“I hope you hear soon. I’m certain it’ll be good news. And, Violet, I so appreciate your concern, but you don’t want to run away. You have the rest of the Season to look forward to.”
“I suppose, but it wouldn’t be a hardship.” Violet was almost surprised at how easy it would be to leave. She was enjoying herself, but she would enjoy spending time with her friend even more. “I’m afraid that my parents still have marriage to a nobleman in mind, so it might actually be a welcome escape.”
Camille stiffened. “What do you mean? Did something happen with Rothschild and August? In your letter you said that he followed her to America.”
“No, nothing’s happened. I assume they have reconciled and Max is having a devil of time keeping Rothschild off her on the crossing.” Violet teased in an attempt at levity.
Camille relaxed somewhat, but she still held an air of alarm. “That’s good, then. A duke in the family will get your mother onto Mrs. Astor’s guest list.”
Violet nodded. “That’s true, but Papa asked me to consider a few suitors.”
“Violet, no!” The blood drained from Camille’s face, leaving it as white as chalk. “You cannot let them force you into marriage. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand me?” She held Violet’s hand in a grip that was almost painful.
“It’s not my intention to marry.”
Camille faced her fully, getting closer and lowering her voice. “Violet, listen to me. There are things that happen between a husband and wife that you don’t understand yet.” A rosy blush bloomed across her cheeks as she spoke. Under normal circumstances it would have made her appear quite lovely, but coupled with her wide, fearful eyes, it was alarming. “The marriage bed for one. It is an indignity in the best of circumstances, but imagine being forced to bare every part of yourself to a man you despise, or worse, to a man who despises and resents you. To give your entire being over to him.”
An image of Viscount Ware came to mind. His eyes were nearly as cold as his touch. Thanks to an anatomy book she and August had stumbled upon years ago, and snatches of overheard conversations, she knew the basics of what went on between a husband and wife. She had never considered what it would be like to lie with Lord Ware in that way, but the very idea of it shook her to her core. Papa hadn’t said, but surely if he had been allowed to escort her tonight, then he was a contender for her hand. “And for two?” she asked, quite certain that she didn’t really want to know more.
“He controls your entire life. Who you visit, who your friends are, where you live, what you eat, the clothing you wear. Now imagine giving that power to a person who believes you to be beneath him. He marries you for your money, but deep down he remembers that you come from common stock and he resents being brought so low. Please promise me that you will only marry someone of your choosing? Someone for whom you feel affection?”
Violet couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, and her chest ached with sadness for Camille and her obvious misery.
“Please, Violet? I need to know you understand.”
Violet nodded, forcing herself to say, “Of course. I promise.”
Camille pulled her in for a quick hug and then wiped at the corner of her eye once more. “Good. Let me know if you need any help, but I’m afraid it will likely have to be in the form of a letter. I have a feeling I won’t be allowed visitors for some time.”
She started to walk away, but Violet took her hand, fearful that she might not see her friend for a while. It was within Hereford’s power to withhold her from everyone for as long as he wished. “Please promise me that you’ll let me know if you need help. We can go away. Anywhere.”
Camille smiled. “Don’t worry for me. It’s not that terrible. I am being a touch melodramatic, but I wouldn’t wish it for you.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll have your promise,” Violet insisted.
“Fine, I promise. Now I have to go before he comes back.” Giving Violet another smile over her shoulder, she hurried out of the room.
* * *
• • •
Christian had never found much use for Ware and other men of his ilk. Haughty and with an inflated sense of superiority, they did nothing and accomplished even less. Their whole purpose of existing seemed to be to enjoy themselves to the detriment of everyone else. Not that Christian frowned overly much on that sort of existence—his own hovered somewhere around that level minus the damage to the undeserving—he simply despised their dishonesty about it all.
Their initial dislike had formed at Eton where the viscount had been a year behind Christian, but the depths of Christian’s loathing had hit a new low when Ware had walked into the ballroom with Violet on his arm earlier that evening. Their courtship was proceeding faster than Christian had anticipated. His only consolation was that Violet appeared to not favor the man at all. She had mostly ignored him, leaving Ware to glare at whomever had her attention. It was a sign of an insecure man, which meant Ware wasn’t at all certain of his intended and Christian needed to act fast.
Violet had left the ballroom only moments earlier, but Ware was already on her trail, having caught sight of her as she hurried out. Christian rushed through the crowded room but lagged behind Ware’s faster progress. When Christian finally broke into the corridor, Ware had paused at the far end as if determining whether to turn left or right.
“Ah, she got away from you, did she?” Christian called, lessening the distance between them with each word. When he reached the other man, he said, “You will have to be more vigilant to catch an heiress.”
Ware’s eyes flashed with anger and frustration. “Good evening, Leigh. We haven’t had a chance to chat tonight.”
“Why would we chat?” Christian raised a brow. “We are hardly friends.”
Ware gritted his teeth and his jaw hardened. “Because we are civilized men.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Christian. “I have never made such a claim.”
