It all seemed very grand and formal for Lord Cheddersby.
Someone standing not five feet behind her cleared his throat, making her start and quickly turn.
It was Rob.
She ran into his arms. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her cheek against the rough fabric of his jacket.
“And I, you,” he replied, holding her just as close for a moment before drawing back and glancing around. “Unfortunately, I fear that while we are alone for the time being, this is even less private than that alley. I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you alone.”
Vivienne looked around. Since all the rooms led into one another, anybody could wander through, just she had.
She took Rob’s hand. “I think there is a place we can be more private,” she said, leading him to the balustrade, then around it.
“I feel like I’m housebreaking again,” Rob confessed warily. “Where are you taking me?”
“This door should lead to—ah, I’m right!” Vivienne cried in a whisper as she opened the ornate door that led into a small room illuminated by the moonlight and the torches standing in the courtyard to light the drive. Unlike the formal room outside, this was quite charming, with lovely, simple furnishings, including a cupboard bed. There was a door leading out of it on the opposite wall, and Vivienne guessed it was the back stairs. Even Lord Cheddersby might wish a clandestine meeting now and then.
“I suspect this is where Lord Cheddersby actually sleeps,” she said. She gave Rob a rueful glance. “I feel like a housebreaker, too.”
He let go of her hand. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t stay.”
“No,” she protested with a wry smile. “Who can say when I may have another chance to be with you? It was too long from the last time until this, so I will happily risk being caught here.”
“With me?” he whispered as he pulled her close.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh as she reached up to kiss him.
He tilted his head away from her, and although she was disappointed not to kiss him, she was delighted by the merriment in his dark eyes. “I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
“So I do, but you should recall that I am something of a wanton. Did I not kiss you when our acquaintance was but an hour old?”
“You certainly did—most thoroughly, as I recall—and I enjoyed it very much.”
“Then why should I not kiss you again?”
“Because, my lady love, as I have said, I fear once we start, I will not want to stop, and until I can claim that right legally, I do not think it wise to tempt myself.”
“So,” she observed, her sense of delight and excitement growing, “you would claim me legally?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I would ask you to be my wife.”
“Wife?” Her heart thundered in her chest as she repeated that word.
“Wife,” he confirmed. “If you could ever consider me worthy enough for a husband.”
She frowned darkly, lowering her brows in her most fierce expression. “Robert Harding, are you never going to believe that I think you the most worthy of men? What more can I say or do to convince you?”
“You make me feel more important and respectable than anyone in my life, and I do believe that I am somewhat better than a dog,” he said wryly, “but I was years a pauper and thief, Vivienne. It may take years to convince me I am not still destined to end my days in a noose. In fact,” he mused with a hint of a smile, “it may take daily reminders.”
Vivienne sat on a low sofa near the back-stairs door. “Oh, and you think that your wife will have nothing else to do, perhaps?”
He sat beside her and took her hand in his, once again grave. “Vivienne, any wife of mine will have a great deal to do, because I will not be able to afford servants. One maidservant, perhaps, but not much more.”
“I am not afraid of work, Rob, any more than you are. My mother only ever had a maidservant, plus me to help her as best I could.”
“I daresay you were a delightful helper.”
Vivienne shook her head. “I was more hindrance than help. I would forget what I was doing and fall to daydreaming. Or I would get distracted by something outside. I would wander off in the marketplace, especially if there were jugglers or tumblers performing. She would get quite angry with me.”
“And then forgive you when you cried.”
Vivienne’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
He caressed her hand. “Because I love you, too, and that is what I would do.”
She raised his fingers to her lips and gently kissed them. “You should not have said that, Rob, for you may regret telling me how to get my own way with you.”
His eyes darkened in the moonlight. “Do you think to have your way with me, Vivienne?”
Her blood fired at the look of desire on his face. “If I can, as often as I can,” she whispered.
Passion flared, and like two shivering travelers finding a fire in the wilderness, they were helpless to ignore it when Rob pulled her into his strong embrace.
In his arms, she felt light and strong and free, as liberated as a bird on the wing. No more fears or dread, no more worry. No more loneliness.
She loved him, and he loved her. They would be together. She would be his wife. She knew it as well as she knew her name.
His kiss deepened, his tongue teasing hers as they intertwined like dancers. Her arms tightened about him, holding him closer, as if she were trying to meld their bodies into one being formed of love and desire.
Her hands stroked his back and ran over the coarse cloth, feeling the taunt muscles beneath.
No pampered nobleman he, but a man who had labored and struggled and risen above his terrible beginnings to claim her heart.
If she thought him worthy, he had said.
If he thought her worthy—as he apparently did, judging by the ardor of his embrace.
Panting, she drew back and searched his features before her gaze locked onto his desire-darkened eyes. “I love you,” she whispered.
He smiled, a wonderful smile that was both triumphant and yet modest, too. “I have never been happier, Vivienne. My love. My sweet, sweet love.”
