An Affair Without End (16 page)

He seemed driven by the same forces as his arms crushed her against him and his mouth returned to consume hers. Vivian felt his hardness, his strength, his muscle and bone pressing into her. She knew she wanted to feel him more and deeper, wanted him with a hunger that made her tremble. His mouth left hers only to change the angle of their kiss as his hands slid down her back and over her buttocks in an intimate caress. The hard length of his desire pushed against her, and heat blossomed between her legs, setting up a low, throbbing ache.

Vivian had never known anything like this—had never expected to know anything like this. It was primitive and urgent, without thought or temperance. She thrilled to the sensations, amazed by them almost as much as she was by the fierceness of Oliver’s passion. She would not have imagined that this kind of desperate, hungry desire could live in him, and it aroused her to know that she had evoked it.

Even as she yearned to know more of his touch, to feel his hands all over her body, he broke away with a groan, turning and grasping the edge of the mantel. He stood there, head lowered, his back rising and falling with his hard, rapid breaths. Vivian could not move, could only watch him, feeling her body throbbing with need and knowing that he would not return to her arms.

“Bloody hell, Vivian,” he said at last, his voice taut and rasping. “Do not play with me. I am not one of your fools to dance attendance on you, begging for your notice.”

“I did not think you were,” Vivian retorted, stung.

He swung around. His face still carried the stamp of desire on it, a certain softness and malleability, but his voice was flat and hard as he said, “You know we would never suit.”

“No, of course not.” Vivian was surprised by the small, vivid slash of hurt that pierced her chest at his words.

He paused for a moment, and Vivian thought he was about to say more, but then his lips tightened and he took a step away. “I should leave.”

Vivian simply nodded and watched as he walked away. After she heard the front door close behind him, she turned and walked over to sink down in a chair, her knees suddenly weak.

Two days later, Eve came to call. “I hope I am not intruding,” she said, rising as Vivian came into the drawing room where the footman had seated her.

“You could never intrude,” Vivian replied, coming forward to take her friend’s hands. “And I am happy for the respite.”

“Stewkesbury told us that your father was improving,” Eve said as the two women sat down. “I am so glad.”

“Yes, he is. He’s able to get about with a cane, though he has not tackled the stairs yet. I think the doctor is beginning to believe that Papa is not about to have another attack just yet.”

“That is excellent news.”

“How are you?” Vivian asked. “Have you found a house?”

Eve shook her head. “No. It seems as if each one has some sort of drawback. But it’s just as well. I have been so busy with Lady Carr’s engagement party and Lily’s trip to meet Neville’s grandmother that I would not have time to move now, anyway. I have already fallen down on my duties chaperoning Camellia.”

Vivian’s brows rose. “Really? What happened?”

“Camellia has been fretting about missing her horse, so the earl hired her a mount and Fitz took her riding on Rotten
Row.” Eve sighed. “I should have gone with them. It didn’t occur to me to tell Fitz to keep Camellia from galloping.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. She took off, and of course then it was too late. Fitz could hardly go tearing after her and ride her down. Her hat came off, and her hair came down.”

“And it’s the talk of the
ton,
” Vivian guessed.

“Naturally. At least it was not the most popular hour to ride, but there were still a number of people who saw her. And they were more than happy to tell everyone what had happened.”

Vivian nodded. “It’s early enough in the Season that there are few scandals to discuss.”

“Precisely. If it had been May or June, it would probably be over in two or three days, but now . . . and with the engagement party only a week away . . . it’s bound to be in everyone’s mind at Lady Carr’s party. Camellia’s contrite, of course. Poor thing, she did not mean to create a firestorm. It’s just that the rules seem like sheer nonsense to her.” Eve shook her head, her expressive blue eyes full of sympathy.

“Sometimes they are sheer nonsense.”

“True. But it does not make the gossip less damaging.”

“How did Lily receive the news?”

