Flawless

by Carrie Lofty

  “Our?”

  Viv licked her lips intentionally. A week had passed since making love in his study, and each night since had been filled with passion that bordered on mania. Knowledge it would happen all over again simmered under her skin with heated promise.

  Another more lasting future, however, remained difficult to imagine. “Perhaps,” she said softly.

  Immaculately groomed, he seemed to have made a genuine effort to look his most commanding. For appearances? For her? She hardly dared guess his motives, only admired the result. Hair combed back from his face caught the electric light, shining bronze and blond against lustrous chocolate. The sensual curve of his lips offset the hard lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Not even on their wedding day had he looked more handsome. In the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the quirk of his half smile, he was a confident man. Such a powerful man.

  Her man?

  Carriages released their passengers and were shunted out of sight. Viv hadn’t seen the likes of these footmen since leaving London, right down to the powdered wigs and gold braid trim on their livery. She discreetly examined the décor. No expense was spared, from the immaculate statuary to the ornate crystal chandelier just inside the foyer.

  Miles offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Nerves fluttered in her stomach. A ball was so much more special than a dinner party. Here, they would dance and dance. She nearly giggled as they made their way through the crowded mansion. Less than two years before, she’d abandoned their life in London because of Miles’ss behavior at just such a gala. Now she awaited every touch that promised more. Even taking her wrap and handing it to an attendant, his mischievous eyes said he hadn’t lost interest. If they’d made love every time she caught that familiar flare of heated longing in his gaze, she would never leave the house.

  They stood at the top of a wide double staircase that led to the ballroom. The Galeworth mansion was built on the side of a slope, resulting in a lower story that was also at ground level. The walls were made almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, which meant that every resident in Kimberley could see the brightly lit party. Every glittering jewel. Every imported Parisian silk gown. If they listened closely enough, they might even be able to hear the quartet as it began a lively waltz. Viv couldn’t help but think that the architect had done it purposefully.

  “If you leave my side tonight, I’ll come find you,” he whispered against the side of her neck.

  A shiver danced up to her scalp and down between her shoulder blades. “Oh?”

  “Because you look breathtaking, Viv. Every man here wants you. Don’t ever doubt that.” He tightened his hand at her waist. Half caress, half possessive tug. “But I want you more.”

  “Do behave.”

  “Hardly what your expression says. Would you like me to interpret what I see?”

  A blush warmed her skin down to the cleft between her breasts. “Yes.”

  “A woman who wants to be kissed.”

  “Is that all?”

  He brushed his mouth across hers, just the barest touch. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem to be. At least not that sort of kiss. We both desire more, don’t we?”

  “What do you mean? We’ve already been doing . . . more.” The tips of his fingers danced along her upper back, where her gown revealed bare skin. A gentle tease. A wicked tickle.

  “May I make a request, Vivie?”

  “And what is that?”

  “I want to spend the night with you. All night. A real seduction, Vivie. You and me. Exploring. Completely open. No more of these furtive bursts of passion, where neither of us can look the other in the eye come morning.” He traced the bones of her spine until he cupped the base of her skull. His breath was warm against her cheek. “I want to see you bathed in gold when the sun rises.”

  Another hard shiver. The scene he painted with hushed words was too evocative to deny. She could not refuse, but neither could she boldly leap to answer his request for more intimacy.

  “You’re terribly sure of yourself this evening,” she said, hoping for a lighthearted tone. But all she felt was awe. He could turn on his charisma like one of those electric light switches. Tonight he blazed.

  With a scant smile, one that hid all the secrets of their evening yet to come, he offered his arm once again. “We need me to be.”

  “Yes, but now let me interpret your expression. If you keep looking at me that way, you’ll never have the chance to meet Mr. Rhodes or the colonial governor.”

  He lifted his brows, lips quirking around a suppressed smile. “I can resist you long enough to do my job tonight, Lady Bancroft.”

  “Can you, now? Even with thoughts of me bathed in golden sunlight?”

