Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  He grabbed the ropes and jerked her to a halt. “Better?”

  “Much.” Still holding on tight, she gave a shaky laugh. “I guess I’m too old for this, after all.”

  “No one’s too old for this,” she heard him say from behind her. And then an arm curved around her waist and fingers cupped her chin.

  Warm lips nuzzled her neck.

  Her hands clenched the ropes as a delicious shiver rippled through her. “The children…” she murmured, attempting to turn her head. But his mouth trailed her throat, making her entire body weaken and blocking her from looking.

  She heard the children’s chatter and hoped that meant they weren’t watching, and then it didn’t matter, because Ford was tilting her back, back, until his face was hovering above hers, only upside down.

  And he was all she could see. All she could care about.

  Slowly he drew off her spectacles and lowered his mouth to meet hers.

  The kiss was gentle yet demanding, like the one yesterday, only more so. And different, like they were kissing each other’s bottom lip. Something ached deep inside her, and her hands clenched the ropes. Then, unlike yesterday, his tongue slipped out and traced the seam of her mouth. It was shocking and wild and wonderful. That single caress stole her breath, her thoughts…

  And it was over all too quickly.

  Slanting a furtive glance to the children, he reluctantly pulled away. She shifted upright. Walking around to face her, he handed her the spectacles with a smile. A secretive smile. A smile she hadn’t the experience to comprehend.

  Her hands shaking, she took the eyeglasses and fitted them back on her face. Leaving her stunned, he moved from her sight. She struggled to catch her breath, listening to him collect the book and her shoes.

  “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight,” Rowan chanted.

  Ford paused for a breath behind Violet, collecting his wits. Why the devil had he risked that in front of his niece?

  Someone had left one of the inn’s benches near the tree—to sit and watch their children, no doubt—and he dragged it over by Violet’s swing and sat. He set her shoes on the grass and the book on his lap.

  “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” On the opposite side of the tree, Rowan reached fifty, and the children traded places.

  “You’re very good with them,” Violet said quietly from her swing.

  Never, in ten lifetimes, had Ford thought anyone would tell him that. Of course, he’d never thought he’d kiss a woman like Violet Ashcroft, either. An innocent country miss who spouted philosophy.

  “It was only physics,” he said dismissively, gazing at her profile. Her lips were parted. They looked kissable. They were kissable. “Science. I’m good at science.”

  Still motionless on the swing, she turned her head to look at him. “You’re good with your niece. And Rowan.”

  He felt totally inept with them, but he didn’t want to argue. “Perhaps that’s because I never grew up myself,” he suggested instead. “My family would tell you that.”

  “You’ve said something like that before,” she recalled, looking flushed and flustered and beautiful. The spectacles had slipped down her nose, and she pushed them back up. “What are they like, your family?”

  “Loud,” he answered with a grin. “I have a twin sister, Kendra, and two older brothers, Jason and Colin. All married. Among the three of them, they have seven children already, and I suspect more to come. Jewel is the oldest.”

  “No wonder you’re good with children, then.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that. I’ve played with them, of course, and when I’m not in London, I live with Jason and his family at Cainewood. Two boys, he and Cait have. But before now, I’d never taken care of my nephews or nieces.” They all had nursemaids to see to that. “I’ve never taken care of anyone before.”

  He’d been the baby of the family. Everyone had always taken care of him.

  “Well, you’re doing a proper job.” She shifted to look over at Jewel, who was shrieking with laughter as she soared through the air beside Rowan.

  His niece looked happy. Perhaps Violet was right, and he wasn’t doing such a bad job after all.

  “And your parents?” she asked, turning back. “What are they like?”

  “Dead.”

  “Faith,” she muttered, her face going white. “I’m so sor—”

  “No need to be sorry.” He turned the book over in his hands. “I was all of one year old when they left to fight for King Charles, seven when they died at Worcester. I barely even remember them. My oldest brother more or less raised me, with the help of the exiled court. It was an interesting life.”

  Her fingers trailed up and down the ropes. “And a rough life, I’d wager.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Although my parents sold most everything to help finance the war, I was too young to worry about where my next meal would come from. Someone else always took care of that. The court moved from Paris, to Brussels, to Bruges and back…the world was my playground. I suppose things were tight, but a child doesn’t need much.”

  When she met his gaze, something twisted in his gut. “A child needs love,” she said softly.

  Soft or not, he heard a challenge in her voice.

  “I had love.” Uncomfortable under that gaze, he looked at the sun sparkling off the river instead. “From my sister and two older brothers. I never wanted for anything.”

  A short silence stretched between them before he finally looked back. One of her stockinged feet reached for the grass and pushed off. “And when you were no longer a child?” she asked, swaying back and forth. “A youth has more needs than a boy.”

  “Mine were met.” How to explain a life in a few short sentences? Why did he care that she understood? “By the time Charles regained the throne, Jason and Colin were grown. Men with responsibilities. Cromwell had stolen their youth, and neither of them were ever afforded a chance for formal study. As a younger son, I should never have owned land. But a year following the Restoration, Charles granted all of us titles and estates…and I left mine behind and went off to university.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “Seventeen. And spoiled rotten.”

