a more devoted uncle than Master Dare.”
“John loves him,” Vivian said, sipping her toddy.
“And we all love our Master John. Turn again, milady.”
“Did you all work at Wilton Acres?” This was prying, shameless, unladylike prying, but no more personal than having to tell a man about the very rhythms of one’s body.
Gracie paused to work at a tangle. “We don’t all come from Wilton, but we worked somewhere, and most of us were let go through no fault of our own. Word gets out, though, when a man’s willing to take a chance on people. Master Dare puts us to work, and if we’ve a mind to move on, he writes the best characters and lets us know he appreciates our loyalty.”
This toddy had a particularly lovely mixture of spices—something blending the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg together. Something subtle and exotic—cardamom? Allspice? An extravagance, surely, and one Darius Lindsey had expended on
“Years. Most wouldn’t hire me, ’cause of me arm, but it hardly slows me down a’tall, and Master Dare knows that. Turn.”
Vivian sipped her drink in silence, considering what Gracie had said. It was true. Servants in the better homes were expected to be attractive—whole, fit, and comely. She’d not considered this before, because William’s residences had been fully staffed before she’d married him.
But in five years they’d had some turnover—and the butlers or house stewards had hired the men, while housekeepers hired the maids.
And the lady of the house did exactly… what?
“There you go.” Gracie stepped back. “Can I fetch your book, milady, so you can stay here by the fire while your hair finishes drying?”
“I’ll get it.” Vivian took one last, scrumptious whiff of the dregs in her glass and stifled a yawn. “Are there really leftover toddies in the kitchen?”
“Master Dare’s toddies are legendary. I had a taste as he was putting in the spices, to make sure he got it right.”
“It was lovely,” Vivian said, handing over the glass. “No more for me, or I’ll be asleep on my feet.”
“Good night, then, milady. Pleasant dreams.”
“Thank you, but, Gracie?” Vivian hoped neither her tone nor her expression gave away the depth of her curiosity.
“Milady?”
“Does Mr. Lindsey have other guests here, other ladies?”
Gracie met her gaze for the merest instant. “Never overnight, milady. You’d best be asking him about that directly.”
Vivian nodded, understanding that Gracie had just passed along a tidbit, one woman to another, that came up against but did not cross the boundaries drawn by a devoted employee. Vivian was still sitting on the hearthstones, trying to puzzle out if she wanted to know of Darius’s other associations, when he knocked once and stood in her doorway.
“You’re letting in the cold air,” she said.
He pulled the door closed behind him. “Your hair is even more lovely than I’d imagined, and longer.”
“You’re not supposed to see it down,” she groused, stifling another yawn. “And the toddy was a masterful touch. Should I take my clothes off? I’d rather climb under the covers first.”
He smiled slightly as he prowled into the room. “Are you tipsy?”
“Maybe a little. I drank it quickly. I don’t do this sort of thing, ever, you see, and… what are you doing?”
He’d picked up the hairbrush and was advancing on her, but she kept scooting around to face him.
“Vivvie, I can’t brush your hair if you won’t give me your back.”
“Oh.” She angled slightly so he could sit behind her on the raised hearth.
“One braid or two?”
“One, over my left shoulder. How did you bathe if I had the use of the tub?”
“You can tell?” He smoothed her hair over her shoulders, and Vivian shuddered at his touch. He repeated the gesture, making it even more of a caress.
“Your hair is damp and you smell good,” she said. “Maybe I am tipsy.”
“You’re nervous.” His hands settled on her shoulders and kneaded slowly. “It’s too soon to be nervous, Vivvie. Nobody will be taking any clothes off tonight except possibly myself.”
“Why would you do that?”
“If you asked me to, I’d do it.” His thumbs traced circles on her nape then up the sides of her neck.
“Do you do this to other women?”
“Massage their necks, no.” His hands disappeared, making Vivvie want to curse her tongue, but she felt a need to drive him off, to establish some breathing room. “Nor do I allow them coitus, but I do enjoy the company of the occasional understanding woman, and I’ve been known to allow ladies other privileges for sufficient consideration.”
“Allow them coitus.” Vivian said the words, frowning but not arguing, because she had to conclude that, very likely,
An expensive privilege, and it hurt to think about that.
“I have many faults, Vivian.” His voice was tired as he put the brush to her hair. “I do not lie.”
“My stepfather lies,” she said, wondering where the words had come from. “He’s like a little boy, expecting me to believe he cares for my welfare, when in truth, it’s his purse he’s concerned about.”
“Which is how you ended up married to William?”
“Oh, that…” The rhythm of the brush was soothing, and Vivian closed her eyes, to rest them at the end of a trying day. “Muriel made me promise I’d look after him, and I suspect she extracted the same promise from William, and so there we were. That feels good. I loved Muriel. William did too. Still does.”
Behind her, Darius said nothing while his hands were in her hair, dividing it into three thick skeins.
“I think William misses Muriel more than he wants to live,” Vivian went on. “He thinks of death not as the end of life, but as the way he can be with her again. It’s sweet.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Darius countered softly. “William can be with you, and he’s pining for a dead woman.”
“They were married forever. Are you going to take your clothes off now?”
“What is this obsession you have with disrobing, Lady Longstreet?” He flipped a fat rope of brown hair over her shoulder. “Would you like me to take off my clothes?”
She shook her head but kept her back to him, and when the silence stretched and stretched, she felt her nerves humming.
“Darius?”
“Come to bed, Vivvie,” he said. “You’re tired and the sheets are warm and it’s too late to argue with me.”
His voice was no longer directly behind her, so Vivian rose and turned, only to see him stretched out on the bed.
Without a stitch on.
Vivian abruptly turned her back to him again. “You are unclothed, sir.”
She put a load of consternation into four words.
“You were going to ask me but lost your nerve.”
“I was?”
“Vivvie.” Darius sighed mightily and not entirely for effect. “You are making this far too complicated. Your clothes are on, and I expect they’ll stay that way for tonight, while mine are off. You might as well see what you’re getting.”
She peeked over her shoulder, face flaming, and Darius wanted to laugh, except that would unnerve her further.
“I can’t be such a horrendous sight as all that,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’ll make me lose all my manly confidence if you stay over there much longer.”
“You want me only to look?”
