by Lavinia Kent
“No.” The single word was succinct. “If I am to barter myself—and we have evidently dropped any pretense that this is anything but a barter—I will not risk being cheated. Isabella must be safe.”
“Do you really believe I would be such a bad lot as a husband?” He spread his arms. “I would be properly indulgent to a deserving bride.”
Violet turned and walked to the window and pushed aside the drapes. Was she really going to do this? He would not be a pleasant husband for her sister, but he probably was also not the worst. Violet had seen many women marry a handsome man for love only to find they had not gotten quite what they bargained for. With Foxworthy at least Isabella would know what she was getting.
Violet leaned her face against the cool glass. She had paid her dues already—why should she welcome another old man to her bed, pretend again that she was willing when her entire being cried otherwise?
She turned back toward Foxworthy, ready to tell him the deal was null. He was right behind her. For such a large man he moved on mouse feet. She could smell dinner on his breath, feel the heavy heat of his body.
She could not do this to her sister. Violet knew how to survive. Her sister should not have to learn.
She drew a breath in, filling her lungs to their full capacity. “You will tell Masters you have changed your mind.” She placed a hand on his chest, let her hands trail across it. “That you’ve decided a bride is more of an inconvenience than you desire.”
“I still don’t see why I should trust you,” he said.
Violet let her fingers slip between the buttons to play with the heavy mat of hair. “You don’t have a reason. Consider it a gamble, one with rich rewards.” She leaned forward and blew softly at his collar. “Very rich rewards. And I am a woman of my word. I shall not betray you.”
Foxworthy pulled away and stomped toward the couch. “I will send for your brother, tell him to delay posting an announcement of the engagement in the papers. I will decide upon another way to seek repayment from him. I will expect you to accompany me someplace public. I want all London to know that you are mine. I give you one week.” He sank back into the cushions.
Violet walked halfway across the room toward him. A week was more than she had bargained for. “For how long will our arrangement last?”
“A wife I would have had until death.”
“Isn’t that one of the advantages of not having one? You are free to seek other pastures.”
“Who says I wouldn’t anyway?”
“I’ll give you one year.”
“You’ll give me as long as I want.”
Violet nodded. What did it matter anyway? She had thought she was free of that life, and now she was willing to put herself back in the cage. She walked to the door. She did not turn as she spoke. “I’ll send a note saying when I am available. Let me know where you wish to go so that I can dress appropriately.”
She walked through the door and into the hallway.
She felt as if her knees would fail at any moment.
The hallway was dark, the few sconces on the corner giving little light. She leaned back against the wall, hoping that Foxworthy would not follow.
It sucked the breath out of her to realize she was going to do this.
Peter. She had not thought of him at all this night. For the briefest of moments she wondered why—then she knew. He did not belong here in this sordid place. He did not belong in what she was going to do. If she thought of him she would not be able to do what was needed. It would hurt too much.
“I didn’t realize you were back. Were you going to inform me?” Ian’s low tone slid around her like a noose.
Violet raised her head and stared at him. He was shadowed in the dim light, but his eyes gleamed fierce. She pulled her shoulders back with effort. She was so tired of performing. “I only arrived in Town yesterday.”
“And, of course, you came here as soon as you were rested, searching for me,” Ian replied. “I am sure that when I return home I will find your card awaiting me along with a note describing just how eager you are to renew our acquaintance.”
Despite the heavy tone of sarcasm in his voice, Violet could sense the underlying hope. He really was a boy no matter how thick his pretense of sophistication. She allowed herself to lean back against the wall again. “I had matters I needed to attend to tonight. I would have sent for you within a day or so. I know there is much to be resolved between us.”
“And Struthers?”
“I would have sent for him too.”
Ian turned away from her and went to stand at the top of the stairs, heading down to the main hall. “I may be young, but I am not a fool.”
Why did she have to hear Peter echoing in his words? She was done thinking of Peter, of what could never be. “I never took you for a fool.”
“Then pray do not treat me like one. I know that you have no real interest. It was there briefly, but it has passed.”
“I never—”
“Oh yes, you did.” Ian turned back to face her, his face lit with his beautiful grin. “Don’t worry. I am sure I shall recover. You are not the only beautiful widow in London.”
“No, I am not.” Perhaps he had meant his words to sting, but she could find only relief. He was one less matter she needed to deal with.
He smiled again. He truly was beautiful, each line perfectly drawn and executed. “Do me one favor,” he asked. “Don’t choose Struthers. I don’t think I could face that loss.”
She wanted to laugh. She began to stroll down the stairs. “Don’t worry. I promise when I appear with a new escort it will be someone rather more unexpected.”
Chapter 12
Peter didn’t know whether to whistle or dance. Well, considering he was on horseback, whistling seemed the safer option. He was surprised he didn’t burst into song.
