Lord Stanstead wrapped his arm around her waist. “Come, I’ll take you home.”
“No.” He couldn’t be allowed to know who she was. Lord Stanstead was too much of a gentleman not to marry her, and she would never again wed a man who had been forced to marry her. “I have my own way.”
Vivian tore away from him and darted into the corridor. In a few moments, she was in the hall. A footman opened the door and she fled around the corner and into the mews. It was only two blocks to Mount Street.
Despite Lord Stanstead’s kisses and the way he had touched her, she had been correct that he didn’t truly want her as his wife. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed a strange woman.
Most likely it was her black wig that enticed him. Her husband had detested her fair hair. The problem was that she wanted what Lord Stanstead had offered. If only she was brave enough to have an affair.
She had been moving rapidly down the street, but she slowed her pace. What was stopping her? Her husband had demanded she be naked, until he saw her, that was. There could not be a rule that she must show herself. She could continue to wear the wig and would refuse to allow him to see her body. No harm would be done, and she could finally experience lovemaking. After all, Lord Stanstead would have no idea it was Vivian he was bedding, and, if she were clever, he would never know.
Covering her mouth with her fingers, she gave a nervous giggle. She had never had such wicked thoughts before. Nor had she ever considered she would actually look forward to being with a man and enjoying it. The decision seemed to lift a weight from her shoulders.
That is exactly what she’d do. Cleopatra would send him a letter, and Vivian knew just the place she would conduct her illicit meetings with him. At the town house described on the paper that Mr. Trevor had attempted to hide from her.
Her skin tingled. Every nerve in her body was alive as it had never been before. It wasn’t until she was in her apartment at Clara’s house did Vivian think of what her cousin would say to her leaving the party early. She must send a message saying she hadn’t been feeling well.
As she sat down at the desk, her door opened. “I didn’t expect you until much later. My lady, are you all right?” Punt crossed the parlor to Vivian. “You’re flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with a fever. I’ll make up a tisane and send a message to her ladyship that you’re home.”
Tucking her feet under her gown, Vivian nodded, and thanked God for her maid. “I am feeling a little warm.” Just not for the reason Punt thought. “I’ll go to bed immediately. A good night’s sleep is what I need.”
Vivian didn’t want to have more than one argument with her maid. She needed help to make all the arrangements, and if her maid thought she was ill, she would never agree to assist her. It would be difficult enough talking the poor woman into her scheme at all.
Punt stepped into the corridor, and Vivian slipped into her bedchamber behind the screen, where her nightgown was ready for her to don. It was the work of a minute to remove the costume. She hadn’t worn stays, and her breasts were still full and tender from Lord Stanstead’s ministrations. If nothing else, she would know how a woman should feel with a man.
Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Vivian washed her face, brushed her teeth, blew out the candle, and climbed into bed. Her door opened and closed again. Good, Punt probably thought Vivian was already asleep. Though try as she might, each time she began to drift off, the thought of Lord Stanstead’s hands and mouth played havoc with her senses.
How long she’d remained awake, Vivian didn’t know, but when she opened her eyes, gray light filtered through the window.
Could she really go through with her idea? Her body began to tingle again reminding her of the reason for her decision. She could, she would, and on her terms.
Vivian closed her eyes and listened. It must be early. There was no indication her maid was in the room. Reaching out, she tugged on the bell-pull, and a few moments later one of the lower housemaids entered her chamber. “Your maid says she’ll be up in a minute or two and for me to ask if I can get your tea or anything.”
Vivian sat up against the pillows. “Please. I would like tea, toast, and a poached egg.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Once the door closed behind the girl, Vivian threw her legs over the side of the bed. After convincing Punt she was not going to hell for a wanton, Vivian would take a hackney straight to the land agent’s office. She prayed the town house was still available. She’d finished washing and had just donned her robe when her maid entered, carrying a stack of clean linen, followed by the same young housemaid.
“Here you are, my lady.”
“I need to speak with you.”
Punt nodded, and supervised setting out Vivian’s breakfast. She’d been hungry before, but now her stomach twisted itself into knots.
“You’re up before times. Are you feeling better?”
“I am wonderful and well rested.” There was no point in not being forthright. After all, she was a grown woman and a widow. “I need you to accompany me to the land agent.”
“About a house?” Punt’s lips pressed together in disapproval, and Vivian ignored it.
“About a town house.” She sat at the square table near the windows overlooking the garden, and poured her tea, adding two sugars and milk. She wasn’t able to meet her maid’s eyes, but said in an even tone, as if every day she told Punt that she was going to try to have an affair, “I have decided to have a liaison with Lord Stanstead, and I shall need your help.” The room was so still, so silent, it was deafening. Vivian took a sip and swallowed. “If you won’t help me, I’ll be forced to find someone who will.” It was blackmail.
After several more uncomfortable moments, Punt finally said, “You’ve thought about this, have you?”
Vivian’s heart pounded in her chest. “A great deal.”
