Theodore was no longer listening, however. He was distracted by the end of Vivian’s song and the start of a new one.
Clara leaned forward and reached across the table to touch his hand. “Dance with me?”
Henry immediately slid from the booth to let Theodore out, and though all he wanted to do was sit and listen to Vivian sing, he could hardly refuse such a request from a lady.
As they rose to their feet, Henry headed for the bar. Theodore was soon sliding his hand around the small of Lady Clara’s back and leading her into a slow foxtrot.
“I must confess,” she said, “my heart skipped a beat when I saw you here. You never come out, Theodore, but I always imagine what would happen if we encountered each other.”
“And what do you imagine?” he asked, still distracted.
“This, of course,” she replied. “We dance to something romantic, although in my fantasies, you are always the one who asks me first.”
He felt guilty about that. “I apologize. I’m preoccupied. Work has kept me busy since the spring. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yes. Of course. Far be it from me to suggest that you shouldn’t be fully dedicated to the government. It’s very important, what you are doing—building our defenses against that despicable man in Germany with that silly mustache, and for that I am grateful to you, my darling Theo.”
She rubbed the back of his neck with the tip of her finger, and he wished he could have responded with something flirtatious, but he wasn’t in the mood to flirt with Clara. Not tonight.
She let out a breath. “But we shouldn’t talk about politics and war this evening. The music is wonderful. We must enjoy ourselves.”
He led her around the perimeter of the crowded dance floor and made sure to give her his full attention. When the song ended, Theodore stepped back and applauded.
He was secretly relieved when Vivian announced that the band would take a short break. Clara said she wished to powder her nose, so Theodore made his way to the bar, with only one thing on his mind. Or rather, one woman.
He ordered a Scotch and waited.
Sure enough, Vivian appeared beside him and asked for a gin and tonic. He faced her with a smile and marveled at how beautiful she looked in her floor-length red silk gown trimmed with sequins. It hugged her figure in all the right places. How different she looked from the way she dressed during the day, in the role of typist for a government department.
He leaned in close and spoke intimately in her ear. “You have everyone in the palm of your hand.”
She smiled and blushed.
“You’re wonderful up there,” he continued. “I suspect this may become a regular gig for you.”
“Do you think so?” she replied. “Ginny Moran might have something to say about that. She’s been their headliner since the spring. I’m only here tonight because she had a family funeral to attend.”
“Ah. That is unfortunate. But still . . .”
Vivian playfully slapped his arm.
While they stood at each other’s sides, leaning against the bar, Theodore was intensely aware of his elbow brushing against hers. She made no move to break the connection, and that small intimacy alone caused his blood to rush a little faster through his veins.
Everything felt different tonight. It wasn’t like a normal workday, when they would sit together on a bench in the garden. That was innocent. Tonight, he desired her in every possible way and didn’t wish to hide it. They were in a jazz club, and she was singing onstage, and there were drinks and glitter and sparkling gowns.
At the same time, being near her was a strange form of torture because all he wanted was more of this incomprehensible bliss, yet he couldn’t have more, because she was an employee of the ministry, and everyone expected him to propose to Lady Clara very soon. He’d be a fool not to. Clara was the perfect woman for a man in his position. He couldn’t possibly begin something with Vivian—something he could never finish. That would be selfish and cruel.
“Who was that woman you were dancing with?” she asked in a casual manner. “She’s very beautiful.”
He looked down at his drink. “That’s Lady Clara. She’s the daughter of the Duke of Wentworth.”
“Oh my.”
“Our mothers are old friends.”
Vivian faced him squarely. “I saw how she was looking at you. She’s quite in love with you, Theodore. Are you aware of that?”
He paused, because he didn’t want to talk about Clara. Not with Vivian. But she had asked him a direct question, and he didn’t wish to skirt around it. He wanted to give her an honest answer and see what happened when he did.
“Yes, I am aware,” he replied. “And I’ve been dragging my heels because our families have had us matched up for years. Everyone is waiting for me to propose.”
Vivian sipped her drink and watched Clara from across the room. “Do you love her?”
He leaned close and spoke into Vivian’s ear again. “She’s very rich. Her grandfather married a wealthy American heiress. Therefore, she is the perfect woman to bolster the Gibbons family tree, as well as our bank accounts. So, you see, Vivian, love has nothing to do with it.”
She shook her head and looked up at him with what appeared to be sympathy. “You live in a very different world, Theodore.”
“Yes.”
Strangely, he had never resented it before, but tonight he felt the need to knock back his Scotch like lemonade and savor the burn as it seared its way down his throat. He turned, set the glass on the bar, and signaled for another.
Vivian looked across the room at Clara again. “I can’t imagine marrying someone I didn’t love. But I suppose I don’t have a title or a fortune to get in the way of things.”
“You should count yourself lucky.”
“Perhaps I should.”
