by Bree Wolf
Oliver could not believe the irony of the situation he found himself in. Here was a wonderful woman, a unique woman, a woman who was one of a kind, a woman who he was all but falling in love with, a woman he could see himself spending the rest of his life with, and she was the only woman he had ever met who did not desire marriage.
Inhaling a frustrated breath, Oliver lifted his gaze to her once more, noting the slight tension that rested on her features. Instantly, he felt selfish for dwelling on his own little piece of misery when in truth they were here in London because of her. After all, this entire endeavour was about her, not him. She was the one risking everything for a sister she had never even laid eyes on. Still, deep down, Oliver knew that that was yet another reason why he could not seem to shake her hold on him. She was selfless, loyal and compassionate.
And he wished he were a better man. A man who deserved her. Perhaps then she would see him differently.
Clearing his throat, he stepped up to her. “Are you thinking of your sister?”
Violet inhaled a slow breath. Then she nodded. “I wish I could simply walk up to her house and knock on the door.” Frowning, she shook her head. “It should all be so simple, and yet, there are all these rules about what to do and how to do it.” She turned toward him. “Do we truly need all these rules? Would civilisation break down if we would simply act as we saw fit?” Not waiting for his answer, she turned back to the window. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m…I’m merely frustrated.”
“I know,” Oliver replied. “I would be as well. But it is only a week until Lord Grafton’s ball. One week until you can meet her under safe circumstances.”
Violet scoffed, “She doesn’t even know me,” she said, once more turning toward him. “How am I to address her in a crowded ballroom without sending her into a panic? Once I tell her who I am, she might think that I’ve come to ruin her life. If anyone found out that my mother is still alive…” Again, she shook her head, indecision marking her features. “And yet, I cannot remain silent. I need to at least speak to her.”
“Perhaps if you spoke to your father, he could–”
“No.” The vehemence in Violet’s voice was final. “From what I remember, from what my mother told me, I have no doubt that he would be less than supportive. After all, he is the one who made the match between my sister and Lord Dowling. No, he cannot know that I’m here.” She looked up at him, her eyes imploring. “He cannot know that I’m alive.”
Oliver nodded, worried about the silent plea he saw on her face. Did she truly believe he would share her secret without her permission? “I will not say a word,” he vowed, his gaze holding hers, willing her to believe him, to trust him.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.” Then she turned back to look out the window. “One week,” she mumbled absentmindedly. “One week.”
“That reminds me,” Oliver said, desperate for something to chase away her gloomy thoughts. “You need to learn how to dance.”
As expected, her gaze narrowed, and she turned doubtful eyes to him. “I’ll never learn all these dances in a matter of days.”
“Perhaps not all, but a few,” he counselled. “Otherwise, I’m afraid a ball would be the wrong place to make your sister’s acquaintance.” He inhaled a deep breath and hoped she would not take his head off. “Therefore, I’ve invited a few friends to a dinner party.” Her mouth dropped open, and he hastened on before she could find appropriate words to hurl at him. “I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to mingle in private, so to speak, as well as practise a few dances that simply require more than one couple.”
For a moment, she studied his face, her own quite revealing as he could see waves of anger and exasperation wash over her beautiful features. “When? Who?” Almost breathless, she forced those two little words out.
“Tomorrow night.”
Again, her eyes flew open, and she gaped at him.
Reaching out, Oliver drew her hands into his own, finding them to be chilled, as she once more sank her teeth into her lower lip. Warming her hands with his own, he smiled at her, savouring the knowledge that over the past few days he had become fairly acquainted with her little tells. “I’ve invited my childhood friends, Rick and Charlotte, with their spouses,” he whispered, wishing not to spook her. “You were right to urge me to reach out to them.” He sighed, relieved to see her blue eyes soften as they looked into his, a hint of delight sparkling in them. “They are my family. They always were, and I can’t believe I forgot that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, squeezing his hands.
Surprised, Oliver realised that he was still holding them. However, as she did not pull away, he saw no need to release them.
“What did you tell them?” Violet asked, a small crease between her brows speaking of the concern she felt.
“Not much,” Oliver told her truthfully. “I admit they were curious when I spoke to them. Of course, they’d heard the news of my nuptials, and they were quite taken aback when I admitted that we were not truly married. Naturally, they pressed me for more details. However, when I asked them to trust me, when I told them that I could not share this with them, they…they simply nodded. They didn’t like it, but they accepted my decision.”
Although she tried to smile at him, Violet’s face still held tension, and her hands squeezed his rather tightly. “I’m glad,” she mumbled.
Holding her gaze, Oliver leaned closer. “They’re my family,” he vowed. “You’ve nothing to fear from them. I promise. They will always stand by me as I stand by them. They, too, have shared secrets with me and asked me not to breathe a word of them. And neither will they. They might be curious,” a teasing grin came to his lips, “and try to extract more details from you, but they will never share them. I trust them like you trust your family.”
Violet drew in a slow breath, and something in the way she looked at him changed.
