A Little Bit Wicked (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Nothing about the evening before had gone the way Marcus had planned. After Vivian had left him in the ballroom, he’d tried to make sense of her words. She had been hurt by his proposal and he hadn’t understood why. Still didn’t. He’d gone to her room, knocked, but she either hadn’t heard it or ignored him. He’d wager the latter, though, based on her reaction in the ballroom.

So it was not until the following morning that he finally saw her again. She sat at the breakfast table talking with Clarissa, and Vivian seemed as she always did, reserved and collected. He couldn’t very well speak to her there, there were too many people about. As much as she cared for others’ opinions, she’d never forgive him for such a public display. So he waited. But he was not satisfied with her answer.

If she didn’t want to marry him, that was one thing. He could accept that. But to insist that he couldn’t marry her simply because of her age was an unacceptable reason. Thankfully they were all returning to London today and he would have more opportunities to speak with her privately.

The butler stepped into the room and walked over to Marcus with a tray. “My lord, this came for you in the post.”

Marcus took the letter, noting that it was from Thomas Adventure Tours. He looked up and met Vivian’s gaze. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”

Then he stepped outside. He found an empty room across the hall. It appeared to have once been a study, but looked underutilized now. He went and stood by one of the windows, popped the wax seal, and unfolded the parchment. The writing he recognized immediately as that of Mr. Thomas’s assistant, Mr. Figg. The man had great flourish to his handwriting.

Dear Mr. Kincaid,

I am pleased to notify you that you have been selected to lead the inaugural Around the World tour that will begin next spring. I do look forward to hearing from you soon, as the plans must be finalized no later than a month from now. We already have several families interested in this exciting new venture. I am in London for the next several weeks, so please stop into the offices.

Yours truly,

Reginald Thomas

He’d been waiting for this letter for so long, ever since Mr. Thomas had announced this trip as a possibility. He’d let his top guides know that it would be up to them to plan the routes and Marcus had used every extra moment he’d had whilst he’d journeyed across Africa to pore over maps and plan everything to perfection. His proposed tour would cover four continents and take an entire year. He had turned in his detailed itinerary, as well as mapped out routes, to Mr. Thomas two weeks before his arrival in London.

He’d wanted this more than anything. Yet today he found little satisfaction in this notice. Even though he still believed in the trip he had put together, he now knew that he was not the man to lead it. Regardless of whether or not Clarissa or Aunt Maureen thought he could lead this family, it was still a task that had fallen to him. He might not always have taken family duty seriously, but until recently he’d never really had to. He was the earl now. There were no other brothers to take this title should something happen to him. He would not leave his family. More than that, though, he realized with alarming clarity, he wasn’t ready to leave Vivian.

Marcus read the letter once more and knew precisely what he’d do. He’d simply go to Mr. Thomas and resign, but give the man permission to use his plans regardless of who led the trip. Perhaps he could still be part of the adventures in that regard. He’d been a good guide. He had excelled at survival tactics. Mostly, though, he could manage the aristocrats in a way the other guides could not, because he was one of them. Still he’d loved planning the trips, mapping out the itineraries, and perhaps he could still do that.

“Marcus, what has happened?” Vivian had appeared by his side, her hand resting on his forearm. Such concern showed in her lovely brown eyes.

“Nothing to worry about, love. It is regarding the tour company.”

She glanced down at the letter in his hand and took it from him. After reading the contents, she looked up at him. “You cannot honestly be considering this.” He opened his mouth to answer, but she continued. “To walk away from your familial responsibilities like that, leave Clarissa unprotected and unmarried, not to mention your aging aunt. Marcus,” Vivian said, shaking her head. “You must think about the title you hold now, your duties.”

The more she talked, the angrier he became. She didn’t have a damned notion of who he was, what kind of man he was. She questioned his strength of character, his dedication to his family, not to mention she seemed to think that he would propose to her one moment and then flee the country the next.

“Actually, I can do whatever the hell I want,” he said bitterly. “One of the pleasures of being an earl, I suppose.” He ripped the letter out of her hand.

She opened her mouth in surprise.

“One other thing, Miss March. My sister’s reputation is my responsibility now, as you so kindly reminded me, so consider our original agreement terminated.” He knew that would sting more than anything else he said, and damnation if he didn’t want to hurt her. He turned on his heel and left.

Vivian watched Marcus climb the stairs and disappear into the corridors that lined the second floor. She exhaled slowly, trying to piece together what had happened. He’d been angry, furious even. He’d never once spoken to her with any sharpness in his voice, and just now he’d been cold and distant.

She was the biggest fool that had ever lived, of that she felt certain. Not only had she given herself freely to two different men, but she’d lost her heart to both of them. This time it hurt more, this time it felt deeper, more real, and the pain nearly brought her to her knees.

How had she missed that about him? She’d known that initially, upon his return to London, he’d been wavering about what to do with his post with the tour company. But he’d seemed to come to terms with his plight recently and had embraced the idea of marriage, though that certainly had not gone the way she’d planned, either.

But how was it that she managed to select the two very worst men to fall in love with? At least with Frederick she could blame naïveté on her part, but with Marcus, she had no one to blame but herself. She’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t even keep his commitment to his family, and ultimately to his country, considering that his being an earl meant service to the Crown.

Numbly, she made her way back to her room. It was time to finish gathering her things so that she could return to London. She wondered if she could ride back with someone other than Marcus and his sister.

When she stepped into her room she immediately saw the envelope sitting on the coverlet. She recognized that it had contained the blackmail letter, but she felt certain she had left it in her reticule. She went to her purse first and searched through it, but the letter itself was nowhere inside. Perhaps it had fallen out and the maid had placed it on the bed.

