Lady Vivian Defies a Duke (3 page)

Vivi’s maid tipped her head to the side as she studied Vivi’s reflection in the looking glass. “If Lady Brighthurst thought she didn’t recognize you earlier…”

The conversation with Patrice had given Vivi an idea. She had to try something to salvage her situation, and she had nothing more to lose.

At best, Lord Ellis would return to London with reports of her eccentricity. Being considered eccentric, however, was preferable to being labeled a scandalous hoyden who swam in her unmentionables and sent gentlemen to their deaths by stranding them in storms.

As long as she didn’t take things too far… She didn’t want the distinguished title of Batty Lady Vivian bestowed on her either. She turned to the side to view her disguise from a different angle and frowned. She walked a thin line. Donning the former Lady Brighthurst’s red pouf wig practically screamed Bedlam candidate.

“What is your opinion?”

Her maid shrugged. “It’s not bad.”

In truth, the coiffure was hideous. But after searching every old trunk in the attic, the pouf—adorned with a life-size faux peahen nestled in the curls as if the bird took to roost—was the closest to normal she and Winnie could find. How very telling of the former countess’s fashion sense, or lack thereof.

“Should I trim the top again?” her maid asked.

Vivi shook her head and knocked herself off balance. She grabbed on to Winnie to steady herself, and they both had a fit of nervous giggles.

Earlier Winnie had wrestled the bird from its perch then trimmed two inches from the height of the pouf with a set of garden shears borrowed from the greenhouse. It was still a ridiculous creation that shot into the air like the Tower of Babel, but any more alterations and the wire frame underneath would show.

Their laughter died down and Vivi turned around slowly, testing the weight of the hair monstrosity. “If this abomination doesn’t hide my identity, at least it will distract Lord Ellis from looking too closely at my face.”

Winnie grinned. “And if not, falling flat on your bum should divert his attention. Although I am not sure you want him looking too closely down there either.”

Vivi moved to her dressing table to hide her embarrassment. “I told you, he didn’t see anything.”

“Indeed. He was a perfect gentleman.”

“He was.”

She didn’t know the reason she defended the man, but he had behaved with gentlemanly restraint, for the most part.

Winnie pried the lid off a tin of Patrice’s rouge, poked her finger into the jar, and with a grimace, applied the color to Vivi’s lips. “If this
doesn’t
work, your betrothed will receive an earful from the earl.”

“It has to work.” Vivi rose from her seat and smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Lord Ellis cannot realize it was me he saw today.”

Her maid held out a fan. “Wave it in front of your face often to obscure his view.”

“Brilliant suggestion.” She accepted the offering and walked from her chambers as quickly as the wig would allow.

As she glided down the curved staircase, she refused to acknowledge Saunders’s quizzical glance. The butler would likely report her odd fashion choice to Patrice later, but he knew his place and kept his opinions quiet. She would tell Patrice the truth once her cousin was well.

If she asked.

Or if Vivi’s plan failed.

Picking up her pace, she made her way to the formal dining room, her skirts whispering around her ankles. She had never cared for the dining room. It was self-important and stuffy, but appropriate for a visiting nobleman. Most importantly, the dining room housed a long table that was unsuited for prolonged discussions or thorough inspections of one’s dining partner. If she made it through the meal without Lord Ellis becoming wise to her, she would collapse with relief once she reached her chambers again. The moment the earl continued on his journey couldn’t come soon enough.

Dim light spilled from the opened doorway of the dining room and onto the polished marble floor. At the threshold, she paused. The servants had followed her directions nicely, leaving the room cast in shadows.

She ventured into the dining room, intent upon reaching the seat farthest from the door so her guest had no need to pass by her. Her gaze traveled to the mantel clock. She had fifteen minutes left to gather her wits.

“Lady Vivian, I presume?” The rich timbre vibrated within her chest, sending shock waves quaking through her arms and legs.

“Oh!” Vivi recoiled then shot her hands out for balance.

