The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4)

by Grace Callaway

  “None of what?” she shot back.

  “Kissing, making love.” Iridescent ore glittered in his eyes. “You’re like the rest of your sex. Flirtation is a game to you. You string men along for fun and then toss them aside when you grow bored.”

  The unfairness of the accusation rendered her speechless for a moment.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not playing any games!”

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” he said in scathing tones, “you and I have played twice now in the dark. Yet you won’t even listen to my proposal.”

  Then and there, her temper snapped.

  “Because I don’t want to be insulted, you lummox!” she yelled.

  “Insulted?” he said coldly. “Why would you be insulted?”

  Could the man honestly be that obtuse?

  “Because your last proposal was a lecture on duty and responsibility. Despite the fact that I am not the paragon you want for a wife—that I am a mistake, as you so charmingly put it—you charitably offered to take me on anyway, in spite of your good judgement.”

  Heartbeats pounded by as he stared at her, looking… surprised? Ruddy color tinged his broad cheekbones. Lifting a hand, he rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered.

  “Well, that’s the way it came out. And I have no desire for a repeat performance. Trust me, I’m fully aware of my flaws and don’t need to have them pointed out to me.” Her breath grew choppy; she had the sudden panic that she might burst into tears. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her vision blurring ominously, “I’ll see myself to my room.”

  “Wait.” He caught her by the arm.

  “Just let me go.” Determined not to let him see her cry, she struggled against his hold.

  “Violet, please. I… I’m sorry.”

  At his hoarse words, she stilled. He was… apologizing? To her?

  “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m not skilled when it comes to dealing with… affairs of a personal nature.” The gruffness of his admission made her throat swell. “I haven’t my brother’s charm or ease with your sex. Sometimes I say things, and they don’t come out as I intended. That is my failing entirely—and not a reflection of my regard for you.”

  Violet stared at his sincere, rough-hewn features, unable to form words.

  He released her arm. His gaze fixed on the carpet as if the pattern explained the mysteries of the universe. “I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’ve not acted like a gentleman where you are concerned. But even so,”—his voice was gravelly—“I cannot regret what has passed between us.”

  The thumping of her heart grew loud in her ears. All at once, emotion surged. She didn’t have the wherewithal to push it back.

  “You’re crying? God, I’m such a bastard.” Looking stricken, Carlisle cupped her jaw with both hands, his thumbs wiping clumsily at her tears. “Damnit, I’m so sorry…”

  His tenderness was unexpected and… awkward. Endearingly so. It unleashed a tempest within her, and she began to weep. With a groan, Carlisle gave up trying to dash away her tears and pulled her into his arms instead. His embrace was too tight, the buttons of his waistcoat jamming into her cheek, but he stroked her back, murmuring bits of nonsense against her hair.

  Vi didn’t cry often, but when she did it was oft like this: as intense and brief as a summer storm. When the tears subsided, awareness returned to her... along with a feeling of supreme foolishness. Embarrassed, she pushed at his chest. He let her go and silently handed her a handkerchief.

  Fighting a sniffle, she wiped her cheeks. “Just so you know, I’m no watering pot. I don’t know where that came from.”

  “’Tis the stress, I expect. You’ve been through a lot. First there’s the assignation in the library, then finding a dead body. And I had to go top it off with the worst proposal in living memory.”

  His dry humor startled a hiccupping laugh from her. His expression remained stoic, but the line of his lips bent a little. A rueful curve.

  “When did you become so understanding, Lord Carlisle?” she said.

  “Just now, when a young miss put me in my place and deservedly so.”

  In his iron-dark gaze, she thought she glimpsed a smile. Her heart fluttered.

  “Feeling better now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said shyly. “Thank you.”

  He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, his touch mesmerizingly sweet.

  The sound of footsteps dispelled the magic of the moment. They sprang apart just as Miss Turbett appeared at the end of the hall. She was walking with her head down, apparently lost in her thoughts. When she was in danger of plowing right through them, Vi spoke up.

