Vivian watched and listened to the dinner conversation. The two fathers spoke as brothers. Her mother was silent except for a quiet word of assent when needed.
Everleigh seemed as convivial as the others, yet she suspected they all were seeing only his façade. His ever-so-proper society motions. The ones his grandfather had taught him.
Just as his father got up to move them into the drawing room, her mother put a hand to her temple. ‘I’m so very tired. I must beg off for the evening. Please forgive me.’
Everleigh rose as well.
‘Before you leave,’ he said. ‘I wanted to discuss the proposal of marriage I made to Vivian earlier.’
The fathers’ heads swivelled to him.
Vivian’s mother pursed her lips.
Everleigh gave a nod to Vivian. Then he informed everyone, ‘I withdraw my marriage proposal, as I don’t feel Vivian and I would suit. We have discussed it.’
Her father jumped up, throwing down his napkin. ‘Breach of promise.’
‘Absolutely unthinkable.’ Rothwilde spoke with precision. He clenched his napkin, his hand fisted. ‘Breach of promise.’
‘I can do it and I have.’ Everleigh spoke softly, without hesitation.
‘What do you have to say about this?’ Lord Darius scrutinised Vivian. He gulped when he saw her expression. ‘You are behind this.’
‘Father, I—’
‘It is my decision to withdraw the proposal,’ Everleigh said.
‘But you need to get married,’ Rothwilde inserted. ‘Even your grandfather would have agreed with me on this. Both your grandfathers and your mother.’
‘I’m not ruling out marriage,’ Everleigh said. ‘Just to Vivian. I don’t feel we would suit. We were both forced into the proposal by Alexandria.’
‘I’m sure Alexandria would still have you.’ Rothwilde said, turning to leave. ‘Although, in that case, we’d be better off letting your brother find a wife and produce an heir.’ He groaned. ‘You’re doing this to spite me.’ He turned to Vivian. ‘I assure you if I had disliked you, he would have wooed you so thoroughly that you wouldn’t have questioned his proposal. You will never convince me after—’
Everleigh took one step towards his father and the man stopped speaking.
Then Rothwilde swallowed. He addressed Darius. ‘My apologies. For this. For all of it. His grandfather is turning over in his grave. His mother, too. My wife understood negotiations and a profitable marriage.’ He stomped out of the room, his cane crashing with his steps. ‘But my son does not.’
‘Are you behind this, Vivian? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to slap him with a breach of promise when I get back to London.’ Her father’s voice trembled in rage.
Her mother touched her father’s arm. ‘Rupert.’
‘I am.’ Vivian stood firm. ‘It’s not breach of promise. It’s my refusal.’
Her father informed her mother, ‘You need to talk some sense into her.’ He tossed his chin. ‘I’m going to get a drink.’
‘No, Rupert,’ her mother called out, moving to her husband. ‘You have been doing so well.’
He shrugged her away.
Everleigh walked around the table, blocking the exit. ‘Lord Darius. Might you have a smoke with me?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I—I don’t smoke. I drink.’ He glared. ‘A lot. There is a time to be born. A time to die. Everything in between is a time to imbibe.’
‘Father,’ Vivian said, splaying her hands, ‘you can’t do this. You can’t undo the efforts you’ve made. And you can’t put the blame for drinking on me.’
Rothwilde stepped back through the doorway, thumping his cane on the floor. ‘Come with me, Darius,’ he said. ‘Everleigh will never listen to me. It sounds as though your daughter has made up her mind as well... It was too good to be true.’
Rothwilde gave a grunt towards Everleigh. ‘He is just like his grandfather, except on this. Even his grandfather would have valued this marriage. Both his grandfathers. I didn’t get on well with either of them.’ He jerked his head in Everleigh’s direction. ‘He’s wearisome. She’s better off without him.’
Her father gave a quick snap to the hem of his jacket. ‘Very well, Rothwilde. The one good thing out of this debacle is that my wife and I have had a chance to make your acquaintance.’
Rothwilde stepped into the hallway, speaking to someone hidden from the room. ‘Tea. The blend with the rosehips and chamomile. Bring it to my sitting room. Darius and I will be playing cards.’
Darius grumbled at his wife, ‘We’ll try to do a better job in the future.’
Both the fathers left.
‘Well...’ Her mother gave a wavering smile. ‘If he can survive this, then perhaps he will survive the birth of a child.’
‘But, Mother, I’m not getting married.’
