Lessons in Seduction E-Book

Sara Bennett

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 506

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Miss Vivianna Greentree is proper, but passionately dedicated to her haven for poor orphans. But when funds run low, and the orphanage is in peril, she has no choice but to appeal the estate's roguish owner, Sir Oliver Montegomery. Scandalous he may be, but also practical, and he sees no reason to aid the prim Miss Greentree, or her precious orphans. But perhaps there's another way to persuade him? Vivianna vows to learn fine arts of seduction and melt Oliver's stony heart with a kiss, a touch and whispered promises. Under the guidance of Madam Aphrodite, London's most famed courtesan, Vivianna discovers how to make a man weak with desire. But when she practices her newfound skills on Oliver, she finds a burning desire within herself as well. And very soon, it's hard to say just who is seducing whom…

Leseprobe

LESSONS IN SEDUCTION

GREENTREE SISTERS

BOOK ONE

SARA BENNETT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lessons in Seduction

Copyright © 2007 by Sara Bennett

Ebook ISBN: 9781641972758

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

121 W. 27th St., Suite 1201, NY 10001, New York.

http://www.nyliterary.com

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Also by Sara Bennett

About the Author

PROLOGUE

The Greentree Estate

Yorkshire, England

1826

Vivianna put a finger to her lips, her hazel eyes wide in her oval-shaped, grubby face, her curly chestnut hair in desperate need of a wash and a good comb. Her two little sisters, their faces as smeared with tears and dirt as her own, huddled close together, eyes big, and held their breath.

Voices, outside the cottage, were drawing closer.

Vivianna recognized one of them as the whiskered man who had been here earlier, peering at them through the window, trying to coax them outside.

The whiskered man frightened her.

When he had gone, stomping off and shaking his head, the three girls remained hidden in a dark corner of the bedroom. To amuse them, Vivianna had told her sisters a story about three little girls who had been stolen from their mother and taken far away by a woman with a thin, narrow face and her evil husband, and then abandoned.

It closely resembled their own story, but in Vivianna’s version, the three little girls had been reunited with their mother, and all had been well. A nice happy ending.

“Hungry,” two-year-old Marietta had declared when the story was finished, her blue eyes wide, her fair curls dancing about her face.

“I know you’re hungry, ’Etta,” six-year-old Vivianna had replied softly, “but we ate the last bit of the loaf this morning. I’ll try and find some food outside. When it’s dark.” She had no idea how she was going to accomplish this, but she knew that as the eldest, it was her job to look after her two younger sisters.

Marietta had smiled with complete trust. Francesca had simply whimpered and clung closer to Vivianna’s skirts. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she was like a little pixie, and at one- year-old, she wasn’t able to understand what was happening –only that they were no longer safe in their warm and comfortable home with their friendly servants. Francesca had been asleep when the man had come and bundled them into the coach with Mrs. Slater and sent them away.

Far away.

Vivianna did not know how much time had passed since that night—days and weeks had become confused in her mind. She was even beginning to forget how everything at home had looked and felt. Mrs. Slater had not been cruel to them, but neither had she been particularly kind. And once the man she said was her husband turned up, she was even more ambivalent. The couple had spent most of their nights and days locked in their bedroom, and fed the children only if they felt like it. It had fallen to Vivianna, a child herself, to calm her youngest sisters and try and look after them all as best she could.

When the man had grown angry, she had told them stories until they slept. And then Vivianna lay with her eyes wide open, trying to think of a way to get home. Her sense of helplessness and weakness made her stomach ache. She longed desperately for her home and her mother, but the awful thing was she did not know where they were.

Oh, she knew that her home was in the countryside, but she didn’t know what it was called or the village it stood near—she never had to know—she had always been kept away from anyone who might ask too many questions.

Somehow Vivianna understood, even as a tiny child, that her existence was a secret.

As for her mother . . . she had been “Mama,” and Vivianna had no idea of the names others called her and where in London she went when she was not with her children.

The Slaters kept them prisoners in the cottage, and then one morning, a few days ago, the girls awoke to find the couple gone. Alone in the cottage, the children waited. And waited. Vivianna had been certain Mrs. Slater would return, but she didn’t. The three young sisters had been effectively abandoned in that dark, sagging cottage.

Once more, Vivianna did her best to look after her sisters—even at the age of six her sense of responsibility was highly developed. She was mature for her years; her hazel eyes held a determined expression that should have belonged to a much older person.

The voices came again now, drifting into Vivianna’s consciousness. She blinked and shook off her dreamy thoughts. By now, she was so tired and hungry that she tended to imagine things. Once, she had seen a lion prowling through the overgrown garden, only to realize a moment later it was nothing more dangerous than a scrawny tabby cat.

But she could definitely hear the whiskered man. And then a woman’s voice. There was something achingly familiar in the soft, educated tones.

“Mama?” Vivianna whispered. She knew it wasn’t her mother, and yet the voice drew her. “Stay here,” she instructed her sisters. Very carefully, she crept out of the damp, pungent bedroom and into the front room. A small-paned, dirty window looked out to the garden, where weeds had strangled anything useful or pretty. Now she could see the whiskered man and, standing beside him, a tall and elegant lady, her honey-colored hair piled neatly on her head. Her gown was black, and beneath the ankle-length hem were a pair of elegant black slippers with a small heel.

Vivianna knew that the wearing of black garments meant that someone close to the lady had died.

“Boastin’, she was, in the village,” the man was saying.

“Who was boasting, Rawlings?” asked the lady, following him up the narrow path between the weeds to the front door. “Such a mess,” she added to herself, frowning at the garden. “I had not realized how much things had deteriorated since Edward . . .” Suddenly, she looked very sad.

Rawlings had not heard her. “The Slater woman, ma’am. Saying the three girls were the daughters of some high-class London tart. Boastin’ how much money she’d been making by keeping them hidden away here on the estate.”

The lady gave the cottage a doubtful look. “Are you quite certain the children are still here, Rawlings?”

