Lessons in Seduction (Greentree Sisters 1)

Helen was clasping her hand, and Vivianna shook off her abstraction and squeezed her aunt’s trembling fingers. “Not very well, I’m afraid. Never mind, I mean to persist. You know me.”

Helen sighed. “I think you are very brave, my dear. Toby says there are rumors about Lord Montegomery, and not very nice ones. He says…well, perhaps I should not repeat it, but then again if it will help you…he says that rumor has it that Lord Montegomery stole his brother’s fiancée, and his brother killed himself.”

Vivianna made a face. “I have heard that rumor.”

“The girl was Celia Maclean. A tragic tale. Evidently they were…well, it was more than a kiss. She has never married and, of course, her reputation is quite ruined.”

“But he continues to go about in society,” Vivianna said.

“Well, dear, he is a Montegomery, one of the best families, and a man. It is different for a man.”

It was grossly unfair, in Vivianna’s view, but Helen did not seem able to see that, or if she did, she accepted it as the natural order of things.

“My brother William may call in the next day or so, if time permits,” she went on. “Of course he is very busy, but as head of the family, he likes to keep an eye on us all.”

“I’m sure he does, Aunt Helen.”

Vivianna planned to visit Aphrodite’s in the next day or two, but she would not tell Helen that.

“I trust William,” Helen added, and her once-lovely face looked old and bleak. “These days, he is the only man I do trust.”

The evening shadows were long as Oliver, in his disguise of scuffed trousers and plain jacket, strolled out into the London streets. As usual he was thinking of Vivianna Greentree. The woman seemed to have a knack of wearing the ugliest clothing and of bundling her hair up so tightly it could not possibly do her any good. And yet, despite that, and her preaching ways, Oliver found himself thinking about her almost constantly. It was doing his peace of mind, and his concentration, no good at all.

He turned into a narrower, darker street. Why had Vivianna really come to his house? He had begun to wonder if Miss Vivianna was suffering the same ache of the flesh as he, but of course that could not be. Probably he was imagining the blurred look in her eyes and her enthusiastic responses—a case of wistful thinking. It was the shelter that motivated Vivianna. Everything she did was for the sake of her orphans. He could not trust her—these days there were few people he could trust—but that did not mean he could not enjoy himself with her.

For a long time after Anthony’s death, the future had ceased to exist. Now there was a sense of life-to-be-lived stirring inside him. As if there may be a future for him, after all. And little though he may trust her, it had begun with the arrival of Vivianna.

He saw again

her face, dreamy after he kissed her, and felt again her fine skin and soft mouth, smelled her sweet, wholesome scent. She was a meddlesome nuisance, interfering with his plans—Candlewood must be demolished, that was the crux upon which everything else revolved. His strong attraction to her was an added complication and had taken him by surprise. Did she realize how dangerous their association had become? He had always prided himself upon his ability to control his desire, had always despised those men who believed it their right to force a woman against her will, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to stop.

Oliver passed a lane so narrow a man would have to turn sideways to walk down it—eyes watched from the darkness—and finally reached the place he had set out for. Torches flared at the front door, and there was noise and the smell of ale issuing from within. He strolled inside.

It was not the best of places, but neither was it the worst. Once a respectable inn, it had degenerated, the customers coming from the miserable lodging houses in the area to escape the crowding, at least for a while. Because it was mediocre and forgettable, few gentlemen frequented it, and that was as he liked it. Oliver found his way to a quiet table in a shadowy corner and sipped his ale, prepared to wait as long as he had to. He had only been there some ten minutes when the familiar figure slipped into the chair opposite him.

“Sergeant Ackroyd.”

Dark eyes and hair, a ferrety face that had never been handsome.

“Yer lordship,” Sergeant Ackroyd said, and glanced about nervously. He, like Oliver, was wearing plain clothing that had seen better days.

“What news do you have for me?”

The policeman’s gaze met his and flicked away as quickly. “Not a lot to report, yer lordship. The gentleman in question ain’t been about much. Stuck indoors on government business, so I hear.”

Oliver thought, He thinks he’s safe; he thinks he’s won. I want him to feel like that. It will make the shock even greater when he learns that he hasn’t.

“No one has called on him, then?” he asked aloud.

“No one as shouldn’t, yer lordship.”

Oliver had asked Sergeant Ackroyd not to call him that, but the man had ignored him. He seemed to gain some sort of pleasure from saying it, or maybe it was just the fact he was hobnobbing with a peer of the realm.

“Well, keep watching. I am about to set a small test for our friend. I want to see how he reacts.”

“I’ll keep me eyes peeled, yer lordship, don’t worry.”

Oliver nodded, and left him there. Sergeant Ackroyd would do his job, now Oliver had to do his.