Her mother smiled. ‘Not your child. Mavis is going to be a governess again. I was seventeen when I was married and you were already on the way. Then we just weren’t blessed with any more children. Haven’t you noticed how plump I’ve been getting? My illness in the morning? That’s what’s spurred your father’s decision to take better care of himself. You’re not going to be an only child any more.’
Vivian stared as her mother shrugged. ‘I’m tired. I don’t care what you do, Vivian. I have other things on my mind.’
Everleigh grasped Vivian’s elbow and drew her to him. The world came into focus again.
‘Worked out better than I expected, Vivian.’ His gaze locked on hers. ‘I understand your father much better now. He wanted you married as he realised that he would be having another child to guide.’
‘I suppose.’ She stumbled over the words, still shocked at her mother’s news.
Everleigh bent towards her, the scent of his shaving soap surrounding her. ‘You’re getting the sibling you wanted.’
He touched her. ‘It was pleasant, those few moments I thought we might marry. I needed a wife in order to have heirs. At first, I didn’t like being asked to withdraw my proposal,’ Everleigh said. ‘I thought you would change your mind in the morning light. I took it as a censure of my heritage, and...all of me. I was used to having my own way. In everything. It’s time I changed. I must in order to complete my duties better.’
He brushed her shoulder. ‘You’ve shown me how selfish I was. You’ve made me a better man, Vivian.’
Then he strode out the door.
Her mother brushed a thumb over her forefinger, tending to a fingernail. ‘Your father’s funds won’t stretch as well for two children as it did for one. Wouldn’t it be interesting if, as recklessly as Everleigh considered a wife for heirs, that you might need a husband for a fortune?’
Everleigh left. Being a better man wasn’t the route he would have preferred to take. Right now, he would have liked being the second son. He felt like one. Recklessly barging ahead. Not considering all the alternatives to his actions.
He should not have touched Vivian.
Why could she not have married him simply for...himself? Himself, and a fortune and a title? What more did she need? A tiara?
Well, he could understand that the title and the fortune might have been considered costly to her.
Then, that morning, he’d given her that kiss on the cheek. He’d had to go back for one more touch. He always had to go back for one more touch of Vivian.
Blast it.
He went to get a cheroot. He needed to stop Vivian’s body from controlling his thoughts.
He’d always crept out of the rear door when he was a child and saw no reason to add extra footsteps to his path now. He would see the stars twinkling overhead and imagine he could have them.
He stood just outside the door, studying the clear sky, remembering the nights he and Daniel had stayed out and watched the night sky slowly come alight with the stars. They’d even stolen cheroots from Rothwilde. He and Daniel had often tried to be first to view the earliest star. And then to spot the second, and the third.
Ella Etta had said he would have the sun and the stars, but she didn’t say how long he would have them. So few words for what was Vivian. No one had warned him that they could evaporate in his hands.
The sun burned too bright to keep. The stars disappeared in the light of day.
He had the remnants of a heart buried deep inside him and the thought brought a bleakness.
In the night, Vivian stared at the ceiling. Everleigh’s house felt like a tomb. Wood creaked. An owl hooted. The night roiled around her.
With the windows shut against the chill night air, even the moonlight seemed reluctant to breach the sombre house.
During the early part of the day, the underservants were like spirits, darting about to tend fireplaces or bring water when no one else stirred. They were perfectly trained in invisibility. She’d stumbled across one. The maid had been too intimidated to do more than nod, duck her head and dart away.
She knew the action was subservience, but in comparison to her own home, it felt more like disapproval.
She couldn’t stay in her room and she couldn’t see her parents.
The library had been restocked with those extra books. She wanted to get something to read.
Taking a lamp and leaving the room, she crept to select a volume.
In the library, she noticed the books were dishevelled, as if someone had searched through them in the night. Spaces indicated where books were taken. She stood, recalling the last visit, trying to remember the former details of the room. Yes, books were missing. She supposed her mother had borrowed some to read. Several were by the sofa.
She studied the walls and thought of her choices, but kept feeling the starkness that engulfed her when Everleigh had withdrawn the proposal. She hadn’t imagined the words would stab into her so.
Vivian paused, understanding that she’d expected the conversation to occur when she wasn’t in the room.
She gathered the books that had been taken from their location, reading the titles as she sorted them by height to return them to the shelf.
She and Rothwilde had books in common. When she was too ill to sit up, sometimes she had been able to escape the sickness by concentrating on a story.
Absently, she opened the volumes, leafing through pages. But her mind couldn’t focus, even on the titles. Too much had happened.