Realisation opened her eyes, and Oliver could see that his last words had revealed something to her that she had not seen before. Although she had urged him to see that family were not only those people who shared one’s blood, it had taken a reminder of her own familial situation for her to realise what Rick and Charlotte truly meant to him.
And that they were not a threat.
“All right,” she said, her features finally more relaxed. “I suppose having a dinner party might not be a bad idea after all.”
Oliver chuckled, “I thank you for your trust in me, my lady.”
“You’re welcome, my lord,” she replied with the same lightness. “Well, will you at least show me a few steps before tomorrow night so that your family does not think me completely and utterly uncoordinated?”
Oliver grinned.
“What?” she asked, suspicion narrowing her eyes.
“Well, there’s one dance for which no additional dancers are required.” Then in one fluid motion, he pulled her into his arms, settling one hand on the small of her back while the other linked with hers.
For a moment, Violet appeared startled. However, not for long. Before he knew it, Oliver watched almost mesmerised as her teeth sank into her lower lip once more, and she smiled up at him, her eyes aglow as though he had just fulfilled her greatest wish.
Holding her close, he began to hum, slowly guiding her feet around the room. And although she stepped on his toes more often than he could count, Oliver could not think of a place he would rather be.
And for a moment, a short, little moment, he thought to see a touch of awareness in her eyes, and his heart had hope.
Chapter Twenty – Borrowed Time
As the hours ticked by, Violette grew more and more nervous. Still, she could not for the life of her fathom why she would be such a nervous wreck at the thought of meeting Oliver’s friends.
Oliver’s family, a little voice whispered, and Violette sighed.
Indeed, they were more than friends. These people were to him what her family w
as to her, even those that did not share her blood. Strangely enough, it was the way Oliver thought of them and felt for them that made her nervous. When she had met his father, despite his hostile glare, Violette had felt at ease, not at all affected by the man’s rejection.
However, this was different. After all, Oliver did not care for his father, but he cared for Rick and Charlotte, and Violette could not help but wish that they would accept her.
Especially since she was not truly his wife. In truth, she was merely using him to accomplish her own goals, and the more time they spent together, the more Violette felt awful for treating him like a mere convenience.
He was truly an honourable man, and he deserved better.
When their guests finally arrived, Violette felt a sudden need to hide. Fighting the urge, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, forcing a smile onto her face.
When Oliver looked at her, though, he laughed. “You look about as relaxed as someone about to meet her executioner,” he observed teasingly as they stepped into the entrance hall to receive their visitors. “Try to relax.”
“I am trying,” Violette hissed, annoyed with his own easy manners. “It’s easier said than done.”
Again, Oliver laughed. Then as Dunston turned away and stepped forward to open the door, her fake husband pulled her into his arms lightning-quick.
Violette gasped before his lips claimed hers in a quick but thorough kiss.
A moment later, he stepped back, that grin back on his face. “There. Feel better now?”
Violette shot him an angry glare but could not help from smiling.
“You do seem more relaxed,” he teased, pulling her hand through the crook of his arm as they stepped forward.
Unable to simply forfeit the point to him in this little game, Violette leaned closer and whispered, “Can I assume you’re at my disposal whenever I feel the need for tension relief?”
As expected, the smile died on his face, and his gaze dropped to hers. He inhaled a slow breath, and for a second, Violette thought he would kiss her again.
“Lord and Lady Elmridge,” Dunston intoned, and Oliver’s head snapped up.
The door swung open, revealing a dark-haired man and his golden-haired lady. They seemed like day and night, contrasts, and yet, the way his hand covered hers as it rested on his arm, spoke of a deep bond. His dark gaze held his wife’s, and she smiled at him with such deep affection that Violette felt reminded of her parents.
Violette was so overwhelmed by their glowing eyes and dazzling smiles that at first, she did not even notice the lady’s scars that covered half her face and trailed down her neck. Her right hand, too, showed evidence of a battle fought and won…but at a price. Violette had seen scars like these before and knew without a doubt what had caused them: fire.
Still, despite her tainted beauty, Lady Elmridge was undeniably happy, and her husband completely and utterly in love with her.
This was not one of the ton’s arranged marriages, Violette thought, relieved that even in this world, love sometimes did find its way.
“Welcome,” Oliver greeted his friends. “May I introduce you to my wife,” he said with a wink, and Lord and Lady Elmridge shook their heads at him, exchanging a meaningful glance, “Lady Violet Cornell, Countess of Cullingwood.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Cullingwood,” Lord Elmridge stated, a touch of amusement in his eyes before he glanced at Oliver. “I trust my friend is proving to be an impeccable husband. However, should you ever have any reason to complain, feel free to speak to me. I assure you I will put him in his place.” Again, his gaze shifted to Oliver. “He does need that from time to time.”
Suppressing a grin, Oliver glared at his friend. “I thank you for your assistance, Rick,” he said, a touch of mockery in his voice. “I shall remember that…and return the favour at your earliest possible convenience.”
Both men seemed to glare at one another. However, there was still humour in their eyes.
