When she had asked him what he would do to entertain her, his mind had filled with erotic scenes, with replays of their younger lovemaking, enhanced by what he now knew. He had tried, in his answer, to lead them to safer territory, despite the images which ran through his thoughts.
He had failed, obviously.
What she had just said of her marriage confused him. She had abandoned him to go and marry Caldicot, for his wealth, without a backward glance, and yet she claimed to have had no choice, to have suffered through the marriage, disliking the man all the way.
It did not make sense.
“You do not shock me with your lack of grief.”
“Good. For you would be a hypocrite if you attempted to convince me that you were horrified. The situation I found myself in, I lay entirely at your door. But I do not wish to talk of it further. Let us poke at your life now – why have you not married? Surely, as Duke, you need an heir?”
He watched her face as she spoke, his mind struggling to comprehend the meaning of her words. Her expression was closed – if she had not just vehemently denied grief, he would have said that he was seeing its substance in her. He did not understand at all what she meant, when she said that she laid it all at his door – she had abandoned him…
She was waiting for his answer to her question, and he should give one, he supposed, as she had answered his – even if her answer had left him with more questions.
“I have not married, because I have not found a woman I could stand to live with. Despite my mother’s urging, I refuse to consider it until I absolutely no longer have a choice. I vowed to myself, when my father died, that I would not consider it at all, until I had repaired the fortunes of our estates. Which I have done, now. But that does not make me any more enthusiastic about the women of the ton.”
She frowned.
“You must, then, have had a string of mistresses, to keep you amused.”
Anger rolled through him. That she could think it of him, could think that what had been between them had meant nothing, that he would simply take his ease with any demi-mondaine available… Obviously, she had never understood him at all.
“I have not.”
Her eyebrow raised, and her face took on a cynical look.
“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. But regardless of mistresses, there will come a time when you will need to get an heir for your title. Your mother is correct in that.”
“I know it, but I choose to ignore it.”
She hesitated, and Kit looked at her, wondering again, what she was thinking. She looked sad, that almost grieving look again.
“Don’t leave it too long Kit. Sometimes age steals our ability, man or woman, to get a child.”
She swallowed more wine, in one long gulp, as if there was some worrisome deeper meaning to her words. He pushed that concern aside.
“That does not worry me.”
“You are a fool then.”
It was said sharply.
She stood, empty wine glass in hand, and went to the table. Once the glass was refilled, she set it down and examined the platters of food. There was bread with country butter and cheeses, pies, small part shrivelled apples – obviously the last of the autumn harvest – a dish of preserved berries, and a dish of nuts. Not exactly a feast, but adequate for the middle of winter. As he watched, she lifted some of the berries and brought them to her lips.
The red juice stained those lips, and he felt his body tighten, felt the urge to lick that sticky redness away. That she had just called him a fool had absolutely no impact on the effect she had on him. It was as if his mind separated the two completely.
He rose, and she turned towards him. She was temptation incarnate, and yet her look told him quite clearly that he should come no closer. He groaned softly, and her lips curled in amusement.
“I have come to the conclusion that this conversation does not meet the stated requirement – of being entertaining. I believe I will retire to my room, and sleep for some time – there being nothing else to do. Do leave some of the food for me. It will serve as dinner, once I wake. Enjoy your reading, or sleep as well.”
She met his eyes, and something passed between them, some bittersweet truth compounded of pain, lost love and time, something which he had no name for. Then she laughed – a sharp, unexpected sound in the quiet room.
“Reading will not help me sleep. I will be, as you suggested at the start of this, kind – I will leave you some food. Although, heaven knows, you never left me anything but pain and regret.”
He had no sensible response to a statement like that, and his normal genial façade failed him. He lifted one of the jugs of wine, and took it and his glass with him. If nothing else, he could spend the day in a wine induced haze.
But even after substantial amounts of wine, the image of the juice on her lips stayed with him, an echo of times past, when he had fed her the berries of early summer from his fingers.
*****
Violetta watched the door close behind him again. She had the strongest feeling that he was running away.
Perhaps that was reasonable. If there had been anywhere to go, she would have run too. She ate a little, but even that was fraught with memories, and she turned away. Perhaps wine and sleep was a good solution. If she read any more of Fanny Hill, she knew that it would simply make her remember, make her body ache for his touch. A touch she should not want, and which she was not going to lower herself to accepting.
Chapter Six
Violetta slept for an hour or two – sleep full of disturbing dreams – then went to sit in the parlour again, attempting to read, sipping wine as she did so. But it was not the words on the page which occupied her mind.
Instead, the things which Kit had said kept running through her thoughts. All of those oh-so-confusing accusations, and implications. Words which suggested that she had been the one to blame for their separation, that she had deceived or betrayed him. Words which made no sense at all.
