Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(48)

"Thank you," Vivien said in a hollow voice. Perhaps she was being ungrateful, but the prospect of returning to her former life was hardly something she looked forward to. And what of her lost memory? How and when would it come back? Or would it come back at all? What if she had to flounder through the rest of her days without a past, without any of the secrets and memories that made a person complete? Even if Cannon and Grant solved the mystery of her would-be killer and made her safe from further assault, she would face her own future with dread. She didn't know who she was, who she should be. What a strange punishment, to be robbed of the first half of her life.

Perhaps sensing her inner despair, Grant took her arm in a gentle grip. He guided her toward a path that led around the manor to the row of carriages parked along the circular drive.

"What will Lady Lichfield and the others think if we disappear without saying good-bye?" Vivien asked.

"They'll assume that we left early so I could take you home and bed you."

She blinked at his flat statement, while prickles of heat and cold chased over every inch of her skin. Wondering at his mood, she was tempted to ask if that was indeed what he planned to do. But the words clashed together and clumped in one huge, choking ball...because it occurred to her that she wished him to do exactly that. It had something to do with recklessness, and hopelessness, and the simple need for a few moments of pleasurable closeness. Whom would it harm if she gave herself to him? They had already done it before. She just couldn't remember it. Why shouldn't she let it happen again? It wasn't as if she had a reputation to protect. She felt empty, lonely and afraid...She wanted to please him...and herself.

She should have recoiled from the direction her thoughts were taking. Instead she felt wild and unpleasantly giddy, as if she had already committed herself to a course from which it was too late to retreat.

The footman saw them approach the carriage and hastened to fetch the movable step for Vivien. He was too well trained to show surprise at their early departure, nor did he ask questions, other than making a brief inquiry about their destination. "Home," Grant said gruffly, handing Vivien into the carriage himself and gesturing for the footman to tell the driver.

Vivien reached beneath her skirts to touch the throbbing bruise on her shin, wincing slightly.

"Are you in pain?" A scowl crept over Grant's face.

"Not really, but..." She glanced at the fitted compartment that contained various crystal decanters. "Might I have a drink of brandy? I still feel a bit unsteady after what happened."

Wordlessly Grant poured a minute amount of brandy into a small glass and offered it to her. Vivien accepted the glass, raised it to her lips, and downed it in one swallow. The velvety fire spread down her throat and into her chest, bringing a sheen of moisture to her eyes. She suppressed a cough and held out the glass. "More, please," she said hoarsely.

One brow arched as he regarded her intently, and he filled her glass again. The second brandy went down more smoothly than the first, and the satisfying warmth drifted through her body. Sighing a little, Vivien surrendered the glass and snuggled in the corner of her seat. "Oh, that's better," she murmured.

"There's no reason to feel afraid, Vivien," Grant said, evidently deciding that was the reason she'd asked for the brandy. "I won't allow Lane or anyone else to hurt you."

"Yes, I know." She gave him a trusting smile, which he promptly dispelled with his next words.

"What did you and Gerard talk about in the lower garden?"

"Nothing of significance," she said.

"Tell me what was said. I'll decide if it is significant or not."

Since there was nothing on earth that would induce her to confide her secret pregnancy to him, she sought for something to tell him. "Well...Lord Gerard asked why I was with you, and he said that you were only flash gentry."

The comment elicited a smile of sardonic amusement. Vivien deduced that Grant had been the target of similar barbs many times in the past. "I'd say he's a fair judge of character," Grant commented dryly. "Go on."

"Then he asked me to leave you and return to him."

"How did you reply?"

"I didn't say yes or no, I only said I would consider it."

"A wise maneuver," he said coolly. "In your position, it's best to keep all options open."

"I'm not going to become his mistress again," she said, insulted that he assumed she might.

"Who knows?" It seemed he was deliberately trying to antagonize her. "When this is all over..."

"Is that what you want me to do?" she asked in annoyance. "Go back to Lord Gerard? Or find some other man to keep me?"

"No. That's not what I want."

"Then whatdo you--" She gasped as he reached for her, swift as a striking tiger, snatching her onto his lap. One large hand tangled in her coiffure, ruining the arrangement of curls and scattering a few stray pins to the carriage floor.

Grant's breath came in unsteady bursts, while heat climbed over his face. He was jealous, frustrated, painfully aroused, all because of the provoking creature in his arms. He was tired of wanting what he could not have, of repeatedly stumbling over his own conscience. She was a tumbled heap of flesh and silk in his lap, and he longed to lose himself in her warmth.