Romulus glanced at the red-leather tome now innocently sitting on his kitchen table, the one Violet had used to smash his nose as she swung at a bee and then strike him in the jaw to swing at another bee. Her aim was execrable. He now sported a bruise to his jaw. Thankfully, his nose was not broken, although it had bled a little when that binding had caught his nostrils.
“I hadn’t gotten very far into reading the book, a most interesting scientific exposition of–”
“Violet,” Lady Dayne said gently, “you are getting off the topic.”
“Oh, do forgive me. There’s so much to get out all at once. Well, the children were shooting their pebbles, trying to knock off the acorns, but they hit the beehive instead. Oh, the bees were so angry.”
She paused a moment to roll her eyes.
Who knew Violet had such beautiful eyes? Well, he supposed everyone did now that he’d crushed her spectacles beneath his boot after she’d accidentally knocked them to the ground while swatting at more bees.
Her eyes were violet.
Not just violet, but a vivid, sparkling violet.
Which explained why her parents had thought to name her…Violet.
“I was surrounded by the swarm, trying my best to avoid being stung.” She stuck out her arms and craned her neck to expose its slender curve and the red welts covering her skin. “They got me everywhere. That’s when Mr. Brayden came to my rescue. He covered me with his body and–”
“He did what?” her uncle Rupert said with a growl. He’d run in behind her Uncle John but had remained silent until now.
“He sheltered me and took the brunt of the bee stings.” She turned to Romulus and smiled up at him. “You were brilliant. I cannot thank you enough for what you did. I was certain I was done for.”
George Farthingale, Violet’s other uncle, chuckled lightly. “I fear it is Mr. Brayden who is done for.”
Romulus knew George fairly well. He was the doctor who had saved his brother’s life. For this, Romulus would be eternally grateful to the man. Wasn’t it George who had mentioned General Allworthy was selling his townhouse? Romulus had jumped at the chance to acquire it, for he’d just returned from his latest naval assignment and felt it was time to set down his own roots.
He’d be called into service again, no doubt.
The Royal Navy had no wish to lose him. He was a decorated sea captain. He was also four and twenty years of age and needed a place of his own.
“He tried to return me to our home, but the bees were a solid wall of anger amassed at our front gate.” Violet turned to Lady Dayne. “We attempted to make a run for your home, but the bees blocked us there as well. Mr. Brayden picked me up and made a run for his house.”
“He lifted you into his arms?” Lady Withnall asked.
Violet pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, yes. I stumbled, you see. So, he caught me up in his arms and carried me inside. Then we had to rush to close all the windows that he’d opened up only minutes before to air out his home.” She glanced at Romulus again. “It does smell like General Allworthy’s cigars.”
“I know.” He tried not to look at her lips, but they were quite extraordinary. Full and plump and heart-shaped. They were a deep, pinkish-red. The sort of color on a pair of lips that had been thoroughly kissed. Only no one had ever kissed Violet, that was quite obvious.
The girl had no experience with men.
Nor any understanding of them.
Which is why she must have been given that book by her sister. Violet had been rambling about it when he’d grabbed it out of her hands so she’d stop hitting him with it. The Book of Love it was called. She had only gotten a few chapters into it before the bees had struck, but she was already gushing about its scientific insights and muttering something about him making a perfect test frog.
What the hell was that about?
“The bee stings were beginning to burn. Mr. Brayden feared I would go into shock. So, he led me into his kitchen.” She waved her hand to point out their surroundings. “He soaked a cloth with vinegar and began to rub it all over me.”
Romulus groaned silently.
Could she not phrase that a little better? “I applied it to her arms and neck.”
Violet nodded. “Then he had me roll down my stockings and–”
“He had you do what?” Her uncle John was still fuming.
“How else was he to get at my legs? He had his hands on them when you burst in. You know he did. He rubbed them down with vinegar. He did the same to my shoulders. I had to return the favor. I simply had to, Uncle John. He was going into shock. His eyes were bulging and his breaths became quite strained.”