  “Um, hello, Miss Turbett.”

  The other miss started, her grey gaze flying up. “Oh! My, you gave me a fright. I’m afraid I didn’t…” She bit her lip, bobbed a curtsy. “Good afternoon.”

  Violet and Richard both returned the courtesy. Vi noticed that the other girl looked paler than usual—which was saying something. Beneath Miss Turbett’s fine, translucent skin, tracings of blue veins could be seen, and purple smudged below her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Vi said with concern.

  The other’s light brown lashes swept rapidly. “Oh, yes. I’m perfectly fine—”

  “Amelia! There you are.” Mr. Turbett came marching up. He was a tall, sparse man; during the party, Vi had observed that the merchant had a brusque and domineering manner, especially when it came to his daughter.

  “What have I told you about wandering off without me?” he demanded.

  Cowering, Miss Turbett whispered, “I’m sorry, Father. I… I was just…”

  “She was just chatting with us,” Violet said brightly. “Good day, sir.”

  “Turbett.” Carlisle inclined his head.

  The merchant grudgingly bent at the waist. “My lord. Have you seen Mr. Murray?”

  Carlisle’s jaw tautened. “My brother is around, I’m sure.”

  Neatly done, Violet thought.

  “But not where he’s supposed to be.” Turbett’s gaze narrowed. “I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Father, please—”

  “Be quiet, Amelia.” Her father held up a hand to silence her. “Now, Carlisle, you and I had an understanding. I didn’t come all the way to this bloody house party to twiddle my thumbs. And now there’s the inconvenience of that woman’s accident. God knows how an acrobat managed to meet her maker tripping over something in the library.”

  Violet exchanged a quick look with Carlisle. Apparently, Billings had made the announcement about Monique’s death, and he’d skimmed over the facts.

  “Now we’re all stuck here until the matter is wrapped up, and I refuse to have that time be wasted. Mr. Murray had better pay his respects to my daughter soon, or our deal is off.” Turbett crossed his arms over his puny chest. “He’s not the only fish in the sea.”

  A muffled sound of embarrassment escaped Miss Turbett. Violet’s heart went out to the other. Simultaneously, she noted the ominous ticking of the muscle in Carlisle’s jaw.

  With an obvious force of will, he maintained his temper. “Wickham knows his duty. You may expect to see him soon.”

  “I had better.” His message delivered, Turbett grabbed his daughter’s arm. “Come, Amelia. ’Tis time for our afternoon constitutional.”

  The girl looked so miserable that Violet said impulsively, “I was wondering, Miss Turbett, if you’d care to join my sisters and me for, um, a game of cards some time?”

  Miss Turbett blinked. “Oh. That’s nice of you—”

  “My daughter doesn’t play games. She hasn’t time for frivolity. Good day.” Without another word, Turbett dragged his offspring away.

  “He’s not a friendly chap, is he?” Violet muttered under her breath.

  “To Turbett, friendliness is a waste of time.” Distaste was evident in Carlisle’s austere c
ountenance.

  Then why are you bullying Wick into marrying his daughter? Why are you using him to clean up the mess you made?

  Confusing questions tangled in Vi’s brain. At the same time, weariness rolled over her like a fog. She wavered on her feet; Carlisle caught her.

  “You haven’t slept all night. You must be exhausted.” He steered her the remaining distance to her room. “Time for a nap.”

  She opened her mouth to argue that she wasn’t a child—and a yawn emerged instead. Crumpets, she was drowsy. “We have to talk. ’Bout Wick,” she mumbled.

  “We will. After you’ve rested.”

  “Promise?”

  He nodded. “Now get inside, lass.”

  She let him open the door for her, was halfway in when she turned around. “Carlisle?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you… for being nice.”

  His lips tipped up slightly at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

  Smiling to herself, she closed the door. Without bothering to take off her clothes, she stumbled to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. She gazed up at the canopy, her eyelids already heavy, and within minutes, she fell asleep... thinking of him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Violet, dear, it’s time to get dressed for supper.”

