Chapter 26

Vivienne pressed her back against the cold stone wall of the corridor, her heart pounding a frantic tempo in her chest. Moonlight filtered through a tall window at the far end, illuminating the edges of a heavy tapestry and pooling on the polished marble floor. She held her breath and listened. Footsteps echoed somewhere around the corner—measured, unhurried steps that could belong only to one man in this household.

Lucien.

Vivienne's gloved fingers tightened around the folded parchment hidden against her bodice. The note had been delivered in secret earlier that evening, slipped under her chamber door when she stepped out briefly. Its contents were now seared into her memory, each word a brand of warning. Someone claimed to know her secret. The elegantly scrawled message had summoned her to a midnight meeting in the abandoned conservatory at the edge of the estate, promising information she desperately needed in exchange for her cooperation—or else.

Her mind raced as Lucien's footsteps drew nearer. She had thought him occupied in his study until the small hours, as was his custom. His unexpected presence here and now set off alarm bells. Had he noticed her absence from her rooms? In either case, being caught wandering the halls at midnight with a clandestine note on her person would raise questions she could not afford to answer.

Swallowing her panic, Vivienne slid away from the wall and into the slant of silvery light cutting across the corridor. Just then, Lucien rounded the corner.

He was a commanding silhouette in the dim hallway, dressed in a midnight-blue dressing gown over his trousers, as if he'd left his chambers in haste. His dark hair was unbound, shadowing his sharp features. Even in near-darkness, his grey eyes fixed on her with keen intensity.

"Vivienne?" Lucien's voice was low and smooth, carrying a note of surprise. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

Vivienne summoned a soft, sheepish smile, hoping it looked convincingly embarrassed. "I—" she let out a breathy little laugh. "I couldn't sleep. The storm…" She gestured vaguely toward the window.

As if on cue, a distant rumble of thunder underscored her words. In truth, she had barely noticed the brewing storm in her earlier hurry, but now she silently thanked the weather for its cover.

Lucien took a step closer, concern etching his brow. "The storm disturbed you?" he asked. His voice was gentle, yet she detected a subtle edge as his gaze flickered to the end of the hallway that led out to the gardens—the direction from which she'd come. Thankfully, the door there was closed, concealing the route she'd taken back from the conservatory.

Vivienne nodded, feigning mild chagrin. "It's silly, I know. I thought a quick walk might settle my nerves."

His features softened slightly. "You should have called for a maid, rather than wander alone in the dark," he chided gently. "These halls can be drafty and disorienting at night."

Before she could respond, a flicker of lightning lit the corridor, and in its flash she saw Lucien's expression clearly—a mix of worry and something more protective. Her racing heart eased just a fraction. If he was merely concerned for her well-being, perhaps he hadn't noticed her absence after all.

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," she said quietly. "Truly, I'm alright. I was just about to return to bed."

Lucien's eyes swept over her, as if confirming she was unharmed. She realized then that she had neglected to don a robe in her haste; beneath the long shawl wrapped around her, she was still in her ivory silk nightdress and slippers. A flush warmed her face at the impropriety, but Lucien didn't seem scandalized. If anything, his gaze lingered appreciatively for the briefest moment at the delicate lace trim visible at her neckline, before he cleared his throat.

"At least allow me to escort you back," he insisted. With gallant care, he slipped off his velvet dressing gown and settled it around her shoulders. "You're chilled."

Vivienne was about to protest that she was fine, but the warmth of the garment and the subtle scent of him clinging to it—smoke and cedar—were a welcome comfort. She pulled it close, acutely aware of the incriminating note tucked between her corset and chemise, now pressed against her racing heart. "Thank you," she murmured.

He offered his arm, which she accepted, and together they began a slow walk toward her wing of the manor. The quiet of midnight enveloped them. Rain pattered against the high windows as the storm moved overhead in earnest.

"I apologize if I startled you," Lucien said after a moment. "Finding you wandering alone… I was concerned something might be amiss."

Vivienne forced a light laugh. "Only a bout of restlessness. Nothing more."

He glanced down at her, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Still, it's quite late. You keep your secrets of sleeplessness well—none of the servants reported seeing you up."

Her stomach flipped—was that a probing remark? She kept her expression mild. "Oh, I've learned how not to wake the whole household when I get antsy at night. It's a talent, I suppose." She tried a teasing tone.

"Useful talent," he conceded, though something in his tone suggested he noted the evasiveness.

