Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(40)

Instead, it appeared that Vivien and the servants had improvised. A length of sheer bronze gauze had been wrapped around her throat, concealing the last remaining bruises. A tiny gold cravat pin shaped like a crown had been used to secure the gauze in front. The pin was unmistakable, a gift the king had given to each and all of the Runners who had guarded him on special occasions. It was the only bit of personal finery Grant possessed.

Seeing one of the Runners' distinctive crown pins adorning Vivien's pretty throat would arouse a torrent of gossip. Everyone at the ball tonight would have no choice but to assume that Vivien was Grant's mistress.

Half pleased, half annoyed, Grant shot a questioning glance at Kellow. The valet's long, balding forehead turned pink. "Er...Mrs. Buttons asked if there were some kind of pin they might use," he said apologetically. "It was the only one I could find, sir."

"In future, don't lend my personal possessions before asking my permission," Grant muttered.

"Yes, sir." Vivien reached Grant and raised the arc of one cinnamon-colored eyebrow in silent question.

Grant stared at her without smiling. "You'll do," he said tersely. He was unable to say more without his voice cracking.

There was a moment of silence, and he was aware of the servants' chiding stares. Suddenly, as a group, they broke into effusive compliments in an effort to atone for their master's boorishness.

"You're as lovely as a picture, miss!"

"...no one there will outshine you..."

"...a queen in that gown..."

A hot, troubling feeling expanded in Grant's chest, and he wanted to snap at them for being so ungodly solicitous of the feelings of a professional harlot. But he couldn't...because he was as much under her spell as the rest of them.

The desultory conversation in the enclosed carriage faded into silence as they traveled along the entrance avenue of the Lichfields' London estate. Obviously Vivien was nervous, and Grant felt a pang of guilt for not soothing her fears. She was about to face a crowd of strangers. Added to that pressure was the knowledge that after this evening, she would once again be a target for whoever had tried to kill her. Grant admired her bravery, her outward calmness, her willingness to trust him with her own safety.

However, he deliberately withheld the reassurance that she needed. Some obstruction in his throat prevented him from making the situation easier for her. He was angry with her, for being so beautiful, for having led the kind of life that made all this necessary. He wanted to punish her for being spendthrift with her sexual favors...for not saving herself for him alone.

The thought shocked him, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. He wanted exclusive rights to Vivien, past, present, and future. Such a thing wasn't possible or reasonable.

It was hypocritical of him to hold Vivien's past against her, he told himself. After all, he had hardly led the life of a monk. And it wasn't in Vivien's power to change what she had done in the past. She claimed to regret her promiscuity, and he believed her. But he couldn't control his own jealousy...jealous of a whore...Oh, his friends and enemies alike would take malicious pleasure in the situation, if they knew. No one must ever find out, including Vivien, how he cared for her.

"How many people will attend, do you think?" Vivien asked, staring out the window at the huge gabled manor house, its E-shaped design of heavy front porch and two wings contained in a shell of amber-tinted stone. The area at the sides and back of the stately manor was surrounded by high garden walls topped with sculpted lions that seemed to survey the surroundings with regal disdain.

"At least three hundred," Grant replied briefly.

A visible shiver chased across the exposed flesh of Vivien's shoulders as she continued to lean toward the window. "So many people watching me...I'm glad I won't be able to dance." She settled back and lifted the hem of her gown to expose a trim silk-stockinged ankle, regarding it idly. Grant's eyes narrowed as he stared at her prettily turned ankle. He wanted so badly to touch it, and slide his hand up to her knee, her inner thigh, and beyond, that his fingers twitched. The atmosphere in the carriage turned deadly quiet, and Vivien stared at him in concern.

"Something is wrong," she said frankly. "Your manner is...well, you're being distant. Could it be that you're having an attack of nerves just as I am? Or is something else bothering you?"

The fact that she had to ask what was bothering him, when it would have been obvious to any woman of experience, made Grant long to grab her and shake her. "Guess," he said in one sharp, bitten-off word.

Clearly perplexed, Vivien shook her head. "If I've said or done something to offend you...oh." She stopped suddenly, her fingers flying up to the cravat pin at her throat. "It's this, isn't it?" she asked remorsefully. "I knew I shouldn't have worn it, but we had nothing else, and I wanted to hide the marks on my neck. I told Mrs. Buttons and Kellow, but they said you never..." She tried to remove the little gold pin. "I'm so sorry. Help me take it off before we go inside, and forgive me for borrowing something of yours--"

"Stop," he said harshly. "It's not the damned pin." When she continued to tug at it, he leaned forward in the confined space of the carriage and caught her agitated hands in his. She went motionless, her small face close to his, the luscious display of her br**sts right under his nose and chin. With little effort, he could reach down and free those delectable curves, fondle and kiss them, fasten his mouth over the soft pink tips and swirl his tongue over them.