Chapter 21

The grand chandeliers of Haverly House cast a golden glow over the masquerade ball as Lady Vivienne glided through the crowd. Her face was hidden behind an ornate ivory mask trimmed with pearls, matching the elegant cream silk of her gown. In her hand she held a delicate fan, which she fluttered not just to combat the heat of the ballroom, but to conceal the keen glint in her eyes. Tonight she was not merely a charming young widow at play; she was a hunter in disguise.

Vivienne's heart thrummed with a mix of excitement and nerves. Scattered across the ballroom were figures who might hold the keys to the conspiracy she and her ally sought to unravel. A laughter here, a whispered comment there—every detail could be significant. With practiced poise, she laughed lightly at a joke from an acquaintance, all while scanning the room for the contact who had promised vital information about her husband's mysterious death and the traitor lurking in their midst.

At the edge of the dance floor, her gaze snagged on a tall figure clad in a midnight-blue tailcoat and a black half-mask. The Duke of Rockford, she realized with a jolt as he inclined his head to speak to a nearby lord. Even masked, Lucien Hawke's commanding presence was unmistakable—the proud set of his shoulders and the easy elegance of his movements marked him as nobility of the highest order. Vivienne watched from behind her fan as the Duke's eyes roamed the crowd, sharp and assessing. When his gaze passed over her, she felt an unexpected shiver course down her spine.

She had heard of Lucien, Duke of Rockford—a powerful, influential man with the ear of ministers and the reputation of a consummate gentleman. His charcoal-colored hair was tied in a neat queue, and what little of his face was visible below the mask revealed a strong jaw and a confident smirk. Vivienne could not afford to be distracted, but it was difficult to ignore the way his presence seemed to subtly charge the atmosphere.

A string quartet struck up a lively waltz, and couples began to swirl across the marble floor. Vivienne took a step back, intending to slip toward the shadowy colonnade—her rendezvous point with a crucial informant—when she found her path suddenly blocked. The Duke of Rockford stood before her, bowing elegantly. Up close, his eyes behind the mask were a piercing grey-blue, catching the light as he regarded her with intrigue.

"My lady in pearls," he said in a smooth, low baritone, "would you honor me with this dance?" His gloved hand extended toward her.

For a heartbeat Vivienne hesitated. She had planned to remain unobtrusive tonight. But refusing a duke's invitation to dance could draw more attention than accepting it. Schooling her features into a demure smile, Vivienne dipped into a graceful curtsey.

"The honor is mine, Your Grace," she replied, allowing him to take her hand.

As Lucien guided her onto the dance floor, Vivienne's pulse quickened—partly from the thrill of proximity to a man who exuded such power, and partly from the knowledge that every minute spent dancing was a minute away from her covert mission. The Duke's hand settled respectfully at her waist, but the heat of his touch seemed to burn through the layers of silk and corset boning. Vivienne lifted her chin and met his gaze as they began to waltz.

They moved in perfect sync, gliding amidst the other masked dancers. "You move with such grace," the Duke murmured, his voice meant for her ears alone. "Have we met before? I feel I would surely remember such poise...and such lovely eyes." He held her a fraction closer as they turned, the skirts of her gown brushing against his polished boots.

Vivienne's lips curved coyly beneath her mask. She kept her tone light, even playful. "At a masquerade, who can say, Your Grace? Identities are the very point of the evening's mystery."

He chuckled, a deep, pleasant sound. "Touché, my lady. Then allow me to remain enchanted by the mystery a while longer." As he spun her expertly, Vivienne caught a glimpse over his shoulder of a footman with a distinctive red feather in his cap—a sign she'd arranged with her contact. The footman slipped through a side door leading toward the gardens.

Her heart skipped. The message was clear: the informant awaited her now. Vivienne knew she needed to conclude this dance. But the Duke's hand was firm at her back, his presence magnetic.

She took a breath, the scent of his subtle cologne—spice and cedar—wrapping around her. "You dance wonderfully, Your Grace, but I fear I must rest for a moment," she said softly. "The heat..." She let her fan flutter, feigning a faintness she did not feel.

At once, Lucien slowed their waltz, concern flickering in his eyes. "Of course," he said, guiding her out of the path of the dancing couples. They glided to a stop near a marble pillar. "Shall I fetch you some refreshment? A glass of lemonade, perhaps?"

