Fuck. Of course, he hadn’t been informed. Charles didn’t want him in the same room as his daughter.
Max had to find her. He would tear this city apart with his bare hands, if necessary. A hundred terrible things could befall a sweet young woman such as Violet in this god-awful city. “I assume the police have been summoned and are currently searching for her.”
“No. My husband thought it best if we kept this quiet. Family only, that sort of thing.” She studied his face. “But it’s plain you still care for her.”
“I do.” He swallowed, his chest pulling tight. “I beg your pardon, but I didn’t plan for it to happen.”
“You needn’t apologize to me. In fact, this makes things easier.”
He bounced his leg, anxious for the woman to take her leave so that he could begin searching for Violet. He had to make sure she was safe. “Easier, how?”
“I need her married, Ravensthorpe. As quickly as possible.”
His lips twisted derisively. “Yes, she was aware. Hardly matters to whom, does it?”
“You judge me, of course. As a man, you wouldn’t understand that all women are pushed into marriage, whether we want it or not. We are traded like cattle, treated little better than dirt.”
“Yet you treat your daughter the same.”
“Violet is smart. Independent. A thoroughly likable girl. I love her, I do—but I have put up with Charles for long enough. It’s time to be free.”
Max sat up sharply, ignoring the pain in his side. “Free? Are you saying . . .?”
“I plan to divorce him as soon as Violet is married. The solicitor is ready with the paperwork.”
“Divorce?”
She gave him a brittle smile. “I am tired of being disrespected and lied to. You, perhaps better than most, understand what I’ve endured for the last twenty years. He’s fathered two bastards that I know of, probably more. I won’t allow him in my bed any longer. Do you want to know why?”
Max remained silent, almost dreading the answer.
She continued, “My husband is riddled with disease. He’s had mercury treatments to try and cure it. Lord knows it would be a miracle if I were not infected as well. I cannot stand to look at him any longer. If I must endure the scandal of a divorce to be free of that man, then so be it.”
The explanation made sense. If Violet had known, it would have eased her mind regarding her mother’s motives. His heart ached for his little mouse. “You should tell your daughter. She believes you want rid of her.”
“And I am sorry for that. When I have the chance, I will explain it to her. I had thought to wait until she was married, when she would better understand what happens in the marital bed.” She cocked a brow. “But I see you’ve taken care of that.”
“I . . .” For once, Max was at a loss for words. He had taken Violet’s innocence against his better judgment.
“Go and find her, Ravensthorpe. Use your considerable influence to locate my daughter and convince her to forgive you. Then marry her, quickly. You, more than most, are immune from any scandal. Your name will shelter her from any . . . unpleasantness during the divorce proceedings.”
Marry?
He hadn’t wished to marry again, yet he was miserable without her. He couldn’t let her go—he needed Violet in his life, in his bed. In his home, making him smile and taking photographs. Being with her was easy, fulfilling in a way he hadn’t experienced with any other woman before.
Could he try again? He’d failed with Rebecca, but Violet was nothing like his late wife. Violet was a spark of optimism and light, a beacon of joy and happiness. Intelligent and lusty, she would never bore him or let him run roughshod over her. Moreover, he was different than the selfish man of twenty-five, who’d believed himself invincible. He would treat Violet as a wife should be treated.
Violet . . . his wife. He liked the sound of that. Quite a lot, actually.
Suddenly, he didn’t care whether Charles disapproved or whether people sneered at the age difference. He had to have her. To love and hold her until he took his last breath.
He tapped his fingertips against his thigh. She had disappeared, but Max would find her. In fact, he had an inkling of where she might have gone. “I cannot promise she’ll forgive me, but I will try.”
“Good,” Lady Mayhew said, rising. “She is headstrong, but Violet’s been in love with you for years.”
Her mother had noticed when Max hadn’t? Of course, he’d been busy avoiding Violet since her debut, terrified of his feelings for her. That ended now. He was ready to admit he loved her and that he couldn’t live without her.
He stood. “I am not the only one who must seek Violet’s forgiveness. You’ve hurt her, you know.”
She winced, her brow furrowed. “That was not my intention, but I suppose I have been so focused on my own happiness that I forgot about Violet’s. I haven’t been the best mother.”
“Help her understand. Be there for her.”
Lady Mayhew cocked her head, her lips pursed in thoughtfulness. “You really care for her, don’t you?”
“More than anything else in the world.”
“Make her happy, Ravensthorpe.”
Resolve settled in his chest like a rock, and he nodded. “You may count on it, my lady.”
Chapter Eleven
Violet poured hot water into the teapot and returned the kettle to the tiny stove. Then she placed the lid on the pot to allow the leaves to steep. The stove had been a challenge, but she’d grown proficient with it in the past week.
Heartache turned a person productive, it seemed.
Since leaving home, she’d taken photos and explored the city. Walked the streets and observed the inhabitants. She’d also met her new neighbors, three other young women living in apartments above the camera shop in Chelsea. The girls worked in department stores and offices, each a new kind of independent woman, one in control of her own life. Just like Violet.
