Lady Vice

by Wendy Lacapra

  “Thank you for coming…and the duke as well. We—we should go in. I’ve left Sophia alone with the duke and duchess.”

  “Before you recover your sense of propriety, let me hold you a moment longer.”

  She should protest, but—Thud. Thud. Thud. Through his fine lawn shirt, his heartbeat crooned her to stillness. She gave herself over to the strength in his arms. Her sigh stretched from their childhood and then through their separation to his heart’s captivating song.

  “The Coroner’s Court,” he said, “has come to a verdict.”

  She pulled back. “Oh?”

  “Willful murder by person or persons unknown.”

  A breaking wave of relief splashed and foamed, leaving her breathless and blinking with surprise. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Would I lie about a thing like that?”

  “Never. But I—”

  He kissed her again…kissed her until she was a quivering mess, a castaway washed up onto a shore of his making.

  “There’s still a chance the magistrate could name me as the ‘person unknown’,” she started.

  “Yes, but less of a chance.” He captured her lips again. “There is a matter of the gun that killed Vaile—there is an oddity about the ball.”

  She frowned. “You know that is not enough to clear me.”

  His eyes held a knowing look. “We must begin with what we have, and an answer will follow.”

  She sighed. If only she could believe.

  His thumb drifted in sensual circles on the back of her neck. In the giddy aftermath of fear, she wanted nothing more than to spend the day curled against him—breathing the same air, sharing the same heat.

  How shocking an image. And how perfectly right.

  She could not deny her love, but the way forward remained shrouded. Was she ready to grant him her full trust? If yes, what could she offer him other than herself and ruin? Thea and Sophia had been horrified when she’d said she’d be Max’s mistress.

  “Lavinia?” Sophia’s voice seemed conjured by her thought.

  “We’re coming,” Lavinia answered reluctantly, still entranced. “We must go,” she forced. “We can no longer act as selfish children.”

  He drew his fingers over her lips, grinning wickedly. “I’m afraid my thoughts aren’t at all childish.”

  His tone induced shivering wetness.

  “We cannot linger,” she said sternly.

  “Very well.” He steadied her elbow as she righted herself. “But we will be together.”

  A command, not a question. Her breath snagged at the purposeful edict in his voice. Heat suffused her cheeks. She pivoted on her heel and moved to the fireplace mirror. She twisted her hair into a simple knot as he slid behind her.

  “Allow me to help.” He picked the pins from the mantle, securing her knot, one slide at a time.

  “Tight and without pulling.” She met his eyes in the glass. “Maggie would be impressed.”

  “Why, thank you.” He placed his hand above her waist, just under her lifted arm, and held her gaze as he kissed her neck. “We are doing this backward, you know.”

  “Backward?”

  “I’d like nothing better than to be removing these,” He touched a pin as his voice went husky and hoarse, “in preparation for bed.”

  “Yes.” Another rush of wetness. She turned in his arms, placing her hands on his shoulders. “For now, however, we must be presentable.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair and frowned.

  “There is no hope for my appearance,” he said.

  “So little faith.” She twisted a decorative bow, snapping the ribbon off the base of her stomacher. Using the ribbon, she tied back his hair. With a wifely sigh, she adjusted the simple knot of his cravat.

  “Better,” she announced, glancing up.

  There was fire in his eyes—a burning fascination.

  “Ah, Max. What if I cannot give you all you seek?”

  “I do not seek.” His voice was as serene as still water reflecting a cloudless sky. “I see.” He cupped her face. “Ask me what I see.”

  “What do you see?” she asked, suddenly breathless.

  “So much…” He nipped at her lower lip, a light kiss saturated with reverence. “Us. Our future. Children.”

  Her chest knotted. “Now is all I have.”

  A ray of light disappeared as a cloud darkened the window. Softly, he pressed his lips against her brow.

  “So little faith,” he echoed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max grasped Lavinia’s hand as she led him into her sitting room. When he had seen Sullivan carrying her through the crowd, his heart had seized. They’d only just found each other. He’d thought…he’d thought…

  He lifted her knuckles to his lips, kissed them, and then squeezed her hand.

