by Bree Wolf
Turning around, Oliver met her gaze, his own hard as he looked at her, daring her to tell him that he was indeed alone in this world.
Violette swallowed. “Tonight, at the ball,” she began, noting the way his shoulders seemed to relax, “he pointed out a young lady to me.” Oliver’s forehead creased in confusion. “A young lady you were supposed to marry.”
Instantly, his eyes hardened, and his jaw clenched. “I apologise,” he growled, his voice strained. “He had no right to speak to you thus.”
Violette drew in a soft breath. “Did he not? After all, we are not truly married.” Although she only sought to point out to him that he still had a chance to bring someone into his life who could love him, who could see the man he was at heart, the thought sent a stab of pain through her heart.
At her words, Oliver’s sharp eyes met hers, a hint of accusation in them she could not make sense of. “He does not know that.”
Ignoring the anger that rested in his eyes, Violette shrugged, doing her best to appear unconcerned. “All I’m saying is that you’re still free to choose,” she whispered, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Once I return to France, you will be free again.” For a moment, she wondered how he would explain her disappearance, but quickly pushed that thought away. “Free to find a wife who…deserves you. Choose wisely,” she all but stammered, “and do not allow your father to dictate that choice.”
With her eyes fixed on anything but his face, Violette could not say how he reacted to her bold words, and as the silence once more stretched between them, she soon found she could no longer bear the uncertainty. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, only to find his own tense to the point of breaking.
His eyes were dark as they searched hers, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists by his side. There was something threatening in the way he stood before her, like an arrow cocked into a bowstring, ready to find its target at a moment’s notice. “I do not need your advice, my lady,” he growled, his voice low and menacing, “as I have no desire for another wife.”
The meaning of his words washed over her like a warm summer rain, and Violette could feel her heart dance in her chest. Still, it did not change what was, and so she held steadfast to her intent to see him happy…eventually…even if not with her. “Another?” she chuckled, willing her face to relax and smile at him as though she did not have a care in the world. “What are you talking about? We’re not truly married in case you’ve forgotten. I am not your wife.”
His dark gaze narrowed, and then he was stalking toward her in such a manner that Violette shrank back, the door to her chamber limiting her retreat. “I’ve not forgotten,” he growled as he whisked her into his arms with lightning speed. He grasped her chin with two fingers and made her look up at him. “With every day that passes,” he snarled, his breath caressing her skin, “I regret that fact more.”
And then his lips were on hers, staking his claim and proving her words false.
Violette felt her head spin with the urgency that fuelled him. A flame ignited deep in her belly, setting her blood on fire, and she kissed him back with equal measure.
At her response, he deepened the kiss and his arm tightened on her, pulling her deeper into his embrace. His other hand slid into her hair to the back of her neck, not allowing her to pull away…lest she desired so.
She did not.
Still, Violette could not ignore the voice of warning, urging her to end this before it was too late. After all, she still intended to leave, did she not?
A hint of panic swept through Violette as she felt her resolve weaken, deeply affected by the man who held her so tightly in his arms. Would she surrender her freedom to him? Never would Violette have thought that possible. Always had she treasured the choices her parents had granted her beyond all else. But now?
How had this happened?
Did it matter how? Or even when? No, all that mattered was that she kept her wits about her. She needed to stay the course and not waver. If she did, Violette was certain she would come to regret it for the rest of her life. After the courage her mother had shown, Violette could do no less.
Still, a little voice in the back of her head whispered that her mother had indeed chosen love. However, in her case, love had gone hand in hand with freedom.
Breaking their kiss, Violette took a step back, her head lowered so she could not meet his eyes. For if she looked at him, if she saw the longing in his eyes that echoed in her own heart, she might not be able to send him away. “Good night, my lord,” she whispered, retreating another step when he tried to reach for her. Then she stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind her, gritting her teeth against the tears that threatened as her heart ached at the mere thought of a life without him.
Blinking her eyes determinedly, Violette put some distance between herself and the man she longed for. Still, even from the middle of her chamber, she could hear Oliver’s footsteps on the other side of the door as he seemed to be pacing up and down in front of it. Here and there, a muttered curse reached her ears before a sudden blow struck the door, accompanied by a frustrated growl.
Violette all but flinched at the sound for it was so full of despair and agony that she found her feet turn back toward the door, determined to answer his call for solace.
Before she could take a single step, the door flew open.
Holding her breath, Violette stared at the man invading her room, his gaze burning into hers and his body trembling with a need she understood only too well.
Without breaking their connection, he kicked the door closed behind him, then yanked off his cravat, casting it aside before shrugging out of his tailcoat and tossing it over the chair by the window. Then he came toward her, his gaze dark and determined as it held hers, daring her to reject him.
Anticipation built in her chest, and Violette knew that she was not strong enough to refuse him now, not when he offered himself to her so openly and without restraint. All his defences had come down, and she admired his courage to risk his own heart in the hopes of winning hers.
