An Affair Without End Read Free Page A

Marchester, so much calmer and somehow emptier.
    It went against his grain, he told himself, to give up that calm, that quiet, and voluntarily place himself in Lady Vivian’s path. But he was not one to shirk his responsibilities, and right now he was responsible for his newfound American cousins and their first Season. He had to watch over them, and that meant, perforce, watching over Lady Vivian—especially now that Eve, who would have been their chaperone, had married his brother Fitz and would no longer be in constant attendance on the girls.
    Lily would manage just fine. She was already engaged and safely out of the politely cutthroat competition of husband-hunting that marked the Season, and she seemed much more attuned to the social activities—the parties, the shopping, the theatergoing and obligatory calls, the pervasive gossip—than did Camellia. It was the straightforward, blunt-speaking, so very American Camellia who was likely to go awry, to argue or to break a rule—not with any ill will or purposeful disobedience, but simply because the tenets of the beau monde were as incomprehensible to her as Sanskrit. The good thing about Lady Vivian was that, even though she was the daughter of a duke, she was rather like Camellia and therefore able to understand and predict Camellia’s actions. The unfortunate thing was that, being like his cousin, she was as likely to join Camellia in some mad undertaking as to dissuade her from it.
    His lips tightened at the thought. The only thing for it, he knew, was to keep a close eye himself upon both Cousin Camellia and Lady Vivian. It would mean a great deal more parties and social interaction than he liked, as well as spending far too much time around a woman who tried his patience. But he saw no way around it. He could not abandon his cousin; for all her unruly behavior, Camellia was sincere and honest, an innocent, really, among the far more sophisticated and lethal members of the ton . So he would attend the parties. He would put up with Vivian Carlyle. And, he promised himself, he would make a dedicated effort to get along with the woman, no matter how she might fray his nerves.
    That resolve was tested the moment Vivian turned to greet him and he received the full impact of her dress up close. The heart-shaped neckline was low and wide, skimming over her breasts and leaving much of her chest and shoulders bare. The rich satin hugged her form, and the jet bugle beads that adorned the neck seemed designed to draw one’s eye to the swelling of her creamy white bosom. Desire slammed through him, fierce and immediate, and only years-long training kept his face expressionless.
    “Stewkesbury.” Vivian smiled at him in that way she had, a way that hinted of secrets and laughter.
    Oliver was aware that Vivian considered him a hopelessly dull sort, and he often had the faint suspicion she was laughing at him, which made him even more unbending in her presence. Now, in response to her greeting, he gave her a punctiliously correct bow.
    “How nice to see you,” Vivian told him. “Are Lily and Camellia with you?”
    “No. I drove down alone last week. The Bascombes are coming later with Fitz and Eve. I am sure it will not be long before they arrive.” Despite his best efforts, his gaze kept returning to Vivian’s bosom. Damn the woman—the way she is dressed is bloody distracting.
    “I am surprised to find you here alone,” Vivian went on. “I know how infrequently you are wont to visit London.”
    He wasn’t sure why her assumption irritated him, but it did. “On the contrary, my lady, I am often in the city. I don’t know why people persist in thinking that I am always stuck away up at Willowmere.”
    “Because no one ever sees you.”
    “I am in London. I simply do not spend my time at parties.”
    “Ah, I see.” A smile twitched at the corner of Vivian’s mouth. “No doubt you are occupied in far more useful activities.”
    There it was again, he