Lady Vice

by Wendy Lacapra

“Could that be the money Vaile was expecting?” Sophia asked.

  Lavinia considered and then shook her head. “He wouldn’t have deemed any single payment a windfall. I’d been paying all along.”

  “Clever pair,” Thea said. “They had you cornered.”

  “Clever, but not invincible,” Emma said.

  “No one crosses Monte—ever.” Lavinia said.

  “Taking on Montechurch will be tricky, but it can be done,” Emma replied. “I guarantee he has more enemies than Versailles has mirrors.”

  “We must smoke out allies,” Sophia said. “and then bring him down.”

  “If,” Thea began, looking perplexed, “Montechurch knew about Lavinia’s threat to Vaile, why didn’t he testify about it at the inquest?”

  Lavinia exchanged a dubious expression with Sophia.

  “Good point,” Sophia said.

  “Unless Montechurch did kill Vaile,” Thea cocked her head, “and fears revealing himself.”

  “Any fear he has, you must use, Lavinia,” Emma said firmly. “And, if some of the story is revealed in the process, don’t be so certain that you will take the fall. Inheritance is the foundation of privilege in this country. Men, for good reason, take primogeniture very seriously.”

  “She’s right,” Sophia added. “Vaile’s suggestion that Montechurch get you with child will horrify any gentleman’s sense of right.”

  Lavinia curled her fist to her chest. “Are you suggesting I reveal the story?”

  “I am suggesting you be prepared.” Emma pulled Lavinia’s fist from her chest and held onto her hand. “There now.” She squeezed. “What is done is done, and there is no undoing.”

  “I hate myself for not having been stronger,” Lavinia said. “And for not refusing Vaile from the start.”

  “Hate is a waste,” Emma said, with a brief glance toward Thea. “We should suffer when we disappoint ourselves, but not in perpetuity.” Emma leveled her gaze on Lavinia like a governess imparting a particularly important stricture. “You feel scarred, I understand. But you found courage when you most needed courage. You must use what you have learned.”

  Lavinia blinked. “If the whole sordid story comes out…”

  “Do not write the future before it happens,” Sophia said.

  “I have, till now, envisioned a terrible end,” Lavinia said. Her disgrace. Worse still, Max’s disgust.

  “You must change that immediately,” Emma said. “Look at me. I choose to live apart—and no, Thea, not because of my thinks-himself-higher-than-the-Archbishop-of-Canterbury stepson, but because I do not give a damn about society. I could make a place if I wished, no matter how dark my past. Money and status cry louder than propriety.”

  “You are a duchess,” Lavinia said.

  “Higher than you, but remember, I started lower.”

  “If you tried to take a place in society, there would still be some who would cut you,” Lavinia said.

  “True,” Emma agreed. “Those women would smile at me and say snide remarks behind my back, even if I possessed a sterling reputation and came from the bluest blood. You, Lady Sophia, and my daughter-in-law, have done well, but you cannot survive this by trying to keep one foot in each world.”

  Use his fear. Lavinia sniffed and again considered. True, Monte hadn’t revealed the story. He was afraid. The ways in which he and Vaile had shamed her could become weapons in her fight against Monte. How ironic.

  “Do you truly believe I would find allies against Lord Montechurch?” Lavinia asked.

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  “I will begin discreet inquiries tomorrow,” Sophia said.

  “Allow me to guess.” Thea lifted her brows. “Your search will begin with Randolph?”

  “He knows everyone,” Sophia replied. “And he already has a vested interest.” She tapped her finger on her cheek. “Lavinia, have you considered writing to your mother? We will need to strengthen all of your social connections.”

  Lavinia bit her lip, then nodded slowly. “You are right.”

  “And I,” Emma said, “will visit the Magdalene House and see if I can gather something from the women there. Now, I think it best we retire.” Emma stood and then poured another cup of chocolate. “Tomorrow, we engage. Tonight, we indulge in comforts.” She winked at Thea as she handed a cup to Lavinia. “Drink up.”

  The liquid had cooled but had not lost any of its soothing quality.