At first, she had though it was just cruelty, a refusal to allow her anger to affect him, an act of heartlessness from the man who had so abandoned her. But now, the more she considered it, the less certain she was of that. He seemed sincere. That was what confused her the most. And, until the night that he had abandoned her, she had never thought him cruel, never seen any sign of that in his nature.
So what was the truth? Why was he like this?
She had even thought, a number of times, that what she had seen in his expression was care – for her.
But how could that be?
Why would he retain any particle of care for her, when he had abandoned her so precipitously, ten years before?
Was there, perhaps, more to it than she knew? She could not imagine what there might be, but it was very obvious that what Kit believed had happened ten years before was not what she knew to be the truth – or had thought that she knew to be the truth. What… what if it wasn’t the truth – or not all of the truth, at least?
That thought was terrifying. For if what she knew, what she had held to for ten long years was not the truth, then the very fabric she had built her life on was insubstantial. To accept that it was not as simple a matter as ‘Kit had abandoned her’, was to fall into the abyss.
What did he know, that she didn’t? What did she know, that he didn’t? And how could she possibly discover those answers?
She drank the wine, nibbled at the food a little, and stared into the fire for hours, but was no closer to an understanding of anything by the time he emerged from his room. Still, she resolved to keep her anger and bitterness in check for the evening, and to watch him – not just because she could not help doing so, but because she wanted to understand.
If the snow stopped, she would leave here, tomorrow or the next day, and likely never see him again. If that was the case, she wanted to know the truth, or the doubt of it would eat away inside her forever.
He stepped into the room, and they looked at each other.
The silence extended. As if he too hoped for a less antagonistic evening. Well then, she would give him that. She was not sure that they could talk without antagonism, but she would try – perhaps, then, he would explain some of what he had implied, before.
*****
Kit stepped into the parlour, and was struck by how domestic an appearance it presented – a table of food, wine, a warm fire, and Vee. Once, he had dreamed of this, had dreamed of a life spent with her. Now, seeing her again, he was deeply chagrined to discover that he still dreamed of it.
He had spent some of the afternoon asleep, but not much.
Far more of it, he had spent thinking. Thinking of what she had said.
She kept speaking of what ‘he had done to her’ and yet… she was the one who had abandoned him to marry Caldicot. Admittedly, at the time, he had been confined to a sick bed with a broken arm, but surely she had heard that he had been injured? She had not sent even a note – he had woken from the laudanum daze to be told of her marriage.
Yet she seemed so utterly certain that her situation had been his fault. Was it possible… possible that there was something he did not know? Some information which had been kept from him? But, if that was the case – by who? Had his father done something unforgiveable, to prevent the match, once and for all?
He would not have put it past the man to act so.
And now, faced with that thought, he was left wondering who else might have deceived him, and who, perhaps, had not.
When he had accused Violetta of acting, of deceit, she had seemed genuinely shocked and hurt – was it possible that she was not dissembling? If that was the case… then everything he had defined himself by for ten years was a lie – even if he did not know what the truth was.
She looked up, and actually smiled at him. It almost unmanned him, for it was a sweet smile, not a sardonic or cynical one. He would try, for the evening, to achieve peace between them. And perhaps, if he did achieve that, he might learn more of the reasoning behind her deep anger, and the things she had said.
He went to the table, and sat, as the silence extended. Why did it take more courage to be pleasant, than acerbic?
“Did you manage to sleep, Vee?”
It was an inane conversational opening, but at least it was a start.
“Only a little. I pray that this snow stops overnight, that we might be on our way again soon. I am to spend Christmas with my cousin, and will be most annoyed if I miss it. This Inn is not my idea of a wonderful place to spend the festive season.”
He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. It seemed that she was willing to avoid argument, at least for a while.
“I can agree with that sentiment. Not that Christmas has been particularly enjoyable in my life. My father gambled, no matter the season, and my mother despaired – we rarely celebrated. I hope that your experience of it was better than mine.”
She turned those startling blue violet eyes upon him, and he was lost, sinking into their depths, seeking the truths hidden there. Everything else faded away, and they simply sat, gazing at each other, until, with a little shake of her head, she looked away.
“Sadly, it was not. My father disapproved of spending money on such frivolities – and he was a man who expressed his disapproval very… physically. I am hoping that this Christmas will be different – I will be with people I care for, and in a very different place. Perhaps that can lay the ghosts of the past.”
Kit let her words sink in – what had she just implied? Her father had always seemed a stern man, and Kit knew, obviously, that the Earl had disapproved of him, of his father’s wastrel ways with the family fortunes, but he had never seen any sign that the man might have been worse than stern. He needed to re-examine his memories. But he did not wish to pry, to question her now – not after their earlier conversation.
This evening, he hoped for peace.
“I hope that you are right. An enjoyable Christmas would be something of a novelty.”
Silence fell again, but this time, it felt companionable, undemanding. He ate, and drank more wine, feeling the effects of it relaxing him. He should not let down his guard, should not so easily be led to think that he could trust her – yet he wanted to. Somehow, the bitterness which he had used to drive himself for the last ten years had become a burden. But it was a burden he was afraid to set aside, lest he be betrayed again.
