“Could I get you something?” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water from the chilled pitcher that was left for him each night.
“No, thank you.”
From the corner of his eye he watched her hover, decide to take a seat on the sofa, only to change her mind at the last second and walk to the window. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair shone under the gaslight, and her skin seemed luminous. In profile, he was reminded of how she had looked the day he had asked her father for her hand. The day they had sparred in the entryway outside her music room. Christ, what a fool he had been for her. He had loved her even then.
When she turned back to him and caught him watching, he couldn’t look away. She knew he was besotted with her, and he would look his fill until she left him. Her face was rounder, as if the angles had been softened in the time since he had last seen her. He couldn’t be certain, because they were covered by her gown, but the effect seemed to extend to her shoulders, and even her breasts appeared fuller than he remembered. God, he knew every inch of her so well, he actually felt saddened that he had missed these changes. That she was somehow different than she had been with him and he had missed out.
That made him look away. He was mad for her. Madness. It was the only word for the obsession that coursed through him. He would have thought it would have faded with her absence, but it had come roaring back with her return, greedy for all he had missed.
“Why are you here?” His voice was harsher than he meant for it to be.
She approached him, only stopping an arm’s length away. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she had ventured too close. He took another drink of water to give himself something to do besides grab her.
“I read your essay. I thought it was very good.”
Her approval soothed him like a balm, seeping into the dark places he kept hidden. It was dangerous to allow himself to react to her so, but he couldn’t help it. “Is that why you’ve come? To tell me you approve of my stance?” A stance that would greatly benefit her. Yet even as he thought it, he didn’t care. She approved and that was enough.
“I also read an article about you in the Times. It mentioned your speech about children workers and the need to further limit their workday, and also the one about women in factories. I hadn’t known about those, but I very much appreciate your support. I suppose you might not know this, but I have been working with Helena and her charity—”
“I know.” He knew because he soaked up every bit of information about her like a bloody desert thirsty for rain. “I know, Violet.”
Her lips parted in surprise as if she might have had doubts that he was mad when it came to her. “Why did you make those speeches?”
“Because they are just and good causes.” Because they are things you support, because I want to be close to you even if it is by association. God, how low he had fallen.
“And yet you didn’t support them before?” Before them, she meant.
“I did. Only I was more selfish then.”
She was silent for a moment, her too-knowing eyes seeing far too much in his face. He glanced away and walked to the dressing room to discard his towel. The other room was his bedchamber, which rounded out the three-room suite, which meant his bed was close enough to be enticing, but it might as well have been on the other side of London. She was still standing by the sideboard when he returned.
Torn between needing her to go to spare himself the pain of hearing her ask for a divorce, and the tiny flicker of hope that dared think she might want him again, he simply watched her, knowing the next few moments could and likely would alter the course of his life.
“Christian . . .” She began to walk toward him, her pace slow and deliberate, and his heart pounded against his ribs as if trying to reach her on its own. Twisting her fingers in front of her, she said, “Lady Witherston has asked if I might be inclined to donate to her house for unusual birds. It seems she believes that the only way to make the public appreciate their splendid plumage is to breed them and continue to produce the terrible hats she wears. If I were inclined to favor her charity, would you also make an impassioned speech about it?”
“If you wish it,” he whispered, afraid to move, unable to lie, unable to breathe. If he allowed her to know the terrible power she held over him, he didn’t know if he would survive its misuse.
She stopped mere inches from him. “Why did you write the essay about women’s property rights?”
“One day I hope to make permanent and lawful the agreement we made. One day I will make certain you are given control of your settlement.”
For the first time, her expression cracked. She wasn’t cold or rigid but warm and soft. “Is it true that you sold Blythkirk and donated the proceeds to the London Home for Young Women?”
He shook his head. Clark had assured him that the donation could be made anonymously. Christian had insisted upon it. “It doesn’t matter.”
Her palm touched his bare chest between the lapels of the dressing gown. He stared at her hand, certain she could feel the thundering of his heart.
“It matters to me, Christian. That was your home. It was a place you loved, and I won’t have you selling it for me.”
“It was not my home. I thought it mattered, but it doesn’t.” You are all that matters. “It was a shell of a building. I know what real loss feels like now, and that was a mere echo.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Then tell me, is it true that you still love me?”
His own eyes went blurry, making her face swim before him. He wanted to protect himself, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, not if they might convince her to give them another chance. “Surely, you realize that my love for you has not been ended by your absence. You must know that I have loved you from our very first meeting, and I will continue to love you long after I cease to draw breath. If you but ask it, I will make any speech, give any donation, sell the clothing from my back to see you satisfied.”
“Christian.” She breathed the word, and it filled his soul as she fell against his chest.
