Condemned & Admired

by Bree Wolf

  She was truly a force to be reckoned with!

  “Will you agree to merely use your walking stick for its intended purpose,” Violet demanded, the blade of her dagger still pressing into his father’s throat, “or do I need to take it from you?”

  Gritting his teeth, the marquess swallowed his pride and lowered his weapon.

  “Very well.” Removing the dagger, Violet stepped back, her eyes still watchful, and every muscle in her body flexed, ready to move should the need arise.

  Slowly, the marquess turned to face her. “You will be sorry for this,” he snarled, his face red with shame and disillusionment.

  Violet drew in a slow breath, her blue eyes sparkling as she leaned forward. “Don’t forget that you were the one to attack me,” she reminded him. “And in my own home no less.” Her brows rose in challenge, her eyes unwavering as they held the marquess’s gaze. “I would have expected more,” she chided as though speaking to an unruly child.

  With resignation in his eyes, his father turned away. “All is lost,” he mumbled under his breath as he headed toward the door, dragging his feet as though all strength had left him.

  Retreating down the hall, Oliver waited until his father had left. Then he returned to his bedchamber, hypnotised by the sight before him.

  Violet’s golden locks danced around her face as she moved to inspect the large tear in her azure gown that hugged her body in all the right places. As she placed her dagger on the trunk beside her, her left sleeve slid a fraction down her shoulder, revealing more of her flawless skin. Cursing under her breath, she yanked it back up, but to no avail. Another seam had to have ripped. Inhaling a deep breath, she brushed her wild tresses out of her face, annoyance dancing in her eyes when she looked up and found him standing in the doorway. “I see you have returned,” she observed acidly, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

  Oliver nodded and stepped farther into the room, unable to look anywhere but at her.

  “Your father paid us a visit,” she told him, and her gaze narrowed in confusion as she took note of the way he looked at her. “He’s a pleasant man.”

  Oliver chuckled, “I expect he made you feel at home.”

  “He certainly did.” Violet sparks danced in her blue eyes as she studied his face. “He attacked me,” she said carefully as understanding began to dawn, and she drew in a shaky breath.

  “I saw,” was all Oliver said, his voice strangled even to his own ears as he fought the urge to yank her into his arms and forget that she was not truly his wife.

  A frown came to Violet’s face as she took a step toward him. “You saw?” she demanded. “And you did not see the need to interfere? To assist me? To–?”

  “Protect you?” he asked smiling. “No, indeed I did not.” His gaze travelled over her face, down to her exposed shoulder and over her torn dress before darting to the small dagger on the trunk beside her. “I couldn’t move,” he whispered, meeting her gaze once more. “I was in awe. Your courage is…daunting.”

  Violet swallowed, her eyes suddenly serious before she dropped them to the tear in her dress. Fingering the edges, she spoke without looking at him. “I’m sorry about this. I hope it can be mended.”

  Surprised by the sudden vulnerability in her voice, Oliver watched her.

  Her fingers seemed to tremble ever so slightly as she drew one shaky breath after another into her body. Her eyes were still downcast as though to avoid looking at him, and he could see that she was groping for something to say.

  “Are you frightened?” he asked, his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the contradicting woman before him.

  At his question, her head snapped up, and she forced courage back into her eyes. “No.”

  “Then why did you avert your eyes?”

  For a second, he thought she would do so again, but then she squared her shoulders and her chin lifted a fraction. “Because I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  A small smile came to his lips, and he could see that his reaction annoyed her. “Waiting? For what?”

  “For you to kiss me,” Violet huffed as though he were daft for not seeing that. “Don’t pretend it hasn’t been the one thing on your mind since you came to stand in the door!”

  “It has,” he admitted, crossing the remaining distance between them with one large stride.

  At his sudden proximity, her courage seemed to waver for a split second before steel returned to her eyes. “Good,” she said, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “Then why do you hesitate?”

  “Because…,” Oliver whispered, catching her chin between two fingers, “you seem frightened.”

  “I’m not,” came her quick reply, and he could see that she forced herself to relax her tense muscles.

  “You’re trembling,” he observed, sliding his other hand over the side of her waist and around to the small of her back. Keeping his touch light, he watched her as she sucked in a slow breath, her eyes remaining fixed on his.

  “No one can be strong all the time,” she endeavoured to explain, her voice unsteady. “That doesn’t mean I’m frightened. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to kiss me.”

  “Do you?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Would I have asked if I didn’t?”

  Oliver chuckled. Even now, in this moment, she could be annoyed with him. “Well, then I guess I should not keep you waiting.”

  She swallowed. “I guess not.”

  Watching her face, Oliver tightened his hold on her, drawing her against him. Then his hand slid from her chin along the side of her jaw and into her hair. All the while, he watched how her eyelids began to flutter, how her breathing quickened and how her body came to lean into his.

  When he lowered his head down to hers, she closed her eyes, and for a moment, Oliver marvelled at how vulnerable she allowed herself to be in his arms. Had she come to trust him?

  Then, however, he felt her lips brush against his own, and all rational thought left.