Lord help me.
She was describing his arousal.
And everyone but Violet knew it.
“I’ve read that bee stings can kill. I insisted he remove his shirt so I could apply the vinegar to his neck, shoulders, and back. That’s what we were doing to each other when you all came in. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I suppose I was shrieking quite a bit when the bees first attacked me. Is that what you heard? And brought all of you running in here? Were you following the sound of my screams? You needn’t have worried. Mr. Brayden came to my rescue, and thanks to him, I am as you see me now.”
Romulus ran a hand across the nape of his neck.
The girl certainly had a way with words.
And a lovely, lilting voice as she spoke. Not the cloying, feigned sweetness so often used by debutantes who sought to gain his notice.
No, Violet’s voice was cheerful and pleasant as she blithely led him to the gallows. “Mr. Farthingale, if you will allow me an hour to wash and dress, I shall call upon you at your home.”
John nodded. “We will await you in my study. Do you wish me to send word to your brother? I think he ought to join us.”
“Yes, why not? I ought to tell him immediately anyway.”
“Who is your brother?” Violet asked, still clutching her gown to her bosom to keep it from sliding off her body, for it remained unlaced and the sleeves were hanging precariously off her cream-soft shoulders.
“James is the Earl of Exmoor,” he replied, trying to keep from choking up, for the difficulties his brother had experienced after coming home from Waterloo still tore at his heart. He would have given anything to spare his brother the pain he’d suffered.
Her gaze softened. “Oh, yes. Aunt Sophie told me about him. But what must you tell him so urgently?”
Romulus stared at her for the longest moment before clearing his throat and emitting a pained groan. “That I am about to be married.”
Chapter Two
“You are to be wed? Congratulations.” Violet’s eyes suddenly rounded in horror as the import of his words sank in. “Wait…you can’t possibly mean…are you mad? Why in blazes would you wish to marry me?”
Violet realized the answer to her question the moment she’d asked it. Romulus Brayden did not wish to marry her or have anything to do with her. He was offering in order to preserve her reputation. “No! It is out of the question.”
Everyone was staring at her.
“No,” she repeated to make certain everyone had heard her refusal the first time.
Of course, they had. She could tell by their frowns and glowers.
Mr. Brayden’s intense stare practically bore a hole through her. Oh, goodness! His eyes! A dark, smoldering green. The sort of eyes that would make a girl tingle with just a glance. She looked away, but still felt the heat of his gaze upon her.
“No?” Several voices said at once, or perhaps everyone was tossing the word back at her in disbelief.
Mr. Brayden knelt beside her. “Miss Farthingale, do you not understand? Your answer cannot be a rejection of my offer.”
The man was big and muscled. In truth, he was daunting. It wasn’t his fault he had an imposing presence. His shoulders were broad and the bulges of muscle and sinew in his upper arms appeared to be sculpted out of hardest marble. There was no mistaking he was nicely forme
d. Exquisitely formed, to be sure.
“Please, Miss Farthingale.” There was a tenderness in his regard that simply melted her insides. He was quite handsome. Built like a warrior, taut and lean, and those glorious bulges rippled whenever he moved.
She cast him a reassuring smile. “Surely, you must realize I am turning you down for your sake. To accept your offer would be punishing you for your good deed. How is this fair?”
He raked a hand through the waves of his dark gold hair.
Goodness, even his hair was perfect. Mostly the color of honey, but with a few lighter blond strands shot throughout, no doubt the effect of exposure to the sun and salty sea air. His face was lightly tanned and had a few lines etched on it, just enough to give him character but not enough to make him look weathered.
He reached for her hand, the one not clutching her gown to hold it up. “I don’t suppose this bargain is fair to either of us, but it must be done.”
“That is nonsense. Everyone here understands the innocent reason for our…um, state of disarray. No harm occurred, and you did nothing untoward. Why can it not remain a secret among all of us?” She glanced at the five elders who were still frowning down at her. “It isn’t a scandal unless word gets out.”
