Page 26 of The Seduction of Viscount Vice

Then without a backward glance, he left the townhouse.

Chapter Six

Fittingly, the day was unseasonably cold and gray, the sky threatening to unleash a storm at any moment.

Pausing in her mopping, Mairi flexed her aching shoulders and stared out the front parlor window at the hardy couples still out walking. It was a relief to have a short break from the absolute mess behind her. Worldly’s grand opening the previous evening had been successful, but the spilled food and drink, sweat, dried mud, and other fluids she didn’t want to study too closely were proving hard to dislodge from the wooden floor.

“Don’t let Madame C catch you dreaming,” warned Olivier, as he stacked brandy glasses into a cloth-lined box. “I had to tell many maids they must go home because she does not want to pay them, and Ramsey said she’s in a temper because the reviews of her show were bad. Too fussy and, ah, what is the word, common. Why did you cry off, Lady Mairi? You were so excited to be onstage.”

Mairi gritted her teeth. “I didn’t bloody cry off. I was getting dressed to perform and discovered that in just a few days I had gained a lot of weight and suddenly my costume didn’t fit me. So Yvette took my place.”

Olivier frowned. “That is…”

“Quite a coincidence, as they say,” snapped Ramsey as he lugged in two buckets of fresh heated water to rinse the floor. “Especially when the seam stitching changed color also.”

“No,” said Olivier. “Not…sabotage? Mon dieu. But why?”

“Because she had no intention of ever letting me on her stage. She…she…” Mairi pressed her fist to her lips to compose herself as the betrayal shredded her once again. “She only wanted information about Fallen. I was just a pawn to be sacrificed.”

Olivier wrung his hands. “You must do something, my lady. Say something.”

“Do or say what? I am in a worse position than those maids. I cannot afford to lose my employment here. I don’t have family or anywhere else to go.”

“You have Lord Vissen,” said Ramsey, setting the buckets down with a thump.

“Iain hates me. And I don’t blame him. Every single thing I’ve done has wronged him in some way.”

“He didn’t seem to hate you when the two of you christened the window seat.” Olivier arched an eyebrow. “Or when you stayed the whole night in his bed at Fallen. In fact, I think he might love you very much. Not as much as Ramsey loves me, but enough for a lifetime, I suppose.”

“Who says I love you, you bloody annoying French dandy?” grumbled Ramsey, the tips of his ears bright red.

“Bah. It is as plain as the nose on your face, my dour Scottish bull,” beamed Olivier.

Mairi sighed. “You two make it all look so easy. But then, you’ve never made mistakes and hurt the one you love like I have.”

Both men stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Oh, my lady, no,” said Olivier. “We’ve both done bad things. Very foolish things. Had fights like the cat and the dog. Sometimes I want to drop a pianoforte on his head. And I’m sure back in Paris he wanted to toss me into the Seine every week.”

“Every day,” said Ramsey. But there was a softness in his eyes that made her heart clench.

“How did you keep going, then? At the start? When you knew there was something strong between you, but so many obstacles in your path?”

“We talked,” said Olivier. “Well, I talked and he grunted. But we each took a chance and put all the cards on the table because a deux was so much better than alone. Have you done that with his lordship? Bared your true soul?”

Mairi shivered. “I…I don’t know how. I’ve always had to be someone other than myself.”

“Except with Lord Vissen,” said Ramsey sternly. “Even as a lad, he only wanted you.”

“Choose love.” Olivier folded his arms and gave her an impatient look, the cleaning quite forgotten. “I have already told you this.”

Choose love.

Two simple words, and yet remarkably difficult to consider. From the time her parents had deemed her old enough to be married, her whole life had been about survival. Not love or happiness, but assessing the least worst option presented, crossing her fingers, and leaping.

And yet if she stayed here at Worldly, what future did she have?

She would never be the leading lady. Not as long as she worked for bloody Yvette. The woman would never let another female anywhere near her stage, that was painfully obvious now. And humiliating, that she’d been blind to her employer’s tricks and treacherous nature for so long because of one act of service in Calais. Ten years’ worth of aching fingers, grimy clothing, reddened eyes, and stooped shoulders for nothing was a cruel blow, but far crueler was hurting Iain so terribly. She’d lied to him over and over for a woman who wasn’t worth a farthing. A woman who carelessly used others and felt no remorse. If she remained in this townhouse Mairi wouldn’t even be the woman she’d been in Paris, but a puppet on a string dancing to her employer’s tune. There would be no freedom or comfortable living. No applause or roses or beautiful sets. No wearing of breeches, or naked afternoons on window seats. Worst of all, there would be no Iain, the man she loved with all her heart.