by Darcy Burke
He skimmed his free hand over the curve of her hip and the dip of her stomach to cup one of her full breasts. He teased the taut nipple with his fingertips, alternately caressing and tugging gently until his kisses were met with little gasps of air. Tonight had been beautiful. He wanted the next few hours to be even more perfect.
He eased one of his legs between her knees, parting her thighs. He reminded himself to go slowly. Violet was no stranger to brutishness. He preferred to show her what it meant to make love.
Still cradling her face to claim her with kisses, he released the erect nipple and slid his hand between them to cup her cleft. Slick heat met his fingers. Although she moaned in anticipation, he did not immediately give her what she expected. Instead, he rolled his fingers lightly over her entrance, teasing her clitoris and tantalizing her with the desire for penetration. He wanted her to want him more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
When he slid the very tip of one finger inside, she arched into his touch, driving him deeper even as she gasped. His lungs stopped as their gazes caught. She grabbed his upper arm and hooked her leg over his thigh, tilting her hips for a deeper angle. Slowly, suggestively, irresistibly, she began to ride his finger with her half-lidded eyes open and her gaze locked to his.
He did not need to make the night perfect. It was already perfect.
Heart racing, he slid his wet fingers from her core to his cock, stroking its length and reveling in the sensation of her dampness upon his shaft. He angled the tip, intending to go slow, but she tightened her leg around his hips and forced him all the way inside. She felt like heaven. He would never let her go. As he began to thrust, he brought both hands to her face and kissed her deeply.
When his shallow breaths began to come far too quickly, he rolled onto his back and allowed her to set the pace. Tonight was not about him ... or even about her. Tonight was about them.
With her thighs on either side of his ribs and her hands digging into his shoulders, she rose and fell upon his shaft, slowly gaining speed and rhythm. He grinned up at her. The sauciness in her answering smile curled his toes. He craned upward to lick one of her breasts. She leaned forward slightly, allowing him to suckle one nipple and toy with the other. He loved the feel of their bodies, the scent of her skin. She gripped his hair as her muscles began to clench around his cock.
His breath as ragged and uneven as hers, he held her waist with his hands, lifting his hips and driving her harder and harder until she cried out and slumped forward against him. Pleased beyond all reckoning, he lifted her chin with one finger and leaned upward to kiss her.
When her fingers made their way into his hair and her body began to writhe against him once more, he turned her around so that she was nestled in his arms with their naked bodies spooned together on their sides. He parted her thighs and leaned slightly away in order to guide his stiff cock between her legs from behind. He held her tight as he made love.
She arched, simultaneously deepening the penetration and thrusting forward her jutting nipples. His pulse raced. Increasing his rhythm, he lightly squeezed her breasts and tugged gently at her erect nipples. Every sigh, every gasp, swelled his cock as he drove deeper and deeper. He was about a breath away from release, and he hoped he could make her join him.
Still pressing open-mouthed kisses against her bare shoulder and the back of her neck, he lowered his hand from her nipples, across her stomach, to the juncture between her thighs where the tips of his fingers could just touch the slippery wetness of his shaft as it disappeared within her. With his lips still pressed to her back, he slid his fingertips up to her clitoris, circling, teasing, toying, as he drove his cock inside her again and again. She was his, and he was hers.
When her legs tightened and began to tremble, he increased the pressure, pleasuring her with his fingers as he buried himself within her. She sucked in a sharp breath, her muscles convulsing around his shaft even as he spilled his seed. He shuddered in ecstasy. When their climaxes finally ceased, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, until they both drifted into sleep.
He awoke in the wee hours of the morning. Violet was still snuggled against him. He was careful not to wake her, choosing instead to contentedly gaze upon her sleeping face and hold her close. She was an angel. He would never cease thanking the Lord above for sending her into his life. He could scarcely wait to make their union official.
He forced himself out of bed before the maids could stumble across them during morning rounds. He intended to spend the rest of his life with Violet, but he meant to give her a choice in the matter. The others would find out only after Violet said yes. His skin tingled with nerves. He certainly hoped she’d say yes!
He dressed quietly and pressed a soft kiss to her hair before slipping out the door. Since dawn was only just breaking, this was the perfect opportunity to take a long look at the square of dirt that no longer held his daughter’s grave. Perhaps he would plant a rosebush where the stone had stood. Or lilies.
While he was out there, this time he would clip flowers for both his women. And think up the most romantic method possible for proposing to Violet.
He intended to do the honorable thing by her—which, happily, perfectly corresponded with what his heart wished to do anyway—but until now, he had given her no indication of being so inclined. Tonight, he would present himself as the lovesick fool he truly was. She had suffered more than enough disappointments in life.
He needed to do this right.
***
Violet was disappointed but unsurprised to discover Alistair gone when she awoke. She was astounded, however, when she realized she had slept through the night without a single nightmare.
Buoyant, she hauled herself out of bed and padded over to the small clock. Early, yet. The maids wouldn’t even have started their morning rounds.
After getting dressed and taming her hair, she still had plenty of time to slip outside and select a flower for her hair before breakfast. As she suspected Alistair would likely join her, she wanted to look her best and thought a little accent might be just the thing.
