Lady Beresford's Lover (9 page)

“If I thought I could get enough support.” Rupert took a sip of sherry. “At the present, I’m more concerned about the one I am sponsoring concerning our returning soldiers.”

The air stirred next to him as Vivian shifted. “I agree. Some areas of the country have had too many problems with roving bands of former soldiers who are unable to find work.”

He wanted to touch her. Put his arm around her waist, or place his hand on the small of her back. With the exception of the two of them, everyone else present was married, and small touches, sidelong glances, and fleeting smiles abounded.

He forced himself to switch his glass to the hand nearer her in order to inhibit any unconscious gestures. “I agree. In my county, we have made a point of finding work or apprenticeships for them. Some of the soldiers are no more than children.”

“Indeed.” Vivian rubbed one finger absently over her bottom lip, and Rupert wished it were his lips touching it, tasting her, learning her sounds of pleasure as he made love to her. “There are the widows and children as well. Even widows of officers can have a difficult time making ends meet if they have no family to help them.”

He listened as she and the others discussed measures they’d taken. The longer she spoke, the more impressed he became with her intelligence and grasp of the political realities. This was a lady who could help make a political career.

Dinner was announced and he escorted her into the dining room. Fortunately, Phoebe and Marcus had invited only close friends, and they sat informally at the table, giving Rupert an opportunity to take a place next to Vivian. If only he knew if she had any feelings for him or if the emotions were all on his part, or how long he’d have to continue this dance before she responded to him. Rupert refused to consider the possibility that he would not win her. This urge he had to protect her, to care for her, was too strong to be ignored.

A footman held out the tray to him. “Pheasant, my lord?”

He speared a piece of the breast. “Lady Beresford, this slice looks particularly good. Will you sample it?”

Rupert wanted to be the one to attend her, selecting the most delicious foods, accompanying her to the most interesting places, and showing her what she had not yet experienced. Slowly learning her likes and dislikes.

He would take this one step at a time, being careful not to scare her. All evening she had claimed his attention in a way no other woman had done before. And the better he came to know Vivian, the more convinced he was that she was for him. Just as he had thought the first time he saw her.

“T
hank you, my lord.” Vivian took a bite of the pheasant he had Tput on her plate.

If Lord Stanstead had not said her name, she would still be daydreaming. She had never been around a circle of people with whom she had so much in common.

Her only problem was keeping her reactions to Lord Stanstead under control. From the moment he had entered the drawing room and caught her eye, her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest, and she’d had to remember to breathe. If only she would not have such a dramatic response to his mere presence, she could be perfectly at ease.

She held her knife and fork more tightly than necessary to keep her hands from trembling as he served her a piece of game pie from the tray. What she was feeling was ridiculous. She was no longer a giddy girl and would do well to remember how being attracted to a gentleman had turned out the last time. And
this
was much worse.

He grinned at her and his eyes lit up. The only time her husband had appeared that happy was when his mistress was present, never around Vivian.

“I take it you will attend the soirée this evening?” His deep, gentle voice washed over her, once more taking her breath away.

“Yes, with Phoebe.”

“It’s a shame there is no dancing.” Lord Stanstead angled himself closer to her. “However, the Framingham ball is on Wednesday. I’m sure Lady Telford received invitations.”

“I believe she did.” Head bowed, Vivian applied herself to her food.

“I would be honored if you would dance the first waltz with me.”

Her mouth dried and she reached for her glass of wine. She would never be able to eat a thing at this rate. “It would be my pleasure.”

The memory of being in his arms flooded her senses, and she yearned for him to hold her again.

“And the supper dance. I dare say our friends will once again take supper together.”

“Yes, of course.”

What was she doing? This way would only lead to heartache. Once he saw her body, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. A pain started in the center of her heart and exploded. She must cease thinking of him and wanting him.

Vivian raised her gaze to his, and was shocked to see the warmth in them. She had to say something to distract him. “What of Miss Banks?”

He raised his brows in surprise. “Miss Banks? Why would you think of her?”

Vivian twisted her serviette. “She is young and seems quite interested in you.”

“Too young, and I have no interest in her.” His stare bored into Vivian, as if he could will her to understand what he was not saying. “She is here to catch a husband, and her conversation is full of inane chatter.”

