What he hadn’t known until last night was if all of that was enough for Violet. If he was enough.
But she’d answered that question for him last night. For the first time they’d both acknowledged that this thing that had taken them both unawares was real, and that it was worth hanging on to.
Which explained the buzz in his blood this morning and the fact that if he wasn’t striding down the plush carpeted hall toward his office, he’d be very bloody tempted to start whistling.
He’d almost reached his office when Edward and one of the other senior partners stepped out of a meeting room. Martin exchanged greetings with them all, very aware of the stilted discomfort in Edward’s demeanor. Martin continued on to his office, dumping his briefcase and coat and starting up his computer for the day. His thoughts were still out in the hallway, however, going over the tense, restrained little conversation he’d had with Edward.
It was an awkward situation. Martin understood that. But he’d like to think that his relationship with Edward was bigger and more robust than what had happened with Elizabeth. He’d like to think that he and Edward had their own connection, one that existed outside of the fact that he’d once been going to marry the other man’s granddaughter. But it had been several months, and instead of settling down, things had only become more uncomfortable between them.
Martin considered the paperwork on his desk, all of it urgent enough that it needed to be dealt with this morning. He headed for the door.
“I’ll be back in twenty,” he said when Tammy looked up from her desk in surprise.
He took the lift to the tenth floor, stepping into the hushed, plush realm of the senior partners. Edward’s secretary, Ida, was busy on a call in the outer office and she held up a finger to indicate she wouldn’t be a moment. Martin could see Edward at his desk and he gave Ida a reassuring smile before bypassing her and heading straight in to see Edward.
He knocked on the open door. “Edward. Do you have a minute...?”
Edward looked up from the journal he was reading, surprise on his face.
“Of course. Come in. Take a seat.”
Martin did so, facing his mentor across a wide stretch of mahogany.
“I wanted to clear the air,” Martin said boldly. “I want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, the wedding being called off was a good thing and I have absolutely no hard feelings toward Elizabeth.”
Edward blinked. Clearly he’d been expecting Martin to bring up a work matter, instead of bull-dozing into territory they’d both been side-stepping for weeks.
“Well. You’ve surprised me.”
“I thought that might be the case. That perhaps you were operating under a false belief where I was concerned.“
“I’ve certainly been feeling very responsible for the part I played in the break up,” Edward said stiffly. “I should never have asked you to choose between your loyalty to me or to Elizabeth.”
Martin smiled thinly. When Edward had told him that Elizabeth’s natural father was alive, he hadn’t hesitated to assure the older man that he would—of course—keep his confidence. One of many signs, had he bothered to look for them, that his marriage had been doomed before it even started.
“With all due respect, I should never have chosen you over Elizabeth.”
“No. I suppose not.” Edward’s gaze was sharply assessing. “You’re really reconciled to this?”
“Absolutely. I think Elizabeth and I both made head decisions, Edward, not heart decisions. I don’t know if that makes sense to you or not. All I can say is that I will always respect and admire Elizabeth. She has been a true and loving friend to me and I wish her every happiness with Nathan. But I am not heartbroken. Not by a long shot.”He thought of Violet and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Edward sat back in his chair and straightened his jacket, a fussy little tic he’d had as long as Martin had known him.
“Well. I have to say that I’m relieved. And I know Vera will be, too, when I tell her. It’s been an uncomfortable time, dealing with all the fall out. And neither of us could forget the fact that we’d pushed the two of you together.”
“We both went willingly enough at the time. But fortunately Elizabeth had the good sense to do what had to be done.”
“Can I at least offer to settle any expenses you may have incurred? It’s something that’s been weighing on my mind.”
“You can offer, certainly.”
Edward’s mouth curved into a small, appreciative smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in me insisting?”
“You can try. But I’ve been told I’m a stubborn bastard.”
Edward rested his hands on his knees and considered the toes of his shoes for a long moment. When he looked up, his blue eyes were clear and direct. “For what it’s worth, I was looking forward to having you as my son-in-law, Martin. Very much so.”
Martin swallowed a sudden lump of emotion. This man had been very good to him. Generous beyond words with his wisdom and guidance and support. “It’s worth a great deal, Edward. More than you can know.”
They both stood at the same time. Edward offered his hand and Martin took it.
“Vera and I would both like it if you’d come to dinner sometime soon.”
“I’d like that, too,”
Martin’s step was lighter as he headed for the lifts. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he and Edward would ever regain the same level of intimacy, but he felt confident now that their friendship would survive in one form or another.
He smiled to himself as the elevator doors opened. Not so long ago, Elizabeth had told him that one day he would thank her for calling off the wedding. At the time, he’d doubted that day would ever come.
He’d been an idiot, in more ways than one. But finally—finally—he was starting to see the wood for the trees.
