Darius: Lord of Pleasures (14 page)

“The trip did you good. You might not see it yet, but it did.”

“If you say so.” Vivian wished the tea tray were still there, so she could at least occupy her hands. William missed little, and his scrutiny weighed on her.

William patted her knuckles. “It’s all right to be infatuated with the man, probably better, in fact.”

She looked away, feeling her throat closing. “William, hush.”

She’d never told him to hush once in five years, but he was apparently able to weather the shock. He passed her his handkerchief.

“Vivian, you’re young, and he will be the father of your child,” William said. “We didn’t choose him because he was the Scourge of the High Toby. Lindsey is comely, he has a certain dash, and he no doubt charmed you. Some feelings for him were inevitable.”

“I said hush.” She let the tears come, not realizing William had shifted until the familiar scent of bay rum grew stronger and she felt his arm around her shoulders. He said nothing, but for the first time in her marriage, she merely tolerated his embrace, finding no comfort in it at all.

She wanted to smack him, in fact, and shout at him to stop
reasoning
with her.

“You are angry with me,” William said. “I’m sorry for that, but you won’t be so angry when you hold that child, Vivian. I promise you.”

“I know.” She agreed out of a need to shut him up. They’d never been this personal with each other in all their years of marriage, and she wasn’t about to start now. Maybe not ever, given what had passed in the last month.

“Can I assume your lunation is late?”

“You can.” She blotted the last of her tears and folded his handkerchief into a small, tidy square. “Just a little.”

“That’s enough for now.” William rose off the arm of her chair. “We’ll not speak of your visit in Kent again, for it upsets you, and we must take the best care of you now, Vivian. Early days can be chancy.”

“Yes, William.”

“You’re tired. Shall I send Portia to you?”

Vivian rose, though fatigue and sadness dragged at her. “Everlasting God, please, not that. I’ll see her at dinner, and we can trade veiled barbs over a decent meal.” Except Vivian had no appetite. “I think I’ll take a walk while the sun is at least shining.”

“As you wish.” William stepped in and kissed her forehead. “You know, Vivian, I do realize what a toll this has taken on you, what a toll it will take, and I am appreciative.”

“As I am,” she said, “of all you’ve done for me.” She withdrew, wrestling with her first-ever bout of anger at William Longstreet. Oh, she’d been exasperated with him in the past, irritated, cross, annoyed—they were
married
, after all—and he was two generations her senior, but she’d never felt this burning, resentful rage at him.

So she took her walk in the cold sunshine. A long walk was an excuse to wrap Darius’s scarf around her neck, and the pretty, warm cloak he’d bought her around her body, and to be alone with his scent.

***

“I need the name of a good solicitor.” Darius put the question to his older brother, who was for once looking reasonably well put together.

“I thought you used a firm you were happy with,” Trent replied, pouring his guest a cup of tea.

“I do, for my commercial interests. This is personal, and requires… discretion.”

“Anything I can do?” The question was posed with studied casualness, but the offer was sincere, and Darius knew a pang of… something. There was loneliness in it and love for his brother and despair.

“A small matter”—Darius’s lips quirked at the private joke—“requiring a delicate hand. I won’t get my ears blown off though, so you needn’t worry.”

“One does, you know.” Trent sipped his tea with the equanimity Darius had long associated with him. “In your absence over the past couple of months, I’ve had to do the pretty with Leah a time or two, and I’d forgotten how exhausting it is.”

“It’s not so bad. You learn to bow and smile and twirl down the room without putting anything into it.” And you looked for the well-padded chairs, of which Trent’s modest library sported an adequate number.

“Well, I haven’t yet acquired the knack. Your return to Town is most welcome. In terms of solicitors, I use Kettering. He’s young, but absolutely discreet and shrewd as hell.”

“He’ll not go tattling to Wilton?”

“I’d shoot him on sight if he did,” Trent said, no smile in evidence. “And likely miss. The man is quick in every sense.”

