“I want to taste you.” He whispered the words against her stomach, knowing the heat in his breath would have an effect on her. He felt her shudder, and bent his head.
Violetta nearly came off the bed. He put his hands to her hips, steadying her and continued. She tasted bittersweet. Addictive. He tasted her, every fold, every secret, and finally drew the tender pearl into his mouth and caressed, using his tongue to reach all of it.
She gasped and jerked, calling his name. She would be his. He couldn’t imagine standing by and allowing another man access to this bounty.
He waited, caressing her until she had subsided before he rose up and sheathed himself inside her body. She reached for him, and he sank down onto her, taking his weight on his elbows, thrusting deep inside.
Her sighs were all the music he needed. He responded, murmuring love words, breathing them to her, wondering if she could hear.
Then he was whirled away to the simmering vortex they created together. Her hands pulled at him, urging him ever closer. He drove hard into her, feeling her take up the rhythm, hearing the sound of flesh coming together. Orlando lost himself in her. When she pulled him down he bent to kiss her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Gentleness left behind, they moved together and this time came together. When he felt his body surge and erupt, her hips moved beneath him in an involuntary, urgent drive to open herself to him as fully as she could, take all of him.
At that moment he felt as if she’d succeeded. He collapsed, a sweating, exhausted heap of nothing, over her panting body.
Orlando Garland had lost all the attributes with which he’d carefully endowed the Earl of Blyth. He was nothing but a man, loving the woman he was fast coming to accept was his mate.
He lifted his head. Violetta’s wonderful eyes were open wide, strands of black hair straggled across her gleaming, rosy face. She looked alive, and praise be, happy. He hid nothing. It was all there for her to see, if she had a mind to see it.
She said nothing, but stared at him, wide-eyed. He leaned forward and kissed her with all the tenderness he’d forgotten a few minutes before. “I meant it to be gentle and loving,” he murmured, his lips still next to hers. He drew back and smiled. “You set me on fire.”
“I never imagined it could be like this” She sounded breathless, as well she might.
“I want the privilege of showing you how many different ways there are of making love, of being together. Come away with me, Violetta. We deserve time on our own. You deserve all the attention I can give you. I can’t do it here. Come away with me.”
She curled her arm around his back. “It sounds wonderful.”
“It will be. I promise.”
“Then I will, if it’s possible.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you.” He might be able to persuade her to stay with him longer if she gave him the chance.
He lay next to her and drew her into his arms, smoothing her hair back, enjoying the feel of the silky strands slipping through his fingers. “Sleep now, sweet. I’ll watch over you.”
“You can’t stay.”
“I know. I’ll go when you’re asleep.”
She looked up at him, smiling with no guile and no fear. “Kiss me goodnight, then.”
He bent his head and kissed her, watching her until her eyes closed. He watched the candles gutter, feeling a tranquillity new to him, his restless mind at rest. No one else had been able to do that, stop his mind racing on its accustomed course for more than the few seconds of an orgasm. Violetta had given him ease and rest. More than that. He felt he had come home, at last.
Chapter Fifteen
Violetta woke to the sound of a door opening. Immediately she realized she was in no state to receive visitors. No wig, no spectacles, stark naked. She thrust her head under the covers, only then coming into contact with a large, warm body. Hell and damnation! He promised to leave! That’s what happens when you trust a man, she thought savagely.
The large, warm body stirred into life and moved over her, throwing the sheet over her head. Violetta lay in the stifling warmth, listening, a faint sense of nausea in her stomach, her heart beating so fast she was sure she would stop breathing any minute.
The exclamation told her the intruder was feminine. At the next sound her worst fears were confirmed.
“Good God! What is this? Miss Lambert? Orlando!” The last word was almost shrieked. By now Orlando lay still, his arm protectively over Violetta. She felt her body shake, and made an effort to control it.
“Orlando what is the meaning of this?” demanded Lady Perdita.
“What does it look like, my dear?” He sounded rested, at ease, damn him!
There was a minute’s pulsating silence. “How could you?” She sounded hurt now. “How could you do this to me? To Judith? This is why you haven’t looked at her, isn’t it? All the time we were trying to fix your interest you were—carrying on! In this house, with my companion!”
Another silence. Violetta tried not to breathe. “Miss Lambert, I expect you to leave this house before noon. I will not furnish you with a character to go to your next employer. I’m truly sorry it should end like this, but you have transgressed beyond what is acceptable. Do I make myself clear?”
Violetta said nothing. Orlando replied for her. “I regret you’ve been caused this embarrassment, my dear. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
The door closed. The sheet was withdrawn and she looked up to see Orlando’s concerned face. He didn’t look as insouciant as he’d sounded a moment ago. “Why didn’t you tell me Perdita could walk? If I’d known I would have locked that door, too.”
Violetta felt a deep sense of failure. “She wanted to keep it as a surprise for you.”
His mouth tightened. “Well it was.”
“It’s my fault. I should have told you.”
“No, it’s all my fault,” he protested. “I broke my promise to you, to leave before dawn. The last one I will ever break.”
