top, the full swell at the bottom.
His whole mouth closed over them, laving them with the inner velvet of his own. Unconsciously, she relaxed, her mouth opened, and his tongue slipped inside her.
A heat began to curl in her belly. His hand at her buttock, no longer chill, but warm, squeezed her and lifted her more firmly against him. She could feel his arousal, a rod against which he pressed her.
Pain. Not the pain of hurt but the pain of longing, of desire began where the base of his rod touched her, began at the very top of her thighs, began at the swollen point of flesh until that time, buried untouched. She tried to move to relieve the pressure and the longing, but they only intensified.
All at once her thighs seemed too weak to bear her weight. Her calf muscles tensed then trembled as they too turned to water. Her very toes felt the acute sensations.
His kiss went on and on as incredible excitement swept through her body in waves. She began to shudder convulsively. Her hands came up to sink into the wine-dark mane and hold his head closer. She wanted more and more of the kiss, more and more-
"God," he breathed into her mouth. "My God, Vivian."
"Finding anything down there was something of a problem, milady. For the very first time cookfires are blazing, water is boiling. Oh, excuse me, milord." The valet stood in the doorway, a tea tray in his hands.
"Damn you, Watkins. Your timing is execrable." Piers released Vivian but kept his arm around her supporting her against his side.
She stared at the valet as if she had never seen him, then looked up at her husband dazedly.
"I can well see that, sir. Refreshments took rather a long time to fetch, ma'am. The kitchen was in a furor, but no worse than I expected."
"And whose fault is that?" Piers chuckled. He guided his wife back into her chair, then moved away to unsling the greatcoat from his shoulders.
Vivian's face, already rosy from his kiss, blushed deeper at the information that she had upset the entire household. Embarrassed, she tried to push herself out of the chair.
"Stay, wife. After all, this tea is for you. Watkins, I’ll have something stronger after you have served her. The dampness has seeped into my very bones."
"Very good, milord." The valet poured tea and milk into a cup, stirred in sugar and passed it to Vivian. "I hope this is satisfactory, milady."
Gratefully, she accepted it. Treats of this sort had been hard to come by of late. She drank it thirstily.
Throwing his long frame into the chair opposite, Piers propped his booted feet up on the bumper of the fireplace. "Ice cold," he murmured. "My damn toes are stiff."
His boots were indeed wet and muddy almost to their tops. Over the rim of her teacup, Vivian glanced at the window. The sun shone brightly. Surely the light fall of snow had melted. Where had he been that he should be so cold and damp?
Watkins handed the viscount a brandy. He sank back into his chair and raised his glass to his lips. As he stared wearily into, its depths, the firelight reflected in his eyes. Suddenly, aware of her scrutiny, he raised his glass to toast her with a gesture and a look before he drank his first swallow.
She smiled a little tremulously, her body still humming from his kiss. Truth to tell, she had never expected anything like it, never felt anything like it before. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her palm along the outside of her thigh where the ache still lingered.
He watched her as she drank, glad she was here. He had stared down at her figure asleep in the chair, her head slipped to the side, her hands limp and graceful in her lap and thought how beautiful she was. Forgotten was his fear that she might be mentally impaired in some way. Having a wife might not prove to be such a bad thing after all. And, by God, she was his wife.
Th
e second problem that he had foreseen had not materialized. She had been kidnapped after a fashion and treated roughly if not brutally. Still she seemed to bear no grudge. At least not against him.
She was behaving very well about all of this. After being forced into marriage, she might be expected to be sullen and resentful. She could be expected to weep like a fountain overflowing, or else to tremble and hide from him. Certainly, after her sexual initiation he would not really blame her if she did. But she acted in none of those ways. Instead he found her sitting naturally in his room.
"I invited Lady Polwycke to wait here in warmth and comfort while her room was being cleaned." Watkins supplied the information while he hung up the viscount's coat.
"Where else?" He sank lower in his chair. A sigh escaped him. "Good lord, never tell me that Felders actually ordered the servants, such as they are, to turn a hand to do some useful work."
Piers took another drink of brandy. He held it on his tongue, then winced as he swallowed it as if it burned more fiercely than usual. His voice was a bitter snarl. "I can't believe it. I don't think anyone has done anything in this sty since Mother took to her bed nearly a year ago. And before that, Felders did as little as she could possibly get by with. Housekeeping is not-after all- her primary duty."
"I believe Lady Polwycke insisted."
He stared at Vivian. "How did you do that?"