Overwhelmed by her own response, Violette watched him stalk toward her, her breath coming in rapid gasps and her heart thudding so wildly in her chest that she feared it might break free.
Then Oliver took the final step that separated them, and Violette drew in a sharp breath when she felt his arms come around her, pulling her against his chest. As he bent down to kiss her, though, Violette lifted a hand and placing it on his chest, she pulled back a little, looking into his dark blue eyes. “I thought you were a gentleman,” she teased, delighting at the wicked smile that curled up his lips.
“I try to be,” he replied as he had before, breaking her resistance and tugging her back into his embrace. “Sometimes I fail.” Then he claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss that left them both breathless.
In Oliver’s arms, all doubt fell from Violette, and for once, she decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge her curiosity, her desire this one night. What could be the harm in that? After all, she had already failed in guarding her heart from him. When the moment to say goodbye would finally be upon them, it would break as surely as the tides of the sea, and there was nothing she could do about that.
Breaking their kiss, Oliver looked down at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark pools in the dim light of the room. “Tell me to go now,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he forced out the words, a slight tremble in the arms that held her, “or I shall not leave this room until the sun rises in the east.”
Biting her lower lip, Violette smiled up at him. “But my lord,” she teased, “in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a privateer’s daughter, and I always take what I desire.” Delighting in the intensity that came to his eyes, Violette curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. Pushing herself up onto the tips of her toes, she brought her lips close to his and whispered, “I will not allow you to slip through my fingers. Be assured of that.” Then she pulled him into a deep kiss.
The moment
their lips touched, Oliver crushed her against him, his arms holding her tightly as his hands travelled over her body.
Perhaps they both knew that they lived on borrowed time, that this could not last, and perhaps they both chose to ignore it for this one night. After all, where was the harm in that?
Kissing her passionately, Oliver held on to her as he urged her backwards until she felt the edge of the bed against her legs. Holding on to him as well, Violette smiled, curious about this new adventure, one she had not even anticipated in her wildest dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Five – Heart & Mind
Rolling over, Oliver sighed, enjoying the warmth of the bed, and he reached out a hand for the woman who had so easily conquered his heart, wanting nothing more but to pull her into his arms and pretend that nothing else existed outside the four walls of her bedchamber.
Unfortunately, he found the bed to be empty.
Lifting his head, Oliver glanced around the sun-lit room, his heart sinking when he found it empty as well. Where was she?
Disappointed, Oliver grabbed his discarded clothes from the night before and slipped through the side door to his own room. There he washed and dressed rather hastily, a lump settling in the pit of his stomach like a block of ice as though her absence alone spoke of regret. Did she regret what had happened between them? He wondered, his throat closing at the mere thought of it. Was that why she had slipped out of bed early? To avoid him?
Staring at his own reflection in the mirror, Oliver could not deny the irony of the situation he found himself in. More than once–countless times, in fact–Oliver had been aware of a lady’s hope for a proposal while his own heart had remained unaffected. And now when he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that his heart no longer belonged to himself–but to her–she evaded him, afraid that his intentions would trap her on land. Rob her of her freedom.
Although disappointment swept through him, Oliver could not deny a sense of pride that Violet insisted on standing on her own two feet. She was not the kind of woman to depend on a man. She would not hope for a proposal, much less accept one. Still, Oliver knew that her need for independence would ultimately break his heart.
Brushing all gloomy thoughts aside, Oliver decided to not relinquish his hopes for a shared future without a fight. And so, he headed downstairs in search of the woman who had stolen his heart so unexpectedly.
Eventually, he found her in the drawing room, seated at the escritoire, head bent as she penned a few lines, then folded up the letter and slid it into an envelope.
Transfixed, Oliver watched her, noting the slight crease between her brows as well as the annoyance in her eyes as she forced the sheet of paper into the envelope, cursing when the ends got stuck in a wrong angle.
A smile drew up the corners of his mouth as he stepped toward her, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw down her elegant neck. The sunlight sparkled in her golden hair and reflected in those stormy blue eyes as deep and mysterious as the sea itself.
At the sound of his footsteps, she lifted her head and a soft smile drew up the corners of her mouth when her eyes fell on him.
Oliver’s heart jumped with relief! Perhaps she was not avoiding him after all.
“I’ve decided to write a letter,” Violet informed him, sealing the envelope. “I cannot wait for the next ball.” Her voice was a bit high as she rose from the chair, her eyes travelling back and forth between him and the small envelope on the escritoire as her feet carried her around the room on a random path.
“To whom?” Oliver asked, noting the tension that rested in her shoulders.
