Flawless (27 page)

He should work. Or
not
work. Both constituted a decision regarding his future. Instead he stared absently at a stack of wage statements and mail, as erotic glimpses of the previous evening conspired to leave him aching. He sank his head back against the padded leather and closed his eyes. Viv, stripped and glorious—as enthusiastic as he ever could have wanted.

His hard cock pushed against the confines of his trousers. He reached between his thighs and rubbed the ache created by such heated memories. Her breasts thrusting up
to meet him. Her gasps keeping perfect time with her determined hips, taking every inch of him.

Just an exchange.

That stark appraisal of their encounter cooled his arousal as if with a splash of iced water. He’d tried bullying and coercion, bargaining and guilt. But even if it killed him, Miles was ready for something new. To keep making the same mistakes would guarantee their ruin. Success would mean having Viv. All of her. Keeping her. For better or worse. And because he never backed down once committed to a wager, he refused to contemplate failure.

The handwriting on one of the letters caught his attention—the fine, perfectly straight neatness of it. And then the return address: Colorado Mining Company.

Curious, he opened the envelope and quickly scanned the contents.

“Viv!”

A quick search of the house revealed nothing. Eventually he found her in the plot of ground she, Mr. Kato, and Chloe had prepared for her personal garden. The three worked at clearing out tangles of plants, while Adam gathered the dead remains and hauled them to a future bonfire at the base of the bluff. All that remained in the plot was cleared, cultivated soil and a few shrubs and vines. Miles had even less of an aptitude for horticulture than most pursuits, but he would gladly watch Viv work at her favorite hobby for the rest of the afternoon.

She knelt in the dirt with bare hands, patting a lump of earth around the base of a plant she’d just watered. Her
hair was loosely bound in a knot at the back of her neck. Silvery blonde tendrils curled around her ears and temples, while darker strands poked out from her nape and trickled down her back. The brisk air pinked her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She wore a cherrywood-brown dress that he didn’t remember, one without adornments or fluff. But it had to be hers. No other woman’s gown would so perfectly fit the sidewinding curve of breast to waist to hip.

And buttons. A whole row of buttons down the proud arch of her back. He toyed with the papers he held, his fingers craving an expedition. He would become an explorer, baring her back to the dark yellow light of the afternoon. He’d never been a man to imagine sex out-of-doors; there were far too many sumptuous places to take one’s pleasure. But he had the sudden urge to bow his body over hers, there in newly tilled soil gently warmed by the sun. He would take her from behind.

Adam noticed his presence first, as he returned to scoop up another wheelbarrow full of floral refuse. The man’s quick eyes and slight smile missed nothing. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he said with a nod.

Uncomfortably aware of his public arousal, Miles clasped one wrist at his waist. The letter hid his erection. “Good afternoon, all. Working hard, I see.”

Still kneeling in the dirt, Viv pushed a hand against her lower back and arched. The artless motion thrust her breasts against the restraints of her formfitting bodice. Miles could only swallow thickly and trace the curve of her
bosom. His heart was an engine pump set to maximum capacity. A twinge of fire licked inside his veins.

The letter. Yes.

“Chloe, Adam, why don’t you take the coach for a ride around town? I insist. Mr. Kato can drive you.”

Chloe’s face lit with innocent pleasure. Her gaze jumped immediately to Adam before the skin along the bridge of her nose turned a sweet blushing pink. Adam’s posture revealed a slight embarrassment that Miles decided he deserved for being so cheeky in his observations. Mr. Kato grinned at the whole scene. He walked away shaking his head and muttering something in an African tongue. If he was chagrined about the strange ways of British courtship, Miles shared the sentiment. So much ritual and nervous posturing. He wanted no pretty words or simpering blushes—just Viv. Again. Without the anger and distrust that burrowed between them like worms in an apple.

He waited until the garden was empty save for his wife, then closed the wooden gate behind him. Power and purpose fused in his blood. They weren’t made of glass. They wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t let them.