Chapter Ten
Violet smoothed her hand down her skirt, then leaned closer to the mirror to check the line of her lipstick was straight. The hand she lifted to her mouth was trembling and she clenched it into a fist.
Stupid.
It was just a dinner. A bunch of people sitting at tables, chowing down on mediocre food. So what if it was at the Savage Club? She didn’t give two hoots how old and revered and exclusive the place was.
But Martin did, and she cared about him. A lot.
He’d worked hard for this, and tonight would be the final nudge he needed to gain entrance to the club. He would say all the right things to all the right people, as he always did—and she would do her damnedest not to get in the way and to keep her lip buttoned.
Hence her nerves. She’d spent most of her life being outrageous. Coloring inside the lines was going to take some real concentration.
The intercom buzzed and she raced to the front door to let Martin in.
“Come in.”
The nerves in her belly took full flight as she heard him mount the stairs. She glanced down at her dress, questioning for the fiftieth time if it was conservative enough. She didn’t exactly have the best track record in that direction.
After numerous shopping expeditions she’d chosen a deep red silk dress with a pencil slim skirt that ended just below the knee. It hugged her hips discreetly before curving upward into a fitted bodice. A deep, stylized ruffle formed a halter neck. The neckline was modest at the front, but her back was bared utterly, a subtly sexy display that she’d decided was refined and elegant in the store. Now, however, she wasn’t quite so sure.
If he hates it, I’ll know, and I’ll go change. There must be something in my wardrobe that will pass muster.
“You’re going to need your coat. It’s threatening rain,” Martin said as he entered.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his gaze sliding from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes, lingering at all the best places in between.
“Hello,” he said, his tone silky soft and suggestive.
“Hi.”
“You look
stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
“Let me show you this first.” She turned, offering him her back. She bit her lip, waiting for his response. “Is it too much?”
She felt the warmth of his body as he came up behind her. His arms slid around her, gliding over the silk. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder, another beneath her ear.
“You’re going to cause a stampede. And maybe a couple of heart attacks. And definitely a divorce or two.”
She smiled, touched and turned on at the same time by his reassurance.
“Okay. Then I’m ready.”
She chattered all the way to Whitehall, fiddling nervously with the buttons on her overcoat. At one point Martin reached across and lay his hand over hers.
“Relax. It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Is it? I thought it was supposed to be networking and schmoozing and whatever else it is men do in their cigar-smoke-filled, male-only enclaves.”
“Like I said, fun.”
She smiled at his joke and relaxed a little, but it was impossible to let go of her nerves all together. She wanted this to be a success for him. She wanted to prove to him that she could be just as refined, just as much of an asset as Elizabeth ever was.
She stilled as she registered her own thought. This wasn’t a competition—Elizabeth had excused herself from the field long ago. But even if it was, Violet would never stand a chance. Discretion and grace had never figured highly amongst her strengths.
Her nerves gave her hell right up until the moment when they walked through the door. Then she looked out at the sea of grey haired heads and realized that the only person who mattered in any of this was Martin, and she already had his approval. Her anxiety blew away like so much dust. She slipped her hand into his and smiled.
“Okay. Let’s go make some trouble.”
He smiled at her, his grey eyes warm. “Ladies first.”
The next hour flew by with surprising ease. She was one of only a handful of women present under forty, just as Martin was one of the few men. Surprisingly, she recognized some faces from her childhood, men who’d visited her father’s estate in Sussex for hunting or some other manly pursuit. Somehow she wound up talking to two of them while Martin chatted with the club president and his wife across the room.
She listened with one ear to the conversation while she watched Martin. He looked tall and effortlessly handsome in his dark grey single-breasted suit. He was gesturing with one hand as he talked, the movement both elegant and athletic. The President’s wife said something and he laughed, tilting his head back. A rush of pure lust washed through her as she stared at his strong throat.
Was it always going to be like this between them?
Across the room, Martin glanced her way. Even from this distance she could see the flare of desire in his eyes. She gave him a slow smile, wondering what he’d say if she suggested they sneak off somewhere.
Not that she’d tempt him that way tonight, of course. But it was a nice fantasy to indulge for a few seconds.
A chime sounded to signal that it was time for them to go through to the dining room and take their seats. Martin headed toward her, presumably to escort her to their table. A flurry of activity at the entrance drew her gaze as a few late comers arrived.
She fumbled her wine glass as she found herself looking directly into her stepmother’s pale blue eyes. For a split second time seemed to stand still as they stared at one another. Then Diana turned her shoulder very deliberately. Violet’s gaze searched the people surrounding her until she found her father’s familiar profile.
His red hair was fully gray now, she saw, his belly gone to fat. He’d always loved his food and wine a little too much. As she watched, he lifted a hand to his tie and twitched it to the left, then to the right. It was a familiar gesture and it brought back a rush of memories.
“Violet.”
She blinked. Martin was at her side. She couldn’t remember him arriving, and she had the impression that it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone low, his hand on the small of her back.
