Someone to Watch Over Me (14 page)

“If I didn’t have backbone, I wouldn’t be here,” she retorted beneath her breath.

They reached Lady Lichfield, a plump woman in her forties who had once been considered the greatest beauty in London. Although the years of indulgence had taken a toll on her striking face, she was still remarkably attractive. The thickly lashed blue eyes were still radiant above her heavy cheeks, and her shining black hair was coiled atop her head to reveal a classic profile. She was a queen of London’s elite circles, a widow who led an outwardly circumspect life—though it was rumored that she had often taken young men as lovers and rewarded them richly for their services. Indeed, she had flirted with Grant at their last meeting, a soiree at the beginning of the season, and had hinted broadly that she would like to “deepen their acquaintance.”

As she caught sight of him, Lady Lichfield proffered both her hands. “How can it be that this is only the second time we have met?” she asked. “I feel as if we are old friends, Mr. Morgan.”

“Say ‘dear friends,’” Grant suggested, pressing an obligatory kiss to the gloved backs of her hands. “The word ‘old’ should never be mentioned in the same sentence with you, milady.”

She giggled and preened. “I doubt I am the first,
nor the last, to fall prey to your flattery, you charming rake.”

He grinned and deliberately held her hands longer than was strictly proper. “Nor am I the last to fall under the spell of an enchantress with the bluest eyes in England.”

The flattery obviously pleased her, though she laughed with a touch of irony. “Mr. Morgan, pray stop before you reduce me to a puddle at your feet.” She turned to Vivien, subjecting her to a head-to-toe inspection. Her smile cooled considerably. “Welcome, Miss Duvall. I see you’re in good health, contrary to the astonishing rumors that have flown about the past month or so.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Vivien curtsied and regarded her with a hesitant smile. “Please forgive me, but…have we met before?”

All traces of good humor left Lady Lichfield’s expression. “No,” she said softly. “Although I believe you were once quite well acquainted with my late husband.”

There was no mistaking her meaning. Faced with yet more evidence of her own scandalous past, Vivien could make no reply. She was grateful when Grant ushered her away speedily, leaving Lady Lichfield to welcome more guests.

“She doesn’t like me,” Vivien said in a dry tone, pausing as Grant removed her cloak and handed it to a waiting servant.

“Few women do.”

“Thank you for that boost to my confidence. I feel so much better after the multitude of compliments you’ve showered on me.”

“You want compliments?” They entered an overheated drawing room, the buzz of conversation intensifying as soon as they appeared.

“One or two would hardly hurt,” Vivien said in a subdued tone, wincing as hundreds of gazes arrowed to her. “Though now you’ll make me out to be silly and vain for desiring it.”

Seeming entirely comfortable in spite of the public scrutiny, Grant nodded in response to the greeting of a passing acquaintance, and drew Vivien to an unoccupied space at the side of the room. He stared down at her with smoldering green eyes. “You are beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and the most desirable. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. And I’m afraid to look at you for too long, or I’ll end up taking you in the middle of the drawing room floor.”

“Oh.” Flustered, Vivien toyed with the edge of her stomacher. Byron, he was not. But the blunt statements caused little knots of excitement and pleasure to tighten in her stomach. She returned his gaze with a direct one of her own. “Why were you flirting with Lady Lichfield like that?” she asked. “Were you once lovers?”

“No. It amuses her to banter with younger men, and it’s easy enough to indulge her. She’s already proven to be a useful acquaintance. Besides, I happen to like her.”

Vivien frowned, experiencing a sting of jealousy. “You wouldn’t have an affair with a woman her age, would you?”

“She’s hardly an ancient relic,” he said. Suddenly
the shadow of a smile played on his lips. “She’s an attractive woman in her forties.”

“But she is at least ten years older than yourself. Perhaps even fifteen.”

His dark brows lifted expressively. “You don’t approve of women having affairs with younger men?”

Vivien made an effort to swallow back the unpleasant tightness in her throat. “I’m hardly in a position to disapprove of anyone.”

“The French have a more relaxed attitude toward these matters than we do. They believe a woman’s appeal increases with maturity and experience…and if she gives her favors to a younger man, he’s considered quite fortunate.”