She trusted her uncles and knew Lady Dayne would take this to her grave. But Eloise’s diminutive companion was going to be a problem.
A big one.
Oh, dear.
“Lady Withnall…please.” She licked her lips, for they suddenly felt as cracked and dry as her throat. “Please don’t ruin Mr. Brayden’s life by leg-shackling him to me.”
Lady Withnall pounded twice on the stone floor with her walking cane. “I’ll strike a bargain with the pair of you.”
“Anything,” Violet said, eager for the chance to wriggle out of this embarrassing situation. Mostly, she was thinking of Mr. Brayden’s future and his happiness.
His hand tightened on hers.
She glanced down, realizing he still held it. Their fingers were now entwined, and she was surprised by how natural and right it felt. She’d forgotten they were still holding on to each other. She smiled at him once more. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it. Isn’t that right, Mr. Brayden? For my part, I’ll do anything to save you from having to marry me.”
She turned back to Lady Withnall and took a calming breath in anticipation of the terms she would demand. “What must I do to fulfill your bargain?”
“Violet, my dear girl,” she said, her hawk eyes darting between her and Mr. Brayden. “You shall have one week to work it out between the two of you.”
Violet frowned. “I don’t understand. It is worked out. As a gentleman, Mr. Brayden felt obligated to propose to me. I have refused him, thereby releasing him from said obligation. All is back to normal. We shall put this incident completely out of our minds and move on as though it never happened.”
She wiggled her nose, for one of those bees had stung the tip, and she felt a light burning sensation where the unsightly bump was forming. “We’ll have to give it a few days for these horrid welts to disappear. Once they do, we shall go on with our lives.”
The little harridan tapped her cane to the floor once again. “But it did happen. No. We shall meet again in one week. At that time, I shall expect you to convince me that you can never love this man.”
Violet turned to look at him.
Blessed saints, he was handsome.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He really ought to put on a shirt to cover that golden-tanned chest of his. It was quite impossible for her to concentrate. Indeed, she was feeling quite giddy. Perhaps she’d inhaled too much vinegar. Yes, that was the more likely explanation for these heady sensations. “Lady Withnall, look at him. I doubt any young lady is capable of resisting him.”
She noticed the twitch of his lips and the amused arch of his eyebrow. Well, he was gloriously built. She wasn’t going to deny the obvious. Just as obvious was the fact that he was honorable. He’d rescued her and had not hesitated in proposing to her to preserve her reputation. “It isn’t me I’m concerned about.”
“I haven’t finished my terms, Violet. For you see, Mr. Brayden must also convince me that he can never fall in love with you.”
“What? Really, this is too absurd.” If her hand wasn’t occupied holding up her gown, she would have done something quite unladylike. Lady Withnall, despite her age and diminutive size, deserved a good poke in the nose.
“So, I suggest the pair of you waste no time in getting to know each other. I shall come to visit Mr. Brayden at the end of the week. I think a tea party is in order, Mr. Brayden. Invite the Farthingales, for I’ll tell you now, this incident will be an open secret.” She turned to John Farthingale. “You’ll tell Sophie,” she said, referring to his wife. “She will tell your daughters. They’ll tell their husbands.”
Lady Withnall was right.
Violet was already planning to write to her sister, Poppy, asking for urgent advice. Farthingales did not keep secrets among the family. Were the Braydens as loose-lipped? If so, they were in trouble.
How large was his family?
Within days, over thirty people would know. Trusted family members, of course. But still, too many to keep this unfortunate encounter a secret.
Violet sighed. “So, we must spend each day together, and at the end of those seven days, must prove to you we are not a good match? Is that all?”
“Yes, my dear. That is all…except…”
Mr. Brayden groaned. “Here it comes,” he whispered in her ear.
“He must not kiss you.”