Darius studied his brother, who was drinking tea for a change. “You seem to be a little more the thing. Maybe you needed to put off mourning.”

“Having to go out with our sister on my arm required a certain reestablishing of my own routines.”

Routines, Darius surmised, like having one’s hair trimmed, shaving regularly, putting together a proper suit of clothes, and getting them on one’s person. Making conversation, those sorts of routines. Well, bless Leah’s social calendar, if it had given Trent a toehold on regaining his balance.

“Uncle Dare!” A little dark-haired boy shot across the library, his face wreathed in glee.

“Nephew Ford!” Dare barely set down his teacup in time to snatch his nephew into his lap. “Is my best nephew in the whole world ready to go riding?”

“I’ll get my boots and my coat and my hat and my gloves too!” He was off at a dead run, the library door slamming shut behind him.

“You don’t mind?” Trent asked, setting his teacup aside. “I could go with you, but I’d have to take Michael up before me.”

Darius smiled. “Droit du Uncle, to fuss over one child at a time. Michael and I can plot an outing on some fine spring day when it won’t send his nurses into the vapors to think of him in the nasty cold air.”

Ford came charging back into the room, once again banging the door in his wake. “Ready, Uncle Dare!”

Darius scooped his nephew into a piggyback perch, and soon had him up on the pommel of Skunk’s saddle. The day was cold but sunny, and there was little wind, so a short ride through the park was a pleasant outing for uncle and nephew.

“Papa’s not mourning anymore,” Ford reported.

“How do you know this?”

“His breath doesn’t always smell like brandy when he kisses us good night. Are the ducks cold?”

“They waddle about with featherbeds on, so no, I don’t think they’re cold. They even go swimming, for pity’s sake.”

“Maybe they have to, to eat.”

“We all do things we’d rather not when it comes to the necessity of eating.”

“Why, Mr. Lindsey!” A soft female voice cut through Darius’s musings. “Won’t you introduce me to your handsome companion?”

And there she was, just like that, as if sprung from Darius’s constant, unhappy thoughts. Except Vivian looked… wonderful. She was wearing one of the fur-lined cloaks he’d bought her, and her face was lit with a soft, eager smile. She sat Bernice like a princess, and beamed a sense of joy at all she surveyed.

“Madam?” Darius was relieved his tone was civil—merely civil—when his heart was thumping in his chest like a kettledrum. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Lady Vivian Longstreet,” she supplied, though around her eyes, her smile faltered, and Darius’s thumping heart skipped several miserable beats. “My husband introduced us last fall.”

“Your husband?”

“Lord William Longstreet,” Vivian countered gamely, and Darius knew the meaning of self-hatred in a whole new way. “We’re back in Town for the opening of Parliament.”

“You’ll give him my regards, then. Good day.” Darius tipped his hat just as Ford spoke up.

“I like your horse. Good bone and a kind eye.”

He sounded just like John, and Darius saw the hurt that did Vivian.

“I am remiss,” Darius said, knowing it was a Bad Idea. “My lady, may I make known to you my nephew, Fordham Lindsey.”

“Good day, Master Fordham.” Vivian’s smile expanded to include the boy. “You sit that big horse quite well. I’m sure your uncle is very proud to be seen with you before him.”

Ford sat up straighter. “I’m the oldest. Skunk likes me.”

“I can see that, but it’s chilly out.” She shifted her gaze to Darius. “I mustn’t keep you, or your mama will fret.”

“She’s dead.” Ford didn’t seem the least concerned about this. “We’re not mourning anymore.”

Vivian’s brow puckered. “My condolences.”

“My sister-in-law did not enjoy good health,” Darius said, and then, because his chest hurt ferociously to think he’d nearly snubbed her, he added, “But you do?”

“I do, Mr. Lindsey. The very best of health.” Her smile became radiant, and Darius realized he’d trumped his Bad Idea royally, for that smile would haunt him into his dotage.

“Well, good day, then, my lady. Safe journey home.”

