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“Well, I gave you what you wanted,” he said in that cold, stranger’s voice. “A night in the arms of an experienced rake. After this past year I feel I have the necessary qualifications.”
He seemed to be waiting for something, but Vivianna did not know what it was. Her pride forced her voice to mimic his indifference.
“Yes, you were the perfect rake. I have no complaints. But now it is over, Oliver. You will understand if I say that I never want to see you again.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “I understand, and I’m sure you will not take offense if I add that the feeling is mutual.”
She nodded stiffly, then pulled away from him, moving back into her corner.
Her body ached, her head ached, but most of all her heart ached.
He had lied to her, fooled her, used her. She felt humiliated as she had never been before. Her night of wondrous passion had turned into a night of heartbreak, and the memory of it would never leave her. It had never been real, none of it, just as Oliver had never been real.
Vivianna knew to her despair that she had fallen in love with a man who did not even exist.
Dawn was breaking across London, and the street sweepers had long been up. The horses were weary, and so was Oliver. For the final part of the journey he had sat staring at nothing, aware of Vivianna’s outraged silence nearby. He had fully intended her to be hurt. He had had to wound her so severely that she would not wish to see him again.
Knowing Vivianna as he did, Oliver had understood that if she believed him to be in need of her help she would never leave him. She would put herself at risk for his sake. He did not want that. If she was ever to be safe, then Lawson must believe that she was estranged from him. And Lawson was no fool—he would see through one of Vivianna’s lies. It had to be the truth.
Well, now fiction had become fact. Vivianna hated him, and her hatred made her safe. She would never know how his heart ached, awash with regret and memories of the night he had just spent with her. A night he intended never to forget.
She must believe him a monster, but the fact was Oliver was suffering just as much as Vivianna. More, because he had to hide it. For her sake, he had to pretend. And he was so, so tired of being something he was not.
The coach drew to a halt. In a moment she was out of the door and jumping down to the street. She glanced back, her face white and pinched, her eyes dark hollows.
“I never want to see you again,” she said bitterly. “Understand that, Oliver.”
“Of course,” he drawled, and lifted his eyebrows as if there had never been a question of it being otherwise.
She cast him one, last, fulminating look and then she was gone. Her slippers hardly made a sound as she reached the corner and turned. And then there was nothing, only silence and an empty street.
She couldn’t know it, of course, he thought idly, but Vivianna had changed him. She had brought a sense of purpose back into his life. A sense of looking toward a future that held more than just the destruction of Lawson and the avenging of his brother.
He bit back a groan of despair. There was nothing he could do. “Drive on!” he called out, and the coach lurched forward.
Lil had left the back door unlatched, and Vivianna slipped in. There may be servants about, but she could pretend to be up early rather than in late. In this household, they were used to Toby coming in at all hours; probably no one would notice. In her room, Vivianna fell exhausted onto the soft mattress. She wondered how it was possible to feel so low, so humiliated, so utterly destroyed. She had given herself to Oliver, enjoyed the most wonderful night of her life, and in return he had shown her that it had all been a lie. A grand plan to avenge his dead brother.
How honorable of him! How brave! And how utterly, utterly selfish! Didn’t he think she would mind? Or did he simply want her to fade away and let him get on with his wretched plot?
Vivianna felt as if she were dying, all the warmth and passion he had brought to the fore curling up and turning brittle. The ache from his lovemaking mocked her, taunted her, and broke her heart.
She had once feared that Oliver was as bad as Toby, but now she realized he was worse. Oh, far, far worse….
Another tear slid down her cheek but she turned into the pillow and rubbed it off. If she cried any more she would not be able to stop, and her mother must not see that she had been weeping. Nor her sister. She had never felt so alone….
Vivianna lifted her head. There was a place she could go to. A person she could talk to. Someone who would not be shocked or appalled by the depths to which she had sunk.
Someone who would understand.
Chapter 17
Dobson answered the door in his red jacket, and his gray eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her.
“Miss Vivianna? Whatever is’t? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Dobson, is Miss Aphrodite here? I need to speak with her.” And then, as if her lack of manners had just occurred to her, “Please.”
He eyed her curiously, but whatever he saw caused him to stifle any questions. “You wait here a moment, and I’ll see what I can do. We ain’t long been closed, you know.”