Violet jumped to her feet. “That will never do. He must kiss me.” In the next moment, she realized what she’d just blurted. She felt her cheeks suffuse with heat. Good heavens, why had she said such a thing? “I mean…once. He must kiss me, but only once.” She glanced in dismay at the book Poppy had given her to read. It was all about love. She’d gotten only a few chapters into it. However, she’d read enough to know this particular experiment was too important to overlook.
Romulus Brayden simply had to kiss her.
She heard his light groan as he rose to stand beside her. He towered over her, really. Were all the Brayden men this big? And handsome?
He trained his attention on Lady Withnall, too busy hurling daggers at the woman to pay Violet any notice. “Ahem…Mr. Brayden.”
“What?” He tore his gaze away from Lady Withnall and settled a stormy frown on her. But his expression immediately softened as Violet returned his stare.
She cast him a gentle smile. “I expect I’m going to like your kiss.”
His lips twitched again.
Her uncles groaned, and she heard muttered whispers of murder if he tries it.
She ignored their ridiculous and misplaced protectiveness. “But I have no experience kissing men. I don’t think you will enjoy mine nearly as much as I shall enjoy yours.”
Her uncles renewed their whispers of death if he tries it, so she frowned at them before returning her attention to Mr. Brayden. “My point is, I believe we are safe. You’ll be able to honestly state that you did not like it, and we shall never suit.”
His amusement faded. “No one’s ever kissed you?”
“Well, my parents have. My cousins.” She motioned to her uncles. “My family has. But they don’t count. I’ve never been kissed romantically. So, you see, you’re–”
“Lady Withnall, you are pure evil,” Mr. Brayden said to the tiny woman who barely reached to his navel.
Violet’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Mr. Brayden! That is very rude of you.” He wasn’t wrong, merely rude. This woman had them trapped in a vise and was squeezing them unfairly. It was extortion, if one wanted to put a name to it. “I understand how you feel. But–”
“No, Miss Farthingale. You have no idea.”
Now he was being rude to her.
He groaned and turned to don his shirt that was damp and reeked of vinegar. He didn’t care
and just stuck his head and arms through it and then turned away a moment to tuck it into his pants.
Oh, thank goodness. If she’d had to look at his magnificent chest a moment longer, she would have given in and accepted his proposal. She’d never seen such perfection.
A young lady could enjoy herself…
Which reminded her, she had to lace up her gown and cover her own shoulders. “Lady Dayne…”
Eloise understood her dilemma. “Gentlemen, leave us now. We’ll escort Violet home in a moment.”
Mr. Brayden turned to her as though he wished to say something more, then shook his head and grabbed his jacket and cravat. “I’ll see you later, Miss Farthingale.”
He’d already seen more than enough.
She knew he meant nothing by it, but her cheeks heated once again. “Yes…um…yes.” Well, that was clever.
She watched the men stride out of the kitchen, then adjusted her gown so that Eloise could lace it up for her. Lady Withnall did not take her eyes off her for a moment. “You are being most unfair to Mr. Brayden,” Violet said, returning Lady Withnall’s stare. “Won’t you reconsider?”
She simply tapped her cane again and sauntered off.
“Oh, Eloise. What am I to do? Can you not speak to your friend? Talk sense into her.”
“I wish I could, my dear. But there is no talking to her when she gets that look about her. Perhaps she’ll mellow in a few days and listen to reason.”
Violet emitted a breath of relief. “That would be wonderful. Do you think so?”
“No, my dear. Unfortunately, she seems quite set in her decision.”
Violet slumped her shoulders. “This is terrible. What am I to do?”
Eloise cast her a grandmotherly smile. “He is handsome, you must admit. Why don’t you take the week to get to know him?”
“I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?” She glanced at the red leather tome perched on the kitchen table. “I will not allow Lady Withnall to interfere with the course of my life, but Mr. Brayden may prove useful in educating me about men. One can read about them, but it isn’t quite the same thing as first-hand knowledge, is it?”
Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection Page 71