“Safe journey to you, too, Mr. Lindsey, Master Fordham.” She nudged her mare along, still beaming as she and her groom passed out of sight around a bend in the bridle path. This told Darius two things. First, she was still safely carrying, which was a good thing. Second, she wasn’t going to exercise plain common sense and ignore him when their paths crossed, which was a bad thing. A very bad, stupid thing, which pleased him far more than it should.

***

“Can you keep a secret?” Vivian kept her voice down, though she and Angela were alone.

“I am the mother of three,” Angela replied, not even glancing up from her embroidery hoop. “I can keep secrets, though not from my husband.”

Vivian smiled at her sister, whose impending addition to the family was growing increasingly apparent.

“I believe I am in an interesting condition,” Vivian said softly, eyeing the closed door to the family parlor. “Though not yet very far along.”

Angela set her hoop down. “How not very far along?”

“I likely conceived around Christmas, so about six weeks.” Perhaps five, perhaps seven, possibly as much as
eight
. “I know that’s early, but I haven’t had any real trouble.”

“Oh, Viv…” Angela rose and hugged Vivian hard. “I am so pleased for you and for William. He must be over the moon.”

“I think he’s relieved, but pleased too, for us both. The thought of a baby has eased his grief over Algernon’s death. I’m hoping it will chase off the last of the cold he brought back from Longchamps.”

“Best watch that,” Angela said, resuming her seat. “A cold can become a lung fever, and then you’re a widow with a baby on the way.”

“You will cease that grim talk, Angela Ventnor.” Vivian poured them both more tea, though lately she had come to loathe the stuff. “I’m weepy enough as it is.”

Angela grinned. “That’s quite normal, as is casting up your accounts, weaving a little on your feet, and taking naps at the oddest times. Jared says he suspected we were carrying again when I started needing more cuddling.”

We
were
carrying…
Angela had been married for ten years, and Vivian could not recall her sister ever previously referring to her husband and cuddling in the same sentence. Impending motherhood was indeed an interesting condition.

“Your husband notices more than I thought he did.”

“You must let William spoil you too, Viv.” Scolding came naturally to the mother of three. “For once, let him take care of you, and not just the other way ’round.”

“Yes, Mother.” Vivian smiled but tried not to consider her sister’s words too closely. William wasn’t the taking-care-of kind of husband. He was considerate, when he wasn’t out all evening arguing with his cronies, or up late reading draft bills and correspondence, or distracted because it approached the anniversary of his marriage to Muriel, or her death, or Algernon’s death, or Aldous’s…

As Vivian saw her sister out, she admitted to a sense of furtive relief that she could again seek the solitude of her bedroom. Ever since she’d run into Darius in the park with that little boy who looked like him, and like John, Vivian’s attempts to forget her winter idyll and move on had been completely unsuccessful.

She didn’t want to forget; she wanted to
remember
. She kept Darius’s scarf in the back of her wardrobe and took it out to sniff it at least once a day. She wore her new wardrobe, admiring the woman in the mirror far more than she had the one she’d seen last November. She visited with her mare first thing in the day, because it was a good way to start the morning, even when they couldn’t get to the park for a brisk canter.

And she missed him.

She didn’t flatter herself he missed her, but she hoped, in a small, honest, very private corner of her heart, he at least thought of her from time to time.

She climbed onto her bed, knowing a short nap was in order—another short nap. Maybe next time her path crossed with Darius’s, there wouldn’t be a curious child underfoot, and they could even exchange a few more words.

In the two weeks and three days since he’d seen Vivian in the park, Darius had become a master at the game he privately called “What I Should Have Said.” This game consisted of endless mental rehashings of his short encounter with Vivian and endless variations on the winning answer: he
should
have said not one damned thing; he should have cut her utterly.

He’d failed that round and admitted in hindsight that such a purely coldhearted approach was beyond him, so he’d graduated to Round Two anyway, which he thought of as “What I’ll Say Next Time.”

Knowing full well there couldn’t be a next time.

