Gasping, Vivien stepped forward with the half-formed notion to stop him, but Michael was already surging past her. He caught Lord Faversham by his monk’s robe and shoved him against the wall of the corridor.
“Cur!” he said in a low voice. “What are you doing here?”
The earl regarded him coolly. “I merely wish to meet your daughter.”
Michael said nothing for a moment, and his breathing sounded strident in the quiet corridor. A powerful darkness emanated from him, a violence that mystified Vivien. Through the gloom, the two men stared at each other. They were of equal height, though the earl was lean as a whip while Michael was broader, more muscular.
“You’ll roast in hell for coming here.” His fist flashed out, clipping the earl in the jaw and knocking him sideways.
“Michael, stop!” Vivien hissed in horror. “Amy’s in the next room!”
He gave no indication of having heard her. Like feral dogs, he and the earl circled each other. Lord Faversham landed a blow to Michael’s ear. With lightning swiftness, Michael returned the strike.
Vivien stood in shock, her hands clasped to her throat. The brawl was almost unreal, enacted in near silence, the only sound the sickening thud of flesh on flesh. She had to stop them before they awakened Amy.
Remembering what her mother had once done to two fighting men, she dashed into the bedchamber. Amy was still sound asleep, thank the heavens. Looking wildly around, Vivien spied the porcelain pitcher by the washbasin.
She snatched it up, and water sloshed inside the vessel. Carrying the pitcher into the shadowed corridor, she hurled the contents at the men.
She’d meant for Michael to take the brunt, but in the last second, he saw her and ducked, and Lord Faversham caught the water smack in the face. Liquid poured down, soaking his hair and his robe. As he cursed and shook the water out of his eyes, she stepped in between the men.
“That’s enough,” she said in a low, stem voice. “You’re behaving like bad-tempered children.”
Panting, Michael glowered through the shadows. “Move out of the way.”
“Will you strike me, too?” she mocked. “Develesa! And you call yourself more civilized than the Rom."
“Vivien, I’m warning you—”
“Papa?” came a small, fearful voice from the doorway. “Why are you talking so mean to Miss Vivi?”
As one, they whirled around to see Amy hovering in the doorway, clutching her doll. The little girl looked like a tiny ghost in her pale nightdress. She gazed in perplexity from her father to Vivien to Lord Faversham.
As one, Vivien and Michael headed toward Amy, but he reached her first, hunkering down to block her view of the earl. “You misunderstood, sprite,” he said in a far gentler tone than he’d used with Vivien. “Nothing’s wrong. Go back to bed now. I’ll be in there in a moment.” The little girl looked at him uncertainly, then peered around him.
“Who is that man?” she asked, her expression changing to wonderment as she stared at the earl in his dark, rough robe. “Is he Jesus?”
Despite the tense circumstances, Vivien smiled. “Lord Faversham is a guest at your grandmama’s masquerade party.”
Michael swung up his head to glare at her. “He’s not a guest—”
“I’m your Uncle Brandon.” Lord Faversham strolled closer, his gaze keen on Amy. “You’re a very pretty girl, Lady Amy. We should light a lamp so that I might see you better—and you can see me.”
“No,” Michael said coldly. “You were on your way out the door.”
“Was I?” the earl said, looking diabolically amused. “I don’t recall saying so.”
“You’re all wet, Uncle Brandon,” Amy piped up.
“So I am.” He gazed down ruefully at himself. In the moonglow, the dampness of his hair and robe was more evident. “I’d like to stay and visit—”
“But he had an unfortunate accident with a water pitcher,” Michael interrupted. “He’s leaving. Now."
The two men exchanged an intense stare. Tension radiated from both of them, thick enough to slice with a knife. Why could they not set aside their differences? Vivien wondered. They had dueled once over a woman. Was that not enough?
Lord Faversham grimaced, gingerly rubbing a faint discoloration on his jaw. Then he bowed. “It seems I am cast out. Adieu, Lady Amy. Vivien.” With one last glance at them, he strode out of the corridor and through the schoolroom, and there came the faint sound of the door closing.
Seething with questions, Vivien turned to Michael. Though forced to bide her tongue in front of Amy, she sent him a determined look. He returned her gaze with a stony stare. But she would have her answers, she vowed silently.
Amy tugged on his sleeve. “I thought I only had two uncles, Papa.”
