Lady Beresford's Lover by Ella Quinn (14)

“No 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.

He rang for his valet, who arrived with warm water.

“Send a message to Cook that I’ll want breakfast in a half hour.” He’d never seen the point of waiting until ten to break his fast. No matter what time he got to bed, he was always up early, and hungry.

Wigman stepped into the corridor. “It will be ready, my lord.”

Thirty minutes later, he went downstairs. “Harlock, have my carriage brought around. I want to leave as soon as I’ve eaten.”

Under an hour later, he hopped into his phaeton. “Let ’em go.”

“Aye, my lord.” Stuie jumped on the back. “Where we off to?”

“Covent Garden. I won’t be long, but I have an errand to run.” Once they arrived, he set the brake. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

“I will, sir.”

Rupert quickly found the flower ladies and began looking over their blooms. “Isn’t that a sea aster?”

“Dunno, I just sell ’em.” The woman yawned.

He cupped the flower with his fingers. Definitely a Tripolium pannonicum. “I’ll take all of them.” A yellow flower adorned with a purple pistol caught his eye. Clematis tangutica cultivars. That would go nicely with the white and yellow asters. “I’ll take the vine with the yellow flowers as well.”

A few moments later he paid for his purchase and headed back to his carriage. Two older men flanked Stuie. The boy’s chin jutted out in a belligerent manner, his stance was wide, and his hands curled into fists.

Rupert slowed, keeping his horses between himself and the ruffians, effectively shielding him from their sight as he approached. After carefully placing his flowers on the carriage seat, he cleared the team’s heads, putting himself on the same side as the others, but out of reach of the larger man. “Can I help you?”

The fellow jumped. “No, guv’nor. Nothin’ going on here. Jus’ askin’ if the young’un needed some help.”

Stuie spit on the ground. “Not likely, my lord.”

Rupert eyed the other man, who’d turned his head. “You’re a long way from Mount Street.”

“Bloody hell,” the would-be thief mumbled. “I would have to run into you ag’in.”

In the daylight, he was able to see the tattered remains of a uniform. “What unit?”

“Fifty-second foot.” The former soldier made a gesture with his hand. “Both of us. Ain’t been able to find work since we got back from Waterloo.”

“What did you do before you enlisted?” Rupert watched the men carefully. One never knew when someone might stupidly attempt to attack him. “Something tells me you weren’t thieves.”

“Nah, raised on farms, we were,” the other man said. “No place for us there now.”

“Don’t know where ta go but here.”

Rupert took out his card case and a pencil. He wrote an address on the back. “Go see this man. If anyone can find you work, he can. As long as you don’t mind leaving London, that is.”

The former soldier took the card. “Thank ye.”

“Where’d you send them?” Stuie asked as the men walked off.

“Fenniman.”

“Ain’t he the one that found you your last tenant after old Jerry died?”

“He is.” And if need be, Rupert would find a place for them. He needed to have his secretary scout around for more land for sale.

“You think they’ll go?”

“They headed in the right direction.” Rupert climbed into the phaeton. “All I can do is try.”

“Got your flowers?”

“Yes. I only hope the lady likes them.”

“She the same one you been sendin’ flowers to?”

Rupert raised a brow. “You’re full of questions today.”

His tiger shrugged and scrambled on to the back. “People are wondering if we’re going to see changes.”

By the time he got back to Mayfair, the morning had advanced sufficiently to allow him to stop in Mount Street. When he pulled up in front of the house, Stuie got down, taking charge of the horses.

The door opened as Rupert reached the top step.

“Welcome, my lord. The ladies are in the drawing room. It is Lady Telford’s at home day.”

Giggling came from behind a door, and he paused in the act of taking off his hat. “How many ladies are here?”

“It’s early yet; only about seven.”

There was no way in hell he’d enter that room. He’d made the mistake once at his mother’s at home. Clearing his throat, he indicated the flowers. “I’d like to leave these for Lady Beresford. Do you have a piece of paper I could write a note on?”

Rupert could swear he saw the slightest twitch of the butler’s lips. “Indeed, my lord.”

A few minutes later, he strode out of the house, but not before another carriage drove up. Damn and blast it. Lady Banks and her daughter. Before they could hail him, he drove off.

The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize the support Lord Banks was giving Rupert in the Lords.

After having joined his friends for luncheon, he finally arrived home in the late afternoon. Once again a letter from Vivian lay on the hall table. He picked it up, popping off the seal as he strode to his study. Half-way down the corridor he came to an abrupt halt. She wants to do what?

What the devil was she about and how the hell had she found that house? He raked his fingers through his hair. The only thing she could be planning was an affair, although she hadn’t struck him as the type of woman who would have relations outside of marriage. Or had he seen only what he wanted to, yet again?

No, he was right about her. This latest start must have something to do with her husband.

He glanced once more at the missive. Eleven was a deuced odd time. Why not earlier or later? Well, he’d find out soon enough, today if he could manage it. Who was this woman who intrigued him so much?