An Affair Without End (32 page)

“There was no need to send him off. I shall be leaving in a few moments.”

“Do you really need him to show you out?” Vivian asked. “Would you care for a drink?” She took off her mask and domino as she led him toward the smaller drawing room.

He followed, grumbling, “Of course I can find my own way out. But it doesn’t look right. The footman will gossip.”

“You must be joking. He has been here through years of Papa’s being in residence. I suspect he has seen things that would make you blush. He would not still be here were he not discreet.”

“I know what you are trying to do with this show of—of having an assignation with me.”

“Hardly an assignation. That would have to be planned, wouldn’t it? You didn’t plan to come in, did you? I thought you were quite spontaneous.” She looked thoughtful. “Or
did you arrange this entire evening in order to be alone with me? Oliver, I must say, I am surprised.”

“Don’t be absurd. I did not arrange this evening for any purpose. It was entirely your idea.”

Vivian chuckled as she sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her. “You are so dreadfully easy to tease. Come, sit down. I promise I shall not make any untoward advances.”

Pointedly, he sat down in the chair across from her. “Do not think you can use these tactics to distract me.” When Vivian raised a questioning eyebrow, he went on, “From the subject of what you were thinking about in the carriage. I’ve known you too long. You had something in your head that you know I wouldn’t approve of.”

“Dear Oliver, I could have a hundred things in my head that you wouldn’t approve of.”

“Vivian . . .” The word was almost a growl.

“Oh, very well. It was not much of an idea, anyway. I was just thinking about Mr. O’Neal and wondering whether Lord Holland might have gambled at that very same club before Lady Holland’s necklace was stolen. Wondering if that was the same club Lord Denmore had just left when he was robbed.”

Oliver let out a soft groan. “I knew it. As soon as I saw that look in your eyes. There is no reason for you to keep after this. It is none of your concern.”

“Perhaps not, but it is an interesting puzzle, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but you won’t stop at an interesting mental puzzle. The next thing I know you’ll be off on some start or other, trying to solve it.”

“I cannot think of any start I could go on to solve it, do you?”

“No, but I haven’t a mind as given to mischief as you,”
he retorted, surging to his feet and beginning to pace in agitation. “I wish you would drop it, Vivian. It’s enough to drive a person mad, wondering what you are going to get up to next. It isn’t as if I didn’t already have enough to worry about with wondering whether Camellia will offer to show Princess Esterhazy how to shoot a rifle or some such thing. Now here you are wanting to track down a jewel thief.”

“I would be doing everyone a service, don’t you think?”

“The devil take it, must you joke about everything?” He stopped and glared at her in exasperation. “One of these days, you are going to get hurt following one of your mad schemes.”

Vivian rose and went to him. “Would that matter to you?”

“How can you ask that? Of course it would matter to me. Do you honestly think I do not care?”

She was so lovely that Oliver wondered how he could have thought the mask had hidden her beauty. Her green eyes were luminous and soft, her skin so smooth it was all he could do not to stroke his hand across her cheek.

“I think you find me attractive. Men seem to.” She gave a little shrug. “But giving in to a seduction when you are in an inebriated state is not the same as caring.”

He drew a shaky breath. “You were seducing me?”

“Of course I was. I have been trying to seduce you for some time now. Have you not noticed?” Unfettered by the concerns that bound him, she lifted her hand and laid it against his cheek.

“I am never sure with you, Vivian. You have the devil’s own sense of humor.”

“I am not laughing. I am not teasing. I want to be with you.”

Oliver let out a soft groan. He curled his hand over hers and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm.
“Dear God, Vivian, do you think I don’t want to be with you? Do you know how often I think of you? How little attention I pay to anything else these days? There is no lack of
wanting
. . .” He took a half step closer, bending to rest his head against hers. “No matter how much I desire you, you know how ill we would suit.”

“I am not asking for your hand, my very dear earl. I am not even asking for your heart. I am not a woman suited for either.” Vivian put her hands on his chest and slid them beneath his jacket.

He sucked in his breath at the feel of her fingers gliding warmly across his chest and down his sides. “Would you have me forgo all honor? How can I in good conscience ruin your good name?”

“Whatever happens to my name, it is mine to ruin, not yours.” Vivian tilted back her head to look at him. “I am responsible for myself. Surely ’tis not dishonorable for you to take what is freely given.” She smiled faintly and went up on tiptoe, so that her lips were barely a breath away from his. “I do not intend to marry for love or money or family duty. And I have never met another man I wanted except you.”

“Vivian . . . oh, God, Vivian. Vivian.” Her name was an incantation as he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat, interspersing her name with his kisses. “This is madness.”

She giggled girlishly and, pulling away from him, reached up to pull off the stylish turban she had worn to conceal her hair. Pins came popping loose, and her hair tumbled down over her shoulders in a glory of orange-red flame. Vivian shook her head, running a hand back through her hair to dislodge the remaining pins. She was a vision, he thought, wild and free and beautiful, and it occurred to him that no man could ever truly possess her. She was, as she said, her own, and however much he might curse himself for it, Oliver knew he could not resist her lure.

Vivian smiled and held out her hand to him. Throwing aside his doubts, Oliver reached out and took it.

She led him up the stairs to her bedchamber.

There was no haste in their lovemaking this night. The fevered rush to fulfillment was set aside in favor of long, honeyed kisses and slow caresses. The desire that thrummed in his loins was no less insistent, but Oliver held back, exercising all his control to delay and stoke his pleasure. Slowly he undressed her, as he had been doing in his imagination for the past few days, unfastening, then peeling each garment from her body, revealing with agonizing slowness the pale, satiny skin beneath. Then he stood, skin trembling beneath her fingers, as she did the same to him. It was agonizing and glorious to feel her fingertips feather across him, the little scratch of her nails as they slipped inside his waistband, the damp heat of her lips as she pressed them against the hard centerline of his chest.