“She stood up for Camellia, as she always does. However anxious she is for Lady Carr to like her, she would not blame Camellia. Lady Carr, needless to say, was not best pleased, but I did all I could to soothe her.”

“It’s nothing that Camellia can’t live down. There may be a few whispers at the ball, but as soon as something more interesting comes along, it will be forgotten.” Vivian paused, thinking. “Now that Papa is doing better, I should take her up in my phaeton, as I promised her. It won’t stop the whispers, but it should alleviate some of their effect.”

Eve nodded. Though Vivian was not considered a paragon of propriety, her position as a duke’s daughter was lofty enough that being her friend could provide one with some degree of protection. No one would dare snub Camellia in Vivian’s company. Besides, it would give the gossips something more positive to say about Camellia.

“That would be just the thing,” Eve agreed. “Are you sure you can spare the time?”

“Oh, yes. It’s probably long past time for me to get out of the house. Besides, it will enable me to bring home some bits of gossip for Papa. He has been growing quite bored.”

Two days later, Vivian drove to Stewkesbury House in her high-perch phaeton. A bright yellow in color, with the high seat hung precariously forward over the smaller front wheels, it was the height of style, and the small groom in his crisp blue-and-silver livery standing on the “box” behind the carriage added to its look of luxurious elegance. Camellia, coming out of the house, was immediately wide-eyed with wonder.

“Oh, Vivian!” she cried as she climbed up lithely onto the high seat. “This is all the crack! How long have you been driving it?”

“Just got it last Season.” Vivian deftly maneuvered into traffic.

Camellia grinned broadly. “I’d love to drive one of these! Benjamin Dawkins let me drive his father’s wagon once, but that was nothing compared to this. Could I learn, do you think?” She turned to Vivian, her eyes sparkling.

“Of course. I’d be happy to teach you. You’d have to start on something easier, though. The balance on a high-perch phaeton is much more delicate.”

Camellia nodded, then added somewhat uncertainly, “It won’t be something I’ll get into trouble over, will it?”

“No. There are other women who drive their own phaetons. Not so many drive a high perch. But it’s
acceptable—unless, of course, one makes a mull of it. But I’m sure you will be good.”

“Good. Because I have sworn to act like a proper lady. I have apparently committed a terrible sin.”

Vivian laughed. “Galloping on Rotten Row. I heard. Fitz should have thought to warn you. So should Eve. For that matter, so should I.”

“Eve did tell me earlier, when she was trying to mold us into proper young ladies back at Willowmere. I remembered as soon as I stopped and saw all the shocked faces. It was just so wonderful to be back on a horse, and when I looked down that path, I could not resist. I thought Fitz would race me, as he used to back home, so I dug in my heels, wanting to get the start on him.” She sighed. “I doubt I’ll ever remember all the things I’m not supposed to do.”

“It will pass, I promise you. It isn’t scandalous enough to really damage your reputation. There will be some chatter, but we shall calm that down a bit today. I intend to stop to chat with everyone we see. They’ll have to meet you and be polite or risk being rude to me—not that there aren’t a number of people who would love to be rude to me, but they aren’t because they’re too eager to say to their friends, ‘The other day when I was chatting with the Duke of Marchester’s daughter . . . ,’” Vivian said in an exaggeratedly upper-class voice.

Camellia giggled. “You sound like Aunt Euphronia.”

“Heaven help me. Did she ring a peal over your head?”

“Yes. But she doesn’t bother me. I was afraid Lily would be angry because of Neville’s family and all, but she wasn’t. And Cousin Oliver didn’t even lecture me.”

“You’re jesting.”

“No, truly. I was most surprised. He told Fitz he was a fool, but even that was only halfhearted. He has been . . . a trifle odd recently.”

“Stewkesbury?” Vivian turned to look at the girl. “What do you mean, odd?”