Vivienne offered a grateful smile. "You are most kind. Perhaps just a moment of air on the terrace..."

The Duke released her hand reluctantly. "As you wish. I hope to claim another dance later, if you're recovered." He bowed over her hand, his lips grazing her gloved knuckles in a gesture that sent an unexpected warmth blooming through her.

"I shall look forward to it," she managed to reply. With one last searching glance, Lucien strode off toward the refreshment table, presumably to give her a moment to recover.

Vivienne immediately swept out through the open French doors to the lantern-lit gardens beyond. Cool night air caressed her flushed cheeks. She stepped into the shadows of a clipped topiary, her senses alert. Before long, a man in a footman's livery—complete with the red feather signal—emerged from behind a rose arbor.

"My lady, you came," the "footman" whispered. He lifted his tricorn hat, revealing the face of Mr. Albert Greene, a clerk from the War Office who had risked much to feed her information.

Vivienne nodded briskly. "You have something for me?" From beneath her fan, she pressed a small folded banknote into his hand—payment and incentive.

Greene swallowed nervously and passed her a sealed envelope. "As promised. It's all I could gather on short notice. There are whispers that the...the man you seek will be at the docks two nights hence. Midnight." His eyes darted around them. "And something else—the word 'Nightshade' was mentioned. I don't know what it means, but it sounded like a codename."

Vivienne's stomach tightened. Nightshade. Was it the name of the traitor or the operation? She quickly tucked the envelope into a hidden pocket sewn into the folds of her gown's skirt.

"You've done well," she murmured. "Stay safe, Greene. Keep your head down until I contact you again."

The man nodded and hurried away, disappearing into the night as stealthily as he'd come.

Vivienne exhaled, allowing herself one moment to steady her racing heart. The docks at midnight, two days from now—and 'Nightshade.' At last, a tangible lead. Perhaps the very clue that could uncover who was responsible for her husband's death and the web of treason threatening the Crown.

Stepping back toward the ballroom, Vivienne was about to re-enter when a figure materialized from the doorway—a tall man in a simple black domino mask and a plain black cloak, effectively anonymous. But she recognized the shape of him, the confident way he held himself. Julian.

Relief and a spark of warmth flooded through her. Julian Westley had also come in disguise, as planned. Though not of noble blood, he moved with quiet authority earned on battlefields and in shadowy back rooms of intrigue. As an ex-captain turned covert agent, Julian was her partner in this dangerous game—and far more than that, he was her lover, bound to her by shared secrets and stolen moments.

Vivienne inclined her head, a subtle signal. In the masquerade, they were strangers, but alone here she could whisper, "I have it." She tapped the pocket with the envelope.

Julian's eyes gleamed behind his mask. "Good. Let's get you out of here," he murmured, voice low. "Before that Duke returns to claim another dance and wonders where you slipped off to."

Vivienne smirked. "Jealous, are we?" she teased under her breath as they walked side by side through a darkened corridor away from the main hall.

Julian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Careful, love. Rockford is a dangerous man to toy with."

There was an edge to his tone that made Vivienne glance up at him sharply. Did Julian know something more of the Duke? But this was neither the time nor place to delve into that. The halls were not entirely empty; masked guests wandered in search of trysts or a quiet moment, and liveried servants passed by carrying trays of champagne.

They kept their silence until they reached the front entry hall of Haverly House. Vivienne retrieved her velvet cloak from a waiting footman. Julian, still playing the anonymous escort, led her out to the line of carriages waiting beyond the grand steps.

Within minutes they were seated together in Vivienne's carriage as it pulled away into the night. Only then, behind the privacy of drawn curtains, did she truly exhale.

Julian removed his domino mask, revealing the striking features she had come to cherish—the sharp cheekbones, the unruly lock of chestnut hair falling over his forehead, the intense hazel eyes now fixed on her. "What happened back there?" he asked quietly. "I saw Rockford monopolize you on the dance floor. Did he—"

"Only a dance," Vivienne interjected, reaching to rest her hand on Julian's forearm. "I'm fine. He was...courteous." She hesitated, then added with a tiny smile, "And a skilled dancer, admittedly."