  “If you want to tease, we can tease.” He brushed up her ribs until his thumb caressed the underside of her breast. “But I ask that you don’t make a mockery of something I requested in earnest.”

  “Miles . . .” She arched her neck to catch his gaze with hers. Troubling, the idea that she could push him too far. That she could hurt him. She would need to think about how he had been affected by her departure for New York. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  He shrugged. A genial expression layered over any deeper sentiment, disguising him as thoroughly as grease paint on an actor. She knew that process well, but rarely had she seen it of him. By letting him inside her defenses, she was learning the difference between the viscount and the man she’d married.

  What a terrifying, thrilling gift.

  “Come now, my lady. We have work to do.”

  Even as she basked in the sensual jolt created by their conversation, she wondered if he would want her just as much had he known the truth of her origins. She doubted he or any other man in the room would—at least not as a wife.

  With an agitated sigh, she accompanied Miles to greet the usual crowd: Mr. and Mrs. Goode, Mr. Montgomery and Priscilla Lumley, his mistress, and Lady Galeworth and her son. Strange how Viv had such difficulty remembering the man’s name, especially since it was his name on the contract between the Galeworth Mine and Christie Brokerage. Lady Galeworth was simply too domineering to permit anyone an opinion. Even Mr. Haverstock, the banker who had abandoned Chloe in that long-ago burning carriage, skirted the edges of their exclusive cluster. Viv made a point of ignoring the toad.

  “Lord and Lady Bancroft,” Mr. Goode said, extending his hand. Miles quirked a haughty eyebrow, but shook anyway. “Delighted to make your acquaintances at last. Business in London has kept me away.”

  Montgomery harrumphed. His grand mustache twitched. “Nothing in London but relics covered in cobwebs.”

  Miles’s fingertips tensed at Viv’s waist, but his expression maintained that bland neutrality. “Some of us manage to shake the cobwebs off,” he said evenly. “They would appear none too attractive under these electric lights.”

  “Why the shuffling of feet, my friends?” Neil Elden asked as he joined the conversation. “Lord Bancroft is a valuable asset to our community, as is anyone who brings the prestige of the old guard to our fair venture. Any businessman who doesn’t see the benefit of such connections isn’t looking hard enough.”

  “And the prestige of this event is incomparable,” said Montgomery’s mistress. Miss Lumley was a pretty, birdlike young woman with a turned-up nose and marvelous blue eyes. Rumor had it that she’d crawled up from the Boston docks to achieve her current place of dubious standing, but judging by the fat, flawless brilliants weighing heavily on her earlobes and the way Montgomery never left her side, she’d made the very best use of her assets. “I’m quite in awe of the company we keep here.”

  Viv smiled but couldn’t help noticing her mistake. Ignoring the splendor was the surest way to let everyone else assume one belonged among it. She felt a charitable impulse to save the woman from further embarrassment, but she was too busy navigating the currents of dislike radiating between Miles and Neil.

  The latter made the task more difficult when he offered Viv
one of the two glasses of champagne he held. “No, thank you, Mr. Elden.”

  “Then I suppose a dance is out of the question, too,” he said quietly.

  Right there. Within earshot of Miles.

  “You suppose correctly.” As a distraction against the violence she felt in her husband’s taut body, she made a show of admiring Neil’s suit coat. “Is this new from London?”

  “Paris, actually. Just arrived this week. I’m quite fond of it already.”

  She flicked her gaze to Miles, practically able to see a snappish retort straining to be let free of his beautiful mouth. But Neil had already moved on, complimenting Miss Lumley’s earbobs—his conversation as animated as a hummingbird’s wings.

  Ever since Miles’s warnings, she could not relax around Neil. Had she been so deceived, believing him a self-made man in the image of her late father? But Sir William Christie had never played games that involved neither profit nor acquisition. His tolerance for complimentary chatter expired after only a handful of minutes, relying instead on blunt words and unmistakable commands. Viv would’ve preferred even his displeasure to Neil’s frivolity.

