Someone to Watch Over Me (16 page)

Vivien reached beneath her skirts to touch the throbbing bruise on her shin, wincing slightly.

“Are you in pain?” A scowl crept over Grant’s face.

“Not really, but…” She glanced at the fitted compartment that contained various crystal decanters. “Might I have a drink of brandy? I still feel a bit unsteady after what happened.”

Wordlessly Grant poured a minute amount of brandy into a small glass and offered it to her. Vivien accepted the glass, raised it to her lips, and downed it in one swallow. The velvety fire spread down her throat and into her chest, bringing a sheen of moisture to her eyes. She suppressed a cough and held out the glass. “More, please,” she said hoarsely.

One brow arched as he regarded her intently, and he filled her glass again. The second brandy went down more smoothly than the first, and the satisfying warmth drifted through her body. Sighing a little, Vivien surrendered the glass and snuggled in the corner of her seat. “Oh, that’s better,” she murmured.

“There’s no reason to feel afraid, Vivien,” Grant said, evidently deciding that was the reason she’d asked for the brandy. “I won’t allow Lane or anyone else to hurt you.”

“Yes, I know.” She gave him a trusting smile, which he promptly dispelled with his next words.

“What did you and Gerard talk about in the lower garden?”

“Nothing of significance,” she said.

“Tell me what was said. I’ll decide if it is significant or not.”

Since there was nothing on earth that would induce her to confide her secret pregnancy to him, she sought for something to tell him. “Well…Lord Gerard asked why I was with you, and he said that you were only flash gentry.”

The comment elicited a smile of sardonic amusement. Vivien deduced that Grant had been the target of similar barbs many times in the past. “I’d say he’s a fair judge of character,” Grant commented dryly. “Go on.”

“Then he asked me to leave you and return to him.”

“How did you reply?”

“I didn’t say yes or no, I only said I would consider it.”

“A wise maneuver,” he said coolly. “In your position, it’s best to keep all options open.”

“I’m not going to become his mistress again,” she said, insulted that he assumed she might.

“Who knows?” It seemed he was deliberately trying to antagonize her. “When this is all over…”

“Is that what you want me to do?” she asked in annoyance. “Go back to Lord Gerard? Or find some other man to keep me?”

“No. That’s not what I want.”

“Then what
do
you—” She gasped as he reached for her, swift as a striking tiger, snatching her onto his lap. One large hand tangled in her coiffure, ruining the arrangement of curls and scattering a few stray pins to the carriage floor.

Grant’s breath came in unsteady bursts, while heat climbed over his face. He was jealous, frustrated, painfully aroused, all because of the provoking creature in his arms. He was tired of wanting what he could not have, of repeatedly stumbling over his own conscience. She was a tumbled heap of flesh and silk in his lap, and he longed to lose himself in her warmth.

“I want you to stay with me,” he said hoarsely. “I want you to be mine.”

Vivien stared at him with heavy-lidded blue eyes, seeming to understand his torment. Gently she touched his face with a cool gloved hand. “Then I will,” she murmured, her sweet brandy-scented breath wafting in his face. “Because I want you too.”

The words released the ravening devil inside him. Unable to stop himself, Grant reached for the
edge of Vivien’s glove and stripped it from her arm. He caught her bare hand and pressed it hard to his mouth and jaw, greedily savoring the tender skin. His mouth delved into her palm, and he closed his eyes in lust and pleasure.

Vivien tugged at her hand, and as soon as it was released, she slid her trembling fingers behind his taut neck. He needed no further urging. Lowering his head, he crushed his mouth over hers, demanding that she open to him. Her lips parted, welcoming him into her sweetness, her own tongue yielding to the aggressive sliding and stroking of his. Groaning, he gathered her more tightly into his lap, twisting his mouth harder over hers. The kiss turned frantic as he searched for a deeper taste of her, but instead of becoming sated, he was increasingly desperate for more.

