Chapter 15
In both the general and specific sense, Viveca wasn’t much for haut ton parties.
Mostly, she saw them as a waste of time, for the party wasn’t merely the party. It was the hours spent choosing a dress and styling one’s hair and generally readying oneself.
It could literally take over one’s entire day.
For example, if one attended five parties in one week, that was five days of the week gone with nothing more than sore feet and an aching head to show for them.
And Viveca didn’t have time for such nonsense.
Simply, there was life before the ton; and life in the ton.
For the majority of her years on earth—until the last two years of them, in fact—she’d been a mere Miss.
She hadn’t attended parties, society or otherwise.
Neither had Saskia. And Gabriel and Tessa had been spending all their combined waking hours educating and establishing themselves and their business.
The Siren household had been a serious-minded one.
Now, they were aristocrats, and life had a different meter to it.
She must occasionally accept the odd invitation.
But one small blessing was, as the sister of a duke, she could be choosy, and a musicale at the lovely Primrose Park estate of Mr. and Mrs. Blake Deverill was an invitation one would naturally accept.
The hospitality was easy and generous, the air light and clean, a far cry from the annual summer stench presently invading London.
However, the one thing that was still difficult for her to accept as she stood making small conversation with a group of lords and ladies—even after two years—was how very observed she felt in society.
Observed for being the sister of a duke.
Observed for being young and rich—marriageable.
Observed for having once been a mere Miss.
Observed for operating a circulating library with her sister.
Observed for charting her own path beyond tolerated aristocratic eccentricity.
Observed for daring to be different.
The ton didn’t and couldn’t understand it, so they kept observing.
A male figure with an easy smile joined the group and instantly became its center. Such was the effect of Liam Cassidy, the winningest jockey of the season. He was quite handsome and quite famous—and his smile said he knew all this. Rather than being off-putting, it was charming…charismatic.
Viveca turned to Saskia and whispered in her ear, “What do you think of Liam Cassidy?”
Her sister turned surprised eyes onto her. “I don’t think of Liam Cassidy.”
A note in Saskia’s voice hit Viveca just…wrong. It was there in the don’t. It sounded strangely defensive.
But then, Saskia could be that way.
One got used to it.
“I have an idea,” said Viveca.
“What sort of idea?” Saskia’s tone had turned suspicious.
“You’ll see.”
Over the next five minutes, Viveca proceeded to secure a commitment from Liam Cassidy for Sirens to publish his memoir in three years’ time.
And like that, she’d found a use for a ton party.
She could manage them to the advantage of Sirens.
Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner?
Now, if only she could find a way to get into a party with Lady Caroline Lamb and ask her to publish her novels with Sirens. They practically sold themselves, given their author’s penchant for scandal and notoriety.
Movement caught the edge of her eye.
Well, not movement, precisely, for this was a party and there was movement all around.
But this movement was different.
It possessed an inherent familiarity.
No other body she’d ever encountered moved like this one.
Her gaze shifted and met it directly.
Blaze.
Oh, what a figure he cut in his evening blacks.
One could mistake him for the picture of nobility, except for one telling detail—the diamond in his left ear the size of a large pebble.
But her gaze had no interest in lingering on his ear.
Instead, it moved a few inches to the right—to his mouth.
She touched light fingertips to her own mouth.
The kiss from three nights ago.
So unexpected…so wanted.
Her lips still tingled from its ferocity.
It wasn’t reflex that had her mouth curving into a smile, but a joyous feeling as a fact fully struck her—Blaze…here.
It hadn’t occurred to her in the slightest that he would be.
Of a sudden, all she wanted in the entire world was to get away from everyone at once and get him alone.
Before she could act on the impulse, he turned on his heel.
Her eyebrows crashed together in confusion. Was he…walking away?
For there had been no invitation in his eyes or cheeky jut of the chin inviting her to follow.
Then something strange occurred.
Lady Beatrix and he became engaged in conversation.
Well, that wasn’t the strange part. This was her party; she could engage in conversation with whomever she pleased.
What was strange was the way her hand reached for his arm as they spoke…the way they met eyes and leaned into each other as if in conspiratorial conference…
Their familiarity.
One might even call it over familiarity.
Then they were exiting the ballroom and walking down a corridor before disappearing into a room together.
Together.