They reached her chamber door far too soon for Vivienne's liking. Though she longed to retreat and collect herself, she also dreaded parting from Lucien's calming presence and facing the turmoil of her situation alone again.

Lucien paused, his arm still lightly linked with hers. The lamplight from a sconce down the hall cast partial shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the thoughtful press of his lips. "Vivienne," he began softly, "I hope you know… you can always come to me, for anything. Even if it's just a bad dream keeping you awake."

Caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, Vivienne met his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the quiet intimacy of the dark hall, the storm's rumble, and Lucien's eyes searching hers. He reached up, fingers brushing a stray wisp of her hair back from her forehead. The tender gesture sent an involuntary shiver through her—one he couldn't miss at such proximity.

His hand lingered at the side of her face, warm against her cool skin. Vivienne's breath hitched. Was this truly concern driving him, or something deeper? Either could be dangerous in its own way.

"You're shivering," he murmured.

"Nerves, I think," she whispered back, half-truthfully. It was not a lie that her nerves were taut—though the reasons he assumed were innocent.

Lucien's gaze dipped to her lips then, just briefly, before he caught himself. Gently, almost reluctantly, he let his hand fall away. "Try to get some rest," he said, voice huskier than before. "We have a long day ahead tomorrow."

"Yes… of course," she replied, suddenly remembering that in a few hours they'd resume their daytime roles: she, the devoted companion; he, the cunning duke juggling power plays. Would he look at her differently tomorrow, suspecting anything? She hoped not.

She slipped out of his coat and handed it back to him, the movement breaking the spell between them. "Thank you for this. And for being so kind."

He accepted the garment, fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second. Something unspoken passed between them—an affection that had grown in the past months, genuine on his part perhaps, and not entirely feigned on hers. It pricked her conscience sharply.

"Good night, Vivienne," Lucien said quietly. "Sleep well."

"Good night, Lucien," she replied. Offering one last faint smile, she opened her door and stepped inside her chambers. He waited until she closed it before she heard his footsteps retreating.

The instant she was alone in the darkness, Vivienne released a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her composure crumpled; she pressed her back against the door to steady herself. That had been far too close.

Moving quickly, she lit a single candle on her bedside table. Its feeble glow cast long shadows as she withdrew the hidden parchment from her bodice and also pulled a small gold locket from the pocket of her shawl. The locket—engraved with her family's crest—had been tossed at her feet by the mysterious figure in the conservatory as proof that they knew exactly who she was. Seeing it again in her palm made her stomach twist. She had thought this locket lost years ago along with the life it represented. How had it resurfaced here, in the hands of a stranger?

Vivienne's thoughts flitted to Julian. Could the blackmailer be someone from Julian's network? He had warned her that not everyone in their circle trusted her; perhaps one had gone rogue, seeing an opportunity. Alternatively, was this orchestrated by an enemy of Lucien's, hoping to use her as a pawn? Either option meant she was on perilous ground.

Her fingers trembled as she fed the incriminating note to the candle flame. The parchment caught fire, edges curling black. She dropped it into the fireplace and watched it disintegrate into ash. The evidence of her midnight rendezvous was gone, but the threat remained, very real and closing in.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Vivienne sank onto the edge of her bed. The events of the night replayed in her mind: the cloaked stranger's distorted voice issuing demands, Lucien's nearly tender concern in the hallway, the locket's cold metal biting into her palm.

Her double life had always been a tightrope walk, but tonight she had felt it wobble as never before. One misstep and she would plunge into the abyss—her ambitions in ruins, likely her life forfeited at the hands of one side or the other. The blackmailer had made that much clear.

Lightning flashed, illuminating her determined reflection in the mirror across the room. Vivienne drew a shaky breath and raised her chin. "I will not be undone," she whispered to the empty room, voicing the vow aloud to give it power. However precarious, she would continue this balancing act. Too much was at stake—for Julian, for whatever justice she sought for her family's downfall, and perhaps even for the part of her that had come to care about Lucien despite everything.

Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the windowpanes. Vivienne extinguished the candle and lay down, pulling the covers up to her chin. Sleep would not come easily, but she closed her eyes and tried to calm the whirlwind in her mind.

Tomorrow, she would have to act as though nothing had changed. She would smile for Lucien over breakfast, play the charming confidante, and resume the dangerous game anew. The walls were closing in, but until they crushed her, she would play her role to perfection.

In the darkness, beneath the fading rumble of the storm, Vivienne silently repeated her mantra: I will not be undone. I will survive this night—and the nights to come—until I have secured what I came for. She had no other choice.