Darius: Lord of Pleasures

Darius.

Vivian recalled shopping with him, the way he’d managed the proprietors and clerks, the eye he had for quality, and the way he’d teased, reasoned, and cajoled her into everything from embroidered underthings to new gloves. His name stood for the ache in her heart and the empty place in her bed and the life growing in her womb. She missed him and missed him and missed him, and worse, she sensed William knew it.

She’d see Darius at the christening, and for more than the space of a single moonrise. He’d said as much, and if there was one thing she’d believe about Darius Lindsey, it was that he’d keep his word.

Thoughts of him had her nipping up to her bedroom to retrieve a little slip of paper from her vanity. She was still kept waiting a good ten minutes before Portia joined her at the foot of the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we take a footman or two with us?”

So Portia could collect more purchases? “They have enough work. It’s a pretty day, and I can use the exercise.”

“We’re not taking the carriage?”

“I need to stretch my legs. Shall we be off?”

Portia gave her a peevish look but linked arms and marched off with Vivian into a lovely spring day.

“Well, Vivian,” a male voice called out when they were nearing Green Park, “won’t you introduce me to your pretty companion?”

The benevolence of the spring day muted. “Thurgood.” Vivian stopped abruptly, so lost in her ruminations she hadn’t seen him on the sidewalk before them until he’d spoken. “A pleasure. Portia Springer, may I make known to you the gentleman who used to be my stepfather, Thurgood Ainsworthy. Thurgood, Mrs. Portia Springer, late of Longchamps, Oxfordshire, where she is the wife of William’s hardworking steward.”

Hell would freeze over before Vivian would discuss her husband’s illegitimate son with the likes of Thurgood.

“Ladies.” He bowed low over each of their hands, holding Portia’s—of course—a moment too long. “May I escort you somewhere, or are you returning home?”

“We’re off to Bond Street,” Portia caroled, batting her lashes.

“All the way to Ludgate, actually,” Vivian said. “I need to pick up a bottle of scent made to order. But it’s kind of you to offer.”

“Nonsense.” Thurgood slipped his arm through Portia’s, and Vivian wasn’t at all surprised to note Portia had turned loose of Vivian without a second thought. “Lead on, Viv, and let me be your gallant escort.”

There would be no getting rid of him, not when he was having such a good flirt with Portia, and Lord, wouldn’t William laugh to hear of this. Portia was handsome, true enough, but girlish coquetry on her looked about as believable as spectacles on a flying pig.

Thurgood insisted on fetching a hackney, so they arrived to their destination shortly where, thank a merciful deity, Thurgood made his excuses.

“Mr. Ainsworthy.” Portia held out her hand again. “It has been the most sincere pleasure. You must call on us at Longstreet House.”

Heaven help me, I shall kill her. Portia had no business extending such an invitation.

“I’d be delighted. My dear daughter and I always have a great deal to talk about.” Thurgood gave Vivian one of his indulgent smiles, and Vivian smiled back, trying not to choke. He’d been enough of a pest lately, with his carping about grieving together and William’s failing health. Everlasting God, the man was a disgrace.

Once in the shop, surrounded by a blend of lovely scents, Vivian was possessed of an immediate sense of well-being. She felt closer to Darius here. He’d had this shop mix up her personal scent for her. She’d come here only once since Christmas, but she wore the scent every day and never wanted to run out.

“What a handsome specimen you have for a steppapa.” Portia took Vivian’s arm as they strolled the shop. “You never said, Vivian.”

“I don’t think of him as handsome or ugly,” Vivian said, though she did—he was as ugly as a week-old sheep carcass in high summer. “He’s a terrible flirt, Portia, so mind yourself around him.”

Portia’s nose tipped up. “He’s not a flirt. He’s gallant, and that’s something else altogether.”

Vivian gave her order to the clerk then started on a round of the shop, sniffing idly at this and that scent. She was hunting for the one Darius used, but suspected he had his custom-made as well. And then she caught it, a little hint of his scent, as a woman’s voice drifted across the shop.

“Really, Darius,” the lady drawled, “rose is too juvenile, and lavender doddering. You can’t expect me to wear those in public.”

He was there, leaning in to say something quietly to the woman, speaking right into her ear. She laughed softly in response, and her bosom was positively mashed against his arm.

Vivian had ached over Darius Lindsey, and cried a bit, and sighed and wished and wished. Those tender sentiments paled to nothing when between one heartbeat and the next, her heart broke, leaving both anger and sorrow to flood into the breach.

“Perhaps in private then,” the woman said, loud enough that others could overhear. Darius straightened, and whatever he’d been intending to say died on his lips as he realized Vivian was standing only a few feet away.

Gaping, like a stupid cow. She shut her mouth and turned with brittle dignity. From behind the woman’s shoulder, though, she caught Darius mouthing the words, “cut direct.”

What was he trying to say to her? Cut him? Prepare to be cut by him? And there was Portia, catching sight of Darius and his companion as if they were the most fascinating entertainment since the coronation of Mad George.

Darius touched the woman’s arm. “Excuse me, Lucy. I see an acquaintance. An old acquaintance.”

He prowled over to Vivian, his entire manner exuding a kind of mute swagger, but his eyes held a plea Vivian still couldn’t fathom. He sidled up to her and picked up her hand, bowing low over it.

“My lady.” He kept hold of her hand, just as Thurgood might have, until she snatched it back. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Sir.” Vivian’s voice shook. “I believe you have me at a disadvantage, and I would like to remain there. Portia, it’s time we left.” She walked out without retrieving the perfume the clerk had brought from the back, but then she had to wait at the door of the shop for Portia to join her.

“Another satisfied customer, Darius?” The woman’s voice held amusement.

“Hardly.” Vivian heard him dismiss her without a backward glance. “If you don’t like the single-note fragrances, Lucy, you should try the blends. Over here…”

Portia came huffing up to Vivian’s side. “What was that all about? I was about to make a purchase.”

“I needed some air.” Vivian put a hand over her stomach, for reassurance, to steady herself, to quiet the pounding of her heart. “Shall we be on our way?”

“But we just got here.” Portia glanced back at the shop with longing. It wasn’t a cheap place to spend money.

And Darius had so little of it to spend.

“We’re going home, Portia.” Vivian’s tone was for once sharp. “We can come back later.”

“Who was that man?”

“I haven’t the least notion,” Vivian replied, walking faster, and her words were true. That fawning, droll, insouciant tramp was not her Darius, and that woman… how could he bear it? To be intimate with such as that? Had he taught that creature how to press up against him? Was she going to leave the shop with a personal blend chosen by the handsome Mr. Lindsey?

Or was the better question how Darius had borne being intimate with Vivian? She was unsophisticated, retiring, and more knowledgeable about Corn Laws than quadrilles, and it hurt, terribly, to see how she compared with Darius’s usual fare.

It hurt for her, and worse, it made her hurt miserably for him.

Thirteen