The man swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the encounter but at a loss as to how to remove himself from it.
“Miss Crenshaw does not seem to find favor with you,” said Christian. “Do you anticipate that she will accept your offer?”
Ware’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Come now, I know you have offered for her.”
“How do you know that?”
“There are no secrets, Ware. You are a fool if you think there are.”
The man swallowed again, his lips pressing together to form a thin line. The urge to tell Christian to leave off was written all over his face, but he was too much of a coward to do it. “She will, once we know each other better.”
“Prepared to win her over with your charm, are you?” When Ware’s scowl only deepened, Christian added, “No? Your wealth? Oh, I forgot. You have nothing.” Mineral rights notwithstanding.
“What do you want, Leigh?” Ware gritted out.
“Violet Crenshaw.”
Shock registered on the man’s face, making him blanch, before his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward with a ferocity on his face Christian had never seen there before. Desperation pushed men to desperate measures. “Leave her alone. She is mine.”
“She will never accept you.”
Ware grinned, momentarily alarming him. “Then I shall have to arrange it so that she has no choice in the matter.”
Anger immediately began to roil within him, but Christian forced a bored smile. “Then you had better go catch her. I saw her being escorted toward the terrace.”
The grin fled Ware’s lips, and he hurried off in that direction.
Christian stood for a time, pondering the viscount’s meaning. He clearly intended to compromise her in some way. The idea shouldn’t horrify Christian so much, since his own plans had briefly wandered down that path, but the thought of Ware being anywhere near her was unsettling. At least when Christian
had considered it, he had planned to give her so much pleasure she could not think straight. Ware, selfish boar that he was, would not be as considerate.
A door slammed behind him, and Hereford hurried out, his face a mask of anger as he stormed toward the front of the house without looking in Christian’s direction. Intrigued and concerned, because that room was one of the few places Violet could have hidden herself, he slowly made his way toward the salon, the pain in his ankle from chasing Ware making his limp more pronounced. Just as he reached for the door, it opened and he found himself face-to-face with Camille, Hereford’s duchess.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” He gave a short bow.
Startled, she tried and failed to smile, murmuring a greeting under her breath as she turned and hurried after her husband. Christian glanced inside the room, expecting to find the salon empty, but Violet stood in the middle. Wearing an ice-blue gown that hugged her figure, she was as lovely as he had ever seen her. The moment their eyes met, a frisson of electricity moved through him, drawing him to her with the same invisible current that had moved between them ever since he had first laid eyes on her.
It was time to put his plan into motion. Thanks to Ware, he knew just what to say to her. Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him.
Chapter 4
The stakes were high, but Rose was prepared for the game. One kiss would not alter the course of their lives. One weakness did not a sinner make.
V. Lennox, An American and the London Season
The Earl of Leigh came into the salon as if her salacious imagination had conjured him. Dispassionate and casual, he walked with a smoothness that belied his slight limp. His rich, dark hair curled a bit near his collar, and the eyes she knew to be gray were darkened in the low light of the room. Violet was too stunned to react as he closed the door behind him. Logic told her that it would be best to exit the room through the opposite door because being caught alone with him could be disastrous, but her burgeoning fascination with him kept her in place.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, forcing her voice to match his calm exterior. The truth was that her heart had started pounding the moment she set eyes on him, and her palms were sweaty.
“Miss Crenshaw.” He inclined his head while holding her gaze.
Had she thought him dispassionate? His eyes were anything but that. The expression within them roiled with an intensity that held her rooted in place behind a sofa. And then he smiled. A tiny upward tilt on the left side of his mouth that promised wicked thoughts were accompanying it. Or were those wicked thoughts merely a reflection of her own? Her fictitious heiress, Miss Rose Hamilton, was known for coveting Lord Lucifer’s distinctive smile. Violet simply had to work harder to separate herself from her character.
Coming to a stop, he left the length of the sofa guarding the distance between them. His powerful, gloved fingers flexed around the hawk’s head grip of his cane. Butterflies came to life in her belly as they usually did when he was near. It was why she was always so atrociously sharp with him, she realized. She had been fighting her natural attraction to him, because it had been unfaithful to Teddy. A man who it seemed had little faith and had hardly deserved hers. Now that her relationship with her fiancé was over—she’d worry later about why it had been so easy to let him go—she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.
“I feel that I owe you an—”
“Hereford left rather—”
They both began at the same time, and then paused, awkwardly assessing the other. He inclined his head, indicating that she should speak first.
“I am glad to have a moment in private with you. I want to apologize for my short temper on our previous two meetings.”
He didn’t respond right away and simply continued to watch her as if he were trying to read her expression. His perusal drew a nervous smile from her. Another thrill of awareness shot through her belly when his gaze darted to her lips. He found her attractive at least. “I have no good reason for my behavior, except that I was angry with Rothschild and perhaps a little unsettled . . .” She swallowed thickly to stop herself from saying more. Saying more when less would do had always been her downfall.
