“How old are you, Miss—?”
The maid chose that precise moment to barrel into the room bearing a tray filled with their dinner. Violet smiled, biting her lip to stop her laughter as the woman gave them a startled once-over.
“Your meals, milord.” She quickly unloaded her burden, leaving the table laden with crusty bread, pots of butter, and a steaming platter of roasted lamb and potatoes.
“Thank you,” said Violet.
The woman nodded, her gaze bouncing slowly back and forth between them.
“That will be all for now,” he said.
She bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried out the door, no doubt on her way to the kitchen to report on the true state of their relationship.
Violet snickered when the door closed behind the woman. Gently yanking on the ends of each finger, she began the process of removing her gloves. “Now you’ve done it,” she teased. “Imagine, a brother referring to his sister as miss and not even knowing her age. They will gossip about that for days.”
He could not help but stare at the expanse of smooth, pale skin she revealed. His own skin tightened in awareness as he imagined that it would not be very long at all before those hands would caress him. They could be married in Scotland in a week.
“You realize they do not believe you are my sister?”
Her playful smile told him that she did. “Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest persona to assume. When he believed I was your wife, I . . . well, I . . .” She blushed attractively, and her gaze dropped to the gloves lying in her lap. “It didn’t seem proper.”
“No, I suppose not. Perhaps we didn’t think things through. Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all.” Her voice was surprisingly strong in her conviction as she began to butter a slice of bread. “Staying was out of the question, especially knowing what Lord Ware was prepared to do.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood upright. Something in her tone suggested Ware had indeed tried to further his pursuit of her. “He came to visit.” It was not a question, but she nodded. “What did he do?”
She shrugged and focused all her attention on her task, sliding the fresh butter all the way to the edge of the bread. “He made certain to get me alone, just like you said he would. He wanted us to be discovered in an embrace.”
Ice-cold water shot through his veins, followed by a wave of anger. “Did he hurt you?”
She glanced up, perhaps startled at the ferocity of his question. “No, but he was very aggressive. I managed to slip away before we were found.” She placed the butter knife down beside her plate, and he noticed her fingers were trembling.
He reached over and covered them with his own. His breath hitched when she turned her hand over and gave his a gentle squeeze. “Did you tell your parents what happened?”
She frowned. “My mother didn’t seem concerned. I’m not certain if she didn’t believe me, or if she merely didn’t understand what the fuss was about. It’s not as if anything actually happened.” Taking a deep breath, she withdrew her hand and covered her face. “Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I made too much of a fuss.”
“Violet.” She glanced at him in shock. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Miss Crenshaw . . .” She stared at him as if somehow only seeing him now for the first time. He was not at all certain what the look meant. “If he made you feel uncomfortable, if he touched you without your leave, either of those are unacceptable.”
She dragged her gaze from his eyes to his mouth in a slow and weighted caress. “Thank you,” she whispered. Blushing again, she picked up her abandoned piece of bread and took a bite as she gave him an abashed smile. When she swallowed, she said, “To answer your question, I’ll be twenty soon.”
Taken aback at the abrupt change in topic, he nodded and reached for the serving tongs to place lamb on each of their plates. “I am only eight years older than you.” The fact made him feel slightly less the lecher.
“That’s perfect for a brother. My brother Max is eight years older than I am.”
“Perfect for a brother . . . What about a husband?”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
He tried not to look at her as he moved the food around on his plate. His appetite for the meal had suddenly deserted him, while his appetite for her had moved to the forefront of his thoughts. The blood warmed and thickened like honey in his veins, but it was too soon for any of that. He didn’t want to frighten her. “Perhaps it would be more believable and raise less suspicion if we present ourselves as a married couple, like the innkeeper assumed.”
“Oh.” She took a bite of a roasted potato and chewed it thoughtfully before saying, “Yes, I can see your point. I should have a different name. Something common.”
“Jane, perhaps.” He grinned and watched the blush return to her cheeks.
Her gaze tracked downward in embarrassment before darting over to meet his. “I’ve been rereading Jane Eyre. I hope you don’t mind being Rochester. It was the first name that came to mind.” He shook his head, and she added, “As long as you don’t have a wife hidden away in an attic somewhere, I will be Jane.”
“You are in luck, my lady. You are the closest thing I have to a wife.”
“Good.” She giggled, but it wasn’t a girlish sound. It held the soft husk of her voice and raked pleasantly down his spine.
“Perhaps we should address your accent if you’re to be presented as a proper Englishwoman.”
“Oh yes, yes, we should. Actually, I have already been practicing. I should have used it earlier with the innkeeper.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
She nodded and took a drink of wine. Clearing her throat a few times like a singer preparing to belt out a lyric, she sat back from the table and squared her shoulders. “Good evening, my good lord. Would you be so kind as to pass the salt?”
Her face elongated with each syllable as if the words themselves were difficult to form and required the use of her entire face. Her voice had gone frightfully high as she skipped over the vowels, clipping the syllables with precision. The attempt was appalling.