  He’d thought he’d lost her once again.

  The gentleman within him wanted to fall on his knees and clasp her tight enough to always keep her safe. The barbarian born of his time in prison wanted to steal her away, threatening dismemberment and death to anyone who pursued.

  What he wouldn’t give to savagely satiate the tension straining his tendons, thin as old leather straps.

  “Do not bother to stand,” Lavinia spoke to her friends.

  She nodded in turn to Sophia, Thea, and Wynchester while, together, Max and Lavinia claimed the settee. His leg brushed hers and, despite her newfound display of purpose and authority, she blushed like the girl he remembered.

  He soared like a besotted cub.

  “How wonderful of you to join us.” Sophia looked over with the weary, anxious eyes of a drowning sailor. “In your absence, Their Graces invented a ripping game.”

  Lavinia’s lips quirked. “How does one play?”

  “I ask a question in the categories of weather, temperature, or comfort, Thea responds with a single-word answer, and then the duke adds a punctuating grunt.”

  “Intriguing,” Max said. “How does one win?”

  “Their Graces are working out the details,” Sophia replied with a wry lilt.

  Max leaned toward the glowering duke. “I should have warned you, Wynchester. Lady Sophia speaks things as she sees them.”

  Sophia visibly calmed and a dimple creased her cheek. “A man with an excellent memory is an asset to be cherished, Lavinia.”

  Again, Max covered Lavinia’s fingers. “Listen to your friend.”

  He knew she had meant her lash-filtered look as admonishment, but her glance left him tingling with heady wonder.

  The duke cleared his throat, eyes fastened on his wife. “I’d like a turn with a question.”

  “Ask, by all means,” Thea said. “A duke must do as he pleases.”

  …and so the opera began. This could be very entertaining. Max settled back into the cushions, content to observe the Furies swarm since he, now, was not their object.

  “What are you doing here, duchess?” Wynchester demanded.

  “Tsk,” Sophia said. “That question does not fall into one of our categories.”

  “I am sporting, so I will answer.” Thea pulled back her shoulders. “You heard Sophia; I am inventing a ripping game.”

  “You should not be here,” the duke said.

  “Not a question.” Thea feigned a sigh of disappointment. “I told you, Sophia. He can be quite thick.”

  “What were you thinking?” The duke squeezed his eyes into angry slits. “What are you ever thinking?”

  “Why, nothing, of course,” Thea answered. “With such a piddling thing as a female mind, how could I be expected to think?”

  Ouch. The invisible thread that attached the Wynchesters tightened through an excruciating moment of silence.

  “You may grunt now, duke,” Thea added.

  “Come now, Your Grace,” Sophia said in a conciliatory tone. “Surely you trust your wife’s discernment.”

  “Why should I, when my wife revels nightly under the Lord of Misrule?”

&nbs
p; “I beg your pardon!” Thea gasped.

  “An exaggeration, Wynchester,” Max said carefully, “will hardly win your point.”

  “Your Grace,” Lavinia’s quiet voice commanded attention, “We could not have predicted a riot. I would not have put Thea or Sophia in danger for the world.”

  “And yet you did.” Wynchester’s cold glare turned from Lavinia to Max. “My wife should not know her. Nor should you.”

  “Wynchester, might I remind you Lady Vaile faced a growing mob to protect your wife?” Max bounced a warning finger against his cheek, the same area where the duke sported a purple lump. “As for my friends, who I associate with is not your concern, is it?”

  Wynchester slumped back in his chair, pressed a closed fist to his lips and regarded Max with a lingering, unreadable expression.

  “Apologies, Harrison,” he said finally.

  “So you can admit you are wrong,” Thea said. “I am all astonishment.”

  “You could have been hurt.” The duke beat out the words as if banging on a locked church gate, pleading sanctuary.

  “Arguing what could have been,” Sophia pointed out, “is not helpful.”

  “What would be helpful? On second thought, do not answer.” The duke’s gaze flew back to Thea. “Just tell me how to rein in my harpy wife.”