“Pray don’t let me keep you from Lady Lichfield, then,” Vivien said tartly. “Why don’t you go to her?”

“I’m not going to have an affair with Lady Lichfield,” he murmured, amusement flickering in the depths of his verdant eyes.

“Why are you smiling like that?” She felt sour and uncomfortable, as if she had somehow made a fool of herself.

“Because you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not,” Vivien countered in rising dismay. “Really, I’m—” She stopped as a dark figure approached them. “Who is that?” she asked warily.

Grant glanced over his shoulder, then turned to face the visitor. Although there was no change in his expression, Vivien sensed that this was a man whom Grant liked and respected very much…one of the few people on earth whose good opinion
he desired. “Sir Ross,” he said easily, bringing Vivien forward a step. “May I introduce Miss Duvall?”

Sir Ross Cannon, the Bow Street magistrate. Vivien curtsied and stared at him intently, finding him to be an extraordinary figure, though she couldn’t quite say why. Sir Ross was a tall man, though he did not match Grant’s towering height. He possessed a self-contained quality, a sense of tremendous power held in check. He had black hair, a build that was just a bit too lean, and curiously light gray eyes that seemed to have observed too much of everyone else’s business. Most striking about his appearance was a distinctly remote air, as if he were not quite part of the gathering even though he was mingling among them. And he seemed comfortable with his quality of aloneness.

A mortifying thought occurred to Vivien…Grant reported to this man, consulted with him. There was no doubt that he knew all about her, including the things she had written in that dreadful book. Instinctively she moved closer to Grant.

Cannon’s watchful gaze did not leave her. “Miss Duvall…a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Have we…” Vivien started, then bit her tongue. She could hardly go about asking everyone at the ball if she had met them before.

Cannon understood the unfinished question, and answered gently. “To my regret, no.”

She searched his expression for traces of censure or sarcasm, but found none. The cool gray eyes were comfortingly impassive.

Cannon and Grant exchanged a glance that seemed to contain an entire conversation. After bowing once more to Vivien, Cannon left them with a polite murmur.

Grant cupped his hand around Vivien’s elbow. “Come, Miss Duvall,” he said smoothly. “I think it’s time we exchanged pleasantries with the other guests.”

“Is it?” she asked, accompanying him reluctantly. She dreaded the prospect of meeting anyone, when there was no way of knowing who was friend or foe. “I was just thinking it’s time to have a glass of wine. A large one.”

“You’ll have all the wine you want later.” His hand inexorably urged her forward.

To hide her unease, Vivien made her face still and composed. They approached a group amid the sea of speculative faces, two ladies and three gentlemen, and introductions were made. Lord and Lady Wenman, Lord Fuller, and Mrs. Marshall, all of them curiously stilted and brittle as they regarded Vivien. Mercifully there seemed to be little need for her to speak. Vivien glanced frequently at Grant as he made conversation with the others. His expression was bland, but his eyes were watchful, and she sensed that he was taking measure, testing, waiting.

Vivien’s gaze flickered to Lord Wenman, who appeared composed except for the subtly agitated rat-a-tat-tat of his toes on the floor. He returned her glance, his pale blue eyes filled with an insolence that perplexed her. Wenman…She did not recognize his face, but the name was oddly familiar.
Where had she seen or heard it before?

Grant guided Vivien to another group, pointedly introducing her to Viscount Hatton. The viscount was an elderly gentleman with yellow-gray hair and skin like crumpled paper. Although his manner was polite, he stared at her with a mixture of accusation and wariness that was impossible to miss. It didn’t take long for Vivien to remember that he and Wenman were two of the names mentioned in her diary.

She had had affairs with them. Discomfort fanned over her like an icy breeze. It was bad enough to have read the details of her own affairs in that damned book, but even worse to be forcibly brought face-to-face with the men she had slept with. How many more of her past lovers were here tonight? She turned toward Grant with an accusation leaping from her lips.

Before she could say a word, she was approached by a man with eyes like small chips of coal, set deep in a ruddy face. Unlike the others, he did not pretend to be a stranger. He came up to her immediately, taking her hands in a possessive, familiar grip, seeming unaware of the way Grant stiffened at her side.

