Page 38 of Someone to Watch Over Me
Vivien’s gaze flickered to Lord Wenman, who appeared composed except for the subtly agitated rat-a-tat-tat of his toes on the floor. He returned her glance, his pale blue eyes filled with an insolence that perplexed her. Wenman…She did not recognize his face, but the name was oddly familiar. Where had she seen or heard it before?
Grant guided Vivien to another group, pointedly introducing her to Viscount Hatton. The viscount was an elderly gentleman with yellow-gray hair and skin like crumpled paper. Although his manner was polite, he stared at her with a mixture of accusation and wariness that was impossible to miss. It didn’t take long for Vivien to remember that he and Wenman were two of the names mentioned in her diary.
She had had affairs with them. Discomfort fanned over her like an icy breeze. It was bad enough to have read the details of her own affairs in that damned book, but even worse to be forcibly brought face-to-face with the men she had slept with. How many more of her past lovers were here tonight? She turned toward Grant with an accusation leaping from her lips.
Before she could say a word, she was approached by a man with eyes like small chips of coal, set deep in a ruddy face. Unlike the others, he did not pretend to be a stranger. He came up to her immediately, taking her hands in a possessive, familiar grip, seeming unaware of the way Grant stiffened at her side.
“Good God, Vivien,” the man said in a strained voice. “I literally thought you were dead. How could you disappear like that? Have you no concern for what you’ve put me through? I had no way to reach you, no way to assure myself of your well-being.” As he spoke, his liquor-soaked breath wafted heavily into her face. “Though knowing you, I shouldn’t have wasted a moment of worry.” He paused to give Grant a baleful glance, then returned his attention to Vivien. “You’ve always landed on your feet like a cat, haven’t you?”
Vivien allowed her hands to remain unresisting in his. She was uncomfortably aware that the attention of the entire room was focused on them.
“Good evening, Gerard,” Grant said softly.
Of course. Lord Gerard, her former protector. Vivien forced herself to smile, though her lips were trembling. Anger, protest, shame, all shot through her veins in a scorching blast. She felt as if she had been put on display for the amusement of the snobbish members of theton…and indeed, she had been.
Seeming too foxed to notice the attention they were attracting, Gerard gripped her gloved hands more tightly. He bent to whisper thickly in her ear. “Promise you’ll slip away to meet me later. I must talk with you.”
“I promise,” she murmured, tugging at her hands until they were free.
Gerard meandered away, and Vivien headed in the opposite direction, hardly noticing where she was going. Grant followed her, seeming no more pleased by the situation than she. Striding through the doorway of the drawing room, Vivien located a long picture gallery lined with upholstered benches. She stopped before a portrait of a haughty-faced Lichfield ancestor, and stood with her arms locked tightly across her chest.
Knowing without turning around that Grant was close by, Vivien spoke through her teeth. Anger made her jaw stiff, but she kept her tone soft, mindful of another couple perusing works of art at the other end of the gallery. “How on earth did you manage it? I’ve met three of my past lovers before ten minutes have elapsed. Somehow you’ve managed to have everyone in my diary included in the guest list.”
“Lady Lichfield was persuaded to send extra invitations,” Grant said tonelessly.
“How helpful of her,” Vivien replied bitterly.
“Who the bloody hell did you think would be attending, Vivien? You knew we were using this as an occasion for you to come out in the open.”
“But you’ve done more than that. You’ve invited anyone and everyone who could possibly wish me harm! I’m being dangled before them like live bait, and you’re waiting to see who will snap!”
“There are half a dozen Runners and constables attending tonight, not to mention myself and Sir Ross. We’re all keeping our eyes on you. You’re in no danger.”
His words had the effect of throwing brandy on a fire. She flared in fury, her lips drawn back from her teeth. “You could have told me what you were planning! But you didn’t, because you wanted me to be unprepared, and humiliated, and shamed by the sight of the multitude I’ve slept with.”
“So you think this is all some elaborate punishment I’ve devised for you?” he sneered. “Try again, Vivien. Bow Street has better things to do than support personal vendettas. My job is to catch the man that tried to kill you, and this is the best way of doing it. If you happen to be embarrassed by the evidence of your past, that’s no fault of mine.”
“You manipulative, arrogant…” She tried to think of the nastiest word possible, while her hand rose to slap him.
“Go on,” Grant said softly, “if it makes you feel better.”
Vivien stared at him, so handsome in his black evening wear, so strong and invulnerable that one slap would only amuse him. She curled her shaking hand into a fist and clenched it against her middle, using all her will to control her tumult of emotions.
“You can hardly bear to hurt anyone, can you?” Grant murmured. “Even when they deserve it. But that’s not like you. You used to rip a man’s heart out and crush it beneath your foot with no more concern than you would swat a damned fly. What the hell has happened to you?”
She had never truly felt like a prostitute until this moment. Suddenly she wished—for the first time—that she could instantly change back into that other Vivien, the shameless, uncaring woman who did exactly as she pleased. Perhaps then the ache of betrayal would fade away. Until now she had regarded Grant Morgan as her protector, her friend. She had fallen in love with him, though she would never have expected anything to come of it. But he was not her friend. He was as much her adversary as everyone else here tonight. She felt very much alone, like a woman about to be stoned. Well…damn them all and let them all stare.
Raising her head, she stared at Grant steadily, the color fading from her face except for two bright arcs high on her cheeks. “All right,” she said in a low voice. “Tonight I’ll give everyone, including you, what they want.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Only that I intend to make your job easier for you.”
She squared her shoulders and left the gallery with determined strides, plunging back into the drawing room like a gladiator. Grant followed more slowly, his gaze locked on her small, trim form. Any trace of shame or timidity had left her. She moved among the guests with a straight spine and a regal tilt to her head. It seemed as if the Vivien he had remembered was now back, as alluring and coquettish as ever.
Openly flirting and teasing, Vivien began to attract men like flies to a honey pot. Before long a circle of five had gathered around her. Three of them were former paramours, and by all appearances more than willing to renew their previous arrangements with her. Clasping a goblet of wine in her delicate fingers, Vivien finished it far too quickly and accepted another.
Grant moved forward, feeling like a starving man being forced to watch as others feasted athispicnic. At that moment he felt Sir Ross’s restraining clasp on his shoulder. “Let her be,” came Cannon’s cool murmur. “She’s doing exactly what needs to be done. A clever woman, your friend.”