And it struck Viveca like a boulder to the head—Blaze and Lady Beatrix were…involved.
Viveca had taken a heedless step forward—what was she thinking to do?
Catch them in the act?—when a staying hand wrapped around her upper arm.
She turned to find Saskia regarding her in the serious way of a Siren—in her heart, she would always be a Siren—and understood she was about to be on the receiving end of a talking to as Saskia guided them into a quiet alcove.
Viveca would try not to think about the fact that this alcove offered an unobstructed view of the corridor and door Blaze had disappeared through.
She met her sister’s narrowed eyes. Had Saskia noticed the object of Viveca’s attention? If so, then Viveca had no doubt her sister would have opinions. Best to pull the bandage off in one go… “If this is about—”
“Are you serious?” asked—demanded—Saskia.
“Seriousness is one of my defining traits, yes,” said Viveca, slowly. An inelegant buying of time, to be sure, but she couldn’t talk about Blaze just now—or ever.
Saskia all but roared with exasperation. “Are you serious about publishing a book with Liam Cassidy?”
Viveca blinked, confused, but mostly—blessedly—relieved. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Saskia’s exasperation appeared to know no bounds as she exhaled a blustery huff.
“Is there something untoward I should know about him?”
“He’s not a serious person.”
“Does he need to be?” Viveca was finding it difficult to gain her footing in this conversation for the simple reason it wasn’t the conversation she’d thought she would be having. “When you think about it,” she continued, “the most popular people in society are the least serious.”
“So you’re set on it?”
“Saskia, a hundred copies of Liam Cassidy’s memoir will sell in the first week.” How did Saskia not see it? “We’ll make a quick fortune.”
Her sister heaved another sigh—this one of resignation.
Viveca tried to soften the blow. “Doesn’t one need to take chances in publishing and be daring?”
“I suppose,” grumbled her sister.
“Oh!” A sudden thought struck Viveca about an altogether different book. “Has Miss LaPlume replied with the title for her novel?”
“She’s still thinking.”
Viveca followed the thought that had struck… “I might’ve thought of a title.”
Saskia looked suddenly wary. “What is it?”
“You know how at the end of the book it’s Miss Channing who has to be daring and declare her love to Mr. Neal to have her happy ending?”
“Yes?”
“Then what do you think of…” Viveca spread her hands wide, as if to underline her next words. “When a Lady Dares.”
A beat of silence loped past, and Viveca’s breath held. Then Saskia began nodding, slowly, even as her mind clearly raced.
Viveca marched into the breach, determined to lose no ground. “It might provoke thought and curiosity in the minds of the book’s potential readers.” She liked the title better with each passing second. “Doesn’t every woman dream of being daring at least once in her life?”
Saskia’s eyes lifted, their blue depths sparking with inspiration. “It’s perfect. When a Lady Dares. That’s the title.”
Viveca laughed. “Don’t we need to consult with Miss LaPlume? It is her book, after all.”
Saskia didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure she will agree.”
Viveca opened her mouth to ask how Saskia could be so sure when the door Blaze and Lady Beatrix had disappeared through opened and out strode Blaze. But instead of returning to the ballroom, he turned in the other direction, and the next thing Viveca knew he was exiting through the exterior door.
Though she willed him to look back and meet her gaze, he didn’t.
It took only a moment for her mind to catch up with what her eyes had just witnessed.
Blaze was leaving.
No, no, no.
Not until he and she exchanged a few pertinent words.
Her feet were on the move before she could give it a speck of thought.
“Viveca?” she heard Saskia call out to her back. “Where are you going? We weren’t finished talking.”
“I have a sudden need for the bourdaloue,” she tossed over her shoulder.
As sudden toilet needs tended not to inspire curiosity, Saskia didn’t follow.
Outside, Viveca’s gaze cast about for Blaze—with no luck.
Oh.
He was leaving.
He would need his carriage.
A minute later, her feet were crunching across Primrose Park’s broad forecourt, her gaze scanning all the carriages waiting to return their masters and mistresses home to London.
But as she’d ridden in Blaze’s carriage before—on three separate occasions, in fact—she knew it by sight.
Quickly, she located the conveyance with its matched pair of black horses and quickened her step into a dash before Stanley could flap the reins and set it in motion.
Then her hand was on the door handle and she was swinging it open, more than half expecting to be wrong and not find Blaze inside.