ed her down the staircase, not touching her, but never too far from her. Once she would have thought he was hovering protectively, but now she knew he hated her.
Perhaps some Yorkshire worthy has got there before me…
She had wounded him. Who would have thought her words would hurt him so much? And yet Vivianna understood now. You are just like Aphrodite. He had put her on a pedestal, and she had fallen off it with a bang.
Well, that was his mistake, surely, not hers? She could not help it if he had thought her an angel and she was mere flesh and blood!
Or was it not so simple?
Oliver was a mystery to her, all mazes and complications. He had secrets, too, and he had made mistakes. He felt responsible for the death of his own brother, and he refused to give in when it came to Candlewood. But those things did not stop her from liking him, being attracted to him.
Sometimes she thought she was attracted to him despite herself.
And now that was all over.
“Oliver!”
The loud deep voice startled Vivianna, but it shocked Oliver. For a moment his face was blank, and then in another moment he seemed to consciously relax, his eyelids lowering, his mouth curling in that lazy smile, his body turning fluid. He was like an actor taking on a role, she thought in amazement.
He turned and faced the man behind him. “Lord Lawson.”
Lord Lawson was a gentleman in his fifties, tall and lean, his hair more gray than brown, and with an energy about him that spoke of the ability to get things done. But his eyes were as cold a blue as Vivianna had ever seen.
“The worse for drink again I see,” Lawson said with a smile, but the note in his voice was not amused.
“Alas, yes.”
“You are leaving early?” he asked Oliver. His icy gaze slid to Vivianna and back again. He was still smiling, but it was a meaningless gesture—his eyes weren’t.
“Yes, a prior engagement,” Oliver said, blinking sleepily, in a manner she had seen before, as if he had drunk too much brandy. And yet she knew he had not drunk any at all.
“I see.” Lawson glanced at Vivianna again, clearly waiting to be introduced. When Oliver didn’t oblige, Vivianna assumed it was because he was still angry with her, and she stepped forward and held out her own hand.
“Lord Lawson, how do you do?” she said briskly, ignoring the surprised lift of his brows at her forwardness. “I am Miss Greentree, patron of the Shelter for Poor Orphans.”
“Ah.” Lawson took her hand firmly. “I have heard of you, Miss Greentree. But I am a little surprised you would accompany Oliver here to the opera, not when he is being so stubborn about Candlewood.”
Oliver laughed idiotically. “She’s a glutton for punishment,” he said. “Now, Lawson, you’ll have to let us by. Things to do, you know.”
Lord Lawson bowed, but his gaze remained on Vivianna. “Goodbye, Miss Greentree. If I can ever be of any assistance…”
“Thank you,” Vivianna managed, but Oliver’s hand on her arm was like iron, and he was pulling her steadily away. “Will you stop it!” she hissed. “What is the matter with you? Why did you pretend like that?”
“None of your business, Vivianna.”
“Oh yes, I forgot, I mustn’t ask questions. You prefer me with my mouth closed.”
“Unless I want to put my tongue in it,” he answered in that droll, hateful way.
Vivianna said nothing. He was beyond reaching with logic, and besides, she was still reeling from what had happened between them during the opera.
By the time they reached the street, the coach was waiting and he followed her to the door. His hand was still strong on her arm, helping her in, but when she had been seated, she saw that Oliver had stayed outside. He was looking in at her, his face a shadow against the gaslights on the street, his expression unseen. But Vivianna heard the coldness in his voice.
“I will leave you here.”
“Leave me?” There was an anxious note in her voice, but she swallowed it back, and with it the sense of panic. There would be no journey home with him, no chance to right the wrong, no time to apologize.
“My coachman will take you home, Miss Greentree. I prefer to walk.”