“A farmer, in any case.” He tossed his pen down. “I haven’t enough land to raise corn and livestock in any quantity, so I raise those goods that can be easily sold in Town.”
“And those would be?”
“I’m still figuring it out.” He rose and gestured to a pair of reading chairs near the hearth. “I’ve done well with garden vegetables thus far, mostly because I take inordinate care in their transport. I eschew the practice of hauling manure out of London in the same wagons I use to haul the vegetables in. The flavor benefits as a result. Eggs are easy to produce in quantity, chicken manure is valuable, and the feathers can also be sold, to say nothing of having a steady supply of chicken for the table. Eggs are hard to transport, though, and most everybody with an alley can keep a coop themselves in Town. Some keep their chickens on the rooftop, much like an old-fashioned dovecote.”
“William once said something about homing pigeons being a profitable venture.”
“I hadn’t considered them.” Darius took his seat after Vivian had taken hers. “It would require time, because the generations born on my land would always home to me. I’d have to sell breeding pairs, though I assume it can be done.”
“The government is using them more and more,” Vivian said. “They used them to get word of the victory at Waterloo, and it was faster than any horse or packet.”
Darius considered her, seeing not only beauty and grace, but also intelligence—and wondering if William saw any of it. “I didn’t know that. What else does William have to say about British commerce?”
“We need finer wool,” Vivian said. “There are Spanish sheep that produce a much higher grade of wool than our farm breeds, but we stick to what we know, when pretty much every country on earth can grow its own sheep.”
“His Majesty had some of these Spanish sheep, didn’t he?”
“William bought some in the dispersal about ten years ago, and they’ve been producing little sheep at Longchamps all the while. They’re… distinctive, but very soft to pet.”
“Like you.”
She smoothed a pleat in her dress. “And here we were doing so well, Mr. Lindsey.”
For her fortitude, Darius returned to the matter at hand. “So William thinks we need to focus on competing with other nations?”
“Of course. The Americans have more space to grow corn of all kinds than we’ll ever have, the Antipodes can grow sheep, and the shipping is getting faster each year. You think of competing with other vegetable farmers to get your goods to Town, but soon you’ll be competing with the French table grapes, the Spanish citrus, and so forth.”
“You’ve learned a thing or two, being married to Longstreet.”
“And what fascinating stuff it is.” She smiled, though the result was sad around the edges.
“To a man strapped for coin, it is fascinating.”
She apparently took him at his word. “Whatever you have, there’s demand for it on the Continent. The Corsican saw to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“His Majesty’s troops were usually provisioned by design, with quartermasters and contracts and a whole supply line set up by the military as the armies moved from place to place. The Russians and Germans operate similarly. Napoleon relied on what he called foraging, and what we would call pillaging, even in his own territory. Any place the Grand Armée passed through was devastated. Crops, goods, livestock, entire buildings were torn asunder in a night to feed the campfires—they’d even burn the fodder for the livestock in their campfires. You could export lumber, had you a wood. You could export anything, and there’d be a market for it there somewhere.”
Darius frowned at the fire, because this conversation was the furthest thing from flirting—and he was enjoying it. “How to get my goods to that market? And how to retrieve one’s coin?”
“That’s easy.” Vivian rose and went to the window. “You hire one of the half-pay quartermaster’s officers who campaigned from Portugal to Poland, and he’ll be happy to live cheaply on the Continent while taking a little coin to see to your business. Most of them picked up enough of the languages, they still have contacts, and a few have wives of foreign extraction.”
“You’ve thought about this?”
“I listen.” She turned, that slight smile still in place. “Hour after hour after hour, I listen to my husband and his parliamentary associates debating everything from soap taxes to window taxes to reform of every stripe.”
He could see her doing it too, quietly keeping the servants organized, the guests happy, and the conversation flowing—while William expounded on soap taxes. “What is there to debate about a soap tax, for pity’s sake?”
“If soap were more affordable, the general populace might put it to more frequent use and avoid some of the pestilence plaguing them. We’d then have a healthier work force and could tax what they create, rather than the soap they can’t buy now. Similarly with the tax on windows and fresh air in tenements and factories.”
She looked lonely over there by the window. Remote, though she was only a few feet away. “And we’d all smell better. This is what you and William discuss over dinner?”
“William and I rarely dine together privately. We entertain a great deal, or we did until this fall. Losing two sons has taken a toll on William.”
“It would take a toll on any man.” Darius rose and crossed the room to stand behind her. “Except possibly my father.”
“I don’t know the man.”
“Count yourself fortunate.”
She cocked her head in a manner Darius was learning meant serious study, so he distracted her by scooping her up and settling with her in his lap.
“You said you’d wait until tonight.” She sounded wonderfully tart in her disapproval, even as she cuddled into his embrace.
“I’m not under your skirts, Vivvie.” He nuzzled her breast, closing his eyes. To his consternation, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cradled him against her, as if he were a tired boy.
“Tell me about your father.”
