would pay for missing.
But at that moment, sitting in his carriage across from Vivien, heading to one of his favorite escapes in London, he did not care. All the questions and frustration he would surely encounter tomorrow were worth it.
Vivien tucked a stray lock of blonde hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. As her bright blue eyes darted from one part of the carriage to the next, he saw her pale with recognition.
“It’s been a long time since you rode in this rig,” he drawled.
She nodded, lifting her fingers to trace the fine leather seat beside her, then the shining mahogany wood trim near the window. “Yes,” she admitted. “I am surprised you still have it, let alone still drive it.”
Benedict pursed his lips. He had kept the thing for…well, a great many reasons. But he hadn’t taken it out for years, not until the night they last made love. Then suddenly he wanted to use this carriage.
“I keep it for its sentimental value,” he said, his voice harder. “It was the last place we made love before you ended our previous affair.”
She jerked her gaze to his and when he held it unflinchingly, she looked away. An uncommon blush darkened her cheeks. “But I suppose it is not the last place we made love anymore.”
He tilted his head. “I suppose not. Do you think I should sell it, then?”
She didn’t look at him. “It is hopelessly out of date. Why keep something like this just to cling to the past?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Vivien. I ask myself that about a great many things. And yet I keep them.”
She glanced up and he could see how uncomfortable this conversation made her. Good. He had spent years feeling uncomfortable, angry, sad, broken…a great many unpleasant things. Let her have her share in them too.
“Living in the past isn’t right. It keeps us from our future,” she said softly.
Now it was his turn to shift with discomfort. They had turned from the benign topic of a carriage long ago and now that they were dancing around something deeper, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. In truth, Vivien had never allowed him to see much past her exterior. When he had, it had taken a great deal of work.
And why bother to do all that work when he knew in the end he still would not have what he desired most?
“Wise advice,” he said and turned to look out the window.
To his great relief, the large façade of Montagu House rose up before him, signaling the end to the carriage ride. As the driver stopped, Benedict said, “The Montagu family sold this place to the Crown for twenty thousand pounds over fifty years ago as a location for the museum.”
Vivien looked out as the door was opened by the footman. “It must have been nice to have an extra London estate just lying about to sell off.”
He laughed with her while she stepped onto the drive and looked up at the pretty former home. It was done in a classic style with vast gardens stretching out on the stroll before the entrance.
“Oh, it is beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve always thought so, every time I’ve driven by.”
“Wait until you are inside,” he said, stepping out onto the drive beside her. “The wonders within are amazing.”
So often Vivien only displayed what Benedict had always called her “mistress face” around others. It was an expression of false brightness, of distant indulgence used to place herself away from her companion. But now as she practically vibrated with excitement, he felt he was with the real Vivien. That had happened a handful of times during their previous affair, and he had longed for those moments since.
But they had always been brief glimpses into the real woman Vivien was. When she realized she had given too much of herself, she always stepped away. He’d often wondered if that was the real reason they had parted ways: that Vivien feared he was getting too close to her true spirit.
He all but held his breath as he waited for her to force that façade back
But at that moment, sitting in his carriage across from Vivien, heading to one of his favorite escapes in London, he did not care. All the questions and frustration he would surely encounter tomorrow were worth it.
Vivien tucked a stray lock of blonde hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. As her bright blue eyes darted from one part of the carriage to the next, he saw her pale with recognition.
“It’s been a long time since you rode in this rig,” he drawled.
She nodded, lifting her fingers to trace the fine leather seat beside her, then the shining mahogany wood trim near the window. “Yes,” she admitted. “I am surprised you still have it, let alone still drive it.”
Benedict pursed his lips. He had kept the thing for…well, a great many reasons. But he hadn’t taken it out for years, not until the night they last made love. Then suddenly he wanted to use this carriage.
“I keep it for its sentimental value,” he said, his voice harder. “It was the last place we made love before you ended our previous affair.”
She jerked her gaze to his and when he held it unflinchingly, she looked away. An uncommon blush darkened her cheeks. “But I suppose it is not the last place we made love anymore.”
He tilted his head. “I suppose not. Do you think I should sell it, then?”
She didn’t look at him. “It is hopelessly out of date. Why keep something like this just to cling to the past?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Vivien. I ask myself that about a great many things. And yet I keep them.”
She glanced up and he could see how uncomfortable this conversation made her. Good. He had spent years feeling uncomfortable, angry, sad, broken…a great many unpleasant things. Let her have her share in them too.
“Living in the past isn’t right. It keeps us from our future,” she said softly.
Now it was his turn to shift with discomfort. They had turned from the benign topic of a carriage long ago and now that they were dancing around something deeper, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. In truth, Vivien had never allowed him to see much past her exterior. When he had, it had taken a great deal of work.
And why bother to do all that work when he knew in the end he still would not have what he desired most?
“Wise advice,” he said and turned to look out the window.
To his great relief, the large façade of Montagu House rose up before him, signaling the end to the carriage ride. As the driver stopped, Benedict said, “The Montagu family sold this place to the Crown for twenty thousand pounds over fifty years ago as a location for the museum.”
Vivien looked out as the door was opened by the footman. “It must have been nice to have an extra London estate just lying about to sell off.”
He laughed with her while she stepped onto the drive and looked up at the pretty former home. It was done in a classic style with vast gardens stretching out on the stroll before the entrance.
“Oh, it is beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve always thought so, every time I’ve driven by.”
“Wait until you are inside,” he said, stepping out onto the drive beside her. “The wonders within are amazing.”
So often Vivien only displayed what Benedict had always called her “mistress face” around others. It was an expression of false brightness, of distant indulgence used to place herself away from her companion. But now as she practically vibrated with excitement, he felt he was with the real Vivien. That had happened a handful of times during their previous affair, and he had longed for those moments since.
But they had always been brief glimpses into the real woman Vivien was. When she realized she had given too much of herself, she always stepped away. He’d often wondered if that was the real reason they had parted ways: that Vivien feared he was getting too close to her true spirit.
He all but held his breath as he waited for her to force that façade back
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