Julian made a low sound that might have been a growl. He leaned forward, shadows playing across his face in the swaying lamplight of the carriage interior. "I didn't like the way he was looking at you." His voice was rougher now, more personal. "Like a wolf eyeing a prize."

Vivienne's breath caught. She had sensed that spark in the Duke's eyes too—admiration, curiosity...desire. But it paled against the devotion she saw now in Julian's gaze, unmasked and ardent.

"Are you truly jealous of a mere dance, Julian?" she whispered, moving closer on the padded leather seat. The carriage rattled over a cobblestone, jostling them together. Her shoulder brushed his, and even that slight contact sent her pulse racing anew.

Julian's hand found her cheek, gloved fingers grazing along the ribbons of her mask. "Perhaps I am," he admitted, his thumb stroking just below her bottom lip. "Seeing you in another man's arms...even for a waltz..." He didn't finish, but the tension in his jaw and the darkness flaring in his eyes spoke volumes.

Vivienne felt heat rising within her, an intoxicating mix of power and tenderness. She had never seen Julian possessive before; it stirred something primal in her. Carefully, she lifted her hands and untied the silk ribbons at the back of her head, removing her mask and letting it drop between them. She wanted him to see her face, to know that she was truly here with him.

"It was only part of the cover," she said softly. "You know that. You're the one I trust, Julian. The one I—" She stopped herself before the unspoken love left her lips. They both felt it, but in this deadly game they played, even love felt like a dangerous vulnerability.

His eyes searched hers in the dim light. Outside, the night-lamps of London flickered by through the small carriage window, but inside was their own world. "Vivienne..." he murmured.

She closed the small gap between them, pressing her mouth to his. Her eyes slid shut at the relief of that kiss—no more need for pretense or caution, just Julian's familiar taste and the warmth of his lips claiming hers.

He responded instantly. The gentleness of his initial kiss gave way to hunger. Julian cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling in the elegant coils of her upswept hair. With a swift tug, he pulled free a few pins; dark auburn curls tumbled down around her shoulders. Vivienne gasped against his mouth as he did so, the slight sting on her scalp only feeding the fire inside her.

The carriage rolled over another bump in the road and Julian used the motion to press forward. In one fluid move, he guided Vivienne backwards onto the seat cushions. She yielded, lying back as he loomed over her, one knee sliding between her skirts. The heavy folds of her silk gown rucked up around her legs as she shifted to accommodate his solid weight between her thighs.

"We shouldn't...not here..." Vivienne managed to whisper even as she clung to the lapels of his coat. The rational part of her mind knew the risk—they were in public, just a thin carriage wall separating them from the driver and the night beyond. At any stop or jolt, a shout from outside could bring interruption. Scandal. Ruin.

But Julian's lips were insistent on her throat now, finding the sensitive spot below her ear that made her senses swim. "Every minute tonight I had to pretend not to know you," he rasped against her skin. "Watching other men buzz around you... watching him touch you... Vivienne, you drive me mad." His hand moved to her bodice, deftly plucking at the pearl buttons along the front. One by one, he loosened them, the fabric parting to reveal the creamy swells of her breasts above her corset.

Vivienne inhaled sharply as his fingers traced the edge of that lace-trimmed corset. The friction of his gloved fingertip along the tops of her tender flesh drew a whimper from her lips. "Julian...someone will hear," she pleaded weakly, even while arching into his touch.

Julian paused, eyes blazing as he looked down at her. "Then you'll have to be quiet, my love," he murmured, a wicked hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Can you do that?"

Before she could answer, he leaned in and captured one of her exposed nipples in his mouth, suckling her through the thin fabric of her corset chemise. Vivienne clapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle the cry of pleasure that threatened to escape. A wave of heat shot straight from her breast to the ache building between her legs.

The carriage lantern swung, casting erotic shadows as Julian continued his assault of kisses downward. Impatiently, he tugged the corset's neckline lower, freeing one breast completely. In the dim light, her rose-colored nipple pebbled in the cool air before Julian's hot mouth sealed over it. He laved and gently bit, sending electric shivers across her skin.

Vivienne bit her knuckle to keep from moaning aloud. Her free hand clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles beneath his coat. Each suckle sent her hips rolling upwards instinctively, seeking more contact. Her silken skirts slid higher, baring her stocking-clad calves and the garters above.

