Lady Vice (15 page)

She sat up. The right side of her mouth quirked as she traced his bottom lip with her thumb. “I already have
need
of you.”

Desire, like river-churned sand, traveled through her voice and settled in his chest, languidly leaking lower.

“Siren.” His voice cracked.

She stilled. “Do you fear I will sing you to your destruction?”

“An unconsidered way to say I cannot help but heed your call.”

Her smile flickered. “Helpless to resist my charms, are you?”

“Completely.” He held her cheeks and steeled in preparation of a vow. “Know this, love: I am your servant and your sword.”

Her eyes widened. “Furies punish false oaths, you know.”

He let go to turn up his palms, a sign of harmless innocence. “I have no reason to fear punishment.”

She smiled the secret, triumphant smile belonging to all temptresses through the ages. With aching slowness, she leaned forward, and then
she
kissed
him
.

He sailed the current in dizzy rapture, letting the warmth of her soft breath wash over his cheek.

“Vinia,” he whispered.

His gentle hands held her face with fingers spread wide. He poured all the words he’d failed to find into his lips, kissing her as if his love could weave protection for her as strong as chainmail.

She pulled away, breathing heavily. “That will have to do, for now.”

“Ah, love. One kiss will never do.”

Chapter Seventeen

The dowager’s home proved tall and forbidding, an elegant but watchful matron standing shoulder-to-brick-shoulder in a square of aging but regal peers. Wynchester had discreetly delivered the Furies to the mews entrance, where they’d been received by a warm, solicitous housekeeper. After, Thea had disappeared for some moments, and then a servant had shown Lavinia to a room so fine, she suspected it had been built for the house’s master.

Though the day was not yet dark, the servant had drawn a bath and left Lavinia a dressing gown. Thea and Sophia were to share a connecting room. When finished with their baths, they curled into the overstuffed chairs.

Happy as Lavinia was to be ensconced with Thea and Sophia, she thrummed with unfulfilled longing for Max. She stood and wandered to a window overlooking the square and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. If she stayed there long enough, perhaps she would see the top of Max’s hat, or the swirl of his greatcoat—
any
small morsel would help ease her longing.

Was he near, even now?

She fiddled with the ribbon of her dressing gown, searching perception beyond reason for an answer. To her surprise, her flight of fancy retrieved a reply: he was not home.

Heavens
. Had she come to this? Blindly gadding through her thoughts, seeking answers to things unknowable? Yet, there remained within her a stubborn insistence she could find answers if quiet—the way she had when her father’s presence had guided her through the riot unharmed.

She touched her temple and winced.
Almost unharmed.

“I should warn you,” she called to Thea and Sophia. Her breath fogged the rippled glass. “I have crossed into lunacy.”

“Poor Lavinia,” Thea said. “Your reason, however tarnished, will be sadly missed.”

The watchman’s hazy silhouette passed the lamppost. His muffled cry of time and status echoed off whitewashed brick.

“All is well,” he called.

Lavinia snorted. “If only he were right.” She dangled on the diaphanous string of hope, cloaked in the warmth of remembered kisses. He’d offered to give up his position for her. But how could she ask for such a sacrifice? How could she allow him to change the course of his life when he did not know about Vaile and the brothel?

“Come sit with us,” Sophia urged.

“Not yet,” Lavinia replied.

“She is waiting for a glimpse of Mr. Harrison,” Thea said. “But she hasn’t considered that he is likely, as we did, to use the mews entrance.”

“Right.” With a wry grimace, Lavinia returned and sank into the overstuffed chair. “I am an open book, I see.”

“I suppose some meditation on him is deserved.” Thea tilted her head sympathetically. “Mr. Harrison truly impressed me today, you know.”

“Because he brought Wynchester to your side?” Sophia asked.

“
Please
,” Thea said dismissively. “Mr. Harrison impressed me because he offered to resign”—Thea raised pointed brows— “for you. Will you accept his gesture?”

“I do not know how I can,” Lavinia said.

“A lady accepts tokens of affection with grace and gratitude,” Sophia offered.

“Altering your life’s course is more than a token,” Thea said. “And not something one would do for a
mistress
.”

Lavinia glanced up, abashed. “I have thought about what you said—my choosing to openly become Max’s mistress
would
taint you both. I am sorry I made the suggestion.”

“Mr. Harrison’s intent is plain,” Sophia said. “He wishes for marriage.”

Lavinia pulled a long curl from her nape and fingered the strand.
Marriage.
Just a few days ago, she would have insisted she never wished to experience the state again. Marriage meant compromises, sacrifices.

And love, peace, and refuge.
Ah, but hope was a stubborn little bird, doggedly waiting for a crumb.

Vaile had twisted her belief in marriage and duty, used her wishes to compel her to acts that brought her shame.

