Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(42)

"Say 'dear friends,'" Grant suggested, pressing an obligatory kiss to the gloved backs of her hands. "The word 'old' should never be mentioned in the same sentence with you, milady."

She giggled and preened. "I doubt I am the first, nor the last, to fall prey to your flattery, you charming rake."

He grinned and deliberately held her hands longer than was strictly proper. "Nor am I the last to fall under the spell of an enchantress with the bluest eyes in England."

The flattery obviously pleased her, though she laughed with a touch of irony. "Mr. Morgan, pray stop before you reduce me to a puddle at your feet." She turned to Vivien, subjecting her to a head-to-toe inspection. Her smile cooled considerably. "Welcome, Miss Duvall. I see you're in good health, contrary to the astonishing rumors that have flown about the past month or so."

"Thank you, my lady." Vivien curtsied and regarded her with a hesitant smile. "Please forgive me, but...have we met before?"

All traces of good humor left Lady Lichfield's expression. "No," she said softly. "Although I believe you were once quite well acquainted with my late husband."

There was no mistaking her meaning. Faced with yet more evidence of her own scandalous past, Vivien could make no reply. She was grateful when Grant ushered her away speedily, leaving Lady Lichfield to welcome more guests.

"She doesn't like me," Vivien said in a dry tone, pausing as Grant removed her cloak and handed it to a waiting servant.

"Few women do."

"Thank you for that boost to my confidence. I feel so much better after the multitude of compliments you've showered on me."

"You want compliments?" They entered an overheated drawing room, the buzz of conversation intensifying as soon as they appeared.

"One or two would hardly hurt," Vivien said in a subdued tone, wincing as hundreds of gazes arrowed to her. "Though now you'll make me out to be silly and vain for desiring it."

Seeming entirely comfortable in spite of the public scrutiny, Grant nodded in response to the greeting of a passing acquaintance, and drew Vivien to an unoccupied space at the side of the room. He stared down at her with smoldering green eyes. "You are beautiful," he said. "The most beautiful woman I've ever known, and the most desirable. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. And I'm afraid to look at you for too long, or I'll end up taking you in the middle of the drawing room floor."

"Oh." Flustered, Vivien toyed with the edge of her stomacher. Byron, he was not. But the blunt statements caused little knots of excitement and pleasure to tighten in her stomach. She returned his gaze with a direct one of her own. "Why were you flirting with Lady Lichfield like that?" she asked. "Were you once lovers?"

"No. It amuses her to banter with younger men, and it's easy enough to indulge her. She's already proven to be a useful acquaintance. Besides, I happen to like her."

Vivien frowned, experiencing a sting of jealousy. "You wouldn't have an affair with a woman her age, would you?"

"She's hardly an ancient relic," he said. Suddenly the shadow of a smile played on his lips. "She's an attractive woman in her forties."

"But she is at least ten years older than yourself. Perhaps even fifteen."

His dark brows lifted expressively. "You don't approve of women having affairs with younger men?"

Vivien made an effort to swallow back the unpleasant tightness in her throat. "I'm hardly in a position to disapprove of anyone."

"The French have a more relaxed attitude toward these matters than we do. They believe a woman's appeal increases with maturity and experience...and if she gives her favors to a younger man, he's considered quite fortunate."

"Pray don't let me keep you from Lady Lichfield, then," Vivien said tartly. "Why don't you go to her?"

"I'm not going to have an affair with Lady Lichfield," he murmured, amusement flickering in the depths of his verdant eyes.

"Why are you smiling like that?" She felt sour and uncomfortable, as if she had somehow made a fool of herself.

"Because you're jealous."

"No, I'm not," Vivien countered in rising dismay. "Really, I'm--" She stopped as a dark figure approached them. "Who is that?" she asked warily.

Grant glanced over his shoulder, then turned to face the visitor. Although there was no change in his expression, Vivien sensed that this was a man whom Grant liked and respected very much...one of the few people on earth whose good opinion he desired. "Sir Ross," he said easily, bringing Vivien forward a step. "May I introduce Miss Duvall?"

Sir Ross Cannon, the Bow Street magistrate. Vivien curtsied and stared at him intently, finding him to be an extraordinary figure, though she couldn't quite say why. Sir Ross was a tall man, though he did not match Grant's towering height. He possessed a self-contained quality, a sense of tremendous power held in check. He had black hair, a build that was just a bit too lean, and curiously light gray eyes that seemed to have observed too much of everyone else's business. Most striking about his appearance was a distinctly remote air, as if he were not quite part of the gathering even though he was mingling among them. And he seemed comfortable with his quality of aloneness.