  Vi ignored the soft, familiar voice and snuggled deeper into her dream. Cuddled against a hard chest and held by strong arms, she was riding into a glorious sunset with her prince. They were astride a majestic white horse, and she sat in front of him, relaxed and comfortable in her… trousers?

  “Poor thing’s all done in.”

  She disregarded the second voice, too, because she’d turned her head to look into her prince’s eyes: they were as dark and smoky as a smithy. He bent his head, his mouth slanting deliciously over hers…

  “Violet never naps. I hope she’s all right…”

  As the voices murmured on, the vestiges of the dream slipped away. Violet blinked groggily at the pink canopy; never a sound sleeper, she wasn’t used to the disorienting lethargy of waking from a deep slumber. Then it all came back to her.

  Monique… Wick… Carlisle.

  The stress of events and that crying jag must have worn her out. How long had she been asleep? Leaning up on her elbows, she saw two figures standing by the wardrobe. Emma… and Thea!

  She threw back the covers. “Thea, when did you arrive?”

  The second eldest Kent sister, now the Marchioness of Tremont, turned, her pretty, gentle face wreathed in smiles. She opened her arms, and Violet bounded into them.

  “Just an hour ago.” Thea gave her a hug and stepped back, studying her with warm hazel eyes. “It’s only been a few weeks since we were last together, but I vow there’s something different about you.”

  Vi squirmed. “I’m, um, just the same as I ever was. Same old Violet, that’s me.”

  “Now that you mention it, Thea, I see it too.” Parsnips—now Em was scrutinizing her too. “There is something different about you, Violet. A certain glow.”

  Do not blush. Do not blush.

  “I had a good nap, that’s all.” Running her fingers through her tangled tresses, she said, “How was your journey, Thea?”

  “Not as eventful as what’s been going on here.” Thea shook her head, her gilded oak curls gleaming. “Emma told me everything. I can’t believe it. How dreadful for Madame Monique. And for you and Lord Carlisle to discover her.”

  “It was a shocker,” Vi admitted.

  “We’ll have to do our catching up whilst we get Violet dressed,” Emma interjected. “There’s only an hour before supper.”

  Vi noticed then that her two sisters were already dressed for the evening. Emma’s cerise taffeta complemented her rich brunette coloring, a pink sapphire and diamond choker circling her neck. Thea’s celestial blue crepe de chine was trimmed with seed pearls and suited her ethereal beauty perfectly.

  Violet scratched her ear. “I suppose I’d better get cleaned up, hadn’t I? Next to both of you, I look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “Silly girl,” Thea said, smiling. “We’ll get you shipshape in no time.”

  Back in Chudleigh Crest, the Kents had no servants. They’d done their own chores and helped each other dress. As her sisters fussed over her, Vi was reminded of those times, so simple and good. Now that Em and Thea had married, things had changed; these moments together were becoming more rare and precious. She could feel her own girlhood slipping away—torn away, in truth, by new experiences.

  Mere days ago, all she’d desired was freedom. To carry on as she wanted, with no one to judge her or tell her what to do. Now she was tantalized by a different possibility, and she couldn’t deny that Carlisle had been the one to plant the seed. To awaken a dormant longing inside her.

  Kents had a tradition of falling passionately in love. Although she couldn’t label her feelings toward Carlisle as love, precisely, she couldn’t deny that they were passionate. All her life, she’d adored physical activity for the way it made her feel: fully present in her own skin. Carlisle had the same effect on her… only more so.

  Being with him was more exhilarating than any sport. And it wasn’t just the lovemaking. Thinking about the unexpected gentleness beneath his gruff exterior made her pulse speed up.

  Could she have misjudged his character all along? But there was what Wick had said about him. What sort of man would force his brother into an unhappy marriage to correct his own mistakes? Yet Carlisle was clearly concerned for his brother’s welfare. Thunder and turf, he was concealing evidence to protect Wick.