If only she could trust her instincts, maybe then she’d know what he wanted. Perhaps he merely wanted an older woman with whom to dally. If only she could bring herself to have an affair, on her terms, but she couldn’t even do that. She would not take the chance of being seen leaving a gentleman’s house, she could not bring him to Clara’s home, and she must never forget that her body was anathema to the male sex.

Still, he did not turn away. “When I wed, the lady must be capable of helping me run several estates and be interested in being a political hostess as all the ladies here are.”

She allowed his voice to caress and tempt her again. That was the life she thought she was getting before, and it had all turned out to be a lie. A footman appeared with sole in butter sauce and almonds. “I would love some fish.”

Lord Stanstead studied her for a moment before serving her the sole. “Anything you wish, my lady.”

The problem was, he sounded as if he meant it.

On her other side, Lord Rutherford claimed her attention, giving Vivian a chance to stop herself from falling into Lord Stanstead’s gaze. “My wife tells me you are interested in orphans.”

“Indeed I am.” After her husband’s death, she had finally been able to set up a home for them. “As is Lady Rutherford.”

“Although we like to keep our children close to home, Anna and I have been discussing setting up more programs in London. I do not know if the subject was raised, but she, Phoebe, Lady Marsh, whose husband is my brother-in-law and a Member of Parliament, and Serena have already begun an orphan asylum. Those children are apprenticed out, and we have now turned to other children who live at home but whose families are desperately poor. Is that a project you would be interested in supporting?”

For a moment Vivian was startled; a gentleman had never before asked for either her opinion or her help. “Of course, I would love to be involved.”

“Mention it to my wife or any of the others, and I am sure they would be grateful for your support.”

She was more than thrilled with the way this evening was going. It had far surpassed her wildest dreams. “Thank you, I will.”

He glanced over her head for a moment, then grinned. “You’re welcome. I’m always happy to see another lady who is interested in the plight of the less fortunate.”

When the ladies retired to the drawing room, Vivian brought up the subject with Anna.

“How good of Rutherford to bring it up.” Her brow creased for the merest moment. “I think we should hold a meeting soon. One must never allow forward momentum to slow down.”

“I agree. Ideas such as this must go forward quickly, so that others do not have the time to back out.”

Anna gave Vivian a strange look she could not decipher. “Absolutely.”

Not many minutes later, in fact, a great deal sooner than she had expected, the gentlemen joined them. Each man found his wife, and Lord Stanstead came over to her. That made sense as they were the only unmarried ones present.

“What did you and Rutherford discuss?”

She told Lord Stanstead about the program. “I think it is a wonderful idea.”

“As do I.” He took two glasses of wine from Lord Evesham, handing her one.

Vivian could still not bring herself to call Phoebe’s husband by his first name. There was something about his demeanor that made her think he didn’t quite trust her. “Thank you.”

For what was left of the evening, Lord Stanstead managed to remain with her most of the time. He’d placed her hand on his arm, cupped her elbow, and in small, seemingly insignificant ways, driven her to distraction. His large body seeming to hover, ever ready to refill her glass of wine, or bring tea to her when it was served. His fresh but masculine scent wended its way around her, and his presence made her feel protected.

By the time Phoebe’s carriage delivered Vivian home, her senses were raw. She was exhausted and more confused than she had ever been in her life. She knew she should arrange to stay as far away from Lord Stanstead as possible, but her heart and body longed to spend more time with him. If only she knew how to fulfill her wishes and protect her heart at the same time.

 

Rutherford came up to stand beside Rupert as Phoebe’s coach pulled away from the townhouse, carrying its precious passenger. “Thank you for the hint.”

“I thought you might need some help. Staring meaningfully at a lady is all well and good; engaging her interests and mind is, at times, more productive.”

“Is that what you did with Anna?”

“That was my mistake with Anna.” His friend’s lips tightened. “I almost lost her because I failed to understand that she required more than my love.” Rutherford paused for a moment. “Allow me to restate that: She required to be her own person as well as my love. At the time, I took it as a rejection of me instead of her need to be herself.”

Robert had also had to learn something of the sort, and that was exactly what Rupert had ignored about Miss Manning. By the same token, he loved how Vivian came alive when discussing social issues and politics, and he would not want to take that away from her. Rather, he wished to encourage her interests. “Thank you for telling me.”

His friend gave a sardonic grin. “I am merely attempting to keep a friend from groveling the way I had to.”