So he ignored the unease, and chose instead to appreciate the peacefulness. What would it be like, to have this every day? The thought slipped into his mind, and sat there, dangerous.
*****
Violetta went and sat at the table with Kit, oddly comfortable, and ate, letting the silence extend without feeling the need to fill it. When he was not tense and angry, he was so much like the man she remembered, the man she had loved.
Perhaps still loved?
It was just a whisper of thought, but she stilled her mind, considering it. It could not be true, could it? She could not risk such a thing, could not risk being twice betrayed. She pushed the idea away, and concentrated on the simple pleasure of food and drink, and the warmth that filled her, just from his presence. The scent of his cologne drifted to her, winding itself into memories, of hours spent in his arms, when she had believed the world to be capable of kindness, even in the face of her father’s brutality.
Just for this night, she would allow herself to believe in a world which contained good, in which she was loved, again. She drank the wine, and allowed herself to slip into a pleasant haze. They spoke little, yet she was acutely aware of him, for every moment of the evening.
Eventually, Violetta decided that she should go to bed – yet she found herself loath to do so, loath to leave this quiet moment, at peace with Kit. But she chided herself for foolishness. Tomorrow, with luck, they would be able to leave. She would not see him again. To allow herself to feel anything for him now…
She rose, and then, as she went to speak, she realised her dilemma. Buttons. Again.
“Kit…”
“Yes?”
“Buttons.”
He laughed.
“Are you inviting me to undress you, Vee?”
She felt herself flush, amused and irritated at once.
“Kit… yes. But you know that I don’t mean…”
“…to allow me to finish that task.”
“Correct. But I do need to be able to get out of this gown, to sleep, lest I look utterly scandalously dishevelled tomorrow.”
“Perhaps I would like you to look utterly scandalously dishevelled.”
“Perhaps you would. But your wishes in that matter are no longer pertinent. Instead, rashly, I am calling upon you as a gentleman, to assist a lady in need.”
He rose, bowed, and came to her, gently turning her around, and beginning to undo those buttons. The feel of his fingers on her back heated her through, but he did only what she had asked – not even a trailing of that fingertip down her spine. Part of her regretted his courtesy.
She shivered as the cooler air reached her skin, as the back of the gown gaped open. It would be so easy to step back, to allow herself to rest in his arms, to allow his hands to push the gown off her shoulders, and to cup her breasts. Too easy. And a very bad idea. She stayed still, until the last button was undone.
His hands came to her shoulders, and he turned her to face him again. She met his eyes, and their green-gold depths were alight with something alarmingly like care, as if… She looked away, and her eyes came to his lips instead.
Shocked, she realised that she wanted him to kiss her.
She should not – that way led to betrayal and pain. But she wanted it nonetheless, if she was never to see him again after tomorrow, she wanted one more kiss.
As if he read her thoughts, he bent to her, slowly, gently, and brought his lips to hers, at first in the most delicate of touches, and then, when she did not pull away, did not slap him, he increased the pressure, his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth. She sighed, and allowe
d herself to respond, to meet his tongue with her own, to imprint the taste of him on her mind, to savour in the years ahead.
When they drew apart, he simply smiled, and brushed a gentle finger over her cheek. Without conscious thought, she raised her own hand, and traced the line of his jaw, then let her arm drop back to her side.
“Good night Vee. Sleep well.”
He stepped back, and walked away. She did not move until long after the door to his room clicked shut.
*****
The light was different. Violetta lay there, coming slowly awake, considering it. Something else was different. It was quiet. The wind had stopped.
She slipped out of the bed, pulling her carriage blanket around her shoulders, and went to the window. Carefully, she undid the pins, and eased a shutter open. Outside, the world was white and still, the air clear.
The snow had stopped.
She undid the other shutter, and leaned out. Below her to one side, men worked with shovels, clearing what must be the Inn yard. She could see her carriage, still mired in snow where they had left it in the yard, and a trail of dirtied snow between it and what must be the stables.
There was, it seemed, a chance that she might leave this place today. She should have been ecstatic at the thought. But she was not. Instead, it left her feeling out of sorts, as if by leaving, she would lose something. Part of her did not want this interlude to end, did not want to be away from Kit’s company, even if that company was antagonistic.
But he had not been antagonistic last night.
She shivered, not from the cold, but from remembering that gentle kiss with which he’d wished her good night.
She pulled the shutters closed, and set about dressing, as best she might. She even put her stays on, although she could not do them up very easily herself. Once she was as dressed as she could manage, with loose stays and undone buttons, she ventured out into the parlour.
Kit turned from the window when he heard her door open, and grinned that wicked grin when he saw the way her gown sat on her.
Christmas with THAT Duke: Regency Romance (Regency Scandals Book 3) Page 5