When the maid had almost finished her work at the hearth, Duncan halted her and asked, “Can you tell the landlord to send word to Mr. Malcolm Black that his daughter is here?”
She nodded without comment and hurried from the room.
Viola blinked and found her eyelids so heavy she kept her eyes shut. “I cannot believe he’s got… agents all over London.”
He must have had them, though.
The affection in Duncan’s tone felt better than any fire. “Perhaps they are more like eyes and ears. ‘Agents’ implies something more active, doesn’t it?”
“What would you know about it? You’re a physician. Not a spy or villain.”
“Well, I don’t think he is, either.” Duncan knelt next to her. The old wooden floor creaked and she thought one of his knees did, too. She smiled with her eyes still closed.
He asked, “Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”
“I think I am too nervous to eat a thing,” she said.
“Bed?”
“How forward of you, Duncan.” Viola opened her eyes.
He was indeed kneeling, looking at her with his head tilted up and his eyes bright.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“Tell me what you know,” she said. Feeling bold, she stroked his hair with two of her fingertips. “What did Papa tell you? Clearly it was not enough to scare you away from allying yourself with the Blacks forevermore. You may change your mind when you meet Uncle Jax.”
“On the contrary, I find myself still enamored with you despite learning his past. And believe me, I can handle any of your relatives.” He arched an eyebrow with droll good humor.
Comforted, she reflected on what Everett had told her. It was not as though he said Papa was a brute. On balance, she could forgive gambling and strategizing. Eventually.
“Everett told me he fell in love with my mother, but she chose my father—and Papa was a supreme player. Then… an… advisor. A little like Mrs. Dove-Lyon, or a consulting… card sharp.” She trailed off.
It was how he’d bolstered his means, she thought. It must have been. It was how he was still bolstering his means. She realized that it was also most likely why he wanted her to be married, now.
He must have guessed who was behind this, although how, she could not quite say.
Duncan nodded and did not move away from her touch. “I hate to say it, darling, but I believe we know only a little of your father’s history.”
“But you trust him?” She watched his face for any scant evidence of doubt. That night in the Lyon’s Den, they had not seemed to like each other. Papa was rather abrasive, and Duncan did not appear especially keen to befriend him. She would not flatter herself—she could not be the reason they were unified in action.
But she must have been.
“I trust that he loves you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I trust him to get us out of this mess, yes.”
She traced her fingers up into his hairline and nodded. “You seem much more amenable to him now than you did. Despite learning that he might be… unsavory.” Again, she batted away resentment at how much Papa had concealed from her.
“Everyone has a story.”
Changing the direction of her interest from Papa to what could lay ahead in her own life, she said, “What is yours, Duncan?”
He smiled but appeared to hesitate, so she teased, “You wouldn’t keep it from your future wife, would you? Have I reason to believe that you are no poet, but a grave robber?” She mentioned the most lurid thing she could summon to mind if one was a physician and practicing in Edinburgh.
He chuckled, but still looked vaguely discomfited. “Luckily, no, although my daughter has a rather fiendish interest in ghosts.”
It seemed to Viola that they each paused with the same thought in their heads. She would be caring for this girl sooner rather than later. It did not frighten her on its own, but she did marvel at the speed with which it had happened.
“How old is she? And… are you going to stop kneeling?”
He blinked and appeared to recall he was on his knees. “Believe it or not, I did take a knee for a reason.”
Rather than admit to herself that she was a little excited about what he might do while on bended knee, she asked, “Isn’t it taxing?” She trailed her fingers down the side of his face and rested them at the base of his neck. His flesh was supple and inviting under her fingers.
“I’ve knelt near many patients in my time.”
“I see. So I am not special at all.”
“I did not say that, Viola.” He tilted his head with an easy smile. “I owe you a proposal of marriage.”
She licked her lower lip slightly. “I think you do.” She did not imagine that most women who walked into the Lyon’s Den really received a question, as such.
“Miss Viola Black, I would adore it if you consented to be my wife.”
She squeezed his hands and grinned. “I shall. Leaving aside where we are, and what we have been through… and I suspect what we could go through… I think a bit of providence was shining on us the night I ran into you. I believe I may love you a little bit already.”
The expression on his face was one of gratification and wonder. Rather than wait for him to kiss her, which she was sure was the proper order of things, she leaned forward, meaning to kiss his cheek. He shifted his face and caught her lips, instead.
Within the first moment of their first kiss, she decided that she could devote hours to this activity alone. She also wished that Papa was leagues away and would not be coming to them any time soon.
When Duncan teased his tongue between her lips, she moaned quietly and just about fell out of her chair. Pure longing merged with her exhaustion, leaving her about as sensible as a moth flying near a flame.
Worse, her moan garnered one of his, and they continued kissing with him on the floor and her perched on the edge of an old chair until he said, “We have much to discuss, don’t we? You seemed keen on conversation.” His voice was low and ragged.
“I am interested in… both activities.”