Could she come back from the edge? Could she again believe in the very things that had caused her downfall? Could she give over her life, her property, her autonomy? Not to leave out the most important question…could she be as an unscarred woman and lie with Max, freely sharing passion and pleasure?

“Sophia, do you truly believe a women, misused, can heal?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sophia replied without hesitation. “Though not all at once,” her eyes filled with subtle warning, “and often in fits and starts.”

Lavinia hummed—that sounded true. Sometimes, when Max reached for her, she opened like they’d never been apart. Though there’d been many times this past year she had barely felt her body.

“I wish I could have time alone with Max,” Lavinia sighed. “Until I do, I will not know what is possible.”

A mischievous glitter fluttered through Thea’s eyes. “You will see Mr. Harrison sooner than you expect.”

“Yes,” Sophia added. “If we occupy ourselves, the night will pass quickly.”

“That too.” Thea pushed her back against her chair. “By the way, Emma promised us a surprise once we settled.”

“I am curious, Thea,” Sophia said. “How did you convince Wynchester to let us stay with the dowager?”

Thea primly set her chin. “Perhaps I will tell you—”

“Wonderful,” Sophia cut in.

“—
if
you reveal how you convinced Randolph to lie on Lavinia’s behalf.”

Sophia clucked. “I keep telling you, Randolph didn’t lie. He is observant.” Her voice went thin. “Uncomfortably observant.”

“Lord Randolph didn’t lie and King George wears petticoats when strolling in Hyde Park.” Thea tossed a heavy braid over her shoulder. “There is nothing that man wouldn’t do for you, Sophia.”

Sophia’s brows shot up and she jerked back. “I beg to differ.”

“Yet, you must admit Randolph wouldn’t have come forward without your request,” Lavinia pointed out, acting as peacemaker. “Just as the duke would not have allowed us to stay here before speaking with Thea.”

Two sets of eyes glared accusingly, one on each side of the single lit taper.

“Well,” Lavinia threw up her hands, “I plead pardon until the moon is blue.”

“None of us feel adequate to conversation,” Thea said with a sheepish and conciliatory smile.

“We should be concentrating on the problem of Vaile’s murder,” Sophia said.

“But I
have
been concentrating,” Lavinia replied, “and have made no progress.” Thinking of Max was far more absorbing.

“We have reached a theoretical impasse,” Sophia agreed. “An aggressive push for your conviction from Lord Montechurch, the expectation of money from a mysterious source, and absolutely no connection.”

“Open, please.” A woman’s cheery voice penetrated the heavy oak door.

Thea lifted the latch, letting in the dowager. She swept into the room carrying a tray. Her naturally white hair was swept up and away from her kindly, wrinkled face and her robe flowed like a medieval banner in her wake.

“Draw the curtains and light more tapers, would you, Thea?”

“The duke insisted we keep the house dark,” Thea said.

“None of my neighbors would question my keeping late hours. Besides, I do not care a fig what your duke said.”

Sophia discreetly smoothed away a smirk at the dowager’s coarse expression. Thea dropped the curtain and lit several beeswax candles. The dowager placed her tray on the writing desk. A comforting, warm aroma rolled over Lavinia like morning fog, blotting out all other senses.

“Heavenly scent, no?” the dowager asked.

“Oh!” Sophia exclaimed. “You brought us chocolate!”

“Warm chocolate soothes one’s ruffled feathers in a way little else can.” The dowager cocked her head and winked. “Well, that is to say, in the absence of a good roll with the right man.”

Lavinia blushed and Sophia grinned.

“Emma,” Thea scolded as she settled back into her chair, “try not to shock my friends.”

The dowager shrugged. “I can be nothing but what I am, as I often tell your duke.”

Thea leaned forward. “Please stop calling him
my
duke.”

“Whose duke is he, pray tell?” The dowager tapped Thea’s nose. “Think on that, dear. A young duke is a parcel in demand, married or not.”

“In this duke’s case, only until one spends time in his presence,” Thea quipped.

“Perhaps he requires a longer scrutiny than you allowed,” Emma suggested.

“Five years is enough to lend accurate perception,” Thea replied.

“Do you like the same foods and clothes you liked when you first pinned up your hair?” Emma asked.

Thea scowled. “You have no call to defend him, when he treats you like a secret to be hidden.”

“Which is not your fight.” Emma sighed, world-weary. “Now, what was I doing? Ah, yes. Liquid reprieve.” She grasped the silver pitcher and poured the dark brown liquid into white Wedgewood.

With a cheeky smile crinkling the edges of her eyes, she handed the first cup to Lavinia.