The sun shone. He was back in London. Tristan and Marguerite were safe and happy with their new son. Violet had hinted she would consider marriage. He would see her soon.
A few weeks ago he would never have expected to be so happy again. He should return to his apartments and change before calling on his love. His love. He’d enjoy seeing Violet’s face if he ever called her that—perhaps on their wedding night when she was truly his and could not escape.
He stopped himself at the thought. That was what she was frightened of—the inability to escape. Didn’t she know he would always give her what she wanted, even freedom?
He glanced down at his travel-worn pants. A quick brushing released a cloud of dust. He could change quickly and be fresh and ready when he called on her—only the sun was sinking low in the sky and she might have plans for the evening. He would hate to arrive and find her already gone. He would chase her all over the city if he must, but it was not a thought he relished.
No, it was better to go straight to her home. Her housekeeper had a way with clothing. He could settle in with Violet, and his clothing would magically disappear and reappear in pristine condition. That was a fine plan.
He began to whistle.
Violet smoothed her gown over her hips. It was the same gold gown she had worn on the evening she first met Ian and Struthers. Tonight, though, it failed to make her feel radiant or seductive.
Instead, when she looked in the mirror all she saw was an aging woman who had given up. She brushed the fabric again, praying for the earlier enchantment. She needed to believe she could survive this.
She pinched her cheeks trying to bring color to them. She didn’t trust Foxworthy. He would only stay away from Isabella as long as he believed he was getting the better part of the deal. The moment he tired of Violet he would have no compunction at beginning his bargaining with Masters again. She needed to hold his interest until Isabella could find safety of her own.
Again she looked in the mirror and this time she saw it, not enchantment: strength.
Pulling back her shoulders, she pushed out her breasts and smiled at her reflection.
She glanced at c
lock on the mantel. Foxworthy would be here any moment. She would go with him and she would shine. He was taking her to small dinner party—no more public spectacle had been available this late in the summer—and she would bring every man there to his knees. By the end of the night she would leave Foxworthy with no doubt that he had made the right choice.
If she was going to do this she would do it with style.
There was knock on the door below.
She took one last glance in the mirror, bit hard at her lips until they pulsed with color, and headed to the stairs.
She did not look back. There was no going back.
She paused at the top of the stairs, eyes fixed straight ahead, not looking down. A small secret smile played about her lips.
She was strong.
He had never seen her look so beautiful. Peter stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at his goddess. She stood so proud and serene, filled with glory and strength. What more could a man ever want?
He was glad he had come straight here. He would have hated to miss this moment. He couldn’t wait for her happiness when she saw him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. “I’ve never seen quite that look of determination about you before.”
Violet’s face turned down toward him. That was not happiness. Her whole body stiffened and froze. For a moment her eyes flashed with despair before they too iced over.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone was colder than her look.
“I came to see you. Is there another reason I would come?”
“I meant, why have you returned to London? I thought you well contented with your brother.” She descended a single step.
“Tristan is completely lost in Marguerite and the new baby. My attendance was superfluous. I thought my time would be better spent here with you.”
“As you can see I am going out. I thought you were my escort.” Violet strolled the rest of the way down the stairs. Her dress was amazing. It hugged and hid her figure at the same time. It seemed a continuous flow of liquid gold whirling about her in endless froth. He couldn’t wait to take it off.
“I was afraid that would be the case. I came directly from the road to be sure I didn’t miss you. I wanted a chance to persuade you to stay in with me.” He grinned at her. “Won’t you stay? Nothing can be so important that you cannot tarry.”
She paled at his words and turned away. Something was very wrong. They had been at peace when she left. What could have happened in the few days she’d been home? It must have been bad—she wasn’t even fighting with him.
Peter walked to her and placed a soft hand upon her shoulder. “What is wrong? You do not seem yourself.”
She shook off his touch, refusing to look at him. “I am fine. I merely would not wish my escort to find you here.”
That stopped him. She was trying to hide him; had they not agreed that the time for subterfuge was past? “Who is coming?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. The point is that you cannot be here.” He had never seen her so flustered. She fluttered her hands. Violet never fluttered.
“Well, I have no intention of leaving. We have an agreement.”
“Agreement? I remember no such thing.” Her normally smooth skin was blotchy with emotion.
“We agreed not to hide what we are to each other.”
He saw her pull in a deep breath, could almost see her counting the seconds as she held it. “I remember no such agreement.” She looked away from him as she spoke.
“And even if we’d had an agreement, what is important is that this is my house and I want you to leave.”
“No.” He was angry now. She had never treated him like this before. Even when they fought, she had never ordered him gone. If he left, it was because he wanted to, not because he was commanded like some errant puppy.
There was a clatter of wheels and hooves out front. Violet moved to the window and peered out. She relaxed again as the noise moved on.
“Come into the parlor,” she said. “If we’re going to talk, it will have to be fast. I cannot be late.”