Rawlings met the lady’s pale eyes. “They are, my lady. Won’t come out. That oldest one, shaking like a leaf she were, but brave! She stood in front of the others as if she meant to fight me.”

“I can hardly believe it,” the lady said, again more to herself than Rawlings. “It is bad enough for those two to run off without a word, but to abandon three young children in their care! ’Tis monstrous.”

“There was a rumor that the Slater woman was a baby farmer, my lady. She was paid to care for unwanted children—children born out of wedlock or the children of soiled doves. She’d brought these three with her from down south, but no one knows exactly where they came from. I expect their mother, whoever she is, was glad to be rid of them.”

“They are children, Rawlings, and they are in desperate need of a home, and I intend to find them one.”

Vivianna felt shaky. There was something fierce and yet at the same time gentle about this lady that struck a chord deep within her. Instinctively she knew that here was someone she could believe in. Someone to whom she could entrust the care of her two little sisters.

The cottage door was opening. “Hello there?” called the lady in black. Then, in a quieter voice, turning to Rawlings, “What are their names? What are the children’s names?”

“The eldest one is Vivianna, my lady. I heard that, once, in the village, Mrs. Slater called her Annie, but the girl didn’t like it and wouldn’t obey her till she called her by her rightful name.”

The lady smiled. “Vivianna. And the others?”

“They’re just little ’uns—I don’t know their names, my lady.”

“Very well. Vivianna? Vivianna, are you there?”

Vivianna froze in the shadows. The lady entered the cottage and stood, accustoming herself to the gloom.

The three of them could probably still escape, if she was quick. But Vivianna had liked the way the lady had called her by her proper name, and she didn’t want to run away. Besides, where would they go? Here in the cottage, she had been able to keep her sisters safe, but beyond it was another matter. She felt alone and afraid and very, very tired. Again she sensed that there was something about this lady that made her trustworthy. That she was someone who could help.

“Vivianna?” The lady called again, softly, urgently.

Her black skirts brushed against the filthy wall. She did not bother to exclaim and move away or to brush the dirt off; finding the children seemed to be her most important—her only—consideration.

“Here I am.”

The lady started and turned. Rawlings made as if to rush and grab Vivianna, but the lady held up a hand, her attention wholly on the little girl. Vivianna saw that her eyes were light blue and kind. They kindled a warm fire in Vivianna’s weary and frightened heart.

“Who are you?” Vivianna asked. She did not mean to be rude—during these months with Mrs. Slater she had begun to forget her manners—but she needed to know.

“I am Lady Greentree, my dear. I own your cottage and the land upon which it stands. This is my estate.”

There was a rustle in the doorway on the far side of the room and two little figures scurried toward Vivianna. Vivianna saw that her sisters’ faces were freshly tear-streaked and that Marietta was clutching her beloved rag doll that she had brought with her from home. She pulled her sisters close, holding them safe against her grubby skirts.

For a moment, Lady Greentree looked as if she might cry, too, and then she asked gently, “What is your full name, Vivianna? Can you tell me from where you have come?”

“Mrs. Slater brought us here,” Vivianna said slowly, and her eyes threatened to shut. It was the hunger, she supposed. “We came from the country, but I don’t know where. There was a village, but I don’t know what it was called. Our house was big and full of fine things, and there were servants. . . . No one ever called me anything other than Miss Vivianna, not until Mrs. Slater started calling me Annie.”

Vivianna wished there was something she could say or remember that would magically allow them to go home. She had a horrible feeling that now that they had been taken away, they would never find their way back again.

Marietta had been gazing intently at Lady Greentree, and now she lisped, “Mama?”

Lady Greentree’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you poor little dears!” She took a shaking breath and held out her hand. “I have no children of my own, and it has always been my sorrow and regret that I was not so blessed. My husband Edward was an officer in the army, in India, but now he is dead, and I am a widow. I am alone, just as you are alone. Will you all come home with me and allow me to look after you?”

Vivianna looked longingly at the soft white hand held out to her. The hand that reminded her achingly of her own mother.

Rawlings drew in a sharp breath. “My lady, you don’t even know whose spawn they be!”

Lady Greentree gave him such a look that his face flamed red. Vivianna liked that, and she liked the way the lady’s hand remained held out toward them, steady and waiting. A promise. She took a step forward, and then another, despite being hampered by her sisters’ clutching fists. Vivianna put her own hand, cold and faintly sticky, into that of Lady Greentree’s. Warmth enfolded her fingers. And her heart.

Lady Greentree smiled down upon her as if it were Vivianna who had offered her sanctuary, and not the other way around. “Come, my dears,” she said softly. “Let us all leave this awful place.”

CHAPTER1

Berkeley Square

London

1840

Fourteen years later

Inside the tall, elegant London townhouse, Lord Montegomery was impatiently allowing his valet to put the finishing touches to his evening ensemble. Fitted black coat and tapered black trousers and a fine white linen shirt with a high collar and white cravat. The only splash of color came from his waistcoat; bottle-blue velvet with gold embroidery and large gold buttons.

There was a time when Oliver never would have worn such an item, when black and white were the only accepted colors for evening dress. The waistcoat was unforgivably vulgar and tasteless, but he thought it appropriate; it represented to him the present state of his life. Tonight he was planning to spend a pleasant few hours at Aphrodite’s, before moving on to a drinking house affectionately called the Bucket of Blood, where he hoped to see some bare-knuckle fighting and lay a bet or two. In the past, a night like that would occur every month or so, but now it was close to every night. Drinking, gambling, carousing; his standards had slipped. To all intents and purposes, he was on a downward slide—everybody said so.

And that was just as he wanted it.

“My lord?”

A glance at the door showed him his butler, looking troubled.

“What is it, Hodge?”

“The young person who called earlier is outside in the square. I can see her lurking by the garden railings.

Should I call the constables?”

“Do you mean Miss Vivianna Greentree?”

“Correct, my lord.”

Oliver frowned at his own reflection. Here was a complication he had not expected. Miss Greentree from Yorkshire, come to ring a peal over him.

