by Dayna Quince
“See how he watches me? He’s waiting for me to do something rash. He’s my keeper.”
“I beg your pardon?” Violet side-whispered to Bernie as the duchess took up the reins of conversation. A whole basket of assumptions filled Violet’s head.
“My father is away often, and Lord Chester is a family friend. He considers himself the chief wrangler of the Northumberland Nine.
“I see.” Violet returned her gaze to Lord Chester. His had narrowed but still speared Bernie. He shuffled over to them.
“What has she told you?”
Bernie giggled. “Nothing but the truth.”
Violet took a moment to appreciate his voice. It was deep with a slight grate. But there was something here between Bernie and Lord Chester. Violet just wasn’t sure exactly what it was.
“How kind of you to look out for her and her sisters,” Violet offered. His gaze finally slid away from Bernie.
“It is my duty.” His eyes squinted charmingly when he smiled.
Violet was about to respond when the tension in the room changed. The hair on the nape of her neck stood, and she had to fight the urge to turn.
He was here at last.
“Roderick, Weirick, how nice of you to join us. We can sit and have tea now,” the duchess said. She claimed a large wingback chair reminiscent of a throne, if thrones were covered in floral fabric. The ladies took their seats, and most of the gentlemen were relegated to standing. The duchess summoned more chairs.
From the corner of her eye, she watched the duke circle around the sofas that faced each other, and come to the fireplace. Lord Chester joined him.
“It’s been some time since he’s been home,” Bernie said on Violet’s right.
“Yes, the rumor mill has been working overtime since he returned,” Violet mentioned. “But none of it’s true it seems.”
“Oh, some of it is.” Bernie sipped her tea.
Violet almost choked on her tea. She set her cup down. “Please don’t restrain yourself on my account. I’ll pay you for whatever it is you know.” Very subtle, Violet.
Bernie smiled behind her cup. “You like him?” She said it very quietly. “And here I thought Chester stood a chance.”
“I think I used to like him, but he isn’t the same man I met before.”
“They do that, don’t they? Poor Chester was such a dear friend growing up, always up for a lark. Now he’s all brooding silence and ‘don’t do this Bernie, don’t do that Bernie.’” She mocked his deep voice.
Violet chuckled. “You know Lord Denton—I mean, the duke, better than I. What do you think happened to him?”
Bernie set her cup down and looked to the side as if thinking. Her gaze returned to Violet. “His father put a lot of pressure on him, and I think he cracked.”
Violet set her cup down. “Pressure?”
“He was a perfectionist, and not in the normal, though equally annoying way. He was mad for physical beauty, anything that could be deemed flawless: art, horses, his own blood. My sisters and I couldn’t set foot on Selbourne land when the duke was in residence. He thought us no better than the sheep that roamed the hills. Too poor and uncouth. He wasn’t here often, thankfully.”
Violet bent her head but looked through her lashes to the duke. He still wore his hat.
“He’s hiding his scar,” Bernie leaned close and whispered.
Violet turned back to Bernie. “Scar?”
“It covers his upper back, neck, and the back of his head. Chester says it looks like a hand cradles the back of his skull. Hair won’t grow there, so he shaves it all. He rarely shows his head now.”
“How long has he been back in England?” Violet wondered.
“He’s been here for a month if not more, but I know he plans to leave again as soon as his brother is married.”
Bernie accepted plates of biscuits for her and Violet. “If I were you, I’d set your cap for Roderick. He can be a bit empty-headed at times, but I’m sure he’ll grow out of it.”
Violet was about to voice her opinion on Roderick when he beat her to it.
“Bite your tongue, minx.”
He was standing behind them, leaning over the back of the sofa.
“Eavesdropping is very unbecoming, Roderick.” Bernie swatted at him playfully.
“So is gossiping, Bernadette.”
“You love being the topic of conversation. Why don’t you sit and join us?” Bernie patted the space beside her. Violet wanted to object.
“But the view is so much better from here.” His gaze lowered as he perused their bodices.
Violet could feel his eyes roaming over her cleavage like a touch—a nauseating touch. Between the ages of sixteen and nineteen her bust had tripled in size, earning her the attention of lecherous stares from all sorts of characters. She loathed her breasts. She hated to be gawked at in such a lewd manor. The current fashions didn’t help her cause. She was overexposed in everything she wore. As much as she wished to hide them, covering them only made them appear larger.
She turned her back to Roderick, a clear cut. Bernie covered her own cleavage with her hand.
“You disgusting oaf. Look how you’ve embarrassed my friend. Off with you.” She waved him away with her napkin.
He didn’t leave. “Miss Everly should never be embarrassed by her ample charms. Come have a turn about the room with me, Miss Everly.”
Drat, how was she to refuse him without making a scene? She didn’t have Bernie’s familiarity to soften the insult. She stood, resigned to her fate. Her neck burned with indignation.
Lord Chester appeared at her side. “Shall I escort you to the terrace Miss Everly, Miss Marsden? The setting sun is lovely from there.”
