What a Rogue Desires (14 page)

All was quiet from the other side, then she heard the muffled sound of his footsteps down the hall. Vivian smiled to herself, feeling very kindly toward the servant. If he hadn’t taken to bringing her books and sitting outside the door and talking to her from time to time, Vivian was certain she’d have gone mad from sitting and waiting for David to arrive.

Cuddling the books to her chest, she skipped across the room to the window seat and settled herself. She’d never known she liked to read before, and it was still difficult for her at times. She found she didn’t like poetry, liked some novels though not others, but loved, above all, plays. For some reason David Reece had a large collection of plays in his library, and Vivian was happily reading all of them. The plays opened a world of delight to Vivian, a world so different from the one she had grown up in.

She was lost in that different world hours later when the familiar scrape in the lock intruded. For a moment she scowled, not wanting to put the book aside. It was unlike him to come see her in the middle of the day, though. What was about?

He wore a smile when he came in, a package in his hand. He saw the book she clutched almost at once, but said nothing. Vivian wondered why. What had Bannet said?
The master says you may have whatever you like.
That didn’t sound like he minded. That didn’t sound like he cared. But she read the stifled inquiry in that lingering look, and put the book on the table, tucking her hands behind her, just in case. “I’ve come to apologize,” he said, standing before her like a penitent before the priest. “I was, as you observed, drunk as a lord last night. I ought not to have subjected you to that.”

Vivian lifted one shoulder. He hadn’t hit her, nor touched her at all. She’d endured a lot worse than a man feeling sorry for himself, and mostly from people who didn’t apologize the next day.

“I should like to make it up to you,” he went on. “Tonight.”

Now Vivian recoiled, drawing her feet up under her skirts and curling her body into a ball. “You don’t have to.”

A mischievous light glowed in his eyes. “I want to,” he said. “You may even enjoy it.” He reached out and picked up one of the books Bannet had just brought. “How many of these have you read?”

“A few,” she murmured. Oh dear; she’d read a dozen if she’d read one. Was she in trouble now?

“Ah.” For a moment he stood still, head bent over the book. “More than I’ve read from the library. Glad to see someone’s putting it to good use.” He laid the book back where it had been, on top of the others. “This is for you.” He handed her the package. Vivian took it with a wary glance. “It won’t hurt you,” he said. “Look inside.”

She pulled off the string and a mass of fabric tumbled into her hands. It was as blue as a summer sky and as soft as baby’s hair. She held it up and beheld a dress, a lovely fashionable dress with lace around the neckline and a silver ribbon around the bodice, with a little cluster of silk flowers right in the center. More silk bands circled the edge of the skirt, and silk of the same color was ruched about the sleeves. She turned to him, her mouth agape with astonishment. “What is it?” she asked stupidly.

“It’s a dress,” he said. “I thought you might appreciate something other than that dreary gray thing. We’re going out tonight.”

“What? Where?” she demanded.

He raised his eyebrows and closed his eyes. “It’s a secret,” he told her.

“No,” she said nervously. “I want to know where first. If you won’t tell me, then, no.”

His gaze flicked to the books, then back to her face. “The theater. I thought you might like to see a play.”

He could not have offered anything more likely to catch Vivian’s fancy. Her eyes also strayed to the books. “Like those?”

“Good Lord, I hope it’s more entertaining than those.” He grinned engagingly, then sobered. “What are you frightened of?”

Being caught by the constables—an old fear from her days of picking pockets on London streets. But Vivian acknowledged it was a little far-fetched. She hadn’t been to any decent part of London in years and years, and doubted anyone would recognize her or connect her to the bone-thin waif she’d been then. “Nothing,” she replied to David’s question, a little belligerently in spite of herself. “Why do you want me to go?”

He just looked at her for so long she felt her nerves bristle again. “Has no one ever done anything nice for you?”

She snorted. “Well, I expect you could have had me dangling from the nearest tree by now, so I suppose that I’m not counts as a nice thing.”

He shook his head, those dark intense eyes searching her face. “That’s not what I mean. Your mother? Your father? Anyone?”

She shrugged, her gaze falling to the dress in her hands. To be honest, just getting to hold such a dress was a pretty nice thing, to Vivian’s mind. She longed to rub it against her cheek. Someone
had
done nice things for her: David. But she certainly couldn’t tell him that. “My mum,” she said. “She used to braid my hair.” She remembered her mother’s hands moving quickly through her hair, knotting a strip of old cloth around the ends to hold it. Mum had never had enough time for things like that, but Vivian remembered. “That was a long time ago,” she said, looking up at him again.

