Vivien swiveled around on the pew to see a tall, lanky stranger filling the arched stone doorway.
Gasping, Charlotte seized a glove and tugged it on over her scarred hand. “Brand! What are you doing here? I’m sure you weren’t invited.”
“I live to plague you, Char.”
He sauntered into the chapel, a long-limbed man of about thirty who moved with an easy elegance that was almost canine. He had harsh features, thick dark hair, and the alert gray eyes of a wolf. A thin scar shaped like a half-moon quirked up one corner of his mouth.
“If Michael finds you here, he’ll kill you.” Charlotte’s gaze raked him scornfully. ‘Though of course, that would be no great loss.”
He chuckled. “I appreciate the warning,” he said, sounding not in the least concerned. “Why don’t you introduce me to your lovely friend?”
Charlotte hesitated, then pulled on her other glove. “Miss Vivien Thorne, lately of the Romany tribe. Vivien, this is Brandon Villiers, the dastardly Earl of Faversham.” The force of those penetrating eyes stirred an uneasy feeling in Vivien. He was the grandson to whom Lady Faversham had written to give the news of Vivien’s presence in Lady Stokeford’s house. He’d promptly told Michael.
Recalling her manners, Vivien rose from the pew and curtsied. “I’m pleased to meet you, my lord. Your grandmother has spoken of you.”
He bowed sardonically. “Badly, I fear. She doesn’t approve of my choice of companions.”
What did that mean? Vivien wondered. “I’m certain she’ll be happy to see you, though.”
Charlotte remained seated, her arms crossed sulkily. “Don’t fawn before him, Vivien. You’ll only feed his conceit.”
“Pay her no mind, Miss Thorne. She has an appalling lack of breeding.” Lord Faversham paused as a hollow ringing sounded in the distance. “There’s the dinner gong. Run along, Char, and find the unlucky fellow who’s been assigned to you. I’ll escort Miss Thorne.”
Charlotte made a face at him, looking surprisingly childish for all her sophistication. “I’d sooner leave her with a cobra.”
“The choice belongs to Miss Thorne.” The earl strolled forward and held out his arm to Vivien. “Do you mind my company? I would consider yours an honor.”
Though the scar made him appear sinister in the flickering shadows, he could not have acted in a more gentlemanly fashion. She did feel an intense curiosity to know all of the Rosebuds’ grandchildren. Still, she paused, glancing in confusion at Charlotte. She could sense an attraction between her and Lord Faversham, though Charlotte appeared far from ready to admit to it. Had he ever recoiled from her scars? Surely not, for he was scarred himself.
“Why don’t you walk with us?” Vivien suggested.
“With that devil?” Charlotte snorted. “You’d do well to come with me. Brand is a notorious rake. He wants to have his way with you.”
The earl chuckled. “You’re only jealous because I’ve never showed a depraved interest in you.”
“Why, you self-admiring dolt. I’d sooner welcome the attentions of a ... a sewer rat.” The brunette sprang to her feet and flounced to the door, where she swiveled to make one parting comment. “Vivien, I’ll see you later.” With a twitch of her yellow skirts, Charlotte vanished out the chapel door.
The earl stood in the shadows, one eyebrow arched in covert amusement. “Don’t mind her, Miss Thorne. I fear we’ve been at loggerheads ever since our youth. You see, Michael and I wouldn’t allow her to tag along whenever we went rowing on the lake or spying on the neighbors.” With only a slight hesitation, Vivien took Lord Faversham’s preferred arm. His muscles were strong and wiry beneath his smooth black coat. She might have pursued the topic of Charlotte’s animosity toward him, but a greater interest burned in her. “You and Michael were once friends?”
The earl led her to the door and out into the passageway. “As children, yes. My boyhood home is some three miles from here.”
“Did you see each other often?”
“Every day, rain or shine. Ah, we did have some escapades. Once, we smuggled a sack of frogs into the village church and freed them during service. Another time, we sneaked away and camped out for two nights before we were found by a search party.”
“Your parents must have been frantic.”