“There you are.” Lucy’s voice was low and hard. “You’re late again, and believe me, I have about had it with you, Darius.”

“I am abjectly sorry to have discommoded you,” he drawled. Her eyes widened in astonishment then narrowed in what he recognized as anticipated pleasure. “Domestic obligations called that couldn’t wait.” Then too, William’s first payment had yet to show up, and a man inured to disappointment had to accept that it might never arrive.

“Insolent.” She looked him up and down. “Get up to my room and have yourself on my bed in five minutes.”

“As my lady wishes.” His tone was even more indifferent than he’d intended, and Lucy’s eyes took on an unholy gleam. As he made his way to her room, he felt a crushing fatigue radiating out from his middle, almost as if he were wrung out from a stomach flu or a long footrace over steep terrain. He quickly shed his garments and got comfortable facedown on Lucy’s bed. He was careful to put his clothes where he could see them—he didn’t trust Lucy not to hide them or damage them, and they cost a pretty penny. He also unlatched her balcony doors before she arrived, because locking him in would seem a fine game to her in her present mood.

He knew this waiting period was intended to create anticipation in him, or anxiety. For Lucy, the two were closely related, but for him, the temptation to steal a catnap was taking precedence. He’d been out past midnight with his sister at one of the few early balls that would crop up until the Season began in earnest. It was three in the morning—a full hour later than Lucy had summoned him—and he wouldn’t see his own bed until dawn.

Lucy swished into the room and secured a silk scarf around his wrist. “So what have you to say for yourself, Darius?” She pulled it tight and knotted it to the bedpost. “You disappear and leave no word when you’ll return. You ignore my first two notes and then show up tonight an hour
late
?” She gave the second scarf a yank on the last word, and Darius realized she expected an answer.

“One usually spends the holidays with family, Lucy.” Darius made a show of yawning. She’d tied his hands, and he couldn’t politely cover his mouth. “You are not my family.”

“I’m not,” she agreed, disdaining to secure his feet. “Crouch up.”

He complied—Lucy had a fascination for his fundament, God help him.

“You’ve been rude.” Her hand came down hard, a stinging, loud slap of flesh on flesh that Darius found not as bracing as it usually was. “You’re inconsiderate, your manners are atrocious, and you’ll regret this lapse.” She whaled on him in a similar vein, and Darius turned his attention to the task of producing an erection for her entertainment. When she untied him and spread herself for his further attentions, she’d expect to see a nice hard cock. From her perspective, the idea that he wasn’t allowed to swive her with it made his suffering more intense, which meant his remuneration was earned.

So…

For the first time in his memory, Darius had to work at gaining an erection. He succeeded only by using the friction of the bedcovers against his skin as a stimulus, for sheer determination gained him little. He writhed convincingly against the silk sheets, relieved when his flesh eventually rose at the simple glide of the material over his groin. Fortunately, Lucy’s hand had delivered all the punishment it was capable of, though Darius was required to wear the scarves around his neck like a collar and leash. By the time he’d brought her to her first orgasm, his erection had faded to a brief memory. By her second, he realized Vivian had been right, and he truly could not do this again. By her third, he was nearly asleep on his knees.

***

“It’s a financial matter.” Darius watched Worth Kettering tidy up an oddly elegant French escritoire. The desk looked like it would crumble to gilded and lacquered matchsticks if Kettering simply banged a fist on it. Kettering himself was large, dark, beautifully attired in various shades of dark blue, and possessed of curiously tidy mannerisms.

“Most matters entrusted to solicitors are financial,” Kettering replied, lacing his fingers and settling his hands before him on the desk. Big hands, though clean and capable looking.

“Let me be blunt.” Darius rose and went to the window. “If my father gets word of this, he’ll use it to destroy me.”

“Your father being Wilton, whom Lord Amherst had the misfortune to be sired by as well?”

“The same.” Darius’s mouth quirked up at one side at Kettering’s honesty.