She stood as he approached and dusted off the dirt from around her knees. Her palms and fingertips were tinted by the soil.

“No gloves?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m still making friends with this ground.”

Miles inhaled when he was near enough to smell her, all warm woman and the dusty fragrance of that exotic land.
Her hazel eyes, first beset with mild confusion, flicked down the length of him. That keen gaze caught and held at his groin, where he remained maddeningly hard.

Had Viv made any comment about his aroused state—speaking in a teasing way, her lips tipped into a sneaky little smile—he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. His body would’ve interpreted any hint of willingness as an engraved invitation. Dragged, hauled, or pushed to the bedroom, he would’ve convinced her to trade garden chores for an afternoon of decadent pleasure.

But she was still Viv, after all, and surrendering to passion had never been her great skill. Once there, in that place of questing and giving, she was a marvel unlike one he’d ever hoped to find. Getting her there, however . . .

Her lips parted on a quiet exhale. She licked the lower one until it glistened. Was she nervous? Baiting him? Good God, he could hardly tell up from down. Angry with himself and at their whole tightrope of a marriage, he wanted to curse. Or kiss her until they knew nothing but seeking and taking.

“What’s this?” she asked, nodding to the papers he held.

Miles stared at the letter he’d received as if seeing it for the first time. All of his frustration faded. He hadn’t come out to the garden to make love to Viv. No, he’d sought her out because the letter he held was the key to their future.

It hardly seemed possible. He
had been ready to kiss her. Viv saw it in his widened, fathomless pupils and the defiant twist of his mouth. That much she expected after the explosion
of passion they had shared the night before. She had even expected far worse, that their renewed intimacy would give him permission to speak or behave inappropriately in front of the help.

None of it came to pass. Miles remained a perfect gentleman, despite the wool trousers clinging to his undeniable erection. Jaw clenched, breathing roughly, he backed away and released her from the spell of his dark, silent yearning. But upon awaking alone in her room—her inner thighs sore and his scent clinging to her skin—Viv had admitted the truth.

She no longer wanted to be released.

How easy it would have been to awaken together at dawn’s soft light, turning a night of angry passion into a morning of slow exploration. She had told him to go and she regretted it.

She’d resolved to be grateful that he did not press. Now she was simply . . . aching. The tension between them was like a geyser. Violent bursts and scalding bubbles gave way to periods of quiet, but the pressure always built anew.

He broke the mood by smiling. She shivered. Could a man make a dare without words? Viv didn’t know about other men, but Miles could. He said nothing and his stance didn’t shift in the slightest. Yet Viv understood exactly what that smile meant.
I know what you were thinking.

Once she would’ve been appalled. Now she simply wondered why he wouldn’t act on what they both wanted. The barrier of their bargain was gone. He could demand her acquiescence at any time.

“Come to the study,” he said, his smile tucked away. “We have business to discuss.”

He turned smartly and strode back toward the house. His long legs made quick work of the distance between her little garden and the back porch. Black trousers contoured to his firm backside. She could not help the picture in her mind—all of that taut flesh, there for the taking.

She dragged in a deep breath of bracing air and found her center. He meant business. Their partnership. Thoughts of wicked smiles and firm backsides and
want
had no place in her head.

She followed him to the porch, then kicked the dirt off her sturdiest boots with more force than was strictly necessary. What she really wanted to do was hit something, bite something, scratch her nails deep into . . .

“Stop it
.”

And now she was talking to herself. Good God.

Once indoors, surrounded by the bustling sounds of Mrs. Shelby, Louise, and Jamie clanking around the kitchen, Viv let her eyes adjust to the dim light. She had no cause to be so edgy.

“Tea please, Mrs. Shelby,” she said after washing the earth from her hands. She took a considerably long time, making sure that every fingernail was scrubbed. “I’ll be in the study with Lord Bancroft.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Viv found him hunched over the account ledgers. He flicked a pencil up and down against the hard leather cover. “You seem very animated,” she said as she sat in the chair
opposite. A functional desk guarded the netherworld between them.