“My lord? Shall it be the constables?”

Oliver picked up his ebony-handled cane. “Efficient as the members of Sir Robert Peel’s Metropolitan Police Force are, Hodge, I do not think they are required just yet. Let her be. If she tries to follow me, she will find she has bitten off more than she can chew. Send the carriage around. I am ready.”

Hodge bowed and went to do his bidding, while Oliver followed at a more leisurely pace. Miss Greentree might be an unexpected complication, but he did not think she was a particularly dangerous one. In fact, her presence in London might well enhance his wicked reputation even more. Time would tell what part Miss Vivianna Greentree from Yorkshire had to play in this story.

* * *

Miss Vivianna Greentree stood outside the tall, elegant London house, its windows ablaze with light, and felt very small. Beneath the thin soles of her leather half-boots, she could feel every bump in the square, and the cold crisp air made her shiver despite her sensible wool gown and her warm cloak with its fur-trimmed collar.

Impotent anger stirred inside her, a dark, smothering sense of frustration that had been building since she left the Greentree estate all those days ago in response to a frantic letter from the Beatty sisters concerning the fate of the Shelter for Poor Orphans.

Before her, on the west side of Berkeley Square, the elegant Queen Anne home of Lord Montegomery rose up like an accusation. The Montegomerys were an old, proud, and aristocratic family, and Oliver was the last of them. What would a gentleman of his privileged background know of poverty and abandonment? Vivianna’s fingers tightened upon the riding crop she held in one hand—protection, in case she needed to go into streets that were less than suitable for a woman of her class and refinement.

Vivianna had already been up to Lord Montegomery’s door to ask that he speak with her on a matter of urgency. The supercilious-looking butler who answered her brisk use of the knocker had informed her that Lord Montegomery was about to go out to his club, and besides, he did not allow unaccompanied female persons into his dwelling.

As if, Vivianna thought furiously, it was her reputation in doubt rather than his!

Again, her gloved fingers tightened upon the riding crop. Well, he would soon realize that Miss Vivianna Greentree from Yorkshire was not so easily thrown off the scent. She was determined that the Shelter for Poor Orphans would not close down because of one selfish gentleman.

A rattle of wheels and clatter of hooves heralded the approach of a carriage from the far end of the square. It drew to a halt outside Montegomery’s house. His lordship, it appeared, was preparing to go out to his club just as his butler had said.

This was the moment Vivianna had been waiting for. Even she, country bumpkin that she was, knew that fashionable London gentlemen were wont to go out in the evening. And from what she had learned of Lord Montegomery, he was a very fashionable gentleman indeed.

Quickly, she moved into the shadows by the iron railings that protected the garden and the plane trees in the middle of the square. One of the passengers on the mail coach, with whom she had shared the long journey south, had been very informative when it came to London gentlemen of Lord Montegomery’s ilk, and with an eye to the future, Vivianna had encouraged him to talk of such creatures in general.

“Gaming and drinking clubs, night houses, and disorderly women! My goodness, miss, you mind yourself in London, a sweet innocent little thing like yourself.”

Vivianna did not consider herself “sweet,” and although she was “innocent” in the physical sense, she was very well read and informed. Nor did she believe herself to be in any danger from Montegomery. A man like that would prefer all the superficial womanly virtues—sweet and biddable, and certainly beautiful, in a wan and helpless sort of way. Vivianna knew herself to be none of these things; certainly, she was not beautiful in the current fashion. To be like Queen Victoria was now the aim of every girl—short and pretty and plump.

Vivianna’s eyes were large and hazel, and her hair was chestnut, thick and glossy when she allowed it its freedom. She was tall and buxom—Junoesque—with a voice both clear and precise. And she had a way of looking at men that tended to make them squirm nervously. A gentleman of her acquaintance had once said of her that when she turned her gaze upon him, he felt as if she were making judgment, and that, in summing up, she had found him lacking.

No, Vivianna thought, she was in no danger from a known rake and scoundrel—she was well able to protect herself—and she doubted she would need the riding crop to drive him off. Her aim was to confront Montegomery, make her appeal to him, and persuade him to her point of view.

And Vivianna knew she could be very persuasive indeed.

The front door had opened. She could see the gleam of mirrors and marble within, and the bright splash of flowers. No doubt Lord Montegomery’s house was very beautiful, and Vivianna admired beauty, but she did not envy him. Her mother came from a family, the Tremaines, who had made their money by “trade”—Lady Greentree’s grandfather had been a seller of meats. The Tremaines were not at all blue-blooded, and Vivianna’s mother had gained her title from her husband, Sir Edward Greentree. She had also gained a beautiful, if isolated, home in Yorkshire and, more importantly, a family who loved her.

Surely that was the point, wasn’t it? That everyone should have someone to love them? Even a man like Lord Montegomery would understand an appeal put to him in those terms.

Wouldn’t he?

Suddenly there he was, the gentleman himself: Lord Montegomery. Vivianna’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward to see him better.

Obligingly, he paused a moment on the doorstep, the light falling upon him. He was tall, with broad shoulders shown to best advantage by his well-made coat, and a lithe, physically fit body. He swung a cane in one hand and held his top hat in the other, as he turned his head toward the approaching vehicle. His hair was dark and glossy, combed back at the front and longer, curling over his high white collar, at the back. He glanced nonchalantly in her direction, seemingly enjoying the clear, crisp evening air, and Vivianna was presented with a face that was angular—a straight nose and high cheekbones with dark side-whiskers and a square jaw—and handsome. And yet more than that. There were plenty of handsome men in London. This man, for all his fine clothes, looked like a pirate. Someone of whom to beware.

A shiver of awareness made her draw her cloak closer about her.

Had she really expected him to be a kindly old gentleman? Besides, Vivianna told herself, she had faced more hopeless tasks in her twenty years. Persuading a rich and selfish gentleman to change his mind, to do some good for others less fortunate, should be a simple matter. She had no reason to be afraid of him—for surely it was fear that had brought that heaviness to her chest, and anxiety that made her skin tingle and her breath quicken?

