by Bree Wolf
At her words, his eyes lit up with wicked amusement, and he held her gaze. “Are you certain you wish for me to instruct your sister on the merits of a life freely chosen?”
Violette inhaled a deep breath, her eyes hard as she looked at him. “I trust you,” she finally said, noting the way that teasing grin left his face and his eyes became serious. Then he nodded in affirmation, and she could see that he was indeed the man she knew him to be for despite his dangerous devil-may-care attitude, deep down, Henri Duret was an honourable man.
Chapter Twenty-Eight – In Society’s Good Graces
Watching Violet close the door to the drawing room, Oliver wondered about the strange look in her eyes. It spoke of apprehension, but also of hope. Her shoulders were tense, and he could see that she was near exhaustion. Quite obviously, convincing Lady Juliet to call off her betrothal was not as easy as they would have thought. “Is everything all right?” he asked yet again, noting the same desire to know in Lady Silcox’s gaze.
Meeting their eyes, Violet took a deep breath. “I do not know,” she said, a touch of failure in her voice. “She seems determined to see this betrothal through although it is fairly clear that she longs to be free of that obligation.”
Lady Silcox nodded knowingly. “My daughter has always been a fairly sensitive child. She does as she is told, unable to resist the urge to please those around her.” The woman inhaled a shuddering breath, and her eyes clouded with resignation. “Once she has given her word, she will not go back on it.”
“It is indeed a most honourable trait.” Oliver smiled at Lady Silcox, touched by the woman’s concern for her daughter, and he could not help but wonder what his life would have been like had his own mother lived.
“It certainly is,” Violet agreed although the tone in her voice was far from complimentary. “However, it will lead to great unhappiness for her.”
Lady Silcox nodded. “I’m aware of that. Believe me, I tried to reason with my husband when I first learnt of his intention.” An angry curl came to her lips, and she shook her head. “But he would not listen. He does not care for her happiness. I suppose it is my fault,” she whispered, her gaze suddenly distant. “My first husband was such a kind man that I failed to see the signs when Lord Silcox asked for my hand. I did not realise the man he was.”
Oliver watched as his wife gently took the older woman’s hand in her own, a kind smile on her beautiful face. “Do not torture yourself,” she urged. “What is done is done. All we can do now is try and change the outcome.”
A hesitant smile on her face, Lady Silcox nodded.
“So, we can assume,” Oliver began, glancing back and forth between the two women, “that Lady Juliet does not desire to marry Lord Dowling.”
Violet scoffed, and Oliver could not help but smile at her, his heart rejoicing at the fierceness of her character, at the openness with which she spoke. “Indeed, she does not. However, she seems terrified to break the betrothal, fearing that she would lose more than she would gain.”
“Surely, there must be a way to convince her,” Oliver suggested, about to say more when he took note of his wife’s darted glance toward the drawing room door. Indeed, as he looked closer, he thought to see a hint of nervous expectation in her blue eyes, and he wondered what she knew that he did not.
“I’m afraid it will not be easy,” Lady Silcox replied to his question. “What my daughter wishes for is a family of her own. However, if she breaks the betrothal without Lord Dowling’s consent, it would surely ruin her. At the very least, it would bury every chance she might have of making another match. She would remain unmarried and spend the rest of her life on the fringes of society, envying those around her.” She sighed deeply, “That is not a life I want for her.”
“Is there any chance Lord Dowling might give his consent?” Oliver asked, looking at Lady Silcox.
Sadly, she shook her head. “He would not,” she stated, no hint of doubt in her voice. “You see, Lord Dowling and my husband are old friends. After you…disappeared,” she looked at Violet, “he welcomed my daughter into his household in a way that now makes me think he was relieved to have found a…replacement for your loss.” Again, she shook her head. “No, Lord Dowling would not give his consent as he seems…desirous of a young wife.” She swallowed. “Neither would my husband.”
All but hanging his head, Oliver watched his wife’s face tighten in anger. Her eyes narrowed as she clenched her jaw. “There has to be a way,” she stated, determination strong in her voice. “There always is.” She inhaled a deep breath, her eyes darting right and left as her mind worked. Then her gaze stilled, and Oliver smiled, not surprised that she would be the one to find a solution. After all, nothing had ever stopped her before.
Indeed, when he looked at Violet, everything seemed possible indeed.
A careful smile came to her face as she turned to him, casting a calculating glance at Lady Silcox. “What if Lord Dowling could be persuaded to grant his consent?” Violet asked, hope and a hint of wickedness shining in her blue eyes.
Oliver frowned as a nagging suspicion drilled itself into his mind. “How do you mean?” he asked, seeing the same apprehension on Lady Silcox’s face.
Violet shrugged as though this ought to be obvious. “Well, ever since I’ve set foot on this soil, all I hear is that people are worried about how others perceive them.” Scoffing, she shook her head. “Social repercussions,” she spat as though it were the worst curse word in her repertoire. “After all, Juliet lives in fear of it. Why not use it to our advantage? Granted, as a man, Lord Dowling is in a stronger position. However, I doubt that he is beyond society’s reach.”
