Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(27)

"You wouldn't be the first woman to use that ploy. Many men are made uneasy by an intelligent female."

"Is Lord Gerard that kind of gentleman?" Reading the answer in his face, she sighed heavily. "Every day I learn something new about myself. None of it pleasant."

As Grant regarded her downcast head, he was assailed by a strange yearning he had never experienced before. He had been so certain of who and what Vivien Rose Duvall was...and she kept confounding him.

His gaze skimmed over her in a thorough survey. The sight of her in the velvet gown, a red so dark it approached black, caused a response that was alarming in its intensity. He had never once allowed himself to imagine that somewhere in the world there might be a woman who was not only beautiful but intelligent, kind, and unaffected. The fact that he seemed to have found her in Vivien was astonishing. He was again uncomfortably aware that if she had not been a courtesan, had he not possessed his prior knowledge of her true character, he would be mad for her.

The neat auburn upsweep of her hair revealed the daintiest pair of ears he had ever seen, a vulnerable neck, a delicate jaw that made his fingers itch to investigate the soft curve. He murmured her name, and she looked up at him with clear, deep blue eyes that contained no hint of guile. Remembering how wickedly seductive her gaze had once been, Grant shook his head. "What is it?" she asked.

"You have the eyes of an angel." His gaze searched her face until a tide of pink crept over it.

"Thank you," she said uncertainly.

Grant took her arm in a gentle grasp. "Come with me."

As he drew her to a chair by the fire and urged her to sit, Vivien glanced at him warily. "Are you going to question me further?"

"No," he said, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. For now, he was going to ignore all the contradictions about Vivien and allow himself to simply enjoy being with her. A beautiful woman, a fire on the hearth, a roomful of books, and a bottle of wine...It might not have been every man's idea of heaven, but God knew it was his.

Carrying an armload of books to Vivien, he deposited the stack on the floor near her feet. Seeming to understand that he merely wanted to spend some time with her, Vivien began to sort through the pile, while he pulled a bottle of bordeaux from the sideboard and opened it expertly. After filling two glasses, he sat in a chair beside Vivien and handed one to her. He noted that she sipped the wine immediately, without the usual ritual of those accustomed to sampling fine vintages...no swirling of the glass to test the aroma, or the rivulets that the English called "legs" and the French more poetically referred to as "tears." As a member of the beau monde, Vivien should have been experienced at such a ritual. However, she did not look like a worldly courtesan accustomed to the finer things in life...she looked like a sheltered, naive young woman.

"This gives me hope," she remarked, picking up the volume at the top of the pile and holding it in her lap. "I know it's a small thing, to remember reading some of these books...but if this little bit of my memory has come back, then perhaps other things will follow."

"You said you remembered reading with someone." Grant drank from his own glass, his gaze remaining on her lovely firelit face. "You referred to that person as a 'he.' Any impression of him? Any detail of his appearance or the sound of his voice? Or a place you might have been with him?"

"No." The soft curves of her mouth became enticingly wistful. "But trying to remember makes me feel..." She paused and stared into the ruby depths of the wine. "Lonely," she continued with visible effort. "As if I've lost something, or someone, that was very dear."

A lost love, Grant speculated, and experienced a sudden wash of jealousy. Concealing the unwelcome emotion, he stared hard into his own glass.

"Here," Vivien murmured, handing him the book of Keats. "Won't you tell me which is your favorite passage?"

Vivien watched Morgan's bent head as he thumbed through the worn pages. The firelight flickered over his dark hair, making it gleam like ebony. The thick locks were cropped too short, but even so, they contained a hint of curl and wave that intrigued her. He should let them grow longer, she thought, to add a touch of softness around the uncompromising angles of his face.

Her gaze moved to the volume that was nearly engulfed by his long-fingered hand. No sculptor would ever desire to capture the shape of those brutally strong hands in marble...and that was a pity. Vivien thought them a hundred times more attractive than the slender, fine hands of a gentleman. Besides, it wouldn't seem right for a man built on his impressive scale to have delicate little hands. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Glancing upward, Morgan caught sight of her expression and arched his brow quizzically. "What's so amusing?"

She pushed herself out of the chair and knelt beside him, her skirts billowing briefly and settling in velvety wine-colored puddles on the floor. For answer, she took one of his hands and measured her own against it, flattening their palms together. His fingers extended well beyond her own meager reach.

"I don't remember the other gentlemen of my acquaintance," she said, "but I have no doubt you must be the largest man I have ever met." Heat collected between their clasped palms, and Vivien snatched her hand away, blotting a faint sheen of moisture on the skirt of her gown. "What is it like to be so tall?" she asked.