Lord Ellis was standing beside his chair. His quick blue eyes narrowed. “You are Lady Vivian, are you not?”

“Yes.” She snapped the fan open and fluttered it in front of her face as much to hide her identity as to cool her scorched cheeks. He was early again! A most unbecoming habit. “I didn’t see you there.”

She lowered her head and dashed past his seat.

“Perhaps the servants should light the chandelier,” he said.

Her lips strained with the effort of forcing a smile as she assumed her place at the table. “That would be wasteful, wouldn’t you agree?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Quite right, Lady Vivian. How sensible of you.”

A frisson of pleasure rippled through her until she recognized his compliment was tainted by sarcasm. Sinking into her seat, she noted with satisfaction that the massive arrangement erected between them blocked him from her view. The earl would have a devil of a time seeing her through the floral jungle.

“Lady Vivian?” Lord Ellis leaned to the side to peer around the peonies. His black hair gleamed in the candlelight and his eyes sparkled. “Ah, there you are. I feared I had lost you for a moment.”

She lifted her arms to allow a footman to drape a napkin over her lap. “I suppose a man of your station expects more of a fuss, but as it is my cousin’s larder and not my own, I didn’t feel at liberty to prepare a lavish affair. Please forgive the oversight.”

“On the contrary. I have been made to feel comfortable at Brighthurst. Your cousin is most gracious.” He disappeared behind the arrangement again as a second footman reached his end of the table with a bottle of wine. He murmured something to the servant before returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry to hear Lady Brighthurst is unable to dine with us this evening.”

“I will convey your regrets. She will be sorry to have missed making your acquaintance.”

The footman serving Lord Ellis headed in her direction, stopped halfway, and then plucked the arrangement from the table.

Vivi stifled a gasp and snatched up her glass of lemonade. She took a long sip, trying to hide and likely failing.

A corner of Lord Ellis’s mouth kicked up. He nodded to the footman. “Lady Vivian appears thirsty. Please refill her glass.”

Once her glass had been refilled, he raised his for a toast. “To Lady Brighthurst and her entertaining kinswoman. May fortune smile upon Brighthurst House and her occupants from this day forward.”

Vivi pressed her lips together before she said something she would regret. He was laughing at her. Maybe not outright, but the humorous ring to his voice and glittering blue eyes were evidence he made sport of her. Her jaw twitched, and she barely noticed the footman placing the bowl of soup in front of her through the red clouding her vision.

Entertaining
kinswoman
indeed.
“I’m not mad,” she blurted.

“No?” He lobbed a crooked grin toward her end of the table. “How delightful to know, my lady.”

***

A servant hurried forward to refill Luke’s wine goblet, but he waved him away. His gaze remained on Lady Vivian. Her answers to his questions had grown cooler and more clipped during the first course. She refused to meet his gaze and often seemed to be attempting to shield her face with a delicate touch of her napkin to her lips or a well-placed hand to her brow.

Did she think him too dense to recognize her from their afternoon encounter?

He didn’t wish to shatter her fantasy, but Lady Vivian would be recognizable even in a beaver hat and mustachio. The relic she wore on her head couldn’t disguise her in the least, if that indeed was her aim.

She was an Incomparable.

And unforgettable.

Had he realized when he had come upon her swimming that she was a lady instead of a maid, he would have practiced more restraint and not peeked. But he had. Long enough to make his blood run hot again as he recalled the vision: The creamy swells of her breasts. The gentle curve of her shoulders. A honey-colored curl plastered to her round cheek.

His body hummed at the prospect of pursuing her. Not that he must pursue the lady, since her brother offered her like a gift to a sultan with no regard for what she might think. The daft man. Luke would never treat his sisters with such callousness.

He loosened his grip on the carved wooden armrests where his finger had molded to the deep grooves and cleared his throat. “Your cousin’s cook is to be praised for this exquisite fare. Is this duck or goose?”