“Unsettled?” He prodded.
Giving her head a quick shake, she said, “Unsettled to find you in my home unexpectedly.”
She would not tell him how he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on and that alone was enough to fluster her. She would not. Being around him made her realize how unworldly and inexperienced she really was when it came to men. Her infatuation with him was nothing like the sloppy kisses she had exchanged with Teddy. They had been experiments, while her thoughts for Lord Leigh bordered on incinerating passion.
A grin curved the perfect bow of his lips. “No apology is necessary. You were right to be unsettled by my presence in both cases.” He looked at her as if he knew the truth. Perhaps the blush staining her cheeks had told him as much. “Besides, I did say that I enjoy fireworks.” A subtle challenge flashed in his eyes.
Those simple words made something clench deep inside her. Something visceral that hovered on the edge of painful longing. He liked their verbal sparring. He had seen her at her worst that day, and he had approved of her. She didn’t really know what to do with that. Almost everyone she knew disapproved of any sort of display of emotion. Teddy had frowned and changed the subject when challenged. Lord Ware would certainly disapprove of her sometime wayward tongue.
Her cheeks burned hotter, and when she glanced down, she noticed she had been worrying the length of a silken thread that had broken free from the sofa. When she dared to glance back up at him, his grin had fled to be replaced with concern.
“Hereford did not seem particularly pleased when he left. I hope he did not upset you.”
She only debated for a moment how much she should tell him. Despite his reputation, he was a good friend of the man who would soon become her brother. He was also the only one outside of her immediate family who knew that Rothschild had followed August to that ship, and there had been no hint of gossip about it. If Rothschild trusted him, then so could she. “It isn’t me that I’m concerned about. It’s Camille. He treats her poorly, and she has no recourse.”
“No recourse?” he asked, dipping his head infinitesimally. She likely wouldn’t have noticed had she not been so attuned to him.
“No, at least not here, not so far away from home and everything she knows. She belongs to him, and the fact of the matter is that he can do with her as he will and hardly anyone would intervene. He treats her like a rebellious stepchild—withholding her visitors, keeping her locked inside—and he is well within his rights to do so. It all seems so grievously unfair. She is a lovely person who has a wealth of affection and warmth to share, but it is all wasted on him. He only cares that she brought him money.” She stopped, realizing that she had said far too much to someone who was essentially a stranger.
He took a breath, and his chest rose on the inhale. Had she noticed how broad his shoulders were before? She must have. He wasn’t overly brawny, but his lean physique was solid and strong. His chest and shoulders were thick, and she didn’t think it was from padding.
“It is the way of Society marriages.” His voice was soft, but strong. “It seems as if you do not prefer such a marriage for yourself?”
“I don’t care a whit for Society. I think people should only marry someone who can offer them some bit of affection. I am not so naive that I believe in the sort of romantic love and devotion that Miss Austen touts.” Though what August had found with the duke seemed very close to that sort of love, and if she was honest, she actually wouldn’t mind very much if she found that for herself. But that was far too complicated a subject to discuss with Lord Leigh, a man she should not be talking to at all, much less going on and on like she was. “But there should be some sort of mutual respect and consideration.”
“
Affection is important to you.” His gaze dropped down to her mouth.
She licked her lips and then pressed them together to stifle the nervous tick. “Affection is important to everyone. People are much happier when they are in family units where they are supported and valued. It has been proven to be true.”
He grinned, an attractive dimple forming in his left cheek. “You are a bluestocking like your sister.”
“I read for information as well as entertainment if that’s what you mean.” She was aware of the way her shoulders stiffened and her voice hardened, but seemed to be able to do nothing to control her reaction to him. Bluestocking held all sorts of negative connotations. She knew she wasn’t worldly enough to have someone like him return the depth of her attraction, but she wouldn’t have him believing her interest in knowledge to be a mark against her.
His grin stayed in place. “That is exactly what I mean, Miss Crenshaw. It is a trait I admire in anyone, especially a woman who courts scandal by the very admission.”
Her gaze flicked back to his, unaccountably pleased by the compliment. She fought the rather inappropriate urge to giggle. To laugh would have ruined a perfectly fine moment and reminded him that she wasn’t yet twenty, and likely far too young for a man of the world like him.
Not that it mattered if he returned her attraction. Her interest was purely in the vein of exploring Miss Hamilton’s feelings. She had no intention of involving herself with an English lord.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He inclined his head again, but the grin regrettably faded as he asked, “Have you found this affection with your own fiancé?”
The question was so unexpected, she could only say, “Pardon?”
Shifting, he leaned a hip against the back of the sofa, making her realize how much taller he was than her. He still towered over her by a head, even though the shift should have cost him a couple of inches. He was deceptively larger than he appeared. “Forgive me for asking. It is none of my affair, but I find myself concerned for you. Rothschild once mentioned something about an American fiancé. I believe the man was your initial reason for refusing Rothschild. I simply wondered if you had found this affection with him.”
The Devil and the Heiress Page 4