“That’s correct,” he said, gazing into her small, bewildered face. ‘There’s Uncle Gabriel, who’s off exploring in Africa, and Uncle Joshua, who is commissioned with the cavalry.”
“Then who is Uncle Brandon?”
His mouth firmed as if he’d bitten into something rotten. “He’s not really your uncle, darling. He’s Lady Faversham’s grandson.”
Seeing the little girl’s bafflement, Vivien sank to her knees and took Amy’s small hand in hers. “What your father is trying to say, little dove, is that even though you’re not related by blood, Lord Faversham is like an uncle. Because your grammy and Lady Faversham are such fast friends.”
“Oh!” Amy said, nodding sagely. “He’s my pretend uncle.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Michael scowled, though he didn’t gainsay her. Vivien arched an eyebrow to show him that she didn’t care what he thought. Let him grumble. She wouldn’t allow his petty feud to affect his daughter.
“Amy asked me to watch the fireworks with her,” Michael said abruptly. “Perhaps you’ll join us.”
“But she already asked me—”
Vivien fell silent, frowning at Michael. He frowned back, and she glimpsed on his shadowed features the same dawning awareness she felt. Together, they looked at Amy.
“You invited both of us,” Michael said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Grammy said it must be a secret. She said you’d like being surprised.” Amy smiled innocently at him. “Are you pleased, Papa?”
To his credit, he hugged her without hesitation. “I’m very pleased, sprite. You did an excellent job of keeping the secret.”
Over Amy’s head, he aimed a wry, unexpected smile at Vivien. She couldn’t help smiling back. So this was another scheme devised by the Rosebuds. But with the house party nearly over, there was no need for her to practice her flirting. So why were they still finding ways to throw her together with him? Did they want him to learn to trust her?
Or perhaps there was another reason. A suspicion had hovered at the edge of her mind, and for the first time she allowed herself to examine it. Perhaps they wished to encourage a romance. They wouldn’t approve of her having an affair, so their scheming could only point to ... marriage.
The Rosebuds wanted her to wed Michael.
Her heart beating faster, she clutched the empty pitcher to her bosom. Their praise of him, their maneuverings, even their lack of effort in encouraging other suitors, made perfect sense. All this time, they’d been plotting her betrothal. To Michael.
He didn’t appear to notice her stunned silence. Standing up, he caught his daughter’s hand in his. “Come along, darling,” he said without a hint of his earlier rage. “We mustn’t miss the fireworks.”
They went into Amy’s bedchamber, where he threw open the casement window to the chilly night air. Slowly, Vivien trailed after them. As she set down the pitcher, her attention remained fixed on Michael.
He could be her husband. It was impossible, of course. She could never live in his gorgio world, where cruelty and prejudice abounded. In a few weeks, she must return to her parents and their simple life on the road.
Yet her heart clenched with a sweet yearning that couldn’t be denied. Never before had she felt this way about a man. She wanted to discover all his secrets, to share in his life. She wanted to possess him, to be possessed by him. She wanted to be his wife. The giddy thought almost made her sway.
Amy peered out the window, half hanging over the sill, her bare feet dangling a few inches off the floor. “I don’t see any fireworks, Papa.”
He snatched her up into his arms. “Whoa there. The fireworks will be in the sky, not on the ground.”
“Where are they? What’s taking so long?”
“Patience, sprite. The show will begin soon.”
The moon glowed a misty white in the starry sky. On the terrace, guests milled in clusters, huddled in cloaks and pelisses and overcoats. Vivien felt a sense of impatience, too. In Michael’s library, she had read about fireworks in one of a series of books called an encyclopedia. But this would be the first time she witnessed such a wonder herself. It could be no finer than the excitement she felt when she looked at him.
“See those men down there?” he told his daughter. “They’re about to light the first fuse.”
To the side of the lawn, several shadowed figures gathered in a clump. A tiny flare of light glowed in their midst. As one, they stepped hastily back. There was a whistling noise that had Amy squealing, clinging to her father’s neck. An instant later, an explosion of red and yellow sparkles burst in the sky and then rained downward and winked out.
Then another flare shot up, this one casting out a dazzle of white crystals that lit the darkness for a moment before descending like a shower of falling stars.
Enchanted, Vivien oohed and aahed along with Amy, clapping at the more magnificent displays. Michael was very attentive to his daughter. He cheered and smiled, cuddling her close, touching her face now and then or brushing back her hair. Yet several times, when Amy wasn’t looking at him, his eyes would narrow with a grim intensity, as if he were so wrapped up in his private thoughts that he didn’t really see the fireworks.
