William Longstreet had taken a perfectly lovely young woman to wife and made her elderly, as well as deaf, dumb, and blind to her own appeal.
Darius had been more honest than she’d known, when he’d said she deserved pleasure. She deserved heaps and hoards of it, years of it, but instead she’d gotten duty. As he readied himself for bed, he had to wrestle with a question: Vivian deserved a romp, a frolic, a few weeks decadently rife with flirtation and sexual gratification. He was in a position to give her that, but as she’d said, then what? A virtual spinster, she’d be ill equipped to deal with the attachments that formed when two people were physically intimate.
Except, he could teach her that too. He could teach her to flirt and carry on and enjoy herself, and part with a sigh and wave before moving on to the next enjoyment. Clearly, Lord Longstreet had urged her in that direction, but Vivian had been too timid to dip her toe in the waters of dalliance.
Or maybe, she had been too wise.
By habit, he checked on John before turning in, finding the child fast asleep in his bed, the tomcat blinking slowly as Darius closed the door to the boy’s room.
He could fathom pleasuring Vivian, could imagine it all too easily, but far more difficult was the idea that she was eager to bear his child. He’d seen it in her eyes—she wanted a child, and to his surprise, he wanted that for her as well.
And this, he reasoned as he climbed between cold sheets, was why he didn’t allow other women the intimacy of coitus with him. It made a simple situation complicated and had him wishing all manner of impossible things, when he really should be too tired to give a damn.
Vivian Longstreet should be a means to put a new roof on his stable, a duty, a convenient source of revenue, and here he was, offering to escort her past reason into the land of sexual pleasure and harmless dalliance. Offering her a choice had been rash, and upon reflection, he wished he could recall his words and sneak into her bed of a night, pretending by day her body had been shared with some other man. That would be smarter—better, at least for him.
But by breakfast, Darius had come to a decision: if she allowed it, he was going to pleasure Vivian Longstreet out of her clever, nimble, ladylike mind.
Four
The dress made up Darius’s mind, a shapeless, no doubt warm atrocity in a color that put him in mind of calf scours.
“Good morning, Mr. Lindsey.” Vivian smiled at him shyly when Darius seated her at the breakfast table.
“Good morning.” He let himself lean in for a little whiff of her, catching the scent of daffodils. Lemon verbena might have been more retiring, but only just. “I trust you and Lord Byron slept well?”
Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t presume to speak for him. I slept like the proverbial baby.”
“I’ve wondered where that phrase came from.” Darius poured her tea. “My experience with babies suggests they are better at waking entire households than sleeping. May I fix you a plate?”
“Thank you.” She accepted the tea. “You’ve had the raising of your… relation since infancy?”
“I’ve had exclusive responsibility for him since shortly after his birth.”
“How old is he now?”
“He’ll join us shortly.” Darius focused on sorting through the ham slices to find one he deemed thick enough for her. “You can ask him yourself, but be warned, he can talk nonstop for days.”
“Not a typical male.” Vivian frowned at the plate he set before her. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”
“Especially”—Darius took a slice of bacon off her plate—“if you stare at it until it gets cold. You start, and when you’ve had your fill, you stop.”
“But that’s waste…” He stuffed a bite of bacon into her mouth between syllables, and finished the strip himself.
“I like it crisp like this,” she said. “William likes his thicker than I do, and oh, you’ve had cheese cooked in the eggs, you shameless man.”
Darius nodded complacently and sipped his tea. “That would be me.” Did Longstreet even realize what a treasure he shared breakfast with each morning? Did he see her or merely disappear behind The Times and consume his soggy bacon?
“Is this the lady?” a small voice piped.
“Good morning, John.” Darius smiled at the lad who hovered in the doorway. “Make your bow.”
“Good morning, my lady. John Cowperthwaite Lindsey, at your service.” He bowed dramatically and came up grinning. “You’re our guest, so I’m on pro… I have to behave.”
“Probation.” Darius hoisted the child onto his lap. “If you’re on your best behavior, you can have breakfast with us, and perhaps we’ll go riding while Lady Vivian is here.”
Lady Vivian, not Lady Longstreet, because Darius intended to exercise as much discretion about her visit as he could.
“Do you like horses?” The look John aimed at Vivian suggested this was the pressing question of the day.
“Very much. Do you like bacon?” She held up a crispy slice.
“Darius?”
“You may.”
“Thank you!” John took the slice of bacon and was away from the verbal starting line at a gallop, waving his bacon around minus one bite as he spoke. “I have a pony. He’s old but sturdy, and his name is Hammond. He doesn’t like Waggles, because Waggles is sneaky and hard to see in the dark, which is good for hunting mice, though there aren’t any in my bedroom ’cause Wags sleeps with me. May I please have another piece of bacon?”
“I’ll fetch you a plate.” Darius rose and sat the child in his own seat as John went on about how cold weather made his pony harder to groom, but friskier, which was good.
“Would you like to go riding?” John raised brown eyes to Vivian, and Darius swore the boy was batting his lashes at her.
“It’s too cold for riding today,” Darius warned. “We can introduce Lady Vivian to Hammond, if she’s amenable.”
“What’s amendable?”
“Amenable,” Vivian corrected him. “Willing, which I am.” As he put a plate before the child, Darius shot her a naughty smile—the opportunity was too good to let pass. “Willing to meet your pony, that is.”
“Capital!” John started on his eggs. “I visit him every day before my lessons. Darius says the company of a horse starts a gentleman’s day off right, and I take care of him all by myself, except sometimes Dare helps. What’s your horse’s name?”
“I don’t have just one,” Vivian said. “When I want to ride, the lads tack up a mare and off I go.”
John frowned as Darius gestured to the child to put his serviette on his lap. “But what’s her name? You have to know your horse’s name, so you can say, ‘Whoa, Hammond,’ or ‘Good boy, Ham.’ You know, her name?”
“One of them is named Pansy, or I’ve heard the lads calling her that, so it’s probably her nickname.”
John devoured his breakfast, peppering Vivian with questions as his eggs, toast, and most of Vivian’s bacon disappeared, while Darius sat back and watched.
“John, you need to put on your boots and collect a carrot or two for your steed,” Darius said when the child’s plate was clean. “Lady Vivian needs another cup of tea, and then we’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir.” John scooted off his seat then paused abruptly. “Sorry, I forgot. I am still on proba… Whatever that word was?”
“Probation,” Darius supplied. “You caught yourself, and having such a pretty lady at table is distracting, but let’s do it right, shall we?”
John resumed his seat and met Darius’s eye. “Sir, the meal has been very good, but I’d like to visit my pony now. May I please be excused?”