by Carrie Lofty
He asked the question even though he already knew the answer. Penberthy nodded once and said, “Yes, my lord. I have no doubt.”
“Neither do I. Now, Lady Bancroft tells me that the flat above Westmeade’s Milliners is available to let. I suggest you prepare Mrs. Penberthy for the task of moving your children and belongings there.”
“Moving . . . ?”
“Of course. Your new salary will be more than adequate, I assure you. And from what Lady Bancroft tells me of the work your wife has accomplished for the Women’s Auxiliary, she deserves better accommodations as much as you do.” Rather than endure a round of profuse appreciation that would do neither man’s pride any good, Miles raised his eyebrows. “Well then, we both have work to do.”
Penberthy stood, his hands a little less steady now as he smiled. “You have my gratitude, my lord.”
“And you have mine. You’ve earned this, and I intend to rely on you to the point of beastly tedium. Good day to you, man.”
Penberthy departed, his steps almost imperceptibly lighter. Miles grinned to himself. But the tasks of the day remained. Viv had charged him with drafting a formal letter to the Board and their key suppliers. Any mining company that didn’t appreciate trading in carbons would be released from obligation at the conclusion of their existing contracts. They were gambling that enough time would pass for them to prove the viability of Miles’s idea.
The task of formally winning them over would be an arduous one. He needed to bring to bear every shred of aristocratic authority, maybe even make a few promises—Parliamentary promises. A letter here. A suggestion there. Just the hint of favor from a man such as his father might be enough for most of these rags-to-riches entrepreneurs.
Except for the likes of Neil Elden. That would require more . . . aggression. Miles and Viv debated long into the night, every night, regarding how to neutralize their biggest threat. Ideas from bribes to intimidation to fraud inquiries came to naught. Miles argued for a preemptive strike, while Viv maintained the need for subterfuge. Let Elden reveal his plans first. Their debate would surely continue, but always they ended on the best of terms: sweating, panting, and completely sated.
He was beginning to adore business.
So, yes, Miles had his work cut out for him, while Viv did her part by greasing the wheels with the usual gaggle of influential matrons. A very full afternoon. But in his mind, he was still at breakfast. Oh, the way she’d teased him with sideways glances. She’d taken an inordinate amount of time slathering butter and jam over a thick slab of fresh bread, then nibbled and licked and slowly devoured her breakfast in a manner that he could only describe as sexual.
The minx.
No wonder he couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. He would begin a new sentence, then remember how Viv’s inner thigh muscle had tensed when he put his mouth on her, the way she would sigh and relax as the initial shock gave way to slow, building pleasure. He’d begin adding a column of numbers, then feel the hard pressure of her heels digging into his lower back. Her body always welcomed his every stroke, no matter how hard, how deep.
A blissful homecoming.
They had turned a corner. Miles could see a real, lasting marriage. So close now. Soon, after they solved the business’s problems and he could promise her the future she deserved, he would declare his intentions once and for all.
So what was he doing in the cramped little office in the brokerage house? He should be at their house. To spend another moment away from her was a monumental waste.
Miles rubbed his eyes. He scratched the back of his neck. He stood and paced the tiny room, which was like pacing the interior of a hatbox. With as much bearing as he could muster, he glared at the account ledgers and the unfinished letter.
“Give me one good reason,” he said.
But the truth of it stared back, a festival of ink scratches and paper piles. He would do his duty. Work first, then play. How novel.
Mumbling curses under his breath, he loosened the hangman’s noose that Adam still insisted on calling an ascot. He yanked it off and returned to his desk.
“Very well,” he said. “You win. But I don’t have to like it.”
“Throwing in your hand so soon, Miles?”
He turned in his chair and found Viv at the top of the pinched little stairwell.
She looked especially beautiful, despite the telltale circles beneath her eyes. He smiled at the sight, knowing he had kept her up too late. Her luminous hair was a plaited halo, topped with an elegant emerald bonnet that did marvels for the precious green flecks in her irises. A sleek beige silk gown molded to her body—a body he wanted beneath his once more.
Would the sight of her ever refrain from stopping his heart? He didn’t want to see the day when it did. To take something so exquisite for granted would be as great a waste as spending time apart. She held herself with such mystery. He’d become so enamored of her that he no longer wondered where his pride had gone to. He was, quite simply, hers. Every other consideration paled.
“My, my, aren’t you the sneaky one,” he said, rising. “Checking in on me?”
She remained poised at the top of the stairs. “Do you need checking in on?”
“Absolutely.”
“Up to mischief?” Her smile quirked as she said it.
“No, in truth. Not up to much of anything.”
“Having trouble concentrating?”
Her lips bowed around a private smile as her gaze traveled down the length of him. She took her time, lingering, lighting him on fire with that slow perusal. She was most definitely teasing him again. It was like becoming accustomed to a talking cat.
He cleared his throat, then reached for the glass of water on his desk. “You could say that, yes.”
“I can relate.”
Removing her hat and gloves, she breezed into the room as if she hadn’t just used her eyes to undress him. With a grace she couldn’t shake if she tried, she sat lightly on the edge of his desk. A hint of sugar fused with her warm scent. Perhaps she’d had a scone or another sweet treat with her tea.