“He’s awful.” Darius resisted the temptation to tell her they weren’t going to speak of this either. The topic was harmless enough—though distasteful. “If I learned to tolerate a beating anywhere, it was at his hands. My brother, Trent, was his particular project, which was no privilege, believe me, and my mother staked me as her personal favorite.”
“I gather your parents were not congenial.”
“They were at daggers drawn. Part of the reason I can countenance this scheme of William’s is because there is reason to doubt the paternity of at least one of my siblings. My mother was that angry with Wilton, that desperate.”
She stroked his hair absently. “One shudders to think of it, years and years of battle, and all within the one place that’s supposed to be a haven from strife.”
He fell silent, because her caresses were mesmerizing, which made no sense. “Shall we take a nap, my lady?”
“You gave me until tonight,” she chided, her hand pausing. “Is your father’s example why you’re so careful with John?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” And he didn’t want to pursue it, so he nuzzled her breast again, rubbing his cheek deliberately over her nipple.
“You’re trying to distract me. Let’s take a walk, and you can show me some of your land.”
“There’s nothing to see.” He did it again. “It’s all under snow.”
“So we’ll kidnap John from his studies.” She pulled away, but only a little. “We can make a snowman.”
“He’d like that.” Darius frowned while she traced his eyebrow with a finger. He’d like it too. He’d made snowmen before, for his sisters’ entertainment, mostly. Emily was more than a decade his junior, and she’d been in need of playmates. There was no point to a snowman, but a man could do only so much paperwork.
Vivian rose off his lap. “Then we can have a toddy before dinner.”
“You like my toddies?”
She smiled at him, not only with a curving of her lips but also with her lovely brown eyes. “The entire household likes your toddies. But yes, I do. I never knew this about myself, but I could become overindulgent in them.”
Darius rose, feeling bemused. “And I won’t be on hand to see the effects of my bad influence.” Neither would he see her great with child, and that… bothered him. “Come, and do not think of wearing a bonnet when the wind could kick up at any moment.”
“Imperious.” She took his arm. “It’s fortunate you’re competent with a toddy.”
“Among other things.”
He got the last, leering word, pleased to have restored the tenor of their dealings to harmless flirting. Talk of his father, making money, and commending Vivian back into her husband’s keeping was not… comfortable, and at least in his own home, a man should be comfortable.
* * *
Vivian had eaten as slowly as she could, though she’d known all the while Darius was watching her with a speculative, assessing eye. Had she gotten tipsy? Oh, likely. Would she regret it? Invariably.
He’d treated her to a game of chess after dinner, beating her eventually, but she’d at least made him work for it. The difficulty was, lingering over the chessboard made the effect of the spirits wear off, and here she was, bathed, nightgowned, and tucked up in her bed, awaiting her fate.
When the clock struck ten and still Darius hadn’t joined her, Vivian had had enough.
She yanked open her door, intent on searching him out and demanding he be about his intended purpose, only to find him lounging across the hall in the chair she assumed was reserved for a footman.
“Good evening, Lady Longstreet.”
“What are you doing, sitting there?”
He rose and prowled toward her, giving Vivian the sense he’d been gathering his nerve, of all things. “Are you sure you want this, Vivian?”
She nodded and tucked her lawn tent closer. It was colder than Hades in the hallway, and God knew how long Darius had been sitting there.
“Because to want this baby, you’re going to have to want me.”
“Come.” She tugged him by the wrist down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“Your bedroom, which I’ve yet to see. I want my bed to be for me, your bed for other things.”
“What if I don’t care to share my bed?”
She shot a peevish look over her shoulder and towed him along. Of course he’d want his privacy. He probably needed it desperately, in fact. “Then we’ll go to a guest bedroom.”
“One isn’t made up, much less warm.”
“Darius.” She stopped and peered up at him. “Do you want William’s coin? Because if you do, you’re going to have to want me, and I intend to be in your bed.”
“I want William’s coin,” he said, gathering her braid at her shoulder and staring past her head. “I do want that.”
“So, where will we do this?”
Well, everlasting, merciful God, so what if he heard the tremor in her voice? But when he looked at her, some of his characteristic amusement was evident in his eyes.
“Wherever you please, Vivvie.” He slipped his fingers through hers. “I’m yours to command.”
“Of course, you are.” She hated the detachment behind his humor. “Where is your room?”
“Come.” He slid his arm over her shoulders. “It’s nice and cozy. I’ve languished in there at my bath for most of the evening.”
Interesting. Vivian had drawn hers out until the water was cold too.
“I don’t get to keep my lawn tent tonight, do I?”
“We can worry about that later.”
“I want to worry about it now.”
He opened the door to his bedroom and let her pass through before him. Vivian put aside their argument to take in his most personal surroundings. She was relieved to see the bedroom wasn’t a monk’s cell, which she could have easily seen him inflicting on himself. The room was comfortably masculine, with odd little touches.
“Flowers?”
“They’re made of silk and paper,” he said. “A curiosity, but pretty enough to fool the eye for the months when I can’t afford hothouse flowers.”
“You don’t have a hothouse?”
