Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(20)

"How do you know that?"

"Because I couldn't!" Startled and offended, she gave him a look of rebuke.

When he spoke, his voice was flat and quiet. "You're a courtesan, Vivien. The most notorious one in London. You've garnered a fortune from your talent."

She felt her face turn stark white. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest. "It isn't true," she cried. "The book must belong to someone else." "I found it in your terrace house, in your bedroom."

"Why would I...that is, why would any woman write such things?"

"A tool for blackmail," he suggested gently. "Or perhaps it was just the only way you could keep track."

Vivien left her chair as if she had been jolted out of it, letting the cashmere lap robe drop to the floor. Wincing as pain shot through her bound ankle, she hobbled backward a few steps, needing to put some distance between them. "I didn't do any of the things in that book!"

To her chagrin, Morgan's gaze swept over her, and she realized that the firelight shone through the muslin, illuminating every detail of her body. Hastily she pulled handfuls of the loose gown in front of herself, clutching the folds to her midriff. "I'm not a prostitute", she said vehemently. "If I were, I'm certain I would know it in some part of myself, but I don't becauseit's not there . You're absolutely wrong about me. If this is an example of your investigative abilities, I am not impressed! Now...now go out and ask more questions and do what is necessary to find out who I really am."

Morgan rose from his own chair to follow her. "I can't change the truth just because you don't like it."

"Not only do I not like it," Vivien said, breathing hard, "I reject it entirely. You arewrong, do you understand?" To her humiliation, she wobbled off balance, her weak ankle refusing to support her.

"Would you like me to parade you in front of witnesses who will swear on the Bible that you are Vivien Duvall?" Morgan asked harshly. "Would you like to go to your house and see the nude painting of yourself on the bedroom wall? I brought back some of your clothes--would you care to try them on and see how they fit? I can dig up mountains of proof for you." He caught her as she tried to stumble away from him, his arm locked firmly behind her back.

Vivien whimpered as he brought her against his massive body. She wedged her arms between them, her head falling back as she stared into the face so high above hers. His ribs were as sturdy as frigate timbers beneath her cold hands. He imprisoned her between his powerful thighs, holding her steady.

"Even if I am Vivien Duvall," she said stubbornly, "you can't prove that I did all the things in that book. They are made-up stories."

"It's all true, Vivien. You sell your body for profit." He didn't seem any more pleased about the idea than she. "You go from one man to another, taking what you want from each of them."

"Oh, really? Then who, exactly, is supposed to be my latest protector? Where is he, and why haven't you sent for him?"

"Who do you think he is?" Morgan asked softly.

The words sent Vivien reeling. She was openmouthed, dazed, suddenly limp in his grasp. "No."

"We've been lovers ever since you left Lord Gerard. I've visited you in your town house on several occasions. We've kept things discreet, but we were on the verge of drawing up a proper contract." Grant told the lies without a shred of guilt. The deceit would hardly hurt her, after the sordid life she had led, and it served his purpose. He wanted her, and this was the most expedient way to have her. "Then you and I are..." She choked on the words.

"Yes."

"You're lying!" Vivien strained against him, pushing, twisting, but his arms were like steel bands. Soon she was exhausted by the fruitless struggle. She couldn't help but be aware that her movements had aroused him. The hard protrusion of his masculinity pressed high against her stomach, branding her with its aggressive heat. How in God's name could she have been intimate with this man and not remember?

Trembling, she collapsed against him, leaning full into the long, muscled length of him. She was too exhausted to move. A pleasant mixture of linen and spicy shaving soap clung to him, and she breathed deeply of the fragrance. Her head fell to his chest, her ear pressed to the resounding beat of his heart. "You're wrong," she said, too bewildered to cry. "I'm not that kind of woman. I just can't be."

He did not reply, and she realized that he was so convinced on the matter that it didn't merit arguing. A flicker of fury intruded on her confusion. Very well. She would not further exhaust herself by denying the accusation...Time would certainly prove him wrong.

"What do you want from me now?" she asked in a thick voice. A shiver chased down her body as she felt his hand move over her back, the heat of his palm sinking through the muslin.

"I'm going to keep you here," he replied, "for your protection and my convenience."

His convenience? That could only mean that he intended to continue their previous arrangement, regardless of her memory loss. She glanced over her shoulder at the oversized bed that had seemed such a haven until now. If he planned to take her tonight, she wouldn't be able to stand it. She would flee the house and run screaming through the streets in her nightgown. "I can't oblige you tonight, if that's what you're planning," she said rebelliously. "And not tomorrow night, either. And not--"