  ***

  The moment Violette felt Oliver’s lips move over hers, her knees buckled. Instinctively, her arms shot up and her fingers dug into his shoulders, holding her steady.

  In answer to her weakness, he tightened his embrace, but kept his kisses light until she had her feet back under her.

  Her pulse still raced, but it was no longer the kind that stole her strength but instead gave her fire. Excitement coursed through her, and she opened her mouth to his, curious about this aspect of life she had never given much thought to.

  Never had she contemplated marriage or a family of her own. Quite on the contrary, despite her parents’ love, she had always thought of those as limiting, restricting her in her freedom. Long ago, she had chosen freedom, and the determination never to relinquish it to anyone had burnt in her heart since that very day.

  Still, she could not deny that this physical aspect was quite alluring, and she felt a pang of disappointment when Oliver suddenly pulled away. “What are you doing?” she asked, tightening her hold on him.

  He swallowed, his eyes still dark with desire. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not?” Violette asked, a teasing smile curling up her lips. “After all, you’re my husband.”

  He drew in a slow breath, and his gaze travelled down to her mouth. “I wish that were true,” he whispered before his eyes met hers once more. “But we both know that it is not.”

  Violette shrugged. “What does it matter?”

  “What does it matter?” he echoed her words, his eyes wide as he stared down at her dumbfounded. “I cannot say whether or not life in France is much different in this regard, but over here, young ladies tend to guard their virtue at all cost.”

  Searching his eyes, Violette frowned. “Has that ever stopped you from pursuing them?”

  He drew in a slow breath, guilt clouding his eyes as they dropped from hers.

  “I see,” she mumbled, strangely affected by the thought of him with another woman. “Still, I’m n
ot a young lady, nor shall I ever be. Therefore, you need not worry about my reputation.”

  “But you are,” Oliver insisted, his pale blue eyes holding hers. “You’re a viscount’s daughter. You–”

  “I’m not,” Violette protested. “I’m a privateer’s daughter, and I have no intention of saving myself for marriage as I have no intention of ever marrying.”

  Bewildered, he looked at her as though every woman’s one goal in life was to find a husband. Well, in his world, that was probably true. “What do you want then?” he asked, incomprehension marking his features.

  Violette smiled. “I want to commandeer my own ship.”

  For a second, she thought he might faint so white did he turn. However, his shock lasted only a moment. Then an answering smile drew up the corners of his lips. “You truly are one of a kind,” he whispered, awe as well as a sense of longing shining in his eyes.

  Heat shot to her face, and Violette dropped her gaze, uncomfortable that he would think of her thus. After all, was she not simply following her heart? No more and no less. Still, in his world, she supposed it was an unusual way for choosing one’s path…especially for a woman. “What is it that you wish for?” she finally asked to divert his attention.

  Oliver shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He shook his head, a different kind of desire shining in his eyes. “I wish I could be as certain of who I am as you are. You don’t have doubts. You don’t–”

  “Of course, I have doubts,” Violette objected. “I don’t know any more about what the future holds than you do. The only difference is that I don’t lie to myself.”

  A frown drew down his brows. “What do you mean?”

  “I know what I want,” Violette said, her voice insistent, “because I ask myself that question again and again. I watch my heart and take note of what makes it jump and skip a beat. I know what makes me smile and laugh. I know what makes me feel warm and safe.” Her gaze held his, and she could see that he had never asked nor answered that question the way she had a thousand times. “I know what I need to be happy. That is what you need to ask yourself, and you need to be honest in your answer…or you will never know.”

  She sighed, and her gaze dropped from his, touching his lips. “Life changes all the time, and we change with it.” A teasing grin drew up the corners of her mouth, and his eyes narrowed when he saw it. “What I love most about life at sea is the idea of simply taking what I want. Of course, there are rules. There are rules everywhere. But as a privateer, I go after what I want. I do not hesitate, and I do not turn away.” Her hands on his shoulders tightened, and she drew herself closer. “I simply take what I want.”

  Holding his gaze, Violette pulled him down to her and claimed his lips with a confident kiss. After all, why should she deny herself the experience?

  After a moment’s hesitation, Oliver responded with equal measure. His hands brushed over her back, traced up and down her arms and then slid into her hair, gently cupping her face. All the while, he kissed her with a fierceness that Violette had never thought possible, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

  For it to never stop.

  Then a knock sounded on the door.

  Cursing, Oliver pulled away, and she could see frustration in his eyes over the untimely interruption as well as the desire to murder whoever had dared to knock. Instead, though, he drew in a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves, and then turned to the door. “Come in.”

  Dunston entered. “Madam Bertram would like to know if–” The moment the old man’s gaze fell on Violette’s state of déshabillé, he jerked sideways, averting his eyes, his face darkening as blood shot into his cheeks. “I apologise,” he mumbled, once again wringing his hands.

  Violette grinned at Oliver, wondering how the man had ever managed to achieve this position in the household considering that his nerves seemed rather fragile.

  “Send her in,” Oliver said, and the old man all but fled the room.

  Violette frowned as he turned to her. “I will not even pretend to mask my disappointment,” she said openly, loving the way he smiled at her, his eyes shining with utter devotion. Never had anyone but her parents made her feel so special as though she truly were one of a kind. Had he meant what he’d said?