“Our parents were in London for the season. But the Rosebuds made certain we received our just rewards. Neither of us could sit down for a week.”
“What happened, then? Why would Michael shun you now?”
Lord Faversham chuckled, a faintly ominous sound that echoed down the deserted corridor. “We once quarreled over a woman. I carry a daily reminder of that.” He stroked the curved scar beside his mouth.
Vivien shuddered. “He made that mark?”
“We fought a duel with swords. Alas, he was the first to draw blood.” As they rounded a corner, the earl slowed his steps. “But enough about the past. I would rather learn my future by the fine art of palmistry.”
She wanted to ask him more about the duel, most particularly, the name of the woman involved. But she could ascertain by his flinty expression that the subject was closed. “Michael has forbidden me to tell fortunes.”
“Michael needn’t know. Besides, when I walked into the chapel, you were reading Charlotte’s palm.”
“You interrupted us. I hadn’t yet told her anything.”
“Now don’t put me off, Miss Thorne. I would like to know my destiny.”
He drew her into an alcove near the stairs, where a lamp cast a soft glow over a pedestal bearing a bust of some long-dead Roman. After a momentary hesitation, she took the earl’s hand in hers, its weight heavy and warm. Lord Faversham certainly didn’t make her tremble and soften the way Michael did. She felt discomfited to stand so close that she could smell his spicy cologne. She sensed something dangerous in the earl, a recklessness she couldn’t define.
Opening his hand wide, she ran a light fingertip over his thick skin. She could feel him watching her. Fortune-telling was pure artifice, she wanted to confess. Yet she could never divulge the secrets of the Rom.
“You’ve a long lifeline,” she said, tracing its curving path around the base of his thumb. “I can see, too, that you have the ability to love deeply, although you’ve yet to find happiness in love. When you do marry, you’ll enjoy a lifelong contentment.” There, she wouldn’t give him a prediction of wealth to be won at the gaming tables or any other selfish gorgio desire.
Faversham grunted, sounding half amused and half disbelieving. “Who is this woman who would leg-shackle me?”
“Leg-shackle?”
“Entrap me. End the carefree days of my bachelorhood.” Edging closer, he watched her. “Could she be you, Miss Thorne?”
Revulsion twisted in her stomach. Collecting her wits, she gazed down at his palm again, slitting her eyes as if in great concentration. “No, she’s someone you’ve known for a long time. Her name is...Charlotte Quinton.”
He snorted. Quick as a blink, he turned his hand, seizing her fingers. “I do believe you’re trying to bamboozle me.”
His grip pained her, and she glimpsed a darkness in him that made her afraid. “Release me,” she stated.
“Tell me something first,” he said. “Are you the reason why Michael has stayed here for more than a fortnight?”
“He and his daughter are visiting his grandmother.”
“Strange that he’s so seldom brought little Amy here before now.”
“He prefers to live in London. Now, I’d like to join the others for dinner.”
He continued to gaze at her, his eyes narrowed, as if he were thinking, plotting, weighing some riddle. Abruptly he said, “Come along. It should prove interesting to see Michael’s reaction when you arrive late. With me.” Vivien thought it would be interesting, too. She might enjoy the chance to rankle him, to show a fascination for another man.
Faversham loosened his hold, moving his hand to her upper arm as he guided her out of the alcove. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he’d come to the Abbey, and why he would purposely stir up trouble. Then she spied Michael striding toward them, followed a short distance behind by old Lady Faversham.
Vivien’s heart lurched. A stark fury tightened Michael’s face as he halted to block their path. His wintry blue gaze moved from her to the earl. “What the devil’s going on here?”
“Michael,” Faversham drawled. “It’s good to see you, too. I presume Charlotte told you where to find us?”
Was that true? Vivien wondered. Had Charlotte been so worried about her? “His lordship was kind enough to escort me to the dining room,” Vivien said quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension. “I’m lost in this enormous house.”
Michael flicked her a scathing glance before returning his hard gaze to the earl. “Take your hand off her. Then get out.”
