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Vivianna was not usually so edgy around men—even handsome gentlemen like Oliver. What was it about him that was so different? From the first moment she had seen him standing upon the steps outside his house in Berkeley Square, she had felt he was unlike anyone she had ever known before. How could she pretend indifference to him when he seemed to possess the dangerous ability to unsettle her so?
“I did not know if you would come,” she said, just to say something, and rearranged her skirts, smoothing the cloth. The dress was cream silk with a mauve stripe, and had been sent around that morning from Elena, Aphrodite’s modiste. Very flattering, with full upper sleeves and a boned, closely fitting, low-cut bodice, as well as a tightly fitted, slightly pointed waist—a new fashion. The addition of a straw bonnet with red ribbons, and Vivianna felt quite giddy—like the frivolous girl she had never been…never allowed herself to be.
“I said I would. I am not in the habit of changing my mind.” He was watching her hands, his eyes half closed as he settled back in his corner, so elegantly fluid. And yet the relaxed pose was a sham. His jacket might be tailored to fit his broad shoulders without padding or a single crease, and his glossy hair might be slightly disordered by the removal of his hat. But Oliver was alert and watching her. Waiting to pounce?
Vivianna shivered and drew her red Norwich shawl closer about her shoulders. She was watching him. Again.
She turned to the window and stared hard at the view.
“I am hoping that isn’t true; I am hoping you will change your mind with regard to the shelter,” she said evenly.
“Ah, but as I said, I am not in the habit of changing my mind, Miss Greentree. Candlewood must be taken down, brick by brick, stone by stone, until there is nothing left of it.”
“And you can live upon the proceeds like some despicable potentate?” She shot him an accusing look.
The corners of his mouth curled. “Careful, Miss Greentree, your claws are showing. And you were doing so well, too.”
Did he know what she planned? No, how could he, he was just being his usual obnoxious self. Vivianna turned to stare blindly out of the window once more, wishing she could scream and fling herself at him, and shake him until…Well, such thoughts were useless, of course. She may as well be a moth beating against a windowpane, for all the good it would do her.
After a moment, when she felt sufficiently calm again, she said, “I don’t care what you think of me, my lord. Your opinion means nothing. You are nothing to me. You are like a bleak wind blow
ing across the moors at Greentree Manor—something to be endured but hopefully of short duration.”
He laughed in genuine amusement. “I have never been likened to a bleak wind before. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. You have made me as important and fundamental as the weather. Perhaps”—and his voice dropped teasingly—“that is why I make you shiver, Miss Greentree.”
“You do not make me shiver.”
She turned and glared at him long enough to let him know she was very indifferent to him indeed, very indifferent, and then for good measure she yawned beneath her gloved hand and turned back to the scenery as she had been instructed by Aphrodite. There, she thought, let him see she did not care in the least for him. Aphrodite was right—men like Oliver needed to be treated with indifference to put them in their place. Under no circumstances must he ever guess just how disconcerting to her mind and body he could be.
Oliver grinned to himself. Just when he was trying to convince himself Miss Vivianna Greentree was a preaching crusader for good causes, who would have him falling asleep after ten minutes in her company she blew his argument to bits.
Of course, the fact that she was looking quite delightful this morning may have had something to do with it. Her cheeks glowed with temper, her eyes shone with emotion, and he wanted to take advantage of her. In every way. Not a gentlemanly thing to admit, perhaps, but Oliver had been playing a wastrel and a complete scoundrel for a year now. He had begun to wonder if, in some ways, it was more fun than being a gentleman.
He reached out and touched her wrist, where a strip of bare flesh lay between the hem of her sleeve and the fastening of her glove. Her skin was warm and soft, and a tingle ran all the way up his arm. Vivianna seemed to feel it, too. She gasped and turned to him with wide, startled eyes.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Making you shiver.”
He lifted her wrist—she did not resist. Bending his head, he placed a light kiss upon the inside of it, where the blue veins ran close to the skin, and appeared so fragile. He smiled to think that Vivianna should seem fragile, and his mouth opened against her flesh, tasting her.
“Oh.”
He looked up at her through his lashes, and now there was more than just a tingle between them. Her eyes had darkened, her lips were parted, and there was a faint flush along her cheekbones.
“Stop it,” she said in a strangled whisper.
“Why? You are enjoying it, aren’t you?”
“That isn’t the point—”
Oliver tried to see past her hazel eyes. As well as the green and brown there were flecks of gold. Her pupils were large and black, and he could see his own reflection there. She blinked, her lashes sweeping down.
“There are more important matters to discuss,” she said primly.
Were women all so irrational, or was it just her? One moment she didn’t seem to care how far he went, and the next she was untouchable. Oliver shrugged and slumped back into his corner. She could please herself, he didn’t want to be here anyway, and once he had visited the bloody shelter he could go home to his own “more important matters.” Lord Lawson, for instance. What would his brother’s murderer do next? Lawson could never be underestimated. No, Oliver really didn’t have time for Vivianna Greentree and her orphans….
Gradually he became aware of a rustling sound coming from Vivianna’s side of the coach. He glanced curiously in her direction and saw that she had taken a piece of correspondence from her bag and was reading it, holding it close to her eyes in the swaying vehicle. His gaze slid over her, observing her tense shoulders and the pulse jumping under the fragile skin at her neck, and he wondered what it was she was reading that made her so edgy. She was delightful, but he couldn’t let her know he felt that way. She was insufferable enough as it was.
