“That makes me no less responsible.” Half sitting beside her on the bed, he took a lock of her hair in his hand, rubbing the silken strands between his fingers. “Vivien—” he said, and stopped as soon as the name left his lips. “Damn. What should I call you now?”
Her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. “You may as well continue to call me Vivien. I’m accustomed to it by now, and besides…I don’t want to choose yet another wrong name. I just want to find my own.”
“I’m glad you’re not really Vivien,” he murmured, still toying with the lock of hair as he stared at her. “I’m glad that no man has made love to you except me.”
She hesitated before replying, her blue eyes questioning as she gazed up at him. “So am I.”
They stared at each other for an endless moment, lost in unspoken thoughts of what had just occurred between them, and how it had changed everything.
Reflecting on how he had treated her, Grant was deeply troubled. He was in an impossible position. He, of all men, had managed his own life so efficiently, so carefully. Now he had fallen in love against his will, only to discover that she wasn’t the woman he had thought her to be, and then he had unintentionally taken her virginity. He faced a devil of a reckoning on the morrow. His only choice was to tell her the truth and expose his own lies, and hope to hell that she might be able to forgive and trust him again. And even if she did, there was still every chance he would lose her when she regained her memory and returned to her former life.
Grant had never expected to feel such responsibility for a woman, such an emotional and physical connection to her. The act of sex seemed almost new, as if in taking her innocence he had somehow gained back a little of his own. He wanted to make love to her again, teach and explore and share with her. Although he had reluctantly acknowledged his growing love for her before tonight, the feelings were suddenly infused with promise and wonder, and every fragment of bitterness was gone. He felt humbled, almost clumsy, a great moonstruck creature whose every hope of happiness was absurdly precarious.
Impatiently Grant wondered where Kellow was, and why he was taking so long to fulfill a simple request. Opening the door, he stared at the darkened hall. His foot touched the edge of an object on the floor. Glancing down, he saw a tray loaded with hot water, washcloths—and brandy and a glass. Kellow had tactfully left the tray just outside the door.
Grant picked up the tray and closed the door with his foot. Returning to the beside, he set the tray on the night table. “Here,” he said, handing a linen cloth to Vivien. She wiped her streaming eyes and blew her nose with a childlike vigor that almost made him smile. He filled a creamware bowl with steaming water, and soaked and wrang out another cloth. Self-consciously Vivien averted her pink and puffy face as he began to wipe it. The warm cloth passed over her fragile skin, erasing the salty tear tracks beneath her eyes and on her cheeks.
Quietly he bid her to lie back against the pillows, and she obeyed. He dampened the cloth again and began to wash her as if she were a child. He bathed beneath her arms, over the chest, stomach, legs. His dispassionate demeanor seemed to soothe her, and gradually she relaxed, not resisting even when he washed between her thighs. Using another clean, warm cloth, he bathed away every trace of blood and semen. He was as gentle as possible, but even so, she winced as he performed the intimate service.
When the task was done, he covered her with the bedclothes and undressed and washed himself. He blew out the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, and got into bed beside her. Exhausted but still awake, Vivien went still as his weight depressed the mattress. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Holding you.” He kissed her temple, the curve of her ear, the side of her neck, taking his time, his mouth moving over her in light, warm brushes. Vivien blinked and gasped, and pushed at his chest. “Not again,” she said unsteadily. “I’m very tired.” He sensed rather than saw her blush as she added, “And sore.”
“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He opened his mouth over the tip of her breast, stroking with his tongue until he felt it gather in a sensitive bud. Cupping both breasts in his hands, he lingered first on one, then the other, until Vivien let out a shivering sigh and put her hands to his head. At first he thought she intended to push him away, but her fingers curved to his scalp and urged him closer. He clasped her hips in his hands and kissed a trail down to her navel. Making his tongue into a point, he jabbed it softly into the small hollow, again and again. As his mouth began a hot downward slide toward the triangle of cinnamon curls between her thighs, she gasped and covered it with a protective hand. “Wait,” she said, a pleading note entering her voice.
“Take away your hand,” he urged.
“I can’t.” She gasped as he kissed around the barrier of her hand, searching between the crevices of her fingers. His mouth settled over the back of her hand, and he drew small wet circles with the point of his tongue, until her entire body tingled with shocked excitement.
“Take away your hand,” he said huskily, pulling gently at her wrist. She continued to cover herself, and he licked each of her taut fingers from base to tip. His tongue was agile, restless, playing over her wrist and hand and fingers until she moaned that she could not bear it any longer.
“Then let me do as I want, dammit,” he whispered tenderly. “Take away your hand, darling.”
She obeyed, revealing the place she had shielded, and Grant growled in satisfaction. He nuzzled into the soft wealth of red curls, using his fingers to spread her open. One surging lick into the tantalizing salty cove, and he felt her entire body shake. Another lick, and he lingered in hungry exploration, teasing, tasting, his senses spiraling in pleasure.
Grant felt her pushing at his head, but he ignored the feeble gesture and concentrated on the delicate flesh beneath his tongue. Her fingers trembled on his head, and her hips tilted in helpless offering. She was unable to hold back her response now, her body yearning and tensing in an unmistakable rhythm. He knew he could do anything he wanted with her now, and for a moment he was tempted to raise upward and thrust himself inside her throbbing warmth. But equally compelling was the desire to feel her climax against his mouth, and so he stayed where he was, his tongue moving in rapid flicks until she bit back a scream and gave a long, sweet shudder of release.
