by Deana James
When he had finished speaking, the silence grew in the room. Pross sorted several pieces of paper and arranged them in an order known only to him. When they were as he wished, he pulled out the earl's chair. "If you will look here, milord," he suggested softly, "I think you will find this most edifying."
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Within an hour the solicitor had gone. The Viscount Polwycke found himself sitting behind his father's desk in the dark, dusty library. He stared at the pile of papers and the stack of ledgers. Beside him on the floor was the estate strongbox and in his hand was the key.
He hunched his shoulders against a draft that seemed to blow from somewhere on his unprotected neck. Guilt and a sense of intruding where he was forbidden made his hand shake so that he had to clutch the key with extra strength.
Childhood memories flooded the room. How many tines had he stood on the other side of this desk in fear and shame? He could picture himself trembling as his father cruelly upbraided him for his faults. Somewhere around here in a dark corner behind the heavy draperies was the switch that he had cowered beneath until he had been deemed sturdy enough to sustain blows from the cane.
He clenched his fist around the key. His father was not dead. He was not even a particularly old man, not nearly sixty. Piers felt like a ghoul. Yet in another sense he felt the rightness of being there. He went down on one knee and inserted the key in the lock.
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He was hard at work among ledgers and correspondence of all kinds when Vivian knocked softly on the door to summon him to his lunch.
"Sweetheart." As if they had been man and wife for years, he came from behind the desk to put his arms over her shoulders and buss her lips. With her smiling up at him, he wiggled his hands behind her and groaned, "I'm dusty and inkstained, or you'd get a kiss to remember."
She ran her hands up under his coat and clasped his shoulders. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips tilted forward to match his. He caught his breath sharply as her mouth fastened on his and her tongue thrust against his teeth.
Abandoning his own restrictions, he pulled her against him and kissed her deeply. His excitement rose to meet hers. When finally she slipped back on her heels, his lips followed her, lingering on hers, drinking their sweetness. Since his recovery, he had come to her bed every night, or taken her to his, holding her beside him, caressing her, teaching her to respond to his desires.
Now the pupil performed for the master. To finish the kiss, she let her tongue slide sensuously across his open lips. A hot thrill of desire shot through him at the caress. With a tantalizing smile, she put her fingers over his mouth.
Finally, reluctantly, he put her at arm's length. "What am I going to do with you? If you kiss me like that very much longer, I can't be responsible for getting us to lunch in time for the food to be edible."
She freed herself from his embrace and stepped back. With a slow smile, she allowed her eyes to roam over his strong thighs clad in superfine trousers that revealed all too well his arousal.
With a groan he caught her back in bis arms. "If you don't watch out, you'll find yourself stretched full length over the earl's desk satisfying the devil you've awakened."
Silent laughter answered his threat.
"Temptress," he growled against her throat. "If you won't be warned, then you deserve what you get. Seducing a man from his labors." Leering, he dragged her toward the desk. She hung back, pretending reluctance, fearfully glancing over her shoulder at the door and trying to twist away.
At the desk he stopped, scratching his head. The oak top was littered with papers and pens; two ledgers lay open, one stacked on top of the other. He looked over his shoulder at the door unlocked behind them. With much show of disappointment, he let go of her arm.
"*You'll escape this once, Vivian, but rest assured that tonight you'll pay a heavy price for trying to seduce me this way."
She shivered, her eyes bright with excitement. Catching up a pen, she wrote, "Promises."
"Only for now," he sighed. He let go of her hand and picked up two papers on which he had jotted columns of figures. "I've made some discoveries that affect us both." He handed her one sheet. "Look here. You're a very rich woman who in turn makes her husband rich since he controls her estate."
He waited while she scanned the sheet then passed her the second. "As you'll see here, I, after my father, am equally as rich. The rents from lands and mines are producing princely sums of money. In fact, I can't believe the amount of money that we together are worth."
Grinning saucily, she caught up a pencil and scribbled another message.
As she wrote, he read over her shoulder. "Why, yes, I suppose I am. A catch, that is."
She nodded and wrote again.
He sobered instantly. "You're right. I don't need to go smuggling ever again. In point of fact, I don't understand why it was ever begun. I was brought home from university and told there was not enough money for me to continue. But there was." He leaned his head against her shoulder. On a sigh he repeated, "There was."
She turned and took his face between her hands. In it she read his unhappiness, his sense of betrayal. Gently she kissed his forehead, his cheek.
He would not be consoled. "These records go back ten years. Even before I was set to smuggling. Smuggling! For heaven's sake. This wealth was acquired long before. It is too vast to have been carried up the beach by ponies in the dead of night. Money like this came from crops and mines and a fishery. I thought I was breaking the law, risking my own life, to save my father and mother's home. But there was never any need." He massaged his half-healed shoulder. "All the suffering. All those men killed. It need never have occurred. I don't understand. Why did he send me?"
She turned back to the desk. The pen flew over the paper. "Greed. Fear of losing all again?"