Faversham maintained his hold on her arm. “Miss Thorne and I were just enjoying a little conversation. Surely you wouldn’t imply that anything untoward happened between us.”
“Miss Thorne is a guest in my house. You are not.”
“That isn’t very neighborly of you, old chap. Perhaps we should let the lady decide whether I stay or go.” They were like two dogs, growling and snapping.
“Stop it, both of you,” Vivien said sharply, trying to free herself. “I won’t be a part of your quarrel.”
Michael clenched his fists. “Release her, Brand. Now.”
Before he could take more than one threatening step forward, Lady Faversham reached them. She swooped past Michael, raised her cane, and smacked her grandson hard on the shin. “Brandon Villiers, how dare you try to sully an innocent girl!”
“Damn—!” Lord Faversham bit off the curse and slackened his hold, bending down to rub his leg. “For pity’s sake, Grandmama. I’m not ten years old anymore.”
“Indeed?” she said, glaring down her nose at him. “Your actions leave much to be desired. At times I wonder where you learned your morals.”
He straightened to his superior height. “There’s no law against charming a lady. Ask Miss Thorne if I behaved badly.”
Vivien shook her head. “We were merely talking, my lady. Until a few minutes ago, Lady Charlotte was with us.”
“I should hope so.” Lady Faversham turned her disapproving gaze on Vivien. “It was foolish of you to leave the party. Lucy has been frantic with worry.”
Nothing else she could have said caused as much concern for Vivien. Catching up her skirt, she started past the others. “Then I must reassure her. If you’ll excuse me.”
As she rushed down the passageway, sharp footsteps sounded from behind, and Michael caught up to her, capturing her arm. His hard face might have been chiseled from stone. “You’re not to wander around my house alone,” he said in a harsh undertone. “I’ll escort you to the dining chamber.”
“I’d rather ask a servant for directions.”
“No,” he said firmly. “Tell me what Faversham wanted of you.”
“Our conversation was private. It’s rude to expect me to repeat it.”
His fingers flexed around her arm. “If he made any carnal advance toward you, I demand to know of it.”
“I already told you and Lady Faversham the truth. May your man parts shrivel for not believing me.”
He continued to glower a moment; then he burst out laughing. “I can assure you, my man parts are quite the opposite of shriveled,” he said, his voice easing into a smooth tone, rich as cream. “And no wonder. You’re the most desirable woman I know.”
Her heartbeat surged. She sidestepped his embrace, though the lingering feel of his hard masculine body disturbed her. “What of your mistress, Lady Katherine Westbrook?”
He grinned. “Jealous, are you?”
“I’ve no interest in becoming part of a...a love triangle.”
“If you’d invite me to your chamber tonight, I’d forget all other women. I’d be yours alone.”
Vivien hid her foolish longing behind a cool expression. “Cross my threshold, milord marquess, and I shall slit your throat.”
“Such a fierce one you are.” Michael looked amused by her threat. “Come, I’d rather you slice your meat than slit any throats.”
The gabble of voices came from an arched doorway. As they entered an immense dining chamber, Vivien forgot her animosity in a rush of awe. Candlelight cast a soft glow over an immensely long table set with fine china and silver on snow-white linen. Guests talked and laughed in cultured tones, and footmen moved around, pouring wine into crystal glasses. The elegant scene looked like something out of a dream.
Michael started to guide her to an empty chair in between two middle-aged women, but Lady Stokeford swooped forward to intercept him. “There you are, my dear Vivien. I’ve saved you a place beside me.”
She took hold of Vivien’s arm, and they strolled toward the opposite end of the table. “My grandson can be so masterful at times,” she murmured. “But I’m pleased to see you two are getting on better.”
Vivien didn’t want to disappoint her by revealing the truth, so she took advantage of the chance to bring up a more pressing issue. Bending close to Lady Stokeford, she whispered, “Charlotte told me about the dowry.”
“Oh, that girl. She gossips just like Enid.”
“One hundred guineas a month is quite sufficient,” Vivien said firmly. “I won’t accept anymore.”