Again he kissed her, and once more the heat of passion exploded between hem. She inched forward, then slipped.
“This sofa is too narrow,” Rob murmured, his lips against her cheeks.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Perhaps we should go—”
“No, not yet. Please, Rob, not yet.”
She eased herself to the floor and reached up to take his hands. Taller than she, he loomed above her in the dim light like Hades claiming Persephone, the dark lord of her heart.
Her heart pounding, her body demanding, her skin aching for his touch, she drew him down to her.
Primitive desire banished all thoughts and took control of them both as his lips meandered along the slope of her chin. She had never known such burning need, such incredible desire.
She wanted him. More of him. All of him. The man she loved. The man she needed.
When he teased the taunt peaks of her breasts through the satin of her bodice and the linen of her shift with his fingers, her knees trembled and her limbs grew heavy.
He sat back on his ankles and tore off his jacket, then laid it under her head.
“Always thinking of others,” she whispered.
He lay beside her. Raised on one elbow, he played with one of her ringlets with his free hand. “I adore your hair,” he said, bending to kiss the lock.
She laughed softly, a tremulous sound, combined as it was of excitement and pleasure. “I like your hair, too. I am very glad you do not wear a wig.”
“I cannot afford one.”
“I hope you will always find a better use for your money than that.” She reached up and tugged at his cravat until it was loose about his neck. “I noticed your linen is always very clean.”
“You were studying my linen?”
“I confess I have been studying you at every opportunity,” she replied. “You are a very handsome man.”
“Am I?”
“Oh, yes. No doubt that is why I have such an urge to see you without your shirt on.” She began to undo his shirt.
“In view of your startling confession, Mistress Burroughs, I admit to a secret desire to see you naked.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and not because she was ashamed. “Naked?”
“Completely,” he said with a slow, roguish smile. “Or if not completely, I would settle for parts.”
His hand lightly cupped her breast, then gently kneaded it.
She gasped and closed her eyes, delighted by the sensations he aroused. “Don’t stop,” she moaned softly.
“I won’t,” he whispered.
Then he knelt between her legs and his mouth crushed hers possessively while she insinuated her hand into his shirt, feeling his chest and the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat that matched the exciting throbbing of her own blood.
“Make me yours, Rob,” she pleaded softly, tugging open his shirt and pressing heated kisses against his bare flesh. She wanted him now, with every particle of her being, the need fiercely physical, as if without him inside her, she would die. “I want to be yours, Rob,” she pleaded.
“No, Vivienne,” he murmured hoarsely. “I am yours.”
With a low growl of savage desire, he shoved up her skirts and petticoat, then freed himself. She made a small cry at the brief pain as, with a long, slow groan of conquest, he pushed inside her moist and waiting body.
In the next instant, she forgot the pain. She gasped, arched and nearly swooned as he began to thrust. Leisurely at first, his movements deliciously, tormentingly slow as her body accommodated itself to him.
Her mind swirling with new sensations, she clutched the hard curve of his arm muscles and felt more than heard the rasp of his breathing, hot on her ear.
The hard, virile thrusts quickened, taking her to a new realm of sensual pleasure. Of womanhood.
Within her, it was as if something burst, like a dam trying to hold back the raging waters of a flood, and as she cried out, a low rumble began deep in his throat. It burst free as he collapsed against her.
She lay still while the throbbing subsided, and she could feel him still inside her, a part of her.
He was perfect, and being in his arms was perfect. Perfectly wonderful, perfectly natural.
She cared for a man who had been honest with her. Who thought of her welfare before his own. Who was so good and generous to those less fortunate.
And whose hands and lips and body made her feel so alive.
This was not how she had imagined losing her virginity. She had imagined a large bed with white sheets and a handsome, loving husband gently persuading her.
She did not bemoan the lack of a bed, or the gentle persuasion. “I love you, Rob,” she sighed.
He raised his head to look at her, perspiration on his brow. “Vivienne?”
“Yes?”
“I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my miserable life.”
Tears of both joy and sympathy filled her eyes as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “I am going to do my best to see that you’re never miserable again.”
Then suddenly they heard a man’s disgruntled voice outside the door.
Chapter 16
The lovers froze.
“Do you know who that is?” Rob asked in a whisper as he withdrew and stood, hurriedly straightening his clothing.
“No, I have no idea,” she murmured as she shakily got to her feet, too, looking down at her wrinkled and disheveled gown in dismay. She glanced in the mirror on the dressing table and saw that her hair was equally untidy. “I can’t be seen like this!” she hissed in a panic.
Rob grabbed his jacket from the floor. “We’ll go down the back stairs and say you got lost. This house is so enormous—” The door to the closet opened. “Odd’s fish! What have we here?” King Charles declared, his brown eyes bright with surprise, and not a little humor, as he took in the scene before him.
“Your Majesty,” Rob gasped, bowing and trying to push Vivienne out of sight behind him.
What kind of nightmare was he in? Had he gone mad? He had just made love with Vivienne on the floor of another man’s bedchamber.
