“Don’t forget Latin and Greek.”
“Quite right,” she acknowledged with a nod. “But those are boys’ languages and I doubt they will come in much use, particularly if the family is in Trade. I know mathematics, geography, history and literature. I don’t sew well, but I paint a fair picture and my penmanship is excellent. My credentials are exceptional.”
“Your credentials won’t be the issue.”
“What, then?”
“Your looks.”
She raised her chin. “What is wrong with my looks?”
“Nothing. And that will be the problem. No wife, once she sees you in the flesh, will let you anywhere near her family. The husband would be far too tempted.”
“You never were.” The bitter words gushed out before she could stop them. “All you could ever see was my sister.”
He came toward her. “You’re wrong. I did see you, even hiding behind your glasses. But I thought you were too shy.”
“To be your duchess, you mean?” She gave a hard half laugh. “Apparently you were mistaken.”
“Apparently I was. About a great many things.”
She closed her eyes, turned her head to stem the tears that abruptly threatened. “I don’t blame you for hating me,” she said in a throaty whisper.
He stepped closer. “Do you not? Funny thing that, much as I’ve tried to hate you—and believe me, I have—I can’t seem to acquire the knack of it.”
Her eyes sprang open, a tear sliding down her cheek.
He reached out, smoothed it away with his thumb. “Don’t cry.”
A fresh tear followed, then another, his kindness proving her undoing. Suddenly, she was in his arms. “Adrian, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against his shoulder.
He cradled her near, rocking her against him. “Shh, it’s all right. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, my dearest.” He feathered kisses over her temple, rubbed his palm over her back in wide, soothing circles.
He held her until the flood subsided, tucking a handkerchief into her palm so she could mop at her eyes. She blew her nose into the silk in a most unladylike fashion, then nestled against him, exhausted.
They stood, quiet, in each other’s arms for a long while.
Finally, he spoke. “Did you mean it?”
She sniffed. “Mean what?”
“When you told me you loved me? Is that truly how you feel, or was it merely a sop to ease my wounded feelings?”
Her gaze flew upward to meet his. “Oh, Adrian, can’t you see for yourself? I adore you. That has never been a lie. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
“And if I asked you to leave?”
Her breath caught in her lungs. “Then I would leave. Is that what you want?”
He pressed her tighter, fit his cheek to hers. “No, I don’t want that at all. I’m so grateful you came here, that you ran away. If you hadn’t, I fear I would have made the biggest mistake of my life, by letting you go. I love you, Violet.” He pulled far enough away to meet her eyes. “Shall we start over? Start afresh, no more untruths, no more lies between us?”
“Yes, if I’m the one you truly want. You said you didn’t know me, couldn’t tell the real me from the act. Are you sure you’re in love with the right woman?”
“I never loved your sister, I know that. I think perhaps that’s why I didn’t question the differences between the two of you, the woman I courted and the one I wed. I was far too pleased, basking in my unexpected good fortune. I never dreamed I would feel this way about anyone, but I know I love you. Whatever else I need to know I can figure out along the way.”
He bent to kiss her and bumped his nose against her glasses. He grinned. “I believe we’ll start with these. Do you mind?” He set his fingertips against the wire frames.
She shook her head, giving her consent for him to remove them. Closing her eyes as he slid her spectacles free, she quivered at the sweet pressure when his lips merged with her own.
Ah, it had been so long. A lifetime. An eternity. How she wanted him. How she’d missed him. How she loved him. Bliss flowed through her, knowing in that moment she held everything she would ever want right here in her arms. He lifted her, fit her against him as hunger burned between them like a bonfire.
Her thoughts scattered, her limbs growing loose and liquid, completely his as she gave everything she was into his keeping. “Take me upstairs,” she sighed.
He loosed her only long enough to tug her in his wake, their hands clasped as they raced on shaking legs through the house.
Horatio followed, whining in disappointment when they locked him out.
But all they could think about was each other. Being close again. As close as two human beings could possibly be. They undressed one another slowly, reverently, taking their time to savour the sensations, dwell in the anticipation of the delight they knew was to come.
Seconds slowed to hours as they exchanged long, languid open-mouthed kisses. Thoughts whirled, pulses hammered in syncopation. Hands glided in sleek, velvety strokes. Each inch of flesh caressed as it was exposed, clothing fluttering forgotten to the floor.
The fire burned low in the grate, casting a faint chill over the room. Neither of them noticed, too heated by their own inner fires, too lost in mutual passion and pleasure to care.
When they stood naked, he turned her around and reached for the pins in her hair, plucking them free, one at a time. He cast the pins after the clothes, letting them cascade to the carpet in a silvery rain. Sinking his fingers into her thick tresses, he massaged her scalp until she purred with pleasure. Tingling head to toe, she stood acquiescent, quivering, as he combed out her long locks, arranging them down her back, then over her shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath her veil of hair, cupped her breasts.
She covered his hands, held him there, as she basked in a heaven of carnal joy, his scent and her own saturating her senses. He slid one hand downward, riding over her belly, her hip and thigh, journeying lower still to part her tight curls and dip inside with a honeyed touch.
