Lessons in Seduction (Greentree Sisters 1)

“They’re just little ’uns—I don’t know their names, my lady.”

“Very well. Vivianna? Vivianna, are you there?”

Vivianna froze in the shadows. The lady entered the cottage and stood, accustoming herself to the gloom. The three of them could probably still escape, if she was quick. But Vivianna had liked the way the lady had called her by her proper name, and she didn’t want to run away. Besides, where would they go? Here in the cottage she had been able to keep her sisters safe, but beyond it was another matter. She felt alone and afraid, and very, very tired. Again she sensed that there was something about this lady that made her trustworthy. That she was someone who could help.

“Vivianna?” The lady called again, softly, urgently. Her black skirts brushed against the filthy wall. She did not bother to exclaim and move away or to brush the dirt off; finding the children seemed to be her most important—her only—consideration.

“Here I am.”

The lady started and turned. Rawlings made as if to rush and grab Vivianna, but the lady held up a hand, her attention wholly on the little girl. Vivianna saw that her eyes were light blue and kind. They kindled a warm fire in Vivianna’s weary and frightened heart.

“Who are you?” Vivianna asked. She did not mean to be rude—during these months with Mrs. Slater she had begun to forget her manners—but she needed to know.

“I am Lady Greentree, my dear. I own your cottage and the land upon which it stands. This is my estate.”

There was a rustle in the doorway on the far side of the room and two little figures scurried toward Vivianna. Vivianna saw that her sisters’ faces were freshly tear-streaked and that Marietta was clutching her beloved rag doll that she had brought with her from home. She pulled her sisters close, holding them safe against her grubby skirts.

For a moment Lady Greentree looked as if she might cry, too, and then she asked gently, “What is your full name, Vivianna? Can you tell me from where you have come?”

“Mrs. Slater brought us here,” Vivianna said slowly, and her eyes threatened to shut. It was the hunger, she supposed. “We came from the country, but I don’t know where. There was a village, but I don’t know what it was called. Our house was big and full of fine things, and there were servants…. No one ever called me anything other than Miss Vivianna, not until Mrs. Slater started calling me Annie.”

Vivianna wished there was something she could say or remember that would magically allow them to go home. She had a horrible feeling that now that they had been taken away, they would never find their way back again.

Marietta had been gazing intently at Lady Greentree, and now she lisped, “Mama?”

Lady Greentree’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you poor little dears!” She took a shaking breath and held out her hand. “I have no children of my own, and it has always been my sorrow and regret that I was not so blessed. My husband Edward was an officer in the army, in India, but now he is dead and I am a widow. I am alone, just as you are alone. Will you all come home with me and allow me to look after you?”

Vivianna looked longingly at the soft white hand held out to her. The hand that reminded her achingly of her own mother.

Rawlings drew in a sharp breath. “My lady, you don’t even know whose spawn they be!”

Lady Greentree gave him such a look that his face flamed red. Vivianna liked that, and she liked the way the lady’s hand remained held out toward them, steady and waiting. A promise. She took a step forward, and then another, despite being hampered by her sisters’ clutching fists. Vivianna put her own hand, cold and faintly sticky, into that of Lady Greentree’s. Warmth enfolded her fingers.

And her heart.

Lady Greentree smiled down upon her as if it were Vivianna who had offered her sanctuary, and not the other way around. “Come, my dears,” she said softly. “Let us all leave this awful place.”

Chapter 1

Berkeley Square

London

1840

Fourteen years later

Inside the tall, elegant London townhouse, Lord Montegomery was impatiently allowing his valet to put the finishing touches to his evening ensemble. Fitted black coat and tapered black trousers and a fine white linen shirt with a high collar and white cravat. The only splash of color came from his waistcoat; bottle-blue velvet with gold embroidery and large gold buttons.

There was a time when Oliver never would have worn such an item, when black and white were the only accepted colors for evening dress. The waistcoat was unforgivably vulgar and tasteless, but he thought it appropriate; it represented to him the present state of his life. Tonight he was planning to spend a pleasant few hours at Aphrodite’s, before moving on to a drinking house affectionately called the Bucket of Blood, where he hoped to see some bare-knuckle fighting and lay a bet or two. In the past, a night like that would occur every month or so, but now it was close to every night. Drinking, gambling, carousing; his standards had slipped. To all intents and purposes he was on a downward slide—everybody said so.

And that was just as he wanted it.

“My lord?”

A glance at the door showed him his butler, looking troubled.

“What is it, Hodge?”