Page 37 of Someone to Watch Over Me
“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.
A mortifying thought occurred to Vivien…Grant reported to this man, consulted with him. There was no doubt that he knew all about her, including the things she had written in that dreadful book. Instinctively she moved closer to Grant.
Cannon’s watchful gaze did not leave her. “Miss Duvall…a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Have we…” Vivien started, then bit her tongue. She could hardly go about asking everyone at the ball if she had met them before.
Cannon understood the unfinished question, and answered gently. “To my regret, no.”
She searched his expression for traces of censure or sarcasm, but found none. The cool gray eyes were comfortingly impassive.
Cannon and Grant exchanged a glance that seemed to contain an entire conversation. After bowing once more to Vivien, Cannon left them with a polite murmur.
Grant cupped his hand around Vivien’s elbow. “Come, Miss Duvall,” he said smoothly. “I think it’s time we exchanged pleasantries with the other guests.”
“Is it?” she asked, accompanying him reluctantly. She dreaded the prospect of meeting anyone, when there was no way of knowing who was friend or foe. “I was just thinking it’s time to have a glass of wine. A large one.”
“You’ll have all the wine you want later.” His hand inexorably urged her forward.
To hide her unease, Vivien made her face still and composed. They approached a group amid the sea of speculative faces, two ladies and three gentlemen, and introductions were made. Lord and Lady Wenman, Lord Fuller, and Mrs. Marshall, all of them curiously stilted and brittle as they regarded Vivien. Mercifully there seemed to be little need for her to speak. Vivien glanced frequently at Grant as he made conversation with the others. His expression was bland, but his eyes were watchful, and she sensed that he was taking measure, testing, waiting.
