Flawless (24 page)

“You’re quite right. The word I intended was ‘household,’ of course. Manage my household.”

Mirth danced in Alice’s eyes. “Then I hope your household is a raging success, my lady.”

As did Viv.

Once, bolstered in large part by her new title, she had thrived on the glittering spectacle of high society in London. The challenge, as always, was to become one of them, with rewards beyond compare. Delicate stemware, mannered conversation, beautiful gowns, and glittering jewelry were the creature comforts she desired, symbols of the security she so desperately needed.

And yet a new restlessness covered her like a contagion. Few at Sileby’s or Child’s wanted to address the issues that had come to dominate her waking energies. She could not
discuss her involvement in the brokerage’s management, and no one wanted to examine Kimberley’s obvious disparities.

The only impressive quality about diamonds was the effort applied toward their excavation.

From across the warehouse, one of the boys shouted as loud as he could. Both laughed at the echo and continued the game. Baby Samantha fussed, obviously displeased by the interruption to her nap. Alice only smiled indulgently. “Nothing to be done about boys and that energy.”

Balancing the books was not the same as caring for flesh and blood. That responsibility made Viv’s heart clench. She’d given up on the idea of children of her own. At that moment, however, the full force of an unexpected longing washed over her. The problem had always been Miles. The would-be father to any of her children was himself no more reliable than a toddler, and with far greater capacity for betrayal.

The previous two weeks had left her depleted, she realized, as tears pricked behind her eyelids. Sparring with Miles, securing funds for the Auxiliary, and maintaining a nearly obsessive hand in overseeing the brokerage—she wondered how long she could keep up that pace.

As long as it takes.
All three endeavors were too important to forsake.

And the most daunting challenge remained. Two days left before her reprieve came to an end. Miles would make love to her. She craved it as much as she dreaded the repercussions. The one night spent wrapped in his arms had yet
to let her go. Every evening she wondered if her nightmare would return. And she wondered if he would come to her again if it did.

“My lady, are you well?”

With a blink, Viv donned a placid smile. “Of course. But I have much still to attend today.”

Alice chuckled. “With your household, yes. All the more reason to turn this over to me.” She bounced her baby girl but managed to stand straighter, pride showing in every petite inch. “You’ve done more than enough. I have plans to make and women to speak with. I
can
do this.”

“Yes,” Viv said with a smile. “Yes, you can. Gather the women you need.”

“Africans, too?”

“I hadn’t even considered the idea. Will white women take shelter with African women?”

Alice shrugged. “It would be a test of their pride, I suppose. I hope most will. There are just as many tribal women who have lost their men. It doesn’t seem Christian to leave them to the worst fate.”

Viv thought of Mr. Kato and his surprising depth. With only a few conversations, he had convinced her that the commonly held beliefs about African intellect and humanity were grossly misinformed. “I agree with you wholeheartedly.
Any
woman, Alice.”

“Good, my lady. I’m very glad you share that opinion. Living here . . . It has been an eye-opening experience.”

“That it has. In the meantime, report to me with lists of supplies, and I’ll keep pressing the right individuals for their
investment and support. Otherwise, this ship is yours to captain.”

“That’s quite a thrill. I’ll be honest.” Alice appeared more hopeful now, more like the stalwart pioneer wife she’d been on that first fateful coach journey.

Despite knowledge that decorum would forbid such a gesture, Viv hugged Alice as she would have her only sister. Missing Gwen pressed against her fatigued eyelids, so she took brief comfort in this other woman’s embrace.

“You know where to find me. Anytime at all.”

“Hopefully not
any
time at all. Even with the children, Ike and I still make time to remember why we married.”

Except you likely married for love. I married for status and the exchange of assets.

Despite her customary defense, Viv could not ignore the redoubled flutter in her stomach. Two days. She hoped he would be fast, cruel, thoughtless. But such crass behavior no longer suited Miles. She much more feared that he would be considerate. He had always been a seductive man, able to find the fiery, wild side she did not like to admit. Passion would be just another reason to find him irresistible.