  “Thea, you show Lady Sophia back to her room. I will be by to make sure the two of you are settled in soon enough.”

  “Sleep would be welcome,” Sophia said, standing. “After all, I have witnessed a miracle. I am exhausted.”

  “What miracle?” Emma asked.

  Sophia glanced at Thea. “Her duke riding heroically to her rescue.”

  “Did he?” Emma asked, fascinated.

  Sophia nodded. “Wyn rode right into the crowd brandishing a musket, no less. Very ducal. Tudor ducal.”

  Thea clucked dismissively as she rose and stretched. “Do not start, Emma. Sophia exaggerates.”

  “I did not say a thing,” Emma said, all innocence.

  “Come closer,” Lavinia said, holding out her arms, “all of you.”

  “Must we?” Thea asked, with an over-emphasized sigh.

  “Yes,” Lavinia answered.

  They joined arms and touched temples. When held tight in the arms of her dearest friends, just about anything seemed bearable.

  “Good night,” Lavinia called as they departed.

  “I believe tonight will be a very good night,” Thea called back cryptically. “Be sure to remember all.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max stared at the rear wall of Lavinia’s townhome, his conscience twitching. Lavinia had trusted him enough to go with Sophia and Thea to the dowager’s house, and he had not reciprocated by sharing his intent to search her home.

  Then again, Vaile House would yield secrets with less effort than he’d used to coax secrets from Lavinia.

  Maggie had, at first, refused to relinquish her key. Fortunately, he had convinced the maid of his loyalty to her mistress, and she had relented. Before he’d left, however, she’d given instructions: start in Vaile’s study—third door on the right from the top of the back stair. And then, she’d added a parting, enigmatic shot: when you see Beauty, you must try to understand.

  He crept toward the door. Carefully, he worked the resistant lock.

  With a squeal of protest, the door jerked open, allowing Max to slip inside. Shunning the use of a lamp, which could attract curious neighbors, he found the study quickly. Fading orange light cut into the room through the windows like an ax wedged in wood. He did not have much time. Something in this room would yield to his query. But what and where?

  Walls of shelving encircled a large desk, several angled bookcases, and two Greek marbles. He strode toward the largest piece of art in the room, a portrait hanging behind Vaile’s desk. His stomach twisted as he stared up into the spiritless eyes of a much younger Lavinia.

  Her skin had been painted ghostly pale and she sat with her back ramrod straight. Her fashionable blue dress glinted purple where light shone on the fabric. Her hair, powdered to light gray, was knotted at her neck’s nape with no additional adornment. Beside her, Vaile rested his left foot on her seat while draping his elbow across his knee. His pose was protective, but the expression captured in Vaile’s eyes was not that of a concerned husband. Tension raised Vaile’s shoulders and the corners of his rouged mouth turned down. He had his chin tucked in and his eyes leveled like a soldier on attack.

  The artist rendered an air of possessive dominance. And Vaile had placed the portrait in a prominent position. A warning to Lavinia?

  Anger drummed an ancient war-beat in Max’s heart. He turned to inspect the statues. Each had a title, the first, Creativity, and the second, Charm.

  He paused, sifting through memory, searching for the titles’ nagging significance. Graces, he remembered with a surge of elation.
But three Graces were found in Greek myth—creativity, charm and…

  Beauty.

  Centered between the two statues was a glass door connecting an adjacent room. The room beyond was windowless and dark as night.

  He felt around the panel until he came to a concealed latch. Working his fingers beneath the lower edge, he freed the latch from its snug position, and the glass door swung open. From the inside, there was no release and no other egress.

  Max’s chest wound tight as a Bavarian clock spring and a warning thrill cut into his arms. Dark, enclosed spaces weren’t something he favored. Within the narrow chamber, the scent of stale wood intensified another scent he recognized—Lavinia. The thrill soured and his skin went North Sea wind-gust cold.

  The chill snaked inward, quickly spreading in veins of white ice. He swallowed and then took a deep breath.

  I am not in India. I am in London. No mercenaries were preparing ambush from within the bookcases. Vaile House had no dungeon. Kasai and his men were continents away.

