Lady Beresford's Lover (15 page)

Twirling her into the shadows, he brought them to a halt. With one finger, he raised her chin. “Be with me.”

He lowered his lips to hers. Touching softly, tasting, allowing her to grow used to his attentions. After a moment she responded, pressing her breasts against his thinly clad chest. He trailed his tongue along the seam of her mouth, but didn’t receive the reaction he expected. How much of a lout had her husband been? “Open for me, my Cleo.”

Her lips parted slightly, and he entered. Slowly at first, gradually possessing her mouth as he planned to possess the rest of her.

Vivian moaned as he tilted his head. God, she’d be the death of him. He had never wanted, no, needed a woman as much as he did her. He didn’t know how he could take the courting of her slowly when his body demanded he take her now, and she wanted him as well. He slid his hands down her back to her nicely rounded derrière, easing her closer. She’d been married. Surely she would know what his hard shaft meant. How much he desired her.

Voices filtered from the ballroom’s French windows. Coming closer than Rupert would have liked. No matter what, he would not compromise her. He broke the kiss and, under the guise of waltzing, guided Vivian around the corner of the terrace, keeping her hidden from anyone standing near the ballroom.

“Now we’re safe for a few moments.”

The lanterns in the garden flickered, reflecting in her eyes. “Are we?”

“Yes.” Taking her in his arms again, he lowered his head. This time she met him. Their mouths and tongues tangled in an intimate dance, and he groaned. “Cleo.” Rupert didn’t dare call her by name. “You taste so sweet.”

“And you, sir, taste of danger.”

“Never. I would never harm you.” He palmed her firm, small breasts. One day soon, he would give them the attention they deserved.

Vivian’s hands roamed over his chest and back, her fingers sinking in greedily. If he allowed this to continue, they’d be making love on the terrace.

“We must stop.” It almost killed him to say the words.

“Just a little while longer.” Her voice was breathy and filled with longing.

“Oh God. How can I resist you?” Especially when it was the last thing he wanted. He should propose soon.

“N
o more than I can resist you.” Vivian pressed against Lord Stanstead’s hard, muscled chest. He kneaded her breasts, and when his finger brushed over her nipple, something sharp and thrilling shot straight to her mons. She had never felt anything like it before. Between her legs she grew wet and willed him to touch her there as well.

“I want you.” His tone was gruff and filled with emotion.

So this was what it was like to want a man, to desire to bed him, have him desire her. And his kisses. Vivian had not known one could use one’s tongue to such wonderful effect. Nothing would come of it, but she had to give herself the opportunity to be with a man who wanted her, even in disguise. “Yes.”

The voices grew louder, and he broke their kiss again, taking her hand and leading her through a door into the house. A clock chimed.

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

A cold chill swept over her. They couldn’t go back in now. How had so much time passed so quickly? “Someone will notice.”

Lord Stanstead wrapped his arm around her waist. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

“No.” He couldn’t be allowed to know who she was. Lord Stanstead was too much of a gentleman not to marry her, and she would never again wed a man who had been forced to marry her. “I have my own way.”

Vivian tore away from him and darted into the corridor. In a few moments, she was in the hall. A footman opened the door and she fled around the corner and into the mews. It was only two blocks to Mount Street.

Despite Lord Stanstead’s kisses and the way he had touched her, she had been correct that he didn’t truly want her as his wife. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed a strange woman.

Most likely it was her black wig that enticed him. Her husband had detested her fair hair. The problem was that she wanted what Lord Stanstead had offered. If only she was brave enough to have an affair.

She had been moving rapidly down the street, but she slowed her pace. What was stopping her? Her husband had demanded she be naked, until he saw her, that was. There could not be a rule that she must show herself. She could continue to wear the wig and would refuse to allow him to see her body. No harm would be done, and she could finally experience lovemaking. After all, Lord Stanstead would have no idea it was Vivian he was bedding, and, if she were clever, he would never know.

Covering her mouth with her fingers, she gave a nervous giggle. She had never had such wicked thoughts before. Nor had she ever considered she would actually look forward to being with a man and enjoying it. The decision seemed to lift a weight from her shoulders.

That is exactly what she’d do. Cleopatra would send him a letter, and Vivian knew just the place she would conduct her illicit meetings with him. At the town house described on the paper that Mr. Trevor had attempted to hide from her.

Her skin tingled. Every nerve in her body was alive as it had never been before. It wasn’t until she was in her apartment at Clara’s house did Vivian think of what her cousin would say to her leaving the party early. She must send a message saying she hadn’t been feeling well.