He was brooding about that fight with Lord Faversham, Vivien knew. A bruise darkened his cheekbone, and his knuckles surely stung. She burned to know what he was thinking, but her questions would have to wait. For now, she rejoiced in the perfection of the moment, in this chance to be with him and Amy, watching the vivid flashes of color across the night sky.
Without conscious intent, she found herself leaning against his arm, seeking his warmth and vitality. “How exquisite,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
Bending closer, he whispered in her ear, “I have.”
His mouth slanted into a pirate’s smile, and for a moment his gaze held the look of a starving man. A forbidden hope sparkled inside her. Did he truly find her beautiful? Again, she sensed the bond between them strengthening into something warm and good, not shameful in the least.
“Papa, Miss Vivi, look!” Bouncing in her father’s arms, Amy pointed outside. “That one is a dragon.”
“I believe you’re right,” Michael said as a brilliant pattern flared across the night sky. He tapped her small nose. “What a clever girl you are.”
Vivien’s heart ached. How tender and loving he was with Amy. For the first time, she dared to imagine them as a family, a fantasy that suddenly seemed real and possible, a dream within her grasp. But she would have to live here among the gorgios forever. How could she abandon her parents?
The fireworks came to a spectacular conclusion, the darkness alight with color and magic before all faded to black. The guests on the terrace began to drift back into the house for a sumptuous midnight supper. Amy’s head drooped onto her father’s shoulder. “Do you s’pose Nibbles saw the fireworks?”
“Absolutely,” Michael said. “No doubt he had a grand view from his hutch outside the stables.”
“May we go visit him and see?”
A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest “You shan’t wheedle me, sprite. It’s off to bed with you.”
As he bore the grumbling girl to the four-poster, Vivien reached out to close the casement window. Her senses felt fully alive tonight. She reveled in the coldness of the air, the acrid aroma of smoke from the fireworks, the lilt of faraway music resuming in the ballroom. She was keenly aware of Michael as she followed him to the bed.
He leaned down and kissed Amy. The girl reached up to hug him tightly, and he held her close, murmuring gruff words of affection.
Vivien blinked back the sting of tears. All the longing inside her crystallized into an even more spectacular perception. She loved him. She loved Michael Kenyon, the Marquess of Stokeford. She loved his strength and his softness, the tenderness he hid from the world. With one look, he could warm her insides. With one touch, he could dissolve her resistance. With one kiss, he could melt her defenses. She had felt the force of his allure from the first moment she’d seen him, fierce and windswept, standing in the doorway of Lady Stokeford’s boudoir, a powerful gorgio lord determined to protect his grandmother. A fire in the heart.
She shouldn’t love him, Vivien thought uneasily. Love was built on a foundation of trust, and Michael regarded her with suspicion. Even as his wife, she wouldn’t be accepted by his noble circle. Yet she couldn’t deny the fact that he made her spirit dance with joy, even as questions bedeviled her mind. Why were he and Lord Faversham rivals? They had dueled over a woman. Who was she? Lady Katherine?
More to the point, did that woman own Michael’s heart?
He stepped back from the bed, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Amy held out her arms to Vivien. Still shaken, Vivien sank onto the edge of the bed and cuddled the little girl in a warm embrace. Oh, how she yearned to protect Amy against the harshness of the world, to enjoy her accomplishments and console her when she was sad. How she longed for the privilege of being a mother...
“Miss Vivi, will you tell me a story?”
“It’s past midnight,” she murmured, smoothing back a lock of curly coppery hair from the girl’s brow. “I’ll tell you one tomorrow.”
“Promise?” That Amy didn’t beg gave testament to her sleepiness.
“I promise.” Brimming with love, Vivien bent down to kiss the girl’s velvety cheek. “Good night, little dove.”
Amy sighed, her eyelids drooping. “’Night, Miss Vivi.” In the next moment, she was asleep.
Michael’s hand closed around Vivien’s, drawing her up from the bed. He gave her that look again, the forceful regard of a pirate for his captive. Her skin tingled with a desire that was enriched by love. Was he aware of the newfound depth of emotion in her? Did he feel anything for her but lust? She could read nothing on his shadowed face, and his enigmatic nature maddened her.
In silence, he led her to the doorway. They stopped to look back at Amy, who lay in innocent slumber, the rag doll nestled in her arms. “How sweet she is,” Vivien whispered. “You’re very blessed to have her.”