  He’d never thought of it that way before, but it was nevertheless true. After completing his studies at Oxford, he’d returned to live with Jason. He’d never had to fend for himself. Never worried for anyone else. Never even had to chase after a female, since they always seemed to come after him.

  He grinned. “I’ve led a charmed life.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” she said quickly, and he remembered Tabitha. That part of his life wouldn’t fall under the heading charmed…but for some odd reason, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. And it certainly didn’t hurt.

  Leaning back, Violet stuck her legs out straight and stared at her stockinged feet. “Nothing is that simple.”

  But it had been. It had been for him.

  They fell quiet, and he smiled at the charming picture she made on the swing, wearing his spectacles. He’d never talked with a female like he talked with Violet Ashcroft—never met one who seemed interested in discussing much beyond fashion and gossip. Never talked with anyone who made him reveal parts of himself he hadn’t even known.

  And though he’d never suffered for lack of bed sport, he’d never wanted a woman like he suddenly wanted this one right here.

  Right now.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  And more.

  But she was the Earl of Trentingham’s daughter. A sheltered country lass. “What was your childhood like?” he asked.

  “Boring in comparison.” Still looking down, she turned her toes this way and that. “Grandpapa sent money for the cause, but he never went off to fight. He put family before the monarchy. We never went into exile, either. I’ve never been outside of Britain.”

  “But he did support King Charles?”

  She looked up. “Oh, yes. Of course he did. My family was never anythi
ng but Royalist.”

  “I’m surprised Trentingham wasn’t attacked by Cromwell’s forces, then. Cainewood was.” And had the cannonball marks to prove it.

  “They confiscated Trentingham and occupied it, but we weren’t there. Grandpapa had a secondary title and property that went along with it. Tremayne Castle, very near Wales. Not helpful for the Roundheads strategically, and I suspect too far away for them to bother with.” She glanced over at the children. “Rowan is Viscount Tremayne now.”

  “So your family stayed there for all the years of the war?”

  “And after. All through the Commonwealth, until the Restoration. Besides having an odd penchant for studying languages, Grandpapa was a stickler for family security.” She pushed off again, gliding up and then down, slowing immediately when she did nothing to sustain the momentum. “My parents were wed at Tremayne, and I was born there. As were Rose and Lily. I was eight before I ever stepped foot on Trentingham soil.”

  “Eight?” he said, surprised. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty.”

  From the tone of her voice one would guess she thought twenty was a doddering old maid. But he’d thought she was older. Not that she looked older, but Tabitha was twenty-one, and except in matters of the bedchamber, Violet seemed so much more mature.

  “I’m twenty-eight,” he told her.

  “I figured that,” she said, “when I heard you went off to university at seventeen, a year after Charles returned from the Continent.”

  “Unlike Rowan, you’re good at mathematics.” He grinned, thinking she was good at a lot of things. Especially heating his blood. “Does your family sometimes live at Tremayne Castle now?”

  “Not anymore. We retreated there to wait out the Great Plague—Rowan was born there during that time. But then Grandpapa died, and we haven’t been back since.” Seeming deep in thought, she gazed out over the Thames, swaying gently to and fro in the swing. “The castle was only ever half built. Mum says it’s too far from London, and Father prefers Trentingham’s gardens. It’s a quiet sort of place, Tremayne…” She met his gaze again with a smile. “See, I told you my childhood was boring.”

  To his great embarrassment, his stomach growled. Loudly.

  “Oh!” she said. “It’s been at least two hours since you said you were starving! Before we even bought the books!”

  “I haven’t perished.” He stood and handed her the shoes. “But I wouldn’t mind wandering over and taking a table.”

  While she put them on, he went to fetch the children.

  “Not yet!” Jewel yelled, swinging higher. “Another minute!”

  “Two minutes!” Rowan countered.

  “Three!”

  “Five!”

  “Ten!”

  “Ten,” Ford agreed, giving Jewel one final push. “But only because it’s your birthday, mind you.”

  Violet followed Ford to an empty table. As she slid onto the bench, she aimed a concerned look to where the two young ones were still swinging, facing away as they soared over the picturesque river.

  “Sit,” he told her. “They’ll be safe. If they fail to come over and join us, they can eat their portions on the barge on our way home. And the two of us can dine in peace.”

  A nice thought, Violet decided. Even more nice after he went inside to order a light dinner, then returned to sit beside her.

  Could he actually be interested in her as a woman? Every idea she’d ever held told her no, but his actions told her yes. It was confusing, to say the least. Especially when her hands drifted up to her face and she remembered her ugly spectacles. For a while there, she’d forgotten all about them.

  “No one’s staring,” he said gently. He lowered her hands and laced his fingers with one of them. It felt intimate, and her heart skipped a beat. “You look fine, Violet. You look lovely.”

  Through the lenses, he looked sincere. She surveyed the few patrons seated at the other tables. The buzz of their conversation sounded pleasant to her ears, and he was right: no one was staring.