Even the air in the room seemed different. Gone was the scent of tobacco—of Everleigh. Now it smelled of damp wood and embers.
She wouldn’t stay long, changing her mind about the book. The room had changed, just as she had. Now she shivered from the coldness.
Rotating, she considered each wall of the room, taking enough time to truly examine the space.
An engraving of Doctors’ Commons on one wall. A true likeness of a pair of colts, surrounded by smaller paintings of different horses. Sconces. She reached out to the last wall, testing the blades of the two crossed swords. Dull and with dust hidden in the filigree at the hilt. Ornamental.
A house decorated with no softness. Swords, horses, an engraving and necessary lighting.
She went to the window, touching a finger to the pane. A flickering light moved not far away. A cheroot. Her senses told her who it was. The deft movement wasn’t Rothwilde.
She saw a man who’d lived his whole life in a man’s world, a man’s house, and with the responsibility of his family and his heritage squarely on his shoulders.
Everleigh was created by his circumstances, his motherly love sparse.
Vivian put the lamp on to the table and hurried to her room.
After donning her pelisse, she moved to the servants’ stairs and darted down. With a few quick turns, she was at the back door of the house. She expected she’d have to get the butler or housekeeper to unlock the door, but when tested, the door opened.
The sharp sting of night air brought her senses fully awake. The trees loomed over her, casting out the moonlight.
She stared across the courtyard to the shadowy shape, smelling tobacco, but seeing nothing.
He must have left.
Vivian walked carefully, then stopped.
She waited, listening.
A breeze brought the scent of tobacco across her and she found Everleigh, a cheroot in his hand, observing her. He appeared as another shadow by the walls of the house, illuminated only by an ember. He sat on a wooden bench, which had been pulled back against the outer wall, his hand absently flicking ash.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ His voice stirred her.
‘I had to tell you goodbye.’
‘Didn’t we already make our goodbyes?’ His words were almost lost in the air and a slow puff of smoke.
He wore a greatcoat, but no gloves or hat. She stepped closer.
The night had brought out the darkness of his face, but he put the cheroot to his lips. His beard shadowed his jaw and she couldn’t see his expression. The darkness concealed too much.
‘Do I pass inspection?’ He inhaled, then flicked ash away again.
‘Do you normally keep cheroots at hand?’ she asked.
‘Only at my father’s house.’
Before she could answer, he continued. ‘It’s an excuse to step outside. There are no soirées or dinners or theatre.’ His lips turned up, rueful. ‘Last night, I had you to hold. Tonight, I only have the memory of it.’
‘I already miss you,’ she confessed. ‘The house is so dreary. Even the library seems—well, unwelcoming. My room is pleasant, but again unwelcoming.’
‘It’s Rothwilde’s house. I moved away as soon as I could. At my town house, Mrs Rush has a free hand except she is not to ask me any questions about furnishings. I will let her know if something displeases me. I’ve yet to do that.’
‘What are the colours of the rooms?’
He shrugged. ‘Mrs Rush takes care of that. I don’t interfere. Do you remember the colours of the rooms in my house?’
He sounded as if he really wanted to know.
‘I didn’t notice. Not at all. I had other things on my mind.’ She decided not to wait on an engraved invitation. She let out a breath, then found a place beside the dark man. ‘But I’m sure they are cheerier than this house.’
He didn’t say more while he smoked. He put the cheroot to his lips, then exhaled, and rested his arm on his knee, letting the ash fall to the ground.
She relaxed, the air freezing some of the tension from her body. Or maybe it was Everleigh’s presence and silence. ‘I said I miss you and you didn’t respond to that.’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘For us to be together tonight is pushing fate. Pushing fate to remind us how lovemaking feels.’
Their shoulders touched, two coats brushing, but the connection warmed her. ‘I know.’
One of his boots was tilted at the heel and he rocked his foot. He beheld the puff of smoke that wafted into the air. ‘The longer I sat here, the more I’ve thought about it. I’m not a better man.’
‘You didn’t think I could say no. To marriage. After the shooting episode.’
‘I thought I’d compromised you.’ He laughed wryly. ‘Blast it. We were alone in a carriage in front of a whole congregation and no one noticed.’
‘Mavis’s hat is apparently well known. Before, when I courted, everyone knew how well I was chaperoned. No one realised that had changed. And everyone was distracted. Neither of my parents noticed Mavis wasn’t with us until we arrived home.’
