In a daze, she realized that it was not John. This man was bigger, firmer, and he smelled like a wild storm rather than the lavender-water that John often wore.
It took a few minutes for everything to come back to her. It was Kit in her bed—no, not her bed. She was in his bed. Violet’s eyes shot open. She’d lain with a man in the middle of the day, when everyone in her household was running about doing chores. Her cheeks burned and she put her hands up to cover them.
How had she let him talk her into this? If she was going to be so reckless, it was better done at night when there was the illusion of privacy and she could walk about her house with dignity.
Soft lips brushing over her neck reminded her of how much she’d yearned for Kit, how much she still craved him. Even though he’d spanked her like a child, it was difficult to think back on that without feeling flushed all over. From embarrassment, but also from arousal.
The desire to have him push her down into the bed and throw up her legs was palpable. It would be easy to turn over and take his hardness in her hands and bring him back to life. She would ride him like a stallion.
She wanted it. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in a long time. But such wanton abandon came with a cost. Was it one she was willing to pay? Perhaps she should take the pleasure they’d found and let that be all.
No matter how she envisioned this, all roads led to a poor end. How long could she keep him here? A few more days? A week? A month? Two? That was the best she could hope for.
Kit had made no promises. Nor could he. How could a man who did not know who he was offer her more than a passionate tryst? Though she thought him a gentleman, what if he wasn’t? He admitted that he was a boxer. Could not a successful pugilist have the degree of wealth that a merchant or gentleman did, assuming he invested his funds well? Could he be a commoner? Or was he the heir to some grand dukedom?
She was not sure which would be worse. A low-born boxer or a rich duke so far above her that she could never be more than a fleeting affair. Unless she became his mistress. Could she lower herself to do such a thing?
A silly voice inside her head said she could do anything if it meant keeping him. Yet if she became his mistress, she would be the one kept. He could have any number of women aside from her: a wife, another mistress, lovers…
Her eyes welled up, but she wiped the tears away. Crying was the least productive thing she could do. If she was on the battlefield with a mangled leg and a hole in her chest, then she could cry. If her brother was found bloody and dead, then she could cry. But crying over a charming man—who had no choice but to leave her and resume his life—was useless.
Violet eased apart from him and planted her feet on the cold wood floor. A hand grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
She did not look at him. If she did, she would want to stay. Instead, she looked for her chemise and stays and put them back on. She shook out her discarded petticoat and tied it around her waist. As she tied the laces on her stays, he took hold of her waist and pulled her against his body.
He was so warm and hard. His chest crushed hers and she felt so small in his arms. Again, her eyes welled, but she blinked the moisture away.
“I hope you are merely stepping out to get some bread and cheese or to check on tonight’s dinner.”
“I have a few things to attend to. You should lie down and get some rest, Kit. Someone will come and check on you for dinner.”
His voice was a shard of ice. “You are not coming back for dinner?”
She turned her head from him. “I cannot say.”
“You mean you will not say. Why are you running from me?” His voice strained as he spoke, which finally convinced her to glace at him.
His eyes went wide and his hands gripped her arms as he held her a short length from his body. “Did I hurt you?”
Why did he think that? If he had hurt her, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs until Avery came and beat Kit to a bloody mess. Or she would have clawed and fought until he screamed in pain.
“Do you think me as weak and fragile as that?”
“Then you enjoyed your earlier punishment?” His gaze searched her face.
Yes. “I do not enjoy being treated as a four-year old, but I did find the rest pleasurable.”
Kit sighed heavily. “Good.” His relief was almost tangible. He smiled at her and she felt the walls around her begin to crumble.
“I need time.”
His gaze was long and hard. “Time for what?”
“To collect myself. To speak to Mrs. Norris and Avery. To take a bath.” The waver in her voice was too weak. She had to appear strong. This was a man used to charging his opponents like a wild bull.
“How much time?” He crossed his arms.
Somehow the loss of his hands on her made her feel empty rather than relieved. “I do not know.”
“I do not understand you.” When he shook his head, his dark tresses swayed and she bit back the desire to run her fingers over the strands of his hair.
He cupped her chin and leaned down so that they were nose to nose. “You do not run from me. I respect that you…” He let out a long breath. “Need time. It has likely been a long time since you have known intimacy with a man. I am not so much of a brute that I would ignore that. But tell me. Do not run and force me to chase you. You will not like the result.”
Was that a threat? She looked into his eyes. Yes, it was. Should she be afraid? Somehow she could not bring herself to be. Kit was a man who lived his life on the edge of a knife blade. She’d known men like that before. Avery had once been such a man.
However, Violet was no meek woman. Kit would learn that soon enough. Though she was very much a woman, she was independent and opinionated. If she’d been any less, she would not have survived the marches and battles in the war.
“Fine. I will not run. But never assume that I will cower before you. I am not afraid of your temper, Kit. Nor will I ever be.”