As she sat down at the desk, her door opened. “I didn’t expect you until much later. My lady, are you all right?” Punt crossed the parlor to Vivian. “You’re flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with a fever. I’ll make up a tisane and send a message to her ladyship that you’re home.”

Tucking her feet under her gown, Vivian nodded, and thanked God for her maid. “I am feeling a little warm.” Just not for the reason Punt thought. “I’ll go to bed immediately. A good night’s sleep is what I need.”

Vivian didn’t want to have more than one argument with her maid. She needed help to make all the arrangements, and if her maid thought she was ill, she would never agree to assist her. It would be difficult enough talking the poor woman into her scheme at all.

Punt stepped into the corridor, and Vivian slipped into her bedchamber behind the screen, where her nightgown was ready for her to don. It was the work of a minute to remove the costume. She hadn’t worn stays, and her breasts were still full and tender from Lord Stanstead’s ministrations. If nothing else, she would know how a woman should feel with a man.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Vivian washed her face, brushed her teeth, blew out the candle, and climbed into bed. Her door opened and closed again. Good, Punt probably thought Vivian was already asleep. Though try as she might, each time she began to drift off, the thought of Lord Stanstead’s hands and mouth played havoc with her senses.

How long she’d remained awake, Vivian didn’t know, but when she opened her eyes, gray light filtered through the window.

Could she really go through with her idea? Her body began to tingle again reminding her of the reason for her decision. She could, she would, and on her terms.

Vivian closed her eyes and listened. It must be early. There was no indication her maid was in the room. Reaching out, she tugged on the bell-pull, and a few moments later one of the lower housemaids entered her chamber. “Your maid says she’ll be up in a minute or two and for me to ask if I can get your tea or anything.”

Vivian sat up against the pillows. “Please. I would like tea, toast, and a poached egg.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Once the door closed behind the girl, Vivian threw her legs over the side of the bed. After convincing Punt she was not going to hell for a wanton, Vivian would take a hackney straight to the land agent’s office. She prayed the town house was still available. She’d finished washing and had just donned her robe when her maid entered, carrying a stack of clean linen, followed by the same young housemaid.

“Here you are, my lady.”

“I need to speak with you.”

Punt nodded, and supervised setting out Vivian’s breakfast. She’d been hungry before, but now her stomach twisted itself into knots.

“You’re up before times. Are you feeling better?”

“I am wonderful and well rested.” There was no point in not being forthright. After all, she was a grown woman and a widow. “I need you to accompany me to the land agent.”

“About a house?” Punt’s lips pressed together in disapproval, and Vivian ignored it.

“About a town house.” She sat at the square table near the windows overlooking the garden, and poured her tea, adding two sugars and milk. She wasn’t able to meet her maid’s eyes, but said in an even tone, as if every day she told Punt that she was going to try to have an affair, “I have decided to have a liaison with Lord Stanstead, and I shall need your help.” The room was so still, so silent, it was deafening. Vivian took a sip and swallowed. “If you won’t help me, I’ll be forced to find someone who will.” It was blackmail.

After several more uncomfortable moments, Punt finally said, “You’ve thought about this, have you?”

Vivian’s heart pounded in her chest. “A great deal.”

“I don’t suppose you’d . . . no, never mind.” Punt shrugged. “If that’s what you want, I can’t have you trusting yourself to strangers, and someone’s got to look out for you.”

Vivian let out the breath she’d been holding. This was really going to happen. “My indigo carriage gown, I think.”

“I’ll get one of your bonnets with a veil as well. No point advertising.”

She turned in her chair. “Thank you.”

“Don’t know if I agree with you, but there it is.” With that cryptic response, Punt disappeared into the dressing room. “Finish eating.”

 

Less than an hour later, Vivian entered the office of Jones and Son Land Agents.

Young Mr. Jones jumped to his feet. “My lady, I would have attended you.”

“I was in the area,” she lied. “Circumstances have changed a bit. I still require an estate, but I also need a town house for the rest of the Season.” She handed him the listing. “That one will suit nicely, if it is not already taken.”

His face flushed red. “Are you sure, my lady? I mean it’s—it’s . . .”

“Furnished?” Vivian smiled. “That is precisely what I need.”

“Perhaps my father should speak to you,” he squeaked.

“Nonsense. I understand Hill Street is a perfectly respectable neighborhood.”

“It is.” He gave dissuading her another attempt. “But the house is not decorated for a”—he ran his finger under his cravat—“as it should be for a lady.”

“If that is all that’s worrying you”—she smiled again—“I am sure it will be fine until I can have it refurbished. I would like to view it now.”