He ripped his mouth away with a growl, his gaze raking over her flushed face. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said hoarsely. “You’re so beautiful, so sweet…Vivien, let me…” His hands fumbled with the back of her gown, pulling and tearing at the uppermost fastenings. The bronze fabric gave way with a jagged sound, hooks popping free of their moorings, and the cups of her bodice fell away from her pale flesh. “Let me,” he muttered again, one arm locked around her slender back to prevent her from shrinking away. His hand cupped beneath the firm globe of her breast, his thumb drawing over the soft pink nipple until it contracted and darkened to bright rose. Vivien bit her lips and writhed as his dark head bent over her chest. The wet heat of his mouth surrounded the
tip of her breast, and he flicked the peak with his tongue.

Lost in a fog of brandy and sensation, Vivien curled both her arms around his head. He tugged at her nipple, gently, skillfully, his large body shaking with the ferocity of his need. Vivien’s eyes closed as she surrendered to pure physical feeling. Only a brief flicker of shame intruded on her thoughts, the despairing awareness that only a shameless woman, a courtesan, would allow a man to do this to her in a carriage. But she didn’t care. It didn’t matter how, when, or where he touched her. She wanted him as badly as he seemed to want her, and nothing in the world would keep them apart now.

He moved to her other breast, his teeth closing on the tender peak, his tongue circling and darting until she arched upward with a groan. With each caress of his tongue, she felt a prickling sensation of delight deep in her stomach, and lower between her thighs. Agitated, she pressed her legs together and drew her knees upward, instinctively seeking to ease the gathering ache.

Grant tore off his glove and grasped her ankle, the calluses on his hand catching on her silk stocking. Spreading his fingers wide, he trailed them up to her knee and beyond, to the place where a garter held the silk against her thigh. He explored the soft skin above the garter and slid his hand beneath her crumpled linen drawers. Reaching higher and higher, he found the patch of curls between her thighs.

Vivien resisted in a reflex of modesty, quivering
in his lap and gasping out a muffled protest. Instantly his mouth took hers in a surging kiss. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, all thought of refusal melting like ice in the sun. His hand searched the front of her drawers, found the ribbon-edged slit of the garment, and reached right up inside. His fingers slid gently amid the curls, a blunt fingertip drawing along the delicate furrow that protected her private place. Her body shook with confusion, fear, excitement, and her head dropped weakly against his shoulder.

The wicked exploration continued, his teasing fingertip repeating its long, light stroke until the feminine lips became swollen and unbearably sensitive. He touched the tiny, aching center of her desire, circling, shocking her with a visceral pleasure that made her want to scream.

Vivien writhed on his lap, against the protruding bulge that pressed upward into her buttocks. A shaken laugh bubbled up from her throat as she realized that he was more than ready to take her here, in the carriage.

His fingers had located a source of perplexing dampness and probed the soft hollow. Without warning, he slid his middle finger inside her. At first she resisted the gentle intrusion, a slight burn making her jerk and arch in an attempt to push him away. But her inner flesh gripped him tightly, and her thighs closed around his hand, and he pressed soothing words and kisses in the little cove beneath her earlobe.

“You’re so tight,” he said thickly. “Why? Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” she whispered, her senses whirling.

“You have nothing to fear.”

“I…I don’t remember how to do this,” she choked out. His finger slid more easily now, a surge of unexpected moisture preparing the way for him. A slow plunge, another, in a seductive rhythm that made her hips arch eagerly. The pleasurable ache grew stronger, sharper, until she quivered and clawed the back of his coat.

The world shifted off its axis, spinning out of control. She needed to touch his skin, but layers of clothes and starch and buttons prevented her. Lowering her to the carriage seat, he crouched over her with one foot braced on the floor. He held her head in the crook of his arm as he kissed her. His mouth was rough, hot, agitated, and they both moaned at the heart-thumping pleasure of the kiss.

The carriage became a lurching, swaying coccoon of shadows and leather, the air fragrant from her own vanilla-perfumed skin. Reaching up for him, Vivien locked her arms around his broad shoulders and nuzzled tightly into his throat.

“I love you,” he whispered, pushing her flat against the seat, staring down at her face.

“You don’t have to say that,” she said unsteadily, though the words sent a rush of intense pleasure through her.

“I love you,” he repeated, his green eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the darkness.

Wondering if he was truly aware of what he was saying, if he was possibly the kind of man who did not distinguish between love and desire, she stared at him wordlessly.

