Though wouldn’t Lucy have a fine time shredding Vivian’s reputation? Leah had been through the worst treatment gossip and scandal could cause, had dealt with heartbreak, grief, and a load of earthly woes. Lucy could hurt Leah, but she could destroy Vivian.
So Darius had dealt what he hoped was a survivable blow first, and now he had to do something, had to make amends to Vivian lest she fret and brood and doubt herself further. He owed her an explanation and an apology, and that was that.
He was about to put pen to paper when a knock sounded on his door.
“Mister Darius Lindsey!”
Darius opened the door to find a running footman panting on his doorstep.
“I’m Lindsey.”
“I know.” The man bent over to ease his breathing. “I’m to give you a message from Reston. Your sister is at his place, and she’s right enough, but you’re to come. Don’t tarry or discuss your plans, and I’ve told your brother the same. I’m off to the grandame’s when I get me wind.”
“Grandame?”
“Lady Warne.” The man straightened. “Reston’s grandame.”
“Leah’s all right?”
“She be fine.” The man’s gaze slid away, and Darius could only guess Leah wasn’t quite so fine.
Darius caught up with Trent, whose toilette had likely required some attention before he could call on Reston even casually. Together, they arrived to find a teary Leah burrowed against Reston’s side, a visible bruise rising on the side of her face.
Reston explained that their sister had nearly been abducted from the park, and further ventured his suspicions that it was likely Hellerington’s doing. To Darius’s thinking, the near tragedy was a blessing in disguise, as it put any notion of Reston’s offering for Emily off the table.
Leah wasn’t just comfortable with Reston’s touch, which would have been noteworthy enough, she was positively clinging to him, and Reston was damned near clinging right back. On a man of his size, the behavior was oddly sweet and… dear.
Which was fortunate, for Reston announced his intention to marry Leah, and from what Darius could see, Leah was going to allow it.
Arrangements were made for Leah to be chaperoned under Reston’s roof by his grandmother until a special license could be procured. Reston was confident he could handle Wilton, and so Darius was left to stroll home in the slanting twilight with Trent. Later, he’d troll in low places for clues regarding his sister’s would-be abduction; for now, he’d see his brother home.
Trent shook his head. “Just like that. We’re fretting over her being dragged into Hellerington’s clutches one day, and she’s marrying Bellefonte’s heir the next.”
“I like him.”
“You know him?”
“Some. Not as much as I should, but Leah trusts him, and that has to count for a lot.”
“How can you tell?”
Darius cocked his head at his brother. “She was wrapped around him like seaweed, Trent. You had to have seen that.”
“I saw him whispering at you in the corner and looking alarmingly ferocious when he did.”
Nick Haddonfield looking ferocious was a sight to give any sane man pause. “He was suggesting, as a wedding present to our sister, I leave off associating with certain women of questionable character. Reston delivers a very convincing scold.”
Trent delivered a very convincing look of fraternal disappointment, which suggested Darius’s public encounters with Lucy and Blanche were being noticed.
Bloody, sodding hell.
“I will not waste my breath echoing Reston’s sentiments, but I will point out that our situation with John will be considerably complicated if Leah marries Reston. He’s not stupid, Dare, and if he’s part of the family, sooner or later, he’ll pop in on you at Averett Hill.”
Darius stopped walking. “Good God.”
“Beg pardon?”
“He’s my bloody neighbor.” Darius blew out a breath. “Not two miles up the lane, and closer as the crow flies. Reston, that is, down in Kent. This is going to get tricky, Trent.”
Trent kicked at a loose piece of cobblestone, sending it skittering and bouncing down the lane. “I hate tricky. Perhaps he’ll be at the family seat now that his papa is sticking his spoon in the wall.”
Darius resumed walking at a more brisk pace. “Not Reston. He hops around like a great flea, and I’ve seen him often enough on this or that huge horse to know he’ll be in evidence around the neighborhood. As will Leah.”
“Give it time,” Trent said, his tone grim. “They’re not married yet, and even when they are, we’ll want to see how they go on. Reston’s no saint. He’ll be decent about John, and he’ll keep his handsome, smiling mouth shut.”
“We could send John to Crossbridge.” Trent’s estate, one where he’d spent precious little time in recent years, and more distant from Town and all its gossip than Averett Hill. The notion of sending John away to strangers left Darius feeling sick in the pit of his stomach.
“I’ll write to my staff there,” Trent said, though the way he wrinkled his nose suggested the idea of moving John had no appeal to him either.
“It’s just a thought. There’s no need for any hasty maneuvers yet.” And, Darius reminded himself, he had a letter to write too.
Darius tried to write the letter, the brief note to Vivian, and it kept escaping him. Instead of a simple, innocuous apology, he’d trail off into admissions that he missed her, worried for her, regretted their encounter, but didn’t regret it either.
He stared at the little bottle of scent she’d left behind. He sniffed it repeatedly, and he missed her.
He worried for his brother, took Emily riding, and missed Vivian. He kept to his rooms lest Lucy and Blanche have more opportunities to accost him in the broad light of day, as lately they’d grown miserably bold and uncaring of appearances. It was as if they had put a collar and leash on him in truth.
Reston’s papa died, and Darius considered popping out to Kent to attend the funeral, just to get away from London. He discarded the notion because Leah needed privacy with her new husband, not Darius hovering at an awkward time.
And the truth was, Darius could never again be with Vivian the way he had been in Kent. The pain of that was sobering and checked his need to spend time with her again. So the silence between him and Vivian lengthened, until Darius was at a bookshop, looking for a gift to present to Emily on the occasion of her seventeenth birthday.
He caught Vivian’s scent first, then the sight of her, back turned to him, but it had to be Vivian. He knew the nape of that neck, knew the curve of that spine, and the soft, muscular swell of those glorious female buttocks.
“Vivvie.”
He’d spoken softly, for there were other patrons elsewhere in the shop. She went still at first, so he said her name again, and what a pleasure that was, just to say her name out loud. “Vivvie, look at me.”
She turned slowly and looked at him, and over his shoulder and everywhere else.
“I’m alone,” he assured her, closing the distance between them slowly, as if she might spook and bolt did he move too quickly. Except she was visibly, wonderfully pregnant, and bolting was likely beyond her. “You’re well?”
He stood as near to her as he dared. Seeing her up close was intoxicating, sending currents of pleasure and longing out over his limbs and down into his gut.
“Say something, Vivvie. Please.” He’d been paid to beg, but now, here, in this public place, he had to struggle not to go down on his knees. “Laugh me to scorn, ring a peal over my head, kick me anywhere you need to, but please don’t—” He fell silent.