She stared at him expectantly, and he tried to keep a straight face but failed. Laughter came tumbling out of him. She giggled, then snorted, and they both laughed harder. Shaking her head, she hid her face in her hands. “That was terrible.”
He laughed harder, until his sides hurt. “I should not laugh,” he managed to say.
“No. You should. I failed miserably.” Her eyes were filled with tears of mirth.
This could be his life. Her beautiful face could be across his table every day. The thought was enough to steal his breath, because it was not at all unpleasant.
She would be his wife.
“Are you quite all right?” she asked. The warmth of her small hand covered his. Before he could stop himself, he turned his hand over so that his palm enveloped hers. Heat licked its way up his wrist. She felt it, too. Her eyes were dilated, and the air seemed to have thickened around them. His fingertips moved in gentle circles across her palm, seeking to draw more of her need to the surface.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, milord?” The innkeeper strode into the room, his gaze locked on the very unbrotherly way Christian was caressing her hand. She pulled her hand away immediately.
“Exceptional,” said Christian, unable to take his eyes off of her. “We won’t have need of you anymore tonight.” He was annoyed at the interruption, but even more at his inability to keep his hands to himself. She would need time to become accustomed to him. Perhaps he was planning to take her choices away from her, but she still deserved a proper courtship, such as it was.
“Yes, milord. Your rooms are ready.” He backed out of the room but stopped at the door. “When your sister is ready to retire, my girl Katie can assist her.” There was no mistaking the disapproval in his tone or the sharpness of his gaze befo
re he left them.
“We have scandalized him,” she whispered. There was laughter in her voice. Where he had expected to see censure in her face, she smiled at him. “I fear he believes me to be a fallen woman.”
“We have botched our first night out.”
“We have.” She gave him a grave nod before smiling again. “Luckily, we have several days yet to get it right.”
“Does this mean you plan to tell me where I am taking you?” Not that he meant for her to arrive there.
“Yes, tomorrow morning.”
Never had he smiled so much in one night. Life with Violet would not be dull.
Chapter 10
He found her weakness without even trying—a man whose confidence outweighed his arrogance was a dangerous creature indeed.
V. Lennox, An American and the London Season
NEW YORK CITY
LATER THAT NIGHT
Maxwell Crenshaw raised his glass in yet another toast to his sister August and her new husband, the Duke of Rothschild. Rothschild stood with his arm proudly around his bride’s waist. Any fool could see how happy the newlyweds were. Their obvious affection for each other had been on display in abundance on the ship. So much in abundance, in fact, that Max had encouraged a civil marriage ceremony as soon as possible after the three had arrived in New York. Not that the couple had needed to be persuaded. Max smiled, thankful that a situation that could have brought eternal unhappiness for his independent-minded sister had turned out in her favor.
The Crenshaw family home on Fifth Avenue was bustling with well-wishers. The three of them had arrived in New York only days ago and had put off organizing a small gathering of family friends as long as possible. The newspapers had immediately run stories about the couple, citing Society sources who had made the crossing with them and could confirm the grand match. More stories had run about the quick marriage with speculation running rampant about the need for such haste. As a result, when the couple had reluctantly announced that they would host an evening of celebration for close family friends, the line of people hoping to get inside was endless.
Max glanced at the clock on the mantel. There were still hours yet until he could excuse himself to return to his own home in Gramercy. He had another full day of meetings planned for tomorrow at Crenshaw Iron Works where he was overseeing operations in his father’s absence. His unplanned trip to London to save August from this very same marriage had stalled many of his projects. But he wouldn’t abandon the couple to face the throngs of gawkers alone.
“I say, Maxwell, your parents knew what they were doing when they took the girls to London.” This came from Samuel Bridwell, industrialist and longtime friend of his father. Bridwell had married his daughter to the Duke of Hereford the year before, which, Max suspected, had precipitated his own parents’ marriage plans for August. From what August had revealed to Max, Camille’s marriage wasn’t a happy one.
Martin Van der Meer, another friend of his father’s, said, “I hear England will become a popular destination this year.” The older man raised his glass of champagne in a toast, smirked as if they shared some private conspiracy, and drained his drink.
Having just spent almost three weeks of his life trying to save his sisters from a fate similar to Bridwell’s daughter, Max found it impossible to humor them. “I’m afraid you could be right. What a tragedy.”
He took a swallow, the bubbles going flat on his tongue as he watched August smile adoringly at her new husband. As the wealthy and socially hungry gathered around the happy couple, he wondered how many young women would be sold for a title without regard for their well-being. The floodgates had been opened, and the parents would point to his sister’s happiness as reasonable justification for their own greed.