“Excellent idea. It’s a tad brisk. The view shall be spectacular.” Roderick’s eyes dropped to Violet’s bodice again.
Did he have to be so obvious about it? “I’ll need my shawl, then.” Violet turned away. She wanted to escape badly.
Another presence approached, and she could feel him like growing heat. “I’ll join you, shall I? This room is overly hot.”
His voice washed over her, warm and soothing. Her anger faded. He looked her over, but nothing about his gaze caused her insides to revolt. He had the opposite effect.
“Bernie” The duke nodded in greeting.
“Your Grace.” Bernie bobbed.
“We’re moving to the terrace should anyone like to join us,” Roderick announced. Everyone stood.
Chapter 4
Weirick scowled at his brother as they trailed the group to the cooler air of the terrace. Greyson followed with the tea trolley.
“What is it now?” Roderick sighed.
“Your behavior back there was deplorable.”
“That’s fascinating, coming from the likes of you.”
“Your lecherous perusal of Miss Everly was distasteful. She is not a bar wench hungry for coin. She’s the sister-in-law of a duke!” Weirick wanted to shake his brother.
From the moment he entered the Queens Hall, he was cognizant of Violet’s every move, every sigh, every whispered word with Bernie. He was comfortable watching from afar until his brother began to leer over them from behind the sofa. And then Roderick spoke to Violet, and he could tell from her stiffness and the blush that raced across her skin, that it was not a suitable comment. Then Roderick’s eyes molested the poor girl, and Weirick had to stop himself from fratricide. Chester responded first—he always kept a careful eye on Bernie—but Roderick would not be deterred. Weirick had been moving toward them before he’d realized he took a step. Now he hung back with his brother while Chester had Violet and Bernie on each arm.
“I’m aware of who she is, dear brother. I’m also aware that as far as wifely prospects go, she is excellent. Begetting an heir on her would be a pleasure I wouldn’t soon forget.”
“Hold your tongue before I cut it out,” Weirick growled.
“This was your idea, in case you have forgotten. ‘I’m giving you the d
ukedom, Roderick, find yourself a worthy wife, Roderick.’ The least you can do is let me enjoy the hunt. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t willing to play.”
“This is business, not pleasure.”
“For you it’s business, for me it’s all about pleasure.” Roderick looked out over the terrace, grinning like a fool who hadn’t a single worry in the world. He should be worried about being murdered right here before the guests. Weirick reined in his temper.
“And that is where you will fail with Miss Everly. She isn’t like the other girls. You’ll have to rise to her expectations if you want to catch her eye. Better yet, don’t even bother.”
“It’s her fourth season and she’s desperate. Why would I not bother? She’ll be the easiest of them all.”
Weirick grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him to the side. They’d already fallen to the back of the group, their arguing unnoticed. “You will be everything that is honorable if you are to be the Duke of Selbourne.” Weirick squeezed until his brother jerked out of his hold.
“Yes, Father.” His brother sneered.
Weirick stumbled back. The words landed like a blow to the ribs. “Don’t call me that.”
“For hating the bastard so much, you’ve done an excellent job becoming him.” Roderick yanked on his cravat and glared at him.
Weirick fumbled for a retort but had none, his mind frozen. He turned away and strode back into the house.
Violet wrapped her arms around herself as she looked out over the dusky water. She should have grabbed her shawl. Her dress was thin, and she was fearful Lord Andrews would come to inspect her bodice at any moment.
Her mother came to her side. “You are cold?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll ring for someone to fetch your shawl.”
“I’ll get it myself. I could use the activity to warm me. I won’t be long.” Violet hurried away, keeping an eye on Lord Andrews and being careful to stay out of his line of sight. Climbing the main stair, she reached the guest wing and came face to face with Mr. Cage. She was startled at first, but his light smile put her at ease instantly.
“Miss Everly, you look ravishing this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cage. As do you.” She tried to catch her breath without being obvious about it. She shouldn’t have sprinted up the stairs.
“I must say I’m surprised to see you here.” He casually picked up a trinket from the side table and examined it.
“Why is that?” Violet asked.
He met her gaze. “I’d like to think I know you better than the others here—socially, of course.”
“Of course.” Had she underestimated his previous interest? “We’re friends, I’d like to think.”
He smiled. “Friends, yes.” He licked his lips. “As your friend, I’d like to ask why you would forsake your season in pursuit of someone like Andrews.”
“I don’t think I’m missing much, do you?” Violet quipped.
“Without me there, no. But I am glad you are here. It’s nice to see you again. I thought you’d slipped through my fingers somehow.” He reached forward and took her hand.
Violet held still, hiding her shock behind a placid smile. So, she had underestimated his interest. How very…interesting, for lack of a better word. She looked deeper into his eyes. He’d never tried to kiss her before now. Would he? Did she want him to? Her heart was bruised from the duke’s earlier rejection, the ache inside still present but dulled. Was that good or bad? She didn’t pull away from Cage, and yet she felt numb. Should she encourage him for the sake of mending her wounded heart, and try to break through her longing for a man who was as far from her now than he’d ever been?
