His body was rigid with lust. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder, carry her into a dark corner, and do what he should have done in the coach. Why had he allowed himself to be upset by memories of Anthony and Vivianna’s damned lecturing? He had had his opportunity on the way back from Candlewood, and he should have taken it. She wouldn’t have resisted. He could have had her up against the squabs and forgotten her by the time they reached Bloomsbury.
Oliver swallowed. He was fooling himself. He doubted he would ever forget Vivianna; his body, his mind had never been more alive. She had offered him redemption but he did not think she had meant through the enjoyment of her body. Still, a lost soul had to find his salvation where he could.
She was watching him, her eyes slanted and gleaming through her lashes. As he had in the coach, he noted the triumphant expression in them, as if she knew what she was doing to him, and she was enjoying it. Of course she was, she had brought him to this meeting, hadn’t she? After he had sworn never to attend such a thing?
Oliver took her arm firmly in his and, as her brow creased with sudden unease, began to thread his way through the crowd heading for the supper table.
Vivianna tried to tug herself free of his grip, but he did not release her. “Lord Montegomery,” she said a little desperately, and she wasn’t smiling now. “I am a guest here. I cannot just leave. I must say goodbye—”
“Miss Greentree!” a bright-eyed woman twittered. “And Lord Montegomery! How wonderful that you have come to our little meeting. So gratifying to see a new face in our midst.”
“Mrs. St. Claire, I am sure that Lord Montegomery would be more than happy to—”
“Miss Greentree has another engagement,” Oliver said, barely pausing. “An urgent one. My apologies, Mrs.—eh—St. Claire, but her presence is needed at once at the Shelter for Poor Orphans.”
“Oh dear,” the woman cried. “I hope it is not bad news?”
“I’m afraid it is. The orphans are revolting,” he said, and strode determinedly toward the door.
Behind him, Mrs. St. Claire gasped, but in a moment the door had closed on them all and he was alone with Vivianna in a wide corridor lit by gaslights. The babble of voices receded behind them until the only disturbance was the sound of their steps, the rustle of Vivianna’s skirts, and the soft hissing of the gas.
“That was very rude,” she said, a tremor in her voice.
She was angry with him, and rightly so. He had behaved abominably, but he couldn’t seem to help it. She drove him to it.
Doors were closed on either side of them. On impulse, Oliver opened one and glimpsed a smallish sitting room. It was empty, and he drew Vivianna inside and closed the door.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, and finally tugged free of him. She straightened her sleeve with quick, angry jerks, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. “I think you should apologize, my lord.”
“I apologize,” Oliver retorted. He stood watching her as she attempted to smooth out every crease in her attire, and gradually the irritation drained out of him. “What are you up to, Vivianna?”
She didn’t look at him. “Up to? Nothing at all. Now, if you will excuse me, I must—”
“No, I won’t excuse you, and yes, you are up to something. You’re driving me to madness.”
She was pleased! He saw the flicker in those hazel depths.
“Aha!”
Warily she watched him step closer, until the toes of his shoes brushed her skirts. “What do you mean, aha?”
“You want to drive me mad,” he retorted. “I wonder why.” Her skirts and petticoats gave way before him, pushed back by his forward movement, and he took another step. He was close enough now that her breasts were brushing his chest. He did not touch her with his hands, not yet, although he had to clench his fingers into fists at his sides to stop himself. But he was not ready yet.
“I want you to see that to demolish Candlewood is a terrible mistake, that is all.”
Vivianna heard her own voice waver and swallowed down whatever emotion was trying to break free. He was looming over her in a most intimidating manner, but she wasn’t intimidated. All she could feel was the warmth of his body against hers, the hard muscle of his thigh where it rested hard against her skirts, and the low timbre of his voice vibrating through her.
“I think, after what I have been through tonight I deserve some reward,” he said in that drawling tone she knew so well.
“Nonsense.”
He smiled and loomed closer. “But I do, Vivianna. You forget, a bad man like me isn’t used to being surrounded by so much goodness.”
“Even rakes can change their habits,” she said, and then wished she could bite the words back. Of course rakes couldn’t change their habits! She knew that, she had seen it firsthand.
But his smile broadened and he ducked his head and took her mouth in a hot, all-enveloping kiss. Vivianna, surprised, was quickly overtaken by the feel of his lips on hers. She moaned softly. Somehow she had slid her own hands around him, beneath his jacket, her own palms flat against the hard muscles of his back. He felt marvelous, and the seductress inside her wanted more.
Oliver’s fingers had fought their way beneath the tight bodice, beneath the soft cotton of her chemise, and found her nipple. A shiver of surprise and pleasure ran through Vivianna as he stroked her. The intimate place between her legs tingled as if it had suddenly come alive.