  His eyes adjusted, and faint outlines began to take discernible shape.

  A small stool sat on a platform in the center of the chamber. Stepping forward, he stumbled. A swivel mirror creaked back, caught the light from the room beyond, and cast a murky illumination. Long white kid gloves and silk stockings of every color lined the walls.

  A dressing room? He frowned.

  Why build a dressing room here, when the sleeping chambers were above stairs? He faced the desk and the portrait. From the desk’s vantage, this door centered between the statues Charm and Creativity. He swiveled back—as he suspected, a title had been etched into the platform. Beauty.

  …the third Grace.

  Vaile had made Lavinia into a statue, a display stripped of her humanity.

  “Blackguard,” he murmured, backing out of the room.

  The Lavinia he remembered had been so full of life and passion she’d taken his breath away. Vaile had sapped her, sucking life to feed his unnatural needs.

  Max vowed to heal her. He’d healed. Not fully, but enough to believe in the important things: Hope. Honor. Duty. He would help her do the same. He would keep them both looking forward to their future.

  A rattle sounded in the area of the front hall, followed by the creak of a door swung wide. Max crouched in a dark swath between an angled bookcase and the wall.

  “Lavinia!” The man’s guttural, jarring cry echoed from the hall. “Lavinia!”

  The man pounded hard. Each echoing punch was a pestle, striking with hard pings against the mortar in Max’s gut.

  “Lavinia! I know you are here.” Silence. “You must be here!”

  Something crashed. Shattered pieces clinked like hundreds of tiny bells against the marble floor.

  The room was hot. Max dug his fingers into his temples. No, the room was not hot. Space did not become sultry in a matter of moments—not without a fire.

  “Lavinia…” The man’s voice cracked as if it, too, had been thrown without mercy against hard, polished stone.

  The man’s unfettered sobs urged Max back to the confinement of prison, back to hopelessness, despair, and fear. Under his skin, his veins were shrinking. Though shivering, sweat broke on his jawline, curling and matting the hair around his ears.

  Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe—damn, damn, damn. Cold seized him again, locking his arms.

  He gripped a dark mahogany shelf. England. London. Now. At eye level was the small but perfect impression of the Vaile crest gilded onto the spine of each bound book.

  Enemy territory.

  Aggression, if called, would mask the panic. He could no more quell his aggressive response to the Vaile crest than he could besmirch an innocent man’s honor. But intentionally calling the beast? He’d never done so before. The beast was to be kept contained, confined, and coiled. He was a gentleman, master of his emotions.

  “Lavinia!” A man shadowed the library door.

  Max stilled in the darkness.

  The man stalked to the tiny dressing room and grabbed a fistful of gloves. He held them to his face and inhaled. A jolt of recognition ripped through Max’s chest. Montechurch.

  Montechurch looked up. Even knowing he could not be seen in the shadow, Max froze.

  Montechurch wasn’t a grieving, overly entitled cousin, he was a man in the fevered grip of a contorted infatuation. How long had he been so? What role had he played in Vaile’s sordid world?

  Max made a choice. He willed the beast to rouse. Gathering unleashed power, it stomped and hissed with the breath of grim intent, instantly melting fear’s frost.

  “Whore!” Montechurch yelled, throwing the gloves with violent force.

  The word was uttered with a vehemence that reverberated in Max’s spine.

  Montechurch stalked back into the hall.

  Max touched each crest, one spine at a time. One…two…three…four. Murderous intentions coalesced. All in good time.

  The entry door slammed shut. Max exhaled. Slowly, the world reordered as he loosened the knot in his neckcloth. Like animals confined too long, his muscles cried with furious, frustrated howls.

  The bastard had caused him to waste his light. He shoved his fist into the books. The row collapsed with an odd, hollow thud. He swept aside the books and knocked against the back of the row—a false back.

  He pried open the back, revealing a package bound in brown paper.

  In the dim light, he could not read the address, but a hidden package had to mean something. He folded the box under his arm.

  Time to get the hell out. He promised the beast that capturing its prey had been merely delayed.

