CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Vivian had finally managed to force her eyes open, the door had just closed behind Rupert. Rolling over, she breathed in his clean, spicy scent from the pillows and fought back her tears. Every time he left, letting go of him was harder. She lay there memorizing the way his normally perfect curls became tousled when she slid her fingers through them, the way the corners of his lips curved up first before he smiled, and his elegant gait when he entered the room and came to her.
Vivian buried her face in his pillow. This had to be the end of it. If she did not break it off with him now, she might never be able to. An ache started in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Why had she had to fall in love with Rupert? Yet how could she leave him?
Rising, she donned her chemise. Once Punt arrived, it was a matter of minutes before they were ready to depart. As usual, the coach waited for them in the mews, and soon they were at the Mount Street house.
Punt lit a candle that was on a small table next to the garden door, and Vivian followed her, unseeing, up to her rooms.
“Let’s get you into bed.”
She stood, as she’d done all her life, while her maid unfastened and unlaced her gown and stays. Once in her own nightgown, she crawled into the cold bed, wishing Rupert was still with her. She prayed for a dreamless sleep, but as soon as she closed her eyes, he was there, speaking soft words of love, caressing her, taking her to a place she could not have dreamed existed.
There was only one thing to do, and she would attend to the arrangements in the morning. At least she would have another night with him.
“My lady?” Punt’s hand shook Vivian’s shoulder, waking her.
“What time is it?” She yawned, struggling to sit up, expecting her maid to lay the breakfast tray across her lap.
“Not that late, but this came for you by special messenger.”
The letter Punt handed her was from Mama and not franked. Vivian sat up straighter. “I hope nothing is wrong.”
She tore the seal off as she opened it, smoothing the sheet out over her lap.
My darling Vivian,
I can only suppose that you received your father’s letter. Believe me when I tell you that I did my best to talk him out of this outrageous scheme of his. Unfortunately, he left for Town yesterday. I didn’t dare write you until he was out of the house.
I have always regretted that I was unable to help you when you confided to me about your marriage. I had wished better for you. Sadly, I cannot think you will like Lord Tewkesbury any better than you did Beresford. The man is a widower with several daughters and two sons. If you choose to wed again, it should be your choice. Drat that hunting bitch.
All my love,
Mama
Vivian looked at the date and froze. Her father could be in Town to-day, to-morrow at the latest. “I must make immediate arrangements to depart. Papa could arrive at any time. Fetch me the estate information. I hope the visits can be set in short order.”
Her maid opened her mouth, snapped it shut, then said, “You should tell her ladyship.”
Vivian glanced at the clock. It was already past noon. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“You needed it. If you don’t mind me saying, these late nights are running you a bit ragged.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I must eat.” She’d never been so hungry. “After which I’ll speak to my cousin. I am certain she will be able to keep my father at bay until I can escape.”
“That she will, and you never know what other help will show up.” On that cryptic remark, Punt disappeared into the dressing room.
After breaking her fast and dressing, Vivian found her cousin on the terrace outside of the morning room at the back of the house. “I received a letter from Mama . . .”
Clara’s brows lowered as she narrowed her eyes. “I think it best if you stay close to the house to-day. In the event your father arrives, I shall have him turned away until you can sort out what you wish to do.”
That was easy: Vivian would flee. “Whatever happens, I shall not agree to marry Lord Twiddlededum.”
“I agree, it does not sound like a good match at all.” Her cousin patted her hand. “You will come about. I place great faith in Fate.”
Barnes tapped on the open door. “Lady Beresford, Lord Stanstead is here to see you.”
Vivian couldn’t see him now, not when she was so distraught. She would do or say something that would ruin everything. “Please tell him I am not—”
“Vivian, my dear, he can be very helpful. Stanstead has a good head on his shoulders. I’ll fetch him.” Clara gave Vivian a stern look. “Do not run away.”
She wrung her hands. She wished more than anything that he could help her. If only he could take her away, but he wanted Cleo.
Vivian rose as Clara, followed closely by Rupert, strode onto the terrace. He took Vivian’s fingers in his. “Let us speak alone.”
“I think that is a wonderful idea.” Clara beamed, closing the French window to the terrace. “I shall be right here.”
Vivian led Rupert to a rose arbor in the back of the garden. “I will miss our outings.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “I gathered from what Lady Telford said there is some sort of problem. However, that does not change my reason for being here.”
It was too early for Rupert to have come for the carriage ride he had proposed. So . . . “Oh, did you come to say you could not go this afternoon?”
“I came for this.” He dropped to one knee. “Vivian, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”
She stepped back, covering her lips with her hand.
