Darius rose, feeling bemused. “And I won’t be on hand to see the effects of my bad influence.” Neither would he see her great with child, and that… bothered him. “Come, and do not think of wearing a bonnet when the wind could kick up at any moment.”
“Imperious.” She took his arm. “It’s fortunate you’re competent with a toddy.”
“Among other things.”
He got the last, leering word, pleased to have restored the tenor of their dealings to harmless flirting. Talk of his father, making money, and commending Vivian back into her husband’s keeping was not… comfortable, and at least in his own home, a man should be comfortable.
Vivian had eaten as slowly as she could, though she’d known all the while Darius was watching her with a speculative, assessing eye. Had she gotten tipsy? Oh, likely. Would she regret it? Invariably.
He’d treated her to a game of chess after dinner, beating her eventually, but she’d at least made him work for it. The difficulty was, lingering over the chessboard made the effect of the spirits wear off, and here she was, bathed, nightgowned, and tucked up in her bed, awaiting her fate.
When the clock struck ten and still Darius hadn’t joined her, Vivian had had enough.
She yanked open her door, intent on searching him out and demanding he be about his intended purpose, only to find him lounging across the hall in the chair she assumed was reserved for a footman.
“Good evening, Lady Longstreet.”
“What are you doing, sitting there?”
He rose and prowled toward her, giving Vivian the sense he’d been gathering his nerve, of all things. “Are you sure you want this, Vivian?”
She nodded and tucked her lawn tent closer. It was colder than Hades in the hallway, and God knew how long Darius had been sitting there.
“Because to want this baby, you’re going to have to want me.”
“Come.” She tugged him by the wrist down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“Your bedroom, which I’ve yet to see. I want my bed to be for me, your bed for other things.”
“What if I don’t care to share my bed?”
She shot a peevish look over her shoulder and towed him along. Of course he’d want his privacy. He probably needed it desperately, in fact. “Then we’ll go to a guest bedroom.”
“One isn’t made up, much less warm.”
“Darius.” She stopped and peered up at him. “Do you want William’s coin? Because if you do, you’re going to have to want me, and I intend to be in your bed.”
“I want William’s coin,” he said, gathering her braid at her shoulder and staring past her head. “I do want that.”
“So, where will we do this?”
Well, everlasting, merciful God, so what if he heard the tremor in her voice? But when he looked at her, some of his characteristic amusement was evident in his eyes.
“Wherever you please, Vivvie.” He slipped his fingers through hers. “I’m yours to command.”
“Of course, you are.” She hated the detachment behind his humor. “Where is your room?”
“Come.” He slid his arm over her shoulders. “It’s nice and cozy. I’ve languished in there at my bath for most of the evening.”
Interesting. Vivian had drawn hers out until the water was cold too.
“I don’t get to keep my lawn tent tonight, do I?”
“We can worry about that later.”
“I want to worry about it now.”
He opened the door to his bedroom and let her pass through before him. Vivian put aside their argument to take in his most personal surroundings. She was relieved to see the bedroom wasn’t a monk’s cell, which she could have easily seen him inflicting on himself. The room was comfortably masculine, with odd little touches.
“Flowers?”
“They’re made of silk and paper,” he said. “A curiosity, but pretty enough to fool the eye for the months when I can’t afford hothouse flowers.”
“You don’t have a hothouse?”
“I do, but it’s taken up with growing food,” he said, letting her amble around as she chose.
“Why does it smell good in here?”
“There’s cinnamon in that little pot by the hearth.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Occasionally, I’ll burn a scented candle. Then too, I make lavender and rosemary sachets to sell in Town, and my linens and wardrobe are scented with both.”
“You’re very enterprising,” Vivian said, studying the room rather than the man removing his clothes so casually. The bed was huge, as it would have to be for a fellow of his dimensions, and raised up one step, for warmth. The bed hangings were a rich green velvet, the linens snowy white, and the entire thing looked far too comfy for what was going to happen there.
“If I’m to have any comforts at all”—Darius was pulling his shirt over his head—“then enterprise is necessary. What did you decide about the lawn tent?”
“It’s up to me?”
“It’s up to you.” He sat on the raised hearth to tug off his boots.
“Why are you so casual about disrobing?”
“I don’t think of it as disrobing.” His stockings followed. “I think of it as getting into my livery. The fit is superb.”
She did not want to smack him, never that. “That’s awful.”
“It’s honest.” He rose, wearing only his breeches. “In truth, Vivvie, I want to be naked for you. I want you to desire what you see. I want to please you.”
He was slipping further into his role as seducer, and Vivian wanted to howl at the shift. His eyes became slumberous, the pitch of his voice dropped, and his spine curved a bit, to let him strut rather than walk toward her.
“Stop this immediately.”
Seven
He halted his progress toward her, holding her gaze. “Stop what?”
What words could she use? “I don’t want to be a job, a task, an obligation.”
His expression darkened. “You’ve known me for a week, Vivian. This is business. Pleasurable business, one hopes, but business. I am being paid for what happens here, and you are being compensated too, with a lifetime of motherhood.”
“I know.” She sat on the bed, disgruntled, impatient, and not at all willing to be seduced. “But sometimes people can be friends when they’ve business to transact. William is friends with his cronies from the Lords. They argue, fight, and scheme against one another, but they’re friends.”
“Interesting form of friendship.” Darius lowered himself beside her. “I can’t have you getting silly notions, Vivvie. When you leave here, we’re done.”
“You’ve said as much.”
“It has to be that way, for the sake of the child.” He took her hand, which was some consolation. “You cannot have this child raised with rumors regarding paternity. Whispers like that haunt a person. I know, because they’ve haunted my sister Leah her entire life and excused all manner of poor behavior on my father’s part.”
“That is dreadful.”
“More dreadful for her, but you comprehend that when we’re done with this little winter idyll, Vivian, we’re strangers again. Worse than strangers, because a man of my reputation would seldom cross your social orbit unless I’m escorting my sister.”
“I don’t believe that.” She leaned against him, resenting his insistence on this discussion. He was an earl’s spare, and they often became MPs, and she entertained MPs in quantity at William’s table.
“Believe it.” He petted her hand. “The people I keep company with late at night would make you cringe, Vivvie. They’ve turned being mean into a hobby. You don’t want them getting wind we were connected.”