“I understand the need for discretion, Mr. Lindsey, and can assure you your brother wouldn’t have sent you here had he any reason to doubt me.”

“He told you I’d inquired?”

“Mentioned you might be around, and warned me to attend to your situation personally, without clerks, juniors, or other intermediaries.”

“Older brothers meddle.”

“Younger brothers prevaricate.”

A short, considering silence all around, and then, “I want to set up a trust for a child.” Darius turned his back to the other man, as if watching a beer wagon snarl up traffic in both directions was of great moment. “The child has yet to be born.”

“A conditional trust, then.” Kettering’s voice gave nothing away. “What will the contents of the trust be?”

On the street below, the swearing and insults began in earnest, complete with raised fists. “Coin provided by the lady’s husband. Substantial coin.” The first installment of which had arrived by unliveried private messenger, to Darius’s shamefully intense relief.

“I see.” A pause. Darius heard papers being shuffled. “I don’t see. You’re setting up a trust for another man’s child?”

“Legally, yes.” Darius turned from the farce below and watched as Kettering parsed the realities.

“Is the child’s legal father to know?”

“I don’t care if he knows. I care only that Wilton doesn’t and Polite Society doesn’t. My sisters need spouses, and this is the kind of juicy little aside that could queer their chances.”

Kettering took up a quill pen and began stroking his fingers over the white plume. “How much coin are we discussing?”

Darius named a figure, and Kettering’s brow shot up. “Not such a little aside after all. I’ll need details.”

“Here are the most pertinent details: you will not have the trust document copied by a clerk, will not leave the file where the clerks can find it, will not tell them I’m a client of yours.”

“My staff is trustworthy, but yes, if those are your conditions, I agree to them.”

“Those are some of my conditions.” Darius went back to his window, hating the necessity of discussing Vivian’s personal life with anyone, even Kettering, who was rumored to rival the tomb for his ability to keep confidences. “Another is that I pay you in cash, not bank draft, and I deposit the contents of the trust in your hands, also in cash.”

“That is a deuced lot of cash. Why not use bearer bonds?”

“I’m being paid in cash.” Darius felt the silence behind him grow and intensify as Kettering no doubt put the puzzle pieces together.

“Why didn’t you just have the husband put funds into a trust?” Kettering spoke from Darius’s elbow. For a big man, he’d moved without a sound, sneaking being perhaps a required talent for his kind.

“Because the funds had to leave the man’s estate.” Darius rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “A man’s life can end at any moment, so the funds had to be legally transferred into other hands, lest they become tied up in his affairs and subject to scrutiny upon his death.”

Kettering snorted. “Scrutiny? You mean controversy, and likely hung up to dry in Chancery for all the world to see for years on end as a result.”

“It’s your profession, not mine.”

Mr. Kettering refrained from commenting on what Darius’s profession must be, and began asking the questions Darius knew he had to answer. Names, dates, exact amounts, and conditions. The document would be straightforward enough, leaving a tidy sum in Vivian’s hands, or in Kettering’s hands for the benefit of Vivian and her firstborn child, should Vivian remarry. The trust was revocable only by the creator, that worthy soul being Darius, and the principle invested, some in the five percents, some in ventures of Kettering’s choosing.

Hashing through all the what-ifs and in-the-event-ofs took two hours, but Darius left satisfied he’d done what honor demanded.

He couldn’t claim he’d behaved without self-interest—not that he’d expect that of himself. Some of William’s first installment had gone to liquidation of immediate debts, and some of the second would go to enhancements at Averett Hill. If there were a third installment, a portion of that sum would go to a trust for John, because Trent’s money was largely tied up in trusts for his children, and Darius never wanted John scrabbling for necessities, as Darius had been for his entire adult life.

***

Vivian wasn’t lying in wait for Darius, exactly, but she did make it her business to quietly learn where his quarters were, and to frequent the shops closest to his neighborhood. She also went riding as often as the weather permitted, which was hit and miss, at least for most of February. She listened rather more carefully than she had previously to idle gossip when she made calls on the wives of William’s various associates.