With another shiver, Vivianna moved closer to the garden railings.

Lord Montegomery had left his doorstep for the street, swinging his cane as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Vivianna supposed he hadn’t. Well, that was about to change. As she watched, he climbed into his carriage, and soon the vehicle rattled around the square and out in a southerly direction.

Vivianna picked up her skirts and ran. Her hackney cab was waiting for her on the other side of Berkeley Square, hidden by the central gardens.

She wrenched open the door and sprang inside.

“Follow the black carriage!” she called, and was flung back against the worn squabs as the driver enthusiastically obliged.

Are you certain this is appropriate behavior for a young lady? Would it not be more sensible if you came back in the morning and left your visiting card? Lady Greentree’s softly modulated voice sounded in her head.

Perhaps, she acknowledged, under other circumstances, her actions would be considered impetuous and a little improper, but these were desperate times.

She must speak with this man, convince him to change his mind, and save the Shelter for Poor Orphans. She could not see the hard work of so many, the happiness of so many more, come to nothing because of the spoiled and rich Lord Montegomery.

Yes, my dear, that is all very well and fine, but are you sure you are not enjoying your adventure just a little bit more than necessary?

Vivianna thought it better to ignore that question.

The hackney was rattling along nicely to wherever they were going. Her righteous anger gave way to a new spurt of anxiety. She hoped his destination was not Seven Dials or St. Giles’s, or one of the other dangerous areas of London. Even though she had been in the city for such a brief time, she had seen the overcrowding and smelled the horrid odors.

She hoped that Lord Montegomery really was going to one of his clubs, or even to one of the gentlemen’s gaming houses or rowdy drinking dens to be found in the capital. A respectable lady like herself may not be exactly welcome in the last two, but with a crowd about her she would feel safe enough, and if she kept her mouth closed and her eyes down, surely she should not attract too much unwanted attention.

The hackney’s wheels rumbled over a cobbled section and turned another corner. An omnibus, full of passengers even at this time of night, groaned by, and the two drivers exchanged shouts she found incomprehensible. Just as well, perhaps. Vivianna’s thoughts turned inward once again, settling on Miss Susan and Miss Greta Beatty and their frantic letter. The words seemed literally burned into her brain.

Dearest Miss Greentree,

As our most respected and beloved friend, and our supporter from the very beginning, we write once more to beg for your assistance. Awful news! We have just heard that in nine weeks our Shelter for Poor Orphans is to be taken from us.

Demolished! Please, Miss Greentree, there is no time to be lost! Come to London as soon as you may. Do make haste if you would see this dreadful wrong made right before it is too late. . . .

The rest of the letter had been almost illegible. That the gentle and practical Miss Susan and Miss Greta should be driven to write such wild prose could only mean that the matter was very serious indeed. It was impossible for Vivianna to deny them her help and support, despite the fact that she could hardly credit what she was reading. The Shelter for Poor Orphans to be torn down in nine weeks?

She would not allow it.

The hackney rattled again, turning into a broader and certainly more sober street, lit by soft gaslights. Vivianna closed her eyes. The Shelter for Poor Orphans had been her triumph, a dream she had long held close to her heart, and which had finally been brought to fruition by hard work and much stubborn determination.

The shelter was a place for abandoned children, those poor mites who had not been lucky enough to have a darling Lady Greentree come to their aid. It was a place where they could be cared for, fed, and given an education. It had been Vivianna’s dream alone, until Miss Susan and Miss Greta had come to Yorkshire to contribute to a group of lectures at the annual Hungry Children’s Dinner. The talk given by the two sisters had riveted her. They had spoken so passionately; they had been so heartfelt in their determination to help these orphaned and abandoned children. Vivianna realized at that moment that their dream was also hers.

The following day they met over tea at a respectable hotel and found that they did indeed share a desire to save those children unable to save themselves. The two sisters had inherited a bequest from a rich uncle, and they meant to put it to good use. Vivianna had no money in her own right, but Lady Greentree was comfortably wealthy, and generous, and she had entrée into some of northern England’s most influential families.

Their partnership was born.

The Beatty sisters and Vivianna had decided upon London as the best place for their Shelter for Poor Orphans. “London,” said Susan Beatty, “is where there is the most desperate need.” Vivianna had never been to London, but she saw the less salubrious parts of the city starkly through the eyes of her new friends.

The Shelter for Poor Orphans took shape.

They found a building, and though in poor condition, it had far exceeded their hopes. Called Candlewood, it was part of an old estate, falling down from lack of funds, and stood some miles to the north of the city. Indeed, it was almost in the country, and there was plenty of room for a garden to grow vegetables, and for long walks in the adjoining woods. In no time at all it was the home to twenty-five needy children, and the women had plans to take in many, many more.

And then that unfeeling wretch threatened to ruin everything.

Vivianna had known as soon as she read the letter that she could not let that happen. She was not the sort of woman to stand by and watch her dream be destroyed. She would come to London to take whatever action was necessary.

Lady Greentree, though worried and concerned at her going, had learned long ago that once Vivianna committed herself to something this passionately, there was little anyone could say or do to stop her. Or even to slow her down. Vivianna did not care for the strictures that society tried to place upon her, a young spinster. She believed there were more important things to life than adhering to so many—to her mind—pointless rules.

“I will not be made helpless just because I am a woman,” she had told Lady Greentree. “I am going to London to save the shelter.”

Her sister Marietta had begged to be allowed to come, too, but for less noble reasons— “To see the sights and the shops, Vivianna!”—while Francesca, the youngest, had declared that nothing, not even the sights of London, would ever entice her away from her beloved moors. Vivianna promised to write to them when she reached London to tell them how long she was staying.

So she and Lil, her maid, took the mail coach for the Great Northern Road, and London.

Before they left, Lady Greentree spoke frankly to her.