“Ah.” His gentle sigh sounded almost sad, and Vivian fought not to flare up at him again. She didn’t want pity. “Well, this is just a nice thing,” he said, in his more usual tone of voice. “I’ve a fancy to see a play. I hoped you’d do me the honor of accompanying me.”

How was she supposed to answer that? Vivian stroked the soft fabric in her hands and thought. She
would
like to see a play. The only plays she’d ever seen had been at traveling fairs, short little scenes that never lasted long enough. What would a real one be like, in a proper theater, in a dress that felt as soft and light as a cloud, with a handsome man beside her?

She cast a glance at that man sideways from under her eyelashes. He was still waiting for her answer, his head to one side, watching her. She lifted one shoulder, her fingers curling into the dress. “All right.”

“Is that yes?” he prompted. “Are we agreed?” She pursed her lips and nodded. A nice thing, he said. He was just trying to treat her. She didn’t know why, but again, she was unable to resist him.

“Excellent.” He grinned. “Seven o’clock.”

As if she had any choice in the matter. Still, Vivian couldn’t keep a small smile from her lips as she replied, “Seven o’clock, then.”

Vivian had seen the Drury Lane theater before; she had picked many pockets in front of its grand façade. But she had never been inside, and couldn’t help being excited as the fancy closed carriage they were riding in slowed to a stop.

“Nervous?” David asked.

She glanced at him, sitting back from the edge of the seat where she’d been perched with her face all but pressed to the window. “Well—no. I suppose I ought to be, for I’ve never been inside a real theater before!”

He just smiled, his gaze fixed on her. Vivian felt a flush of pleasure that had nothing to do with the theater. It had nothing to do with the lovely hot bath Bannet had prepared for her, nor the finery she wore. It might be related to the fact that Vivian knew she looked fine tonight, wearing a silk dress with a white flower pinned in her hair and beaded slippers on her feet, but that was only part of it. Mostly, she thought, it was because David was smiling at her as if there weren’t another woman in the world.

And he looked quite fine himself tonight, in gentlemen’s evening clothes. Vivian was certain she had never seen a handsomer man, in fact, than David Reece. Even though he looked a perfect gentleman, there was still something about him that hinted at dangerous unpredictability. She supposed that was what had made him think up this mad idea to take her to the theater, but she had to admit she liked it. It made him compelling in a way other men weren’t, as if one ought not to look away because one never knew when he would do something utterly unexpected with no warning. Vivian had made her way in life by taking advantage of people who were predictable, and the fact that she couldn’t predict David at all made him fascinating.

He had certainly shocked her tonight. Just as she had begun worrying about how she would look, a girl from the dressmaker had come to help her dress, making tiny adjustments to the gown and helping her pin some flowers in her hair. She had stared at her reflection in amazement, barely believing that lovely girl was she. After a hot bath, with her hair braided and pinned up, she probably wasn’t the same. And it was all due to David.

The door opened, and a servant let down the steps. David alighted, then turned back and put out his hand. Feeling like a princess in a fairy tale, Vivian stepped down, her eyes filled with the sight of the Theatre Royal rising several stories above her. Gaslight shone off white stone and sparkling windows; laughter and voices rang out in the crowd of people, elegant people and middle class people and vagabonds and whores. Every stripe of person London held seemed to be attending the theater—even her. An involuntary smile lit Vivian’s face.

“That’s more like it,” said David, bending his head to murmur in her ear. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

“Changed my mind? You’re mad,” she whispered back. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

He merely laughed quietly, tucking her hand around his arm and drawing her close to his side as they joined the throng streaming through the wide double doors.

Inside it was even more crowded. Dashing young men in very fine dress strolled through, a class to themselves, often with scandalously dressed, brightly rouged women who could only be whores hanging on their arms. Instinctively Vivian began to follow them, only to have David turn toward the grand staircase. “Not the pit,” he said. “We’ve got my brother’s box.”

Her wide eyes grew even wider. A box at the Theatre Royal! People in the boxes were people who were written about in the newspapers. Members of the royal family had boxes. Dukes and earls had boxes. She shot a look at David, but he seemed unmoved by the prospect. Of course, if the box was his brother’s, David had been here before; this was nothing new to him. She likely looked like an idiot with her eyes popping from her head and her mouth open in amazement. She nodded and followed where he led.

