Sara Bennett (29 page)

Yes, she had no doubt been busy, but, truth be told, he could not have waited much longer.

“Show her in, Hodge.”

Oliver wondered what she would look like this afternoon. Severe in one of her Yorkshire gowns, feminine with ribbons and bows, or with the queenly elegance of the woman she had been at the opera. But she surprised him yet again. She was wearing white silk, striped in cherry red, that rustled when she moved and gleamed in the light from the windows.
Her hair was coiled about her head in braids, and more were looped at the sides. And, most surprising of all, she carried with her a basket in which reposed a large, yellow-eyed tabby cat. It looked heavy.

“Lord Montegomery,” she said, and set the cat down with some relief upon the Turkish rug.

“Miss Greentree,” Oliver said, coming closer. “You never fail to astonish me.” He eyed the cat cautiously. “Who is this?”

“This is Fraser’s cat. I was visiting him before I came here, and Fraser asked me to take care of the cat for him. He tried to make me believe that he does not want him anymore, but what he really wants is to be certain he has gone to a good home, before he dies. Otherwise he will fret, you see. Fraser, I mean, not the cat.”

Oliver thought about this. “What’s his name?”

“Robbie Burns.”

“Of course.”

A tap on the door, and Hodge entered. He was carrying a saucer of milk. “Miss Greentree asked me to bring this, my lord.”

“For Robbie Burns?”

“The poet, my lord?”

“No, the cat, Hodge!”

The saucer was duly placed down on the rug, and Hodge retreated. The cat, in its basket, looked at Oliver, and Oliver looked at Robbie Burns. He sighed. “I know what you want,” he said. “You want me to take the cat. Is that it?”

Vivianna bit her lip, her eyes wide and very green. “I would not ask, but Mama has Krispen at home in Yorkshire, and Krispen can be very jealous. Robbie Burns is a very nice cat, and I am sure he will be no trouble, but he is a man’s cat. He does not take to women.”

“Vivianna, Vivianna,” Oliver murmured, “what more must I do? I have arranged to restore your reputation, I have given Candlewood to your children, and now I must take your father’s cat. Where will it end?”

“I didn’t know it was you who arranged for my reputation to be restored,” she said in a small voice. “You should have told me.”

He glanced at her. “I would have, but you didn’t ask. Your reputation didn’t matter a jot to me, but I could see it might be awkward for you and your family. Prince Albert said you were charming, by the way, and will make me a very obedient wife.”

Vivianna blinked. “Oh.”

“He cannot know you very well, can he, if he thinks you will be obedient?”

She ignored that. “Did my reputation really not matter a jot to you?”

Oliver smiled to himself, and reached down to unfasten the basket. The tabby cat stepped out onto the rug and began to wash himself, as if he had expected nothing less than a new home in Berkeley Square.

“It really didn’t. You are far more to me than who or what your parents might be or have done.”

“Oh.”

“Vivianna, before you came into my life, all I thought about was my brother and avenging his death. I didn’t dream of the future; I didn’t imagine I might have a life after Lawson was punished. But you changed that. Suddenly I could see that I did have a future, and I wanted it with all my heart, because you were in it.”

Vivianna stepped closer. “But you are a hero now,” she said quietly. “The newspapers admire your dreadful waistcoats—they have become quite the fashion. Women swoon in the street whenever they see you.”

He laughed. “The only woman I want to swoon when she sees me prefers to lecture me instead.”

“Oliver…”

“I hope you’re not going to abandon me now you are a wealthy heiress,” he went on, and his gaze was dark and sensuous. “I still need you. Maybe you don’t realize it, but I have always considered myself the black sheep of the Montegomery family. You have to save me from my sins, Vivianna. I desperately need the sort of redemption only you can give me.”

Vivianna caught her breath. “I would have thought you had become a golden sheep now,” she replied, eyes bright. “Rescuing the nation from the greedy hands of Lord Lawson, handing over Candlewood to the Shelter for Poor Orphans, saving Robbie Burns from a life on the streets!”

Oliver smiled.

“Giving me a truly remarkable night of passion,” she added softly.

His gaze sharpened. “Did I?”

“Oh yes.” She shivered at the memory, hugging herself. “I wake up from sleep and I’m remembering it so clearly. My body is alive with your touch, aching for you to be there in the bed beside me. But I’m alone, Oliver. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Marry me, then, and we’ll have a night of passion every night for the rest of our lives.”

Vivianna smiled. “Yes, please. I love the rake in you, Oliver….”

Oliver’s heart sank. She loved the rake; he knew that. But there was more to him than the rake. He had hopes and dreams and ambitions that Oliver the rake could never imagine. Couldn’t she see that?

“I love the rake,” Vivianna said, and she was stand
ing before him, gazing up into his eyes, “but I love
you
more.”

His lips curled into a lazy smile. “I’m going to kiss every inch of you,” he drawled.