She picked up the one from the bed and felt the weight of the seal of wax on the back of the envelope. Not the same letter, but rather a second blackmail note from Frederick. The envelope fell from her fingers. Not only that, but the first one was missing. Her heart pounded so fiercely she could hear it as if it banged against her own ears.

She stood there, staring at the unopened letter, waiting for it to grow legs and disappear, she supposed, but the damned thing simply sat there mocking her. She released a slow breath and picked it up. After unfolding it, she read the words scrawled across the page.

My dearest Vivian,

You’ve been awfully busy as of late. Playing matchmaker and companion to so many. It is really quite touching how so many rely on your impeccable reputation to save them from their own sins. What would they all do if they knew the truth about their Paragon? Would they still hold you in such high esteem? Only time will tell.

It seems only fair that I should benefit from your skills as well. I know that quite a few of the families you have good relationships with, those who owe you favors, as it were, have ties in the art community. The sorts of ties that could really help someone like me, who clearly should have garnered more success than he has.

In truth all the bastards owe me. I should have been able to get into the Royal Society of British Artists years ago on my good family name, but they simply didn’t believe I was talented enough. Years in Paris taught me otherwise. Now it is time for all of London to know of my skill.

Here are the two families I have chosen for you to approach on my behalf. I should like my own exhibit; a welcoming home to London sort of affair, I think, should do nicely. Frederick Noble returns home to share the art that all of France adores. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you believe, dear?

I trust your judgment as which of these you will choose for me, but I expect you to contact them directly upon your return from your country party. I am told you are having a splendid time. Do tell Lord Ashford I said hello.

Fondly,

Frederick Noble

Vivian dropped the parchment. “Bastard.”

She picked up the nearest thing to her, a pillow, and threw it at the wall with all her strength. It didn’t make much of a noise. Fury lit her and set her feet to pacing. She truly was an awful judge of character, it would seem. She glared at the letter lying innocently on the bed, a piece of paper with only words scrawled upon it, yet it held such power. Those vicious words did not seem to be the same sweet man who had wooed her with whispers of love and tender kisses. The fact that she’d ever allowed him to touch her body set her stomach rolling, threatening to dispose of her breakfast.

No! She would not be so easily cowed. If he thought to manipulate her with nothing but a threat, he was mistaken. She had not seen his art in years, but she remembered that he had never been particularly talented. He’d never seen the point in studying with anyone, learning better craft; he just painted something on a canvas and called it a masterpiece. She couldn’t stake her reputation on something such as that. Perhaps he’d improved, but still, to go to one of those families and demand they assist him was sickening. There had to be another solution.

…

By the time Marcus and Clarissa were ready to return to London, they discovered Vivian had already left with another guest. The two of them had reached their townhouse nearly an hour before, and Marcus had been standing behind the desk in the study ever since. He’d made up his mind about what he needed to do with Thomas Adventure Tours, and he knew it was the right choice.

He needed to familiarize himself better with the family’s land holdings and other investments. He wrote out a quick note to their solicitor and requested a meeting with the man first thing on the morrow.

His sister stepped into the office and plopped herself into the chair in front of his desk. He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing.

“Did you need something?”

She eyed him for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Why didn’t Vivian ride back to town with us?”

“Perhaps she was in a hurry.” He sat in the chair behind the desk and made a note to buy another one. Charles had always been shorter than Marcus and this chair was too low to the ground for him to be comfortable.

“I know you argued this morning, though I could not hear what you spoke of. I know something happened. What did you say to her?”

Marcus leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “Why the automatic assumption that
I
am the one who did something wrong?” He waited for a response, but Clarissa continued looking at him expectantly. “If you must know, I asked her to marry me.”

“This morning?”

“No, last night.”

Clarissa smiled, but then it faded. “What did she say?”

“She was quite clear she had no interest in marrying me.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Granted, it was probably not the most romantic of proposals—still, she must know I admire her greatly.”

“Yes, admiration, what every woman longs for in a marriage proposal,” Clarissa said. “I do not understand your reluctance to admit your feelings.”

“What do you mean, my ‘feelings’?” Marcus scooted the chair closer to the desk. It did nothing to improve the comfort. “Can a man not find a woman attractive without the entire world thinking him in love?”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows.

Marcus shrugged. “I find her a most attractive woman.” He shook his head. Exceptionally attractive. Despite what had transpired between them, he still wanted her. “This is not the type of conversation a man can have with this sister.”

“You started this conversation. I only inquired as to your argument.” She held up one finger. “Which you still have not answered.”

He tossed her the letter. “We argued about this.”

Clarissa looked down at the parchment and read the letter. Then she looked up, her eyes somber. “You intend to return to your old position?” she asked quietly, releasing a humorless laugh. “I was only now getting used to you being back.” She rounded her shoulders back and sat straighter.

“No, I am not going. I’ve already written my resignation letter.” He shook his head. “What is it with you women automatically assuming the very worst of me? Have I been so distrustful that you believe my character to be that of a traitor or a thief?”

“Of course not, Marcus.” She was quiet for a long while. “She was angry because she believed you were leaving, right after you’d proposed to her.”

Realization shot through him. Clarissa was, of course, right. Vivian hadn’t merely expected the worst from him; she’d been hurt that he would leave her. “I suppose. It matters not. It is over. I shall eventually find some woman to marry and we’ll all forget about Miss March.” But could he walk away from her? Knowing he’d hurt her and knowing about the situation she was in at the moment?