“I’m sorry. How old were you when she left?”
He shrugged. “I do not remember precisely. Five, perhaps.”
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and put her hand on his arm. The look she gave him was kind and filled with concern, without a hint of censure or mocking. “How often have you seen her since?”
“She has returned a handful of times for momentous occasions only to sweep out again to return to her life.”
“Do you regard her harshly?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He had for a time. After all, hadn’t he grown up under the wrath of his father’s ire? Hadn’t he managed fine, even while knowing that the man despised the sight of him and questioned his paternity? Couldn’t she? But that had changed when the man’s wrath had manifested in more physical consequences. Once Christian understood what it meant to have the entirety of that man’s hatred centered on him in a physical way, he had forgiven her immediately. “My father was not an easy man. I think she was happier away from him. By the time he died, she had a life on the Continent, and there was no reason for her to resume her life here. Besides, Society would not have allowed her to return without bearing the brunt of their disapproval for some time.”
“You miss her, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “It is difficult to miss someone you barely remember being in your life. I suppose I did miss her early on.” He remembered the feel of her arms around him and her soft bosom beneath his cheek as he cried about some childhood trauma, but as he had grown older, those memories had faded. He had never had a mother to deal with his adolescent concerns, so not having one had not bothered him.
“After my father’s death, I learned about my half brother, Jacob, his mother, and his sisters. My father had arranged it so that while I inherited the properties and debts, they inherited the funds, along with their home in Bloomsbury. One day I went and confronted them. I was still a child in many ways.” He remembered that day still. The surprised look on Thea’s face, the way she had calmly shown him the door when he had said unspeakably rude things to her.
“What happened?” Violet asked, leaning forward.
“Dorothea . . . Thea, Jacob’s mother, my father’s longtime mistress, rightfully had me thrown out. I accused her of terrible things. I allowed my anger with my father to lead me, and thankfully, she understood that. I soon returned, and she allowed me in. Over time I came to know her very well. She helped me grieve and eventually supported my plan to begin the club with Jacob. She became important to me.” He glanced down at his food, swallowing over the tender ache in his throat. “She died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry that she is gone. She must have been a very loving person.”
He nodded, and the words kept tumbling out of him. “Her father was a successful coal merchant outside of London. My father had dealings with the man, which is how he met Thea. She was the youngest of her family, and her leaving reportedly caused a rift between her and her father. He wanted her respectably married. But by her own words she loved my father very much and chose to live with him.” Christian had never understood how the man he had known had been so different from the one of Thea and her children’s experience.
“Do you suppose your father ever wanted to marry her as well?”
“I don’t know. I do know that he despised my mother. Jacob and I are only separated by a few months. I can only assume that he was with them both and chose Thea. My mother didn’t take this lightly. I know that he only married her because she arranged for them to be found together, thereby forcing the marriage. He always believed that I was someone else’s bastard. I would have believed it, too, had the physical similarities not been so apparent. By all accounts he was faithful to Thea until his death.”
“You do look very similar to your brother. Aside from your coloring, you could almost be twins.”
“We both take after our father. It was the one thing that shocked Thea when she saw me.”
“I would have very much liked to meet her, but I am glad to not know your father. He treated you poorly.”
Christian could not help but stare at this strange and wonderful woman before him. Thea had been born the daughter of a merchant. Though her relationship with his father had elevated her position somewhat, she would never have been accepted in Mayfair ballrooms. No self-respecting lady would have dared to acknowledge her existence, much less meet her.
“I believe she would have liked you,” he said with all honesty. Thea had liked anyone who was out of the ordinary, who wasn’t afraid to forge their own path.
He took another drink of ale, guilt burning in his stomach. No matter how often he told himself that he was the better choice for her, he could not forget the fact that he was taking her choices away.
“Does it not strike you as odd that the villain of this story, your father by your account, would be the hero in the eyes of Society? His mistress and his wife would both be shunned,” Violet said.
He nodded in agreement. “He was most definitely a villain.”
“I rarely agree with Society’s opinions.”
“I am shocked.” He teased her.
She laughed.
“I gathered as much in your dash from London. Have you always been rebellious?”
“Not really. Quietly rebellious, perhaps. I prefer things to be calm and orderly, but not at the expense of what’s right.”
He grinned at that, wondering how many rebellious thoughts she harbored. At least he knew a few because of her precious Lord Lucifer. The burn of guilt faded into the ache of jealousy. Finished with his sparse meal, he pushed his plate away and held his tankard with both hands, reluctant to depart for the evening.
“How did you learn about your father’s other family?”
Surprisingly, he did not find anything abhorrent about telling her. He had never spoken to anyone about his past so freely. “Ware helped.”
“Lord Ware?” Her eyes widened.