He drew back from her slightly. “I think I would feel somewhat better if I could tell you more about myself.”
She nodded. He stood slowly and walked at a halting pace to sit on the edge of the bed. She could not keep her eyes from straying to the fall of his trousers and was smug to see that it was strained.
“Yes,” he said, catching her eye, then tonguing his teeth. “I know. But I’d prefer that the first time we indulge ourselves, your father isn’t on his way to collect us.” She was about to admit that he had a decent point, until he added, “I want to take my time with you. Take you apart. I’ve wanted that since the night we met.”
Viola gave a quiet, short whimper. She blushed. She’d never made such a noise. “I… that is incredibly sensible of you. I wouldn’t want the opportunity wasted.”
“Nothing sensible and everything selfish about it,” he said. His smile faded. “After my wife died, I thought I’d have a lifetime of self-discipline to keep me from making a mistake. Putting a woman in the same situation.”
“What, pregnancy?
“More or less.”
Viola stared at him. “That’s truly the thing you feel the worst about? Duncan, you…”
He nodded in a silent response.
“You cannot hold yourself responsible for your wife being with child. I mean to say, you can. Clearly, you…” She became a little lost in fantasy, thinking of how children were made. While she cared very much about Duncan’s finer feelings and didn’t want him to think she would rather ignore what he had to say, she could not not think about it. “Participated. But you cannot hold yourself responsible for her death.”
“I should have been able to help her.”
“Because you are a physician?”
Duncan nodded. “Yes. I have kept others from death in childbirth.” Some of his hair fell into his face. She itched to go t
o him and smooth it from his forehead.
“May I ask you something that I fear may seem impertinent?” Viola looked at the tiny hearth, her eyes on the flames.
“Anything.”
“Did you love her?”
Chapter Seven
It had been an age since Duncan had asked himself the question or been asked it.
He did not want to lie to Viola, so he said, “We were friends, which is more than many can say. I loved her as a sister. But I was not in love with her.”
Viola’s eyes narrowed in thought, but he did not feel he was being judged.
She said, “In some ways, that is something of a small relief. I shouldn’t like to have to compete with a dead woman.”
“Even if I had loved her, there would not be a competition.” While he supposed he was more adroit with words than some men, he still could not elaborate much more than that.
He could not tell if it was because he wished simply to gaze at her, or if he was actually terrible at stringing words together while speaking to her.
The brevity did not seem to bother Viola. She beamed. Then she said, after her expression became more solemn, “I am sure you would have loved the baby.”
“That, I think, is what still gives me nightmares from time to time. And Annie was so pleased that Constance would have a brother.” Duncan was proud of his general state of mind and his conduct, at least until he’d allowed this visit with Watson to change his behavior. Then, it was not his friend’s fault so much as his own. “I didn’t care about sons or daughters. I just wanted a family.”
But it ended well enough, he thought, gazing at Viola. He was no longer so nervous about introducing her to Constance, but also wondered if the nerves had been about either Viola or Constance in the first place.
He recalled what the physician had said at Annie’s bedside. He was a decent man, one of Duncan’s professional acquaintances. Nothing could have been done for him. Duncan knew it happened. He knew about both stillborn babies and babies born too early. It was different knowing and experiencing.
“I am so sorry,” said Viola, giving him a gentle nudge out of his pensiveness.
“I’m sorry I’m telling you all of this after you’ve just had the scare of your life.”
“I was scared, but I did think I’d find a way out of it.”
“You don’t strike me as the type who would wait to be rescued.”
“I’d have gone out the window first,” she said.
He smirked. “I believe it.”
“I must confess that I… never saw myself getting married, and I’ve given little thought to motherhood. But I shall try to be a good influence on your daughter. I fear it may be strange for me to try to be her mother, since she is not an infant. I think that, in many ways, I was lucky when Papa never remarried. It would have complicated things.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “And imagine Mrs. Dove-Lyon as a mother.”
“I’d be terrified of her bairns.”
“That is one way of looking at it. I don’t know if she could be a mother.” Viola gazed at him, and he thought he might melt. “But in truth, Duncan, I hope you are not only marrying me out of pity—there is too much at stake. My happiness, yours, and your daughter’s.”
Warmed by her sincerity, he said, “I think you shall get on well. She was so young when Annie passed… she has lived most of her young life without a mother. Perhaps that will work in your favor.”
“How old is she?”
He wouldn’t interrupt the question with a marriage proposal, again. “Near to eleven.”
“Heavens, I was a terror at that age.” Viola chuckled and it sent his insides squirming. “I say was.”
He looked at her with deep affection and no small measure of lust. It was taking all his will to remain across the little room. He wished to kiss her again, but he meant what he’d said. He wanted to take his time.
However, he also wanted the scenario in which he took his time to occur soon. His body was wondering, quite independently of his mind, what he was doing on a bed without her in it.
“I don’t think anyone short of a terror would be able to extract herself from the situation you were in this morning,” he said. “If I ever call you one, it will be with the greatest of love.”