Lady Vivian looked up with a wry smile twisting her full lips.

He glanced down at his plate, realizing too late that he hadn’t touched his braised
beef
.

“I will pass along your compliment, my lord.” She was kind enough not to call him a dimwit, at least to his face.

He speared a carrot and tried to sort out what was happening here at Brighthurst. Ashden’s sister—if she was indeed his sister and not a maid pretending to be Lady Vivian, which seemed unlikely given her poise and the other servants’ deference to her—did not meet any of his expectations.

She was nothing like the simpering daughters of the
ton
he had been sidestepping these last few years.

He had wanted to be done with the matter quickly when he had arrived, but damn if he could walk away from the riddle Lady Vivian Worth posed. Captain Pendry’s expedition couldn’t go forward until Luke saw to a few matters, but he couldn’t leave Brighthurst until he had some answers.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“Are you ill?”

Her slightly harassed tone reminded him of his manners. Smoothing his hands over the napkin on his lap, he regained his composure. “Lady Vivian, perhaps we might adjourn to the drawing room after dinner. I have a few inquiries I wish to make.”

“Inquiries?” Even from a distance, the lady’s cheeks looked flushed. She whipped out her ivory fan and waved it, sending tendrils of bronzed hair fluttering at her temples.

“Just a few questions, if you please.” He flashed a smile to show he meant no harm.

She grabbed her drink and slowly drained the contents. When she set the glass down again, she took a long time blotting the napkin to her reddened lips.

Tension coiled in his lower belly. She was either stalling or attempting to drive him to distraction.

“I am afraid I must beg off, sir. My cousin should take part in our interview, and she is abed with a chill. I hope you understand.”

She smiled, appearing too smug by half at deflecting him handily.

“I understand, Lady Vivian.” He would not allow her to dismiss him, however. “I will wait until Lady Brighthurst recovers before conducting my interview.”

The lady’s eyes flew open wide. “Wait? But it could be days. Perhaps a week.”

“Then I must find ways to occupy my time while Lady Brighthurst recovers.” He propped his elbow on the padded armrest. “I’m an early riser. Perhaps I will pay a visit to the dairy barn tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“There is a matter I would like to discuss with one of Lady Brighthurst’s servants, a milkmaid, I believe.” He was teasing her; surely she would realize he knew who she was and give up her ruse. “Of course if I can’t find the chit, I will have to ask Lady Brighthurst in what area of the house she works.”

“Oh.” Lady Vivian stared at him with lips parted. “Oh,” she said again then pushed away from the table.

Luke stood too.

She started for the door. “Forgive me. I really must look in on my kin now.”

The fear in her expression made his stomach pitch. He hadn’t meant to frighten her.

“Lady Vivian.”

She veered away from his outstretched hand. “The servants will provide you with whatever you require. Good evening.”

She dashed through the doorway and disappeared, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of her sweet perfume and the echo of her footsteps as she ran down the corridor.

He sighed and sank into his seat. Now what was he to do? Lifting his goblet, he signaled for the footman to refill his wine.

He wished he could consult with Miss Truax on how to handle Lady Vivian. He trusted his mother’s companion when it came to the workings of the female mind. She had been pivotal in coming to understand his sisters and reconnect with them after their father’s passing. But Luke was on his own this time. He would have to draw on what little he had learned about ladies’ minds from spending time with his mother and sisters this past year.

Of course, with Lady Vivian, no amount of experience or study of the fairer gender might help him. She was a mystery. One he intended to solve.

“Lady Vivian, wake up.”

A warm hand grasped Vivi’s shoulder and shook her. Her eyes flew open and she blinked, her surroundings slowly coming into focus.

Floral bed curtains.

Quilted counterpane.

Her window seat.

Her location sunk in. Rolling onto her back, she stared up into Winnie’s frowning face, which was entirely too close with her leaning over the bed. “It’s time to get up, my lady.”