Devil take it. Every word she spoke got under his skin and seeped into his blood like a fine wine. He knew in that moment that he would never truly desire Lady Clara as he desired the woman standing beside him tonight. He liked Clara well enough. They’d always been good friends, but he felt no yearning for her. Nothing like the sweltering desire he felt right now, standing with Vivian and wishing he could take her by the hand, walk out, and find a quiet place to be alone.
In an effort to squelch his desires, he reached for the drink the bartender pushed toward him, rattled the ice cubes in the glass, and gulped it down.
Henry appeared at his side just then, like a pesky fly that kept coming around, no matter how many times he tried to wave it away.
“Baby brother,” he said. “Be a good man and introduce me to the star of the evening. I regret that I’ve not had the pleasure.” He regarded Vivian with that infamous charm that caused all sorts of wreckage where women were concerned.
Theodore fought the rancor that burned in his gut. “Allow me to present Miss Vivian Hughes. Vivian, this is my brother, Lord Henry Gibbons.”
“Hello,” she replied, laughing softly as Henry kissed the back of her hand.
“I am starstruck,” Henry said, turning to Theodore. “How is it possible that you know this woman? What other treasures have you been hiding from me?”
The mere thought of Vivian falling under his brother’s roguish spell caused all the muscles in Theodore’s shoulders to tense up.
Henry moved around Theodore to stand closer to Vivian and engage her in conversation. He spoke to her about her singing and her work and all her dreams for the future. Theodore finished his drink in silence and fought to keep his annoyance under control.
At last Vivian turned to him. “The musicians are taking their places. I should get back up onstage.”
Again, Henry drew her attention away. “It was a pleasure, Miss Hughes. I look forward to hearing you sing again.”
She turned to go, but Theodore followed her into the crowd. “Vivian, wait.”
She stopped and faced him.
“Will you permit me to drive you home this evening?”
&nb
sp; She glanced toward the stage, looking uneasy. “I was going to take the Underground.”
“It will be very late,” he said. “Please let me drive you. I’ll feel better if I could see you home.”
Thankfully, she agreed, although she was hesitant.
A few minutes later, he returned to his table only to find Clara sitting there, watching him intently as he approached. She sat back with a long, smoldering cigarette between her slender fingers and a full glass of champagne in front of her.
“I thought you’d never return,” she said with an unmistakable hint of possessiveness that did not become her at all.
He sat down and wished things could be different between them. Everything would have been so much easier if he wanted her the same way she wanted him, but he didn’t and never would, which he understood now. At the same time, he was the son of an earl, and he could hardly bring a typist—and the daughter of a shopkeeper and a French cabaret singer—home to meet his parents at their sprawling ancestral estate in the country. He had to be realistic.
“Will you dance with me one more time before I leave?” Clara asked. “My father still has the most ludicrous rules about curfews, you know, even though I’m twenty-three. A grown woman.”
“You can hardly blame him,” Theodore replied. “He only wants what’s best for you.”
She tapped her cigarette on the ashtray and spoke with a bitterness that she tried to hide with a smile and a carefree shrug of her shoulder. “Naturally, I love him for it. I only wish I could spend more time with you tonight, Theodore. I barely see you at all. You’re always so busy with the ministry.”
He felt the full weight of her hopes and desires bear down on him and could do nothing but offer his hand to escort her onto the dance floor, where they waltzed in silence while he tried not to be distracted by Vivian on the stage.
When it was over, they applauded for the band and made their way back to the table.
“When will I see you again?” Clara asked with flirtatious confidence, but he recognized it for what it was—desperation—and regretted how he was the cause of her unhappiness. It was strange. A few months ago, he had fully intended to settle things between them and propose. But the time had come for him to stop stringing her along. He had to decide, once and for all, what he wanted and what he intended.
“I’ll stop by and visit you tomorrow after my meetings,” he said. “Will four o’clock suit you?”
Her face lit up with a smile. “Yes. That’s perfect. If the weather is fine, we could take a walk in the park.”
He kissed her on the cheek and watched her join her friends at the bar. When he returned to the table, Henry was sitting there looking smug. Theodore uttered a quiet oath.
“You really ought to get on with it, you know,” Henry said when Theodore sat down and reached for the champagne bottle. Normally he didn’t drink this much, but it was one of those nights.
“What are you talking about?”
“Clara, of course. She’s been waiting long enough, and now you’re just being cruel.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Well, she’s desperately in love with you. You must see it, and if you don’t, you’re a bloody fool. She’s the perfect wife for you, Theo. And you can’t ignore the fact that it would put Father at ease, if at least one of us provided an heir.”
Theodore gritted his jaw. “Isn’t that your responsibility, as much as it is mine? More so, in fact?”
Henry leaned back in his chair and scoffed. “It’s funny, actually. No one seems to look to me for that particular service—marrying well and producing legitimate children. Mother once said that she expected me to drink myself into an early grave, and that’s why she couldn’t love me like a mother should. You, however . . .” He picked up his drink and emptied the glass.
Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes.
Vivian began to sing a jazzy rendition of “Tea for Two,” and the dance floor flooded.
Henry threw a cigarette butt at Theodore’s face, and he jumped at the shock of it.