“You see,” she said rather airily, “I simply couldn’t marshal the wherewithal to follow those silly conversations. So much gossip, about which I could really care less.”
Miles edged closer until they sat side by side. Their hips touched. The heat of her body eased over his. “Preoccupied?”
“Entirely.”
“May I inquire where your mind preferred to tarry?”
Mischievous passion did a little dance across her expression. “In your bed.”
His jaw had dropped. What manner of gentleman gaped? Perhaps one whose wife insisted on startling him to the point of mindlessness.
“And what,” he said, his voice rough, “do you find so interesting about that particular piece of furniture?”
“I like how it feels. I never suspected that a piece of furniture, as you so astutely pointed out, could be so . . . entrancing.”
He traced a line from her cheek down to her jaw, then along the silken column of her throat. The hot pulse in his veins intensified, thrilling through each limb. “Do go on, my lady.”
She glanced down at where he touched. “Only if you do.”
Miles grinned. He outlined the slope of her breast through the worsted silk, still just one finger, until he gave into the urge to cup, to knead, to claim. She moaned softly and arched into his touch. Even beneath layers of clothing, her nipple pebbled against his palm. “You were saying?”
“Hm?”
“About my bed.”
“The mattress is soft. Yet it provides marvelous . . . support.”
“Support is quite necessary, you know,” he said. “For the back, in particular. When you sleep.”
“I wasn’t thinking about sleeping. Your bed smells like you. Makes me wonder why I’ve denied us for so long.”
“You know why.” He touched her cheek. “But we can put that behind us now, all the mistakes and mistrust.”
She looked toward the floor but not before Miles caught the blush tinting her cheeks. Was it something he’d said? Or just a small reminder that she was terribly new to this sort of play?
Viv stood away from the desk. She nudged his knees apart with more boldness than he would’ve imagined, then stepped into the V of his open legs. The gentle pressure of her hands on the outside of his thighs urged him to draw her in close. Miles watched for any sign of resistance.
She still came to him willingly. Of her own initiative. He could almost believe it now.
His heart was a clockwork bomb in his chest, ready to burst. He tensed the muscles of his inner thighs until she fit flush against his body. But the way she arched slightly, pressing her bosom against his chest—that was all Viv. Time slowed until every nuance of breath and motion became a ballet of seduction. She smoothed her hands up his torso, lingering a few extra beats when her fingertips brushed across the fabric concealing his nipples.
Her boldness reminded him that his own hands had fallen useless to his sides. Like discovering the perfect tool for the job, he cupped her nape with one, her lower back with the other.
Her lips parted. She licked the lower one.
Miles wanted to kiss her like he wanted to keep breathing—or breathe again, one day, when the shock and wonder had worn off—but he was enjoying her initiative too much.
They were so near that the warmth of his own exhales fanned off her face and back to his. “How far will you go today, Vivie?”
“Farther than yesterday.”
“That’s enough to build a future on.”
“Yes, it is.”
Their bodies had already become reacquainted, pressed together from knee to chest, and now their mouths played eager games. Miles tasted the bitter sweetness of the tea she’d swallowed. He no longer gave a damn about artful curls and coils as he dug his fingers down to her scalp. Pins pinged as they hit the floor. He luxuriated in that silky softness as the scent of her, so much more potent now, unraveled his control.
He squeezed his legs tighter. Her slim body fit against his, bringing her stomach, tightly bound in a corset prison, right against his aching groin. He would find no relief there, but he ground against her anyway. A little moan vibrated out of her and into him. He answered by taking the kiss deeper, pushing his tongue inside. She’d given permission. Now he would have all of her.
Banging footsteps climbed the stairs at a frantic pace. Viv jumped out of Miles’s arms and away from the desk—their would-be bed. The change was too sudden for him to absorb. Why were his arms empty? Why weren’t they still kissing? The ledgers would wait as they made love. He was certain of it.
But Mr. Kato’s appearance at the top of the stairs forestalled any hope of an afternoon tryst. Viv’s face was bright red. The bodice of her gown was rumpled, the lace crushed. Her hair was a glorious mass of snarls. Even then, at the height of what should have been her embarrassment, she merely smiled as if greeting a preferred acquaintance. The strength she had always applied to the most demanding social situations radiated from her now—brazening out even the most compromised position.
For him? Dare he believe it possible?
Miles grinned past his disbelief. Even so, they’d still need a lock for the door at the bottom of the stairs.
“Lord Bancroft.”
The urgency in Mr. Kato’s voice broke through Miles’s haze. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Come quickly, please. Constables are downstairs with Mr. Elden. He’s demanding Adam’s arrest.”
Viv’s head spun as she watched Miles snatch up his whip. “Arrest him? On what grounds?”
Mr. Kato smoothed a hand over his shaven head, expression solemn. “That I do not know, my lady.”
Quickly following the men down the stairs, Viv didn’t have time to rearrange her hair. She used her fingers to comb through the worst of the tangles, then clapped her bonnet back atop her head. Good enough for now.