  “Use a larger bit and bridle, obviously,” Thea seethed, “a nice, thick harness and a thin, pliant whip.”

  The duke’s lips bulged with bottled remarks as his cheeks darkened. “You’ve no call for vulgarity.”

  Thea contemplated the ceiling above her husband as if seeking heavenly assistance. “Yet, duke, you hear nothing I say, unless vulgar.” She exhaled. “I tire of your game. Just leave, would you?”

  The duke closed his eyes. He cupped his forehead, pressing whitened fingers into his temples. “I came, Thea,” he said in a softer voice.

  Thea flushed. “If you think riding in like some devil-may-care footpad will absolve you of—”

  The duke slammed his fist on the chair. “What would be enough for you?”

  “Your Grace,” Lavinia cut in. “Please recover your restraint.”

  Wynchester paled. “Forgive me. I rarely lose my patience.” And to the duchess, “I have been frantic since morning.”

  Thea sucked in. “We will discuss this in private, later. Right now—”

  “For once, we agree,” the duke interrupted.

  “Right now,” Thea repeated with a glare, “I am concerned with Lady Vaile.”

  “What magic do you wield, Lady Vaile?” the duke asked. “Harrison here is so consumed with worry, he threatened to resign.”

  Max stiffened. Damn. The duke’s other cheek begged for a matching lump.

  “Max!” Lavinia sat straight. “You haven’t!”

  He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “I was seeking an opportunity to speak with you.” And find out if you are ready to accept our future. “My priority is you.”

  A blush settled over her face and arms like a flung bed sheet. “You cannot give up—”

  “Oh, let him resign,” Thea interrupted, lifting both brows in a wistful expression. “A romantic gesture, Mr. Harrison. Madcap, of course, but chivalrous and commendable and not excessive in the least.”

  “Well, we agree on the mad,” Wynchester muttered.

  “Did you just direct a compliment at me?” Max asked Thea.

  “Yes,” Thea answered. “You may earn another if you can figure out how to protect our lady.”

  Protect Lavinia—his only aim. Her fingers were so small in his hand. “Lavinia, you cannot risk getting caught in another riot. I want to take you, with your mother of course, to Thistleton.”

  “Lavinia cannot leave London,” Thea said. “A hue and cry will be sure to follow.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Sophia added. “My home is well guarded.”

  “With your pardon, Lady Sophia,” Max said, “I have met one of your guards. He couldn’t scare off a chicken.”

  “You, Mr. Harrison,” Sophia replied, “are slightly more intimidating than a chicken.”

  “Less so than a mob,” Max countered.

  Lavinia rested her hand on his arm. “Thea is right, I cannot run to Thistleton. I would look guilty.” She glanced between Thea and Sophia. “But Max is right as well. I cannot put the two of you again in danger.”

  “We won’t leave you alone,” Sophia insisted.

  Thea sat straight with a palpable surge of excitement.

  “I know a place where no one would think to look,” she said. “We three can stay with the duke’s stepmother, the dowager duchess of Wynchester. She lives next to Mr. Harrison, thus putting his mind at rest and keeping us safe.”

  The house adjoining his—brilliant.

  “Absolutely not,” the duke said.

  Sophia clucked. “Is such a definitive answer warranted, Your Grace?”

  “Not definitive, but dismissive.” Thea narrowed her eyes. “Why not, Wynchester? Because you cannot bear to have the two scandalous Wynchester women in the same house?”

  The duke snorted. “There’s a limit to the amount of upheaval I will allow for the concerns of one woman.”

  “You,” Thea stood, “are a heartless, stubborn man.”

  The duke rose as well. “Let me tell you about heartlessness, Duchess—”

  Thea matched him toe to toe, stopping his speech with her fingers. “I am your duchess. My friend is in trouble and I am asking you for one small favor. Even so, the grand duke will not stoop to acquiesce.”

  “Stoop?” The duke whispered fiercely as he snatched her hand. “I cannot stoop to a level lower than where you have laid me.”

  “Wyn,” Thea said, breathless.