She’d not really wanted to say no either and yet, conversely, she had desperately wanted to say no to the proposal. It was true she wanted to dance, but even more than that, she wanted a marriage in which the wife called her husband by his first name when in private.
She didn’t even know Everleigh’s given name. ‘You don’t love me.’
‘I’ve been in love before. Love fades. It’s what’s kept me from marriage. It’s a passion that tries to pull you into a whirlwind of the other person, then you wake up and examine the world freshly and discover you might not even like them.’
‘When you woke up this morning, did you like me?’
‘I was angry that I had to withdraw the proposal. That doesn’t mean that I don’t like you. I do.’ His words wisped into the air, mixing with the smoke, then fading. ‘You would have been the only person I would have wanted to tell, if you’d not been the one involved. I would have said something along the lines of... Vivian and I won’t be married. But we were almost betrothed, and now we’re not. And we nearly made love and it felt right, but now that we aren’t going to marry, it doesn’t.’
Vivian discerned the night air around her, avoiding the most sombre shape of all—Everleigh.
She did not want to live in the starkness that infused the estate. She’d made a good decision, even if it hurt.
‘When you suggested marriage...’ She tried to move so that their shoulders didn’t touch, but it seemed impossible to pull away. ‘To bring me into your world... It’s too bleak. You and your father cannot even share books.’
‘I suppose he moves the books around to remind me that it is his house.’
‘With all due respect, it is not a comfortable home. There is not one evidence I saw of happiness.’
He shook his head.
‘What about when your mother was alive?’
He thought about it. ‘I suppose it had more of her things about and the housekeeper has moved them away over the years because Mother was the competition for my father’s favours.’
‘You didn’t want mementoes of her about?’
‘The painting. That meant a lot to me. It truly did. And, then... Never mind. But, no, I don’t care about fripperies. What man really does?’
‘A wife? Another frippery for the house?’
‘If that’s how you see it.’ He paused, thinking. ‘But you would be a mighty soft frippery. Pleasurable, you could say.’
‘Everleigh, my former beau, the fortune hunter—whom I never wish to see again and would like to avoid in any afterlife that might be—said pleasant things to me. While he could not talk openly in front of the chaperon, he wrote notes telling me how ravishing he found me. That I was the fascination of his day and that, without me, everything was dust by comparison. That kind of drivel.’
Everleigh stared into the darkness. ‘You didn’t marry him either.’
‘Only because he was interested in my dowry. I was sick, scared, and then I was angry when I found out he was taking advantage of the situation.’
‘Are you still angry?’
She considered his words. Yes, she was. Angry and happy. Happy to be alive. Happy to have her chance to dance and move about in the world. But angry that she had been slipping away and now she could see how the world had been prepared to go on without her.
Now everyone expected her to glide right back into the world that had mostly brushed her aside.
Everleigh had even noticed her as a potential wife.
He had not even considered a courtship necessary.
She shivered.
‘You need to go inside where it’s warm.’ He extinguished the cheroot on a paving stone, stood and stretched.
‘I’ve been to your library. It’s not much different from out here.’
He scrutinised the gardens, the sky, anywhere but her, yet awareness jumped between them.
He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s go inside.’
Instantly, the heat of his skin surrounded her.
Taking both her hands, he trapped them between his own. ‘If you’re there, it will be much warmer than the outside air.’
Then he stepped closer and pulled her hands up the front of his waistcoat. Heated breath tickled her ears. ‘Put your arms around my neck.’
His hands went to her waist, clasping, and she’d never, ever swooned, but she felt her body weaken. She could feel his grasp even through the cloak and she was pleased she didn’t have to speak.
His stubble-roughened chin brushed against her cheek briefly. Tendrils of his hair, feeling cool, touched her and sent warm shivers into her body. The man smelled of smoke, yet he made her skin come alive, her muscles tense and knees weaken.
‘You’re silk softness.’ His voice was whispery gruff. ‘Silken kisses and silken skin. You make me forget about tomorrow. All I can see is the silken promise of your lips.’ His breath feathered the air and he pulled her against him.
Every bit of her exploded with delicious sensations. Flashes of power invaded her, but they instantly evolved into something else, something which controlled her.
She didn’t know she could feel another’s spirit inside her own body.
With his mouth, on her lips alone, he took control of her. With no more than a kiss, he blended into her, swirling desires, pulling her closer.
She could hear him say her name, which was impossible, because his mouth was against hers and he could not be speaking. But he was. It was the softest thing she’d ever heard. She kept spinning and spinning and spinning into deeper desire.