Still euphoric over the previous night, she sailed through the front door and into the morning sun. She was just making her way toward the back lawn when Roper appeared from around the corner.
“Mr. Roper!” She gave him a sunny smile. “How do you do this fine day?”
“Miss Smythe.” His strong fingers latched onto her wrist to prevent her from continuing forward, although she had already stopped to greet him. The rising sun cast his tall form in dark silhouette, making it impossible to read his expression. “What are you doing out here?”
Her brow furrowed as she tried to twist her arm free from his grasp. “Merely hoping to adorn my hair with a flower. If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat before morning lessons, and—”
“Your hair is lovely as it is,” Roper interrupted, his firm grip on her wrist at odds with what should have seemed a compliment. “You should go to breakfast now.”
Laughing uncomfortably in an attempt to diffuse a situation she clearly did not comprehend, she dipped a curtsey. “I thank you. But if you don’t mind—”
“I mind.” Roper’s grip intensified. “Come, I will walk you.”
She tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. A chill slithered down her spine. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t acted this way in months. No longer willing to continue the pretense of obviously false pleasantries, she jerked her throbbing wrist free from his grasp and leapt out of harm’s way. “I will return in a moment. First, I shall—”
Three steps. She had only progressed three small steps, but it was enough to clear the corner of the abbey and get a direct view of what the manservant had been trying so desperately to prevent her from seeing.
Alistair. Clipping roses. While bathed in the early morning sun. Violet stared in disbelief as he hummed and clipped without a care in the world.
He was fine. He was fine.
Speechless with the shock of betraya
l, she stormed within arm’s reach and glared down at him until she was sure her head would explode. There was no sunsickness! He had lied.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Good morning, love. How did you sleep?”
White hot rage keeping her from forming articulate words, she jerked a hand into the air and pointed skyward in response.
He frowned only briefly before his cheeks flushed and he leapt to his feet. “Oh.”
At that, she absolutely found her voice. “Yes,” she bit out angrily. “Oh.”
“I—I —I ... ” His stuttering might have been comical, were she not five seconds away from stabbing him with his own gardening shears. She couldn’t believe his audacity. She couldn’t believe her stupidity. How had she fallen for his lies?
No wonder not a single scientist had ever heard of the alleged sunsickness disease. It did not exist. At least not to the extent to which Alistair had suggested. Lily might have suffered burns when she was younger, but how long would she have had to be in the sun for that to happen? Alistair was in no danger of catching fire unless Violet set him aflame herself.
How long had this fiction been going on? Were she and Lily the only ones confined to the shadows?
“Do you ever even sequester yourself within the walls of this godforsaken abbey?” she demanded, both her voice and heart cracking. “Or are you outside every day while the rest of us are imprisoned indoors? Please tell me this is the first time you’ve seen the sun and you’re just as surprised as I am that you haven’t crumbled to ash.”
His cheeks flushed with color.
She had her answer, then. Her stomach turned. She couldn’t stand to look at him. She’d trusted him. She hadn’t been that stupid in a long, long time.
He reached for her. She turned away.
“Violet, wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “Please stop and listen. I only went into town because—”
“I don’t care how often your not-sunsick face sees the sun,” she snapped, gritting her teeth together to keep from crying. “I care about how often you looked me in the face and lied.”
His jaw worked wordlessly. They both knew there was nothing he could say. His expression tortured, he softly whispered, “I’m sorry.”
But it was not enough. Trust, once broken, could not be mended with a single word. Sometimes it could not be mended at all. How could he keep up a lie? After she’d bared her soul to him? After she’d confessed to murder.
Violet’s entire body trembled. Honesty worked both ways. They had both kept secrets in the beginning. But he had continued to lie to her face, again and again, even at this point in their relationship. If they even had a relationship. Her heart thudded at the realization. A man who lied about something this fundamental would have no problem at all lying about a thousand other things. After all, had he not lied to an entire town about the death of his daughter? About his own disease?
Her voice shook with unshed tears. “Just tell me one thing. Yes or no. Do you suffer any kind of sunsickness? Any tendency toward sun sensitivity at all?”
He dropped his gaze. At first, she thought he would not answer. But then his eyes met hers, slowly, painfully, as if he were forcing himself to face the moment with courage.
“No.” His voice was quiet, but he might as well have shouted the word.
Her eyes stung. Even though it was what she now expected, the confirmation still sliced deep. Her breath came shallow. “Have you ever been sunsick?”
He flinched. “No.”
She could not contain her pain any longer. “I should have known. I should’ve known better. Just when I’d finally tricked myself into believing there could be a man worthy of my love, worthy of my trust ... I can’t believe you lied to me every single minute since the day I met you. Has anything you’ve ever said to me been true?”
“Everything else,” he burst out, then hesitated. “Mostly. I wanted—”
“You wanted to lie. Well, I deserve better than that. I deserve better than you.” She spun on her heel, nauseous with pain and betrayal.