“I love you, Violet.”
She came on that single endearment. Her toes curling into the carpeting, shuddering as she gloried under the skill of his touch, as he spoke her name in tones of love and longing.
Violet.
He said it again and again, as he drove her body higher. Propelling her up and over, and up and over once more, until she sobbed out her satisfaction and hung weak and quaking in his arms. He kissed her neck, her cheek and ear before he swung her around and crushed her mouth to his in a fevered mating, dark and wet and wonderful.
They sank to the bed.
She expected him to take her. Instead he played, savoured, explored, leading her on an exquisite journey of passion, of ardour, of joining unlike anything she’d ever known.
When he came into her, finally, gladly, it was as a homecoming. An awakening. She gave him everything she possessed. He gave her everything in return. In those warm, intimate moments, lying beneath the spreading shadows of a waning sun, they took flight, locked in a love that righted all wrongs, forgave all transgressions.
In the quiet aftermath, they curled together on damp, twisted sheets. He pulled the covers over them, then lay stroking her hair, pressing languid kisses to her skin.
She smiled, flushed and floating, eyes closed in pure contentment. Less than a minute later, her eyelids flashed open. “Adrian, I just remembered.”
“Remembered what?” he asked, his voice lazy, his body lax.
She sat up. “We’re not married.”
He crooked an eyebrow. “By Jove, you are right. And considering what just transpired in this bed, I believe we have good reason to be.” He stroked a palm down her arm, over her bare breast, an impish twinkle lighting his eyes. “Unless, of course, you’d rather be my mistress?”
“Adrian!” Her cheeks heated.
He guffawed. “From your expression, I assume that option is out.”
She thrust her chin into the air. “I
ndeed it is.”
He laughed again, leaned up to kiss her. “Good, because I don’t want you any other way than as my wife.”
He rolled out of the bed, caught her hand to tug her so she sat on the edge of the mattress. Without warning, he lowered himself onto one knee, and naked as a babe reached for her hand.
She tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”
He clasped her hand tightly. “What I should have done the first time. Ask the right woman to marry me.”
Her lips formed an O as his meaning sank in.
“Jannette Violet Brantford,” he intoned in a solemn voice, “you are the brightness of my day. The sweet warmth of my night. The only woman I have ever known who could turn my entire world upside down and leave me glad she did. Perhaps we didn’t begin precisely as we should. But, well, we are, both of us, human, and humans sometimes make mistakes. I promise to forgive you, if you swear to do the same for me when the need might arise. I love you. It took me some time to understand that, but I do now. I vow to spend the rest of my days showing you how much. Please say you’ll make me the happiest man on earth and consent to be my wife.”
A tear trailed down each of her cheeks as she smiled, lips trembling. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. Yes, oh yes, of course I’ll marry you.” She launched forward, looped her arms around his neck and smothered his face with kisses. “I love you so. I’ll never give you cause for regret.”
“And I shall have none, ever.”
He laughed, crushed her mouth to his in a heady embrace. When they came up for air, breathless, he steadied her and rose to his feet. He crossed the room.
“One last thing.” He returned, carrying a small, square jeweller’s box that he’d dug out of his coat pocket. Opening it, he revealed a gold band set with the most vibrant purple amethyst she’d ever seen.
“It’s beautiful, but why?”
“It’s your engagement ring. The emerald was meant for another woman. This is expressly for you. It’s not as expensive a stone, but I thought it suited—”
She sprang up, hurled herself into his arms. “I adore it. You couldn’t have gotten me anything better. It’s violet, like me.”
He grinned, slipped the ring onto her finger. “That’s right, and I’ll never be in doubt of it again.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Five days later, they were married by special license in a small church on the outskirts of London. The ceremony was brief and extremely private, Kit the only family member in attendance. As soon as he’d been sent word, Kit had ridden down from Oxford, proud and pleased to stand as Adrian’s best man.
The minister’s wife, a friendly soul with a figure as round and soft as a peach, served as second witness. Impromptu weddings were her favourite, she cooed, her blue eyes a-twinkle. Such couples, she observed, were always deeply in love.
And she was right this time as well. As Violet joined hands with Adrian to recite their vows, their eyes met and held. Love shining plain for anyone to see.
“I, Adrian Philip George Stuart Fitzhugh, take thee, Jannette Violet, to be my wedded wife…”
“I, Jannette Violet, take thee, Adrian Philip George Stuart Fitzhugh, to be my wedded husband…”
Solemn words once spoken in duty and dishonour took on new meaning, expressed now in joy and devotion.
She did not tremble, her nerves rock steady. She had nothing to hide now, nothing to conceal.
And when Adrian slipped the ring onto her finger, he repeated her name—Violet—in a firm, clear voice that no one could mistake or misunderstand.
Now truly husband and wife, Adrian kissed her. And came up for air only after the minister loudly cleared his throat, his greying brows beetled in reproof.
She and Adrian laughed, his eyes twinkling, her colour high.
The small wedding party repaired to a modestly decorated parlour, where cakes and tea awaited them.