Slowly, as if his own imaginings had conjured her and she might disappear with his touch, he brought his arms around her. She was real, flesh and blood and heat. He tightened his grip, a part of him still afraid that she might vanish.
“This can’t be healthy for us,” she whispered against his chest. “This all-consuming love that we feel.”
As if confirming her words, his heart seemed to stutter in his chest. “Love?” he repeated.
Lifting her head, she stared up at him. “Yes, I love you still. I tried to convince myself it was mere infatuation, but it wasn’t. It isn’t. I love you now as much as I did in Yorkshire. Perhaps more, deeper. Reading your words and knowing that you are willing to face criticism from your peers to see our agreement made legal . . . I know now that you really meant it when you said you didn’t care about the settlement anymore.
“And seeing you now . . .” She ran her palms over his shoulders and up so that her fingers could clench the hair at the back of his head. His scalp prickled at the pleasant tug. “It’s as if no time at all has passed, but also as if a lifetime has passed us by. I don’t want to go another day without you. I don’t want to wake up without you. I don’t want to wonder in every gnawing moment that I have alone what you are doing or if you miss me.”
“Yes,” he whispered, taking her mouth. She opened for him so sweetly. “I miss you constantly.” He kissed her again. “I love you constantly.” Another kiss. “Can you ever trust me again?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Her hands slid inside his dressing gown to explore his naked chest as if she couldn’t stop touching him. “You are a good man, and I knew that all along.”
“I’m sorry for ever making you doubt me. I’m sorry for not being more open. It’s hard for me, but that’s no excuse.”
Her dark eyes softened, shimmering gold in the gaslight as she took his face between her palms. “No, it’s not, but we can start anew. If you still want me—”
He pulled her against him again. “Jesus, Violet, of course I still want you. I never stopped. I want us and what we discovered in Yorkshire.” His kissed her jaw, craving her taste and the salt of her skin. She wore the perfume she favored, but underneath he could smell her.
“I’m perspiring.” He had only just now realized that he was likely ruining her gown. “I was training.” He tried to push her away, but she only brought his mouth to hers.
“Yes, I know. I saw. It’s why I’m rather in a hurry.”
So the look she had given him hadn’t been censure after all. She had been fighting her desire for him. It was as plain as day in her eyes. He laughed, and the beast in him slipped the reins, clawing at her clothing as he tried to find her beneath it. She made a sound of anticipation and pushed the dressing gown off his shoulders before helping him with her fastenings. Something ripped, but she didn’t seem to mind. As soon as he yanked her gown away, followed by the corset, he saw the locket he had given her lying on her chest, and it stopped him cold.
“You kept it.”
“Yes.” Her heart was in her eyes. “I wear it every day. Sometimes I take it off for balls, but I put it back on before going to bed.”
That would explain why he hadn’t seen her wear it in the weeks after their wedding. Her gowns for going out in the evenings all had lower-cut necklines. Groaning as a wave of affection crashed over him, he picked her up and stormed through the suite with her to his bed. There he unwrapped her, ravenous in his need. But so was she. As soon as she was divested of petticoats and chemise, she pulled him on top of her, her greedy hands at the waistband of his breeches.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she said.
He was inclined to agree. As he sat back to unfasten the breeches, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, afraid she might disappear because this was all a dream. She was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. A pink flush stained her pale skin as she laid back against the pillows, thighs spread for him. Her sex glistening with her need. This was his home. Her. This woman who had taught him so much about love and forgiveness. Blythkirk and all the rest be damned. None of it meant anything without her.
He crawled over her, his body trembling with need and emotion. She reached between them, guiding him to her where he felt only the slightest resistance before he filled her up. They both cried out at the sensation; for once there was no need to be quiet or discreet in their pleasure. The tight grip of her body was the closest to heaven he would ever come. He tried to savor it, to relish the feel of her, the smell of her, but it had been so long he knew he wouldn’t be able to prolong it. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she arched toward him, tightening herself along his length.
“I won’t be able to last.” His voice was more of a growl than anything else.
“Good,” she said, doing it again, her nails biting into his shoulders.
“Violet,” he groaned. “I love you.”
“Show me,” she sighed, as he moved within her.
He was lost. Winding her hair around his fists, he held her tight and thrust into her like a man who had been denied this pleasure for too long.
But apparently so had she. She rode him as he rode her, and when he came, her body shuddered with his as he lost everything within her.
* * *
• • •
Violet didn’t want to close her eyes to blink, afraid that she would wake up and this would all be a fantastic dream. Her heartbeat was only now starting to return to normal as she lay beside him. Her husband. Taking his hand, she brought it to her lips, feeling his own kiss at her temple in response.