“My father just arrived.”
Martin’s gaze shot to the huddle by the door.
“Tall man. Red tie,” he guessed.
“Yes.”
“Is your stepmother with him?”
She nodded. “She’s the one in blue.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied Diana. “Someone likes her chocolate,” he said coolly.
It was such a catty remark she couldn’t help but smile.
“She does. And her cakes, too.”
He returned his gaze to her. “Do you want to go?”
“Before we’ve even eaten? Are you kidding?”
An early departure would be the kiss of death for his nomination.
“If you want to go, we’ll go,” he said, his gaze steady.
She could see he meant it. Gratitude warmed her. It was incredibly sweet of him to offer, especially when she knew how much this meant to him.
“Thank you. But I’ve done enough running and hiding in my lifetime.” She took a deep breath. “Shall we go find our table?”
As luck would have it, they were seated with the club President, just two tables away from her father and stepmother. She did her best to pretend they weren’t there, listening attentively to the President as he explained some of the history of the club to her. He was explaining how the club came to be named when she felt someone watching her.
She glanced up to find her father staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. It was clear to her that he’d only just realized she was present. How typical of her stepmother not to have alerted him. Martin’s hand slid onto her knee beneath the table.
“How are you doing?” he said quietly.
“I’m fine.”
Surprisingly, she was. Ten years ago, she’d read her father’s indifference as an indictment of herself. Now, she knew better. He’d let her down. He’d opted for peace with his new wife over supporting his daughter when Violet had needed it the most. He was the failure, the disappointment, not her.
It was an empowering revelation, and it kept her head high through the rest of the meal. She was aware of Diana shooting glances at her, but Violet resisted the urge to give her stepmother a little finger wave or to poke out her tongue. If Diana wanted to say something to her, she could come over and start a conversation. Violet refused to invest any more energy in the woman.
Still, by the time their main meal plates were being taken away she was feeling more than a little exhausted from all the smiling and not-giving-a toss she’d been doing. A jazz trio started up in the far corner, the signal, apparently, for people to start table-hopping. The woman on Martin’s left disappeared to catch up with an acquaintance, while the President was swamped with people wanting to press his flesh.
She was considering beating a retreat for the Ladies when she glanced across and saw her father bearing down on their table. She tensed, her hands curling into her napkin. Then he walked straight past her and stopped by the President’s chair, offering the other man his hand and striking up conversation without so much as making eye contact with her.
She dropped her gaze to the table cloth as humiliated heat rushed into her face. The impact of his disregard was painful and pointed.
She truly meant nothing to him.
Martin turned his body toward her, his arm curving around the back of her chair as though he could somehow shield her from her father’s indifference. “Violet—”
“Always good to see a new face in the club rooms. I take it you’re well, Violet?”
She lifted her gaze over Martin’s shoulder and met her father’s eyes. They were the same color as her own. They’d shared the same hair color, too, before he’d gone grey.
She opened her mouth to say something suitably innocuous now that he’d deigned to acknowledger her, but suddenly Martin was on his feet between them, blocking her father with his back.
“Come on. Let’s go.” His hand found her elbow, urging her to her feet.
She shook her head, very aware that his abrupt move had drawn the President’s attention.
“What? No, we haven’t had dessert yet.” She tried to tell him with her eyes that he didn’t need to do this for her. That she was more than happy to suck it up so he could get what he wanted.
“Fuck dessert. You don’t want to be here, Violet, and neither do I.”
“Martin.”
He turned and nailed her father with a cold, hard look. “You’re an asshole.”
Violet gasped with shock. Heads turned, the volume of chatter dropping noticeably. Martin propelled her away from the table, his grip painfully tight on her elbow.
He only slowed when they reached the cloak room, his grip easing on her arm.
“Are you okay?”
“Martin... I so wish you hadn’t done that.” Tears filled her eyes as she thought about how long he’d coveted membership to this hallowed, exclusive club.
“You think I want to belong to a club that would take a prick like that? You think I want to rub shoulders with someone who could do that to you?”
She stared at him, at the strong planes of his face and the angry, determined glint in his eye and she understood that he was completely, utterly sincere in his sacrifice.
Her chest swelled with emotion.
How had she ever disliked this man? How had she ever found him stuffy or staid or repressed? He was a modern day knight—honorable, devoted, passionate—and she was head over freaking heels in love with him.
Overwhelmed and humbled, she let Martin help her into her coat and they exited into the night. They’d parked in a multi-level garage on the next block and they walked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the click-click of her heels.
Finally she spoke up.
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I meant every word of it. If he wasn’t so old I’d have broken his nose for him, too.”
She smiled, loving his outrage, loving that it was for her.
Loving him.
“He boxed at Oxford. He might have broken your nose.”
Her Best Worst Mistake Page 14