would drive her mad. She hates to be alone. She insists on going to some soiree or party every night of the week. I could never match her pace.' Gerard gave a small, defeated laugh. 'She stayed with me longer than with any of her other protectors--I've taken some measure of comfort in that.'
'Does she have any enemies that you know of?'
'No one I would label that way...but there are many who dislike her.'
'What was Miss Duvall's financial situation at the time she parted from you?'
'Money pours through Vivien's fingers like water. She didn't have sufficient funds to last long. She had to find a new paramour without delay.'
'Any notion of whom the next candidate might have been?'
'No.'
'What do you know of her family?'
'She has none that I am aware of. As you might guess, our conversations rarely turned in that direction.' Gerard sighed and nibbled at a rough spot on one of his manicured cuticles. 'Will this take much longer, Morgan? I have a thirst for more Armagnac.'
'What direction did your conversations turn to?' Grant asked. 'Does Miss Duvall have any particular hobbies or pursuits? Any new interests she has developed of late?'
'None that exist outside of bed. Why, I doubt she's ever even read a book.'
'Any new acquaintances you were aware of? Male in particular?'
Gerard rolled his eyes. 'God Himself couldn't account for all of Vivien's male acquaintances.'
'Tell me about the day she broke off your arrangement. Did you argue?'
'Naturally. I had invested quite heavily in her, and I saw no reason things could not continue indefinitely. I've closed my eyes whenever she cared to have a dallaince. I became quite heated--I even threatened her--but she laughed in my face. I demanded to know the name of the man who would be my replacement, as I was certain that she wouldn't leave me without first securing another arrangement. She was quite smug, and would say nothing except that she expected soon to marry into a great fortune.' He snorted with bitter amusement. 'The idea! One doesn't marry soiled goods like Vivien Duvall, unless he wants to be the laughingstock of England. Of course, I would put nothing past her. I suppose it's possible she could have enticed some decrepit widower to make an offer for her.' 'Were there witnesses to the argument?'
'Vivien's servants were aware of it, I'm certain. No doubt I raised the roof a time or two.'
'Did you strike her?'
'Never,' Gerard said instantly, seeming offended. 'I'll admit, I was tempted to choke the life out of her. But I would never do harm to a woman. And in spite of my anger, I would have taken Vivien back if she had desired it, my pride be damned.'
Grant's brows pulled together at the statement. In his opinion, no woman was worth the sacrifice of a man's pride, no matter how attractive she might have been. There was always another pretty face, another well-shaped body, another display of feminine charms that would soon blot out the memories.
'I can see what you're thinking,' Gerard said. 'But there's something you don't understand...Vivien is one of a kind. The smell, the taste, the feel of her...No one could compare. There was nothing she wouldn't do in bed. Have you ever slept with a woman who has no shame? If I could have just one more night with her...even one hour...' He shook his head with a mumbled curse.
'All right, my lord,' Grant said tersely. 'We're finished for now. As my investigation proceeds, I may have more questions for you.' He stood and headed for the door, but paused as he heard Gerard's pleading voice.
'Morgan, you must tell me...What has happened to her?'
Grant turned to glance at him curiously. 'If she were dead,' he said slowly, 'would you mourn her?' He waited a long time for the other man to reply, but Gerard apparently found it difficult to answer.
Grant smiled cynically. Gerard was like a child deprived of his favorite toy--he would miss the sexual pleasure Vivien had given him, but he felt no genuine caring or concern. Some courtesans and their protectors genuinely loved each other, had relationships that lasted for decades. Grant knew more than one man who had escaped the bitter disappointment of his arranged marriage by taking a mistress who would bear him children and serve him as the loving companion his wife should have been. For Vivien, however, the role of courtesan was played purely for reasons of business and profit.
'Do you have a set of keys to her town house?' Grant asked Gerard.
The question clearly nonplussed him. 'I suppose I might. Do you intend to search her possessions? What do you expect to find?'
'Where Miss Duvall is concerned, I'm learning not to expect anything,' Grant replied dourly, while curiosity and an odd touch of dread tangled inside him at the prospect of visiting her town house. The more he discovered about Vivien and her sordid past, the darker his mood became.
CHAPTER 4
Grant deftly unlocked the bronzed door of Vivien's town house, one of many located behind the palace front of east Grosvenor Square. The prestigious address, with its spectacular row of columns and arched doorways, must have cost a pretty penny. A further testament to Vivien's skill at her profession, he thought darkly. The interior was dim and quiet, with a faint mustiness in the air from being closed up for weeks. Grant lit a lamp and a pair of wall sconces, which shed a bright glow on walls covered in hand-painted wallpaper. Taking the lamp in hand, he wandered through the first-floor rooms. The house was elegant and decidedly feminine, with abundant frescoes of pastel flowers, walls covered in French paper, delicate furniture with spindly legs, and large framed looking glasses over every fireplace.
He ascended the stairs, noting the costly twisted balusters with carved tread ends, and the lamps housed in crystal cases. It seemed no expense had been spared in decorating the place to Vivien's satisfaction. Upstairs, the air seemed to hold a hint of stale perfume. He followed the scent to the main bedroom, lit more lamps, and surveyed his surroundings intently.
The walls were covered in emerald-green silk, a jewel tone that was echoed in the rich Brussels floral- patterned carpet underfoot. Although the current fashion for ladies' bedrooms was to half conceal the bed in an alcove, Vivien had made hers the central attraction, placing it on a carpeted platform to increase its visibility. What drew Grant's attention most strongly, however, was a portrait of Vivien hung on the wall facing the bed. She had been painted in the nude, half turned away from the viewer to expose her pale back and buttocks. She glanced artfully over her shoulder, her torso angled to reveal the profile of one round, lovely breast.
The artist had idealized Vivien, making her form a little fleshier than in reality, the legs and waist slightly elongated, the unswept hair so red that it contained tongues of purple flame. Had the artist bedded Vivien during one of the many sittings it had taken to paint her? It seemed likely. Nothing but lovemaking could have given her face that flushed, replete look, the mouth soft with satisfaction, the blue eyes heavy-lidded and catlike.
Staring at the painting, Grant experienced what was fast becoming a familiar reaction to Vivien...a mingling of fire and ice...a flare of intense desire balanced by cold deliberation. He wanted her, and more than that, he wanted to humble and chasten her. He was going to use her, the way she had used so many men. It was time for Vivien Duvall to receive her reckoning.
He wandered to a Louis XV dressing table with an inlaid tulipwood top, and picked up a large crystal flacon of perfume. The scent was heavy with roses and tempered by the crispness of sandalwood. Instantly it brought back the memory of Vivien at the Wentworth ball. She had smelled exactly this way, her warm skin emanating the sweet fragrance.
Setting aside the perfume, Grant opened the shallow drawers of the dressing table, finding a jumble of brushes, jars filled with pastel-colored creams, hair ornaments of tortoiseshell, ivory, and silver. Beneath the clutter, there was a small book bound in red moroccon leather.
Grant extricated the volume and leafed through it quickly, finding lists of gentlemen's names, detailed descriptions of sexual activities, times and dates of romantic assignations. It would serve as an excellent tool for blackmail. He recognized some of the names in the book, a few belonging to gentlemen who prided themselves on their solid marriages and sterling reputations. None of them would care to have his infidelities exposed, and would doubtless pay dearly to ensure Vivien's silence. Or perhaps even resort to murder to make her silence permanent.