Adam arrested? This had the potential to get ugly—just when she had been relishing an otherwise thrilling encounter with Miles. Her happy fantasy, simply being with her husband. Trusting him with all she craved and imagined and needed. Perhaps she should have been embarrassed by Mr. Kato’s interruption. She would have been in years past. But if Miles promised to be her partner in all things, she had no reason to fear. He would protect her reputation as much as her body and her heart.
That she believed such a thing now, without reservation, lit her with joy. But what if Elden went through with his threats to uncover her past?
To bring those secrets out into the open . . .
Nothing she had accomplished as a woman of good society would matter. And without quality connections, she would be unable to make her father’s venture a success. A whore’s daughter in charge of a diamond brokerage? No businessman with higher aspirations would forgive such stigma, not without being offered discounts too deep to bear.
Doing her best to keep her panic out of sight, she shunted those fears away. Miles held one hand while he gripped the coiled whip with the other. He strode to the ground floor and found Adam panting, his hands clutching Mr. Smets’s desk as he caught his breath. James and Franc stood at the door with their rifles ready. Mr. Kato joined them. Shouts clamored in from the street.
No one would get in. For now.
“What happened?” Miles asked.
“Got caught in Elden’s office. Take these, quickly.” Adam handed over a wad of papers, which Viv tucked out of sight in one of the desk drawers. “Elden’s outside with six of his armed bodyguards, Mr. Mansfield, and three additional constables. James and Franc held them off just long enough for me to get inside.”
“Mr. Nolan, please stay here with my wife.” The determined set of his jaw was one Viv had never known when they lived together in England, but it was all too familiar in Kimberley. He was going to intervene. The thought tightened a fist around her heart.
She was dreaming. A bad dream. Worse than the echoes of old nightmares. He would walk into danger against a man who held a mile-wide grudge and a strong reason to see them fail. “That’s not fair.”
“Little of this is.”
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “Miles, think about it. Any man will be less likely to pull the trigger with a woman at the center of an argument.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I can talk to Elden. He’ll listen to me. He likes to think he can manipulate me, so let him try. We cannot let him have Adam or those papers. Whatever they contain is obviously worth all this commotion. We can make some sort of deal.” Tears cast a watery curtain over her vision. She sniffed and blinked them away, straightening the brim of her bonnet. “I’m not leaving you, Miles. Not this time.”
He gripped the hilt of his whip and bit his back teeth until his jaw muscles bulged. “You’ll stay right with me?” he asked at last.
“Right with you. I promise.”
Twenty-five
The crowd had bulged to two dozen men. Immigrant, entrepreneur, and African alike jostled for a better view of the ad hoc proceedings. Across the street, a fair distance away, women had gathered as well. Just beneath one of the brokerage windows stood a boy of maybe thirteen who must have wanted to see the action up close. His upper arm was stringy with lean muscle and long bones.
Viv caught his attention, then asked, “How much money will you make watching this through the bars?”
“Nothing, ma’am.”
“Exactly.” She pulled a coin purse from her pocket and tossed him a silver half crown. “That’s a down payment. Go find a surgeon. Tell him Lady Bancroft will pay you each a month’s wages if you bring him here.”
The boy’s eyes widened. He stuffed the coin in his pocket and took off running toward the hospital.
Despite a stomach full of watery fear, Viv joined the men at the front door.
It’s never easy, but you can make it look that way.
She took Miles’s hand and they walked outside t
ogether. Shoulder to shoulder, with Mr. Kato just behind, she stood with him before their well-heeled opponent. James and Franc fanned out on either side, their weapons raised.
“Ah, my lord and lady,” said Elden. “Just who I expected to see here, although I am rather impressed you brought her along, Bancroft. Quite the devoted little wife you have.”
“Quite.”
“Would you mind awfully, Mr. Elden,” Viv said sweetly, “if your people put away their guns? Then our men could as well, and everyone will breathe easier as we talk.”
He grinned tightly. “Of course, my lady. Anything for such an esteemed woman.”
A flash of fear made her skin bristle. What was that tone of voice? That gleam in his eyes? But he signaled his bodyguards, and Mr. Mansfield did the same for his constables. Miles put his hand on Franc’s rifle and said, “Enough now. Time to see if words will work instead.”
The hulking Belgian hesitated. “My lord?”
“I have little else by way of skills to recommend me. Let the fault be his, if any shot is to be fired.”
“Not the most reassuring scenario,” Viv grated out. But Franc and James did as their master demanded.
“Now what seems to be the issue, Mr. Elden?” Miles asked. “Surely we can resolve any dispute you have with my employee.”
“You’re certain of that? Because it seems to me your man is guilty of theft and needs to be punished accordingly. There’s very little to dispute.”
Viv angled the brim of her hat against the sun. She noticed how Miles kept his body between hers and the bulk of the crowd, while still permitting himself a clean line of attack against Elden. But good heavens, if he threw a punch—would anyone keep from firing?
“Theft of what, if you please?” she asked.
“I don’t need to answer to you, Lady Bancroft, no matter your title. Your man is guilty and I’ll see him whipped for his crimes.”
“I’ll see you whipped first,” Miles said, deadly soft. “I even came prepared.”