Her Perfect Match

chapter Six


Vivien turned to the next aisle in Paddington’s Bookshop and breathed in the scent of leather book covers and thick paper pages with a sigh of pleasure. This trip out was just what she needed to forget the past few days’ events.

Since the night they’d made love, Vivien had received no word from Benedict. She hated to admit it, but she found his silence odd. During their affair three years before, she had become accustomed to his habit of sending her a note each day, even if they were not scheduled to meet. In truth, she had kept all the correspondence from him, from the banal to the passionate, in her real chambers, though she hadn’t dared look at them since they had parted.

But this time, he seemed less interested in maintaining a relationship with her. His silence revealed that fact.

It was for the best, of course. She only wished to tie off the loose ends that remained between them, not become his lover again. Certainly, she did not wish to intertwine their lives in any way. Still, it stung when she allowed herself to examine the bare facts of his rejection.

She shook her head and turned her attention back to the books before her. The sixth item on her unfinished business list was to enjoy London and finally she was pursuing that endeavor. There was no use muddying its pleasure by thinking of a man who only confused her.

But dear God, he was all she had thought of since his departure the night of her party. Every time her bell rang, she lurched with anticipation. When she saw a man on the street with his build, she went weak in the knees. She heard his voice in crowds and in her parlors.

Even now she thought she caught the echo of it on the breeze as a new customer entered the shop.

“And a good morning, Mr. Greystone,” the proprietor of the shop called out toward the door in reply to what the voice in her head had said.

Vivien froze. Well, this was certainly a most interesting development to her imaginings, hearing his name on the wind. That or Benedict truly was on the other side of the bookshelves.

She crept to the end of the aisle and glanced around toward the entrance to the street. There, as real as any other person in the shop, was Benedict. He leaned over the wooden countertop beside the door, talking to the shop owner with a nonchalance she hadn’t seen in years.

“So, Paddington, have my orders come in yet?” Benedict asked.

The shopkeeper smiled broadly. “Two of them, yes. The other three did not come in this shipment.”

Benedict’s expression fell a fraction, but then he shrugged. “Ah, well, it only gives me an excuse to peruse your shelves yet another week.”

“I will fetch your selections from the back while you do so, sir.”

“Very good,” Benedict said, then turned on his heel and headed straight for Vivien’s own position in the store. She scurried back into the aisle and clutched her books against her chest. He was coming directly for her and in her panic she had no idea how to handle the situation.

Pretend coolness? Act as if she did not see him? Run for her carriage like a banshee?

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You are being foolish,” she admonished herself in as stern a tone as she would use with a wayward servant.

Thrusting back her shoulders, she moved toward the end of the aisle just as Benedict came around the corner. He was looking at the shelves of books intently and for a moment she was caught up in the sight of him.

His hair was slightly tousled from the windy day and he lifted one strong hand to smooth it as he continued to look at the books. His gray eyes darted from one title to another, entirely focused on what was before him. Sort of like when he had her in bed.

She blinked. He was looking so intently at the books that she could easily slip away without being noticed. But she wasn’t going to do that. If she did, she would surely curse herself for days.

Instead, she moved toward him and cleared her throat to catch his attention. “Benedict, er, Mr. Greystone.”

He lifted his head and slowly turned to look at her. His bright eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth tilted up in a grin she didn’t expect after his avoidance of her.

“Great God, Vivien…Miss Manning. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

She tilted her head. “Nor I you. When I heard your voice, I thought I was dreaming.”

He arched a brow. “Do you often dream of me in bookstores?”

She laughed even though the question was a loaded one. “You must know you are dreamed of by dozens of women. I could not say I wasn’t one of them.”

The smile remained on his face but left his eyes at her response. Abruptly, he returned his attention to the books.

“And what are you doing out and about today?”

She hesitated. She had kept her ultimate goals secret from her best friends. She couldn’t tell Benedict. Especially not Benedict.

“Vivien?” he asked when she pondered the question too long.

“I am enjoying London,” she blurted out, quoting directly from her list. “I fear I do little of that, even though I have lived in the city for nearly a decade.”

He glanced at her, appraising. “A lofty goal—there is much to enjoy. And Paddington’s is as good a place to start as any. Though you must know that, with your love of books.”

Vivien shifted. Despite everything, he did know her well. Better than any other lover she’d ever had. “I have never been before today, actually.”

He swiveled to face her directly, his face a mask of disbelief that made her very uncomfortable. She was accustomed to ruling her own world, but when she left its borders, she was often ill at ease.

“You needn’t look at me like that, Benedict,” she snapped, forgetting propriety in this public sphere. “You must not be as shocked as you pretend. A woman such as myself doesn’t belong in a shop where the Prince himself sometimes buys his books. I have no place in museums and parks and all the places where dignified people congregate. Even you, who claimed to care for me beyond my station in life, didn’t parade me out with the upper class. You kept me where I belonged, the opera house, the ballrooms of your closest friends and the bedrooms of my home.”

