Margaret Moore (12 page)

“You are not alone. You have your uncle, and your suitors.”

“Oh, yes, my uncle who treats me as either a dressmaker’s form to display his wares, or an article to be sold to the highest bidder.

“I assure you, I am lonely, too, and I will be lonelier and more miserable still if I marry Philip, or any other man I do not love.”

“While I might agree that Sir Philip may not have the makings of a worthy husband for you, there are other men in London—rich, respectable men who will surely be only too happy to have a woman like you for a wife.”

“There are not many men in London who are kind and generous and help others worse off than themselves. Or,” she said, blushing and looking away, “who stir such a passion within me, I fear I shall melt with the heat of it. Or am I wrong to hope that you could come to care for me, when I have done so little with my life?”

This beautiful, intelligent woman who could have any man in London …
she
felt unworthy of
him
? Rob Harding, born of some whore and left to die? Pauper. Thief. Willing to do anything to save himself from poverty? “I am not worthy to touch the hem of your gown.”

“This gown I have not earned?”

“Do you not know what an incredible woman you are, Vivienne?” he asked softly, drawn to her by feelings he could no longer restrain. “You are the bravest, strongest, most determined, wonderful woman I have ever met.”

He gathered her in his arms. Gratitude, longing, hope and desire mingled within him at the touch of her soft lips as he kissed her. She shifted, her hands caressing his chest, her very touch firing his blood.

His kiss deepened as her embrace tightened. Burning desire kindled within him. How he wanted her, needed her! Loved and loving. No longer alone.

He caressed her back and her shoulders, the soft satin of her gown a promise of the warm flesh beneath. His long, strong fingers traveled up her bodice and she shuddered when the tips brushed over the tops of her breasts. Pressing closer, she arched against his warm palm.

He should resist. She didn’t truly know what the world was like, what it would do to those it deemed unworthy. He should order her to go, or flee his office if she would not.

But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t, not when her lips moved over his with soft, yet firm, resolution.

With Janet, he thought he had known what love was, but now he doubted that. Now everything was different. He was different and Vivienne was like no other woman.

She wanted him passionately, as much as he wanted her.

With a low moan of desire, he kissed her fiercely, taking her mouth with fervent need. She yielded to his insistent kiss, parting her lips eagerly, her hands exploring his body as if she had never touched a man before and was anxious to know all.

His arousal growing, he pressed his body against hers, encountering damnable layers of skirt and petticoat. Yet he could touch the bare skin of her back, above the lacing.

With fumbling fingers, still kissing her, he feverishly attacked the knot and, when it was undone, thrust his hand into her loosened bodice to cup the soft, pliable flesh of her perfect breasts.

She gasped with surprised pleasure, breaking the kiss. “Oh, yes,” she sighed as he leaned down to kiss her rosy, pebbled nipples. She grabbed his waist to steady herself.

He kissed her mouth again, hard and demanding, as primitive need intoxicated him. He wanted her, all of her. He wanted to possess her, to have her all for himself, forever.

She pushed apart his jacket and shirt and thrust her hand onto the bare flesh of his chest. The sensation was nearly enough to send him over the brink of ecstasy.

He almost didn’t hear Dillsworth knocking on the door and softly calling his name.

But he did, so he broke the kiss and, breathless, called out, “What is it?”

“It’s, um, Mistress Dimdoor, Mr. Harding. She’s been waiting this half an hour.”

“Yes, of course,” he called out, still holding tight to Vivienne and aware that her breathing was as ragged as his own. “Another moment and I shall be finished with Mistress Burroughs.”

Vivienne pulled away from him and, with trembling fingers, began to retie her bodice lacing.

“Mistress Burroughs … Vivienne … I’m sorry.”

She blushed. “I fear we were both carried away.”

He sighed heavily and raked his hand through his hair. “Yes.”

She cocked her head to regard him questioningly. “I am sorry we went so far, but I am not sorry you kissed me,” she said as she smiled gloriously.

“I shall have to go to Sir Philip at once and tell him I cannot continue representing him.”

Her brow furrowed with worry and she chewed her lip a moment. “Must you?”