“Lady Silcox,” Violet replied as she continued her journey up and down the rug. “I cannot go to my…my father’s house for I cannot be certain that he would not recognise me. I also doubt that my sister would come if I asked her to call on me.” Stopping, she turned to look at him. “No, all I can do is hope that Lady Silcox will answer my call. I…I don’t know what else to do.” Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms about herself as though the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. “Last night at the ball,” she began, “when she looked at me, I…I can’t explain it, but I think she realised who I was. And there was something in her eyes…something…” Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her eyes remained distant as she remembered the moment Lady Silcox’s gaze had come to rest on her face. “Perhaps she can help,” she whispered, her gaze finding his once more. “Perhaps she cares about Juliet the way my mother cares about me. Perhaps she is willing to take a risk.”
Although Oliver could not help but be disappointed by the way Violet seemed to have all but forgotten about their shared night, he knew that her heart beat most loyally for those she loved, those she deemed family. After all, it was one of the things that had won her his heart.
“If she comes,” Oliver asked, knowing that he could not be selfish no matter how much he wanted to speak to her about something else, “what will you do?”
Violet shrugged, her eyes dimming. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “At first, all I could think about was to get here, to get to London and find her. To speak to her.” Scoffing, she shook her head. “I didn’t even think about what to say…or what to offer.” She turned to look at him. “Indeed, what is it that I can offer?”
“I admit your options are fairly limited,” Oliver stated, knowing that there was no benefit in pretending otherwise. “Will you provide her with the same choice that your father gave your mother? To go away with you?”
Violet shrugged. “If that is what she wants, of course. Still, I cannot help but doubt that this would be a life she desired. For my mother, it was different. She did not simply walk away from her old life, but toward a new one. She walked toward my father. She walked away for love.” Sighing, Violet shook her head. “It would not be the same for Juliet. And even my mother could not find her home on a ship. For me, it was different. After all, it was how I grew up.”
“What else is there?” Oliver asked, pressing her to accept reality. “Do you think she would break her betrothal?”
Violet’s gaze met his before it once more became distant as she remembered the moment she had shared with her sister. “I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “I don’t know her well enough.” Her gaze focused on him. “But it would be possible, wouldn’t it? A woman can break a betrothal?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Oliver nodded his head, a frown drawing down his brows. “Yes, it is possible, but rarely done. After all, there are severe social repercussions to consider.”
Gritting her teeth, Violet closed her eyes, disdain written all over her face. “I cannot wait to be back at sea,” she mumbled, “and leave behind this place where nothing matters more than what others think to be right or wrong, where it does not matter whether you’re happy or not as long as you follow the rules.”
Inhaling another deep breath, Violet reached for the envelope on the escritoire and then headed out into the hall. “Dunston, would you be so kind as to have this delivered immediately?” she asked, her voice gentle as she smiled at the old butler.
Bowing his head, Dunston mumbled an assurance and hastened away.
Then Violet proceeded to the back of the building, her eyes distant as though she was lost in thought, unawares of her surroundings.
Following her, Oliver watched as she stepped out onto the terrace and raised her face to the warm sun, her eyes closed as she absorbed its rays. Her arms were once more wrapped about herself as though she could still feel society’s cold fingers reaching for her, threatening to drain every bit of happiness from her life.
Oliver could not blame her for wishing to return to the sea. Deep down, he knew how she felt as he had battled societal expectations and pressures his whole life. “What then?” he asked, stepping up to her.
Opening her eyes, Violet turned to look at him, a hint of confusion in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Oliver reached out and drew her hands into his. “Once your sister m
akes her decision,” he said, “what will you do then?”
At his question, her eyes dropped to the ground. “You know what I will do,” she replied before forcing her gaze back up. “I need to go back where I belong. There is no place for me here.” Regret shone in her blue eyes as well as the agony of disappointed hopes.
“Stay,” Oliver said before he could stop himself, knowing that he had no right to ask that of her, no right to force that decision on her. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Violet’s eyes grew wide as she stared at him. Then she swallowed, and to Oliver’s utter astonishment, her lips curled up, clearly tempted to smile. “A part of me wishes I could,” she whispered, her hands squeezing his gently. “I wish I could stay with you, but I can never–”
Tugging her into his arms, Oliver silenced her objections with a searing kiss. His hands pulled her closer, one sliding up the graceful line of her neck and up into her hair as he kissed her with a passion unmatched as it was fuelled by the desperate need to forget that their love was a doomed one.
There was no happily-ever-after for them. She belonged out at sea while he had his place here…as the future marquess. He had a duty to the realm, and he knew that she would never be happy here. Even if she stayed, their love would not survive such a strain. It would undoubtedly end in a disaster until the day she finally did choose to leave. To return where she belonged.
Lost in the moment, Oliver did not hear the man’s approach. Only when rough hands seized him from behind did he realise that they were no longer alone.
With a harsh snarl tearing from the man’s lips, Oliver was flung backward and crashed into the seating arrangement set up on the western side of the terrace. His ears rang, and his back ached from the collision. Still, Oliver was back on his feet without a moment’s hesitation, all thoughts focused on Violet. Was she all right? Who was this man and what did he–?