The lock and hinges were well oiled as the key turned and the door swung silently open. Vivian stepped into the hall and came to a halt. “Oh my.”
Marble, gilt, expensive vases, and statuary were tastefully displayed, or so one would think when first entering. Upon a second glance, she noticed that the vases had men and women in interesting positions, and each of the three pieces of statuary placed in alcoves around the half-moon hall was the slightest bit erotic. The center one depicted a woman leaning back against a man’s chest, but instead of having his arm around her waist, one hand covered her breast; in the second his other hand was on her mons; and in the third, she had her hand on his member. But the shaft on the statue did not resemble her husband’s. It was much more erect.
“Well, I understand now why Mr. Jones tried to keep me from this house.” She glanced over her shoulder at Punt. “Let’s see the rest of the place.”
The subtle erotica was in all but two of the first floor parlors, one in the back facing the garden, which must have been the morning room, and a front parlor.
On the next level, only the master’s bedchamber was out of the ordinary. The walls were hung with carmine-red silk, and the bed curtains were blossom pink, but the cover was red. Gilt trim decorated the white plaster ceiling, the bed, and curtain ties as well as the other furniture.
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life.” Punt’s eyes practically popped out of her head.
“Neither have I.” Vivian laughed. “But it is perfect. Staid on the outside and decadent on the inside.”
“I’ll manage to get some bedding over here,” Punt said pointedly. “And visit the employment agency. You’ll need two or three day maids, and a cook.”
Vivian widened her eyes. “A cook? Whatever for?”
“Men like to eat.”
“Oh yes, of course. You’d better try to find a Frenchman. It’s really too bad we don’t have a list of the servants who were here before.” She rubbed her hand over her brow. “Tell them I’ll pay a year’s wages. In return, I want discretion and a good job done.” She took out a small purse from her reticule. “We can walk back to Mount Street, then have Barnes call you a hackney.” Making their way back down the stairs—she had no reason to inspect the attic—she locked the door after them. “If at all possible, I would like everything in place by to-morrow evening.”
Punt heaved a sigh of long suffering. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I’ll get it done.”
Vivian was so happy she could have danced back to Mount Street. She couldn’t believe how easy this had been, or how daring she was being. Wicked, as well. The only thing left to do was write Lord Stanstead and invite him to have an affair with her.
Rupert rolled out of bed with more energy than he’d had in months. Last night, his dreams had been full of Vivian in his arms, living in his home, and bearing his children. She would also be a perfect political hostess, and a good mistress.
Considering how much sleep he hadn’t had, he should have been tired, but he couldn’t wait to see her again. Unfortunately, it was too early to pay a call, and the sky was a dull gray.
He sniffed the air. Rain. No taking her out in the carriage to-day. If only he had thought to have flowers sent from Stanstead, he could take them over to her. The only other option was a bouquet from the Covent Garden market. They were sure to be open.
He rang for his valet, who arrived with warm water.
“Send a message to Cook that I’ll want breakfast in a half hour.” He’d never seen the point of waiting until ten to break his fast. No matter what time he got to bed, he was always up early, and hungry.
Wigman stepped into the corridor. “It will be ready, my lord.”
Thirty minutes later, he went downstairs. “Harlock, have my carriage brought around. I want to leave as soon as I’ve eaten.”
Under an hour later, he hopped into his phaeton. “Let ’em go.”
“Aye, my lord.” Stuie jumped on the back. “Where we off to?”
“Covent Garden. I won’t be long, but I have an errand to run.” Once they arrived, he set the brake. “Keep a sharp eye out.”
“I will, sir.”
Rupert quickly found the flower ladies and began looking over their blooms. “Isn’t that a sea aster?”
“Dunno, I just sell ’em.” The woman yawned.
He cupped the flower with his fingers. Definitely aTripolium pannonicum. “I’ll take all of them.” A yellow flower adorned with a purple pistol caught his eye.Clematis tanguticacultivars. That would go nicely with the white and yellow asters. “I’ll take the vine with the yellow flowers as well.”
A few moments later he paid for his purchase and headed back to his carriage. Two older men flanked Stuie. The boy’s chin jutted out in a belligerent manner, his stance was wide, and his hands curled into fists.
Rupert slowed, keeping his horses between himself and the ruffians, effectively shielding him from their sight as he approached. After carefully placing his flowers on the carriage seat, he cleared the team’s heads, putting himself on the same side as the others, but out of reach of the larger man. “Can I help you?”
The fellow jumped. “No, guv’nor. Nothin’ going on here. Jus’ askin’ if the young’un needed some help.”