“You will of course be staying with your Aunt Helen in Bloomsbury. I have put a letter for her in your trunk explaining, but I am certain she will not mind your impromptu visit, Vivianna. You will be company for her, poor Helen.” For a moment, Lady Greentree’s face clouded as she thought of her sister, married to the disreputable Toby Russell, and then she rallied. “I have also written a letter for Hoare’s Private Bank in Fleet Street, so that you can draw on my account there. You will have expenses, and who knows, you may want to buy a new dress or two!” She smiled fondly at her eldest daughter, as if she didn’t really think it likely. “Now, have you everything, my dear?”

“Yes, Mama, I have everything. Don’t fret. I will be perfectly all right.”

Lady Greentree had sighed, then nodded. “You have always been a headstrong girl, Vivianna. I knew it when you brought home that tinker’s child when you were ten and informed me he needed a new pair of shoes. In some ways, Vivianna, it is a blessing to be so sure of your direction in life. In others . . . I fear for you. Do not be too impetuous. I beg you to think first, or you may find yourself in a great deal of trouble.”

Seated now in the hackney cab, Vivianna wondered if Lady Greentree’s prediction was about to come true. Because not only had she gone rushing off to London, but upon her arrival at her aunt’s home, Vivianna had pretended to have a bad headache and had promptly retired to her room. Once there, she paused only to change her clothing, snatch up her riding crop, and creep out.

Lil, her maid, had been her unwilling accomplice, as she was in many of Vivianna’s schemes. Lil found her a hackney cab and sent her on her way with the admonishment to come back “in one piece, miss, for Gawd’s sake!” And as for poor Aunt Helen, if she were to discover her gone . . . She was already quite mad with worry concerning her rackety husband, and Vivianna knew it was wrong of her to add to the woman’s burden.

But somehow, all of that paled to insignificance when she thought of the children.

The carriage containing Lord Montegomery drew to a halt in front of a long, three-story building. A doorman, who had been standing at attention dressed in a red coat with a military cut, strode down to meet Montegomery like a soldier marching proudly into battle.

Vivianna’s hackney had also come to a halt. She peered out at the bland, respectable façade. The place looked mundane, but she supposed exclusive gentlemen’s clubs did not need to advertise their wares on the outside. As she sat, hesitating, Montegomery vanished inside, and his carriage moved off. It was time to make her own decision. If she did not do something now, she may as well go back to Yorkshire.

Vivianna was not a woman to retreat easily; she was a fighter. She climbed down out of the hackney and paid off the driver. His fingers closed over the shilling coins. “Here, miss?” he asked her, a strange expression on his face. “Are you sure? Right here?”

“I am perfectly sure, thank you.”

“But it’s an academy, miss. Run by an abbess. An’ I can see you is a laced-woman . . . eh, that is, a lady.”

Vivianna only understood a few words of what he said, and even then, they made no sense. Her chance of following Montegomery inside was dwindling. “I will be quite safe, driver, thank you,” she said coolly.

The man opened his mouth, then closed it again, and with a flick of his wrists, turned the hackney back into the sparse stream of evening traffic. Just as Vivianna drew the hood of her cloak up to hide her face, another vehicle pulled up outside the sober building, and another gentleman alighted. Ignoring Vivianna’s cloaked figure standing irresolute upon the footway, he strode briskly toward the open door.

Here was her chance.

Vivianna fell into step behind the gentleman, hurrying to keep up, as if she had every right to be there. The red-coated doorman was bowing him inside. Breath held, head lowered, her cloak wrapped tightly about her, Vivianna moved to slip by him and within.

The air whooshed out of her lungs. She had run straight into a muscular arm, stretched out at waist height and barring her way. Gasping, Vivianna looked up and found the doorman, a sun-browned individual with a broken nose, staring down at her with hard gray eyes.

“ ’Round the back, girl,” he barked, his demeanor disapproving.

Vivianna hesitated, while behind her on the street another coach was drawing up.

“ ’Round the back!” he ordered again, giving her a little shove, and brushed by her to attend to the new arrival.

The doorman seemed to have made an assumption as to who or what she was—just as the hackney driver had done, she remembered now. What that assumption was, Vivianna did not know, but it did not really matter. This was maybe her only opportunity to get inside and confront Montegomery.

Vivianna hurried back down the steps and in the direction that the doorman was impatiently pointing out to her. There was, she saw now, a narrow lane running down one side of the building. As she stood peering into the shadows, a cart rumbled up behind her, and she quickened her steps and found herself in a courtyard behind the house.

The door into the back of the house had been left open, and Vivianna darted inside as if she had every right to do so.

The air was full of the smells of cooking and starch. A small room to her left looked to be a scullery. She kept walking down a long corridor of closed doors, leaving the kitchen and the laundry behind her. It wasn’t very well lit, and she felt her way by running one hand along the wall. Ahead, sounds of merriment grew louder. Another door, and a shorter corridor, and Vivianna blinked.

Light, shining through a beaded curtain, and with it, the movement of chattering people and the clink of glasses. Vivianna clutched the riding crop tightly in her hand, hidden by her cloak. She doubted she would need it now, but something made her loath to put it aside. The heaviness in her chest had increased, and she felt as if her corsets were too tight.

“Montegomery can’t be far,” she murmured to herself to keep up her courage.

Vivianna lifted her chin, like Boudicca going into battle, and made her entrance through the beaded curtain.

Immediately a warning note rang in her head. This was a gentlemen’s club? Vivianna gazed about in surprise. It was very elegant, done up in the French Rococo style, with pale walls and much curling gold decoration. Mirrors were everywhere, and the reflections of dozens of candles gleamed like stars. The furnishings were elegant and uncomfortable-looking—definitely not the overstuffed chairs and sofas that were currently in vogue.

It was not as Vivianna had expected. She had been imagining sober gentlemen sitting about in leather chairs, reading books and newspapers, and discussing the unruly House of Commons over glasses of brandy. There were plenty of gentlemen in this large, elegant room, but there were also many ladies. She also saw an enormous table spread lavishly with plates of prepared food and glasses of champagne.