  Besides Ford, no one was looking at her at all.

  His gaze dropped to the book, his face brightening at the sight. “I still cannot believe I may have found Secrets of the Emerald Tablet.”

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  “It might not be the right book,” he reminded her, although she suspected he was actually reminding himself. He squeezed her hand. “But I thank you for sharing my excitement.”

  “It’s contagious,” she told him. Her fingers tingled every place they touched his; she’d never realized her hand had so much sensitivity. And when he leaned forward and grazed his lips over hers, they tingled, too.

  Almost unbearably.

  It hadn’t been enough. Even the kiss on the swing hadn’t been enough, and it had been so much more. If the two of them were someplace more private, she would have wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. As it was, the brush of mouths happened so fast, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  But if so, her imagination was very powerful indeed, because her breath was coming shallow. “Ford,” she breathed, unsure whether it was a protest or an entreaty.

  “Hmm?” He raised one brow.

  She touched her free hand to her suddenly hot cheek. “We’re in a public place.”

  “I must endeavor to get you alone, then.”

  Her laugh was embarrassingly shaky. “I think not.”

  He only smiled. A serving maid came out and put two tankards on the table, along with a pewter platter piled with fat slices of cream toast. She set down two empty plates, and Ford dropped Violet’s hand to take one of them.

  Her spectacles seemed to be fogging. She pulled them off, polished them on her skirt, and put them back on. “Thank you for sharing your dream,” she said, lifting a tankard. A bracing swallow of ale seemed just the thing. “I truly hope it comes true.”

  “It would be amazing, wouldn’t it?” He also sipped, regarding her over his tankard’s rim. “And what are your dreams, Violet?”

  “You’d laugh.” She’d never told anyone outside her own family. Ever. Avoiding his eyes, she busied herself sprinkling sweet brown sugar on a slice of the egg-battered bread.

  “I won’t laugh. I promise.” He sprinkled extra cinnamon on his. “Tell me,” he said, cutting a piece.

  “Well, one day…” As a delaying tactic, she swallowed a bite of cream toast, then washed it down with some ale.

  “Yes?” he prompted, looking amused.

  “I’d like to publish a philosophy book,” she blurted out. “Not now, of course, but when I’m older. I still have much to learn first.”

  “A lady authoring a philosophy tome.” Chewing, he considered. “It’s quite an ambitious dream.”

  He was listening, and he wasn’t laughing. “I would publish it under a man’s name. Else no one would read it.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I know so.” She sipped, then rushed on. “I have an inheritance coming, you see, enough to print and distribute the book far and wide.”

  He finished his slice and took another. “What is it you’re so burning to say?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Perhaps that sounded rather foolish, but it felt so good to finally tell someone—someone who really listened. “I’m still researching, still changing my opinions. But I believe these things are important. Ideas can change the world. And…I dream of leaving my mark.”

  “So do I.”

  “But with science, yes?” Ford was different, like her. She’d never expected to find a man like her. “You want to leave your mark with science. Science can change the world, too.”

  “Exactly.”

  He smiled, reaching across to trail his finger on the back of her hand. She thrilled at the contact—until she heard his next words.

  “You know, most ladies would think they have better things to do with their money.”

  The sentence cut her to the core, robbed her of breath.

  She
’d thought he understood.

  Disappointment swamped her earlier giddiness. Raising her tankard to hide her face, she ordered herself to shrug it off. She focused on Rowan and Jewel still swinging in the distance, their lighthearted laughter floating to her on the breeze. Of course a man would think like that, she reasoned—she should expect nothing else.

  Ford was different, but not as different as she’d hoped. A man that different didn’t exist.

  With a sigh, she lowered the tankard. “I realize most men marry for money.” And Ford would be no exception, especially given his obvious lack of the same. “But as far as I’m concerned, that isn’t a good reason to shackle oneself for life.”

  She watched him rake his fingers through his hair. “Did I say anything about marriage?”

  “You didn’t have to say it—I knew what you were thinking.”

  “I think not.” He lifted his own tankard, looking puzzled, as though he had no clue he’d said anything that could possibly upset her. “Are you never planning to marry, then?”

  Perhaps she’d dreamed of it for a minute—one short, self-delusional minute. “My family isn’t a conventional one.”

  “Question Convention.”

  “Yes. I feel no compulsion to lead a typical female’s life.”

  He just gazed at her for a while. A long while, while she tried and failed to figure out what he was thinking.

  “No,” he said at last, and paused for a sip. “Nobody would ever call Violet Ashcroft typical.”

  That hurt, but she only stiffened her spine. “I’m aware that I’m an odd woman, my lord. It’s why I’m certain no man would want me except for my inheritance.”

  He bristled. “Bloody hell, is it that much money?”

  She couldn’t tell whether he was sarcastic or serious, and she didn’t get a chance to find out. Because in the next moment, two voices rang out from the riverbank.

  “I dare you!”

  “I dare you!”

  And a moment after that, both children flew from their swings into the water.

  Twenty-Two

  VIOLET JUMPED up from where they were eating. “The children!”

  Splashes and screams followed.