She heard no mention of the Earl of Wilton’s younger son, though she did hear the older was out of mourning, and perhaps once again in search of a bride.

By the time March rolled around and Vivian’s menses were absent for the third time, she’d all but given up hope of seeing Darius again by chance. Still, she’d gotten in the habit of taking Bernice out for a hack in the park, and in another few weeks her riding habits wouldn’t fit. So when the weather moderated a trifle, Vivian was again hacking along the Ladies’ Mile when she spotted a pair of riders ahead, moving along at the walk.

She knew that piebald gelding—or thought she did.

The rider was female, petite, blond, and unfamiliar to her, though there on the big chestnut sat none other than Darius Lindsey.

This hurt, physically and emotionally, to see him with a young lady—a very young lady—smiling and enjoying a day that whispered of spring. Whoever she was, she was on Darius’s personal mount, the one reserved for him, always available to him.

Now Vivian understood why Darius hadn’t wanted them to run across each other: not because he wanted shut of her, necessarily, but because even though he
was
shut of her, he sought to spare her sensibilities.

Vivian drew Bernice down to the walk and made as if to pass the pair, when the mare decided to turn up friendly. She whickered at Skunk, who stopped, planted his hooves, and turned a curious eye on the mare.

The blonde offered a cheerful smile. “Good morning. You will excuse my mount, but he has a mind of his own, much like his owner.”

“Good morning.” Vivian would have edged Bernice forward, but the way the horses were positioned, that would have meant brushing stirrup to stirrup past Darius.

“That’s a lovely mare,” the blonde said. “I told my brother I’d get along better with a mare.”

“Tell your father,” Darius said. “It’s his stables that lack a suitable lady’s mount and require that you borrow my horse if you’re to go for a safe hack.”

“A generous brother.” Vivian addressed her words to the blonde, lest Darius see the relief in her smile. “You must be Lady Emily.”

Emily turned a questioning glance on her brother. “Darius? Where are your manners?”

“Lady Longstreet, I believe?” Darius’s expression was bored, as if he’d rather be home reading
The
Times
than indulging the ladies in their socializing. Vivian nodded rather than address him, and Darius continued with the introductions.

“Dare, you and Arthur lead on, and I’m sure Skunk will follow along.” Lady Emily ordered her brother around with apparent confidence in his compliance, and he maneuvered the chestnut back onto the path ahead of the ladies.

“How do you know my brother, Lady Longstreet?” Emily’s expression betrayed simple curiosity and maybe even some friendliness.

“In truth, I’ve known your sister longer,” Vivian said. “We came out the same year. I trust she’s keeping well?”

Emily’s lips thinned. “Leah will be setting her cap for a husband this Season, or my father will know the reason why, but as wonderful as she is, the men ought to be lining up to offer for her.”

“A loyal sentiment, and one that takes the perspicacity of men as a given.” Vivian’s mouth kept making words, despite the dictates of prudence. “That, I’m sad to say, is likely a mistake.”

“I heard that.” Darius drew rein until his horse was even with the others. “Though where Leah is concerned, I’m afraid I have to agree. It will take a special man for each of my sisters.”

“Spoken like an overprotective older brother.” Emily was not offering a compliment.

“Spoken like a wiser older brother,” Darius said. “Watch your whip, Em. You don’t want it bouncing along on Skunk’s quarters like that. But tell me, Lady Longstreet, how are you faring?”

“I’m in good health.” Vivian fiddled the reins to hide her smile. “William caught a cold while at Longchamps, and he’s not quite shaken it yet.”

Darius considered her, and she felt his gaze travel over her in a quick—perhaps reluctant?—perusal. “Spring will likely take care of that. You will give my regards to your husband?”

“Of course.” Vivian glanced up to see him watching her. There was a guarded tenderness in his eyes that pierced her to the bone with its veiled warmth. Her lips turned up, and without willing it, she was smiling
at
him
, a smile full of longing and remembrance and hope.