“But it is dark outside.” Vivi’s voice sounded gravelly, like an old man’s after forty years of pipe smoking.

Her lady’s maid straightened and nibbled her fingernail. “When did you
think
the cows were milked, my lady?”

Not at this ungodly hour. “They can’t desire to be awake any more than I do.” She curled on her side, pulling the sheet up to her neck. “Let the poor creatures sleep in today.”

“But if Lord Ellis wakes and ventures outside…” Winnie shook her again. “What if he goes to your cousin?”

She flopped on her back with a groan.
Infuriating
man!
“I’m getting up.”

“You had best hurry, my lady. The milkmaid is already in the barn.” Winnie tossed a spare maid’s dress on the bed, then grabbed both of Vivi’s hands to pull her into a seated position.

Vivi rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and yawned. This whole pretense was likely a waste of time. “I think he recognized me already.” The thought had kept her awake late into the night.

Her maid retreated to a tea cart and poured steaming chocolate from a pot. “Then why didn’t he say something at dinner?”

She shrugged and climbed from the bed before accepting the cup of chocolate. “Maybe he wants to be certain before he carries back a report to the duke.” She sipped the drink and welcomed the warmth on her scratchy throat. “I have been thinking, perhaps life in the nunnery won’t be as horrid as I have imagined. Not exciting, mind you, what with no one but the sisters to talk to and such a drab wardrobe. But I am coming to accept my fate.”

“Since when?” Winnie said with a scoff.

“Since the clock struck two this morning, Miss Impertinent.”

“Then please forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lady.” Her maid didn’t appear the least bit contrite with a small smile upon her lips. “Would you be so kind as to lift your arms?”

Vivi placed her cup on her dressing table and did as her maid requested so her nightrail could be removed. “Perhaps I can convince Lord Ellis to keep our meeting at the creek a secret. I would hate for Patrice to know the true reason behind the duke’s rejection.”

“I’ve never known you to surrender without a fight,” Winnie said while Vivi was still buried under her nightclothes. “Maybe Lord Ellis only wishes to scold you for sending him out of the way in the middle of a storm.”

Vivi’s heart lifted a fraction. If her maid was correct, Lord Ellis might say his piece and forget all about their encounter at the creek. She could still free Patrice to marry the man she loved without dooming herself to live in the convent. This was incentive enough to don the serviceable dress and pretend she knew the first thing about milking cows.

She smoothed her hands over the rough fustian gown, readjusted the white cap covering her loosely bound hair, and then turned away from her reflection. “Wish me luck at fooling the earl.”

“Oh, my lady. Can’t I wish for something more likely to come true?”

She tossed a wry smile over her shoulder. “Again, you are no comfort, dear Winnie.”

“My apologies, my lady.”

Vivi eased the door open, determined the corridor was clear, and sped toward the servants’ stairwell. A lamp at the foot of the stairs cast elongated shadows on the walls as she made her way to the ground floor. She retrieved a spare lantern hanging from a peg and lit it before opening the back door.

Outside, the cool morning air held the promise of autumn with the smell of freshly cut hay hanging on the breeze. She both loved and dreaded the season, knowing cold weather chased on its heels. Yet, on the other side of winter, there was always a new beginning. Vivi tried to keep this foremost in her mind. There was still a chance she could get out of this mess.

Worst case, Vivi wasn’t above groveling for mercy.

***

The chamber was dark when Luke woke. An unfamiliar creak as someone passed outside the door reminded him of where he was.
Brighthurst.
The home of his would-be betrothed. A surge of alertness swept through him, and he tossed the counterpane aside to sit on the side of the bed.

Lady Vivian wasn’t making his task easy, and not because she lived up to her brother’s definition of the perfect lady. She was a scandal waiting to happen. Most gentlemen would find it within their rights to sever the betrothal after discovering her half-nude in the creek. Luke wasn’t like most gentlemen, however.