  She couldn’t reconcile these facts. Clearly, she didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. She resolved to ferret out the truth at the first opportunity.

  “Breathe out,” Thea said.

  Air whooshed from Vi’s lungs as her sister knotted the corset strings.

  “So tell me more about Lord Carlisle,” Thea said. “It sounds as if things have changed between the two of you.”

  Crumbs. Her emotions already felt raw and exposed; she didn’t know if she wanted to share them. “Um, changed?”

  Emma jumped in. “Before the party, you couldn’t stand him—and understandably, given the gossip he’d started. But now the two of you seem as thick as thieves. In the study this morning, Carlisle appeared inordinately protective of you and concerned for your well-being.”

  Em’s observation gave Vi a little thrill. She was beginning to see that perhaps her judgement hadn’t always been sound when it came to Carlisle. It was comforting to have her sister’s opinion. Hmm, maybe she ought to try confiding a little more.

  Testing the waters, she ventured, “What if I said Carlisle’s not as bad as I once believed?”

  “What changed your mind?” Em said.

  His kisses… how kind he can be… the fact that we’re presently concealing evidence together?

  “I think he and I got off on the wrong foot,” she said.

  Em’s brows lifted. “That’s it? A simple case of misunderstanding?”

  If she wanted her sisters’ advice on relationship matters, she couldn’t furnish them with half-truths. They needed to know how she and Carlisle had started off.

  She sighed inwardly. Time to face the firing squad.

  “Do you remember the Yuletide ball where Carlisle fell into the fountain? He, um, sort of... had some help. From me.” Her breath held as she awaited their response.

  Thea paused in the adjusting of petticoats to look at Emma. “You were right after all.”

  Instead of looking surprised, Em looked pleased with herself. “It wasn’t difficult to deduce.”

  Vi stared at her siblings. “You mean you knew the entire time that I was responsible for Carlisle’s fall?”

  “Well, not for certain,” Em said. “But I guessed.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s face it, dear, you were never good at prevaricating. Your accounting of your time at the Yuletide ball was always a bit suspect, an
d there were those champagne stains on your gown.” Her sister’s tone was dry. “Then there was the way you leapt to Carlisle’s defense when we were making light of the accident. It smacked of guilt.”

  “I was that obvious?” Vi muttered.

  “Only to someone who knows you.” Em canted her head. “Why didn’t you just tell us what happened, dear?”

  Vi studied her toes. “I was embarrassed. And I didn’t want you to be cross at me, Em.”

  “Why would I be cross?” Her sister sounded puzzled.

  “Because you’re always reminding me to act less like a hoyden. To curb my behavior.” Vi hitched her shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. “You know, to be less, well, me.”

  “But that’s not true. I want you to be you. I’m just worried that—”

  “I know you have my best interests at heart,” Vi said quickly. “It’s just that sometimes I can’t help being who I am.”

  “Who else would you be?” A notch formed between Emma’s brows. “The ton—it’s not a forgiving place, and I don’t want you to get hurt. But neither do I want you to change the essence of who you are.”

  A tremulous warmth crept through Violet’s chest. “You mean that, truly?”

  “I do. Darling girl,”—Em reached out, tucked a stray curl behind Vi’s ear—“you’re special and wonderful. Can’t you be that… and a little more careful?”

  Vi loved her sisters. She truly did.

  “You’re right. I really ought to think before I act.” Expelling a breath, she confessed, “I didn’t intend to push Carlisle into the fountain. But I lost my temper, and the next moment he was bathing in champagne. I felt horrible about it for days.”

  Her sisters looked at one another—and erupted into gales of laughter.

  “It’s not amusing,” Vi protested.

  “I know, dear,” Thea said between gasps, “but I can’t help it. If you felt horrible, imagine… imagine how poor Carlisle felt!”

  “Felled by a female. I’m sure that was a blow to his pride,” Emma said with a chuckle.

  Feeling lighthearted now that a burden had been lifted from her chest, Vi gave a snort. “He’ll recover. After all, he has plenty of pride to spare.”