“Vivienne, I’ve done more than I should as it is. I introduced Lord Cheddersby to you, and, I think, to once more be completely honest, with half a hope that he would indeed be a rival for your hand. To continue now, given how I feel about you …”

“What explanation would you give your client?”

“That I … that we …”

She took his hand and pressed a kiss upon it before looking up at him with determined resolution. “I think we can both guess what he might do then, for we can be sure he will not be pleased to hear what has happened. He will denounce you in the most vile terms possible.”

“And you,” Rob agreed, unhappily certain that she was right. Sir Philip would be a nasty enemy.

“You have worked so hard and come so far, I would hate to see your career destroyed because of me.”

He stared at her, marveling that she would think of his reputation, already blemished, before her own.

“As much as I appreciate your concern for me,” Rob replied, “it is your reputation that will suffer more.”

“That doesn’t concern me.”

“You clearly don’t know the damage and heartache gossip can cause.”

“I am not totally naive—”

“But you are ignorant.”

“I am not!”

He held his fingers to her lips. “I mean that as a statement of fact, not a criticism. Given that you are a carefully reared young woman, I would expect nothing else.”

“I truly do not care what Uncle Elias will say,” she insisted. “He doesn’t care enough about me to even bother with my opinion in so important a matter as marriage, so why should his opinion about who I care for trouble me? As for other people, I value their opinion even less, except that they may criticize you. But for your sake, I think we must be cautious and patient. At the theater Philip provided ample proof that he has misrepresented himself. He is not nearly as friendly with the king as he led my uncle to believe. It could be that Uncle Elias will call off the marriage.” She smiled with charming and unexpected shyness. “If so, I shall be free to be courted by another.”

“That does not mean he will welcome me. He may prefer Lord Cheddersby.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Except that he has reservations about Lord Cheddersby’s associates.”

“My past is well-known in legal circles, too,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but,” she said, another beautiful smile dawning on her face, “it could be that he will welcome a solicitor in the family, especially one also reputed to be clever.” A twinkle of merriment appeared in her eyes. “Of course, you might be expected to do some legal work for nothing….”

Hope sprang to life as he took her in his arms. “That is a bride-price I would certainly be willing to pay.”

Once more they kissed, this time tenderly, hopefully.

“When can I see you again?” Vivienne asked. “There is still so much more I would like to know about you.”

“And I, you,” he said softly.

“Mr. Harding!” Dillsworth called out from the other side of the door.

“Yes, yes!” he answered, reluctantly moving away from her and going toward the door.

“Will you come to my uncle’s tomorrow? You could say it is about the marriage settlement.”

He frowned.

“I know this must seem dishonest to you, but—”

“But I will be there to discuss the marriage settlement.” He made a little smile. “There is no legal obligation for me to say I hope nothing comes of it.”

“Tomorrow seems a long way away.”

“For me, too,” he whispered before he put his hand on the latch. “And I will see what I can do about keeping Lord Cheddersby safe. I am not without some means of offering protection without his being aware of it. He may seem a bit of a fool, but I am sure that, like most men, he has his pride.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mr. Harding.”

“Robert. Rob,” he quickly amended.

“Rob,” she whispered.

Then, as he opened the door for her and as quick as the blink of an eye, he was again the grimly formal solicitor. “Good day, Mistress Burroughs.”

“Good day, Mr. Harding.”

T
hat night, Rob stood with his back to the rough wooden wall of the building in Shoe Lane, the air fetid with sweat, blood and sawdust. He was not watching the cockpit, but looking at the entrance over the heads of the mob of men who cheered, moaned, roared or cursed, depending upon which of the bloodied roosters in the cockpit they had bet on.

Surely Jack would be here soon. He was here nearly every night, even when Rob had paid him to do something else. Jack didn’t know he knew that, or that Rob forgave him the weakness that made him gamble. Gambling made Jack happy, even when he lost, and since Rob usually had some task for him, he wouldn’t starve if he lost his last halfpenny.

A loud roar from one part of the crowd and curses from the other told Rob the fight was over. He glanced at the ring. The winning bird, cradled and stroked by its owner, looked half dead; the loser appeared to be no more than a mass of blood and feathers.