The carriage stopped, and she realized they were at King Street. Grant’s dark head lowered, and his voice was a low scrape of sound in her ear. “Make love with me tonight, Vivien.”

T
he hour was late and the servants had retired for the evening, except for a lone footman who opened the door. After a blink of surprise, the footman averted his gaze from the small, disheveled form in Grant’s arms.

Carrying his precious burden upstairs, his coat wrapped snugly around her, Grant glanced at Vivien’s half-hidden face. She was flushed and silent, her expression conveying uncertainty but not unwillingness. Remembering his words of love to her in the carriage, he felt his own color heighten, though he did not, would not, regret having said it. This was the first time in his adult life that he had ever told a woman he loved her. He had discovered a side of himself that he had never known existed until tonight, and he wanted to show Vivien
all the tenderness and passion he was capable of.

They reached his room, and he set Vivien beside the bed. Smoothing his hands over her tousled hair, he kissed her mouth, shaping her lips with his own. He pulled the pins from her fiery locks and loosened her braids, letting her hair flow soft and warm over his hands.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, her hands slipping beneath his coat, exploring the hard lines of his waist and back. “I don’t know how to satisfy you. I don’t remember how to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to remember,” he said, his voice soft and fierce. He held her against his tremendously aroused body, his breath catching at the delicious feel of her. Pressing his mouth to the top of her throat, he kissed and tasted the fragile skin, working his way downward until he reached the vanilla-scented valley of her cleavage. Vivien shivered and leaned back against the support of his arm, while her heart beat fast beneath the pressure of his exploring mouth.

He undressed her slowly, pulling at the fastenings of her garments and letting them drop away from her. Her newly revealed skin was white and luminous, her body tender and abundantly curved…He closed his eyes briefly, striving to subdue his violent passion. When he opened them again, Vivien had moved away from him and hastily climbed into bed, pulling the linens over her nakedness. Her bashfulness was so genuine, so…well,
virginal
, that he wondered if this was what
she had been like long ago, before embarking on her career as a courtesan.

“Don’t cover yourself,” he murmured. “Your body is too beautiful to be concealed.”

The bedsheet did not lower an inch. “I’m cold,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.

“I’ll warm you,” he promised with a quick grin, stripping off his coat.

Vivien watched as his clothes were discarded, uncovering an expanse of skin much tougher and darker than her own, covered with springy hair in some places, scarred in others. She was amazed by the power and grace of his body, which had been honed and punished and exercised until no trace of softness remained. “You were right,” she said unsteadily. “You
are
an impressive sight without your clothes.”

He smiled and approached her, bracing his hands on either side of her hips as he leaned over her. She felt the gentle brush of his mouth over her hair. “Any second thoughts?” he asked. “Tell me now, before I get into bed with you.”

Vivien slid her arms around his neck for answer, and pulled him down to her. The full length of his body pressed against hers, and suddenly she could barely hear above the roaring pulse in her ears. Her thoughts scattered and vanished, and all that remained was sensation…the startling heat of his skin, the coarse hair on his chest, the exquisite glide of his mouth over her throat and shoulder and breast. His hands were everywhere, stroking and exploring, sliding between her limbs with no heed to modesty.

Had there been any doubts remaining in the back of her mind, they dissolved immediately. She had not suspected that a man so well acquainted with the harshness of life could be so tender, his hands unimaginably gentle as they searched the intimate places of her body. He breathed so fast, as if from great exertion, each forceful exhalation burning her like steam. Pressing her back to the mattress, he kissed and nuzzled the rise of her breasts, softly biting the stiffened tips.

Gasping, she wrapped her arms around his dark head, while pleasure and a peculiar tension made her writhe beneath him. Suddenly a stray thought appeared in her mind. How could she have done this with many different men? This act required more trust and intimacy than she could have imagined. It was not possible…Somehow everyone must be wrong about her…But before she could dwell on this thought further, it was whisked away.