  “Believe me,” Oliver began, “you need new dresses. Lots of them if you want to blend in.” His gaze travelled over her torn gown, lingering in the places that revealed more than was decent. “Although I must admit that this one suits you perfectly.” He grinned at her devilishly, and she laughed.

  “Does this mean we shall continue this later?” Violette asked, revelling in seeing his shocked face at her bold words.

  Gritting his teeth, he swallowed. “Don’t tempt me.” His eyes were dark as they held hers, and she could see the same longing in them that she felt in her own heart.

  Unfortunately, in that moment, the door flew open. “Gracious me, what happened to your gown?” Madam Bertram exclaimed, her eyes wide as she took in the damage.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Inclining his head to her, Oliver stepped back and then left the room.

  Watching him walk away, Violette sighed, noting that her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing hitched when he glanced at her one last time over his shoulder, and she knew with absolute certainty what she wanted. “Do not hesitate, Duret, for the world belongs to the daring,” she whispered under her breath as the modiste and her assistants began to assess her gown, wondering if it could be mended.

  Only when the door had closed behind him did Violette realise that she had not even asked about her sister.

  Chapter Nineteen – Preparations

  Two days later, most of Violet’s ordered gowns and accessories arrived while the two of them sat in the drawing room, once more going over the correct way to address her peers as the new Countess of Cullingwood.

  “This is tedious,” she complained, rubbing her temples.

  Oliver chuckled, “I do not disagree,” he admitted, “however, if you wish to blend in, this is important. Especially since you’ll most likely be the talk of the season in any case.”

  “What?” Eyes wide, she shot to her feet.

  Standing also, Oliver approached her, once more taken aback that such a strong woman could be thrown off guard by the thought of manoeuvring English high society. His hand reached for hers, but then he hesitated, wondering if it was wise to touch her.

  Her eyes found his, and he saw the same temptation there that he had been avoiding for the past two days. Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “I promise I will not bite,” she teased.

  Oliver laughed, “All I meant to say was that people will be intrigued by the woman who managed to…” His voice trailed off as he saw her rolling her eyes at him.

  “Are you always this insufferable?” she demanded, cocking her head sideways and studying him through narrowed eyes. “For I must admit I find it hard to believe that any woman could find you charming when you act thus. And from what I’ve heard whispered, it seems you’re quite the rake.”

  Oliver almost flinched. For although her voice held no judgement, the lack of jealousy in her eyes pained him. Did she truly not care for him? The way they had spoken on their journey to London had suggested otherwise. Still, now, it seemed she was merely grateful for his assistance in locating and contacting her sister.

  “Is something wrong?” Violet asked, her face scrunched up a little as she regarded him curiously. “You look thoughtful.”

  Oliver cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose most is taken care of,” he muttered, trying to steer their conversation back to a safer topic. “Your wardrobe has been…amended−”

  She scoffed.

  “−you have at least a basic idea of how to speak to the lords and ladies of the ton, and–” He broke off as she started pacing the floor, her teeth sinking temptingly into her lower lip as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Is something wrong?” he asked as she had before. “You look…agitated.”
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  Shaking her head, she spun to face him. “I cannot stand sitting in this house all day. Yes, I know it would be wise to keep my interactions with the ton to a minimum, but I feel like a prisoner.” She glanced to the door. “A watched prisoner.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stepped toward him. “As far as I can tell, none of the servants fainted. However, they do seem sufficiently shocked and have been watching me ever since we arrived. It’s as though they’re waiting for me to grow a wart and ride around on a broomstick.”

  Oliver laughed,“What? Why…?”

  “Because they think I bewitched you,” Violet hissed, glaring at him from under her long lashes. “Why else would you be so besotted with me?” she snapped before a touch of admiration came to her blue eyes. “Apparently, your act is fairly convincing.” A smile drew up the corners of her mouth. “You have them all fooled.”

  Oliver tried his best to swallow the lump in his throat but failed miserably. His act? He wondered. As far as he knew, he had not been acting at all, merely sharing his news of his recent nuptials. Did his servants truly think him besotted with his wife? With Violet?

  His gaze travelled over her face as she fidgeted with her lower lip, her blue eyes distant as she gazed out the window, her forehead creased thoughtfully.

  Mesmerised, Oliver took note of the small dimple that appeared a little above the corner of her mouth as her teeth worried her lip before his gaze travelled upward, and he found himself gazing at the gentle glow that came to her golden hair as the sun danced over its soft curls. Tracing a single tendril down her elegant neck to her shoulders, he drew in a shuddering breath.

  Gritting his teeth, Oliver cursed silently, rubbing his hands over his face as though that would dispel the hold she had on his heart and mind. As expected, she still looked as lovely and tempting as before when he all but peeked through the gap between his index and middle finger.

  All right, it was official: he was besotted with his wife.

  The downside was that she was not even his wife. And as far as he could tell, the feeling was not mutual. Granted, there was a certain attraction neither one of them could deny. However, by her own account, she had no intention of ever tying herself to a man in matrimony.