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Her words drifted through his mind and he shook his head again, as if he would dislodge them. Why had her admission shaken him so? And yet the thought of Vivianna dreaming of him, thinking of him, alone in her bed at night, made him desperate to hold her in his arms. Not to kiss or touch her, although he would do that, but rather just to hold her. To hold her close and warm, and enjoy the feeling of no longer being alone.
Lord Lawson was weary. He felt the weariness in his mind, in his eyes, in his very bones. He was so close to his goal, so very close. Sir Robert Peel might well be the next prime minister, but Lawson knew he would follow soon after. He could taste victory.
He clenched his fist in sudden anger. This weariness was Oliver Montegomery’s fault!
He had believed he was safe. Candlewood was to be demolished, and with it any chance of discovery. That Anthony had hidden the letters in that monstrosity he was so fond of was no longer in question. They were there, somewhere. The idea that they might be found at any time had almost driven Lawson mad, but when he learned the house was to come down, the relief had been indescribable.
And now there was a secret chamber…. Curse the man! To drop that little gem into the conversation like that, as if it had no importance whatsoever. Lawson had no doubt Oliver would find the hidden chamber, he was lucky like that. He would find it, and the letters inside it, and then all would be lost.
Lawson knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.
All these years he had worked toward his own success and now one mistake was threatening to pull him down. Disgrace. Scandal. It didn’t bear thinking of, and he wouldn’t think of it! Surely a man of his talents and intelligence could overcome a drunken fool like Oliver Montegomery?
Then why did he feel as if he were being purposely led down a path he had no desire to follow?
There was something wrong. Lawson felt his weariness begin to lift. Yes, that was it. Something was not as it seemed. Oliver? Could it be Oliver?
His first reaction was to laugh and dismiss his doubts. Oliver had reached the point of no return and Lawson had watched his downward slide with scorn and some pleasure. Anthony had always been so fond of his younger brother, so tolerant of his follies. Anthony had believed that in Oliver there was a great man and in time he would declare himself. But Anthony was a fool, after all. Lawson had offered him a chance to live, had explained how important it was that the letters remain secret, but Anthony had not wanted to listen. He hadn’t understood that the good of the nation was more important than such a minor consideration.
What a fool! Lawson had lost count of the number of times he had told a lie or arranged a situation to his own benefit through bribery or worse. Sometimes it was necessary to force a path through the obstacles in order to win the day. Everyone knew that!
Oliver…was he really what he seemed? Lawson would find out, and if Oliver had been playing him for a fool…Lawson smiled. Well, Oliver would pay the same price as his brother.
Vivianna, returning to Queen’s Square after a visit to Aphrodite and an hour of shopping in busy Regent Street, found Aunt Helen all aflutter.
“Lady Marsh is here!” Helen hissed, catching Vivianna’s arm as she began to divest herself of her packages—she had bought presents for all her family. “She has been waiting almost half an hour. I think she was on the verge of leaving when you came in.”
Vivianna stared at her blankly. “Lady Marsh? Lord Montegomery’s aunt?”
“Yes, yes.” Helen gave her an agonized look. “She is very formidable, Vivianna. I do not think I could have stayed with her much longer without saying something quite idiotic.”
“I see.” Vivianna straightened her back and gave a determined smile. “Lead me to her, then, Aunt Helen, I am not intimidated.”
With obvious relief, Helen did so.
Lady Marsh was ensconced upon the large armchair in the corner of the sitting room, like a queen upon her throne. She sat bolt upright, her gray hair smoothed into submission beneath her muslin bonnet, her gray silk gown subtle in its richness. Lady Marsh—despite marrying a man beneath herself—was every inch an English aristocrat, and she wanted them to know it.
Vivianna made her curtsy. “Lady Marsh, how kind of you to call.”
Lady Marsh inclined her head, but her eyes—dark blue, just like Oliver’s—fixed upon her. “You were out a very long time, Miss Greentree.”
“I am sorry. I was looking at the shops in Regent Street.”
“Not alone, I hope?”
“No, I had my maid with me.”
“Good. A young lady cannot be too careful when it comes to her reputation.”
Vivianna had the urge to tell Lady Marsh who she had been visiting before shopping, but wisely bit her lip.
“Sit down, Miss Greentree, I wish to speak with you.” Lady Marsh glanced at Helen. “Alone.”
“Oh.” Helen backed toward the door, relieved. “Of course, of course. I will leave you to talk or…I will leave you.” The door closed.
Vivianna lifted her brows at Lady Marsh, thinking her rude, and waited. Lady Marsh gave a thump on the floor with her cane, and Vivianna noticed how twisted her fingers were within the gloves. She had heard that the woman was an invalid, and it seemed the rumors were true. It must have cost her much to come here today, and if that was so, then what she had to say was clearly important to her.
Vivianna’s annoyance at Lady Marsh’s high-handed behavior, and her indignation on her aunt’s behalf, faded a little. “What did you wish to talk to me about, Lady Marsh?” she asked, more gently. “I am here now.”