  The entire evening had taken on an element of tedium, just like afternoon tea with the town’s finest society women. When had the tinkling of polite laughter and the clink of fine crystal begun to sound so foreign and contrived? She’d longed for this sort of refinement for as long as she could recall, even before she knew such magic existed. But it was just that: magic. It wasn’t real. Behind the smiles and the exquisite silks lay ambition and fear as desperate as her own. And just as she’d attended the ball as a means of furthering her business interests, so had everyone else.

  Although she feared that Miles’s cynical view of Society was clouding her own, she had come to believe that his interpretation was much clearer, more honest. But where did that leave her, a woman whose past was best left entirely obscured?

  Dizzy, she made her excuses to the small gathering. Miles accompanied her to a small alcove. He tipped up her chin with two white-gloved fingers. “What is it?”

  “I hate these lights.”

  “Lies from my Vivienne? Very unbecoming.”

  “I need a moment, nothing more. Just to catch my breath.” She smoothed her palms down his silken lapels. Not once since arriving in Africa had she seen him so resplendently dressed, and yet all she wanted was to strip each layer away to indulge in hot skin and dense, sturdy muscle. “Please, do what you must to maintain our appearances.”

  He peered deeper. Lit from behind by the electric lights, his cheekbones appeared stronger, his eyes hooded and dark. All she could see clearly was the pearlescent shine of his teeth as he indulged in a lazy smile. “Very well. But remember what I said, my dear. I’ll come find you.”

  Despite her misgivings, fearing the worst should he find out the truth behind her nightmares, she returned his smile. He had opened her body, showing her unimaginable pleasure. Now he wanted more vulnerability. She could hardly do that and expect to keep Viscount Bancroft as her husband. Her hands shook slightly as he kissed her knuckles. He caught that, too, frowning slightly.

  To prevent him from probing, she said, “I’ll be here, Miles. I promise.”

  “Lady Bancroft, whatever are you doing alone?”

  Neil Elden arrived at her side as if conjured by a shadowy spell. The urge to pull away from his presumptuous closeness was instant, when she had once considered him a friend and ally. The support he continued to muster on behalf of the Auxiliary was remarkable, which meant Alice was well on her way to opening its doors to Kimberley’s most desperate women. Yet goose bumps sprouted on the inches of bare skin between her evening gloves and the sleeves of her most decadent red silk gown.

  “Yes, just a moment free of business and politics. I can only bear so much before I lose the threads.”

  “Here, drink this.” Neil pushed a crystal of claret into her hands.

  She sipped the sweet red wine and smiled halfheartedly. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t suppose we could have that dance now? Your husband is quite occupied with matters of greater significance.”

  Wondering at Elden’s choice of words, she very much doubted that Miles would consider dancing with her insignificant. “No, thank you. I’m not quite up for the exertion.”

  Not with you.

  But Neil’s face had taken on a harder look. He reached out as if readying to stroke her face, then hesitated. Viv could only watch, removed from her own body, as he tried again. The touch of his fingers against her cheek made her jump. Mouth open, a predatory keenness had crept into his blue eyes.

  “Mr. Elden.” She backed against the wall. Only her glass of claret acted as a tiny shield, promising a red wine stain. “Stop, please.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.”

  The threat in his tone stole the fear from Viv’s spine and replaced it with anger. “Get away from me.”

  “I will. But I’m only going to tell you this once, Lady Bancroft. You will regret it if you go ahead with this scheme to sell carbons.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Do not think to insult me with some vapid protests. Say what you like to the others, but I suspect you know a great deal more about the workings of your father’s business. You either make the decisions, or you influence that noble braggart of yours. You are as much a partner in running Christie Brokerage as you are a married woman.” His hand cupped the back of her neck. Like a velvet rope, his touch was soft but no less restraining. “I rather think I forgive him on that score. I imagine your kind could be rather . . . persuasive.”

  Her kind?

  “Mr. Elden, I insist that you let go of me, right this instant.”