Lady Vivian’s unorthodox pursuits provided no reason to destroy her future, and he wouldn’t consider using his discovery against her. She must make an appeal to her brother. If her brother released them from the agreement before anyone learned of it, she wouldn’t suffer. But first Luke must garner her cooperation, which required the audience he had yet to be granted.

He grumbled under his breath as he climbed from bed and made his way to the mantel to retrieve the tinderbox. There was no telling how long he would be delayed while Lady Vivian’s cousin recovered, and his business with Captain Pendry couldn’t wait. Luke’s man of business had forwarded him the ship’s manifest and an accounting of the costs required for supplies. He needed to review the documents before authorizing payment, but he had hoped to ask his friend for help. Captain Daniel Hillary could complete the task in his sleep after years of sea travel, but Hillary was leaving for Brighton at the end of the week. Luke’s hopes of catching him before he left London were dwindling. He would have to complete the work himself.

The char cloth sparked and caught fire. He lit a candle, dressed, and then pulled the documents from an inside coat pocket. Sitting down at the small desk, he resigned to get the task behind him. A tightening in his jaws began before he read half the page. Rubbing the back of his neck, he discovered bunched muscles already forming. Another blasted headache. By the second page, his vision began to blur and a band squeezed his head like an ill-fitting hat. He blinked and tried to clear his sight, but the ink remained a hazy mess on the page.

Devil
take
it
. He threw the papers aside and pushed to his feet. The movement set off a dull drumming in his skull. He cursed aloud. Captain Pendry was at a standstill until Luke responded to his request. Why couldn’t he perform even the simplest tasks without these headaches plaguing him?

He moved to the window and shoved the drapes aside, disgusted. Dawn had begun her subtle painting of the sky. He’d watched many sunrises lately. Even before his father’s death he had been an early riser, but this past year had seen him awake more hours than asleep.

He’d lost his chance to make his father proud, and no amount of wishing would ever bring him back. Before his father’s death, Luke had been too busy raising hell. He needed adventure, craved the thrill of putting his life on the line. Sitting in a study going over ledgers was boring, and he’d avoided his father—and his duties—every chance he could.

After Luke’s accident he avoided his father for another reason. Shame. What if the duke found out he could barely read without debilitating headaches? How could he care for the estate? He would be the ruination of their family.

Sometimes fury over his father’s death expanded inside him, pushing words from his mind. How could he have died? How could he have left him alone?

This morning his usual disgust with himself was nudged aside by puzzlement as he recalled his encounters with Lady Vivian.

“Why her?”

Of course, his father couldn’t have been aware of the lady’s true nature. Her high spirits would earn his father’s disapproval, even though they appealed to Luke more than he cared to admit.

A figure passed below the window, dragging him from his reverie. It was a woman, and she held a lantern aloft, lighting amber curls spilling down her back.

His pulse quickened. “Lady Vivian?”

Without
a
chaperone
again.

He shook his head, not believing what he was seeing. What was the minx up to now? He grabbed his jacket and left his chambers in pursuit.

He found the corridor for a back staircase, hoping for a quicker route to the barn. He held himself in check as he stepped outside, his muscles tense and his stomach churning with anticipation. He was about to engage Lady Vivian in round three.

The mewling of a calf intermingled with Lady Vivian’s rich laughter and drifted through the open door of the dairy barn as he neared. The lady expressed her mirth with hearty vigor, the smoky sound drawing him inside. He hurried his step, eager to see her again.

The smells of sweet hay and musky animal hit him as he entered. He spotted her at once, but Lady Vivian had her back to him. She was scratching behind the ears of a spotted calf tethered to a post. The baby nudged her hand and elicited another heart-stopping chuckle from the lady.

“Patience, little one. You may have your mama in a minute.”

She rose on her toes and leaned her crossed arms on the top railing of a stall to peer at a full-grown milker. The cow flicked a bored gaze in his direction, but Lady Vivian seemed unaware of his presence.

Luke cleared his throat.