“Yes.”
Michael fought to keep his voice steady. He told himself Vivien had made an innocuous remark, nothing more. She couldn’t know about the knot of fear in his chest. Nor could she fathom his dedication to keeping his daughter safe. He loved Amy with an unshakable intensity that left him vulnerable. He would let no one exploit that weakness in him.
No one.
As they left the nursery, he turned his mind to Vivien, walking beside him in the dimly lit corridor. The gold bangles at her wrists chimed faintly. In her natural garb, she looked as wild and free as a Gypsy princess. The yellow blouse dipped low over her bosom, and the flowing turquoise skirt swished around her small bare feet. Not for the first time, he wondered if she wore any undergarments, or if he could lift her skirt and caress her.
He welcomed the desire that gripped his loins. All evening, he’d watched her dance with other men. He’d waited to get her alone. At last he would have his chance—
“Why did you fight Lord Faversham?” Vivien asked point-blank.
The question poisoned Michael’s mood. She should never have witnessed that brawl. “The subject is closed. I’d rather kiss you, anyway.”
He stepped closer to her, but she nimbly eluded him. “Tell me why you were so desperate to get rid of him.”
“Desperate?” If she had impaled him with a sword, she couldn’t have stunned him more. Why had Brand come up here tonight? Fearing the answer, Michael took several deep breaths. “I won’t let that riffraff anywhere near my daughter. Better you should tell me why you brought him to the nursery.”
“I didn’t bring him. He came of his own accord.”
“You were in his company.” Prodded by red-hot jealousy, he took hold of her arm. “What the devil were you doing with him, anyway? Did he seduce you?”
As if he’d struck her, her eyes widened with pain. Pain. Odd that, for she was no innocent. Yet he wanted to kick himself for hurting her.
Shaking off his hand, Vivien stepped back. “You insult me. The earl isn’t so ill-mannered as you are.”
“He’s a cad who uses women.”
“You’re two of a kind, then. You should be the best of friends.”
He battled his smoldering rage. “Stay out of what you don’t understand, Vivien.”
But she didn’t stay out. She gazed at him with a relentless concern. “You attacked the earl without provocation. Who is the woman who still comes between you two?”
An icy sensation slid down his spine. His palms felt cold and sweaty. Vivien was too damned persistent. He knew only one way to distract her.
Sauntering toward her, he lowered his voice to a sensual undertone. “Enough questions. Let’s talk about us.” Clearly recognizing the value of retreat, she backed down the corridor.
“This is about us,” she said in a throaty murmur. “I must know why you won’t speak of her. What does she mean to you, Michael?”
“The past is best left buried.”
“But you haven’t left it buried. What happened tonight proves that.”
He remembered the shock of seeing Brand standing in the doorway, gazing at Amy. A wild rage jolted Michael again, but he kept his face impassive. “It was a stupid brawl, nothing more. Forget about it.”
Reaching the stairway, she descended the steps, still facing him, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. “I can’t forget. You knew Amy was nearby. Yet not even that stopped you.”
He cursed himself for letting Vivien see too much. Stepping down the carpeted risers, he said bluntly, “It’s over with and done. But you and I are far from done. I want you, Vivien.”
She paused at the base of the stairs. The flickering light from a wall sconce gilded her parted lips, her dreamy eyes. From out of nowhere came a yearning more potent than lust, the urge to hold her close and never let go. Ruthlessly, he crushed the feeling. He wouldn’t allow any woman to have such power over him ever again.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The woman you’re protecting. I can only think...that your heart still belongs to her.”
“You think too damned much, then.”
He leapt down the last two steps. Determined to stop her questions, he trapped Vivien against the wall, letting her feel the force of his passion. She caught her breath in a little moan that fed the tumult inside him. She wanted him; he could feel the desire softening her, making her as pliable as butter.
He bent to capture her mouth, but she turned her head to the side so that his lips grazed her cheek instead. “Please, Michael.” She gave him a sidelong, soulful look that somehow wrenched his gut “You must tell me what she means to you.”
“Nothing,” he snarled. “She means nothing. She’s dead.”
Vivien reared back to stare at him. Then her dark velvet eyes widened with the light of revelation, and he realized his mistake—or perhaps deep down, he’d wanted her to know, for he felt a strange relief.
“She was Lady Grace,” Vivien whispered. “Lord Faversham seduced your wife.”