Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

“Hmm.” Mrs Thorne pursed her lips. She studied Vivienne’s figure as if mentally taking her measurements. “The master will dismiss us all if you join him for breakfast wearing maid’s attire, and we’ve nothing else suitable. Might I send a footman to town to fetch clean clothes?”

Vivienne was already late. Mr Sloane had summoned her to the dining room half an hour ago. The man might be a libertine, but he behaved with the utmost professionalism when working on a case.

“There’s no time. The return journey takes an hour.”

The housekeeper gave a reassuring smile. “Mr Fitchett might have a few suggestions.” She crossed the room and removed a blanket from the armoire and handed it to Vivienne. “I shall be back shortly.”

Once again, Vivienne was left in the shift she had insisted on wearing to bed. She sat in the chair near the fire and waited. Mrs Thorne returned with Theresa, their arms laden with garments.

“We’ve a few choices here, though I’m not sure you will approve of Mr Fitchett’s suggestion.” Mrs Thorne placed the assortment of articles on the bed. “But he said you’re a lady willing to embrace a challenge.”

Vivienne took it as a compliment. She hurried to the bed and began sifting through the clothes. The thought of wearing the ridiculous garments warmed her insides and lifted her spirits, particularly when she anticipated Mr Sloane’s stunned reaction.

“Fitchett is right. Few women have the courage to wear these gaudy garments.”

Indeed, poor Mr Sloane was in for another mighty shock.

* * *

Vivienne burst into the dining room. “Do not take the trouble to stand, sir. I wouldn’t want you to suffer from indigestion.”

“You’re late, Miss Hart.” Mr Sloane did not look up from his newspaper, though it was evident he wasn’t reading anything of interest. “If we’re to work together on this case, know I shall not tolerate tardiness.”

He looked devilishly handsome with his hair tied in a queue and his cravat fastened in a fashionable knot—like the perfect present one longed to unwrap.

“Of course.” She smiled at the footman who pulled out her chair, though the distraction did little to calm the flutter in her chest. “I had a terrible time finding suitable clothes.”

The gentleman raised his gaze above the top of his newspaper. Any pretensions of appearing indifferent to her plight vanished. “What in blazes are you wearing?”

“This?” Vivienne stroked her hand down the embroidered pink waistcoat. “Yes, it’s a little garish. I heard it belonged to a libertine who attended one of your house parties.”

Mr Sloane threw the paper onto the table. The chair legs scraped the boards as he shot to his feet. “Madam, you’re wearing the clothes of a degenerate. And I do not care to be reminded of why I still possess Monsieur Lamont’s wardrobe.”

Mrs Thorne had told the tale with great delight. While highly intoxicated, and despite his small stature, the Frenchman had stripped off his clothes, bathed then piddled in Mr Sloane’s mermaid fountain.

“You’re somewhat of a conundrum, sir. You entertain debauched members of society, yet are shocked when they behave disgracefully. Mrs Thorne said you chased the naked Frenchman halfway to town.”

With a curt nod, Mr Sloane dismissed both footmen.

“Had I caught him in the act, I would have drowned the blighter.” He scanned her blue tailcoat and silver breeches. “If you think I am going to town with you dressed like a dandy, think again.”

Vivienne bit back a grin. “Then, I shall wait for you to change.”

Mr Sloane arched a brow. “Miss Hart, do not try my patience. Wear the popinjay’s clothes, if you must, but you will change the moment we reach Silver Street. Is that understood?”

Firstly, Vivienne was not in the habit of being treated like a child. Secondly, Mr Sloane did not make decisions on her behalf.

“You’re not my husband yet, Mr Sloane. And before you make the ultimate commitment, know you cannot browbeat me into submission.”

Mr Sloane dropped into his seat. “As we have already established, marriage to me is out of the question.”

“Perhaps.” Vivienne smiled. She hadn’t had such fun in years, though their situation was far from amusing. “Are you happy for me to serve myself, or will you ring for a footman?”

Mr Sloane gestured to the toast rack. “Do as you please, madam. I shall save my demands for the bedchamber, not the breakfast table.”

Vivienne swallowed to hide her nerves, but couldn’t let the comment pass without challenge. “Talk of the bedchamber must mean you’ve changed your mind about marriage.”

“While I might be opposed to marriage, Miss Hart, I find I’m not opposed to bedding you.”