“I’m sorry I took so long. I think of all the time—”
“Shh . . . it was time you needed, time we both needed. I understand.” He touched her cheek, taking her mouth in a kiss that was only just starting to lose the tinge of desperation. Rising up on an elbow, he smiled down at her, his dimple making an appearance. His smile was so loving and accepting that it filled her heart with a warmth it could barely contain. “I love you, and we will never be apart again. That’s all that matters.”
“You’ll come home with me in the morning to Belgravia?” A part of her still expected him to refuse. The house must remind him of his father.
He surprised her by nodding as he rose, unlacing his boots to drop them off the side of his bed, followed by his breeches and drawers. “You’ve renovated it, I hear,” he said as he turned to her, taking first one shoe off and then the other.
“I have. It’s almost unrecognizable.” It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she had been so determined to change it completely for him. She watched as he kissed the arches of her feet, before reaching up to divest her of her stockings. Arrows of pleasure darted through her with each touch. Her body was a greedy thing, already wanting him inside her again. “We don’t have to live there, though, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
He gave her a wicked glance. “As long as I’m with you, I have everything I need.”
He trailed kisses up her legs to her thighs and the curls hiding her from him. Then he kissed her belly, pausing as he took in the slight swelling he had probably been too busy to observe before. She dared not breathe. He couldn’t suspect. It was hardly noticeable to her, but his gaze was filled with awe when he looked up at her.
“You’re with child,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His face transformed with joy as he looked back down to where their child grew. His hand swept over the slight bump in a tender caress. “That explains these.” He grinned wickedly and rose over her, his gaze on her breasts. “They’ve grown, and your nipples are darker.” His tongue licked around one before drawing it into his mouth. She gasped at the pleasure it sent pulsing through her. Releasing her, he lay beside her and gathered her into his arms. “There was a time I thought I would never have children,” he said, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke. “But it seems only natural with you.”
“Then you’re not disappointed?” A part of her hadn’t been certain he would welcome fatherhood.
“No, never. From the moment I knew I wanted you as my wife, I imagined children in that future.” He was silent for a moment, then he asked, “Are you disappointed?”
“No. Why would I be?” She looked over at him to see that he seemed pensive.
“Because you must think that I’ll be a terrible parent.”
“No—”
“I promise that I will be a good father. I know that you must wonder—”
“I don’t wonder, Christian.” She smiled at him. “You are a good man and nothing like your father.” Something she knew with absolute certainty. Relief softened his features.
“Good, because I imagined that we would grow old together with children and grandchildren around us.” He admitted that in the same way he had admitted his love for her in Yorkshire, in a way that was almost shy, as if he expected the information might be received with anything less than the overpowering happiness she felt.
“When did you imagine this?” She couldn’t resist asking, her hand pressed against his beloved face.
“Truthfully? I imagined it the night I first saw you at the ballet with your family. But I knew it was something I had to make happen the day I asked your father for your hand.”
Her smile only grew larger. “Had I but known, I could have saved us a lot of trouble. I was convinced you saw me as little more than a child.”
“Never that.” He laughed, and the rich sound penetrated her, warming her. God, she had missed this with him.
“I have other news to share, about my writing.”
“About that . . . I’ve been thinking that we should have your manuscript printed. A pri
vate printing that we can distribute—”
He stopped talking when she shook her head. “There is no need, my lord. I have a publisher.”
“What? Really?” He grabbed her hips and rolled to his back, bringing her astride him, his face alight with joy.
“I received the letter and contract only yesterday. The Atlantic Monthly in Boston wants to publish it as a serial this winter.” Her initial urge had been to tell him about it. Before August, before Helena, he is the one she wanted to share in her news.
“That’s excellent, Violet. I know it will be a success. We should celebrate. And then we’ll celebrate again when your second manuscript is finished.”
She shook her head again. “Then we should have a double celebration tonight. I already finished it.”
“You did?”
“It’s all I could think of these past months. Lord Lucifer and his annoying brooding. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
She giggled when he tackled her to the bed, rising over her. “I’m glad he tormented you as you tormented me.” He began kissing his way down her body.
“I’m afraid you’re likely to be disappointed when you read it.”
He paused at her belly and raised his head. “You’re going to allow me to read it?”
She shrugged, feeling shy despite the fact that she was lying naked in his bed and at his mercy. “If you want.”
“You know I want to.” If possible, his eyes gathered intensity as he returned his attention to his task.
“As I was saying, it’s all terribly droll and melancholy. He finally gets his comeuppance in the end when Miss Hamilton rejects his suit in favor of—Ouch!”
He bit her inner thigh. It hadn’t really hurt as much as it had sent a pang of longing directly to her core. After soothing the bite with his tongue, he looked up and said, “She can reject him all she wants, as long as the real Miss Hamilton becomes Lady Lucifer.”
The Devil and the Heiress Page 26