"That's impossible. Not with this kind of substance."
She put her hand on his shoulder.
His words tumbled out. "Did he want to punish me for what I didn't do? For what he thought I should have done? This last time was the most dangerous of all. The Riding Officers were everywhere. Everywhere. Yet he sent me anyway." He looked down into her face. "Because he thought you were pregnant. He didn't need me any longer."
She slipped both arms around him and hugged him. Her cheek nestled against his chest.
His eyes blazed. "I can't tell you how many times—times without number-I've stood here even as a small child and endured his rages because I believed I was somehow guilty. I and my mother had failed him. And we paid for it and paid and paid. My mother lived in hell for almost a quarter of a century. Death was a release for her. And now I find he was actually anticipating my death, too. He wanted—”
vian put her hand over his mouth keeping the bitter words from being spoken.
He turned his face into her palm and kissed it. She could feel the tears there. He turned and took her hand bctween his. "I'm going to make you a promise here and now, Vivian. No, I'm going to make you two promises. First, I won't go again. I'm done with the smuggling. I’ve enough wealth to take care of my tenants and yours. I'll become the Viscount of Polwycke in truth as well as in name, and I promise I’ll manage our lands well."
Excited by his plans, she hugged him.
He kissed the top of her head. "And, secondly, I promise to take you to London for a come-out in society."
Her head snapped back, her face lighted with a wild hope.
He kissed her mouth. "We’ll go to balls and routs and the theatre and the ballet." He danced her back into the center of the room and whirled her around. You’ll love it. We’ll shop for beautiful clothes for you. We’ll dance the night away. We'll give our own ball. E«ryone will stare at your beauty." Laughing at his own picture, he kissed her hard on the mouth before setting her on her feet.
She put her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with her whole body, her breasts and thighs pressing tightly agains
t him in warm agreement.
At last, dizzy for lack of air, he broke off the embrace. His face bore a bemused expression as he stared into her radiant face. "Do I really make you that happy, Vivian?"
When she would have kissed him again to reassure him, he shook his head. "One more kiss and well not only get nothing to eat but nothing else done for the day." Putting his arm about her shoulders, he turned her firmly and walked with her to the door. "Tonight," he whispered in her ear. "Just wait until tonight."
As Piers opened the door, Mrs. Felders swept down the staircase toward them. Her face virtually quivered with malignant triumph. "He's himself again, milord, and asking for you. You'd best come immediately."
Piers threw up his hands to his wife. "Obviously, I wasn't meant to eat lunch today. However, I'll expect an early dinner-perhaps in your bedroom. Remember I’ll be very hungry." Lifting her hand, palm upward, to his lips, he kissed her with lips and teeth and tongue. As she quivered to his touch, his brown eyes grew hot. "Go on, Mrs. Felders. I'm right behind you."
The tender smile remained on Vivian's lips as she walked into the morning room for lunch. He was a different man from the cynical hard drinker she had first known. She would never have believed when she entered this house only a few short months ago that such happiness as she felt now was possible.
She was sure she loved him and he loved her. They felt it together and apart. The heating of the flesh. Mutual accord. Caring for each other's hurts both body and mind. In her solitary life since her mother's death, no one had ever treated her with such attention, such courtesy, and such affection as her husband. From the very beginning, she had received nothing but support from him. In that moment she vowed she would never leave him.
In the morning room, Vivian called for a light luncheon to be served since she was sure that she and her husband would be dining early that evening. A frisson of anticipation played along her nerves. She smiled, running the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, swollen from his kisses.
The door opened and Mrs. Felders strode in.
Vivian stiffened at the sight of the woman's angry face.
"He sent me out," the housekeeper snarled. "I brought his lordship back from the dead and that idiot sent me out."
A footman entered at that moment with a tray. Mrs. Felders swung on the hapless man and ordered him from the room. Her eyes glowed with her hatred.
"You!" The word exploded from her mouth. "You're going to leave here now. His lordship agreed with me that you were to go back to your own home. Don’t look as if you don't believe me. When I told him the good news, he knew he didn't need you or that fool son." She lifted her chin, her bosom swelled beneath the heavy black silk.
Vivian looked at her narrowly.
"I'm going to have his son," she announced triumphantly. "So you might as well pack your clothes."
Even as Vivian froze in shock, Emma Felders caught hold of her arm and lifted her out of the chair. Left breathless by the woman's revelation, so bald, so shocking, Vivian allowed herself to be pulled and prodded willy-nilly to the door.
However, when the pair paused at the door for Mrs. Felders to fumble for the handle, Vivian's spirit of rebellion asserted itself. This woman might be carrying a second child of the earl's body, but until he married her, it was not an heir and she was not mistress of this house. Vivian was.
With an angry twist Vivian wrenched herself out of the housekeeper's grasp. The delicate sleeve of her morning gown tore from the shoulder. Mrs. Felders's fingers slipped in the fabric. Vivian darted away to catch up the little silver bell and ring it vigorously.
