by Lavinia Kent
“Yes, that is a pity.” If Violet didn’t know where her sister was she’d never be able to tell anyone. Violet stared at the clasped hands in her lap. Peter’s were so much bigger and darker than her own.
“It’s almost as much a pity as that you didn’t just talk this out with Isabella in the beginning. It was such a shame to see her sense of betrayal that you hadn’t trusted her with your plans and feelings. She could have helped avoid this whole mess if you’d only spoken to her—or consulted me—I don’t know why people never realize what a help I could be.” Lady Smythe-Burke turned and swept from the room. She stopped only once to say, “I do hope the two of you remember that if you should run into difficulties—I can be quite helpful, particularly with matters of society and opinion, and even on occasion with those of a more political nature. You should ask Wimberley. I’ve helped him a time or two. A word from me can go a long way toward smoothing a scandalous past.
“Oh, and Isabella said you should check your reticule.”
As the last tap of her shoes faded from the house, Violet reached over and retrieved the small bag. She shook it open and pulled out the papers she’d removed from Foxworthy’s house.
Peter took them from her and glanced over them. A strange expression passed across his face. “Not quite what I expected. I imagine these are what Foxworthy held over Masters. Your brother is safe from prosecution—but I expect he has always been so.” Peter scanned through the papers, paging back and forth. “There are receipts for investment in some foreign company and letters indicating a knowing involvement in French treachery.”
Violet reached out a trembling hand. “How can you say he is safe if—if he knowingly helped the French?”
Peter turned the pages toward her. “Look at the dates and the signature.”
“It’s my father’s. Why would Masters have—?” She ran a finger across the name. “But, of course, he didn’t. He lied. He made Foxworthy lie. I told him I might speak to Foxworthy, and he spoke to Foxworthy first. What I don’t understand is why?”
“I am sure your brother had his reasons—and Foxworthy too, perhaps,” Peter answered. “We shall probably never know the full truth unless Masters cares to tell us.”
“That is unlikely. The one thing we do know is that it was not my brother’s name he was trying to protect.”
“No, it appears it was your father’s, and perhaps the whole family’s. What would have happened if this had come out? Your father is dead, but I do not know if that would have made the Crown more forgiving. It is possible all his properties would have been seized.”
Violet was quiet for a moment, trying to remember those days after her parents’ deaths. There had been so little money left anyway. What would have happened if that little had been taken away? “Could it matter after all this time?”
“I don’t know. I can ask Wimberley. We can trust in his discretion. I expect, however, that the answer is yes. Treason casts a long shadow.”
Peter dropped the papers between them and reached again for Violet’s hand. He clasped it between his own and held it tight. He made no move to bring it to his lips or caress it in any way. He merely held it tight.
“I am sorry. I can’t even imagine what this means to you,” he said.
“I am not sure I even know. It all seems so long ago and far away. I had little intercourse with my parents. They never displayed interest in their daughters.” She gripped Peter’s fingers tighter. “Do you really think Masters was trying to protect us?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ll do that. I’ve been meaning to have a long talk anyway. It is time we settled the past. And I’ve a feeling that with having to track Isabella we will have plenty of time to talk.”
Peter lifted her fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly. “I can just imagine your very proper brother traipsing across the country.” A smile lit his eyes. “You do realize what all this means, don’t you? There is no longer any obstacle between us,” he said.
“I know.”
“Isabella is gone, but despite her prattle Lady Smythe-Burke will have taken care that she is not in any danger.” He squeezed her hand once more and then let it fall back into her lap.
“I am sure you are right, but I cannot help worrying. We still don’t know if—” Violet wished he were still holding her fingers tight. The small movement of a hand had left her so much more alone.
Peter brushed a finger over her lips, silencing her. “We don’t know what happened. Maybe she came by afterward and the papers were lying there, or maybe he gave them to her earlier for some reason she didn’t have time to explain.”
Violet longed to feel the truth of his words, but her mind could not hide from what it knew. She had seen Isabella gather up even more papers. The explanation was not as simple as the picture Peter painted.
“Don’t look so despairing.” Peter’s fingers moved to brush her cheek. “Even if it is true, she only did what she had to do, I am sure—as we all do what we have to.”
Violet dropped her eyes from his. Yes, they had all done what they had to. It only remained to see what happened next. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to move on, or that she was brave enough to take that next step, to accept Peter and all that would mean.