She swung around with a soft gasp. The rhythmic swish, swish of milk squirting into a bucket ceased.

He meant to appear unaffected, but he couldn’t help grinning. The lady was as charming in maid’s attire as she had been soaking wet yesterday.

She dipped into a deep curtsy. “How relieved I am no harm came to you yesterday, sir.”

“Life is full of surprises, is it not?” Of course Lady Vivian was the biggest surprise, along with her tenacity. That she clung to her pretense fascinated him.

Luke approached her, caring not that he stared.

Lady Vivian’s cheeks colored. She backed around the calf, her half boots stirring the hay. He didn’t slow his advance. Not when he would reach her in two strides and earn the reward of gazing at her up close.

“Time to milk.” She dashed into the stall, avoiding direct eye contact. Avoiding
him
. “I am sorry for providing unclear directions yesterday, but you found Brighthurst.”

Unclear
directions?
The chit had purposefully misled him. He followed her into the stall. “Apology accepted.”

She tossed a look back over her shoulder. Her pale blue eyes softened. “Thank you. You are a generous soul, Lord Ellis.”

He balked.
Lord
Ellis?
She thought
he
was Ellis? How could that be when he had sent word?

The servant girl—likely the true milkmaid—scooted from the stool to allow Lady Vivian to sit, then shimmed past him to exit the stall.

“Thank you, Kimberly. I will finish the task,” Lady Vivian said.

The milkmaid bobbed her head and left him alone with her mistress.

Lady Vivian offered a tight smile when he crossed his arms and regarded her. “I wish you a safe journey as you continue your travels. Good day, my lord.”

She thought to send him on his way, did she? Well, she had misjudged him. He was fond of games of strategy, and he couldn’t resist engaging with her, though he didn’t know the rules or what the winner’s spoils would be.

“I’m in no hurry to leave. I informed Lady Vivian last night I intend to stay until Lady Brighthurst recovers.”

She flinched. It was barely noticeable, but Luke hadn’t taken his eyes from her since he had entered the barn. It was a near impossible feat.

“Go on with your work. I don’t want to interrupt you.” Luke squatted beside her. “I have often wondered how one goes about milking a cow.”

“Uh…”

A becoming shade of pink climbed her neck and infused her round cheeks. He shouldn’t tease her before revealing he knew her identity, but the lengths she would go to in order to fool him were impressive. He awaited her next move with great anticipation.

“You don’t mind if I watch, do you?” he asked.

She hesitated, but then shook her head. The curls gathered at her nape swung in a gentle arc along her back. He itched to loosen the tie confining her hair and run his fingers through the fine strands. He made a fist and held it against his thigh. It wouldn’t do to treat her with anything other than the respect her station deserved.

“Go on. Don’t be shy on account of my presence.”

She closed her eyes, her darker lashes lying against her rosy skin. Perhaps she hoped when she opened them again, he would be gone.

No such luck.

She stole a quick sideways glance at him then directed her attention back to the milker. “There, there, Maggie.” Patting the animal’s side, she eased her hand under the cow, her lip curling. When the tips of her fingers touched the creature’s udders, she snatched her hand back with a soft squeal.

Luke concealed his amusement behind a fake cough. “Are the udders cold?”

Lady Vivian frowned, expressing her disdain with a lift of her nose. “They feel like flesh, my lord, but I wouldn’t expect someone like you to be privy to such information.”

“Fascinating. Just like flesh, you say? Please continue, unless you have changed your mind about milking.”

Her mouth set in a grim line. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

He admired her determination.

Taking a deep, halting breath first, she shot out her arm and seized one of the udders. A strangled moo ripped from the cow, and the animal stomped close to Lady Vivian’s foot. The lady jerked back with a cry and kicked over the pail of milk.

“Oh, drat it all anyway!”

Luke chuckled and reached out to stroke her shoulder in a comforting gesture before realizing what he was doing.

Her body grew rigid under his touch. “My lord! What, pray tell, are you doing?”