Were ladies permitted into the hallowed halls of a gentlemen’s club? Vivianna had not thought that was the case, but she was an innocent in such matters, and if necessary that was her defense. Perhaps this was a special evening, a gala evening, and ladies had been invited to attend? Vivianna blinked and looked more closely at the ladies in question. They were certainly very beautiful, and very richly dressed in brightly colored muslins and silks, reminiscent of an earlier age—Rome, perhaps, or Troy. Richly and scantily dressed.

Her cheeks warmed. If Lady Greentree walked into such a place, she would turn and walk straight out of it again. What had that hackney driver said to her before she sent him away? Something about this being an “academy” run by an “abbess”? The warning note in Vivianna’s head became an entire orchestra. Again she ignored it. There was no time to change her plans now. Glimpses of women’s limbs through gossamer-thin silks was irrelevant to her right now. Perhaps, she thought doubtfully, London society was more liberal when it came to female attire than that in Yorkshire.

Anyway, the fact that there were women present suited her plans; it enabled her to move about far more easily in search of her prey. With a quick glance left to right, to assure herself that no one was taking any particular notice of her, Vivianna began her journey across the room, keeping close to the wall and using draperies and green leafy plants for cover. If anyone did notice her, she thought with a beating heart, they would believe her to be a gentleman’s shy spinster sister, or a maiden aunt, come down from the country to partake of the pleasures of the capital, and unused to company.

Hovering near an aspidistra, Vivianna peered about the room, seeking Montegomery’s dark and handsome visage. What if he wasn’t here in this room? This was a large house, and there must be other rooms. What if she had to search them all? Again Vivianna stilled her fears. If she had to examine every inch of the place, then she would!

But she was in luck. In the next moment she spotted him, standing in a doorway off the main room. There was a woman before him, her gown constructed of some shimmering silken stuff Vivianna had never seen before, the draped bodice disclosing a great deal of bosom and the skirt cut in such a way that her lower limbs were almost completely visible. Shocked, Vivianna raised her eyes abruptly.

The pair of them were laughing, and the woman ran a finger lightly down his chest in a gesture that was teasing and yet surprisingly intimate. They drew closer, spoke briefly, and then Montegomery stepped back into the room out of sight. The woman smiled over her shoulder in that same teasing, intimate way, as she moved toward the table where champagne sat cooling in ice.

Was she fetching him a glass of champagne? As Vivianna hesitated, the woman was approached by another older gentleman with blossoming side-whiskers, who began to engage her in conversation. She glanced back toward the doorway apologetically, and then turned a brilliant smile and her full attention upon the new arrival. Vivianna knew a chance when she saw it: a chance to beard the lion in his den.

Swiftly, Vivianna moved in a direct line toward the doorway through which Montegomery had disappeared. No time now to play at being invisible. No time to play it safe. No time . . . She brushed by an attractive older woman, her dark hair streaked with gray, wearing a sumptuously beaded black gown and a great number of diamonds. The woman’s startled glance was echoed by others. Vivianna’s shoulders ached with tension, and at any moment, she expected someone to stop her, to ask her what she thought she was doing.

It did not happen.

She reached the open door and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her. Now I have you! Her trembling fingers found the key and turned, locking them both in.

CHAPTER2

First things first: Make quite sure he cannot escape.

Vivianna removed the key from the lock and slipped it into the pocket sewn into her skirt. Only then, with a deep, sustaining breath, did she turn to face the room. It was just as elegant as the one she had left, but far more intimate. A fire crackled in a fireplace, ornaments gleamed on small, polished tables, and a very large chaise lounge was draped in scarlet silk and dotted with crimson cushions. Upon the wall was a framed painting—a Botticelli Venus—all golden hair and pink flesh.

His back to her, Lord Montegomery was standing by the uncovered windows. A tall, dark, broad-shouldered figure against the night. There was something distant about him, as if he were a man who was all alone. For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain, feeling like the intruder she was.

As if sensing her gaze upon him, he turned, a half smile of welcome curving his mouth. His smile turned quizzical. He blinked deep-set eyes that were of a blue so intense and so dark they almost appeared to be black.

“I thought this was the Venus Room,” he said in a deep, deceptively sleepy voice. “You look more like Diana the Huntress.” His gaze slid over her in a leisurely fashion. “Although with far too many clothes on . . .”

The meaning of his words barely touched her. If she thought of them at all, Vivianna believed he was trying to be witty at her expense. There was nothing wrong with her good Yorkshire cloth. She took a step forward, hands clasped around the riding crop, her voice ringing out. “Lord Montegomery?”

His intense gaze sharpened. “Do I know you, madam?”

“No, my lord, but you will. My name is Miss Vivianna Greentree, and I am here to restore your conscience to you.”

His dark brows rose, and something shifted in his expression—as though he recognized her name. But, as that was impossible, Vivianna did not allow herself to be distracted. He took a step closer across the splendid Aubusson carpet. “My conscience?” he repeated. “Do I have one to restore? And if I did, would I want the bother of it?” His gaze flicked down to her hands and the riding crop. His lips thinned. “I am sorry, Miss Vivianna Greentree, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding. I prefer not to be beaten. Not by you or anyone else. I am a man who likes his pleasure without a sting in it.”

That was when Vivianna’s single-minded purpose began to unravel. What on earth did he mean? Who did he think she was? She blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She mustn’t be sidetracked. They may be interrupted at any moment; she must present her argument while she had the chance.

She drew breath again. “My lord, I am here about the—”

“You’re new.”

“I . . . that is, no, I—”

There was a gleam in those dark blue eyes as once more they swept over her, taking in her cloak, and her plain wool dress with the neat lace collar. He looked at her for all the world as if she were wearing something as transparent as the women out in the other room. He walked around her— prowled around her, rather—and his mouth tilted at the corners. Warily, Vivianna turned with him, keeping him in her sight at all times—which wasn’t difficult, she told herself, when he was wearing such a garish waistcoat. Now he was considering her hair, which she knew full well was windblown and wild from the wait in Berkeley Square, and her face, flushed with righteous indignation.