It is happening all over again! How could Rupert betray her in this way? “I cannot. You don’t love me. You love Cleo.”
As Rupert rose, he stared at Vivian as if she was mad. Perhaps she was. After all, ladies did not mention chères amies, and since he was unaware of her deception, she should not know about Cleo even if they were one and the same. Still, it didn’t feel that way. Cleo was loved in a way Vivian never would be. She blinked back the tears threatening to fall. “I went through one marriage with a man who loved another woman. I cannot do it again.” She turned her back to him, and stared through blurred eyes out at the garden. “Please go, just go away and leave me alone!”
Yet instead of stomping off in anger, Rupert’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck. “Vivian, you are the only woman I love.” She took a breath, preparing to argue with him, when he forestalled her. “Did you think I did not know to whom I was making love?” The tip of his finger traced her ear down to her cheek. “That I could not recognize the delicate shape of your ear beneath the wig, or I could forget the gentle line of your jaw? From the first moment we met, your scent filled me. It was as if you were my home. I knew when you sent the letter it was you. The paper and ink could not hide the perfume of fresh meadows and wild flowers; your fragrance.”
She couldn’t believe what he was telling her. How could he have known? Cleo was everything Vivian was not. Dark, bold, and adventurous. “But with the cosmetics and the wig . . .”
Rupert turned her so she faced him. “They could not hide your eyes when they smiled at me, or your voice when you cried out in pleasure, or the soft tinkling of your laughter, or most of all, your spirit.” He nibbled the corner of her lips as his hands held her waist. “Marry me, Vivian. Be my lover and my wife forever.” His palms cupped her breasts, and his voice was low and gravelly as it washed over her. “You are the most enticing woman I’ve ever known, and I want no other.”
She was becoming lost in Rupert as he continued to caress her, but could she trust him with her life? Clara’s words came back to her. He will marry someone like Miss Banks. “You might want another woman, a younger one.”
“Vivian, how old are you?” he asked as one hand left her breasts.
“I am four and twenty.”
“And I’m twenty-two. Hardly any difference at all. As a matter of fact, just last month a woman from the village near my estate wed a man my age; she was forty.” Vivian sucked in a breath, as his clever fingers began to stroke her back. “Think of it as ensuring that you will be pleasured for a long time.” His lips curved into a smile against her neck. “Many years more than if you married someone older.”
“I wish I could say yes.” She pleaded with him to understand. “I want to, but there is something wrong with me.” Unable to look at him, she hung her head. “My body is deformed.”
“Deformed?” His tone was incredulous, then his form went rigid, and he growled, “Did someone scar you?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She almost wished it was. “I do not know what it is. My husband said . . . he could not even look at me.” Rupert put his finger under her chin, raising it so that she had to look up to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t bear for you to be repelled as well.”
Rupert watched as Vivian’s eyes swam with tears. There must be a special place in hell for people like Edgar Beresford, who would take a beautiful woman and make her feel ugly. “We’re going to Hill Street.”
Her jaw dropped, but Rupert had apparently shocked her enough she was no longer threatening tears.
“Now?” she asked in an offended tone. “But it’s daylight. Everyone will see us.”
“We will arrive separately and go in the back way. Get your maid while I ask Lady Telford for a carriage.”
“Rupert, what are you planning?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Always, but . . .”
Not giving Vivian a chance to argue further, he grabbed her hand and walked as rapidly as he could to the house. When they regained the morning room, he kissed her, hard, on the lips. “I’ll wait here.”
She nodded as if she was in a daze, but did as he had asked. All he had to do was keep her with him.
Rupert found the lady in her parlor. “I need a carriage for Vivian.”
Lady Telford tugged the bell-pull. A footman popped his head in. “Get the plain black town coach readied. Keep it in the mews.” Raising one brow, Rupert glanced at her. “Vivian received a letter from her mother. Her father could be here at any time. I do not wish her to leave from the front of the house where she may be seen.”
“Very well.”
Lady Telford handed him a glass of wine. “Do I need to ask your intentions?”
“I wish to marry her. If she’ll have me.”
“Splendid.” She smiled. “Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to see two people in love take their vows.” Rising, she said, “I’ll see if I can speed things along, shall I?”
“Excellent.” Rupert paced, then after what seemed like an eternity, Vivian and Punt finally walked into the morning room. He held out his arm. “The coach is around the back. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
He escorted them to the gate, saw them into the carriage, and walked down the mews. He needed to give Vivian enough time to change. It was a pity he had not had time to have the latest gown delivered. Yet perhaps she could wear it for their wedding night. When he reached the back of the Hill Street house, he took out his watch and waited another five minutes before using his key to open the gate.