Vivianna’s legs trembled, and with a laugh she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Oliver,” she breathed, feeling his warmth, his strength, the wonderful sensation of being held by the man she loved.

He looked down at her as if she were the only woman in the world for him. “I can’t live without you, you know that, don’t you? I crave lectures like other men crave strong drink.”

“As long as you don’t mind about Aphrodite.”

“Hmm,” he said with a wicked smile.

“Don’t you dare say it!” Vivianna declared.

His mouth brushed hers, then stilled, and now they were both shaking. “Say what?” he whispered.

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“Promise me something, Vivianna,” he said, his breath warm against her lips. “That you will always be
my
courtesan. Mine alone.”

“I promise, as long as you will be
my
very own rake.”

He grinned, and kissed her, and they sealed their promises as passionately as they knew how.

“I
received a letter from Mama today,” Vivianna said, setting down her soup spoon. A servant came to remove her plate, while Hodge stood, supercilious, his eye upon the room.

“Lady Greentree?”

“Yes, Oliver. You know she is my mama. I call Aphrodite ‘Aphrodite,’ or it becomes too confusing.”

“Of course, my sweet.”

The next course was served.

“She says that Marietta is longing to return to London, but Mama thinks it would be best to wait. She knows about Aphrodite, of course, but she won’t meet her yet. And Francesca, how will Francesca cope with the news that she is the daughter of a famous courtesan?”

“How indeed.” Oliver gave her his lazy, charming smile. Beneath the dining table, Robbie Burns brushed against his legs, purring monotonously. He slipped a piece of roasted fowl beneath the board and was re
warded as it was snatched unceremoniously from his fingers.

“I sometimes think Aphrodite and Dobson are fonder of each other than they let on,” Vivianna was saying. “I must ask if she has written any more in her diary.”

Oliver had his own thoughts on Aphrodite and Dobson. It wasn’t the ideal setup, having a wife who was the daughter of a famous courtesan, but it didn’t particularly bother him. Nor did it seem to bother Lady Marsh, who stated herself more than content with Vivianna as Oliver’s wife.

Hodge sent a servant to clear the meal. Vivianna caught his eye, and then rose gracefully to her feet.

“I must instruct the chef with regard to dessert,” she said. “It’s something very special tonight. I’ll only be a moment, Oliver.”

He nodded, absently stroking the cat beneath the table. Married life suited Oliver. He had never realized before just how restful it could be, married to a woman one loved as much as he loved Vivianna. They had their disagreements, but it didn’t seem to matter, because they shared such a deep and abiding commitment to each other. There was something very wonderful in waking up in the night and finding Vivianna by his side….

The door opened and Hodge appeared. Behind him, upon a sturdy trolley with wheels, was a very large serving plate with a cover concealing whatever was upon it. Under Hodge’s instructions, a pair of servants wheeled the contraption into the dining room and then, with a nod from Hodge, lifted the covered plate and placed it carefully upon the dining table. Before Oliver.

He sat up straighter and looked inquiringly at Hodge.

Hodge’s face was inscrutable. “Lady Montegomery’s instructions. Dessert, my lord,” he said. He nodded at the servants and, with one on either side of the cover, they lifted the cover off the dish and carried it swiftly from the room. Hodge followed, and closed the door behind him.

Oliver couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind had gone numb, even as other parts of him had come very much to life.

Before him, prettily posed upon the serving plate, knelt Vivianna. She was completely naked, apart from some cream decoration. Rosettes covered her nipples, and swirls meandered across her belly, ending in a rather large dollop of cream at the juncture of her thighs. Swags of flowers had been placed upon her flanks, and the rounded cheeks of her bottom were patterned with green cream leaves and what looked like reproductions of cherries.

Oliver met her eyes.

She looked a little uncertain. As if it had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that she had actually gone and done it she wasn’t quite sure how he would react.

Oliver stood up. He climbed onto the chair and onto the table, divesting himself of his jacket and cravat as he went. Reassured, Vivianna’s mouth curved into one of her most seductive smiles. She gave her head a little shake and her hair, knotted at her nape, came tumbling wildly about her.

Oliver tore off his shirt.

And then his mouth closed on hers, and he felt as if he were going to explode right there, with just their lips touching. His hands hovered over her, frightened to touch, not wanting to spoil…anything. He bent and licked the rosette off one of her breasts, and then
the other. His palms closed possessively over the cherries and the leaves. Her fingers were on his trousers, hurriedly unbuttoning them, as he returned to her mouth.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Vivianna said between licks and kisses. “Aphrodite told me about a dinner she once held, and I’ve been wanting to replicate it ever since.”

“Mind?” he groaned.

He pulled her into his arms and she straddled his thighs, knocking a bowl and some silver cutlery to the floor. Then Vivianna suddenly stilled, held his face in her palms, and gazed into his eyes with perfect trust and perfect love.

“Oliver,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his and smearing him liberally with cream. “Let’s eat dessert.”