With a low growl, he picked her up and turned, spilling them both across her bed, but even then he did not hurry, but took his time, exploring all the soft dips and curves of her body and luxuriating in the pleasure of her hands and mouth exploring him with the same avid curiosity. When at last he slipped inside her, surging with hunger and need, he moved with deep, long thrusts, letting the passion build inside them both until they were almost desperate for release. Then, with a low cry, the tide of desire broke and washed over them, sending them shuddering over the brink and into the mindless abyss of pleasure.

They lay warm and boneless in the aftermath of their passion, talking desultorily. Vivian snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder. He idly toyed with the long, fiery strands of her hair.

“Your hair is like sunset,” he murmured.

Vivian giggled. “So you say now. I remember when you called me carrot-headed.”

“Would you hold the follies of my youth against me?”

“It was last summer. I believe the exact words were ‘that carrot-haired hoyden who used to hang about our house.’”

He chuckled. “Perhaps I did. But I am sure I never intended for you to hear it.”

“No, you have always had excellent manners.”

“Which is more than I can say for you,” he retorted. “You used to drive me mad with your tricks. I don’t know what I ever did to you to deserve such treatment. Frogs between my sheets, salt in the sugar bowl, shaving soap that smelled like lilacs.”

She laughed. “You didn’t have to do anything. All you had to do was be there, so terribly handsome and so terribly unnoticing of me. You called me a child, as I remember, that summer when I was fourteen and you were just up from Oxford. I had to make you aware I was alive.”

“I was aware, all right!” He laughed, burying his face in the shiny fall of her hair. “I was aware I would have liked to strangle you.”

“But you cannot deny that I was unforgettable.” She rolled onto her back to smile at him.

Oliver propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, bringing his forefinger up to trace the curve of her cheek and jaw. “You are still unforgettable.” He smiled. “In a much nicer way.” He bent and brushed his lips against her forehead, then her cheek and chin, settling finally on her mouth for a long, deep kiss.

“Much nicer,” Vivian murmured in agreement.

Suddenly she stiffened and turned her head, listening. Oliver, too, went still, watching her.

“What was that? Did you hear something?” she whispered. “It sounded like . . . voices. Outside.”

There was a knock on the front door, the large brass ring of the knocker rapping sharply upon its plate, echoing through the house like a shot. It was followed a moment later by the indistinct sound of a man’s voice.

“Gregory!” Vivian shot straight up in bed.

“What? Here?” Oliver, too, sat up in alarm.

“Oh, my God! What is he doing here? He’s supposed to be at Marchester!”

Vivian jumped out of bed and ran to throw on a nightgown. Behind her she heard Oliver let out a low oath and start scrambling for his clothes. Downstairs came the clatter of footsteps as one of the servants ran to open the front door. Vivian went to her door, pulling on her dressing gown and belting it, and opened the door a crack.

“My lord!” came a voice from below. “Forgive me. I did not realize . . .”

“Don’t worry, Thomas. It is I who should apologize for waking everyone up. I should have thought to bring my key.”

Vivian closed the door softly and turned around. Oliver was dressed, though his neckcloth was wadded up and stuck in a pocket of his jacket and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. He set his jaw and started forward, buttoning his waistcoat, but Vivian stopped him with a raised hand.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I’m going down to face Seyre.” He raised a brow. “Did you think I would skulk about up here?”

“Are you mad?” Vivian planted her hands on her hips. “Of all the idiotic notions—what is Gregory supposed to do then, call you out? What would that accomplish, other than make the two of you look extremely foolish? And put my name on everyone’s lips?”

The mulish look on Oliver’s face eased somewhat reluctantly, and he whispered back, “What would you have me do—climb out the window?”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s a straight drop. I shall go down and distract Gregory, and you will leave by the front door.”

“And you called me mad.”

Vivian held up a finger for silence and opened the door again. Downstairs she heard the front door open again, and she slipped out into the hallway, tiptoeing over to the stairs to peer down. She came scurrying back an instant later.

“All right. Thomas is bringing up Gregory’s things, and Gregory is still downstairs. I heard him tell Thomas to go on to bed, so as soon as you hear Thomas leave Gregory’s room and go up the servants’ stairs, you go down the stairs and out the front door. I shall take my brother straight back to the study and keep him occupied.” She looked a question at him, and Oliver nodded.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked with some bitterness.

Vivian couldn’t keep from smiling. “A little.” She cocked her head, listening to Thomas’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. She turned back to Oliver and went up on her tiptoes to give him a quick, hard kiss. Then she slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Thomas was entering Gregory’s room as she left hers, and she took the time to stop at the mirror in the hallway and check herself. She could see nothing that would give herself away other than the glow of happiness that suffused her face, but she trusted that her brother was unlikely to notice that—or, if he did, to attribute it to the correct cause.

She ran lightly down the stairs. “Gregory!”

He pivoted and smiled at her ruefully. “Viv. I do apologize. I hadn’t thought that the servants would be in bed yet—well, really, I didn’t think about it at all. I didn’t mean to awaken you.” He frowned. “Though, come to think of it, it’s a bit early for you, isn’t it? It’s scarcely after one.”

Vivian chuckled and came forward to hug him. “I do
occasionally go to bed before then. I didn’t attend a party tonight.”

“Are you ill?”

She made a face. “I do not go out every night.”