"No, you come with me!" Mrs. Felders's voice was hoarse with strain.
Millard came bursting in accompanied by the footman.
The housekeeper backed away as they came at her from both sides of the table. "You'd both better hear this, too. Lord Larnaervon's recovering. He's regained consciousness. Soon he'll be himself again. Everything will be the way it was before."
"That's good news," Millard agreed cautiously.
"And there's more. I'm going to be the mistress here. Alexander has come to realize how important I am to him. And he's asked me to marry him."
Butler and footman exchanged amazed glances.
Mrs. Felders drew herself up. "The first thing that I'm to do as his wife is to send this person and her husband off to her own house." She pointed toward the door. "I expect you to go and pack."
Millard frowned. "Mrs. Felders, you must be very tired, sitting beside the earl's bed for all these hours. While Lady Polwycke eats her lunch, why don't you let me take you to your room where you can lie down and sleep. Perhaps Cook could fix you some food to be served there."
The housekeeper nodded her head. "I am tired."
"And upset."
"Yes, I am upset. And she's part of the problem."
"Let me show you to bed. You'll feel better after a lie-down."
"But she must go," Mrs. Felders insisted.
"Soon. You wouldn't want her to go until the earl was out of danger."
"He is out of danger. He's regained consciousness and knows everything. I sat and talked—”
The footman led her out.
"My lady!" Millard came to Vivian's side and so far forgot himself as to touch the material of her torn sleeve. "Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?"
Vivian shook her head.
"I can't imagine what possessed her."
Vivian could not either. Even if Mrs. Felders were pregnant, her chances of becoming the wife of the proud Earl of Larnaervon were not certain. Surely a good rest would clear her mind.
"Shall I send for Lord Polwycke?" Millard asked.
Vivian shook her head definitely.
"At least let me send for Addie."
"I'm here." The little maid limped hurriedly into the room and put her arm around her mistress's waist. “Come, milady. No need to bother your head about her. Oh, my, she tore your dress again. She must be crazy."
Suddenly, the effect of the argument asserted itself. With a trembling hand, Vivian pulled her sleeve up onto her shoulder.
"We’ll go change your dress," Addie continued. "I don't think it's ruined. It looks like it's just torn in the seam. I'm sure I can fix it." Over Vivian's shoulder she directed a command to Millard. "You'd better see that someone keeps an eye on that old loon."
Chapter 24
Larnaervon lay in his great bed, his enfeebled right hand plucking nervously at the counterpane. His left eyelid and left side of his mouth drooped. His left hand lay useless, twisted into a claw on the bed beside him. A dribble of spittle ran down over his grizzled flesh in the deep groove cut between chin and withered cheek.
His valet reached over to wipe it away. The blue-veined eyelids opened slowly. Behind them the eyes like those of a raging bird of prey glittered angrily. A muffled guttural sound issued from the throat and slackly open lips.
"Beg pardon, milord." Mackery leaned forward again, his ear close to the old man's mouth. "I couldn't understand."
"Pie ... rs." The word came out in two syllables at the end of a halting garble. The old man had to gather his strength visibly to force the proper sounds from between his lips. The paralysis extending to the left side of the tongue impeded the formation of the consonants.
"He's coming, milord. I’ve sent for him." The valet soothed the invalid and held a glass of wine to his lips.
"Mus' see now. Go!"
The valet drew back and nodded gravely. His long years of habit forced him to obey this man whom he could barely tolerate, Unquestioningly, he went to speed the viscount on his way.
Alone, the earl marshaled his faculties. With trembling hand he touched the left side of his face, his eye, his mouth. The right side of his face contorted in a frightful combination of disgust and anger. Weakly, he clenched his right fist and released it, testing the stength remaining in him. Unintelligible sounds burst from his mouth, the sense of which could only have been curses.
; For perhaps a minute he cursed, then subsided exhausted. His good eye closed. He lay there drawing deep breaths, checking the parts of his body, feeling his lungs expand, feeling the great weight that seemed to lie on the left side of his chest.
The bedroom door opened. His eye darted toward it searching for the sound.
Silhouetted in the light from the hallway stood his tall son. As Piers closed the door behind him and came to the bedside, the light of the fire blazed strongly in the overheated chamber. His handsome young features were clearly illuminated.
The earl cursed at the sight. Strong straight shoulders, unbowed body, and dark red hair. Never ill, never hurt until a few weeks ago. Even his broken shoulder had healed without a trace. A perfect specimen just as the earl had been before the fall from the horse that had crippled him forever.
If envy could have lifted him off the bed, Larnaervon would have risen and walked.
"Larne." Piers voice was low and gentle.
Again the mighty surge of emotion-of anger. The earl's heart leaped in his chest. Never had he seen a closer resemblance to the wife he despised than now. The boy had grown into a man whose very face reflected the dignity and self-possession which had characterized Georgina. Never had she admitted to a fault. In the end she had walled herself behind ice that he had never succeeded in melting. He had never forgiven her.