He flinched as if she had slapped him. “Great God, Vivien, I had no idea you felt this way.”

She turned her face. She did sound very bitter when she said those words to him. Was she bitter? She had never felt that way until now…

He moved toward her and his hand fluttered as if he wanted to reach for her, to comfort her. Embarrassment, uncommon and unwanted, filled her and she backed a step away to avoid increasing it further with his touch.

“You are a lady of the highest order,” he said softly. “Whatever your ‘station’ in life, it does not change that. You belong in this shop, as well as any other place in London you desire to travel.”

She shifted at his kindness and the sudden focus of his stare, then shrugged them both off.

“It is a good thing, then, for I intend to go to all of them before—” She broke off. There was no need to say anything more. “It doesn’t matter. I heard you say to the shopkeep that you had books on order.”

His concern remained on his face as he answered her. “Yes. I come in once a week, on this day, when Mr. Paddington receives his newest shipments. I check on my orders and browse the new arrivals.”

“Mr. Paddington?” She blinked. “But this shop has been here for two hundred years. Don’t tell me that a Paddington still runs the place.”

“Oh yes.” Benedict nodded as if the statement were as solemn as a prayer. “He and his father and his father’s fathers have served our city for years. That is why their reputation is so great.”

Once again, Vivien felt uncomfortable in her very skin but pretended it away.

“And I see you have not resisted their lure either.” He motioned toward her books. “Might I look at your selections?”

She hesitated and clutched her books closer out of habit. She had often felt that the books one read were a peek into the soul of the reader. That was why her personal library was kept in a locked room very separate from the places where her visitors went for her wild parties. Sharing these selections with Benedict felt so very intimate.

“Of course, you are not obligated,” he said softly and began to withdraw his waiting hand.

She thrust the small stack toward him. “Certainly, you may look. As long as you promise not to take what I’ve chosen for your own.”

He laughed, but his face was unreadable as he looked at her titles. “Ah, a collection from Sir Walter Scott. Very nice, I’ve always liked his poetry. Sense and Sensibility, but surely you have read this one.”

She nodded after a moment. “Y-Yes. It is one of my favorites. I only rather liked this binding.”

He held his gaze on her for a moment and then nodded. “And finally, Gulliver’s Travels.” He blinked in disbelief. “Truly?”

She laughed. In truth, she had chosen the last book because it involved such a grand adventure that she felt, in some small way, it mimicked her own future.

“It was something different,” she lied.

He shrugged as he handed the books back to her. “And where will you go after this?”

“I think the British Museum,” she said, thinking of no reason to lie.

“Oh excellent, they have a newer exhibit there of some of the Roman sculptures. I have been aching to find time to see it,” he said with a clap of his hands. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

She remained silent. Once again, she felt her ignorance and lack of experience in a way she was not accustomed to. When she didn’t respond, he stepped closer.

“You have been there, haven’t you?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“Great God, no? With your sensibilities?”

A shrug was all she could manage to maintain the illusion of distance. “As I said before, these weren’t exactly places I belonged.”

“Poppycock!” he burst out. “The Museum is a place for anyone of intelligence and that is most definitely you. But perhaps—”

He broke off and she stared at him. “Perhaps?”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you will allow me to be your escort, since you have never had the pleasure of the place and I am a frequent visitor.”

Vivien worried her lip. Enjoying London was one item on her list…Benedict was another. Spending a day with him could allow her to cross off two things at once. But merging him with the rest of her list…putting him too near the truth…it seemed rather dangerous.

And thrilling. And irresistible, despite the negatives.

“I would like a more experienced guide, but only if it will not disturb your own plans,” she said softly.

“Not at all,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Anything else on my agenda can be altered with ease. Why don’t you make your purchases and I will send your driver on his way. We will take my carriage.”

She looked toward the exit of the bookshop. “What about your purchases?”

“I’m certain Paddington has already put them on my account and handed them over to my servant.” He shrugged. “So all that is left to worry over is you. I will see you outside?”

She nodded blankly and watched him curve around the end of the bookshelves. She heard him call a quick farewell to Mr. Paddington, then the bell on the door jingled as he went outside to make arrangements and wait for her.

Slowly, she made her way to the counter to pay for her books, but each step felt as though it were out of a dream. How in the world had she been so utterly swept away in the middle of a bookstore?

And why didn’t she care, even though she knew the consequences could be devastating?



Benedict had lied about a great many things in his life. His latest lie was that he had nothing better to do on this day than take Vivien for a tour of London. In truth, he had several meetings scheduled, both with family and business associates. Ones he feared he 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 into place. Or to leave his side just so he would no longer see her girlish delight at the museum and the contents that awaited them.

Instead, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and looked up at him with those same shining eyes and wide, real smile.

“I cannot wait another moment to see everything—shall we go in?”

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move as he stared into her eyes and saw so much beauty, so much truth…but then he shook his head and led her into the museum. This was a rare opportunity. He refused to miss a moment of it while he pondered what he had done to deserve it.