Without a backward glance, she ran back inside the abbey. He did not follow. Uneven breaths tangled in her throat. Of course he would not follow. He was probably too busy thinking up more lies. Her stomach churned. She’d been hoodwinked by several accomplished liars over the years, but this—this—was far beyond the pale.
She tore through the halls, blind with pain. She had imagined she’d finally found something special. A home. But if they could not trust each other, they had nothing.
She needed to think. Somewhere far, far away from Alistair Waldegrave. Lover. Liar. Madman. Did he truly believe anyone could shrug off such deception? What about Lily? If he had completely lied about his own supposed affliction, he had likely exaggerated his daughter’s condition as well. There was a clear line between protective and cruelty. Her wasted childhood was more than a tragedy. It was unforgiveable. Anyone who caged a child unnecessarily was nothing short of a monster.
Violet’s feet bore her to her chamber. It no longer felt like a safe haven. Nothing did. If a lifetime of bitterly disappointing experiences had taught her one thing, it was to know when to cut ties. And it was time.
She swung open her wardrobe and began tossing garments into a pile. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the initial moment of fear for Alistair’s safety, followed by the shock of betrayal. He might be content to live a lie. She was not.
Now was the time for action, not inaction. She had meant to save money for a barrister, and she had done so. It was past time she face her accuser head-on in the courtroom. Once she settled her own future, she could decide whether she wanted to be part of the Waldegraves’. It could be months until the trial. It might take twice as long to learn to trust again.
She hefted her makeshift bundle over one shoulder and headed directly to the catacombs. She wouldn’t go anywhere without seeing Lily one last time. Leaving the child behind was already breaking her heart. She would return as soon as the threat of a gibbet was gone, but for now she would have to say goodbye.
Shoulders tight, she eased open the door to the sanctuary.
“Vi—” The smile lighting Lily’s face died the moment her eyes fell upon the telltale bundle in Violet’s arms. “Oh. You’re leaving.”
“I have to.” Violet longed to explain herself, but had no wish to make Lily’s imprisonment any more unbearable than it already was. “Just for a little while.”
“Why? You don’t love me enough to stay? I love you.” Lily’s big gray eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I love you enough for both of us.”
“Oh, honey.” Violet dropped to her knees and enveloped her in a fierce hug. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone my whole life. I will do whatever it takes to come back to you, Tiger Lily. I promise you that.”
“It’s Papa, isn’t it?” Lily mumbled into Violet’s shoulder, squeezing her midsection harder than ever. “He’s done something awful, hasn’t he?”
The child had no idea. Violet swallowed. She could think of no response that did not involve outright lying, and she did not believe in lying to children. She kissed Lily’s cheeks and then rose to her feet. “Your papa will be here soon to bid you good morning. Try—try to be kind. He’s bringing you fresh roses.”
“I don’t want roses.” Lily’s lower lip trembled. “I want you and me to stay together. Forever and ever. Like a family. Papa said we were a family.”
“I want that, too.” The back of Violet’s throat stung. “Be good for me until I come home. And never forget how much I love you. No matter what, hear me?”
Lily launched herself back into Violet’s arms. “I wish you were my mother. If you were my mother, you would stay.”
Heat pricked Violet’s eyes as her throat swelled with emotion. Oh, how she wished she were Lily’s mother, too. Violet wished so many, many things. She wished she didn’t have criminal charges hanging over her head. She wished Alistair hadn’t lied. But more than anything, she wished she cou
ld stay.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I promise to think about you every second of every day. I already miss you more than I can stand.”
“I do, too. And I hate it.” Lily pulled out of Violet’s embrace and wiped her eyes. Without a backward glance or an audible sob, she crawled onto the foot of her mattress and closed the heavy curtains around her, surrounding herself with darkness.
Her heart breaking, Violet forced herself to lift her bundle and quit the room before she burst into tears herself. She had to stay strong. Focused. She had to make it to London with her head still attached to her body before she could make good on any of her promises.
Determined, she slipped out of the abbey through a servant’s exit and turned her boots toward the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alistair speared his shears in the dirt as if driving a stake through Lucifer himself.
There. He’d cut off every bloom to every rose, just like he’d cut off any prayer of earning Violet’s trust. Was he happy now? A tortured growl escaped his throat. No. He was not.
He stabbed the blades of the shears into the ground one more time for good measure. Of course he wasn’t happy. He was an imbecile. Violet couldn’t possibly have known what it was like to be forced to live a lie for so many years that he’d all but forgotten it was a lie. Nor could she have known he’d only braved the sun twice in the past decade: once for his daughter, and once for her. Above all, she couldn’t possibly have known that he trusted her more than he even trusted himself. He trusted her with his daughter. He trusted her with his heart.
And why could she not have known any of these splendid facts? He yanked the shears out of the dirt and sprang to his feet. She couldn’t have known because he, master of shadows, had not told her in time.
He pushed his way back into the abbey. Dawn had only just broken, and already he’d ruined his life. He handed the gardening shears to Roper. No time to ring for hot water or bother knotting a new cravat. Alistair had to get to the dining room before Violet was there and gone, sequestering herself in the prayer room with Lillian for a nice long day of doing sums and ignoring Alistair.