“Do not mind them,” Lady Elmridge said as she stepped away from her husband and came to stand next to Violette, watching the two men through slightly narrowed eyes. “They’ve known each other since childhood, and I suppose this is a natural way of communication for them.” She shrugged and turned to look at Violette, an amused smile on her face. “Although I cannot for the life of me understand why.”
Violette returned the marchioness’s easy smile, positively surprised to find less restraint and insistence on decorum and impeccable manners in their way of addressing one another than she had thought. In fact, the shared history and deep confidences reminded her of her own family. “Oliver enjoys to tease,” she replied before realising what she revealed about her own relationship to Oliver by addressing her husband so confidently.
Lady Elmridge continued to smile at her, her blue eyes curious as she studied Violette’s face. “So, does Rick,” she finally said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “He was delighted to hear Oliver’s news and be invited here tonight. They’ve drifted apart lately.” A hint of sorrow touched the marchioness’s eyes as she looked at her husband.
Violette swallowed. “So, I’ve heard.”
Lady Elmridge turned her blue eyes back to her, and Violette could see that she was once more trying to assess the relationship between her and Oliver.
Unable to continue this charade, Violette inhaled a deep breath, then asked, “Pardon me, Lady Elmridge, but I was…given to understand that you knew of our marriage,” she glanced at Oliver, “was–”
“I know. I know,” Lady Elmridge said, waving Violette’s concerns away. “Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of this. However, looking at the two of you, I would never have suspected anything of the kind. Quite frankly, he seems utterly taken with you,” a teasing smile lit up her features, “and you with him.”
Violette could feel heat rise to her cheeks and wondered how the marchioness had come to that conclusion. After all, had they not just walked in the door only a few minutes ago?
Opening her mouth to reply, Violette realised that she could not. Her mind was spinning, and she could not stop glancing at her fake husband. Was he truly taken with her? She wondered. Or was it simply the life she lived that held fascination for him?
“Can I offer you a refreshment in the drawing room?” Oliver asked their small circle, interrupting her thoughts. Upon his friends’ agreement, he held out his hand to Violette and escorted her across the entrance hall toward the large drawing room. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his breath tickling the side of her neck. “You seem tense.”
The teasing tone in his voice brought back the memory of his kiss only a few moments before, and Violette once more felt heat rush to her cheeks. How had life changed in the past few moments? How had a simple observation suddenly turned everything upside down?
Trying to keep her racing thoughts from showing on her face, Violette did her best to maintain a friendly smile on her face. Fortunately, they were soon interrupted by the arrival of Oliver’s other childhood friend, Lady Weston.
On her husband’s arm, she walked across the threshold, her soft brown eyes shining as she followed her husband in greeting their assembled friends. Like his wife, Lord Weston smiled with ease, his eyes alight with joy, warming whenever he looked at his wife. There was a tenderness between them that spoke of great respect, and Violette was surprised by the way they almost seemed to be able to read each other’s thoughts.
Once more, Violette tensed when Oliver introduced her. However, Lord and Lady Weston followed their friends’ example to the point. They spoke kindly to her, their eyes full of honest delight, before Lady Weston looked at Oliver, a hint of mischief coming to her soft gaze. “I’m glad to see that finally some good has sprung from your rather unconventional lifestyle.” She glanced at her husband. “It was about time.”
Frowning, Violette realised that Oliver’s friends were whole-heartedly hoping that their fake marriage would prove not so fake after all, and that Ol
iver would find the same happiness that they so obviously already called their own.
Knowing how wrong they were, guilt swelled in Violette’s chest. After all, Oliver was a marquess’s son; whereas, she was a privateer’s daughter. He was English; she French…at least at heart, and was not that what mattered? They lived two completely different lives, and no matter how exhilarating it felt to be Oliver’s wife, to have him pull her into his arms and look at her as though she were the only woman who had ever touched his heart, it was not real.
Violette would do well to remember that.
Once supper was called, they all ventured into the elegantly decorated dining room. The soft candle light cast everything in a warm glow, giving their evening a rather familial atmosphere. Easy smiles and laughter echoed up and down the table as old friends reminisced about times long gone and shared news of those parts of their lives when they had been apart.
At first, Violette felt rather tense at the familiarity between those around her. Still, as the evening progressed, she started to feel more at ease and less like an outsider. “I was told,” she said, casting a glance at Oliver, “that you have been friends since childhood.” Her gaze travelled from Lord Elmridge to Lady Weston questioningly.
Chuckling, Lady Weston shook her head, her warm eyes meeting those of her eldest friends. “Well, I suppose you could say so. However, to me, it always felt as though I was the unwanted little sister that tagged along.”
Everyone laughed as Lady Weston’s brows rose, daring the others to contradict her.
“I cannot say you’re wrong,” Oliver admitted, an apologetic grin on his face as Lady Weston glared at him with attempted anger…and failed miserably. “No matter what we did,” he continued, looking at Violette, “we couldn’t get rid of her. She was very persistent.” Then he turned warm eyes to his friend. “And I’m glad we couldn’t.”