And she was already on the verge of loving him again. The man she swore to leave for good had taken up permanent residence. Where could she go so that his memory—the need for him—would not follow?

With one last goodbye, she left the Auxiliary and walked home. Despite her fatigue, she needed those few minutes to collect her thoughts and force them to make sense. But walking to Egypt wouldn’t have provided time enough. She
arrived home far too quickly, the tip of her nose bit by the autumn cold. Perhaps later she would take out her frustrations on a few weedy yards of her garden, preparing for spring.

She wished in vain that she could discuss her confusion. Maybe the demons would not seem so daunting once dragged into the open. But she could not talk about this with Alice or anyone else. It was a private war, no longer against Miles but within her own heart.

T
hey rode in the coach,
which made the evening unusual to begin with. Viv petted the back of one hand with her thumb. Her neck was sore, a continual point of tension, and her throat ached, always swallowing back emotions she could barely restrain. Miles, as had become habit, stared idly across the space between the opposing velvet-covered benches of their barouche.

The thirty days was up.

They’d put one foot in front of the other for one month. Her standing in local society was secure, hailed as a benevolent angel who fought to keep the cutthroat diamond industry civil. The Auxiliary would not only help desperate women, but it aptly disguised her active management of the brokerage. Every connection she made on behalf of charity was one she tucked away for Miles to strengthen at the Kimberley Club. Divide and conquer.

At least that aspect of their agreement worked smoothly.

Miles was distracted by something, some idea, but he had yet to share it. That lack of confidence nettled under her
skin, although she understood her hypocrisy. Trust. Always back to their lack of trust. Instead they exchanged the bare minimum of facts, as if each were engaged in a transaction with a pawnbroker: eyes averted, language terse, neither coming away with exactly what was desired.

Tonight it would come to an end. Viv was nervous.
So
nervous, but also unaccountably eager. She desired her husband now more than ever. The part of her that knew the risks was stridently outvoted by the promise of languorous, delicious loving.

Jonathan Montgomery, whose mine was co-owned by Lady Galeworth’s son, was hosting a dinner party for the best and brightest citizens in the city. Of course Miles and Viv were invited. The evening offered a magnificent opportunity. Viv had done all she could with the books. Every possible penny had been pinched. Now it was about charisma and connections—the Bancroft name, where it held even more clout and celebrity than in London.

Strange. She simply accepted that Miles would do his part to sway opinions and foster goodwill. Not once during the evening’s tense preparations did she assume what she would have when traveling to a Mayfair event: that he would drink to excess, gamble, and generally court scandal. That man had not returned since the afternoon in her father’s library.

She wanted something daring and bold and so terrifying as to dissolve her insides. At night, alone in her bed, quakes overwhelmed her as she huddled into the duvet, remembering his musk, his kisses, the roughness of his stubble. And
she shivered with desire for his body’s warmth. Man and woman. Coming together as she knew they could, with such explosive power.

Would taking a chance be any worse than wanting it so badly?

“We’re quiet this evening,” she said, surprising herself at the impulse to fill the silence.

He raised an eyebrow. “I would be more surprised if it were otherwise. No doubt you await a reunion with the esteemed Mr. Elden. It’s been days now, hasn’t it?”

Viv didn’t know how to react. Yes, she’d taken tea with Neil several times, as she had with any number of their clients and backers. Always she did so with the brokerage and the Auxiliary in mind. He was a charming man, in possession of all the good things one could expect from an entrepreneur with aspirations toward even greater successes.

Miles’s dislike had been a sticking point from the start—the only matter of business where they actively disagreed. To hear his snide question made her feel clammy and unclean, as if even speaking to Neil constituted some betrayal of her vows.

“He wishes to be my
friend
. And an ally in this venture. Surely you can understand that.”

“Vivie, he’s a two-legged reptile.”