“I see,” Oliver mumbled, understanding her train of thought. “Perhaps I could reach out to a few friends of mine. Discuss the matter.”
At his offer, Violet’s face lit up, her eyes glowing like the sun as she smiled at him, and he felt his knees grow weak. “Thank you,” she breathed, her hand brushing down the side of his arm as she came to stand next to him, her body so close he could scarcely keep himself from drawing her into his arms.
Then her eyes left his as she turned to Lady Silcox, and he felt as though the sun had disappeared and night had fallen, casting his life into darkness. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Oliver cringed at the thought of how much he had come to care for her. If he were to lose her, he was not certain if he would be able to recover from such a blow!
“When you return home,” Violet urged Lady Silcox, her deep blue eyes imploring, “please, speak to her again. Perhaps she needs a little time to think everything through. Perhaps having all this unleashed upon her so quickly has simply overwhelmed her.”
Lady Silcox nodded, a new strength in her eyes as she smiled at Violet. “I shall do what I can,” she promised, then reached for Violet’s hand. “Thank you for coming back,” she whispered, tears shining in her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. “I shall never forget it.”
A moment of silence lingered as the two women looked at one another, and Oliver could see that a bond had formed. A bond born out of shared experiences. A bond forged through loyalty and devotion. A bond much stronger than a mere blood relation.
The bond of family.
True family.
Thinking of his father, Oliver finally realised that he was a fool for seeking to gain that man’s respect. After all, family could be found anywhere, usually when one least expected it, born out of the desire to share in the other’s life.
Swallowing, Oliver realised that he had found exactly that.
And he would fight for it.
Following the two ladies, Oliver stepped across the threshold into the drawing room. His eyes narrowed when they found Henri and Lady Juliet standing by the window, the large form of Violet’s cousin all but hiding the young woman until he stepped back, a wicked grin on his face as his gaze found Violet’s. Lady Juliet, on the other hand, looked all but mortified, her cheeks aflame as she wrung her hands, trying her best to ignore
the large man by her side, but failing to do so.
Glancing at his wife, Oliver finally understood what had happened when he saw the hint of hope lighting up her eyes as they fell on her sister’s rattled state. Still, when her gaze met her cousin’s, she looked at him with a hint of disapproval.
Henri, however, merely shrugged as he stepped toward her, his eyes gleaming with devilish delight. “I did my utmost, chère cousine, to convince her that Lord Dowling is not the man she wants.”
At his words, Lady Juliet turned an even darker shade of red. Swallowing, she shot past Henri and toward her mother, who immediately drew her toward the door, nodding to Violet in silent agreement. Then they were gone.
Before Oliver could ask, Violet fixed her cousin with an enquiring stare. “What happened?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “She looked…You didn’t…”
All humour left Henri’s face as he stepped toward Violet, and Oliver could see that her doubts shook him to his core. His eyes were steady as he looked at her. His hands, however, were clenched into fists. “You can trust me,” he said, his gaze imploring her to believe him. “I would never harm her. All I did was give her a taste of what she is so ready to deny herself.”
For a moment, Violet remained silent, her eyes studying her cousin’s face. Then her features relaxed as did Henri’s. “Would you say you were successful?”
A teasing grin came to the rogue’s face. “I do believe so as her reaction was fairly…passionate.”
Despite the small smile on her face, Violet shook her head at her cousin. “You’re unbelievable, Henri.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” her cousin laughed, his hand stopping her as she was about to turn away. His eyes sobered as they settled on Violet’s once more, and Oliver was surprised to see Henri’s gaze darting to him for a split second. “If you can lose your heart to an English lord,” Henri whispered, “then it should not be such a stretch to think I could find pleasure with an English lady, vraiment?” His brows arced up before he straightened and simply quit the room without another word.
At Henri’s words, Oliver stilled.
With his heart thudding in his chest, he stared at his wife, taking note of her clenched jaw and the way she tried not to look at him. Stepping toward her, Oliver noticed the slight blush that coloured her cheeks and his heart all but soared to the heavens. “Is it true?” he whispered almost breathless, trying to look into her eyes.
Turning away, Violet strode over to the broken vase on the floor. “Is what true?” she asked as though she had no idea what he was asking. Still, the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her own emotional state.
Striding after her, Oliver grabbed her arm as she was about to kneel to pick up the shards. “Is it true?” he demanded, spinning her around, forcing her to face him. “Do you…do you care for me?”
For a moment, they merely stared at one another before Violet finally averted her gaze, her hands brushing his away as she stepped back. “We need to focus,” she said, her jaw set determinedly as she once more walked away. “We need to think of a way to persuade Lord Dowling.” Stepping up to the window, she kept her gaze fixed on the goings-on outside.
Swallowing his own fear of rejection, Oliver crossed the room and came to stand behind her, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body. Despite her time in London, her skin still smelled of the sea, fresh and invigorating, and he remembered the way the wind had always toyed with her hair, pulling it from her braid, soft tendrils framing her beautiful face. She had seemed like a goddess to him then. A sea goddess.
And even now, far away from the ocean’s call, her allure had not diminished.