Surely, that wouldn’t happen to him. What did he have to grovel about? Thus far, he had done all that he could to attach Vivian’s feelings, and this time he was right: Her emotions were as engaged as his were. Each time he’d touched her, she had responded. Sometimes there was a quickening of her pulse, or an intake of breath. At other times, she leaned into him slightly. She blushed so easily when he caught her looking at him.

Now that he was certain of her, there was no time to waste in fixing her affections in a more permanent fashion.

To-morrow when he escorted her to the museum would be the perfect time to begin. More flowers were in order, but not roses this time. Something in light blue, as that appeared to be her favorite color. Hmm, the lupines would be almost gone, but his delphiniums should still be in bloom. Old Gregson wouldn’t throw a fit about them.

His town carriage pulled up and a footman asked, “My lord, do you plan to walk home?”

That was what he had intended, but riding would enable him to send to his estate for the flowers more quickly. “No”—before his footman could jump off the coach, he pulled open the door and climbed in—“drive on.”

In only a few minutes, the door to his residence opened and his butler bowed. “Good evening, my lord.”

“Evening, Harlock. Send to the stables and have one of the grooms awoken. I have a missive to send to Gregson.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The butler closed the door, took Rupert’s hat and cane, then spoke softly to one of the footmen still on duty.

Rupert strode to his study, pulled out a piece of foolscap, sat behind his desk, and wrote out his order for as large a bouquet as could be managed to be delivered to Lady Beresford in Mount Street no later than ten o’clock the next morning. He was about to ring for Harlock when a sleepy-looking groom was ushered into the room.

“Take this to Miss Gregson and have her give it to her father.” Gregson was an old fussbudget, but he wouldn’t go off on his daughter, who was the second housekeeper. She would have to read the letter to him in any event. Rupert handed his groom the missive. “Remain there for the rest of the night, and return with the flowers.”

“Aye, my lord.”

He poured a glass of brandy as Harlock closed the door, leaving Rupert alone. Although not as busy as the regular Season, the Little Season still had plenty of entertainments. Getting up a party for the theater or the opera shouldn’t be difficult. Unless he had to invite Lady Telford and Miss Corbet along with Vivian. That gave him pause. The number of single gentlemen he knew was rapidly shrinking. There was, of course, Hawksworth, but he needed someone older as well. What Rupert really wanted to do was find a way to have Vivian attend the masquerade. Yet how to arrange it escaped him at present.

He leaned back against the soft leather of his chair and swirled his brandy, watching as the colors changed from lighter to darker amber. The real question was who did he know who was closer to Sudbury than Rupert was, and old enough to be in a party with Lady Telford? He’d have to give that some thought. In the meantime, he would invite Vivian for a carriage ride during the fashionable hour in the Park and discover which entertainments she planned to attend.

He drained his glass, placing it on the desk. To-morrow couldn’t come soon enough. He could barely wait to see Vivian again.

A knock came on the door and Harlock entered. “This came for you along with a message that it was urgent.”

Rupert opened the sealed letter. “Is someone waiting for my answer?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is it bad news, my lord?”

“No, quite the opposite.” Rupert glanced at the clock. By the time he got John Milford down here it would be too late. The missives must go out immediately. “I’ll need three or four footmen immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“They will have to wait for answers, or, in a few cases, hunt the gentlemen down.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Rupert sat down at his desk and began writing letters to all his fellow peers who had already promised support for his bill. Once the notes had been sent, he wrote a message to Vivian explaining to her the situation and that he might be slightly late picking her up for their outing. Not exactly how he wished to begin courting her, but he prayed she would understand.

 

Vivian lay in bed listening to Punt hum as she went about her work. When the tune grew louder, Vivian knew it was time to get up, even though she would rather pull the covers over her head and hide. Some way or another she would have to survive the museum visit with Lord Stanstead without letting him know how much she was coming to like him.

She should have known how it would be after her first meeting with him. She had expected him to be a bit callow, like other young men his age. Yet he was not. Rather, men much older than he, listened when he spoke. His ideas were well thought out, and he knew to a nicety how far he could push a point without making himself appear foolish or too eager. At the same time, he had managed to keep her attention. He would make whichever lady he married a wonderful husband.

“My lady”—Punt stood next to the bed—“a letter was delivered for you, and I have your tea.”

Vivian pushed herself up against the pillows, took the missive, and opened it.