She hadn’t told them of her aristocratic upbringing, but they knew. It was in the way she spoke, the way she dressed. Even in the tea she drank, apparently. But they didn’t judge her. Instead, they fondly called her “countess,” which Violet didn’t mind. She’d never had a nickname before.
Actually, she’d never had this many friends before, either.
She still missed Max, though. He was in her head, her heart . . . in her bones. Part of her regretted not reading his letter, but it wouldn’t have said what she wished to hear. Max would never tell her sweet words of undying devotion, the things a husband said to a wife. After all, she was a lark to him. A woman to pass the time.
Goodness, that still hurt.
Pouring her tea, she gave thanks that at least she hadn’t conceived a baby. That was one worry she needn’t add to the pile, which now included finding employment to cover her rent and living expenses. And those particular problems grew more pressing by the day as her funds dwindled.
Had he thought about her at all? Or had he picked up with one of his many mistresses?
A knock sounded on her door. She placed her cup in the saucer and stood, smoothing her dress. It was probably one of her friends stopping by to have a chat.
Opening the door, she jerked in surprise.
The Duke of Ravensthorpe stood there. Max. Here. In Chelsea. How . . .?
Oh, yes. She’d once told him about her camera shop idea. How had he remembered?
Dark blue eyes burned from under the rim of his hat, his mouth set in a firm, determined line. Though his face was gaunt, he was unmistakably a duke, with his frame draped in expensive fabrics and the gold of his watch fob glinting in the daylight. She could hardly breathe due to the need to throw herself at him.
No, no more playing the fool.
Her friend Irene stood next to him. “I hope it’s all right that I let him in. He said he knew you.” Irene leaned in. “Is he really a duke?”
“It’s fine, Irene. Thank you.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Would Your Grace care to come
in?”
Max removed his bowler and stepped into her tiny apartment. Irene’s eyes were as big as saucers when Violet whispered, “I’ll tell you later,” and shut the door.
He dominated the small room, a force of nature in her private space. Violet wasn’t certain where to go or what to do. Why was he here?
He held his hat and cane in gloved hands and inspected his surroundings. No doubt he found it lacking, but Violet certainly wouldn’t apologize for where she lived. She loved this place.
Without prompting, she produced another cup and saucer, set it on the table, and poured tea for him. Then she retook her seat and calmly sipped her tea, waiting for him to break the silence.
After clearing his throat, he sat and removed his gloves. “Are you curious as to how I located you?” His voice was rough and cracked, like he hadn’t used it in days.
“I once mentioned that I would rent a small apartment above a camera shop in Chelsea.”
“Yes, and fortunate for me, there are just two camera shops in Chelsea, and this is the only one with apartments atop it.”
She frowned, her brows lowering. “Why is that fortunate?”
“Because I needed to find you.”
“Interested in a lark, were you?”
He winced. “I saw you leave with your father so it’s obvious you overheard us, and I’m sorry I ever said anything as stupid as that. I didn’t mean it.”
“Why? It’s true. That’s all we were to one another.”
“No, that wasn’t all, not for me.”
Bitterness welled up in her chest like a fog, its dismal fingers sinking into her heart to squeeze. “Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, Max.”
“Violet, I was trying to convince myself there was nothing between us. That I could go on living without you after you’d happily married your Sundridge or Wingfield. But I cannot do it. I am utterly miserable without you.”
Hope fluttered in her stomach, but she beat it back with a ruthlessness that hadn’t existed two weeks ago. “Because you need someone in your bed.”
“Because I need you in my bed. In my life. With me, wherever I go. For however long I have left on this earth.”
Her hands curled into fists, her skin burning with humiliation and anger. The gall of this man. “I see. You found me living here and assumed I would jump at the chance to become your mistress or whatever else you wanted. That I would be content to stay hidden and wait for your scraps. Well, you may return to Mayfair and shove that cane—”
“Wait.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced a square box, which he sat on the tabletop. “I came here to ask you to be my wife.”
The room spun, and Violet’s mouth fell open. Was that . . .? No, it couldn’t be. “But you said . . .”
“I know what I said, but that was before I tried to row myself to death in the Thames.”
She shook her head, confused. “What?”
“Never mind. What’s important is that I do not wish to exist in a world without you calling me ‘Your Grace’ in that breathy way of yours, or running your fingers through my hair. Or taking photographs of me, or talking of philosophy and history and all the other clever things in your head. I cannot do it. I need you.”
“You want to marry me? Marry? Me?”
He sighed in that arrogant way of his, as if he hated repeating himself. The sound was so Ravensthorpe that she nearly grinned. “Yes, Violet. Please, marry me.”
She bit her lip, not quite ready to give in, though her heart was nearly bursting with happiness. “I thought you were too old for me.”
“I only care what you think. Do you think I am too old for you?”
“Of course not. What about my father?”
“I believe he’ll soon be too busy with other matters to worry about us.”
“Whatever does that mean?”
“Your mother came to see me. She plans to begin divorce proceedings. She was merely waiting until you were married off.”
Divorce? Violet stared at the wall, her mind whirling. “Was that why she was so eager to see me settled?”
