Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(54)

"There is nothing to forgive," Vivien said, her hand tingling from the warmth of his smooth-shaven cheek. "You've done no harm to me. You've harbored and protected me, and...I will continue to rely on you. However..." She paused, searching for the appropriate words and not finding them. Grant lowered her hand and looked at her warily. "However?" he asked, a frown working between his dark brows.

"I don't think there should be further intimacy between us," she forced herself to say. "At least not for a while."

Although his face was suddenly expressionless, she sensed that he was preparing a score of arguments. "Why not?" he asked.

Gathering the robe tightly around herself, she summoned as much dignity as possible. "I would rather not explain right now."

To her relief, he did not pursue the matter...though it was clear that he was very far from agreeing with or accepting her statement. Instead, he gave her a smile brimming with charm. "You're not getting away from me, you know," he said softly.

Vivien suppressed a rueful laugh, somehow both moved and alarmed by the realization that he was determined to win her. She allowed him to escort her to the bath, where a row of towels had been set on a warmer by the fire, and the enameled hip tub had been liberally filled with steaming water. The burgundy robe was so long on her that it formed a silken train, and she scooped up handfuls in front to keep from tripping on it.

"I'll assist you with your bath," Grant offered.

"No, thank you," she said firmly. "I want a few minutes of privacy. Please."

"I'll be waiting in the next room."

As Vivien soaked in the bath, letting the hot water soothe her minor aches, she wished for a moment's respite from the worries that plagued her. However, nothing would keep them at bay. Questions tormented her repeatedly, as she wondered just who--and what--she really was. Certainly she was not a gently born aristocrat's daughter...she didn't feel herself to be a member of the nobility. But she was not a courtesan, either. She had no name, no family, no memory. She was foundering once again, feeling utterly insignificant, frustrated, and helpless. What if she never found out who she really was? Would it be possible to create a new life for herself, never knowing what and whom she might have left behind--friends, family, perhaps a man she had loved?

A maid came to help her from the bath, bringing with her a gown made of rich green cashmere. The simple garment closely followed the lines of her figure and fastened at the left side with a gold clasp. The narrow sleeves were finished with green ribbon, as was the wide shawl collar. The plunging neckline of the gown had been supplemented with a snowy white lace inset that contrasted crisply with the soft jewel-toned cashmere. The maid braided Vivien's still damp hair and pinned it in a heavy coil at the crown of her head.

After thanking the maid, Vivien went to the door of the bedroom where Grant waited. She hesitated before entering, trying to gather the courage to ask him the nagging question that weighed on her mind. She was almost afraid to learn the answer. However, it served no one, least of all herself, to behave in a cowardly manner. The truth must be faced squarely, no matter how unpleasant it might be. Squaring her shoulders, she went into the room. Grant had been seated in a chair by the window. He stood immediately, his gaze flickering over her. "How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

She tried to smile, but her lips felt too stiff. "I think..." she began, and swallowed hard. "I think there are some things you haven't yet told me, aren't there?"

His expression revealed nothing. "Such as?"

"I would like to know about your relationship with the real Vivien."

CHAPTER 12

After seating Vivien in a damask-upholstered chair, Grant sat next to her. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees, and contemplated the coals on the grate for what seemed to be an unduly long time. And when he finally spoke, Vivien did not like the scrupulous way he seemed to be considering his words, as if he were preparing to present a nasty situation in its best possible light.

"All right," Grant finally said, sliding a narrow-eyed glance at her. He sighed and rested his closed fists on his knees. "You have every right to know about my behavior concerning Vivien Duvall...but first let me say..." He paused as if he found it difficult to speak, and a muttered curse escaped his lips. "Dammit. I've done bad things in my life--I could write a list of sins a mile long. Some of them were done for the sake of survival, and some were out of pure selfish greed. And I have regrets. But of all the sins I've committed, I don't regret anything half as much as the fact that I lied to you. And I swear on my life--no, on my brother's grave--that I never will again."

"What did you lie to me about?" Vivien asked softly, shivering as an icy lump of dread formed in her stomach.

His gaze arrowed to the hearth, and he didn't answer.

As she watched his granite-hard profile, understanding dawned.

"About Vivien Duvall?" she guessed. "She was never your mistress...is that it? You never slept with her, as you claimed. But why?" She regarded him with raw bewilderment. "Why would you lie about such a thing?"

It took all of Grant's self-discipline to remain there beneath her steady, clear-eyed scrutiny. It had never been difficult for him to own up to his misdeeds. He had always cheerfully rationalized his mistakes and pointed out to himself and everyone else that he was, after all, only human. However, this was something he couldn't blithely skim over and forget. He had set out to take advantage of someone--a woman--and what was worse, his petty vengeance had been taken out on the wrong person. Guilt thickened his voice as he answered.