“Yes,” she managed, her voice shaking. “It is. You’d better leave now. If you will, I would appreciate a message sent to my mother’s house. I will need the carriage.”
“Use mine,” he said briefly.
“No.”
She threw back the covers and left the bed, ignoring his sharp intake of breath as she revealed her body to him. It was difficult to ignore him, to be as dignified as if she were fully clothed, but she managed it. She found a clean shift in the top drawer of the chest of drawers. She flung it over her head, and turned to see him bearing down on her. Totally, gloriously naked. And aroused. She stared at his face, cheeks aflame.
He put his hands on her arms, pressing them to her sides. When she studied his face she realized it had been an accident. He had fallen asleep despite his good intentions. It was done. She looked down. It was a mistake. She jerked her head back up. His warm smile acknowledged her embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Violetta. Truly.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d finished my work here in any case.”
She turned around and picked up a pair of stockings from the drawer. Would he stay here and watch her dress? Well, whether he stayed or not she would dress. And leave. She wanted nothing more than to shake the dust off her heels and forget all about this stupidity. It was a mistake ever to come here. She felt his hands on her upper arms, trying to turn her. She shook him off. “Go away. Just go.”
“No. You’re in no state to be left. Violetta, Violetta, it changes nothing. I still want you, more than I can say, I still—Violetta, I love you.”
Panic and bitterness filled her. She didn’t know what she should do now and for the first time, her fairytale became hard, bitter reality. She’d slept with a man without marrying him, with no prospect of it, a man she couldn’t marry. It was the first step on the road to prostitution. She was ruined.
“Fool!” She spun back to face him, loose hair whipping across her face, fear adding to her anger. “I have a body, a body, that’s all! Do you think I inherited nothing from m
y mother, learned nothing in her house? You want more of me. Well, my lord, since you have started me on this path, you shall pay for anything more!” She saw the hurt in his eyes and felt a primitive triumph. It was his fault, and he should pay, she told herself, though deep down she still didn’t believe it. “If you want me, you know where to find me. You can be my first client, my first keeper, my lord. But you won’t be the last!”
She hit home, but not in the way she’d wanted. His eyes lit with unmistakable fury. “You will not! This changes nothing. You promised to go away with me last night, and I intend to keep you to it! Don’t think you can get away from me, because there is no chance of that.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. “ Violetta forced herself to icy control. Still shaking under her thin shift she faced him directly. “I may take that house from you after all. I will not be cheap, my lord.”
He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation. “Will you stop this? You weren’t meant for that life, you know you weren’t.”
“You have forced me into it. I’ve lost my maidenhead now, it’s gone. If I am to enter my mother’s world, I will be better and more expensive than she ever was. You will not be able to afford me for long, sir. I intend to snare a duke, if not a prince before I’m done!”
“You’ll get nothing from them,” he snarled, striding to the door, snatching up the dressing gown he’d carelessly discarded the night before. “And if you persist in this folly, you’ll get nothing from me, either.”
Thrusting his arms through the sleeves he drew the garment around him and unlocked the door. “My carriage will be at your disposal.”
The door slamming drowned her dignified acceptance.
Violetta slumped against the door, despair filling her to overflowing. The tears her anger held back, the reason she allowed her anger full rein, flowed freely now. She had lost everything. Her self-respect had shattered when that door opened, her shame at what she had done overwhelmed her. Physical desire wasn’t a good enough reason to do what she had done. She had thrown it all away. She couldn’t go back, not to the individual she had been when she’d first walked through the front door of this house, the strong, purposeful person she’d been. And she knew, despite lashing out at Orlando, that it was her fault. He had never forced her into anything. She’d done it herself.
The cold person, the singular person. For two nights she had been one of a couple. It felt right, and she had allowed her guard to slip. Now she was damaged, hurt, and it was as bad as she had always feared.
While she packed she allowed herself to weep. She packed all Miss Lambert’s clothes, except the most hideous, dun coloured gown, which had lost its shape from repeated washing. It suited her mood. She put it on, braided her hair and stuffed it under the wig. The spectacles were a defiant addition.
She left the house with her head high, looking neither to right or left. She heard the door of the study open behind her and quickened her pace. The sooner she shook off her experience here and regained her strength the better she would be.
If not happier.
There was one person she couldn’t hide her emotions from, and she should never have tried to. Explaining briefly that her employment had come to an end she pleaded a headache and went to her room to rest.
She wasn’t to have the rest. After a brief tap on her door, her mother entered her room. Violetta lay on the bed, having stripped away all evidence of Miss Lambert’s existence and donned a light wrapper. Her hair was braided down her back. She stared, wide-eyed at the canopy above her head.
“My love, there is something wrong.” It was a statement, not a question. “Tell me.” Donata Palagio sat on the side of the bed and held out her arms. Violetta gave in to the inevitable and flung herself into the shelter of her mother’s comfort. She could only bear to say this once, so she made sure her mother heard. She spoke clearly. “Lady Perdita discovered us in bed together this morning. She told me to leave.” She buried her face in the soft comfort of Donata’s shoulder, and allowed herself to release all her fears, all her regrets.