Near the foot of the stairs, a pair of gentlemen stopped them. “Reece!” called one, a tall fellow with pale blond hair who looked decidedly drunk. “God save me, man, I thought we’d never see you again in society! Thank God you’ve given up whatever doings of Exeter’s and come into the world again.” He stumbled over a number of words, and had to steady himself with an arm around his companion’s shoulders. That man, not quite as tall and with rich chestnut hair and brown eyes, turned and called out a casual greeting to David. Then his eyes landed on Vivian.

“Some friends,” David said in her ear. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Vivian shook her head. Who was she to mind? He could talk to his friends while she gawked at everything around her.

“I say, who is your lovely companion?” asked the darker man as they drew near. His eyes hadn’t strayed from her face.

“May I present Mrs. Vivian Beecham,” said David. He said her last name differently, as if it were French: bow-sham. “Mrs. Beecham is not from London, so I’ve undertaken to show her the finer points of our city.”

“Indeed.” Both men bowed, but it was the man with dark hair who took her hand and brushed his lips just above her knuckles. Vivian had a sudden thought what his expression would look like if he knew he’d just kissed the hand of a half-Irish pickpocket, and she almost snickered aloud. She managed to stop herself in time, pressing her lips together in a polite smile.

David wondered if she had any idea how enchanting she looked that way. He noticed the glint in her eyes, and the way her lips curled as if hiding a smirk behind her demure smile; he had a good guess what she might be thinking, and it made him want to laugh, too. “Mrs. Beecham, may I present to you two notorious rogues, and sometime friends of mine: Mr. Edward Percy and Mr. Anthony Hamilton.”

“Sometime? Nonsense,” said the darker man, Mr. Hamilton, with a charming smile. “We are the closest of friends. Almost brothers.”

“Not quite, if he can hide a woman from us,” exclaimed Mr. Percy. “Reece, you dog, you—”

“But who can blame him, in this instance?” interrupted Mr. Hamilton again. “Do you plan to stay in London long, Mrs. Beecham?”

“I have not yet decided,” she replied, caught off guard. “It depends…”

“We must persuade you to make a long visit to our city. Have you seen the sights yet?”

“Er…no.” She glanced at David, who seemed oddly quiet and watchful.

“I would be delighted to escort you,” offered Mr. Hamilton at once. He also glanced at David. “Should business prevent Reece from it.”

“When has business ever prevented Reece from showing a lady a fine time?” blared Mr. Percy. His eyes were bloodshot, and he tipped a flask to his lips as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Vivian gauged it wouldn’t be long before he passed out and snored for a day and a half.

“Percy, you’re drunk,” said Mr. Hamilton without looking at his friend.

Mr. Percy hiccupped. “Most likely. So’s you, Ham. Now Reece, is this the wom—?”

“We don’t want to miss a moment of the play,” said David, inclining his head. “Sleep it off, Percy. Hamilton.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Beecham,” said Mr. Hamilton, who did not look drunk. He glanced briefly at David before returning his attention to Vivian. “Reece.”

“Am not drunk,” said Mr. Percy with a bleary look. “Not that drunk. Just curious. Not every day Reece brings a wom—”

“This way, my dear,” said David, guiding her past his two friends. Vivian wondered what, precisely, Mr. Percy had been saying that David didn’t want her to hear. She supposed his friends thought she was his bit of skirt now; his mistress, they would say, no doubt. She doubted men of their class took whores to the theater and sat in the fancy boxes.

“Have you got a mistress already?” she asked as they slowly made their way up the stairs. David stopped dead, almost tripping an elderly man behind him.

“Have I
what
?”

“Got a mistress already,” she repeated, but quietly. “Your friends seem surprised to see you here with a woman they don’t recognize. Do you usually bring another woman?” He stared at her with an odd expression, and Vivian realized she was prying. “Well, none of my business, I suppose,” she muttered.

“No,” he said, resuming their pace. “I never bring any women to the theater. That is what shocked them. And now they are perishing of curiosity about you.”

Vivian glanced back uneasily, hoping that was not true. It was. In just the second she was looking at him, Mr. Hamilton looked up, right at her. His eyes met hers, and she could see the speculation there. His mouth curled a little, and he nodded at her. Vivian faced front again, her heart beating hard. It had been amusing when he bowed to her and kissed her hand. Now she thought it might not be so amusing, if he started asking questions which had no answers. He might not share David’s appreciation of the joke.

“You have nothing to fear from either of them,” he went on. “Percy is likely so drunk he shan’t recall ever meeting you.”

“The other one will,” she said.

