Chapter 9
TICHBORNE STREET, LATER
As Viveca entered Blaze Jagger’s drawing room, she decided something was off.
It should’ve felt the same, though.
For it was the same butler with the same professionally neutral tone and bearing who had greeted her at the door. The same odd assortment of furnishings and décor strewn about the townhouse. Even the same low fire burning in the hearth.
But what wasn’t the same was that Blaze already occupied the drawing room, and though he stood with an arm propped on the mantle in a stance that should have conveyed the idea of a man at ease with his surroundings, he was clearly a man decidedly and uncharacteristically at unease.
It was there in the set of his mouth and in the stiffness of his bearing.
And Viveca knew why.
Last week…Vauxhall Gardens.
Just as that night had shaken her, it had shaken him, too.
Surprising, that.
Wasn’t Blaze Jagger a man known to be unshakeable?
Stiffly, he inclined his head after the butler left the room. “Lady Viveca.”
“Just Viveca, remember?” she said brightly. Someone had to ease this atmosphere.
He inclined his head again. “Viveca.”
“Blaze.”
The slow progression of seconds that ticked past did nothing to break loose the interminable density in the air.
“How was your week?” he asked, at last.
The question was asked as if he were reading a manual on how to strike up a conversation with a stranger.
All right, then. If that was the way it had to be, she would play along. “I had a good week.”
She would leave out the part about the lack of sleep and the cucumber slices Mrs. Dunlevy had insisted she put over her eyes to draw out the puffiness.
She knew little about the private relationships between men and women, but she decided here and now to be the sort of woman who kept a few things to herself—like cucumber slices over puffy eyes.
He nodded.
As Sirens took up most of her waking hours, she continued with news that would be mundane to most but was thrilling to her. “We had twenty-three new subscribers join in the last three days.” It had been a superb week from that standpoint. As Blaze only nodded—again—she asked, “And your week?”
He shrugged. “Same old usual.”
“Ah.” She supposed even rogues got bored.
“Actually,” he said, and Viveca detected a welcome relenting in his tone. “Had my monthly meeting with the Duke of Acaster and the Marchioness of Ormonde this afternoon.”
It took the split of a second for the import of the names to register. “Oh,” she said, “Gabriel and Tessa.”
The aristocratic titles her family had acquired two years ago could still take her by surprise.
Blaze nodded. “Archangel business.”
Viveca hadn’t given it much thought, but she supposed that would be the case—that since Gabriel, Tessa, and Blaze were in business together, of course, they would have meetings.
Gabriel and Tessa wouldn’t be completely silent partners in any undertaking, even if they were in the minority position.
“Are my brother and sister pleasant to work with?”
“I never had partners in my line of work,” he said after a moment’s thought. “So, I don’t have anyone to compare them to, but I can’t imagine better.”
Viveca liked hearing that about Gabriel and Tessa, for the admiration in Blaze’s voice matched her own.
Her eye caught upon a small objet d’art on the mantle—a bronze statuette.
“Oh, how lovely.” Instinctively, she reached for the statuette.
It was of a boy riding a horse, bent low over the animal’s flying mane, his face animated with joy and determination, the animal in full, extended stride, elegantly conveying the idea of speed and motion. “How exquisitely rendered it is.”
“The fellow I got it off said it was based on a full-sized statue in Greece that’s around three thousand years old.”
Viveca felt her brow reach for the ceiling, even as she was reminded of her observation from last week. When Blaze Jagger saw something he liked, he made it his own, by hook or crook. “See here—” She extended the statuette toward him, and the most extraordinary thing happened.
Instead of leaning in to see what she wished to show him, he stepped back.
What was happening here?
Was he…?
She moved forward another step to test the idea that was taking shape in her mind.
He moved backward another step.
Of a sudden, it all made sense to her—the tone of formality…the wariness in his eyes…
Blaze was keeping his distance.
Which was only the same vow she’d made to herself tonight after a very stern self-talking to.
Really, she should feel grateful.
Instead, all she felt was a stab of disappointment.
Self-defeating disappointment.
For he wasn’t only doing what she’d vowed herself to do.
He was succeeding.
Had she only been lying to herself and, in truth, had no true intention of staying away from him?
A thought for the surely sleepless night ahead of her.
She replaced the statuette on the mantle. “Shall we begin tonight’s lesson?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, that was relief flashing behind his eyes as he said, “The night isn’t getting any younger—and neither are we,” and gestured toward the table they’d used last week.