“That’s very admirable of you, my dear.” With a benevolent smile, Lady Stokeford patted her hand. “But never fear, we’re merely using the dowry as bait.”
“Bait?”
“Why, to draw the men, of course.” Her blue eyes lively, the old lady added in a low voice, “And if you don’t want the dowry, the answer is simple. Marry a rich nobleman who has no need of it.”
With that outrageous statement, Lady Stokeford guided Vivien to a chair at her right hand. The murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses resounded. On Vivien’s other side sat a mustachioed man with the narrow face of a fox whom Lady Stokeford introduced as Viscount Beldon. His eyes swept her with a haughty admiration, and he launched into a rhapsody about the joys of country life and his own grand estate where he kept a pack of hunting hounds. From across the table, the Duchess of Covington glowered in grumpy disapproval.
Vivien fought the urge to glower back. So the duchess disliked having to share a table with a Gypsy. Or perhaps she was irked at the prospect of Vivien marrying one of these stupid gorgio gentlemen.
Irritating the woman was small revenge, but Vivien reveled in it, making herself charming and flirtatious. When she let her serviette flutter to the floor, Lord Beldon almost knocked over his soup bowl in his haste to fetch it. The dunderhead had heard about the dowry, of course.
Marry a rich man, indeed. She would never spend her life in this exclusive gorgio world, where people would always regard her with suspicion.
So why did her gaze stray to the far end of the table, where Michael sat talking and laughing with the beautiful Lady Katherine? Why, Vivien wondered, did her heart leap for a man she could never have?
“Come inside,” Katherine invited. “The night is yet young.”
Pausing outside her bedchamber, Michael was aware of a disquiet in himself. The corridor was deserted, the other guests having lingered in the drawing room or gone off to bed already. No one would know if he enjoyed a tryst with his mistress. Nevertheless, he took hold of her arms and set her away from him. “I won’t carry on our affair while Amy is under this roof.”
Katherine pursed her lips. “Your daughter? She’s three years old—”
“Four,” he corrected tersely.
“Four, then,” she said breezily. “The point is that she’s asleep in the nursery. There’s no chance she’d walk in on us.”
“Amy sometimes has bad dreams. She comes to me for comforting.”
“Then you needn’t stay all night. Please, darling, just for a little while.”
The offer should have tempted him. Having been a fortnight without a woman, he should take advantage of Katherine’s willingness. Especially since Vivien had tied his loins into a knot.
Vivien. His blood surged with the memory of her, dressed in a pure white gown, gliding down the staircase with the wide-eyed innocence of a debutante. But the garb of a lady couldn’t disguise her true nature—her bold dark gaze, the defiant tilt of her chin, and the sharp wit that both amused and annoyed him.
Gritting his teeth, he focused his attention on the lady in his arms. Blessed with beauty, poise, and breeding, Katherine would make the perfect wife. Yet he didn’t want to deal with her now. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You oughtn’t have come to the Abbey. I asked you to wait for me at your estate.”
“But it was so dull there without you. Haven’t you missed me, too?” Sulky and sensual, Katherine kissed him, her lips moving with the practiced strokes of a courtesan.
For once, her seduction left him cold, and he ended the kiss. “Of course I’ve missed you. But we’ll have to bide our time until later.”
Her blue eyes narrowed, a sign of her pique. “It’s that Gypsy, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I saw you staring at her tonight. You’re drawn to her.”
Michael silently cursed himself. He must be more careful in the future. “I’m worried about her influence on my grandmother, that’s all.” The chatter of voices approached from around the corner. Seizing the distraction, he gave Katherine a swift, placating kiss, and then pushed her inside the chamber. “Sleep well, darling. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
Quickly, Michael strode down the passageway. An odd sense of relief dogged his heels, as if he were making an escape. He called himself every kind of fool. By refusing a night of passion with his intended bride, he had damned himself to long, dark hours of lusting for that willful Gypsy vixen.