He followed her from the room, determined to learn what was happening.
She shut the door firmly behind them and began to pace. “Is there anything I can say to make you leave without a fuss? I promise to explain all later.”
He considered for a moment. He did not like to upset her, but—“Tell me now. It’s only been a few days since we last were together. How much can have changed?”
“You can be so young sometimes, not to realize that the whole world can change in a moment.”
“Then tell me. We can get through anything together.”
She sat then, a hand rising to contain the bitter laughter that flowed from her mouth. “Together? I don’t think so. This is a situation where you are definitely of no help.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said.
She brushed back the bright fringe of hair that had fallen in her face, then dropped her hands into her lap. Her fingers clenched once and then relaxed. She looked up at him, solemn. “You should. I have realized I really don’t need you or your help at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“During the carriage ride back from Glynewolde I did consider your proposal. I considered it very seriously and realized it was not what I wanted. I want to be free, able to make my own choices, not tied to you or any man.”
He suppressed the urge to argue. They had fought this out already. If she was unwilling to consider his proposal he would do what he must to keep her anyway. “I have already said I will not insist on marriage. I am contented to continue our relationship as it has been.”
“And yet you arrive at my house and begin making demands. That is surely not as it has been. You seek more.”
He felt like a leaf tossed by the wind. He could not move in one direction without being blown in another. “I only seek what I have always sought—to make you happy.”
“If you wished to make me happy you would depart and leave this discussion for another day. It is not my happiness that is your concern. It is your own.”
He turned and walked to the door, placed his hand upon the lintel. Then he turned back. “No, I may seek your pleasure, but I am not a schoolboy and I will not be treated as such. We made promises in the maze even if no words were spoken. If something has changed you must tell me.”
She bowed her head for a moment and then sat up straight, her back so firmly fixed there could have been a heavy stick straight through it. “I merely wish to avoid unpleasantness, but if you insist—I am awaiting another lover. We are going to spend the evening with friends and then retire either here or at his residence. Your presence is a complication.”
It was all he could do to continue standing. He knew he was not her first lover, but to the best of his knowledge Violet had never taken more than one lover at a time. He felt his heart tighten and shrink in his breast. “Why do you say this to me? It cannot be true.”
She stood and ran her hands down the length of her magnificent body. “I don’t see why not. I’ve never had trouble finding a new lover before, why should you doubt me now?”
“But you’ve always been faithful.”
“How would you—?” She looked disconcerted for a moment, but recovered quickly. “You looked into my past. How sweet.”
She was treating him like a boy again, smiling at him like a child who had misbehaved and now sought approval. “It was not sweet. I like to know what I am buying.”
Her lips quivered and then relaxed into a smile. “Ah, you’re going to hit back. I should have anticipated. I hurt your feelings and you try to hurt mine. You should know by now that I am very aware of all that I am.”
She walked toward him, hips swaying, breasts thrust forward. “I bought this dress for you. Do you like it? I hoped it made me look younger. And if it didn’t, I at least hoped it proved distracting.”
She was close enough to him that a quick glance down revealed all her hidden tr
easures. The soft lace at the neckline only pretended to disguise what was below when looked at from this angle. For a moment he was caught up in the image of soft white skin sloping into dark valleys and the barest hint of rosy nipples pulling tight against the incandescent fabric. His hand rose to touch.
She stepped back with a laugh. “Aren’t you beginning to understand yet? We are finished. You say I am always faithful—well, if that is true and I have another lover it must mean—”
“You said you bought the dress with me in mind.”
“Ah, but that was weeks ago.”
He grabbed her then and pulled her fast against him. He could feel the beat of her heart rising to meet his own. He held her there, so close their bodies were almost one. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arm. He was sure to leave bruises and he didn’t care. She was his. How dare she say otherwise?
He stared down at her lips. Almost on cue her tongue came out to wet them, leaving them glistening, beckoning. He bent forward, felt the intake of her breath, her anticipation. He brushed his mouth across hers. She tried to nip at him but he was too fast.
He let his hands slide across her back, down to her waist and below. He cupped her full buttocks tightly, pressing her firmly into his arousal. And he was aroused. He held her there, grinding forward with his hips.
He expected her to fight. She did not, but neither did she surrender. She stayed still within his arms, not granting him a single inch of softness.
If she would not grant, he would take. He bent forward again, letting his lips settle against hers. This time she did not bite, but stayed stiff, unwelcoming.
That was her game. It was one she could not win. He caressed her lips softly with his own, not seeking entrance. He pressed against her mouth again and again, letting her feel his determination, his patience. He ran feathered kisses up her face, around her eyes, across the lids.
He found her ear and let his tongue trail around it. He caught his teeth at the outer rim, pulling, teasing. She moaned, and then contained herself, trying to deny the sound.