And—how bizarre!—she could tell he liked the look of her. Of Vivianna Greentree, who had never sought the attentions of any man. She felt his interest like a warm wave, washing over her, as his gaze took a leisurely journey from the top of her chestnut head to the tips of her leather half-boots. His smile grew, making him appear even more like a pirate, and even more dangerous. But what amazed her most of all was her own reaction. She was unprepared for it, had never expected it, and so it took her completely by surprise.

There was confusion and anxiety, of course there was, but underneath . . . Vivianna felt a shiver deep inside her. It was as if Montegomery had touched her in a place no man had ever touched her before. A secret womanly place she had never known existed. Until now. Realization swept over her. Good Lord, thiswon’t do!

And still he prowled with an elegant grace. Like Krispen, Lady Greentree’s beloved tomcat, he had that wonderful litheness mixed with a certain smug self-assurance. Unfortunately, she did not expect Montegomery to be quite as easy to manage as Krispen.

“Hmm, perhaps we can come to some arrangement after all,” he said.

They were clearly at cross-purposes, and Vivianna could not let it continue. “There is only one arrangement you and I can come to,” she said sharply, her voice a little strained. “You will change your mind about—”

“You’re very . . . firm, Miss Vivianna Greentree. I can tell you will be a hit here at Aphrodite’s.” His eyes gleamed at her, as if he had made a joke. She felt beguiled, bewitched, and totally out of her depth. “I’m extremely flattered you’ve come to me first, but I don’t want the crop. I do want you, however. Even though your appearance reminds me of one of those tedious do-gooders who bleat about the poor.”

Tedious do-gooders! Shocked, Vivianna froze, and he took the opportunity to circle around behind her.

“I’d like to change your bleats to sighs,” he murmured, so close that his breath stirred her hair, and then his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of her nape.

Vivianna jumped and spun to face him again, her heart beating fast, her body alive with conflicting signals. “My lord—”

“My name is Oliver, and I prefer it to all this ‘my lording.’ Say it.”

“Oliver—”

“Better. Now, I am sure we can both benefit from what I have in mind.” His dark brows lifted at her lack of perception. “Pleasure, Miss Greentree! I want to take pleasure from you, and give pleasure to you, and I am willing to pay more than the standard fee if it will buy your full cooperation.”

Pay? Sighs? Pleasure? You’re new.

With a series of horrid clicks, everything fell into place. Vivianna stared into his handsome face and knew she had made a terrible, terrible, mistake, and that Lord Montegomery was about to make a worse one. “Sir, I fear you are under a misapprehension—” she croaked, but he thought it was all part of the game. The game he had believed her to be playing from the moment she entered the room.

“There is an earnest wholesomeness that shines from your eyes, Miss Greentree. Do you know, the thought of corrupting you has shaken off my boredom completely.”

“Oh, has it!” she declared. “Has it really!” She felt light-headed. Finally, she understood what the hackney driver had been trying to tell her, and she had failed to comprehend. She had inveigled her way not into a gentlemen’s club, but into a high-class brothel!

“Let me divest you of your cloak.”

He flicked open the fastening at her throat and the cloak promptly slid from her shoulders to the floor. Vivianna’s eyes widened, and he smiled into them. He was taller than her by a head—a surprising occurrence for a woman who was usually looking down on the men around her.

“You seem to have forgotten what you were going to say,” he said, and lifted his hand to brush one long finger down her cheek. Brief, light as the contact was, it raced through her body like one of the new railway engines.

“I know perfectly well what I am going to say,” she told him in an oddly breathless voice.

“Do you? Your eyes are telling me things, too, did you know that? Your pupils have become large and dark, and there is a flush on your cheeks. Here . . . and here . . .” He touched her again, and this time she gasped. “Your lips are soft and open, just a little. As if you want me to kiss them.”

“No, they are not! I do not—”

“Yes, they are. Soft and open.”

Vivianna felt her lips tingle, felt her heart redouble its efforts. He was so close to her now that his breath warmed her. His eyes were holding hers as if there were no one else in the world but her and him. And that was how it felt, as if they were together on a small, brilliantly lit stage, and all about them was the darkness of an empty theater.

Why, this is the strangest thing! I am humming.

Every part of me is so alive. Has he done this to me?

Vivianna was focused on her own feelings, but the growing ardor in Montegomery’s handsome face could not help but flatter her. Just as she had never felt this before, no man had ever before looked at her in such a way—as if he would gobble her up. She was finding it difficult to move, to breathe, to think. Her reasons for being here were blurring, while his presence had sharpened. And despite being very aware of it, she could not seem to do anything about it.

Good Lord! He is leaning in against me.

And he was. The entire length of his body was pressed to hers, from chest to hip and thigh. And he wasn’t like her at all. He was hard, his muscles so taut there was no softness to them whatsoever. His arm curled about her waist, holding her there against him, and there was power and strength in the sheer effortlessness of it. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, and it hurt a little, and yet the pain was also very pleasurable indeed. So much so that she wanted to be held tighter, closer, nearer.

Vivianna’s breath left her lips in a soft whoosh, just as he bent his head and trailed a kiss along her temple, down over her cheek. “Be assured, Miss Vivianna Greentree,” he whispered. “I am a man who knows how to satisfy a woman.”

“I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice!” Her voice was husky and small—a mouse’s squeak—and he rightly ignored it.

He smiled as his lips brushed across hers, light as air, and then back again, more forcefully. He ran the tip of his tongue around her own lips, as if to imprint the shape of them. Her head spun as if she had partaken of some of the champagne on the lavish table outside. And then, most shockingly of all, very slowly and very gently, he drew her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked upon it.

Vivianna felt her toes curl in her half-boots. Heat rushed into parts of her body where it had never been before, parts that she had hardly known existed. Her breasts swelled and ached, the place between her legs melted. She heard herself moan, and couldn’t help it. Didn’t want to. It occurred to her that it would be so easy, so very easy, to forget everything but the here and now. This pleasure he had spoken of was dangerous. He was dangerous.