Donata held her and stroked her hair, reverting to her native tongue. “You are in the heat of your first love affair. It’s not so bad. It will work itself out, one way or another.”
Violetta followed her mother’s example and answered in Italian. “It was only when we were discovered I realized what I had done. When we were alone it was beautiful, perfect, but when Lady Perdita showed her disgust I was ashamed. It is wrong, Mama. Sordid. I should never have allowed it. Never!” A fresh storm of weeping heralded her distress.
“No, no, never think that. It is not wrong. You love him, do you not?”
Violetta raised a tear stained face. “It was my greatest fear, that he discovered how I felt about him. Then I would have been completely in his power.”
Donata answered softly. “Sometimes you have to give yourself completely to gain perfect trust. For you that included giving your body. For me, that was telling my lover why I had run from my husband. I put myself in his power, deliberately.”
Violetta swallowed. Her mother had never told her so much before. “Ripley?”
“Yes. I did not leave my husband because of his treatment of me. I did it because he threatened you. He said he would kill you if I did not do what he wanted. I did it, but I knew it would never be enough. You were three years old. Do you remember any of it?”
“Yes,” she whispered, childhood returning in force together with the memory that had haunted her dreams for years. Her father ripping her mother’s clothes off, then subjecting her to unspeakable things, things she could only be glad happened after he’d slammed the door in her face. Violetta was never sure which was real and which not, and didn’t dare ask in case it had all been real.
“I ran. Lodovico, your uncle, helped me to get away but asked me not to tell him where I was going, so he would not have to lie to his family. Lucius was the only person who knew who I was. He could have contacted my husband, but I chose to trust him.”
“Why?” Violetta stared at her mother, tears forgotten. “How did you know you could?”
Donata smiled. “I didn’t. I loved him, and if we were to have more than that, we had to trust each other implicitly. If not, I would live in fear, always be in danger. I knew he would not allow you to suffer, but I didn’t know if his feelings for me would be enough to stop him informing my husband where I was. He is an honourable man.”
“When he preferred you to his wife?”
“Yes. You have seen her. He was married to her before he went abroad on the Tour. He tried very hard to make his marriage a success when he returned home. When I fled to England and went to him we did not become lovers. He helped me because he loved me and I him. He tolerated my life because he loved me. He knew I could not depend on him, much as he wanted to take care of me.”
“Why not?”
Donata stroked her daughter’s hair. “I could not depend on a man ever again. Not after what d’Oro did to me. I needed to be independent in my own right, but if the Contessa d’Oro reappeared in England, her husband would have reclaimed her instantly. I had to be someone else and I had to earn enough to ensure you were brought up properly. There was little choice. I did what I could.”
Finally in love, knowing what it meant, Violetta understood some of it. “How did he tolerate it?”
“Lucius? He understood why I did it. He knew he was my love. Anything I gave—sold—to anyone else was worthless in those terms. It was my living, that was all.”
Violetta shuddered, and wondered what she would have done in her mother’s place, wondered if she could have been as brave. Knowing, finally, what love meant she understood what it must mean to see the loved one turn elsewhere for physical relief. It would hurt. Hurt so much she had no idea how Lord Ripley bore it.
It was clever of her mother to turn the topic to herself, Violetta realized. It made her think beyond her current problems, put her mind to use. It helped. She drew back, drawing her arm o
ver her face in a distinctly childish gesture.
Her mother studied her. Violetta didn’t know if she found what she looked for. “He will probably come, you know that. If he does not, you may forget him with a clear conscience. If he comes, we must decide what to do.”
“I don’t know. I feel so ashamed, mother.”
“What are you ashamed of?” Her mother’s soft, silken voice seduced Violetta into telling the truth, searching her heart for the real reasons she’d turned on Orlando that morning.
“That someone saw us, that what we had wasn’t—right. I attacked him, Mother.”
“If it’s love, it’s right.”
“I tried to help Lady Perdita and threw it all away in five minutes.”
“Does she walk?”
“Yes.” Violetta bit her lip. That was the important thing, what she had set out to achieve. Perhaps she hadn’t been such a failure, after all. “She walks.”
“You have helped, then. Now you must think of yourself. What do you want to do? Why did you attack Lord Blyth?”
She knew the true answer now. “I panicked. This is all new to me, mother. I thought I knew, living in this house, seeing what I have seen—” a small smile flickered across her lips when she remembered her mother’s efforts to keep her away from extraneous activity, “—a small child can hide in a multitude of small places, Mama.”
Her mother stroked her hair. “You were always a secretive child. It was never easy for you to show yourself.”
Violetta felt safe here, in the room she had known most of her life, in her mother’s arms. She could think once more, with some semblance of clarity. “I panicked. I was afraid of what I’d shown Orlando. In two short nights he discovered more than anyone else about me. He understood me. Perdita’s discovery only gave the excuse to push him away.”
“Then you have to decide what you want to do now. If you love him, take the chance, give him your trust. Don’t push him away, Violetta.” Her mother spoke low and soothingly. “When he calls, I will see him. I will tell him of your distress.”
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