  Rather than comply, Neil’s expression darkened. He yanked the glass of claret from her hands. A few drops of red scattered across the lapels of his new suit coat. The crystal clattered to the marble floor. Viv looked around frantically but found no one. The alcove she’d chosen to find a moment of reprieve and privacy kept them shielded from the main body of dancers.

  I can always scream. If he goes further, I can scream. But he won’t. He wouldn’t dare.

  “Don’t fight this, Viv,” he whispered, so close now. “Change that business model or I will find out exactly who you are.”

  Her sputtered protests meant nothing as he leaned in to kiss her. He smelled of the spilled claret and cigars.

  Maybe that cigar stench was what freed her. Cigars meant Miles and the way he used to batter and abrade her will to resist. But that was a long time ago. And no matter Miles’ss teasing aggression, she’d never actually feared him. Loved, hated—never physically feared.

  But she feared Neil Elden. He touched his lips to hers, igniting the fury of the nightmare she’d once lived. Viv’s frozen body finally responded to her mind’s frantic pleas. She pushed against his chest and slapped him clean on the mouth.

  “I said no.”

  Her chest hurt. The palm of her hand hurt. And her pride was a wreck. She’d fooled herself into believing that her father was a reflection of all self-made men—the opposite of Miles’ss behavior in London. Something better, more honest in a world constructed of polite lies.

  Neil smoothed his mustache. “I tried to warn you because I admire you. You’ve clawed your way up from nothing, just like I have.”

  “We have nothing in common, Mr. Elden.”

  His meticulously pale skin had taken on the pink cast of a man losing his temper. “That’s what I intend to disprove.”

  Viv threw back her shoulders. Her head ached and every muscle along her spine had turned to rock. “You do not want to make an enemy of my husband. The business arrangement between the Lion’s Head Mine and Christie Brokerage will be irrevocably damaged.”

  “Believe me, Lady Bancroft, it has been already.”

  She spun away from him, tripping blindly toward the ballroom, seeking someplace public and well lit. Her neck itched where he’d touched
. She wiped her lips with the back of her gloved hand. The skilled quartet had moved on to a lively minuet, but it all sounded like the lowing of cattle.

  A hand touched her arm and she nearly shrieked. Her heart stuttered.

  Just as he promised, Miles had found her.

  Twenty-one

  Over the previous few weeks, Miles had come to understand the delicacy of Vivienne’s expressions. She possessed no fewer than eight different smiles, seven of which expressed emotions other than joy. Embarrassment. Chagrin. Derision. The last one—the one he liked best—shaped her lips right then. Genuine happiness. She was glad to see him.

  Fire and fear mixed in his chest. He wanted to stand up taller and run away at the same time. She had such control over him. When had he ever thought otherwise? He’d peel off his own skin for her.

  The musicians ended their frothy minuet.

  He bowed and when he kissed her hand, he lingered. He turned her palm up and placed a second kiss on the inside of her wrist. Were he in command of the entire world, including women’s fashion, he would ban bustles, corsets, and evening gloves. The leather, warmed by her body, was a poor substitute for skin. But her radiant red gown was undeniably gorgeous. The deep scarlet made her hair brighter, her eyes greener, her pale skin even more lustrous. Silver embroidery shimmered with each movement, until he could see her pulse as it rippled down her body—her heart creating waves in a river of red.

  “You have impeccable timing, Lord Bancroft,” she said, that smile still molding her strawberry-pink lips. “I was just ending a most unpleasant conversation with Mr. Elden.”

  Something had happened, tightening Miles’s chest. “What did he do?”

  Hazel irises darkened and her hand tried to flutter away. “Ask me to dance.”

  Miles caught her fingers, kissed them, held them. The quartet had started a piece by the younger Strauss. “Will you waltz with me, Viv?”

  Couples began pairing off. She watched them go with a strength of longing that Miles had rarely seen. Always torn between what she wanted and some other darkness he couldn’t identify, let alone remedy. He’d thought it ambition or even the need to live up to her father’s expectations. But if Viv’s sleeping hours were diseased by nightmares, he needed to reconsider. Some piece of her was still hiding.