She didn’t even know when he stopped kissing her, but her thoughts returned and she was looking at him, his face above hers, and he watched her.
With the same care of moving fine porcelain from the edge of a table, he embraced her.
‘Vivian,’ he said and her body reacted to the emotions in the word. She could hear the tension, the desire and the longing he’d put into speaking her name. He would tell her he loved her.
He reached out, and brushed back a lock of hair from her cheek. ‘I think—’ He interrupted himself. ‘I do care about you.’
She thought he wanted to tell her he loved her, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.
‘You know—’ He gave up.
‘Yes. I do.’ But she didn’t blame him for not being able to love, she cherished that he cared for her and that he had told her the truth.
‘We should go inside where it’s warmer. Together.’
He could have led her straight to the end of the earth, but instead he guided her forward with a gentle hand at her back.
Vivian walked inside the house with Everleigh and she hesitated. He clasped her gently. ‘We can part when you get to the top of the stairs.’
‘It’s too early.’ Even if it were approaching daybreak, it would be too early.
She moved quickly up the stairs, keeping ahead of Everleigh’s long legs, but he kept up with her effortlessly.
When she stepped on to the landing, she gasped in air. She hurried into the library.
His words were soft and they had the merest hint of humour behind them. ‘You run beautifully even if I cannot see well through the darkness.’
His mouth didn’t relax, but she glimpsed the softest shade of the sky she’d ever seen.
If she hadn’t been ill before, she would have accepted a proposal and continued on, blissfully happy that her life was following along the path that she’d hoped for.
In fact, she would have probably fallen in love with the next man who’d shown her marked attention and she would have been more concerned about her hair being perfect on her wedding day and the furnishings she might wish to select for the house.
Now she perceived potential suitors differently.
It wasn’t about how perfect her embroidery stitches were or whether the pattern on the plates was the one she’d preferred. To marry, she wanted someone who was devoted to her. Someone who wanted to be with her more than anyone else in the world, ever.
Everleigh watched her. He was the only man who had truly intrigued her.
‘I might fall in love with you,’ she said.
‘Would that be so terrible?’
‘It might. If I woke up and discovered that I needed more.’
She waited, questioning him with her silence and her gaze.
‘It never lasts long. You wouldn’t have to worry about it.’
She gasped. ‘Do you think you are capable of a lasting affection?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Had you considered marriage before Alexandria stopped our carriage?’
‘I’ve never proposed to anyone but you. I knew I could easily recover from the scandal of Alexandria creating a spectacle. I had considered proposing to her, but I suspected she might have that side of her we saw. I wanted no part of that in a wife.’
‘I fit your criteria.’
Brushing fingertips across the back of her hand, he let his touch linger before moving away. ‘My criteria included an acceptance of a proposal. So, I would have to say you have failed in that regard.’
She felt the need to apologise and angered at the same time. Failed. She didn’t like that word. ‘You would marry me without love?’
‘I suppose I would have to.’
Vivian’s heart fell.
‘When you’re leaving, I will make certain your father knows that it is a lost cause for him to expect me to marry you, if you’d like.’ He took her hand. ‘After I do that, it is unlikely our paths will cross many times. They didn’t often in the past. Your father will be pushing you to marry. He’ll ensure that suitable men will be at the soirées. He’ll give you a chance to dance. It just won’t be with me.’
He could remember the feel of her skin against his. The strands of her hair brushing across his lips. Her scent. An innocent’s scent.
He shoved those thoughts aside, remembering he could not touch her.
To continue making love to her and to watch her walk away would be too much of a loss.
The innocent who had first asked him for the kiss might have remained a spinster, but the temptress who came to his room and who refused to marry him would not. She would not only dance to the tune she wanted, but would find someone to follow along willingly.
He bade her goodnight and left the room.
Vivian reminded him of a baby wren, always safely in the nest at first. But now she was a fledgling, moving into the world on her own.
He’d seen fledgling birds, though. They cheeped so the mother bird could continue to find them and give them morsels to help them along as they learned to manage on their own.
The only problem was that the predators listened. Hawks swooped down upon them.
He didn’t want Vivian to be anyone’s prey.
He didn’t want anyone else to teach her what he could show her.
But she didn’t want to marry him and he didn’t want to watch her navigate into a world where raptors resided, stomachs empty, talons bared and prey a momentary meal.
Blast it. He circled, not stopping, and returned to the room Vivian was in.
‘I miss you,’ he said. ‘Already.’
She ran to him and threw herself into his arms. ‘Make love to me.’