  …

  An inexplicable agitation built in Lavinia’s gut while Emma waited for the door to close.

  “Lavinia,” she commented, “what a lovely name.”

  “Thank you,” Lavinia replied.

  Emma lifted a knowing brow. “You haven’t been fully forthcoming with me, have you, Lavinia?”

  Lavinia frowned. “I’ve told you everything.”

  “Everything that doesn’t concern my lovely young neighbor.”

  Lavinia reddened and, blithely ignoring her mortification, Emma widened her smile.

  “There’s no need for you to twist your pretty face. My daughter-in-law told me you and he have history.” Emma cleared her throat. “This, you should know, is my room. But Thea specifically requested I relinquish it to you while you are here. After hearing her argument, I agreed.”

  “Oh no, Emma, you must not inconvenience—”

  “Come,” Emma interrupted. She drew Lavinia to her feet and led her to a cabinet built into the far wall. There were drawers, shelves, and doors, all painted gleaming black.

  “I do not understand,” Lavinia said.

  “Before I leave I have one more secret to share. This cabinet is like a man,” Emma said, her eyes dancing. “Know where to touch and a whole new world will open up to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Patience.” Carefully, the dowager ran the tips of her fingers along the back of a decorative column on the right of the cabinet. “Forgive me, dear. It has been some time.” She chortled to herself. “Both for the cabinet and for me.”

  “What are you doing?” Lavinia stepped to Emma’s side, curiosity overcoming her nerves.

  Emma stood straight, placed her hands on her hips, and frowned. “This dates back to the time before my duke gave up his claims to perfection and blackened his name.” She ran her finger along the column’s other edge. “He wanted me. But travel inconvenienced him. Moving about the city inconvenienced him. And, most importantly, to suppress his need for me inconvenienced him.” She glanced pointedly at Lavinia. “Wynchester men dislike being inconvenienced.”

  “I am certain Thea would agree.”

  “Yes, well, she has introduced her duke to all manner of inconvenience, has she not? Now, where was I? Ah, yes, my duke purchased a home adjoining his and moved me in.”

  “His n
eighbors must have loved his brand of ingenuity,” Lavinia said dryly.

  “Such cheek!” Emma smirked. “The Wynchesters, you may have noticed, are richer than Croesus. As I said before, money trumps propriety. The ton’s griping was short-lived.”

  “All the ton?” Lavinia asked skeptically.

  Emma shrugged. “In the duke’s mind, those who continued to complain simply ceased to exist.”

  “His son inherited the same talent.”

  “Not where one woman is concerned, but back to my duke.” Emma closed her eyes and sighed. “My duke was brilliant. Masculine, noble…resolute.”

  Something in the dowager’s voice called to Lavinia. The primal recognition of like meeting like.

  “You loved him,” she said.

  “Completely,” Emma said. “I was a wealthy and sought-after courtesan. When I married the duke, I dropped from the height of my circle to the bottom of his. Would I have chosen to do so if I had not loved him madly?”

  Emma’s words gripped Lavinia’s chest—though inverse, Emma had made the same choice as Max.

  “Did you regret your decision?” she asked.

  Emma turned and grinned. “Do I look like a woman full of regret?”

  “Not at all,” Lavinia breathed.

  “Ah, here is the lever!” Emma held onto the column with one hand and with her other, she motioned for Lavinia to come near. “Thea and I have decided you star-crossed lovers need our assistance.” Emma tilted her head, looking quite pleased. “Should you wish to have a private conversation with Mr. Harrison, you simply pull here.”

  She guided Lavinia’s fingers alongside the column and wrapped them around a lever hidden behind a crevice in the paneling.

  Lavinia gasped. “What does it do?”

  “Have you been listening? Honestly! The panel opens to the main bedchamber of the old Wynchester house, of course.”

  Lavinia flushed darkly as her heart thumped in her throat. “Does Mr. Harrison know about this?”

  “Certainly not. Why should he?” Emma said.

  Lavinia gaped at the panel as if she could see straight through the painted wood. “I do not think I could, or even should—”

  Emma tossed her white curls. “We are grown women. Let us not pretend.”