“Yes.”
She paused, uncertain how to feel about this revelation. Looking back, the fights with Papa and the emotional distance from the family made a bit more sense. Mama clearly hadn’t been happy, not for years, so if she needed to divorce Papa for her well-being then Violet would support the decision.
Yet why had Mama pushed for Violet to make an unhappy match, as well? If anyone knew the risks of marriage, it was her mother.
Mama should have tried to protect her, not sacrifice Violet for her own gain. Instead, her mother had washed her hands of Violet’s future, practically pushing her out the door to any man who’d have her.
And why had Mama shared this information with Max, instead of her daughter?
Suspicion cast a shadow over the moment, and her stomach churned with emotion. “So this,” she said, indicating the square box, “is your way of helping her?”
“No.” Dipping elegantly onto one knee, he took out the ring and held it up in his fingers. “This is my way of keeping you all for myself. I’ll never deserve you, not today. Not tomorrow. Never. You’re beautiful and pure and I am the very Devil. But I love you, Violet Littleton, and I shall do absolutely everything in my power to ensure you never forget it, not for a moment.”
She covered her mouth, her heart skipping in her chest. “You love me?”
“Indeed, in the very worst way.”
She stared at his gold collar stud and voiced her deepest fear. “You won’t hide me away? I’ll be your wife in every sense of the word?”
With one finger, he lifted her chin to meet her gaze. A wrinkle had formed between his brows. “I’d be proud to have you by my side. I need you. Without you, I’m wrecked. You hold all my happiness in your dainty, camera-loving hands.”
“I am not that powerful. After all, even you call me ‘little mouse.’”
He stroked her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. “Violet, do you not remember the fable of the mouse and the lion? It is the mouse who shows great courage and bravery, saving the lion from a slow, painful death.”
Oh, goodness. She hadn’t considered that. Her belly dipped and swooped, as if she might actually swoon. “Are you saying I saved you?”
“Of course, you have, darling girl. You brought color and joy to a man who had lived in gray for so very long.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are the sunshine to my bleary dark soul.”
“Max . . .”
“Is that a yes?”
Taking a deep breath, she steeled her voice into something more businesslike. “I have conditions.”
The side of his mouth hitched, his expression soft as he rose to his full height. “Is that so?”
“I wish to keep this apartment. That way, I’ll have a place just for me when I need to get away.”
A muscle jumped his jaw, his dark gaze sparking as he studied her. “Is this about having a lover on the side? I won’t share you, Violet. Not with anyone.”
“I do not want another lover.” She thought of his first wife. “And if we marry, I won’t share you either.”
“Agreed.”
“That easily? Forgive my skepticism, considering your proclivity for lascivious behavior. Does the Duke of Ravensthorpe possess the ability for monogamy?”
“He does, if the woman in his life is you, with your clever brain and bold spirit. If you need to keep the apartment to retain a bit of your independence, then I’ll not complain.”
“Independence—and my photography. I’ll use it as a portrait studio.”
“As long as said portraits involve clothing.”
She stood and closed the distance between them, using a fingertip to trace the edge of his collar. Goose bumps appeared on his skin and she smiled up at him. “You are the only one allowed to pose for my nude portraits, Your Grace.”
A growl rumbled deep in his chest. “Yes to the apartment. What el
se?”
“I want to try for children.”
His large body tensed. “No, Violet. I could not bear it if—”
“I am not your first wife.” She stroked his lapel, soothing him. “I’ll be fine. But I want a piece of you and a piece of me to live on, together, to make this world better a better place.”
“Goddamn it,” he said and shifted his gaze to the wall. “What if you die?”
“Death stalks us every day. I could choke on a fishbone at dinner and die. But I’ve spent my entire life watching, observing, never fitting in while waiting for something to happen, and I am tired of waiting. I want excitement and laughter, little feet running through the halls. Most of all, I want to see your face in our children.”
“Christ, Violet.” He bent to kiss her hard on the lips. “I suppose I’ll need to find the best doctors in this bloody country to watch over you, then.”
“Does that mean you agree to my conditions?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I? I will give you anything you want to get my ring on your finger.”
She nearly swayed, the exhilaration almost too much to bear. “Anything I want? Oh, the heady power of having the Duke of Ravensthorpe at my feet.”
“As long as you never leave me, I’ll lie at your feet anytime you like.”
The afternoon light played across the angles of his face and throat. Harsh and beautiful, he was hers, and she’d never tire of looking at him. “What about now? I like the idea of more nude portraits of you.”
Taking her hand, he slipped his ring onto her finger. Then he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded stack of photographs. She cocked her head. “Are those the pictures I took of you?”
“I thought I should return them to their rightful owner.” When she moved to take them, he lifted the stack far above her head. “With one condition.”
Crafty man. Of course he had his own condition. “Which is?”
“That you use them for their intended purpose while I watch.”
He wanted her to do that in front of him? “Now?”
“Right now.” His gaze burned with adoration and desire, but there was something else there, as well. Something new that was serious and far more meaningful.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 54