Her Perfect Match (26 page)

But would it be worth it?

He wasn’t certain of that answer. And he was still questioning that fact when he sat down at her dressing table to continue his search. It was a small table with a mirror which had a lamp on either side of it. Bottles of perfume, brushes and combs were laid out neatly on the table’s surface and a hidden set of doors on one side of the table revealed a kohl pencil and a few pink powders, perhaps for lips or cheeks.

He sighed as he shut the hidden doors. There was a second set of them on the opposite side and he opened them to find a jewelry box in the hidden cubby within. He wrinkled his brow. In his search, he had determined that Vivien had transformed an old armoire into an elaborate display case for her massive collection of jewelry. Both paste and very real pieces hung from hooks and draped over velvet displays.

“Why do you need this little box, then, Vivien?” he asked the room at large as he drew it out and set it on the top of the dressing table. There was a latch on the front of the box and he unhooked it, holding his breath as he opened the top to find…

Nothing of consequence. There were a few miniatures of her mother and a man he supposed was her late father. It also contained one very inexpensive and plain ring that he also believed to be from the life she had abandoned in Sapsgate and a paper that was a copy of the deed of this house.

He frowned as he flipped the box shut in frustration. What if the information he sought wasn’t here at all? What if Vivien had destroyed it or carried it with her on her person while she went out to see her friends today?

Or what if that list had been nothing of importance at all and had been tossed away with other household lists of things to buy and do for the mundane daily runnings of the estate?

“Damn it,” he muttered. He grabbed for the box and was about to shove it back into the cubby and reevaluate his decision to come here at all when something caught his eye.

When he’d slammed the lid shut, the box had shimmied and now there was a faint corner of a piece of paper peeking up from the cloth backing of the box itself.

He turned the box slowly. The fabric backing had been cheaply attached to the wooden surface with a series of small, rusty nails. It took nothing for him to gently tug and loosen two at the corner exactly where the piece of paper made itself known.

He folded the cloth back and tugged at the folded sheet hidden within. With a bit of turning and pulling, it popped free. He pushed the box away and stared at what he had found. He had no idea if this was the list he sought, but if Vivien had gone to all the trouble of hiding it, she must consider it highly private.

A part of him told him to put it away, leave her chamber and offer her an apology for his actions. But a larger part, the part which loved her and desperately wanted to find proof that he could be with her, screamed louder at him to open it.

He listened to the second half and gently opened the paper.

She had torn the sheet away before he could read it before, but this was definitely the paper he had found in her chamber before. On it he found a list of ten items titled
Loose Ends to Tie Before Departing London
. His heart sank as he stared at the title. And it sank even further as he realized his name was the last item. Just after one word that stabbed his heart:

Disappear.

Vivien swept through the front door, past Nettle. She handed over her gloves and wrap.

“Good afternoon, Miss Vivien,” he said, his eyes darting toward the stairs.

She wrinkled her brow. Her butler seemed a bit distracted. “Good afternoon, Nettle. Are there any cards?”

“A few,” he said slowly, reaching for the tray beside the door.

She examined it. “Excellent, there are less than half the usual amount. I suppose that means the masses are finally beginning to understand the meaning of my silence.”

She took the stack and smiled at her butler as she moved toward the parlor. To her surprise, Nettle trailed after her.

“P-Perhaps you would like to take your tea upstairs in your private chambers?” he suggested.

She looked at each card and invitation and tossed them into a pile to be refused and discarded. There was nothing there to tempt her and she had a great many plans to make, including telling her servants the truth and helping them arrange new employment.

“No,” she finally responded. “I don’t think I’ll have tea this afternoon. Our lunch was very rich and I am full. But I do want to take a walk in the gardens, so I’ll finish my business and do that. Thank you, Nettle.”

She said the last as a dismissal, but her butler did not move from the doorway.

She lifted her gaze to him in confusion. He gently shifted his weight from one foot to another as he stared at her and then back over his shoulder as if he were expecting someone.

“What is it?” she asked with a shake of her head. “Why this strange behavior, Nettle? Has something happened? The staff is well, are they not?”

He nodded. “Oh yes, Miss, the staff is quite well, but you see…I…you have a visitor, Miss Manning.”

Vivien groaned. There was no one she wished to see, especially since from Nettle’s behavior it was likely an unpleasant intruder who had refused to accept she was not at home.

She tossed the remaining cards aside. “And where is this visitor if not in the main parlor? The terrace? The library?”

He shook his head. “No miss, he is in your chamber.”

Her lips parted. Nettle would never allow an unknown man into her bedroom, nor one with which she had shared a history but no longer saw. In fact, the only man she believed capable of talking his way past the front of Nettle was Benedict.

She swallowed. “Mr. Greystone?” she asked.

Her servant nodded. “I’m sorry, miss. He arrived in the midst of the servant luncheon and asked to prepare a surprise for you. I agreed, but in the time he has been here he has not once gone to a carriage for arrangements or flowers. In fact, he has not made a peep from the chamber at all.”

Vivien shook her head. No doubt he was sprawled naked on the bed in her public chamber, waiting to seduce her and end the distance that had separated them since he’d declared his love for her.

And in truth, that didn’t sound so bad. She could spend an afternoon making love to him. Saying goodbye, though he would not necessarily know her intention. She would far rather have their last encounter be one of passion than of anger.