“I do, but it’s taken up with growing food,” he said, letting her amble around as she chose.
“Why does it smell good in here?”
“There’s cinnamon in that little pot by the hearth.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Occasionally, I’ll burn a scented candle. Then too, I make lavender and rosemary sachets to sell in Town, and my linens and wardrobe are scented with both.”
“You’re very enterprising,” Vivian said, studying the room rather than the man removing his clothes so casually. The bed was huge, as it would have to be for a fellow of his dimensions, and raised up one step, for warmth. The bed hangings were a rich green velvet, the linens snowy white, and the entire thing looked far too comfy for what was going to happen there.
“If I’m to have any comforts at all”—Darius was pulling his shirt over his head—“then enterprise is necessary. What did you decide about the lawn tent?”
“It’s up to me?”
“It’s up to you.” He sat on the raised hearth to tug off his boots.
“Why are you so casual about disrobing?”
“I don’t think of it as disrobing.” His stockings followed. “I think of it as getting into my livery. The fit is superb.”
She did not want to smack him, never that. “That’s awful.”
“It’s honest.” He rose, wearing only his breeches. “In truth, Vivvie, I want to be naked for you. I want you to desire what you see. I want to please you.”
He was slipping further into his role as seducer, and Vivian wanted to howl at the shift. His eyes became slumberous, the pitch of his voice dropped, and his spine curved a bit, to let him strut rather than walk toward her.
“Stop this immediately.”
Seven
He halted his progress toward her, holding her gaze. “Stop what?”
What words could she use? “I don’t want to be a job, a task, an obligation.”
His expression darkened. “You’ve known me for a week, Vivian. This is business. Pleasurable business, one hopes, but business. I am being paid for what happens here, and you are being compensated too, with a lifetime of motherhood.”
“I know.” She sat on the bed, disgruntled, impatient, and not at all willing to be seduced. “But sometimes people can be friends when they’ve business to transact. William is friends with his cronies from the Lords. They argue, fight, and scheme against one another, but they’re friends.”
“Interesting form of friendship.” Darius lowered himself beside her. “I can’t have you getting silly notions, Vivvie. When you leave here, we’re done.”
“You’ve said as much.”
“It has to be that way, for the sake of the child.” He took her hand, which was some consolation. “You cannot have this child raised with rumors regarding paternity. Whispers like that haunt a person. I know, because they’ve haunted my sister Leah her entire life and excused all manner of poor behavior on my father’s part.”
“That is dreadful.”
“More dreadful for her, but you comprehend that when we’re done with this little winter idyll, Vivian, we’re strangers again. Worse than strangers, because a man of my reputation would seldom cross your social orbit unless I’m escorting my sister.”
“I don’t believe that.” She leaned against him, resenting his insistence on this discussion. He was an earl’s spare, and they often became MPs, and she entertained MPs in quantity at William’s table.
“Believe it.” He petted her hand. “The people I keep company with late at night would make you cringe, Vivvie. They’ve turned being mean into a hobby. You don’t want them getting wind we were connected.”
She stayed silent—she could hardly argue this point—until he leaned over and kissed her
cheek. “This is not lighthearted conversation, and flirtation should be lighthearted, my lady.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“I honestly don’t know what to call it.” He rose, his tone both impatient and amused. “I intend to pleasure you tonight, Vivvie. So make your decision about the lawn tent.”
He stepped out of his breeches, folding them over a chair with the rest of his clothes, then got the warmer, filled it with coals, and ran it over the sheets. Something about the matter-of-fact, any-night-of-the-week nature of the activity gave Vivian courage. If he could consider this a passing romp, so could she. She dragged the lawn tent over her head and stood by the side of the bed, clutching it to her chest.
Because then again, she had no notion of what a romp, any romp, entailed.
“Brave Vivvie.” He set the warmer aside. “Your courage will be rewarded.”
His smile told her how much he approved as he crossed the room in a few slow, easy strides. He stood right next to her, naked, reminding her of how tall and muscular he truly was, but thank Jesus and the angels, he didn’t tug the nightgown away.
He leaned down and ran his nose along the curve of her shoulder. Because her hands were full of nightgown, she could only stand there and let him inspect her naked person with his nose.
“Relax, Vivvie.” She felt him tugging on the nightgown gently. “The bed is nice and warm, we have all night, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
She nodded, but his nose tickled where he ran it over her shoulder. Then his lips settled at that spot where her shoulder joined her neck, and Vivian comprehended what it meant when a woman’s knees went weak.
“Hold on to me, Vivvie,” he coaxed, and she did, with one hand on his bicep and the other clutching her nightgown to her chest. He pushed her with his chest until she was sitting on the bed, him looming over her, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple, and sending heat cascading out along her limbs. He stood between her legs, denying her his mouth on hers until Vivian let the nightgown go and used both hands in his hair to hold him still so she could kiss him properly.
Improperly, she corrected herself, opening her mouth immediately under his. But still, he was damnably coy, only teasing her with his tongue before skating away to press a kiss to her cheek or take her earlobe into his mouth.
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