A few minutes later, he strolled into the bedchamber. Vivian turned, eyes wide, staring at him. Her gorgeous silver-blond hair was loose and reached her hips, her petal-pink lips slightly apart, and she was trembling like a blancmange.
In two strides, she was in his arms. “You said you trusted me. Believe me now when I tell you there is nothing wrong with you.”
She swallowed. “The last time a gentleman saw me naked, it did not turn out well.”
“That man was a stupid fool.” A bloody, selfish, care-for-nobody.
He kissed her, sweetly, teasing her bottom lip with his teeth. A long mirror stood in the corner of the room, and he positioned her in front of it as he stood behind her.
“I don’t think I can do this.” Vivian hung her head, refusing to look into the mirror.
“You can and you shall. Let me slay your dragons, my lady.” Slowly he unfastened the top five ivory buttons, exposing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. “Do you see anything odd?”
“No, but this can be seen in an evening gown.”
“Fair enough.” Rupert unbuttoned the next several buttons and the gown fell to the top of her hip, exposing a reddish, heart-shaped birthmark. “What about now?”
Her answer came out on a sob. “The question is can you live with me damaged as I am?”
“I’ll tell you what I see.” Rupert stroked the birthmark. “A lovely woman with high breasts tipped with nipples that remind me of light pink French roses. Your skin is so silky and perfect, it would make an angel cry in envy, and you carry your heart not only in your breast, but on the outside as well.” She relaxed a little against him. “Shall we go on?”
She nodded tensely, clearly still unsure of herself.
Gradually he eased the gown over her slim hips. With a soft swoosh, fabric fell to the carpet. “Vivian, you are the most exquisite woman who has ever existed, and I wish to spend the rest of my life worshipping you and your body’s faultless form.”
He turned her to face him and just when Rupert expected her to smile and agree, her face crumpled. “Why did he do that to me? Why did he lie?”
He cuddled her closer. “From what Nick told me, your husband was in love with another woman.”
She nodded against his chest. “I know.”
“I cannot imagine treating a lady the way he treated you. But, after meeting you, I do understand not wanting to make love to anyone else.”
Kissing her tears away, Rupert carried Vivian over to the bed. She untied his cravat, then busied herself doing what she had never done before—undress a man. Even though it was still light out, her maid had lit the candles, giving the chamber a softer glow.
She still had trouble believing Rupert thought she was beautiful. On the other hand, she knew he was. She ran her palms over his chest, all hard muscle. Soft, springy hairs lightly covered his flesh. She touched the tip of her tongue to his nipples. They were darker than hers, but then again, he appeared to have spent time in the sun without a shirt on. As soon as his pantaloons were off, he wrapped his arms around her and climbed onto the bed.
After they made love, when she was cuddled in his arms, she kissed the palm of his hand. “Will you ask me again to marry you?”
“I will ask until you say yes.” He shifted, looming over her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “My beautiful, darling Vivian, will you be my wife?”
“Yes. I would love to be your wife.” A lifetime with Rupert Stanstead was exactly what Vivian wanted and no one would take it away from her. Especially her father and Lord Twiddlededum. “We must do it soon, before my father finds out.”
She started to rise, but Rupert pulled her back down. “We shall wed with all due speed, but we will not give the impression we are running away.”
His face was strong and his expression firm and unyielding. The only problem was that she had never defied her father. An image of her hiding behind Rupert sprung into her mind. With him she would be safe. He was equal to anything and would take on anyone, including her father. “What do you suggest?”
“I have already sent my secretary to buy a special license. I understand Lady Telford has a clergyman arranged for Beresford and Miss Corbet, or we may wed at St. George’s. It is for you to decide. We have friends we will wish to invite to our wedding breakfast, which I propose we have at Stanstead House. The next morning, a notice will appear in the Morning Post that we have married. Sometime during the next day or two, we shall inform your father, either in person or by mail.”
She was amazed. Not that he could plan it all out, but that he had. “I find nothing to disagree with.”
“Good.” He gave her one of his boyish grins. “Do you wish to have a new gown made?”
Vivian mentally reviewed her wardrobe. Madame Lisette had delivered several garments yesterday, including one in white with silver netting. “No, I have something suitable.”
Rupert rose from the bed, taking his warmth with him. “Give me a moment.” He rummaged through his waistcoat pockets, bringing out a small velvet bag.
“What is that?”
“If you will hold out your hand”—he sauntered to the bed—“you’ll find out.”