“I can’t blame you for staring,” Henry said. “She’s stunning. What I wouldn’t give to have that woman in my bed for a night.”
Theodore shot his brother a scathing look. “Shut up, Henry. She works for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a typist at the ministry. So back off.”
Henry slapped the table and began to laugh. “Now I understand! That’s why you’re here. You’re getting your jollies in the secretarial pool. Is that why you haven’t proposed to Clara yet? Too busy, are you? Sowing your oats before you commit to a lifetime with a future ball and chain? Congratulations, Theo. I admire your spirit. Although I must say, I am monumentally surprised.”
Theodore blinked heavily through a thick haze of Scotch and champagne.
Henry leaned forward again. “Can you imagine what Father would do if you brought home a woman like Vivian Hughes? Maybe you should do it, for my sake. Then I’d be back in his good graces. You’d make me look like a champion.”
Theodore said nothing more. Henry eventually grew bored, rose to his feet, patted Theodore on the shoulder, and walked off.
When the band finished, Theodore stood up to applaud and staggered slightly before sitting back down to wait for Vivian to find him.
Unlike the last time he’d seen her perform at the Savoy, she emerged ready to leave in her evening gown and makeup, and he understood that she no longer had to hide her passion for the stage and remove all evidence of her whereabouts before returning home. She commented on it, in fact, when they came together in the center of the empty dance floor, and she said it was very liberating.
Soon they were motoring down Coventry Street in the Bentley, discussing music. Theodore was so blissfully enamored with Vivian that he was surprised when Jackson pulled over and shut off the engine.
“We’re here,” she said. “That was quick.”
“Time flies,” he replied.
“Would you like to come up for a drink?” Vivian asked. “My flatmates are gone for the weekend, so it won’t cause a scandal at the ministry. No one will know.”
He blinked sleepily at her and felt his head spin. “I don’t know, Vivian. I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
She laughed at that. “Yes, I noticed. What you need is coffee.”
His eyelids were heavy, but he pushed through his drunkenness because he wanted to spend more time with her. “All right, then.”
They got out of the car, and he told Jackson to wait. Then they made their way up four flights of stairs to Vivian’s flat on the top floor of the building. She switched on a few lamps while Theodore looked around the cozy sitting room. It was small and crowded with piles of books, a faded, threadbare sofa, and a dark-green area rug. Large scarfs with fringe did duty as curtains, and an extravagant collection of velvet pillows with tassels adorned the sofa. A gramophone stood in the corner next to a stack of sheet music on a stand.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Vivian called out to him from the kitchen. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
After loosening his tie, he shrugged out of his black dinner jacket, hung it on the back of a chair, and sank onto the sofa.
A few minutes later, the delicious aroma of fresh, hot coffee reached his nose, and Vivian appeared carrying a tray with two cups, a creamer, and a sugar bowl. She set it down on the coffee table, then went to wind up the gramophone.
“What do you think of this place?” she asked. “Have I done well for myself?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, watching her in the lamplight and feeling completely spellbound. “As long as you’re happy.”
“I am very happy, thanks to you.”
She returned to the sofa and asked how he liked his coffee.
“With cream, thank you.”
She fixed him a cup and held it out to him. Just the smell of it sobered him up from the night’s drink. Or perhaps it was Vivian’s company, bri
nging his senses back to life.
They lounged back and talked about their work at the ministry and all that was happening in the world.
“It doesn’t feel real sometimes,” Vivian said, her voice laden with emotion. “Yesterday, I was walking through Bloomsbury, and I saw a family assembling an Anderson shelter. The father was trying to make a game out of it, as if they were building a treehouse together, but I knew it wasn’t a game.” She rested her temple on a finger. “Sometimes I want to scream at Hitler. I want to yell at him and tell him to stop all this foolishness and leave the world alone.”
“I share your feelings.”
But even as they spoke of war, Theodore felt surprisingly tranquil and wondered how it was possible for any woman to be so utterly lovely.
War? What war?
Vivian got up to change the record. Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo” began to play, and she stood on the rug, holding out her hand to him. “Dance with me.”
After setting his coffee cup down on the end table, he rose to his feet. His hand slid along the gentle curve of her hip beneath the silky fabric of her gown, and when his other hand closed around hers, he felt a flood of desire that was almost painful in its intensity.
“I was jealous when I watched you dance with Lady Clara,” Vivian said, her voice shooting straight into his heart like an arrow. “I wanted to dance with you, too, but I couldn’t.”
He shouldn’t have come up here. The air was warm with jazz and intimate conversation. And her flatmates were away for the weekend. This was dangerous.
“Tell me about your brother,” Vivian said. “The shameless flirt and flatterer.”
“I didn’t like that,” Theodore replied.
“Neither did I, because I’m not the sort of woman who falls for charmers like him.”
“I’m glad, because no woman who ever fell for Henry’s charms ended up happy. Ruined is a better word.”
“Oh dear,” she replied. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I see through that sort of thing.”
“Maybe that’s what I admire most about you, Vivian. You’re sensible. Intelligent.”
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