Julian growled softly, releasing her nipple with a wet pop. "Lift your skirts," he ordered huskily.

She obeyed without thinking, gathering the heavy silk and crinoline in trembling hands and drawing them up to her hips. The cool night air inside the carriage brushed her newly exposed thighs. She felt wanton and bare, the thin lawn of her drawers scarcely covering the damp heat between her legs.

Through half-lidded eyes, she watched Julian kneel on the carriage floor between her parted legs. He pushed her skirts up further, draping them over his shoulders to keep them out of the way—a curtain of silk hiding his head and torso from view. Vivienne's heart pounded; she could hardly believe they were doing this, here in the dark on a London street.

She felt his hands travel up her stocking-covered calves to her knees, then higher to her bare thighs. His touch was possessive, almost reverent. When his fingers reached the ribbon ties of her drawers, he paused. "You are so beautiful like this," came his voice from beneath the silk canopy of her gown, rough with desire.

Vivienne's cheeks burned, not with shame but with longing. "Please...Julian..." she whispered urgently. The suspense was unbearable.

Taking pity on her, Julian tugged at her undergarment ties. The knot came loose, and a moment later she felt the delicate fabric of her drawers being peeled down. The night air kissed the moist, swollen petals of her sex, making her shiver. She lifted her hips to help him slide the garment off one leg, and then he shifted her thighs further apart.

A feather-light kiss pressed against the sensitive skin of her inner knee. Then another, higher. Julian's lips trailed along her thigh, igniting a trail of fire. Vivienne clenched her teeth, desperately holding back a moan as his mouth at last found the tender apex of her thighs.

He kissed her there with aching slowness, lips and tongue teasing her most intimate place. Vivienne's head fell back against the plush seat. Pleasure flooded her veins. She clutched the skirts around Julian's head, her whole body trembling each time his tongue stroked over her aching nub or delved into her core.

The rhythm of the carriage wheels seemed to echo the pounding of her heart. The danger of it—being pleasured so explicitly with only a wall separating them from the outside world—only heightened her sensations. Her free hand flew to her mouth again as a whimper escaped when Julian sucked gently on her sensitive pearl, sending a shock of ecstasy through her.

"Quiet," Julian murmured against her folds, his breath hot. He slid one strong hand up to cover her mouth for her, two of his fingers pushing between her lips—an intimate gesture to silence her, which paradoxically made her even hotter. She sucked on his fingers instinctively, biting down as another wave of pleasure rocked her from his relentless tongue.

Vivienne writhed, liquid heat coiling low in her belly. She was close—so close. Sensing it, Julian increased his pace, lapping at her with firm, precise strokes that drove her higher and higher. Her muffled cries vibrated against his palm as her thighs quivered around his head.

With a final flick over that exquisitely sensitive bud, Vivienne shattered. Pleasure crashed over her in a tidal wave. She arched off the seat, a sob of ecstasy trapped behind Julian's hand as her climax pulsed through her. Julian moaned against her flesh, drinking in every spasm, his tongue gentling but not stopping until she rode out every last ripple of bliss.

She went limp, barely aware of Julian withdrawing his hand from her mouth and shifting upwards. Her skirts fell back down around her legs, though her bodice was still scandalously askew. Before she could catch her breath, Julian's mouth covered hers once more. She tasted herself on his lips—musky and sweet—and it made her kiss him back with renewed hunger.

Julian fumbled between them, and Vivienne heard the telltale sound of his breeches' buttons being undone. Her body, still humming from release, responded instantly. She reached down and her fingers found his rigid length, hot and silken in her grasp. Julian hissed a curse at her bold touch.

"I need you," he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. In the dark, his eyes burned. "God, Vivienne, I need to be inside you."

Her answer was to guide the broad tip of his arousal to her still-throbbing entrance. The carriage jostled again, and with one fluid motion Julian sank into her, filling her completely. Both of them gasped—Vivienne at the delicious stretch and Julian at the tight heat enveloping him.

For a moment they stayed utterly still, joined in the most intimate way while the carriage wheels clattered along. Vivienne wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close as he began to move within her. Each slow withdrawal and careful thrust made them both tremble. He tried to be gentle, but their position in the cramped carriage forced him deeper, harder. It sent sparks skittering through Vivienne's oversensitive nerves.

