Page 8 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Her legs stiff and her hands clenched into fists, Viv stalked the two miles from her humble dwellings in Cheapside to Islington, where the infamous caper-committing family of delinquents was supposed to live.

It wasn’t so much the bending of the rules she objected to.

Viv had once plotted a full-on revolt. It was that reckless, privileged pets like the Wild Wynchesters got away with anything they dreamed up.

The smug, do-right family didn’t even acknowledge the injustice they themselves were perpetrating.

Instead, they were idolized and lauded for their law-breaking, whereas people like Viv were beaten and imprisoned and executed for far lesser crimes.

Celebrated career criminals masquerading as poor-me, down-on-their-luck orphans, as if anyone could have what they had just by wanting it hard enough.

She and Quentin were orphans, too, and their circumstances were far removed from the wealthy, famous Wynchesters, for whom neither laws nor etiquette seemed to apply. As far as Viv was concerned, their legendary status and overblown heroics were nothing more than perfume on a pig.

But she would do anything for Quentin. She loved her cousin and would never forgive herself if her personal distaste prevented him from returning home safely.

The Wynchesters’ house was massive. A white-columned monstrosity with three stories, huge windows, and an immaculate front garden. The rear garden was walled from view. Likely to keep undesirables like her in her place.

She straightened her bonnet and marched up to the front door, fist poised to knock.

Before she could do so, the door swung open. An older white man with blue eyes, white hair, and a surprisingly pleasant expression greeted her with, “Good afternoon, madam. How may I be of service?”

Viv blinked at him as her brain struggled to recalculate. Had she ever been called madam? By anyone? Even in jest?

“Um…” she managed. What on earth was wrong with her? If there was one thing in her life that had never been in short supply, it was her words.

The butler smiled. “Are you here to see the Wynchesters?”

She nodded.

“Are you or someone you know in immediate danger?”

Viv shook her head, then hesitated. She might be safe and sound, but was Quentin?

“I see it’s complicated,” said the butler. “Well, we can’t leave you standing outside. Please, come into the vestibule. Wait here for a moment, away from the weather, whilst I see if any of the family is at home.”

With that, he left her alone in a gilded room with a marble floor. Everything sparkled so much, her eyes hurt. Viv was glad she’d worn the best of her dresses but was quickly coming to the conclusion that her best wasn’t nearly good enough.

Poor little orphans, indeed.

The butler soon rematerialized inside the vestibule. He’d barely been gone long enough to glance into another room, much less enquire if his masters were receiving guests.

Was it all an elaborate scheme to make her feel as though she’d had a fair chance, before dismissing her?

“If you’ll come with me,” said the butler.

She followed him in awe. There was marble everywhere. Fancy arches, shiny gilding, paintings on every wall. A dazzling amount of sunlight streaming in through countless open windows. This wasn’t a home. It was a mansion. And a museum.

The butler led her into a sitting room larger than her and Quentin’s entire dwelling. There was a massive twelve-person table in one corner, a pianoforte in another, and enough armchairs and sofas in a half-circle before the fireplace to comfortably seat two dozen guests.

Presently, the room contained five other people.

“Here we are, then.” The butler gave Viv a respectful incline of his head and disappeared down the marble corridor.

The five Wynchesters gazed at her with open curiosity.

Viv stared back.

They smiled.

Viv did not.

A diminutive blond white woman with fresh paint on her earlobe opened her mouth first. “Welcome to our home. We’re—”

“I know who you are.”

“Yes, obviously we’re Wynchesters,” said the most attractive man Viv had ever glimpsed in all her life.

Tall, broad-shouldered, fit but not too muscular, gorgeous chestnut skin, close-cropped black hair, and eyelashes so thick he must’ve made a deal with the devil. “But specifically, our names are—”

“I said I know who you are.” Viv pointed at each of them in turn.

The vexingly attractive one: “Jacob.”

The blond: “Marjorie.”

The white man with a possessive arm wrapped around her: “Adrian.”

The pretty, plump woman in lace: “Philippa.”

The older gentleman so hunched and decrepit he looked as though he’d just crawled out of his own coffin: “And Tommy.”

All five of their jaws fell open in unison.

“B-but,” Marjorie stammered, her eyes wide as saucers, “how?”

“If she says it’s because of my lace…” Philippa murmured through clenched teeth.

“I presume the hedgehog in my apron gave me away,” Jacob guessed.

Tommy crossed her ancient arms over her thin chest and scowled at Viv like a disgruntled old man.

“It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?” said Viv with a shrug.

“Is it?” Tommy groused.

“Wouldn’t you say Marjorie is the one most likely to have been painting a portrait of your brother?”

“ What ?” Marjorie glanced around in alarm. “ Shh . No one knows what I’m working on.”

Jacob blinked at her. “And Tommy?”

“Ah, the easiest identity of all to deduce.”

“I am not ,” Tommy burst out. “No one can tell I’m anything other than what I appear to be!”

“Precisely. And since there is no five-hundred-year-old Wynchester vampire in residence, I can only conclude that you are the woman behind the impeccable cosmetics.”

“How would you know what Marjorie is painting?” Philippa demanded. “ We don’t even know what she’s been painting.”

“Then you are not very observant,” said Viv, “which bodes poorly for my visit here. I had hoped you would be able to help with my problem, but I fear I have come to the wrong place.”

“There’s more Wynchesters,” said Jacob. “We’re the only ones here at the moment, but we’re rather a large family. The other two that live here are handling a different case, but the others are in their homes. We can summon them if need be.”

“You know what? There’s no need.” Viv took a step back toward the front door. “Coming here was a mistake.”

Jacob’s eyes met hers and held them. The intensity in his warm brown gaze pinned her in place.

He was the one least mentioned in the scandal sheets, yet the most captivating by far.

Viv hadn’t been prepared for how handsome he would be.

If she’d spotted him under different circumstances, she’d have been tempted to lick her lips.

But right now, the only thing tempting her was the desire to burst into tears and demand they comport themselves like the genius heroes they were supposed to be.

“Please,” Jacob said softly. “Sit for a moment. If we cannot resolve your problem, the least we can do is offer you some tea.”

Nothing good ever came of little girls far from home accepting sweets from attractive strangers. The Wynchesters would be no exception. Jacob was clearly the most dangerous of all of them. But she was here because of her cousin, for whom she would walk through fire to see again.

Viv rolled back her shoulders and stepped farther into their lair.