And why would he?

“I want to marry for love,” Emily said, giving Darius a start. “Mama and Papa were an arranged match, and look what a farce that turned out to be.”

“You’re too young to be so cynical, Em.” She made a lovely picture on his gelding, a lovely adult picture if a man weren’t her older brother. “Hands lower and eyes up.”

“I’m not cynical.” Emily corrected her riding while she spoke. “I don’t want to become cynical, and a love match seems better suited to that end.”

“Or perhaps, a love match gone sour creates more cynicism than a more practical union that’s allowed to grow into a cordial alliance.”

Emily rolled her eyes, looking a great deal younger. “Bother that. You sound like Trent, and you can’t tell me he and Paula had a cordial anything.”

“They cared for each other.”

“They secured the succession,” Emily retorted. “I don’t want to be cared for, Darius. I want to be loved, and I want that for Leah, and you and Trent, too.”

So young, and so convinced of her position. “Dreamer. Don’t let your father hear you talking that way.”

“I don’t.” Emily’s expression sobered while the horses clip-clopped along the street. “He’s your father too.”

“An unfortunate circumstance, in his opinion,” Darius said, “and in mine, but for the siblings it’s brought me. Heel down.”

“How can you tell? It’s on the other side of the horse from you.”

“Your seat is less secure, and you’re tipping forward,” Darius said as they turned into the alley that led to the Wilton House stables. “You’ll make my excuses to Leah?”

“Of course, but she’ll miss you.”

“She’ll see me tomorrow night at some damned ball or other.”

“It’s starting up, isn’t it?” Emily patted the horse, who’d been a perfect gentleman for her—the traitor. “The Season has begun and so has Leah’s hunt for a husband. Lord Hellerington was closeted with Papa yesterday for more than an hour.”

“Hellerington?” Darius couldn’t hide his reaction. “We can only hope he isn’t feeling the need for a bride—again.”

“Leah didn’t say anything, though I know she’s worried.”

Darius dismounted and came around to assist his sister. “You see entirely too much. I liked you better in pigtails and pinafores.”

“I liked you better when you smiled more, Dare.” Emily kept her hands on his biceps even when she’d gained her feet. “You’re too somber these days, and you always look tired and preoccupied to me.”

“It’s all the late hours.” He hugged her briefly and kissed her cheek. “Escorting a sister around is taxing work.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” Emily cautioned. “Papa has said Leah must accept every invitation.”

God in heaven. Though maybe if he were sufficiently exhausted, Darius might forget Vivian Longstreet, or at least stop fretting for her. “Nobody expects Leah to be at every entertainment.”

“Tell that to Papa,” Emily said quietly, for the grooms were at hand.

“You can leave the horses,” Darius said, swinging up on Arthur and taking Skunk by the reins. “Shall we do this again, Emily?”

“Yes, but can we at least trot next time?”

“Ladies riding sidesaddle primarily walk and canter,” Darius informed her. “But yes, we can trot. You’d best have a soaking bath this evening and another tomorrow.”

“How one suffers for the cause. Send a note around when you’ve another afternoon free, and Trent can lend us his gelding.”

“As my lady wishes.” Darius saluted and clattered back into the alley at a trot. He had to drop off Trent’s gelding, Arthur, then grab some rest, or he’d be asleep where he stood tonight when he’d need all his wits about him.

And he would see Vivian today, of all days.

Most nights, he saw her in his dreams, if his schedule permitted him any sleep. He’d been fortunate that Lucy Templeton’s mother had requisitioned her presence at the family seat for a few weeks, leaving him to contend with only Lady Cowell. That lady’s husband was between mistresses, and because he was a randy beggar, Blanche had not been free to impose on Darius for much of the past month either.

But tonight she’d summoned him, and tonight he’d go—to explain to her that their dealings were at an end. Lucy would be the trickier situation to extricate himself from, but she would come into line if he held firm.

He hoped.

As he returned to his rooms and fell onto his mattress, he had to wonder what drove a woman to enjoy beating on a man’s naked ass. It was difficult to comprehend that Lucy and Blanche weren’t as bored with and tired by the whole business as he was. He lay down and hoped to soon be drifting off, once again dreaming of Vivian and the nigh-unfathomable miracle that she should be bearing his child.

Eleven

Blanche lay on the bed, replete and rosy, watching Darius while he got dressed as quickly as he could without giving away how desperately he wanted to be away from this place and this woman.

“Lucy won’t stand for this,” she said, twiddling a bed tassel around her finger. “She’ll be wroth you’d even think of ending our arrangement.”

“She’ll be wroth whether I end it or not.” Darius wrapped his cravat around his neck once, rather like a linen noose. “She was born unhappy, Blanche, and the less you have to do with her, the more likely you are to find some peace in this life.”

“Peace is boring.” She rolled up on her side and regarded him through slumberous eyes. “She’ll make you think twice about throwing us over.”

His temper would not be silent. He turned and glowered at her. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you, Darius.” For once, Blanche looked like the tired, nearly middle-aged woman she was. “Lucy doesn’t see straight where you’re concerned. I can understand if you’re bored with the whips and bindings, and I’ll speak to Lucy, but she won’t give you up without a fight.”

“I’m not a juicy bone to be scrabbled over.” Darius yanked on his boots. “And you are exactly correct: I’ll have no more of the bindings, whips, and stupid games. I’m done with it, and done with Lucy’s airs and pouts. You may kindly tell her for me to go swive herself if she can’t accept that.”

Blanche sat up and shrugged into a dressing gown. “She’d rather be swiving you. As would I.”

“No, you only think you would. You want to believe you’re wicked, naughty, and sophisticated in your pleasures, but you’re not, and neither is Lucy. What we do is nothing short of pathetic, and I’m through with it.”

“You’re not. You’re not done until Lucy says you’re done.”

Darius barely resisted offering her a rude gesture, but instead bowed and took his leave, the long walk in the chilly night air serving to calm him only marginally.

Sleep, unfortunately, eluded him, leaving him to the torment of his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about Vivian; his mind felt too dirty for even her mental presence, but she beckoned to his thoughts like a siren.

How was she feeling?

Was William taking good care of her?

Was she anxious over the prospect of giving birth?

Did she think of Darius?

He flattered himself she did, as her obvious pleasure in their two chance encounters suggested, but this was not a good thing at all for several reasons.

Having had hours to ponder his dealings with Blanche Cowell, Darius concluded he’d tactically erred, and this could eventually devolve to Vivian’s detriment.

Lucy Templeton would be on notice now that Darius was abandoning the kennel where she’d tried to tie him. She’d have time to plan her countermoves, which meant the element of surprise was on her side. Stupid of him, but he’d been so damned tired lately…

He fell into restless slumber then, and dreamed of Vivian making snow angels with John while Wags sat on the fence, licking his paws.