“Oh…” she whispered between uneven breaths. “I didn’t know…I never thought…” Her body trembled violently as he rose upward and folded her against the shelter of his chest.
Grant crushed his mouth into her hair, kissing her damp scalp. “That’s just the beginning,” he promised. “That’s the very least of what you’re going to feel with me.”
She had thrown herself willingly into the fire. She had only herself to blame if she had gotten burned. That was the first thought that entered Vivien’s mind as she awakened by herself, her body spread diagonally across the huge bed. A spark of hope flared inside her, that perhaps she had dreamed an unusually vivid dream. But the pillow beneath her head carried a faint masculine scent, and she was naked beneath the sheet and coverlet. Her bleary eyes cracked open. As she pushed aside the covers, she saw the hints of bruises on her pale legs and hips, as if someone had held her too tightly.
She was sore in places she had never been sore before. There was a sting of discomfort right between her thighs, and strained muscles all down the insides of her legs to her knees. Her shoulders and neck also ached. Just as she thought longingly of a hot bath, someone entered the room.
Instantly Vivien jerked the covers under her chin as Grant approached the bed. He had already bathed and dressed. His face was shaven and his hair damp and neatly combed. It seemed he had taken special pains with his appearance this morning, his black silk cravat tied with crisp precision, his shirt starched and snowy in contrast to his immaculate gray coat and charcoal waistcoat. Pearl-colored trousers had been neatly strapped over black boots polished to a blinding gleam.
As she stared into his alert green eyes, Vivien was filled with
conflicting feelings. She could not, would not, blame him for taking her virginity. She had offered herself to him willingly. They had shared the most intimate experience a man and woman could have, and part of her actually gloried in the fact. However, she would not admit her love for him aloud. There were even more pressing matters to deal with…as well as a few suspicions that lurked in the back of her mind.
Grant came to her at once, cupping her face in his hands, possessing her mouth with a long, fervent kiss. “Good morning,” he murmured with a slight smile. The way he looked at her, his gaze warm with intimate knowledge, made her flush.
“Sh-shouldn’t you be at Bow Street?” she asked, her voice sleep-thickened. Judging from the strength of the light pouring into the room, it was a late hour of the morning. Grant was usually gone before the sun had finished its daily ascent.
“I’m not going to Bow Street this morning,” he replied, leaning his hip beside her, his weight causing one side of the mattress to depress.
She considered the statement, her small hand twisting in the sheet. “Because of last night?” she asked.
“We’re going to pay a visit to Linley.”
“I have no need of a doctor,” she said, leaning closer to inhale his spicy masculine scent. “Most women survive their first time without requiring medical attention afterward.”
“Perhaps I’m the one who needs it,” he said sardonically, rubbing his cheek against the silken tangles of her hair. “The Devil knows that last night was as much of a shock to me as it was to you.” Drawing back, he stared into her troubled face and added gently, “You may as well be there while I talk to Linley, sweet pea. The good doctor owes us both the answers to a few questions.”
He reached across the bed to a pool of burgundy silk and shook it out, holding it up for her. Realizing it was his robe, Vivien attempted to slide her arms in the sleeves without revealing her breasts.
“I’ve seen a thousand signs of your innocence,” he remarked, carefully pulling the mass of her hair free and letting it flow down the back of the robe. His voice was shadowed with regret, and dark color crept across the high edges of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Until last night I thought every one of them was false. I couldn’t fathom that you could be anyone other than Vivien Duvall.” Taking one of her hands, he brought it to his face and pressed the tender inside of her palm to his cheek. His mouth touched the delicate crease of her wrist. “Forgive me,” he muttered, with a visible effort that betrayed how difficult the words were.
“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.”
Twelve
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.
“I wanted revenge because of a lie Vivien had spread about me among the London gossip circles. On the night I found you and brought you here, I decided that I would sleep with you—her—as a salve to my pride.”
“And then what were you going to do? Use and discard her? Hurt her in return for the embarrassment she caused you?”
He gave a single shamed nod.
Vivien inhaled sharply. Perhaps it should have made her feel better that another woman, and not she, had been Grant’s intended target. But it didn’t. She didn’t want to think him capable of such pettiness, such dishonor. And it hurt dreadfully to realize that what for her had been an act of giving had been for him only an act of revenge. “I see.”
“No, you don’t.”
“The fact that I was injured and helpless didn’t matter to you,” she murmured. “In fact, it made it easier for you to take advantage.”
His eyes gleamed with frustration, and she sensed the sudden boiling of his emotions beneath his controlled surface. “It all went wrong from the beginning. You didn’t behave like the woman I thought you were.”
Vivien’s calmness evaporated as she was filled with a sense of utter betrayal. “You were the one solid thing in the world, the one person I could trust…and you’ve lied from the very beginning.”
“Only about our supposed affair.”
“Only?” she repeated, angry that he was trying to minimize his actions. “What if I had indeed been the real Vivien, and I were every bit as promiscuous and self-absorbed and unlikable as you expected? That doesn’t excuse your behavior at all.”
“If I had known who you really were—or weren’t—I would never have hurt you.”