As he watched her, Oliver noticed a slight tremble run down her spine, and she rolled her shoulders as though to chase it away. With her hair swept up, her graceful neck was exposed, and his gaze travelled over her bare skin, remembering how it had felt under his hands.
Suddenly, a curse flew from her lips, and she spun around, fixing him with accusing eyes. “There is no time to lose,” she snapped, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “But I can’t think when you’re so close.” Although her voice held a clear accusation, the look in her eyes all but begged him to come even closer. “I can’t think. I…”
“Neither can I,” Oliver whispered, unable to hide a smile when he saw that he affected her as much as she affected him. Reaching out, his hands settled on her waist, and she closed her eyes as though fighting the urge to sink into his arms.
Pulling her closer, Oliver noted how she turned her head to the side, unwilling to meet his gaze. Still, remembering the frustration in her voice as she had lashed out at him, he did not release her. Instead, he leaned closer into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent before he placed his lips on the sensitive spot below her ear.
Violet shivered in his arms as he kissed her neck, then brushed his lips along her jawline.
Unexpectedly, she turned her head back to him, and his mouth found hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she pulled herself closer against him as he deepened their kiss, rejoicing at her eager response.
“No.” Wrenching her lips from his, she pushed him away, shaking her head, a hint of panic in her blue eyes. “We need to think. We need to…” Brushing past him, she crossed the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Anger rose in Oliver’s chest at her obstinate insistence, and he pursued her without another thought, unwilling to allow her to push him away. “I know,” he said, his voice harsh, and her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at him. “Still, before we can even attempt to solve your sister’s problem, we need to talk about ours.”
“Ours?” she asked, eyeing him with surprise. “But we don’t–”
“Yes, we do.” With slow, measured steps, Oliver approached her, noting the way her eyes widened in fear. Not the fear that he would harm her. But the fear that she might not be able to cling to her decision to ignore what was between them if he pushed her further.
Swallowing, she shook her head as she backed away. “There is no problem. We had a plan. A plan to–”
“Our plan is based on wrong assumptions,” Oliver argued, his gaze fixed on hers as he closed the distance between them.
Violet shrank back, but she had reached the other side of the room and her back collided with the unyielding wall. “What assumptions?” she demanded, lifting her chin in defiance as she tried to sidestep him.
Moving fast, Oliver trapped her between his arms. “This,” he breathed before his mouth claimed hers, and he kissed her with all the passion he had thus tried his best to suppress. But no more. She was the light to his world, and he refused to live in darkness any longer.
When he released her lips, she lowered her head and he could see the turmoil that lived in her heart. Gently, he grasped her chin and made her look at him. “When we agreed,” he whispered, his breath brushing over her lips, “we could not have known what would happen. We could not have known how we would feel about one another.”
Violet swallowed. “Still, it does not change anything.”
Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. “So, you admit it?” he asked, and she blanched, trying to pull her chin from his grasp. Still, Oliver would not release her, his gaze fixed on hers, demanding the truth. “Do you admit it? Do you admit that you feel something for me?”
Resignation came to her eyes, and Oliver hated the sight of her misery. “What I feel does not matter,” she repeated, all but admitting to her feelings, “for I will never give up the sea, give up my freedom.” Her gaze hardened. “I will not make that mistake for a momentary infatuation.”
Her words felt like a slap to his face, and Oliver’s hold on her wavered as he urged his heart not to believe her.
Sensing his weakness, Violet pulled away, freeing herself from his embrace. “We should sleep on it,” she whispered as she stopped by the door. “Perhaps tomorrow a solution will present itself.” Then the door closed behind her, and
she was gone.
Closing his eyes, Oliver rested his head against the wall, his heart aching with the words she had spoken. Still, he urged himself not to believe her, arguing that Violet had only spoken thus to keep him away because she was afraid of how she truly felt.
To Oliver’s great surprise, he was not afraid at all. He loved her, and he would do whatever necessary to keep her in his life.
The ghost of a smile tugged on his lips as a pleasant calm settled on him. Lifting his head, he turned to look at the closed door.
Perhaps she was right, and they first ought to find a way to ensure her sister’s happiness. Perhaps then freed of her obligation, Violet would allow herself to listen to her own heart.
Taking a deep breath, Oliver headed to his study to send notes to Rick and Sebastian, once more asking for their assistance. He did not doubt that they would offer their help and that together they would manage to persuade Dowling.
Still, when that was taken care of, Oliver would find a way to convince Violet that his place was by her side…no matter where she might be.
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Open Words
Doing her best to avoid her husband–When had she come to think of him as her husband? –Violette paced the length of her room, her hands clenching and unclenching as she replayed the scene in the drawing room. At the mere thought of his touch, her heart started to speed up and her breath caught in her throat. More than anything, she had wanted to give in.
Still, her head had counselled that love was not always enough.
After all, their circumstances were as different as night and day, and the lives they lived far from complementary.
A knock sounded on her door, and Violette froze in her tracks, eyes wide as she stared at the door. “Enter,” she called, but even to her own ears her voice sounded weak and without strength.