As if that were not shameful enough, being discovered by the king was a disaster.
If Mr. Burroughs heard what they had done—and why would he not?—he would be furious with Vivienne, punish her who could say how and never allow them to marry. He would likely denounce Rob for seducing his niece, but that was minor compared to what might happen to Vivienne if her reputation was destroyed.
Charles glanced over his shoulder and said to someone they couldn’t see, “Keep watch, Buckingham. If that Jerningham creature comes this way, tell her we have returned to Whitehall.”
He sauntered into the closet and closed the door behind him.
This was indeed a nightmare, Rob thought desperately, looking over his shoulder to see Vivienne pale and apparently immobile by the back-stairs door.
How could he have let this happen, he who prided himself on his self-control?
“Some women can be a damned nuisance,” Charles remarked as he ran his gaze over Vivienne and her wrinkled gown and disheveled hair. “While other women we cannot get enough of.”
He suddenly transfixed Rob with a look. “A loving woman is a wonderful creature, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied as a feeling of helplessness washed over him.
“Good evening to you, my dear,” Charles said, finally addressing Vivienne. “You are the charming young lady we met the other day after that other performance, are you not?”
Rob moved back and took her cold hand in his. Whatever happened, he must take the blame for this.
Then she squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.
“I was introduced to you at the theater, Your Majesty,” Vivienne boldly replied. “And this is Mr. Robert Harding, a solicitor.”
Was there a more dauntless woman in London? Or one more deserving of his admiration and respect as well as his love?
The king chuckled and winked at Rob as one man of the world to another. “We hope you will excuse our untimely interruption.”
“Majesty, I fear you are making a mistake. Mistress Burroughs lost her way and I—”
“And you were assisting her? Well, well,” Charles said, and Rob realized the king did not believe him. “Her gown seems rather ruined, and her face quite flushed in a way we recognize, but if you wish to maintain that story, very well. We know you attorneys are all excellent liars and it is foolish to contradict you.”
“Sire,” Rob began, wanting to protest that he was an honest man—but he had just lied to the king of England.
“I love Mr. Harding and he loves me,” Vivienne declared.
She was marvelous. Utterly, completely marvelous.
But this was still a disaster.
“We envy you, Harding,” the king said as he ran another slow, measuring, and obviously approving gaze over Vivienne.
Another emotion arose in Rob at the proprietary gleam in the king’s eye.
“Yes, we certainly do envy you,” Charles announced. He leaned forward and spoke to Vivienne in a conspiratorial whisper. “We realize Harding is a handsome fellow, but we don’t suppose you would consider gracing the royal bed?”
While Rob fought to subdue his rage, he realized that Vivienne seemed in firm control of her emotions.
“No, thank you, sire,” she calmly replied to the king’s lascivious request.
Charles chortled. “We feared you would say that.”
He found this situation amusing? He expected them to share his sense of humor?
Rob had met arrogant men before, but this was beyond anything he had experienced.
The king ran his impertinent gaze over Vivienne again. “I daresay Mar
tlebury will have apoplexy when he finds out what has been going on here. You needn’t look so shocked, my dear. Surely it is not so surprising that we hear all the rumors and gossip. So many courtiers seem to have nothing to do but gossip. We understand Martlebury’s been bragging about the young lady with the rich uncle he plans to marry. Apparently, he has been counting his proverbial chickens too soon—or do you intend to marry Martlebury anyway?”
“Sire,” Vivienne said firmly, “I never intended to marry him. That was all my uncle’s plan.”
“Martlebury is a nobleman and a courtier,” Charles pointed out.
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I could never love him.”
“You love this attorney?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she affirmed, looking at Rob again.
“Majesty,” Rob said, letting go of Vivienne’s hand and stepping forward. “While I fear I acted without due regard for Mistress Burroughs’s honor, I assure you nothing would make me happier than to marry her.”
“A noble sacrifice.”
“Majesty!” Rob cried in protest, no longer caring that the man before him was his sovereign. “It would be no sacrifice—unless it be on her part, for I have little to offer her.”
“Except yourself,” Vivienne hastened to add.
“As happy as this outcome would apparently render the both of you,” the king noted, “we do not think Mr. Burroughs would agree to such a match. The good man strikes us as the kind to put profit before pleasure, except where Lady Castlemaine is concerned, apparently.”
Rob slid a glance at Vivienne’s face, which grew even more pale. “Lady Castlemaine?” she murmured.
“Odd’s fish, yes!” Charles cried. “Your uncle has sent her so many presents, we have quite lost count. And we are worldly enough to know he does not send them purely out of the goodness of a generous heart.”
Vivienne clasped her hands together. “Majesty, my uncle is a good man, if somewhat stubborn in his ideas and—”
“With exquisite taste in women,” Charles placidly interrupted. “He also sees Lady Castlemaine for the beautiful, greedy creature she is. If he persists in his pursuit with such exquisite gifts, she is likely to repay him with what he so ardently desires.”
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