“I see. Well, I will handle him, Nettle,” she said as she moved up the stairs. “I assume he is in the public chamber?”

Her butler hesitated and she stopped to look back at him. Nettle’s face was deathly pale. “I—I allowed him access to your private rooms, Miss Vivien.”

Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. So their last encounter was to be in her real room. She nodded.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Nettle. I, more than anyone, know that Mr. Greystone can be remarkably persuasive. I will ring if we have need of anything.”

She continued up the stairs and down the hall. With a deep breath, she pushed open her chamber door, expecting to find Benedict awaiting her in some erotic pose.

Instead, she found him seated in a chair he had moved to face the door. He was completely clothed and his expression was anything but seductive. It was hard, angry, broken.

In his hand, he held a sheet of paper. As she stepped inside, he lifted it up and turned it, revealing it to be the very list she had written about leaving London. She staggered as she stared at the proof of her future, her actions…the proof of how far he had been willing to go to unearth the truth.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“How could you?” Vivien burst out as she rushed into the room and snatched the paper from Benedict’s hand. She held it to her chest, but there was no protecting the information now. He had seen it all.

“How could
I
?” he repeated, popping up to his feet and pivoting on her. “You are leaving London?”

She swallowed. “Yes,” she admitted softly.

What little color remained in his cheeks blanched away, as if he had held out hope that her list was counterfeit, but now he had to fully face the truth.

“When did you plan to tell me?” he snapped.

She shifted. “I just did.”

He shook his head. “Only after I was forced to ransack your room looking for evidence. If I hadn’t found this list and confronted you, when did you intend to tell me you were leaving?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was bombarded by so many emotions—anger at him for his invasion of her privacy, guilt that she had lied to him, pain that this was to be their final encounter rather than something loving and pleasant.

But now that it was happening, she knew that honesty was her only weapon.

She looked at him, though holding his gaze was so difficult that it physically hurt her. “I would not have told you,” she admitted. “When I was gone, I would have left a letter to be delivered to you.”

He staggered back, clutching at the chair closest to him. The betrayal in his eyes was palpable.

“When?” he asked after a moment that seemed to stretch forever. “Because there are only three items left to be completed on that list. Give away what you don’t need, my name and disappear.”

She swallowed. “Actually, I finished giving away what I didn’t need this very afternoon. I have let a house on the continent and I intend to depart for it within a fortnight. My solicitor is making arrangements for my travel. I intended to tell my servants the truth this week and help them obtain new positions. Then leave.”

He only stared at her as she continued talking, shaking his head with disbelief with her every word. “You have put so much thought into this.”

She nodded. “I had to, Benedict. I am changing my life, changing everything.”

“You are running
again
,” he accused with a brutal snap to his tone that made her turn her face away from it.

“I am not running,” she whispered.

“Bollocks,” he barked as he moved on her. He didn’t touch her, but he was almost pressed against her as he said, “Ten years ago, you ran from your family.”

“I had no choice.”

“Perhaps not, but you also did not wish to face the difficulty presented there. And now you intend to run again. As if reinventing yourself will change what you have done or seen or what you feel!”

“You mean it won’t change that I am a whore,” she said, staring at him and daring him to say that wasn’t what he meant with his angry words.

To her surprise, he immediately issued that denial. “The only one of the two of us who believes you are a whore is you,” he said. “What I mean is that when your emotions get too high, you believe you can leave them behind. That by changing your name and address that you can forget the pain. But you’ve already proven you can’t. The pain is part of what makes us who we are, Vivien.”

She stepped away. “A fact you know nothing about. You will find a bride this Season or next, Benedict. You will start over and be allowed to do so. I won’t. If I remain in London, I will always be seen by those around me as a mistress, a whore. I could never be anything else and I want so much to be.”

He didn’t immediately respond, but stared at her. “What do you want to be?” he finally asked.

“I—” she began, then hesitated.

She stared into the eyes of this man. He was angry, yes, but there was so much love there. So much desire for something more than she had ever allowed them to have.

“I want to be me,” she whispered. “Not what my parents wanted, not what I was forced to become due to circumstances. Just me.”

He reached out and briefly touched her face. “The goal is a worthy one.”

She smiled but then reality hit her again and she pulled away. “But not here. Benedict, you must let me go.”

“Why?” he pressed.

She threw up her hands in frustration. “For a hundred reasons you know as well as I do! Because you belong in London, because you are a gentleman and I am most definitely not a lady, because there would be a scandal if you made a life with me, because you would lose your family if I was your choice, even if your brother says he would not cut you off…”

“My brother?” he repeated.

She immediately wished she could take back the words, especially as understanding began to dawn in his gray eyes.

“What does Derek have to do with anything? And when did the two of you talk about me?”

She swallowed. “You are a lucky man, Benedict. You have a family who loves you, enough to try to protect you. Even from your own foolish inclinations. If your brother ever intervened—”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “He intervened…of course, why did I not see it before? He spoke to you and that set you on this path.”

“No,” she said with raised hands. “I decided to change my life before you and I were even together again. Your brother has no bearing on my leaving London.”

“Then when did he talk to you?” he asked.

She folded her arms. If she told him the truth, the truth about three years ago, the truth about three
days
ago, he would be destroyed. His relationship with his family would be destroyed. She could not do that to him.