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“Ah, like the sound of that, do ye?” Fraser had been watching her, and evidently thought the mention of baubles had won her over. Well, let him! Vivianna would be his heir, if that was what he wanted, and then she would spend his money making recompense for the harm he had done.
Outside in the gallery, Aphrodite anxiously searched her face. “What did he say?”
“I am to be his heir. That is why he paid for you to have me all those years ago.”
Aphrodite closed her eyes. “Mon dieu.” After a moment she pulled herself together enough to remind them both, “He is dying—”
“I know.” Vivianna said it bleakly. “I’m sorry, Aphrodite, but I do not like him. I wish I could. He’s my father! But I do not. I have said I will be his heir, but when he is dead I will use his money for good works.”
A slow smile spread over Aphrodite’s face. “Did you tell him this?”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t, Vivianna. Let him enjoy his last weeks, it cannot hurt.”
Vivianna looked at her in surprise. “You are fond of him, aren’t you?”
Aphrodite’s smile turned sad. “I had a child with him. It makes a difference.”
Oliver was still asleep late the next morning when Hodge woke him. “Lady Marsh is awaiting you in the sitting room, my lord.”
Oliver opened one blurry eye. “You let her in?”
“I could not prevent her, my lord.”
“What does she want?”
“She wants to see you, my lord.”
Oliver groaned and sat up. “I will be half an hour, Hodge. I can’t be any faster. I haven’t long retired.”
“I know, my lord. I will see her ladyship has some refreshment while she waits.”
Oliver rested his head carefully into his hands, wincing as Hodge closed the door. He had drunk far too much and slept far too little. Last night at White’s replayed in his mind. Lawson, his breath hot against Oliver’s ear, murmuring, “Where is this secret chamber, Oliver? Your grandfather’s secret chamber?”
Oliver had swayed dangerously, almost losing his balance. “Just a story,” he’d muttered drunkenly. “Nothing to it. Why? Why do you want to know?”
Lawson had smiled, but his eyes were lethal. “You need to tell me soon, Oliver,” he had said, not drunk at all. He had only been pretending. “You need to consider your future very carefully, or the fact that you may not have a future….”
“Like Anthony, you mean?” he had asked levelly.
And suddenly the game was over. They had stood facing each other, wearing their true skins.
Lawson had observed him as if he were an interesting specimen of insect. “Yes,” he had said softly. “Just like Anthony.”
“You’re finished,” Oliver retorted, and the rage in him threatened to boil over. “I’ll see to it.”
Lawson smiled. “Your brother said that, too. And look what happened to him.” And then he’d simply turned
and walked away.
In his bedroom, with the sunlight creeping through the curtained windows, Oliver contemplated the danger he was in. He wasn’t afraid. He was only the more determined to find the letters and see Lawson punished. But he was vastly relieved Vivianna was out of it—whatever happened to him now, she would be safe.
It was the only thing that kept him from going to her house and begging her forgiveness.
A pain stabbed at his chest at the thought of her, but he ignored it. Surely all he had to do was remember how she used to lecture him and argue with him to be glad he never had to spend time with her again? But somehow it just didn’t seem to be working….
Exactly thirty minutes later, immaculately dressed, Oliver made his way to the sitting room. Lady Marsh set her cup down with a clatter and gave him a stern look.