Overwhelmed by her own questions, she did nothing at all. Mr. Cage looked intently at her mouth as if he was definitely about to do something.
Like before, there was a change in the air. A force of energy that announced itself ahead of the body of its creator. Mr. Cage dropped her hand.
“Your Grace.” He bowed.
Violet turned slowly, wary of what she would find. He was standing there on the landing, presumably having come from the upper floor. He watched them, his eyes changing as they met hers. He strode forward. “Mr. Cage, Miss Everly, how fortunate to find you here. Will you be returning to the terrace?”
“I was on my way this very moment,” Mr. Cage said.
The duke turned his attention to her and waited for her excuse for being caught alone in the hall with a man. “I must fetch my shawl. If you will excuse me.” She bobbed quickly, catching the swift drop of his eyes before they snapped back to hers.
A current of heat slid through her. He’d looked at her breasts. Why was that a surprise? Most men did, they were like magnets for eyes, but there was none of the shameful revulsion that she usually felt. Her breasts tingled as if awakened by his attention. Specifically, his. What a new and entirely welcome change. She knew men were enticed by her body. Heather had done her best to explain the more intimate details of attraction without divulging graphic knowledge, but Violet had never thought to use her body to do the enticing…
“I’ll see you both downstairs.” She turned away, overly conscious about her body and the way it moved. She attempted to look sophisticated but wasn’t sure what that meant. She let her hips sway a little more than she was used to, the movement making her feel exotic and attractive. Perhaps she should do this more often. She could feel their attention, and it made her feel different in her skin—new, alive. She reached her room and paused at the door. She spared a look toward the landing. Both men were still there. She’d caught them staring. They glanced at each other and pivoted to retreat, Cage going down, the duke going up. Violet grinned as she entered her room.
Weirick clenched his teeth as he stomped to his chamber. Damn the terrace, damn this whole gathering. He should just leave Roderick and his mother to their own devices. He should leave all of them, and never set eyes on society, and women like Violet Everly, again. She was a coquette, hedging her bets with men like Cage, in case she didn’t succeed with Roderick. It was smart if he was honest, but that didn’t stop his blood from simmering every time he set eyes on her. More women would arrive this evening. Women better suited to his brother if his mother’s judgment was sound, which it was. Certainly better than Weirick’s.
He needed a drink, and once the bottle was finished, he’d find Sonam and have a bloody sparring match. That would soothe his temper, then he should find himself a willing woman.
“Sir.” A footman stepped into his vision.
Weirick suppressed a snarl and nodded for the man to speak. “What is it, Kent?”
“Mr. Holt found this in the garden bush and instructed me to give it to you.” Kent held out the tattered kite.
Weirick took a deep breath before taking it. How easily he could crush it in his hands.
Damn her. Why was she affecting him like this? “Thank you, Kent. I’ll see that it reaches its owner.”
“Yes, sir.” Kent bowed and retreated.
Weirick stared down at the kite. Something must be done with Miss Everly. His mind produced vivid imagery of exactly what he could do with Miss Everly. He shook his head and turned on his heel. He trudged back to the stairs, but before reaching the steps, he paused.
What could he do with Miss Everly?
She was a problem, a distraction, an unsuitable candidate for his brother. So how could he be rid of her? He couldn’t. She was the daughter-in-law of a duke, and in his mother’s eyes, perfectly eligible marriage material, but… If he made her ineligible, she’d have to leave. At the very least, he’d have no choice but to inform his brother and mother that she was not suitable. He didn’t want to ruin her, not publicly, but he could never leave his brother and mother in the hands of someone as shallow as his father had been. His brother may not care now, but in time, he would see the emptiness of hollow affections based on looks and lust, and it would scar him as it had Weirick and his mother.
Weirick’s c
onscience may never be clean, but making sure his brother married a kind, intelligent woman, rather than an insipid, beautiful, diamond of the first water, would remove some of the guilt of leaving his family behind. It was why he insisted no heiresses and no first season debutantes. He wanted the wallflowers, the awkward girls, the ones too honest and quiet to fit in. He didn’t know how Violet Everly found herself among the ranks of the unmarried and desperate, but he was going to find out.
He changed direction. If he was lucky, he’d catch her in the hall.
Alone.
She wanted him, now she was going to get more than she bargained for.
His feet flew over the steps, his pulse throbbing through his veins in hot waves to his groin. He tempered his lust, fighting back the animal urge to simply take, claim, and conquer. He would need finesse, something he hadn’t been good at since before his accident.
He mentally shook his wits into place as he came to the landing and strode down the hall. He didn’t know which room was hers, but he imagined her mother and she would be in the best rooms overlooking the gardens. He slowed as he approached the door, listening, tuning into his instincts. He heard shuffling feet, the swoosh of fabric, and then the door opened. She was looking down, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.