As if sensing her thoughts, Peter picked up the garden rose he had picked earlier—it seemed a lifetime earlier. A maid must have found it and placed it in a vase. He held it out to her. “I know it has been an impossible day, an impossible few days, and that both our emotions are still unsteady, but that has not changed my feelings. Are you ready to accept my friendship, my passion, and my love?”
Violet’s hand shook as she took the rose and brought it to her nose. He could be so foolish, so romantic. She waited for the doubt to fill her; instead she smelled a summer dream, one she had long feared forgotten. “I will accept them,” she said, then added honestly, “I am just not sure what I’ll do with them, but give me time.” She kissed him on the cheek. Everything had happened so fast.
He turned his face until their lips almost touched. “I am not going anywhere. There is no force on earth that will take me away from you.”
Chapter 20
“That didn’t go so badly.” Peter turned to Violet with half a grin.
“You mean only two matrons pulled their daughters out of your path for fear you’d ask them to dance and our corrupting influence would be spread?” Violet steered him away from another group of young girls. She couldn’t decide which was worse, those who lowered frightened eyes at their approach or those who boldly lifted flirtatious eyes toward him.
He was worth flirting with this evening. He’d chosen a coat of deep brown velvet embroidered with golden leaves. On one shoulder a rose bloomed—all reds and golds and pinks—their rose.
She drew in a deep breath and turned toward him. “You truly don’t mind?”
“Mind what?”
She gestured at the crowd. “I am used to always having to choose who will speak to me and who will only give me the briefest nod. There are some who will not even do that.”
“We were invited. Is that not enough?” he asked.
“We were invited as part of your brother’s party. Nobody denies the Marquess of Wimberley. It is not the same.” She drew slightly away and stared across the full dance floor. Skirts spun and gentlemen laughed. It was a picture of gaiety. Why did she feel excluded? It had never bothered her before.
She turned and stared at Peter, at her lover. It had been almost a month since Isabella disappeared. Masters still traveled after the broken path she had left.
Violet was still unsure how she felt about the whole situation—there was guilt and worry, but she couldn’t see where she could have acted differently. Was the whole situation inevitable?
Inevitable.
She looked at Peter. Were they inevitable? She couldn’t imagine any other ending to the story—although she still wasn’t exactly sure what that en
ding was.
Was it too soon to have taken him back? Violet had welcomed him into her bed again this past week, had agreed to accompany him in public, but still stalled at the final step. Could he really be happy in her world?
She was beginning to think that he could.
He’d stood with her when she’d talked to Masters and come to comprehend all the secrets of the past. She might not understand some, if not all, of her brother’s actions or be fully ready to forgive him, but she could see that he’d done as he thought best for everyone, just as she always had. And it did make up for a lot, knowing Masters was traveling from one end of the kingdom to the other in a bumpy carriage. That was bound to knock some of the starch from his spine.
She glanced back at Peter. He was still smiling. He’d put up with her family and her slightly tarnished reputation and still grinned and laughed—and gave her time—and let her have her way. Or at least he let her have her way some of the time—he was beginning to make her fight for her win.
And shockingly, she was finding she rather liked that.
A chuckling voice roused her from her thoughts. “This one doesn’t look too sweet. So did you finally take my advice?” A rather rotund gentleman she did not know had come up behind them.
“Lady Carrington, it gives me pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Henry Edwards. Mr. Edwards, let me introduce you to my dear friend Lady Carrington.”
Peter didn’t hesitate over the introduction. He spoke with complete confidence. He didn’t seem to care what others might think.
She glanced over at his face. He looked comfortable. In fact, from the moment they had walked into the ball he had seemed perfectly at ease. It was she who had doubts, not him.
She watched him chat with his friend. They were discussing Lord Summerton’s mother, a lack of champagne, and how these all conspired to mean poor Summerton must find a bride. She didn’t understand at all. But Peter looked happy. Even as she watched he threw back his head and let out a true belly laugh. Several surrounding couples turned to stare, and he just shrugged his shoulders.
He said his good-byes to his friend and led her toward the refreshments. “I should warn you even my brother probably cannot get us into Almack’s. Lady Smythe-Burke might be able, but she’d probably require us to actually name a child after her first, and that might produce some difficulties.”
He filled a glass with lemonade and handed it to her. She sipped. Sugar was the only discernable taste. She wasn’t even sure a lemon had been waved over it. “It’s awful.”