“I cannot believe that,” she said. “You do him an injustice. This is pure aristocratic snobbery talking. How can you possibly understand what it is to admire a man born to nothing, yet who has achieved so much?”

“He’s a bounder and a cad.” His elegant shrug, wrapped in halfheartedly donned eveningwear, dismissed the man. “I’ve known plenty. Fleeced a few. Wondered if I was one. But I wouldn’t trust Neil Elden as far as I could throw him.”

“Stop, please.”

“There won’t be any stopping when we’re alone tonight.”

“But you can give me the time until then. We both need to concentrate.”

He sank back against his bench, posture oddly defeated. “Or admit that this has all been a mistake.”

Viv flinched. “What did you say?”

“You have a good footing here now. I’m sure you’d do well enough on your own. Say the word and we’ll leave it.”

“Leave it?” she croaked

“I’ll walk away and you can earn your fortune.”

Her stomach clenched in pain. She’d experienced that same sick feeling all through her childhood, faced with never having—or worse still, losing—what she wanted most. A home. A safe place. This man, the man she’d vowed would never control her again, still held the power to help her earn that safety or see it dissipated forever. She would lose her greatest ally and her most stalwart source of influence.

She would lose
him
. Lose Miles. When at that moment, she wanted to strip off his crooked ascot, bare his skin, kiss his neck. Lick and taste and hold on forever.

The coach came to a stop and Miles looked away, dismissing her with that confident noble mien. Rarely was she on the receiving end of his highborn condescension. The
slight stung, but the pain of their marriage was born of a thousand tiny cuts.

Adam opened the coach door and greeted his master with a bright smile.

“Shall we?” Miles was smirking. Had he been holding a lit cigar and a tumbler of cognac, he would’ve been a dead ringer for the man she’d married.

And she’d let herself fall in love with him all over again.

Viv exhaled and swallowed another mouthful of inexplicable hurt. She took his hand and stepped out of the carriage. This is what she’d wanted, what they’d bargained for. A partnership. Sex in exchange for influence and acumen. And it was entirely wrong.

Make it look easy.

But denying her heart? How long could she keep up that charade?

Montgomery’s residence was a bloated town house in the middle of the central business district, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from reminders of his success for even the span of a night’s sleep. Footmen adorned with what appeared to be a family crest—as if Jonathan Montgomery’s family had been respected for generations, not just a handful of years—stood outside the front entrance.

A majordomo announced their arrival. “Lord and Lady Bancroft, of London.”

Viv wanted to rub her arms where gooseflesh had sprouted under her sleek evening gloves. Was that who she was? Ever? Still?

“So good of you both to come,” said Montgomery, shaking
hands with Miles. He wore his silver hair like a helmet, slicked back with pomade. His muttonchops were full and wiry. Narrowed eyes contrasted with his welcoming smile, as if he couldn’t quite shake the habit of viewing all of humanity as a business deal to be concluded. “And Lady Bancroft, you look radiant. I’m pleased you’re here.”

She expected a word from Miles, something irreverent and flippant, but he merely smiled—an expression to accompany comments regarding the weather. What if his threat in the coach hadn’t been idle? Was he really giving up on them? An attendant took her wrap and she shivered.

Miles joined the men. From across the room Viv noticed that he held a glass of sherry but never drank. His low, easy words—so different from the terse tone he’d used with her—bridged the parlor’s distance. That relaxed voice warmed her blood and made it difficult to focus on the gathering of matrons.

“And what is this workhouse you’ve established?” asked Frances Goode, a banker’s wife from Dorset.

“It’s hardly a workhouse, Mrs. Goode,” Viv replied. “It will shelter women in times of desperation, certainly, but they will earn their stay and retain their sense of worth.”

“I fail to grasp the difference, Lady Bancroft.”

Did women dislike seeing proof of their vulnerability reflected in the faces of those sisters in need? While Viv did what she could to battle back old nightmares, others merely thrust their heads into the sand and admired the lovely view.