  “Thea Marie,” he said, in kind.

  Gently, but with purpose, Thea guided the duke to the hall. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “I will be right back—if not, call in the militia.”

  The connecting door closed with an echoing crack. Max could have sworn the duchess’s eyes had been sparkling.

  “Did she just call him Wyn?” Lavinia asked.

  “Yes.” Sophia sighed as if the Wynchesters had been whispering words of love. “I have spent months devising ways to force the two of them together. To think, all I needed was murder and a riot. Their Graces are not as hopeless as they appear, though negotiations could take some time.” She rapped her knuckles on her chair. “I wonder how the Coroner’s Court is proceeding.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” Lavinia said. “They returned a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown.”

  “Very nice!” Sophia’s burst of excitement faded. “But that does leave the door open, doesn’t it?”

  “Nothing will be settled until we find the true murderer,” Lavinia said.

  “Have you made progress on your promised inquiries, Mr. Harrison?” Sophia asked.

  “I have, but so far I only know that Vaile was expecting money.”

  Lavinia scowled. “From where?”

  “My solicitors are still making inquiries. I will let both of you know if they turn up anything else.”

  “My dear Mr. Harrison, are you conceding that we may be able to help, after all?” Sophia asked.

  “You were right,” Max said reluctantly.

  “I often am,” Sophia said, “but on what point, exactly? Do tell; I am longing to hear.”

  He should have guessed Sophia would take the inch he gave and then wrap him up in yards of ladies’ trimming lace. His gaze drifted back to Lavinia. For her sake, he’d capitulate. “I did not appreciate the difficulties faced by a woman alone. You three have shown remarkable resourcefulness.”

  “Ah,” Sophia smiled, “I knew I had not misplaced my faith.”

  Max ran his thumb along Lavinia’s hand. “I am learning.”

  Her look of appreciation rested in his heart like a warming stone. For a smile like that, she could wrap him up in whatever ribbons she pleased.

  “I am
corrupting you,” she said.

  He kissed the back of her hand. “Challenging, more like. I hope the duchess succeeds in convincing the duke. I don’t know the dowager beyond an occasional neighborly wave, but I would rest easier if you were near.”

  “The duchess always succeeds,” Sophia said.

  “Except in the endeavor of gentling the duke,” Lavinia murmured.

  “My lovely Vice, because the race is long,” Sophia replied, “isn’t reason to wager on the wrong horse. I am inclined to go, if you are.”

  “Do you think we’d be safer with the dowager?” Lavinia asked Max.

  “You would be safer,” he replied, “near me.”

  “Sophia, will you give Max and me a moment?”

  Sophia rose. “I trust your judgment, Lavinia.” Her gaze slid to Max. “You, on the other hand, I will remind to be good.” She sighed, arranging her fichu. “A delightful porcelain figure on the dining table is in urgent want of inspection. I will be within calling distance—for you and Thea.”

  Max drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm, chastened by Sophia’s warning. He’d hardly kept his hands to himself. As the dining room door closed, he cleared his throat.

  “Earlier…in the hall…I should not have tempted us both.”

  Lavinia tilted her head to the side. “I felt no shame.”

  “I would not dishonor you.”

  “Max,” she sucked in, “I am no Almack’s miss.”

  “You are everything I wish you to be.”

  She smiled, sudden and bright. Truly, those smiles of hers would do him in.

  “Will you go to the dowager?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His sigh untethered his stomach from his spine. “Thank you.”

  “Searching for the killer will be easier from London proper,” she added.

  “I knew a stipulation would follow.”

  “This is my burden as well as yours. What happened to respecting my remarkable resourcefulness?”

  “You are right.” He squeezed her hand, ignoring the cold warning shivering through his veins. “Change is a slowly turning wheel.”

  What hope had he? He was lost. He guided her head to his shoulder.

  “Why did you threaten to give up your position?” she asked.

  Too soon to say he intended for them to marry, especially when Sophia’s ear was likely pressed to the door. “Crisis separated the superfluous from the necessary. You, as it turns out, are necessary. Would you accept such a gesture?”