There was heat in his eyes, making the blue burn. Did he feel this dangerous passion unfurling in him, too? As she tried to focus beyond the heat to the man within, he smiled at her with a rake’s arrogance that told her he had conquered many women, and she was just one more.

Instantly Vivianna was shocked back into sanity.

Her spine turned to steel; her head cleared. In the confined space she struggled to lift her hands and place them flat against his chest. His dreadful waistcoat felt warm from his body, and momentarily she was distracted again by the hard muscle within, and then one of the gold buttons scratched her thumb, and she was sobered.

“Come, Miss Greentree,” he drawled, his voice vibrating in her skull, “come lie with me on that chaise lounge over there. Flesh to flesh, skin to skin. I have the urge to lick you all over.”

The image flared across her mind like a summer storm. Hot and heavy and breathless. She rebelled against it. His muscular arms tightened, but she pushed him. Hard. Unfortunately, it was Vivianna who stumbled backward, and half-sprawled across a mahogany side table, sending a marble bust into a dangerous dance. It occurred to her fevered imagination that they resembled an illustration she had seen once on the cover of a novelette that Marietta had smuggled into her room. The woman reeling, in fear for her life—or virtue, Vivianna had not been sure of which—and the man leering at her villainously. It was the sort of thing Marietta enjoyed, but Vivianna had dismissed as foolishness. Villains just didn’t loom over defenseless women like that; not when Vivianna was around they didn’t, anyway.

Now melodrama had suddenly become real life, and it was too much for her.

“No, you won’t have me.” She sounded hysterical and completely unlike herself, but somehow the words felt appropriate to her situation. “You’ll never have me!”

He choked on laughter. Then, composing himself, he gave her a long look from under dark lashes, as close to a leer as he could manage. “Ah, but I will have you, my lovely innocent,” he avowed dramatically, and then spoiled it by tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers and grinning. “Is this part of the game? I am enjoying it very much. I can’t wait to ravish you. Or are you going to ravish me, Miss Vivianna Greentree? I promise not to struggle too much.”

The look in his eyes . . . the response from her own treacherous body . . . Vivianna knew it was time to put a stop to this before it really went too far.

“My lord,” she managed, and held up a hand to halt him, although he had made no new moves toward her.

“I am not one of the . . . the women of this establishment. I see now that it is not what I thought but a . . .”

She took a breath and calmed herself. “I have come to speak with you, that is all. I attempted to see you at your house in Berkeley Square, but your butler refused me entry. I have traveled all the way from Yorkshire to ask you, no, to implore you to reconsider your decision to demolish the Shelter for Poor Orphans.”

The warmth left his eyes. There was a glitter in them, like, Vivianna thought wistfully, distant lightning—the storm was receding. Oddly, he did not seem very surprised.

“The Shelter for Poor Orphans. I see. How disappointing.”

She straightened, pushing away from the safety of the table. The seriousness of her situation was sobering, but Vivianna was not a woman to be intimidated.

“My name is Miss Vivianna Greentree. I am one of the founders of the Shelter for Poor Orphans. It is administered by Miss Susan and Miss Greta Beatty, and they wrote to me, informing me of your plans. I have come to London to add my pleas to theirs.”

Silence. It seemed, to Vivianna, to last for a painfully long time.

He was watching her, and his expression was quite closed to her, whereas before, she had believed she could read him rather well. She had no doubt that behind that handsome mask his brain was assimilating her words with ease. There was nothing foolish about Lord Montegomery—well, apart from the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Miss Vivianna Greentree.”

“That is my name, my lord.”

All warmth and desire had vanished from his eyes.

He was cool now, and perhaps more than a little irritated by her spoiling his evening. “You followed me from Berkeley Square, Miss Greentree. How did you get into this place? I very much doubt Dobson would have let you through the front door.”

Under his speculative look her face colored. “I entered through the back door,” she replied, refusing to admit she had done anything wrong. The end justifiesthe means, she reminded herself.

“I see.” He said it slowly. “You crept into the back of this house like a thief, and now we are locked in this room together, you and I. What did you mean to do with the riding crop? Beat me into submission?”

Vivianna found it difficult to keep her gaze on his.

“I brought it for protection. I have never been to London before, and I did not know what sort of people I might encounter.”

“Well, that explains it.” His voice was very dry.

“I believed this place to be a gentlemen’s club. I did not realize it was a house of ill repute,” she went on, her face even redder than before.

“A house of very fine repute, I would say. Gentlemen such as myself come here to enjoy themselves and have their senses titillated by ladies such as yourself.

Well, not quite such as yourself, Miss Greentree.” His mouth quirked up, but his eyes remained cool. “It is not my practice to seduce reformers. I find that unless I keep their mouths constantly occupied, they bore me with their lecturing.”

Vivianna’s face burned, but it was anger that made her voice tremble as she replied, “Then I count myself fortunate, my lord, that I am not to your taste.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, and gave her another of those long, assessing, and blatantly lecherous glances from beneath half-closed lids.

“You are insufferable,” she began, clutching the crop with shaking hands. Perhaps she would use it on him after all.

And perhaps he realized it, for he smiled. And then all trace of humor left his face, and he said, rather coldly, “Do you always behave so rashly, Miss Greentree? No doubt where you live everyone knows you and you are safe. This is London. You cannot do as you wish here, and if you venture into some of the more lawless districts, a riding crop will not save you.

Do you understand me?”

Vivianna did not lower her gaze. How dare he lecture her! “I understand you perfectly, my lord,” she said through stiff lips.

He stared at her a moment more, and then he shook his head. “But you’d do it again without hesitation, wouldn’t you? You’re one of those crusading women who believe they know best.”

“I prefer to think of myself as committed,” Vivianna said through her teeth.

“Then be warned, Miss Greentree, I do not permit interference in my affairs. Not by you or anyone else. I do not take kindly to it.”