“Yes. We both were attending Eton, and someone was spreading rumors, very true rumors actually, about the condition of my newly inherited estate. I tracked them back to Ware, and when confronted, he told me about Jacob, Maura, and Lilian.”
“What did you do to Lord Ware?” There was the unmistakable gleam of bloodlust in her eyes.
“I beat him soundly, of course.” More seriously, he added, “I didn’t want to believe it, but there was hardly any reason not to. When I confronted my father’s man of business, he admitted that it was true.”
“Perhaps your father should have been outcast instead of your mother. He had an entire other family.”
Christian could not argue with her logic. “But then the rules are different for women than they are for men. He kept his seat in Parliament and was invited to all the important events of the season. My mother would have been a laughingstock and relegated to only the lesser events, and only if she seemed suitably contrite.”
She harrumphed and set her tankard down. “Sometimes I wonder why bother with the lot of them.”
Despite the subject, he found himself smiling at her irritation. “Would you prefer to leave? Tour the Continent, sail around the world?”
“Neither of those are terrible suggestions,” she said, relaxing her shoulders. “Especially if I can write.”
And have someone make love to you at night, he added silently. Perhaps his quiet Miss Crenshaw was strong enough to not be bothered by the inevitable scandal of their marriage. She might even thrive because of it.
“Tell me more about Montague?” she asked, changing the subject. Her thirst for information about him was heady. He found he wanted to tell her everything.
“What do you wish to know? Jacob runs it with me, and a few years back the duke bought in.”
Sipping her own ale, she smiled at him in a way that let him know she thought herself being very naughty
. Anticipation rippled like sparks across his skin. “I have heard that all manner of deviousness takes place there.”
He could not have this conversation with her. Not now. Not when they were all alone with a bed conveniently nearby. Shifting in his seat to find a more comfortable position, he said, “All stories are true, though perhaps slightly exaggerated.”
“What about the room?”
There was no need to ask which one she meant. Tales of a special bedchamber at the club had been greatly embellished.
Dropping her voice even though they were alone and no one was likely to be listening, she asked, “The bedchamber?”
“What have you heard?” What would an innocent debutante be told about such a subject?
She shrugged a shoulder and dropped her gaze as if suddenly too shy to meet his. “Only that couples go in there to indulge in all manner of immoral and decadent behaviors.”
Sometimes there were performances. Other times couples chose to go there alone or with a few companions. But there were accoutrements available for their pleasure. She glanced up at his silence, the interest clear in her eyes. They were dilated, and her lips parted as if to catch her breath. She would want to go, and he would take her there. He closed his eyes as he imagined using the silk cords to tie her hands to the bed. The way she would tremble with need.
“Yes, that much is true.”
“Do you go there?” she whispered.
He stared at her, astounded at her brazenness and how appealing it was. “I have, yes.” His voice was husky and thick with want. She blushed in response, and he knew that she was imagining such a scene. Was she his companion? “Would you like to go there?”
“I don’t know how I would. As I recall, your club doesn’t allow women.” Her shoulders squared, and she looked at him in defiance. He noted that she had avoided his question.
“You are misinformed. We have women members. Although, admittedly, they are few and their reputations are nothing to speak of.”
Her flare of indignation faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh.” She paused, taking in a breath as if preparing herself for something. The way this conversation had taken so many twists and turns, he wasn’t certain what to expect. “Do you recall when I kissed you?” Her gaze went to his mouth before settling on his eyes.
“Yes.” His voice was almost unrecognizable. His cockstand would certainly be noticeable to her if she dared to look. It became apparent that he needed to immediately remove himself from her presence, lest he convince her to do something she would likely regret at this point.
“What do you remember about it?” she whispered.
He nearly groaned at the desire in her voice. “How much I liked it.”
“You didn’t think me immature?”
“No.” Leaning forward, he let his fingertips rest on the back of her hand. She took in a little breath at the touch. He would be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the way his own blood sped at the simple contact. “Was that your first kiss?”
“No.”
Despite the fact that it was completely unwarranted, a flicker of jealousy flared inside him. “Your fiancé?”
“Yes.”
The brute inside him demanded he find out who had kissed her best, even though Christian had hardly kissed her at all before they had been interrupted. “Why would a man who had held you and kissed you be so stupid that he let you get away from him?”
“My father paid him.” Her voice was choked with misery, and her gaze had moved to his hand. She was embarrassed.
“Crenshaw paid him to leave off? To pave the way for Ware?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose that’s the reason. Although, it’s possible Teddy had already found someone else.”
“He’s a bloody fool.” The vehemence of his tone drew her gaze back to him, and her eyes shone with approval.
“I think so, too.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth.