Mr. Jones swallowed. “Yes, my lady, but I can’t leave now.”

“Very well, I’m capable of entering the house by myself.”

“But—but—”

Vivian wiggled her fingers for him to produce the keys. “You cannot possibly think I would damage anything?”

“No, my lady.” He rose, dragging his feet to a cabinet, and took out a set of keys. “Here you are.”

“Wonderful. Now if you will prepare the lease and have it sent to me at Mount Street, I’ll sign it today and arrange for the funds to be transferred.”

That apparently cheered him for he finally lost his panicked look. “Thank you, my lady.”

Punt shook her head as she and Vivian left the office. “First time I’ve ever seen you bowl someone over.”

“I have a feeling there will soon be a great many firsts in my life.” At least she hoped so. Until now, her presence on this earth had been a disaster.

Another hackney took her to the house situated toward the corner of Hill Street and Waverton Street. Not too far from her cousin’s house, which was helpful as Vivian must return every night if no one was to discover what she was about. “It doesn’t look as if a mistress lived here.”

Punt choked. “Is that why Mr. Jones was trying to talk you out of the house?”

“Yes.” Vivian gave her maid a wicked grin. “I wonder what the inside looks like.”

“Open the door and we’ll find out.” Punt waited as Vivian took the key from her reticule.

“If I didn’t know better”—Vivian cut her maid a funning look—“I’d think you were happy for me.”

“The only thing I ever wanted for you, my lady, was your happiness,” Punt replied, as stoic as ever. “You’ve had very little of that. If I was worried you’d turn into a trollop, things would be different.”

With Lord Stanstead, Vivian could almost imagine giving herself over to him. Yet that was too dangerous. She had done that once, and she would not repeat the mistake. “Thank you for your support. I shall be circumspect.”

The lock and hinges were well oiled as the key turned and the door swung silently open. Vivian stepped into the hall and came to a halt. “Oh my.”

Marble, gilt, expensive vases, and statuary were tastefully displayed, or so one would think when first entering. Upon a second glance, she noticed that the vases had men and women in interesting positions, and each of the three pieces of statuary placed in alcoves around the half-moon hall was the slightest bit erotic. The center one depicted a woman leaning back against a man’s chest, but instead of having his arm around her waist, one hand covered her breast; in the second his other hand was on her mons; and in the third, she had her hand on his member. But the shaft on the statue did not resemble her husband’s. It was much more erect.

“Well, I understand now why Mr. Jones tried to keep me from this house.” She glanced over her shoulder at Punt. “Let’s see the rest of the place.”

The subtle erotica was in all but two of the first floor parlors, one in the back facing the garden, which must have been the morning room, and a front parlor.

On the next level, only the master’s bedchamber was out of the ordinary. The walls were hung with carmine-red silk, and the bed curtains were blossom pink, but the cover was red. Gilt trim decorated the white plaster ceiling, the bed, and curtain ties as well as the other furniture.

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life.” Punt’s eyes practically popped out of her head.

“Neither have I.” Vivian laughed. “But it is perfect. Staid on the outside and decadent on the inside.”

“I’ll manage to get some bedding over here,” Punt said pointedly. “And visit the employment agency. You’ll need two or three day maids, and a cook.”

Vivian widened her eyes. “A cook? Whatever for?”

“Men like to eat.”

“Oh yes, of course. You’d better try to find a Frenchman. It’s really too bad we don’t have a list of the servants who were here before.” She rubbed her hand over her brow. “Tell them I’ll pay a year’s wages. In return, I want discretion and a good job done.” She took out a small purse from her reticule. “We can walk back to Mount Street, then have Barnes call you a hackney.” Making their way back down the stairs—she had no reason to inspect the attic—she locked the door after them. “If at all possible, I would like everything in place by to-morrow evening.”

Punt heaved a sigh of long suffering. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I’ll get it done.”

Vivian was so happy she could have danced back to Mount Street. She couldn’t believe how easy this had been, or how daring she was being. Wicked, as well. The only thing left to do was write Lord Stanstead and invite him to have an affair with her.

 

Rupert rolled out of bed with more energy than he’d had in months. Last night, his dreams had been full of Vivian in his arms, living in his home, and bearing his children. She would also be a perfect political hostess, and a good mistress.

Considering how much sleep he hadn’t had, he should have been tired, but he couldn’t wait to see her again. Unfortunately, it was too early to pay a call, and the sky was a dull gray.

He sniffed the air. Rain. No taking her out in the carriage to-day. If only he had thought to have flowers sent from Stanstead, he could take them over to her. The only other option was a bouquet from the Covent Garden market. They were sure to be open.