Camellia shrugged. “I’m not sure. He seems . . . distracted, I guess, as if he’s thinking about something else. Not always, of course, but now and then. Someone will say something to him, and he won’t have been listening. Or I’ll come into a room and find him staring out the window at nothing. And the other evening when he came in and we told him about my ride in the park—you know Cousin Oliver, he never yells or anything, but he gets that look in his eyes, and his tone turns to ice.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, after I told him how I’d galloped along Rotten Row, I expected him to look at me that way and tell me how terrible that was, but do you know what he said? He said, ‘I’d never have thought that animal could gallop.’ Then he told Fitz he was a fool, and he went off to his study.”

“Well.” Vivian considered. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“What does Fitz say?”

“You know Cousin Fitz; he made some jest about it. But I think he found it peculiar.”

Vivian was silent for a moment, seemingly concentrating on executing a right turn. Then she said mildly, “I suppose one must expect even Stewkesbury to be odd on occasion.”

“I suppose so. Lily thinks that he has a new
chère amie
.”

“What?” Vivian turned to her, eyes wide. “Camellia . . .”

“I know. We aren’t supposed to know what a
chère amie
is, let alone talk about one. But that’s awfully silly, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but please don’t talk so with anyone besides me or Eve.”

“We know better than that.”

“Um, why does Lily think . . . ?”

“You know Lily. She always thinks the reason for everything is love. She claims that he’s distracted because he’s thinking about a woman. And she says it can’t be someone acceptable because he hasn’t been attending any parties or going to the theater or anything like that where he would have been seeing a respectable woman.”

“Stewkesbury is not a very social sort.”

“No, but he’d obviously been somewhere the other evening after my galloping fiasco. Lily thought he had the look of a man who’d been ‘up to something.’ I didn’t notice, but then, as Lily said, I would not.”

“Mm. I’m not sure it’s enough evidence to prove that Stewkesbury has found a light o’ love. It might as easily be that he was thinking of some business problem.”

“Probably. But it’s more exciting Lily’s way.”

Vivian chuckled. “It usually is.”

They turned into the park, and Vivian cast a glance at Camellia. “Here we are. Now we have to get down to work. Ah, there is Mrs. Harroway. She’s a complete rattle.” Vivian lifted her hand in greeting and pulled her team to a stop so that she could chat with the other woman, which gratified Mrs. Harroway to no end.

After that, they drove no more than a minute or two before Vivian spotted a stylish barouche. Despite the nip in the air, the carriage’s occupants had the soft top pushed back—what was the use of a ride through the park if one was not seen?—and the two women inside compensated with a lap robe, fur muffs for their hands, and ermine-trimmed cloaks.

It was, Vivian had to admit, a perfect setting for the younger of the women. Her delicate heart-shaped face with its cluster of dark curls falling on either side was perfectly framed by the white fur of the cloak’s hood, and the cold
had brought a rosy color to her cheeks, giving her the perfect strawberries-and-cream complexion that was the hallmark of the English beauty. A rosy cupid’s bow of a mouth and bright blue eyes completed the pretty picture. The woman beside her was obviously her mother, though time had put its stamp on the other woman, adding gray to the dark hair and marking her eyes and mouth with small lines.

“Lady Parkington.” Vivian smiled with more pleasure than she felt.

She had never particularly liked Lady Parkington, whose primary goal in life had been to marry her four daughters off to the most wealthy and important men she could find. Since her daughters were pretty, she had managed that feat with the first three, the oldest of whom was of an age with Vivian. Each of the daughters had pursued Vivian’s friendship with almost as much zeal as they had chased husbands, but Vivian had been well aware that it was not she whom they liked but her connection to her eminently marriageable and rather reclusive brother. None of them had succeeded with either Gregory or Vivian. Vivian had enjoyed the lack of the family’s attentions for the last three years, but unfortunately, she saw now, the youngest of the sisters must have made her way up to marriageable age and would be setting out on her own husband hunt this Season.