She backed away from him and resumed lacing her stays, then looked through the blankets for her gown.
“I have never met a woman quite like you.” His voice was soft, all trace of the bull gone.
“I have known many men like you,” she countered.
“Really?” Even before he spoke, she could feel the heat of his body close to hers. So it was no surprise when he touched her waist.
“I met soldiers in the war who thrived on the thrill of the battle, who lived for pistols, liquor, and women. I’ve known reckless boys who charged into war with idiot ideals and came back missing limbs, if they came back at all.”
“But am I the only one you graced with your heavenly body?” he asked, running his fingers up her sides then back down again. Her body hummed in response. Like a cat, she leaned into him, rubbing him.
“My husband was not that sort of man,” she said. “I have taken no other to my bed.”
He turned her around to face him. The glide of his lips over hers made her knees want to give way. She yielded, wrapping her arms around him and slipping her fingers through his hair.
Why was it so hard to say no to him? Violet prided herself on the strength of her resolve. She was adept in a crisis, but in Kit’s hands she was pudding, waiting to be licked and eaten.
“You seek to distract me with kisses,” she said.
Kit’s grin was wide. “Is it working, madam?”
“More than I would like to admit.”
“Then do not leave me.”
Interesting. Those were the words she wanted to utter to him. The thing that burned in her heart and made her afraid to stay. What if he cared more than he let on?
“Let me attend to my duties and then I will return for dinner.”
This kiss was a quick, firm press of his lips to hers. “Not a full concession, but I shall consider it a victory nonetheless.”
“Try to remain in bed while I am gone. I heard about you trying to sneak out to the stables a couple of days ago.”
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His lashes dropped and he smiled slyly. “If you would let me out of this room once in a while I should not have to resort to such tactics.”
“Shall I have to tie you down to the bed?”
A gentle bite to her ear made her gasp. “That sounds promising.”
Her eyes went wide. He truly was wicked.
As he licked the edge of her ear and then swirled his tongue in its opening, she lost her sanity. Her fingers clung to his arms and her breaths were quick and shallow.
“Though I prefer to do the tying.”
“Rogue.”
“Rake,” he countered, biting down on the lobe again, but hard this time.
“I do not doubt it.”
He released her and she saw that his eyes were glazed and his gaze hungry.
“Go,” he said. “Go before I decide to take you up on your idea.”
“Of tying you up?”
“No. Of tying you up.”
She squeezed his nose. “If I am trussed up and locked to the bed, it is because I allowed it. Remember that, my lord.”
His thumb swept her lip and she became lost in his brown eyes. “I will never forget it.”
* * * *
Violet’s cheeks were aflame when she found Avery. She didn’t know what to say to him. He’d been her most trusted ally for the past few years. Though class separated them, the reality of the horrors they went through had formed a bond far closer than servant and mistress. Violet thought of him as a friend.
She cleared her throat. He was bent over showing Sally how to properly clean a crystal vase.
“My lady.”
“Avery, can we meet in my study?”
“Of course.”
All the way to the door, she could feel the pitter-patter of her beating heart. This was certainly improper, but then again, theirs had never been a conventional relationship.
She didn’t relax until she sat behind her desk. She gripped the solid wood and trusted that if the war hadn’t broken her, this awkward conversation would not either.
Avery went to the thick, red damask drapes and pulled until the darkness faded and the stark light of the afternoon shone through.
“How can I assist you, my lady?” His face revealed nothing, not that she’d expected any trace of emotion there. Avery was a good butler, but he’d also once been a superior card player. When his thoughts showed on his face, it was because he allowed you to see them.
“You and I have known one another for a very long time.”
“Yes.”
“We have seen blood and death and the follies of humankind. We buried John together.”
“Yes.”
“So I shall not pretend with you as I might with Hinkley and the others.”
He waited for her to continue. His grey eyes were as pale as the cold winter sky outside.
She picked up a quill and rolled it between her fingers. “You and Mrs. Norris know everything that goes on in this house.”
“That would be a fair assessment.”
“Then you know what passed in Mr. Kit’s room this afternoon.”
Silence.
With a deep breath, Violet continued. She fingered the feather of her pen for a moment before she met his gaze again. “You seek to spare me,” she smiled, “and I am grateful to you for that. But you more than anyone else knows the pain of my husband’s loss and the empty years that followed it.”
“My lady, there is no need—”
Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? Avery would not judge her for finding happiness, however fleeting. Was it her own conscience she needed to clear?
She pursed her lips. “I wish I could say that I was the perfect widow, with no thought for any other man save John. But he is gone.”
Again, Avery merely watched her. His eyes were no longer the clear crystal of moments ago. She could see the subtle shift to ash.
“I do know what will happen here. Kit is welcome to stay as long as he wishes, but you and I both know that it is not a question of if he will go, but when.”
Avery gave a nod.
