Lady Vivian Defies a Duke - By Samantha Grace Page 0,31
His nerves buzzed like a hive of honeybees. Her action was possessive and presumptuous, but instead of wishing to extract himself, he pulled her closer.
The nurse and Vivian’s maid exited the other carriage with Chloe and Claire, and Lana and Drew went to collect them.
“Wouldn’t a stroll be lovely?” Vivian said. “I haven’t sat that long for ages.”
Lana held her arms out for Chloe and nuzzled her plump cheek when her daughter went to her. “I want nothing more than a warm bath before dinner.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Drew hurried ahead and disappeared inside the inn.
Lana’s gaze darted between the inn and Vivian, resting on the inn longer. “You will need an escort if you go for a stroll.”
“There is no need to alter your plans.” Vivian nodded to her maid. “Winnie will accompany me.”
Luke missed her warmth the moment she released his arm. “It’s unsafe to wander the village without a male escort,” he said.
“I see.” She nibbled her bottom lip, hands on her slender hips. Her silver-blue eyes flashed with a stroke of brilliance. “Perhaps one of your footmen would lend his assistance.”
John halted in the middle of loosening a strap and gazed at Vivian with calf-eyes.
Luke shook his head. The servant snapped his attention back to his task with a dark frown.
“My men are occupied with their duties. Perhaps you will accept my escort instead.”
Lana tossed an overly bright smile at them. She was plotting something. He could see the mischief in her eyes. “What a splendid solution. Now I may rest without worry.”
She wandered toward the inn with the nurse and her girls, leaving him alone with Vivian and her maid.
“Shall we?” Vivian took his arm. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her smooth cheeks plumped when she smiled up at him.
He tried to dismiss the skip of his heart as a result of too much inactivity. He was a man of action, not given to lazing about for the better part of a day. His body needed activity. When Vivian’s breast brushed against his arm, the type of activity his body desired became apparent. Perhaps he should have enlisted the footman’s services after all, but since it was too late to bow out, he led her from the coaching yard. Vivian’s maid trailed behind them but paused to allow a new arrival into the yard.
Luke stifled a groan when he spotted the crest. The carriage door flew open, and Viscount Brookhaven spilled out in a disheveled tumble of satin. A chorus of high-pitched cackles echoed inside the conveyance.
“Brookhaven, where’s the bloody fire?” Jonathan Collier appeared in the doorway, weaved, and barely grabbed the door frame before he dove headfirst on top of the viscount. Even foxed, Collier’s ability to sniff out a beauty functioned with maddening accuracy. His gaze landed on Vivian and a grin spread across his cherubic face.
Luke drew her closer to his side.
A frizz of brown hair ducked under Collier’s arm. Another head-shattering cackle burst from the owner’s crimson lips. “Foxhaven! Yoo-hoo!” Her lily-white arm shot into the air and flailed. It was the only lily-white attribute the woman possessed. “We are traveling to Irvine Castle. Is that not a happy coincidence?”
“Mrs. Price.” Luke nodded out of politeness as he directed Vivian away from the scoundrels and their entertainment for their journey.
“Pay a call later, Your Grace, if you would care for a treat.”
He would be paying a call indeed, to Brookhaven to clear up the mistaken belief that an invitation to his mother’s house party extended to trollops and ne’er-do-wells like Collier.
Vivian’s maid rounded the carriage, gaping.
“Come along, Winifred,” he said.
The girl scurried around Brookhaven, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, and made a huge arc to escape his grasping reach.
“Help me up, wench.”
She quickened her step to catch up to her mistress.
Neither Luke nor Vivian spoke as they strolled along the pathway. Honeysuckle dripped over a meandering stone wall, and narrow strips of grass nestled up to the thatch-roofed cottages.
Vivian stared up at him with her direct blue gaze. “You failed to introduce me to your friends.”
“Lord Brookhaven and his guests are old acquaintances. I don’t classify them as friends.”
“It appears Mrs. Price would like to become reacquainted, Your Grace. You may return to speak with her if you wish.”
Her formality in addressing him rankled. A few days ago his name had rolled from her tongue as sweetly as if she had crooned it. Perhaps more galling was her lack of concern over who received his