Bridwell arched a brow at him in consternation, and Van der Meer frowned, while his daughter Amelia gave Max a grin of approval. Young, unmarried, and with wealthy parents, her future would likely be in London whether she wanted it to be or not. “I, for one, don’t understand the fascination with nobility,” she said. “We have plenty of fine, upstanding bachelors here in New York.” For all her innocence, her gaze narrowed in on Max with single-minded purpose.
Max felt the proverbial noose of matrimony tighten around his neck with that look. Clearing his throat, he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I must go see to my sister.” Without waiting for the group to reply, he tipped his head and made his way into the crowd. Amelia wasn’t the first to allude to his unmarried state tonight, and she wouldn’t be the last. But he wasn’t yet thirty and did not feel the need to settle down with the responsibility a wife and children would bring him. That would come soon enough.
A footman approached him when he was a few steps away from reaching August and Rothschild. “Excuse me, Mr. Crenshaw, a wire has come for you.” His face was tense, and he lowered his voice as he said, “From London, sir.”
“Is everything well?” On instinct, he distrusted all wires from London now. The last had been pleas from his sisters to come and save them from their parents’ treacherous arranged marriage plans, which had resulted in a mad dash across the Atlantic.
The man hesitated. “It seems urgent, sir.”
He nodded and followed the servant to a little-used study in the back of the house. A messenger waited for him with the small yellow missive.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes already scanning the words as the messenger left him alone. The dread in the pit of his stomach grew heavier with each word. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself.
Violet had run away, and no one knew where she was.
“What’s happened?” asked August as she hurried into the room, Rothschild behind her.
“Why do you assume something’s wrong?” he quipped.
“Telegrams from London at this hour are never good.”
Max sighed and held up the paper for her. “A telegram from Papa. Violet ran away. They found a note in her room that claimed she would not be pressed into a marriage she didn’t want. It gave no clue to her destination.”
August grabbed it and skimmed it with Rothschild reading over her shoulder. He shook his head in disappointment. “Ware indicated his interest in her. I warned him away, but he must have pressed his suit,” he said.
August glanced up at her husband and then looked at Max. “I married their duke. Isn’t one nobleman in the family enough?”
“I don’t pretend to understand them.”
August shook her head. “It’s my fault. I should have insisted that Violet leave with me.”
“If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I spoke with Papa, and he assured me that their only interest was you, Rothschild. He made it seem as if your offer was too good to pass up. I never thought they would try to force another marriage.” Raking his hands through his hair, Max walked to the window that overlooked the small garden in the back of the house. “I always knew that he had a ruthless streak when it came to business, but I never realized that it would extend to his children. More the fool am I. We were stupid to leave her there.”
“I may be able to help. I will send a telegram to my partners at Montague Club. They can find Ware and dissuade him from her,” Rothschild said.
August worried the edge of the telegram with her thumb. “Papa can be very persuasive when he needs to be.”
Rothschild shrugged. “Ware is a known coward, and Leigh already despises him from our days at Eton.” He gave August’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps it will delay things while we can return to England and find her. We can search train stations and ship registers. Someone will have made note of her passing through.”
August nodded. “Once she knows I’m back in London, I’m certain she will attempt to contact me.”
“No,” said Max. “You both have business here in New York.” Having recently discovered that he had inherited interest in a mining company, Rothschi
ld had a series of meetings scheduled for the next week. “I’ll go to London and look for her.” It would also give him the opportunity to deal with their parents in person.
“But what of Crenshaw Iron?” asked August.
“What of it?” Max raised his brow at her. “You know that you’re as capable of running it as I am.” August had spent the past ten years of her life learning the ins and outs of the business right alongside him. Papa had already given her more responsibility in the company than many were comfortable with. If he hadn’t allowed opinion to sway him from giving her even more, she would already be running it.
August shook her head. “I simply can’t fathom her out there alone, and if our parents find her first, they may very well force this marriage. You stay. I’ll go.”
“And leave your husband here?”
August glanced up at Rothschild, who nodded. “Go if you need to. I’ll follow quickly.”
Turning her attention back to Max, she said, “That’s settled, then. I’ll go.”
“No, I owe this to Violet.” He did. He should have done more while he was there to make certain she was safe and this wouldn’t happen. He had failed her once; he wouldn’t do it again. “Had I not let them convince me that they had no plans for marriage for her, she would be safe and not left to face this on her own. This time I’ll bring her back with me.” He should have seen through their parents’ assurances.
She frowned, still hesitant, but she nodded her agreement. “If you’re certain.”
“I am. Forgive me, but I need to leave to make arrangements. With any luck I can book passage on a ship leaving tomorrow.”
* * *
• • •
SOMEWHERE IN THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE
Doubts, along with the sensation of being alone in a strange place, had given Violet little peace last night. She had tossed and turned until her dreams had mixed with her worried thoughts, driving out any of the good humor left from her meal with Lord Leigh. Had she done the right thing in leaving home? Yes, she was certain that staying would have only created strife. However, she disliked the anxiety and pain that leaving was certainly causing her parents.
The Devil and the Heiress Page 10