The next day dawned balmy and bright, the air more like summer than early autumn. The Rosebuds promptly announced a picnic to entertain the houseful of guests. A few chose to stay back to play billiards or cards, but everyone else piled into carriages that bore them the mile’s journey to a grove of oaks overlooking a lake.
Preferring to walk, Vivien set out at a brisk pace with Lady Charlotte Quinton. The dappled sunlight made the air cool in the woods. They talked about the other guests at dinner the previous evening, laughing at the pompousness of some and the vanity of others.
Vivien stepped around a fallen branch lying on the rutted lane. She would have liked to remove her shoes, but knew better than to ruin her silk stockings. “I must say, the Rosebuds introduced me to so many men that my head is spinning to remember them all.” She looked curiously at Charlotte. “I saw Lady Enid maneuvering a few men toward you, too. Is your grandmother trying to find you a husband, as well?”
Charlotte’s laugh held a razor edge. “The Rosebuds have given up on me! Though Grandmama still chides me to bat my lashes and flirt.”
“She gave me the same advice,” Vivien said. “But when I did so with Michael, he thought I had a speck in my eye.”
Charlotte’s green eyes looked fathomless in the sunshine, enhanced by the deep forest hue of her gown and the large straw bonnet that framed her creamy features. “The Rosebuds wish you to marry Michael?”
Uneasy, Vivien shrugged. “They merely told me to practice my charms on him. He’s the last man I would ever marry.”
She was the last woman he would ever marry. Michael, curse him, wanted only to lift her skirts.
“I’m glad you’re a woman of sense,” Charlotte said with a toss of her head. “Michael is a rogue, and rogues do not make suitable husbands. They gamble and drink and whore. I would far rather be independent.”
Vivien suspected her breezy attitude hid a bitterness due to her scarred arm, always covered by long sleeves. Impulsively, she touched Charlotte’s gloved hand. “You are beautiful, you know. Any man who can’t see that isn’t worthy of you.”
A fierce pain flashed in Charlotte’s eyes, disappearing so swiftly Vivien might have imagined it. “Fie on men! I vow, I’m chafing at the bit to leave home. But I lack the means to set up my own household.”
Knowing that Charlotte preferred not to speak of her disfigurement, Vivien said lightly, “I can’t imagine living alone. All of my life, I’ve been surrounded by people I love.”
Charlotte grimaced. “With five brothers and sisters, I long for peace and quiet, and a chance to order my life as I please. Instead, I’m expected to help the governess with the lessons.” Bending down, she plucked a daisy from alongside the path, touching the golden center. “So you see why I must find a way to escape my lot.”
Vivien sympathized with Charlotte. She knew what it was like to yearn for something more. Of late, she had felt a restless disquiet in herself, and a traitorous liking for gorgio life.
As they neared the edge of the woods, she spied a bit of blue cloth that was snagged on a bramble bush. The sight riveted her, driving out all other thought. With a low cry, she caught up the fabric and held it to her nose, breathing deeply, inhaling the faint smoky scent of a campfire...
“What is that cloth?” Charlotte asked, her lip curling in disgust. “Why are you smelling it?”
“Was I? I was lost in thought.” Vivien let the scrap flutter to the ground. Unwilling to give voice to the clamor of her emotions, she turned her gaze to the clutch of vehicles in the distance. A column of footmen carried tables and chairs and hampers under the direction of the Rosebuds. “Look, there’s our picnic,” she said by way of a distraction. “I believe Lord Alfred is waving at you.”
Charlotte shaded her eyes against the sunshine. “Or perhaps the buffoon is waving at you. Come quickly now. If we hasten to the lake, we can elude him.” She veered off through the meadow of tall grasses, heading toward the shining streak of blue water.
Vivien followed more slowly, glancing back at the woods. Had there been other scraps of cloth or broken twigs that she’d missed?
Excitement and impatience tangled inside her. She had found vurma. The tiny piece of material was a sign that the Rom had passed by here recently, deliberately leaving a trail for another kumpania to follow. But who? Who were they?
Her heart skittered over a beat. Develesa! Were her parents camped nearby?