The chair she’d lugged to his side had been returned to its rightful place opposite.
Again, she should feel relief.
Yet all she felt was irked as she lowered into her seat.
Blaze opened his primer and immediately flipped to the grid she’d drawn inside the back cover, getting directly to the lesson. He moved his finger along as he sounded out the letters and pairings of consonants and vowels.
Viveca listened, stunned.
Of course, she remembered learning to read as a child, but at the same time, she’d taken to the written word so naturally that she’d also felt like she’d always known how to read, deep in her cells, and instruction had only been the key to unlocking the door inside her.
Blaze was the same.
With his love for words, she shouldn’t have been surprised.
Still, she couldn’t help herself when she said, “My goodness, Blaze, but you’ve a fiercely intelligent mind, haven’t you?”
His gaze startled up and met hers, and for the first time tonight, she was staring into the eyes of the Blaze she knew.
A smile cocked at the side of his mouth. “Flattery will get you everywhere, milady.”
Relief struck through her.
Something else, too.
Something that tended to get carried away around him and was better left tamped down.
As if she could.
“You have progressed into the next primer,” she said, reaching into her satchel and only realizing when she peered inside that she’d, instead, brought Miss LaPlume’s manuscript. “Oh.”
She’d spent the entire day with it and had already read through once, for she was a fast reader, particularly when it came to novels. It was the medieval religious texts that could be a tough slog.
Blaze’s head cocked to the side. “What is it?”
“I brought the wrong book.”
“Well, you brought something, didn’t you?”
“It’s a manuscript.”
“A manuscript?”
“What a book is before it becomes a book.”
“Explain.”
She lifted the manuscript from the satchel and set it on the table between them. It landed with a heavy thud. “This is what a book looks like before it becomes a book.”
“A loose stack of papers?”
“Indeed,” she said. “And this one was submitted to Sirens’ publishing house.”
Blaze nodded. “Tessa mentioned you were ambitious.”
“I am,” said Viveca, “and so is Saskia. But I’ve learned that publishing is about more than ambition.” She shook her head, bemused. “It has to be.”
“Why is that?”
“Because we’ve discovered that it’s not so easy to have a book become a roaring success. So, publishing has to be a passion. One has to enjoy the process.” She shrugged. “And I’ve learned that I do.”
“So, you haven’t had a big triumph on the publishing side yet?”
He would’ve picked up on that, wouldn’t he?
She tapped the cover page. “But this book will change our fortunes.”
“That good?”
“It is.”
“Let’s read it, then,” he said, reaching for the manuscript. “I can’t read about any more cats, dogs, or pails of water.”
Viveca found herself also reaching for the manuscript—to return it to her satchel. “It’s rather advanced for your reading level.”
The truth was, she didn’t think she could read this book with Blaze.
It was lovely and well-written, yes, but it was also emotional and deeply interior.
His head cocked to the side. “What sort of book is it, anyway?”
“A romance,” she said without an ounce of apology or shame.
Straight dark eyebrows crinkled together. “Romance?”
“Romance.” She added, “You wouldn’t be interested.”
Though she’d never been on the field of battle, if she wasn’t very mistaken, a combative light had entered his eyes.
It was her objection that was piquing his interest and making him dig in for the fight.
That objection had been her mistake, she understood—too late.
And now she would have to pay the price and read a romance with Blaze Jagger.
Lady Viveca was uncomfortable.
That was obvious.
And if he were a gent, he would give over and let her off the hook.
But the thing was he had her on the hook, and he couldn’t remember a time in his life he’d ever let anyone off the hook once he had them there.
This lady had made him squirm aplenty in the short time they’d known each other.
Now, it was her turn.
Turnabout being fair play and all that.
He rocked back in his chair, the front two feet coming off the floor, and laced his fingers behind his head. “Here I thought you would be publishing philosophy or boring plays about shaggy old Greek hermits living in caves.”
“Shaggy old Greek hermits living in caves?”
“You take my meaning.” He smiled, unable to resist riling her. “Something serious.”
A thundercloud formed on her brow, and his smile widened. “Love is serious, Mr. Jagger.”
Well, well, well.
It was that serious.
She was calling him Mr. Jagger.
He snorted.
“People risk everything for love.” Umbrage shimmered about her, lit her eyes on fire. “What could be higher stakes in a person’s life than love?”
“If you say so.”