“Please… what… how… did you…”
“Rescue you?”
“Yes. More or less.”
“I was supposed to call upon you at home this morning, remember, and received word that I should instead go to Mr. Black’s office.” He laughed. “I thought you changed your mind.”
“No, I had just been bundled off by Mr. Barney in the dead of night. Or very early in the morning.”
“The one in the corridor?” Duncan asked. He chuckled, allowing the scene of her employing a fire iron against a man’s nether regions to play in his mind’s eye.
“Oh, yes. Horrid man. And as I was telling you, or starting to tell you, Everett told me the most extraordinary tale—that he and my papa were associates as young men, and both were hoping to court my mother. She chose Papa.” Viola’s heart-shaped face pinched in a scowl, presumably not at the memory of her mother, but at her father’s actions. “She was an actress, you see. And after marrying Papa, she did not have to work. He says she chose not to because of me… so that we could spend the time together. But I do not know if I can believe him.”
Duncan did not think Malcolm would lie about such a thing yet did not wish to worsen her annoyance by pointing it out. “You forget, Viola, that I am not part of the ton. I would far sooner pass judgment on Everett, who has demonstrated himself to be, well, horrible. Not your papa.”
He swallowed back more words. Everett could have been far worse to her. They both knew it. If she were apprehended now, he doubtless would be.
No, he won’t, thought Duncan. You wouldn’t allow it.
“Indeed,” she said. Doubt came into her expression. “He said he was going to marry me—the insinuation was that through me, Everett could gain most of Papa’s holdings.” She bit her lower lip.
Duncan refrained from cursing. He did not fear Everett would succeed, but the idea was quite insidious. Clever and almost foolproof once a woman was wed. Malcolm loved his daughter so deeply that he would do anything to keep Everett from harming her, including, suspected Duncan, give up his independence and financial autonomy.
A marriage like that would all but ensure he had to do so.
“It was greed that motivated him?” he asked.
“He did not touch me.” Viola winced. “He seemed, honestly, very distant from lust itself, although I am sure he would have claimed his rights at some point. Especially if he believed it would make me malleable.”
She stood up and crossed her arms.
He waited for her to come to him.
After wavering for a moment, she did sit. He tried to ignore the feel of her thigh against his.
Duncan gave a low sigh. “There are some men for whom money is king. I regret that you went through any of this. But perhaps there is some comfort in thinking of him as such a cold soul.”
He tried to consider whether he felt Malcolm was at fault. He did not believe so, for there would have been little Viola could have done to avoid a malicious man from her father’s past. Knowing he existed, or even that more such men might exist in the depths of London, wouldn’t have prevented anything. Still, he did see why she would be angry that she’d been kept ignorant all this time.
“Everett shall be a perfect villain,” she said. “If I ever get to make him one.”
“How do you mean?”
Viola leaned against him, just. “I mean,” she said, “if I am to be married, why should I expect that my husband shall let me—”
“Darling, in this case, your husband is me, and we were matched by an old friend of your father’s who seems to have a flair for life in the demimonde.” Duncan shifted so that he could kiss her cheekbone. Her eyes closed and he smiled. “Neither of us is conventional, and I
don’t see how my practice would be impacted by my wife being an author. Constance shall be thrilled.”
“You say that… but wait and see how people react. And if you ever want her to have any kind of a come-out, I don’t expect I will improve her chance of making good connections.”
“I do not need to know how others will react,” he said, kissing her cheekbone again, feather-light. She opened her mouth with a silent moan. “It is important to you. Therefore, it is something worth protecting. And I cannot wait for you to meet Constance. I expect she shall be as enamored as I am. Besides, I don’t think a come-out, as such, would appeal to her.”
She smiled and he could not help but kiss her lips next.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For the kiss?”
“No, you ludicrous man,” said Viola. “For the trust.”
He laughed quietly. When he kissed her again, it was delicious and tenuous until it became molten and golden. “You shall have to tell me what you write about. Soon,” he added.
“Right now, I don’t plan on thinking of plays at all.”
“You know,” said Duncan, “you’re tempting my deepest resolves.” He shivered when she wound her hand into his hair, near the nape of his neck, and tugged.
“Which were?”
“I always assumed that if I never…”
“It was not your fault she died,” said Viola, astutely understanding what he did not say. “I am not afraid. And I do not intend to remain in a chaste marriage.” She tugged a little more, until he bore down on her and she reclined on the bed.
She stared at him with anticipation.
“I thought you had come to harm,” he said. His mouth trailed fire-like kisses from the edge of her jaw, to her throat, to her chest. For the first time in hours, she was happy she’d been clothed only in nightclothes and a paisley wrapper, for he smoothed it aside to lick along her breasts. The tip of his tongue found first one, then the other.
“And here I am, amenable to being ravaged by a mysterious doctor,” she said. Her breath fell along his hair.
She heard his heated smile in his words. “Your father is going to kill me.”
The Lyon's Den in Winter: The Lyon's Den Page 8