She felt his hand close around her wrist, drawing her fingers downward until they brushed against a length of hot, silken skin. With a gravelly murmur of encouragement, Grant pressed her hand against his groin. Curious, excited, she curved her hand around the hard masculine shape, timidly stroking and gripping his arousal. Her touch seemed to impassion him beyond bearing. He kissed her deeply, his tongue stroking inside her as he spread her thighs and lowered his hips between them.

There was pressure against the tender opening of her body, causing a slight burn of discomfort. Stiffening in reaction, Vivien felt the weight of his
body settle a little harder over hers, and the blunt force increased. Before she could protest or wriggle away, he made a sound low in his throat and pushed forward in a strong thrust. Vivien’s breath stopped as she experienced a kind of pain she had never felt before—she was certain of it. No woman could feel it and not remember. Her hands spasmed against his chest, and she tried to push him away, but he pushed again. Suddenly he was inside her, his massive length buried deep and hard.

Through a shimmer of bewildered tears, she caught a glimpse of his stunned face. “Vivien, be still,” he said harshly, but she struggled and twisted, pinned helplessly beneath him.

Astonished by the tightness of the flesh that surrounded him, her obvious pain, and the inevitable conclusion his brain was reaching, Grant moved automatically to subdue her, and prevent her further discomfort.

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped.

Holding her tightly, he murmured soothing words against her ear, that he loved her, he would take care of her, he would take the pain away if she would let him. Gradually she relaxed and clung to him, her nails digging into the tough muscles of his back. Still joined with her, he slid his hand down her body. His thumb eased into the damp patch of red hair, coming to rest lightly on the sensitive peak hidden amid the fiery curls. He circled it slowly, teasing a response from her trembling body.

Moaning, she lifted her hips into the caress, and he knew that her discomfort was fading. He continued
to tease and stroke her, and at the same time, he moved inside her with a deep, gentle nudge. Vivien cried out, her body instinctively tilting to receive him, her hands working restlessly over his back. He began a slow rhythm, adjusting himself to please her, his entire being focused on the delight of thrusting within her. She climaxed with startling swiftness, her body clenching tight around him, her limbs quaking with surprise. As he held himself inside her, Grant experienced a release more powerful than anything he had experienced in his life. He groaned and buried his face against the curve of her shoulder, his groin pumping, his pulse hammering, his body flooded with luxury.

In the heavy silence that followed, Grant withdrew from Vivien carefully and found a tell-tale sign that defied all logic. Perplexed, remorseful, furious at himself, Grant faced a fact he would never have believed without physical proof.

She was—or had been until this moment—a virgin.

Staring into Vivien’s dazed face, Grant shook his head incredulously. She fumbled for the sheet and pulled it over herself, returning his gaze with a mixture of confusion and suspense. He rested his hand on the shape of her hip, and though she flinched, she did not push him away.

“Why did it hurt like that?” she asked scratchily.

He did not answer immediately, his mind occupied with a slew of questions. “Because you were a virgin,” he finally said.

“But…I couldn’t have been. I…I’m Vivien
Duvall…am I not? You told me…” She stopped speaking, staring up at him with amazement.

“Christ,” he muttered to himself, trying to understand how he could have made an error of such magnitude. “You can’t be Vivien.”

“What if I am? What if you and everyone else was wrong about me? What if—”

“There is no chance in hell that Vivien Duvall could be a virgin,” he said, staring at her as if he had never seen her before. “It’s impossible. Physically you’re an exact match…but you’re not Vivien.”

“But how could I could resemble her exactly unless she and I were somehow related…perhaps even…” She fell silent as another thought occurred to her.

“A twin?” he finished for her, his face grim. “Given your physical appearance, that’s entirely likely. Though no one even hinted at the possibility that Vivien had a sister, much less an identical twin.”

“Are you certain I’m not Vivien?” she asked in a stricken whisper. “The things you said about me…the men I slept with…the things in that diary…That wasn’t me?”

“That wasn’t you,” he said quietly.

She shocked him by bursting into tears, her hands jerking up to her face, glittering rivulets leaking out from between her fingers.

Grant hauled her into his arms, crushing her against his bare chest. The feel of her tears on his skin caused him to ache with painful remorse. He cursed and did his best to comfort her.

“I’m sorry for this damned mess,” he muttered. “I can’t give you back your innocence. I’ve hurt you unforgivably.”