Kit told amusing stories as he ate his way through the contents of the tea tray, much to the bemusement of the minister’s wife.
A few minutes before they were ready to depart, Adrian drew the minister aside. Without delving too deeply into his reasons, he explained the need for silent discretion concerning the nuptials just performed. He would regard it, he said, as a personal favour if the minister and his wife were to say nothing about the ceremony should anyone happen to inquire. A healthy donation to the parish coffers and a handshake sealed the deal.
Prior to the ceremony, he’d taken care to make similar arrangements with his solicitor. Jaxon had moved swiftly to clear up all remaining legal difficulties resulting from Adrian and Violet’s less than proper first marriage. Other individuals privy to the truth had been sworn to secrecy.
Ceremony concluded, the three of them returned to Raeburn House in London for a quiet, celebratory dinner.
Afterward, Kit said his farewells and set out for Oxford.
Hours later, Violet lay in Adrian’s wide bed, flushed and radiant from lovemaking. Mentally, she reviewed the events of the past few days. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”
He linked their fingers together, entwined hands cradled upon her belly. “About what?”
“Keeping my identity secret. Having me continue to pretend to be my sister.”
He shifted slightly, angling his head to see her face. “It’s what you wanted. Have you changed your mind?”
She remembered how firm her resolve had been only two days past. She’d argued her case to Adrian in favour of continuing the charade. He’d argued back. Willing, even eager, to let the truth be known to the world. She was his wife, he told her, his rightful duchess. Everyone from family to friends to casual acquaintances should know it.
But she had urged silence, fearful of the dreadful scandal the admission was sure to cause. She and Adrian had, after all, been living in sin all these months, even if they hadn’t known it at the time. Even if they were now legally husband and wife.
For herself, she didn’t care what other people thought. She could live out her days quite happily at Winterlea with her husband and her books and the children she hoped to have one day. Even if Society did its worst and shunned her as punishment for the impropriety of her actions, for having made fools of them all. Her true friends, like Eliza, would forgive her. At least they would once they got over the initial shock.
But there were other people’s feelings to consider. People who would be affected by what she had done, whether they wished to be or not.
Her parents would be shocked, mortified. Likely, her mother would retreat to her rooms for a month or more. Her father, of course, would spend all his time riding and hunting—his two favourite pursuits—scarcely affected by the uproar to all outward appearances. But in the end, the damage would be done. Quite probably, many of their most influential friends would drop them. And trips to London, excursions that had once been so pleasant, would become an ordeal neither would be willing to endure.
Darrin, she suspected, would laugh off the entire misadventure. Then resume his usual profligate activities with newfound gusto, dusting up several minor scandals of his own.
And Jeannette…well, Jeannette would emerge battered but unbowed.
Then there was Adrian.
Although she had refrained from voicing her fears to him, knowing he would brush them aside, she worried most of all for him. By some blessed miracle, he had forgiven her.
Others might not be so kind.
Through her actions, she had cast a stain upon his name, his reputation. And despite his solid standing with the Ton, there were those who might choose to disassociate themselves from him.
Adrian would argue he cared nothing for such people, self-righteous, moralistic hypocrites every one. Yet if he hoped someday to pursue high political office, as his mother predicted, Violet ached to think she might be the sole cause of his failure.
So, to save them all a world of embarrassment and shame, she had convinced Adrian to stay silent, t
o keep their secret.
She rolled, leaned up to brace her forearms against his chest. “I haven’t changed my mind. I know there may be difficulties. But I think it’s best, for everyone, if we say nothing.”
“What about your sister? What if she should wish to wed? What then?”
“Then she’ll have to tell the man. Together they’ll have to decide what is best.”
He huffed out a breath. “I still think we should admit the truth, even if it would upset a great many people. But since you’re so opposed, I’ll agree to continue the masquerade. But only when we’re in Society. Here at home, you are to be yourself, fully yourself, is that understood?”
“Yes, your Grace, fully understood.”
He brought his palm down across her bare bottom in a light, playful swat. “Don’t be smart.”
She laughed. “But I’m always smart, or hadn’t you noticed?”
There were half a dozen books in three different languages scattered around the room, left on various tables and chairs. Since her return a few days before, she’d openly taken to reading again, though lately she hadn’t had much time.
She leaned over, lifted her spectacles off the nightstand, slipped them onto her face. “There, I am being myself.” She threw a leg over his hips, straddled him. “What do you think?”
His eyes heated to a deep, melted brown, swept up and down her naked form in obvious appreciation and undisguised lust. “I think those glasses have a hidden appeal I’ve never entirely appreciated before.”
He smoothed his palms up over her thighs, then wrapped them around her hips to reposition her in a way that forced a moan from between her lips.
“Let’s leave them on,” he murmured as he fastened his mouth to her breast, “while we explore the issue in greater depth.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Winter melted into spring. Tender green shoots thrusting from the dark, moist earth to blossom and thrive, spreading colour and life onto every square inch of land. Animals shed their heavy coats for cooler, lighter ones. Birds sang joyous songs to welcome in the warmer days.
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