Lavinia inhaled the mysterious, calming scent. She closed her eyes and sipped. Hot, watery elixir slid over her tongue, smoky and bitter. Pure pleasure soothed her nerves.
This
was the way she felt in Max’s arms. If only she could be so right now.

Sophia and Thea sipped and sighed in unison.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lavinia licked chocolate from her upper lip.

“We are living under the same roof. Constant use of ‘Your Grace’ is bound to become tedious,” she said. “Call me Emma.”

“Bad
ton
, Emma,” Thea said with mock sternness.

“The
ton
is but a bunch of stuffy, ignorant, selfish—” Emma stopped, and examined Thea out of the corner of her eye. “You provoked me on purpose, you audacious miss. If I continued along that line, we would be here all night.”

An affectionate glance passed between the two. Lavinia thought of her mother. An unexpected ache seeped into her heart.

“I am grateful for your hospitality, Emma,” Lavinia said.

“
I
am grateful for the chance to visit with my daughter-in-law.” The dowager sighed. “I miss the chit terribly.”

“I am right here,” Thea said.

“Under duress, darling Decadence,” Sophia said.

“Thea, my dear, I wouldn’t have been in any hurry to return to Wynchester either, not with these friends.” Emma laughed and shook her head. “Decadence, Scandal, and Vice.”

“Among one another,” Thea explained, “we are darling Decadence, sweet Scandal, and lovely Vice.”

Emma quirked a brow. “No endearment starts with a V?”

Sophia laughed. “Lavinia refused valiant or vivacious.”

“Vexatious and vixen, too,” Thea added.

“The monikers are misnomers, I am afraid,” Lavinia said.

“There is no need to defend yourself,” Emma said, carelessly lifting her shoulder. “I know that what men cannot obtain, they disparage.” Her eyes grew wide and sparkly. “What wonderful names. How did you acquire them?”

“After I left the duke, I went to live with Sophia,” Thea began.

“And then, quite by chance, Thea and I came upon Lavinia the night she left Vaile.”

“Sophia gave us a home,” Lavinia said, “but we needed funds.”

“So you started the gambling parties,” Emma finished.

“Yes,” Lavinia confirmed. “Vaile and his cousin Montechurch were furious I had found a way to survive and thought they could end interest in our gatherings by making us notorious. Montechurch penned prints of Sophia, Thea, and I around a cauldron.”

Sophia smiled. “But instead of snuffing out our source of income, the notoriety increased demand for invitations.”

“As you might have guessed,” Lavinia added, “my marriage was not a happy one.”

Emma frowned and hummed sympathetically. “Marriages are rarely compatible, never-you-mind happy. Your departed husband was the Elmbrooke spare, was he not?”

“If you mean he was second in line to inherit the Elmbrooke title, then yes.”

“
Pfft
,” Emma spat. “From the things I have heard about that one, I am not surprised he met a gruesome end.”

“Truly?” Lavinia asked in astonishment. “I thought his reputation pristine.”

“Perhaps he maintained his standing in the upper echelons, where propriety forbids the words to describe Vaile’s character.”

“But how do
you
know?” Lavinia asked.

Emma sighed. “I suppose you already know I was the duke’s mistress? My duke, mind you, not hers.”

Thea rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Emma continued, “Before I was the duke’s mistress, I ran a business of my own—discreet and tidy, nothing like today’s vulgar establishments.”

“You were a procuress?” Sophia asked.

“Yes. I had an ‘eat or be eaten’ view of the world back then.”

“And you don’t now?” Lavinia asked.

“No,” Emma’s eyes softened. “How could I have maintained such, with my duke by my side? Have I shocked you?”

“No,” Sophia said. “We are Furies, after all.”

“Good. Well, young women in distress still come to my home for assistance. They know I will help…and they know I will listen to their troubles.”

Lavinia gazed at Emma, her flimsy hope hardening into something thrilling and real
. If Emma knew about Vaile—what more did she know? “You know, then, that Vaile frequented a brothel with a reputation for…peculiarities?”

“Yes, but how do you…”
Emma sucked in her round cheeks. “Oh my dear child, he did not require you to indulge in his tastes, did he?”

Lavinia nodded.

Emma scowled. “What a terrible position for an innocent.”

A dammed up sluice in Lavinia’s heart finally bubbled over the resistance. She blinked away the nettle in her eyes. “I wished him dead.” She raised her gaze to Emma’s. “But I did not kill him.”

“Do you have any idea who did?” Emma asked.

Lavinia bit her lip and glanced between Thea and Sophia.

Thea nodded. “Emma can be trusted.”

“I think,” Lavinia said, “Lord Montechurch had something to do with the murder. I think he may be obsessed with me.”

“You
think
he may be obsessed?” Thea asked with an intentional, dramatic shiver. “The way he looked at you gave me nightmares.”