She clung to him, muffling her cries against his shoulder. His pace quickened, control fraying. Quiet grunts escaped Julian's throat with each plunge. The carriage rocked with their coupling, springs squeaking faintly in the silence of the night.

Vivienne's nails raked through his hair as another crest of pleasure built inside her. It was madness to do this here—but it was a madness she never wanted to end. Julian's breath was hot against her neck as he drove into her faster. "Yes...just like that..." she panted softly, encouragement that spurred him on.

His hand slid between their joined bodies and found her tender nub once more. The added sensation made Vivienne bite down on his shoulder to stifle a scream. Stars danced behind her closed eyelids as a second, even fiercer climax tore through her. Her walls clenched hard around Julian's shaft, milking him.

With a strangled groan, Julian followed her over the edge. She felt the hot rush of his release spill deep inside her, claiming her in the most primal way. He thrust shallowly, riding the wave until at last he collapsed against her, both of them shaking and breathless.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the rhythmic clop of the horses pulling them onward. Vivienne could hardly believe what they had just done. She buried her face in the crook of Julian's neck, inhaling the comforting mix of his sweat and cologne. He was still inside her, their bodies joined in a warm, slick aftermath that felt both sinful and sacred.

Eventually, Julian stirred. With a gentle kiss to her temple, he pulled back enough to gaze at her. In the low light, his eyes shone with tenderness and concern. "Are you alright?" he whispered, brushing a damp curl from her cheek.

Vivienne gave a languid, satisfied smile. "Better than alright," she replied softly. She shifted, wincing slightly at the sensitivity between her thighs as he carefully withdrew and fastened his breeches again.

Julian helped her sit up and began straightening her clothing with careful hands. He lifted her loosened corset and chemise back over her breasts, fingers lingering just a moment on the swell of her bosom as if loath to cover them. Vivienne sighed and guided his hand to tie the laces on her bodice that had come undone.

The intimacy of such a simple act warmed her. When her gown was more or less in order and her skirts smoothed back down modestly, Julian placed a final gentle kiss on her lips. "You amaze me," he murmured. "Your courage...the risks you take." There was admiration in his tone, and also a shade of worry.

Vivienne knew what he left unspoken: the fear he held for her safety, especially now with the clues they had gathered pointing towards a dangerous scheme. She rested her forehead against his. "We'll end this," she whispered. "For Edward." Her late husband's name hung between them. They both had loved him—Julian as a friend and comrade, Vivienne as a husband. And they both suspected his death was no random tragedy but a murder tied to treason.

Julian nodded solemnly, his arm coming around her shoulders to hold her close as the carriage turned onto her street. "Two nights from now, at the docks," he said, recalling the message she got. "It could be the break we need. But until then, we must be cautious. And Vivienne...about Rockford—"

She placed two fingers over his lips gently. "Tomorrow. We can discuss everything tomorrow in the light of day." Right now, exhaustion and the afterglow of their passion made her eyelids heavy. There would be time to dissect every risk soon enough.

Julian pressed a kiss to her fingertips in agreement and then helped her don her mask once more just as the carriage rolled to a stop.

Moments later, they arrived at the discreet side entrance of Ravenwood Manor, the stately home that Vivienne kept in town. Julian slipped out first, rearranging his cloak to hide any telltale wrinkles of their tryst. Vivienne followed, chin high, mask back in place, appearing for all the world like a proper lady returning from an evening's entertainment.

The driver doffed his hat, none the wiser, and a sleepy footman opened the door. Julian melted into the darkness with a final parting squeeze of Vivienne's hand—a silent promise of both protection and affection.

As Vivienne stepped inside her quiet home, she allowed herself one last secret smile. The night had yielded precious information and dangerously sweet pleasures. But as much as her body hummed with satisfaction, her mind was already racing ahead.

The game was growing more complex. A powerful new player—Duke Lucien—had entered her sphere, stirring feelings of intrigue and a disquieting attraction. And in two nights, the rendezvous at the docks could bring answers...or deadly peril.

Vivienne extinguished the bedside lamp after her maid helped remove her corset and gown. Slipping into her bed, she clenched the tiny envelope of intel in her hand beneath the pillow. In the darkness, Lady Vivienne vowed to herself that she would see this mission through—no matter the danger, no matter the cost. Little did she know how high that cost would soon become.