“Here.” This time she accepted the papers he foisted in her direction. “It’s from Franz Framholt, a German inventor in the employ of the Colorado Mining Company.”

“That sounds familiar. It isn’t one of our clients?”

“No, one of the companies your father was so good as to own a portion of before he passed.”

“They contacted us?”

“No, I wrote to them in December, hoping a little name-dropping might inspire grounds for a business arrangement—grasping at straws, really. I had no idea what might come of it.”

Viv frowned at her husband, trying to peek inside that devilishly unexpected brain of his. He had been thinking ahead to their success since
December
? She’d spent the holidays in Newport with her brothers and sister, their conversations decidedly manic in light of the tasks awaiting them. She had given no consideration to the notion that Miles would be doing the same. Planning. Making sure they would not fail.

“What does he say?”

“Mr. Framholt is their chief engineer with a special interest in creating more efficient mining equipment. Look at the second page.” A boyish smile made him appear years younger. The stark yearning that had overpowered them in the garden was nowhere to be found. In its place was an emotion like joy.

She blinked away from his magnetic eagerness. Mr.
Framholt’s handwriting made her hands cramp in sympathy. Every line was a precise ode to horizontal, diagonal, and vertical, every arc as if rendered with a tiny compass. She had never seen more exacting print, not excepting mechanical type. On the second page was printed a schematic.

“It’s labeled in German. What is it?”

“A drill bit.”

“How would you know that?”

“Certainly not from any great knowledge of drills. Or German.” He retrieved a pamphlet with bent corners and yellowed pages. “But I do read rather well in English.”

“You always did enjoy books.”

“Not all books. Just the Romantics to annoy my father.” He winked. “But this is as far away from Shelley as intellectually possible. Ike Penberthy lent it to me, as well as his time in deciphering the cryptic thing. Turns out Mr. Framholt is simply expanding on existing drill designs, but tipped with diamonds. Carbons, actually.”

Viv went still.

Miles looked like a man ready to burst for the secret locked inside. “You see it, don’t you, Vivie? Carbons. Which we have piles and piles of.”

“Wait here.”

After hiking her skirts and practically running up to her room, she returned utterly breathless. Mrs. Shelby had delivered the tea service, which waited atop a waist-high bookshelf. Miles, however, remained in his chair, elegant hands laced over his flat belly. The study’s tiny lone window and warm tones lent a richness to his coloring. More tan.
Eyes darker. Hair that intriguing mix of coffee and gold. He smiled softly when he caught sight of what she held.

A ledger of her own.

“I knew it,” he said. “I just
knew
you’d have the other piece of this puzzle. Give me the good news.”

Excited now, thrilled even, she didn’t hesitate in joining him on his side of the desk. Only then did she realize how secluded they were, and how lovely he smelled. Some warm peppery soap. Clean but spicy and exotic. The study was at the far eastern end of the house, and it shared only one common wall. Lock the door. Draw the single curtain. Fling the ledgers aside.

The desk wasn’t large, but it would hold them both.

“Here,” she said, her throat chaffed. “See? Year after year, carbons have remained a stable commodity. In fact, their worth has actually been increasing.”

“If Mr. Framholt is able to patent this design, we’ll be sitting pretty.” He worked lean fingers through his hair until it stood out at the temples. “Miners across the world will use it to dig their iron and gold out of the ground. Coal and oil, even.”

A slow, awed smile worked across Viv’s face. The tension—that other tension, one that had nothing to do with Miles and everything to do with the war between success and failure in Cape Colony—drained out of her body. “Drill bits tipped with our carbons.”

“And because the vendors and appraisers in Europe don’t want the things, we could sell directly to the miners and manufacturers.”

“More of a profit to us.”

“Exactly. No sweeps and variations in the pricing. These will be ugly, practical little stones—stones that no one else yet sees as valuable.”

Viv leaned in to get a better look at Mr. Framholt’s design. Nothing changed. It still made sense. It still meant a future.

“This . . . Miles . . . I . . .”