A funny smile crossed his face. “Hamilton won’t disturb you, either.”

“Have—have you told them?” she asked warily. “The truth?”

He stopped again, this time shaking his head in exasperation. “You wound me.”

She turned, stumbling as the crowd swirled around them, pushing her into him. He put his hand under her elbow, steadying her and pulling her closer at the same time. “You might be a Russian archduchess for all these people know. My friends will leave you in peace because you are my guest.” He put his hand over hers on his arm. “Shall we enjoy the play?”

Reproved, Vivian nodded. Why was she questioning him about every little thing, when he had brought her to the theater? He said he wanted to do something nice for her. She ought to accept it in better grace, she decided, and stop looking for all the ways he might be making sport of her.

They continued on their way, more slowly now as the crowd around them grew sluggish and more fashionable. Up the stairs, away from the raucous throngs streaming toward the pit, the elegant theater patrons seemed determined to see and be seen, with much less interest in taking their seats. Although Vivian still felt finer than she had ever been in her life, she could see that she was nothing next to these ladies, with their sparkling jewels and glowing silk gowns.

People looked at them. Vivian could see their eyes skip over her as if she weren’t there—not elegant enough to take note of, she thought—then land on David, grow wide, and leap back to her. At first it made her nervous, but David showed no such hesitation. In fact, she would swear he seemed to relish it as he walked right toward the interested onlookers. Summoning up a smile, she followed him.

If she had known what he would do, she might not have done so. From the left and from the right, people hailed him. Some were jovial, some were snide, and some seemed simply amazed. All of them looked to her with intense curiosity. And to Vivian’s astonishment, David introduced her a bit differently every time. One time she would be Madam Beauchamp, a recent émigré to England. The next she would be Mrs. Beecham again, with a strong implication that she was a lady of some fortune recently returned from abroad, and after that Miss Beecham, a distant cousin of his come to see London. Once he even subtly suggested she was connected to the royal family of Denmark, a lie which left her speechless with shock.

“Denmark?” she managed to squeak as they moved on from the beaming couple who now thought she was almost a princess. “Are you completely mad?”

He grinned. “No. Lady Winters has never been to Denmark. You could be the queen and she would never know.”

“I’m not Danish! I’m not even sure where Denmark is!”

“Well, you’re Irish, which rhymes with Danish,” he said. “And Denmark is somewhere…north. East, I’m certain of that. It’s close enough, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” she said, although trying not to laugh at how outrageous he was, and how calm he was about the lies he was telling.

“I doubt Lady Winters knows where Denmark is, either,” he told her. “There’s no harm in it.”

“You’re a charlatan,” she said, almost gasping in disbelief at the things he was telling people.

He simply smiled, but it was a wicked smile, full of satisfaction. He was having the time of his life, she realized, and suddenly it dawned on her what he was doing. To some people he had merely introduced her by name; to others he had told ever more fanciful and outlandish stories, all seemingly guaranteed to make the listener fawn over her in awe. He was showing them up, these people who whispered behind their hands about him and took pleasure in his misfortunes. He was making them fall over themselves to win the favor of a no-account thief who would as like as not lift their purse while they were bowing over her hand. And yet, by telling everyone a different name and background for her, he had ensured that no one would be able to find her again. The joke was entirely on them, with no danger to her.

Strangely, it made Vivian want to laugh. How many times had she longed to take people who thought too highly of themselves down a peg, and here he had done it. Of course the fools would never know, but David would know, and that seemed to be enough for him.

He led her into a fancy box with an astonishingly good view of the stage. Peering over the edge, Vivian thought she would see the sweat on the actors’ brows. It was wonderful, and she pulled her chair closer, not wanting to miss a moment.

“I’m not such a charlatan,” he said, taking the seat beside her and resuming the conversation. “They would never have believed it if you hadn’t had such lovely manners and a beautiful accent.”

“Where did I learn to ape my betters, you mean to ask?” She grinned.

“No,” he corrected her at once. “Not your betters. Not a person here is your better.”

She turned to face him, her eyebrows raised as high as they would go. He wasn’t perturbed. “What did you say?” she asked in surprise.

“Not a person here is your better,” he repeated.

She looked closely at him for any indication he was making sport of her. He had to be, even though she couldn’t see any sign of it. She frowned suspiciously, and turned her back on him. “Bloody liar,” she muttered.

“It’s not a lie,” he said. “Why would you think so?”

She spun around again. “Why, it’s clear to see! All these folk are so finely dressed, so elegant…”