Christ. He wanted to kiss her. To kiss her so hard and deep that she fell back onto the bed, splayed beneath him. His cock was so rigid that he’d merely push her skirts up, find the slit in her drawers, and slide into her. Only it wouldn’t be that easy. She was a virgin, and he had to take her with care, not with mindless need. He needed to leave. Now. He wouldn’t ruin her, not physically, without her agreement to marry him. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
With a groan born from the frustration bearing down on him, he pushed away and rose to his feet. “We should retire for the night. We must leave at daybreak to stay ahead.”
“Oh.” Clearly disappointed and ashamed of that disappointment, she rose. “Good night, my lord.”
Hoping she didn’t notice the need coursing through him, he gave a slight bow—as near as he was able—and hurried out the door of her bedroom. He waited until he heard her lock it, before going into his own.
* * *
• • •
The next two days were both fearful and wonderful. Violet was able to finish precious little writing. She was hopelessly distracted by Lord Leigh and spent almost the entire time in the carriage talking to him. They spoke of almost everything, from the terrible news of that poor German ship that had sunk off the Isles of Scilly to Minor v. Happersett—the Supreme Court case that had denied granting women the right to vote—to Lady Helena’s charity. Much to her delight, Lord Leigh supported the idea that women should be granted the vote. He even believed that a woman should be allowed to find a place for herself outside the home, and he had donated to Lady Helena’s charity.
While the charity had originally funded a home for foundlings and orphans, it had been expanded in recent years to accommodate the growing need created by women, many unmarried, working twelve- and sixteen-hour days who could not care for their own children. Lady Helena had confided to her that Society people sometimes found it disagreeable, as it could be seen to promote promiscuity. As a result, she was struggling to find funding. Violet and August had promptly donated, so it was heartening to know that Lord Leigh shared their sentiments.
Especially since Violet was fairly certain she was developing strong feelings for him.
It wasn’t the same sort of tepid comfort she had found with Teddy. No, this was an all-consuming thing that swept in and took hold of her. A possession of sorts. It had started with physical signs: his electric touch sending sparks of heat along her skin, his scent making something deep within her long to be cosseted in his arms, the sound of his voice swirling inside her, stripping her defenses until she was a mass of need and longing. A smart woman would say this was the dangerous effect of a rogue. Even now she could hear Lady Helena warning her away. The woman would be correct to do so. Those were merely signs of passion. Those weren’t what frightened her.
Violet was much more touched by what had come along with the physical manifestations. For one, he asked her about her life in New York. She told him about her friends, and Alabaster Court, their summer home in Newport. She told him all the little details about growing up that she had never spoken about to anyone. Her cat, Mittens, who had arrived one day in their back garden scrawny and missing patches of his coat, only to live the next ten years of his life in the luxury of her care. Teddy had never even known about Mittens, and she was certain he had never thought to ask about pets. Not only did Lord Leigh ask, but he listened.
He listened when she told him about the first time she had written a story and read it to her friend Amelia. Amelia had begged for another chapter to be written immediately. Lord Leigh had asked her what it was about and had listened as she had told him the story of the orphan girl who had learned she was a princess. Teddy had supported her writing aspirations, but he had never once asked her the contents of a story. It hadn’t occurred to her to mind that lapse in a prospective spouse. Perhaps she still didn’t, as her work was her own and would not be his; but after a lifetime of her work being disregarded by nearly everyo
ne she knew, having Lord Leigh’s undivided interest in her writing was a heady thing.
The depth of her newfound affection for him was so acute and sudden that Violet was certain it couldn’t be real. Infatuation was often mistaken for love, wasn’t it? That’s what terrified her so much. She would act on her feelings only to find they weren’t real. Worse, she would act on them only to discover that, rogue that he was known to be, he had played upon her affections. Despite her longing, she had come to the conclusion that she must be wise in the days ahead.
She would go to Windermere as planned, but she would write to him immediately. If he replied and their correspondence continued, she would propose that perhaps he might court her. She wouldn’t come out and say it, of course. She would have to find some way to hint at it, to tease his thoughts on the matter out of him. If that went well, then she would gently, after the proper time had passed, propose they marry.
The very idea of it sent butterflies of doubt and anticipation swirling in her belly. She would have to marry at some point, and she did want a marriage for herself. Children and a home of her own had always been something she planned for her future. Of course, she had always assumed she would find a husband in New York, far away from this current madness. But now she could think of none better than Lord Leigh to be her husband.
No, she was getting ahead of herself. Marriage was not something she should be thinking about now. He could very well continue to Scotland and forget about her. They would start with correspondence, and she would simply wait to see how things developed from there. It was her own excitable nature making her imagine this lush and extravagant future between them. Only she seemed to have no control over her imagination. Every time she closed her eyes, she dreamed of him.
The Devil and the Heiress Page 12