He grinned. “Yes, it is, and still it’s better than Almack’s. Did you ever try their swill during your long-ago season?”
“Once, I believe. Right before Dratton offered.”
“Do you have any desire to go back and dance on those wobbly floors?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” she answered.
“Then we won’t. This matter of not having children does make everything easier.”
She stopped in her tracks. “How can you joke about this, about everything? Don’t you know these things are important?”
He grabbed her hands and led her toward the stairs leading to the high mezzanine that surrounded the ballroom. “Do you mean these people? They are only as important as we make them. I would admit I would hate to be completely cast out. This is the world I know, but I honestly don’t care if Lady Bellwise thinks that I’ve overstepped the bounds of propriety in making you the woman that I love.
“I am sorry if talk of children upsets you. I only wanted to show you that I can joke about it. I would love for you to have my child, but I don’t need you to. You are what I need.”
They reached the top of the stair and Violet moved along the balcony. They were so alone up here above the swirling crowd. “You’ve said that so many times. You need me. I almost don’t believe it anymore.”
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Do you believe that I love you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“Can you imagine a life without me?”
She turned her face away. “Yes, and it is not a life I wish to lead.”
He placed a hand on each of her hips and turned her back toward the crowd below. He pressed her forward until her hips were in firm contact with one of the heavy marble pillars holding up the railing. He placed a hand on each side of her. “Then accept that I need you. I cannot imagine a life without you, Violet. You are the center of my being.”
“But what do you want from me?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave as she felt the front of his hips settle against her buttocks.
“Why don’t we see if you can guess?” His body weight trapped her as one of his hands slowly began to ruck up the side of her skirt. The iridescent spider silk slid up her leg, setting each nerve ending on fire.
“We can’t do this here. I don’t want to be seen,” she gasped.
“Haven’t you realized that it’s not always about what you want, my love?” His fingers slipped down to stroke the outer edge of her thigh. He leaned forward so that she could feel his hot breath against her neck. He didn’t kiss her or make any other move above the waist. His hands, though—the places his hands were traveling.
“This is about what I need from you.”
“What do you mean?” She sighed as he separated the globes of her buttocks, trying hard to make no sound that would carry to the dancers below.
“What are you willing to give me?” he asked, sliding one finger forward into the moisture between her legs.
“What do you want?” She would give him anything if he kept this up. She’d never realized how powerful it could be to let someone else take control.
“Wrong question—I want to know what you offer freely.” His fingers continued to work their magic.
She could feel the strength of his erection pressed against her. He was still fully dressed and she had her skirts about her waist. He was lucky she had not worn her drawers tonight. His finger slid back and forth again. Or maybe she was lucky. “Are you trying to seduce me into answering a question I don’t understand?”
“Actually, I am trying to get an answer before I seduce you. And I think you do understand. I am simply having a hard time holding myself back.”
She thrust back against him. He groaned softly—yes, a very hard time. She pushed again, enjoying her power over him. This was a game for two. “What do I want from you, Lord Peter?” She rotated her hips. “I think I want all of you—including perhaps even your name. Do you think you could handle that?” She drew back, leaving him gasping.
She moved forward again. “Do you think you could handle me forever?”
He stepped back and for a moment she feared she had lost him, then she saw him, bent over, below the edge of railing, making a quiet approach. His breath hit the small of her back as his hands spread her legs farther apart.
He bent further and kissed the inside of one knee, then the other. She felt his warm kisses move upward, his tongue leaving a trail of warmth and delight.
When he reached his goal he only blew softly, setting her curls and her nerves astir. She gripped the cold railing tight and prayed that nobody below could see how tight she bit her lower lip.
He blew again. “I think we’ll have to see who has trouble handling whom, Violet, Lady Carrington soon to be St. Johns. This time we’re doing it the way I want.”
She wanted to protest, but as his warm tongue hit spots his breath had prepared, she rather thought they would do things his way—at least for now.
About the Author
LAVINIA KENT, president of Washington Romance Writers and a four-time Golden Heart nominee, attended Wellesley College as an undergraduate and holds an MBA from Georgetown. She lives with her husband and three children in Washington, DC.
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Romances by Lavinia Kent
A TALENT FOR SIN
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A TALENT FOR SIN. Copyright © 2009 by Lavinia Klein. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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