If Jack didn’t come soon …

At the moment, a familiar figure with a black patch over his eye sauntered through the door. He was greeted with merry shouts and salutations as if he were the prince of the cockpit.

“Hell, I’m nearly drowned,” Jack cried jovially, shaking himself like a wet dog.

“Oy, Jack, have a care!” a man complained as drops of water flew off Jack’s sodden hair.

Rob shouldered his way toward his friend and clapped his hand on Jack’s shoulder before he started betting.

Jack looked as if he’d been caught with the crown jewels, while the men surrounding them exchanged puzzled glances.

“I need to speak with you,” Rob said quietly.

“My attorney this is,” Jack explained expansively when he realized who it was. “Little trouble with a woman.”

He grinned, but Rob could see his dismay.

His cronies laughed, then all eyes except Rob’s turned to the cockpit as a new pair of roosters were brought to the ring.

“Outside,” Rob murmured.

Jack stopped looking at the birds. “It’s bloody raining.” He nodded at the cockpit patrons. “We might as well be invisible, for all they care.”

“I’ve got another job for you.”

“Oh, is that why you’re here?” Jack’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Wouldn’t be watchin’ that neat little package of a female, would it? The one Martlebury’s supposed to marry?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

“It’s Lord Cheddersby.”

“That fool of a fop? What’s he been up to?”

“He was nearly involved in a duel with Sir Philip Martlebury.” At the idea of anybody insulting Vivienne, Rob curled his fists so tightly, his short nails dug into his palm. It was easy to imagine the things he would like to do to the arrogant bastard who dared to insult her.

The things he could do, because violence had been as natural as breathing to him once.

But he was not that boy anymore, and he could not wield a sword like a gentleman. If he attacked Philip, he might kill him with his bare hands. And then he would be hung, as the man who had reared him always claimed he would be.

As that man had been when he had been caught with stolen property in his coat.

“A duel, eh? What’s Cheddersby been up to? Dippin’ his wick where he oughtn’t?” Jack let out a low whistle. “Not samplin’ Martlebury’s bit of goods?”

“No. He was defending Mistress Burroughs’s honor.”

“He was, and not the other way around? I’ll never understand the nobility. Still, couldn’t blame a bloke for trying.”

“Jack,” Rob warned.

“Say, ain’t you the touchy one. Just a question. No need to get your drawers in a bunch, although she doesn’t look like the loyal kind to me.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Sir Philip’s bride,” Rob said.

His friend’s eyes widened, and Rob noted how bloodshot they were. Clearly Jack had been spending considerable time tonight in a tavern or alehouse.

“Damn it, man, you already got your heart broke by a whore,” Jack muttered. “Ain’t once enough?”

Rob grabbed Jack by his worn, wet lapels. “Don’t you ever call Janet that again. Do you hear me?”

“Aye, I do!” Jack cried.

The men nearest them glanced over, so Rob let go. Their attention quickly returned to the squawking combatants.

“Damn me for a tinker, Rob,” Jack muttered as he straightened his shoulders and tugged his jacket back into place. “She was my sister, after all. And there’s no denying she done you wrong, takin’ off with that nobleman. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Forgive me,” Rob said, embarrassed by his lack of self-restraint.

“So, what is it you want me to do?”

“Keep watch on Lord Cheddersby. I fear Sir Philip may try to do him harm.”

“Jealous sort, is he?”

“Very, and not wise,” Rob added as he put a sovereign into Jack’s grubby, outstretched hand. “Don’t interfere unless he attacks Lord Cheddersby. I’m not a barrister, so if you’re brought before the King’s Bench, there’s nothing I can do for you. The barristers aren’t likely to come to the aid of a friend of mine, either.”

“Then what am I to do if Cheddersby’s in trouble?”

“Call an alarm and wait for the king’s soldiers.”

“If raisin’ a hue and cry’s all you want,” Jack said genially, “I’m your man.” He smacked himself on the chest, then coughed.

“Just keep watch over Lord Cheddersby.”

Rob began to leave, but Jack’s strong grip on his shoulder made him turn back. “I thought you was Martlebury’s solicitor, not Cheddersby’s.”