“Good God, Vivien,” the man said in a strained voice. “I literally thought you were dead. How could you disappear like that? Have you no concern for what you’ve put me through? I had no way to reach you, no way to assure myself of your well-being.” As he spoke, his liquor-soaked breath wafted heavily into her face. “Though knowing you, I shouldn’t have wasted a moment of worry.”
He paused to give Grant a baleful glance, then returned his attention to Vivien. “You’ve always landed on your feet like a cat, haven’t you?”

Vivien allowed her hands to remain unresisting in his. She was uncomfortably aware that the attention of the entire room was focused on them.

“Good evening, Gerard,” Grant said softly.

Of course. Lord Gerard, her former protector. Vivien forced herself to smile, though her lips were trembling. Anger, protest, shame, all shot through her veins in a scorching blast. She felt as if she had been put on display for the amusement of the snobbish members of the
ton
…and indeed, she had been.

Seeming too foxed to notice the attention they were attracting, Gerard gripped her gloved hands more tightly. He bent to whisper thickly in her ear. “Promise you’ll slip away to meet me later. I must talk with you.”

“I promise,” she murmured, tugging at her hands until they were free.

Gerard meandered away, and Vivien headed in the opposite direction, hardly noticing where she was going. Grant followed her, seeming no more pleased by the situation than she. Striding through the doorway of the drawing room, Vivien located a long picture gallery lined with upholstered benches. She stopped before a portrait of a haughty-faced Lichfield ancestor, and stood with her arms locked tightly across her chest.

Knowing without turning around that Grant was close by, Vivien spoke through her teeth. Anger made her jaw stiff, but she kept her tone soft, mindful
of another couple perusing works of art at the other end of the gallery. “How on earth did you manage it? I’ve met three of my past lovers before ten minutes have elapsed. Somehow you’ve managed to have everyone in my diary included in the guest list.”

“Lady Lichfield was persuaded to send extra invitations,” Grant said tonelessly.

“How helpful of her,” Vivien replied bitterly.

“Who the bloody hell did you think would be attending, Vivien? You knew we were using this as an occasion for you to come out in the open.”

“But you’ve done more than that. You’ve invited anyone and everyone who could possibly wish me harm! I’m being dangled before them like live bait, and you’re waiting to see who will snap!”

“There are half a dozen Runners and constables attending tonight, not to mention myself and Sir Ross. We’re all keeping our eyes on you. You’re in no danger.”

His words had the effect of throwing brandy on a fire. She flared in fury, her lips drawn back from her teeth. “You could have told me what you were planning! But you didn’t, because you wanted me to be unprepared, and humiliated, and shamed by the sight of the multitude I’ve slept with.”

“So you think this is all some elaborate punishment I’ve devised for you?” he sneered. “Try again, Vivien. Bow Street has better things to do than support personal vendettas. My job is to catch the man that tried to kill you, and this is the best way of doing it. If you happen to be embarrassed
by the evidence of your past, that’s no fault of mine.”

“You manipulative, arrogant…” She tried to think of the nastiest word possible, while her hand rose to slap him.

“Go on,” Grant said softly, “if it makes you feel better.”

Vivien stared at him, so handsome in his black evening wear, so strong and invulnerable that one slap would only amuse him. She curled her shaking hand into a fist and clenched it against her middle, using all her will to control her tumult of emotions.

“You can hardly bear to hurt anyone, can you?” Grant murmured. “Even when they deserve it. But that’s not like you. You used to rip a man’s heart out and crush it beneath your foot with no more concern than you would swat a damned fly. What the hell has happened to you?”

She had never truly felt like a prostitute until this moment. Suddenly she wished—for the first time—that she could instantly change back into that other Vivien, the shameless, uncaring woman who did exactly as she pleased. Perhaps then the ache of betrayal would fade away. Until now she had regarded Grant Morgan as her protector, her friend. She had fallen in love with him, though she would never have expected anything to come of it. But he was not her friend. He was as much her adversary as everyone else here tonight. She felt very much alone, like a woman about to be stoned. Well…damn them all and let them all stare.

Raising her head, she stared at Grant steadily,
the color fading from her face except for two bright arcs high on her cheeks. “All right,” she said in a low voice. “Tonight I’ll give everyone, including you, what they want.”