“No, no,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “I-I’m not c-crying about that. I’m just s-so relieved that I’m not Vivien, and yet…” She tried to hold back another sob, but it broke free with renewed force. “I thought I knew who I was, a-and there was some comfort in that, even if I couldn’t remember anything. And now…” She sniffled and choked on a fresh onslaught of tears. “Who am I? I can’t stand not knowing any longer. I feel so…” Her sobs made further speech impossible.

Grant held her as she cried, feeling guiltier and more remorseful with each second that passed. “I’ll find out,” he said gruffly. “I swear I will. Dammit…don’t cry anymore. Please.”

Stroking the wild mass of her hair, he wondered who the hell she was, and how she had come to be in Vivien’s place. And why had no one been searching for her? Somewhere there must be a family, friends, someone who was worried by her absence. It was even possible she had been betrothed. Someone with her youth and beauty would not be unspoken-for. The thought rattled him even more.

She had an entire life that neither of them knew a damned thing about.

And where in the hell was the real Vivien? Had her would-be murderer already found her and accomplished the job he had set out to do?

Confounded by the turn of events, Grant waited until Vivien—he could think of her by no other name—had calmed somewhat, and he laid her gently
on the bed. Procuring a striped burgundy dressing robe, he tied the belt around his waist and strode to the bellpull. He rang for Kellow, who appeared in less than five minutes. The valet had dressed hastily, his hair mussed and his eyes sleep-heavy. Grant met him at the door, keeping it partially closed to prevent him from seeing Vivien. “A ewer of hot water and some washcloths,” Grant said curtly.

“Yes, sir.” The valet vanished, and Grant turned back to the bed. Vivien had not moved. At first he thought she might have fallen asleep, but as he came to her, he saw that her eyes were open. Her gaze was turned inward, her mind dwelling on thoughts she couldn’t or didn’t want to share with him.

“I’m going to make up to you for what I’ve done,” he said quietly.

She stirred then, turning her head to regard him with a tremulous smile. “You don’t have to,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with tears. “It wasn’t your fault that you mistook me for Vivien…Everyone did. No one questioned my identity. I can’t blame you for accepting what seemed to be the obvious.” She released a shaky sigh. “And as far as
this
is concerned…” She made a quick, embarrassed gesture to the rumpled bedclothes, and her gaze lowered. “I was more than willing,” she said in a bashful whisper. “And you couldn’t have known I was a virgin.”

“That makes me no less responsible.” Half sitting beside her on the bed, he took a lock of her hair in his hand, rubbing the silken strands between
his fingers. “Vivien—” he said, and stopped as soon as the name left his lips. “Damn. What should I call you now?”

Her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. “You may as well continue to call me Vivien. I’m accustomed to it by now, and besides…I don’t want to choose yet another wrong name. I just want to find my own.”

“I’m glad you’re not really Vivien,” he murmured, still toying with the lock of hair as he stared at her. “I’m glad that no man has made love to you except me.”

She hesitated before replying, her blue eyes questioning as she gazed up at him. “So am I.”

They stared at each other for an endless moment, lost in unspoken thoughts of what had just occurred between them, and how it had changed everything.

Reflecting on how he had treated her, Grant was deeply troubled. He was in an impossible position. He, of all men, had managed his own life so efficiently, so carefully. Now he had fallen in love against his will, only to discover that she wasn’t the woman he had thought her to be, and then he had unintentionally taken her virginity. He faced a devil of a reckoning on the morrow. His only choice was to tell her the truth and expose his own lies, and hope to hell that she might be able to forgive and trust him again. And even if she did, there was still every chance he would lose her when she regained her memory and returned to her former life.

Grant had never expected to feel such responsibility
for a woman, such an emotional and physical connection to her. The act of sex seemed almost new, as if in taking her innocence he had somehow gained back a little of his own. He wanted to make love to her again, teach and explore and share with her. Although he had reluctantly acknowledged his growing love for her before tonight, the feelings were suddenly infused with promise and wonder, and every fragment of bitterness was gone. He felt humbled, almost clumsy, a great moonstruck creature whose every hope of happiness was absurdly precarious.