Violet glanced at the tall, sturdy oak clock, ticking the minutes away as if nothing ever changed. She watched the pendulum swing, counting the beats and knowing that time was not on her side.
“He has made no promises and I have asked for none.”
Why did Avery give her that look? She could only think of it as pity. Was she pitiable? Perhaps. But her course had been set since the day Kit had rescued her.
“I am no innocent, Avery. You and I both know that was robbed of me long ago. Now, my choice is to accept the truth and to prepare for it as best I can. I know you sent out a few inquiries when he first arrived, but I want you to try again.”
She was surprised to hear him speak as he’d been silent for so long. “Has he remembered aught else?”
Now she was the one who nodded.
“Is there anything that can identify his lordship? Has he remembered his family name?”
“I do not think so. However, he did mention that he remembers being a pugilist. And given the scars we’ve seen on his body, I can believe it. We know his name is Kit or Christopher and now we know he frequented boxing matches in London. That should surely help us track down his family, if he has any.”
“You know as well as I, my lady, that he is no mere thug who made his fortune in sport.” The gravel in his voice made Violet look up.
“Probably not. But if we can find some of the patrons for these matches, someone ought to recognize him.”
“I cannot access the clubs of the fancy.”
She smiled. “Something tells me he did not discriminate against an able-bodied opponent if they had the backing to put up for the match.”
“Aye.”
His officious demeanor was slipping, but Violet was polite enough not to remark on it. Charles Avery had his secrets, just like Kit. And though he was her closest friend, she might never know what they were.
“The more we know about him, the better.”
“And you are sure you wish to know?”
No. But she would not say it aloud. “Yes. I know the man that he is, but we need to find out who he was before he came here. At the very least, we should inform his family of his whereabouts. Christmastide is almost upon us.”
She didn’t know why it mattered so much. Whether he were a lord or a commoner, he could choose to leave at any time. Perhaps the old expression was true: to be forewarned was to be forearmed?
Avery nodded. “Very well, my lady. I shall send a letter to some friends in London to see what I can discover. There is a chance I may have to travel there myself.”
“If such a need arises, we will make arrangements.” She stood. “I would rather send you than hire someone or send a footman.”
“We could inquire with Bow Street.”
“Yes, that is a possibility. But you are the one I trust.” She put her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
“My lady is most welcome.”
He exited the room and she breathed a sigh of relief. She still hadn’t addressed the inevitable gossip of the servants, but one worry was off her table.
Chapter Eight
Kit sat at the table with a piece of paper and a quill. As soon as Violet was gone, he’d bribed Adam, one of the footmen, to bring him something to write with. He needed to get a letter to Freddy. Though Kit was not yet ready to leave Welbury Park, it would be cruel to let Bella think something terrible had happened to him.
For all her meddling, Kit loved Bella and he would not make her relive the horror of losing their parents. This was a hard time for her as it was. He regretted storming off, but it was hard not to rage against her despotism. Bella was a beautiful tyrant with no country to subjugate.
He shook his head as he scribbled the opening lines. Poor Freddy received the brunt of her domination. Though for some strange reason, Freddy seemed to like it. Maybe he knew some secret that Kit had never learned.
Kit
read over the short missive, knowing Freddy would be smart enough to read between the lines.
Dear Freddy,
You will forgive this brief note as I have no time for niceties. I recently came to some difficulty while assisting a lovely lady on the road. Some ruffians attempted to make off with her purse—and a good deal more. If you saw her, you’d understand why common men believe in angels.
I sustained an injury, so said angel took me into her home and has taken very good care of me. I will rest here for a few more weeks and then return in time for Christmas day.
Trust me that all is well. I will see you soon, brother. Tell Bella I will come back shortly, but do not tell her where I am. Keep her busy.
I will see you in a few weeks.
Sincerely,
Kit
Marquess of Kittrick
Welbury Park
Leicestershire, England
He folded up the missive and went to the satchel that Avery had retrieved for him. He folded back the thick leather and dug around for the nub of wax and his seal ring.
Dipping the wick into a candle flame, he watched the green wax pool onto the parchment. Once he sent this letter, there was no denying his past. Any fantasy he might have had about staying with Violet at Welbury Park was gone. A man with no name, no past could be free to choose the future as he wished.
A marquess had responsibilities. For all his wealth, he could not erase his title or his station. He was branded at birth, and no matter how much he rebelled against the confines of the court and polite society, he would never completely escape them.
He pressed down the ring, which formed a ram’s head surrounded by laurel leaves. With a sigh, he put the ring away and tapped on the door three times, giving the signal for Adam to return for the letter.
It was done now. He tried not to think about the future beyond tonight. Tonight he had everything to look forward to. An enticing woman with a mind as wanton as her luscious body would be his to devour. That was all that mattered, all he wanted to remember.
Kit spent the next few hours alternating between resting and imagining Violet draped across his bed, naked and yielding to every dirty thing he wanted to do to her. He didn’t get much sleep.
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