by Dayna Quince
He stepped forward, dropping the kite, and meeting her in the doorway. Her eyes snapped up a second before she would have run into him. He grabbed her shoulders and walked her back into the room, kicking the door shut before she could do or say anything. Just as quickly, he slammed his mouth over hers.
So much for finesse.
There was a moment of absolute stillness as he absorbed the shock of her lips. She was frozen in his arms, a pillar of curvy, warm womanhood.
Was it mere surprise? Shock? Fear?
She hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t even breathed. He loosened his hold, keeping one arm around her to hold her against him and using one hand to stroke the tight muscles in her neck.
Don’t be a brute, he reminded himself.
He softened his lips against hers, brushing them across her mouth, coaxing, teasing.
She responded at last.
Triumph screamed through his body. Steady now, don’t scare her.
Her tightly curled fists relaxed between them, flattening against his chest and sliding up. Her touch was like fire, burning him, turning his insides into an inferno. It had been too long since he’d had a woman, too long since he’d been touched like this, tender and slow. He tried to tease her lips apart with gentle licks. Her lips moved under his but wouldn’t open. Was she more innocent than he thought?
Her hands reached his shoulders, cruised over his cravat, and took hold of his ears. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he ignored it.
Her nails bit into the skin behind his ears and he yelped. He jumped back, holding his tortured ears as if they’d just been boxed by Mrs. Kemp.
“Bloody hell, Violet! What was that for?”
“How dare you kiss me without my explicit consent.” She set her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“I—What? What kind of man asks a woman before kissing her?”
“A decent one.”
He mimicked her stance. “Well there you have it. I’m not decent.”
She brushed her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away his kiss. A stab of guilt pierced his gut.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“You wanted it.”
“I did not.”
“You did. I could see it in your eyes. You like when I look at you, you want me to touch you. Do you have the strength to deny it?”
He expected her to scream, to slap him, to do something that would declare him the madman, and she his innocent victim, because that’s how he felt. Crazed, burning from the inside out.
She stepped toward him and his heart pounded harder.
“Are you going to sink your claws into me again?”
She reached one hand up slowly and touched his lips. He was frozen, the riot inside him instantly settled by her touch.
“Why did you kiss me? You don’t know me, and you made it clear you didn’t care to.”
He couldn’t take his eyes from hers as she inched closer. “What man wouldn’t kiss you if given the chance?”
“I didn’t give you the chance.” She brought her hands to his shoulders.
He flinched. He imagined bloody little crescents behind his ears. More scars, but these might amuse him when he thought of them.
“You stole a kiss from me, and now I demand satisfaction.”
Shock, delicious and warm, shot through him. He licked his lips. “Is that so?”
“No seconds. I’m sure of my victory.”
“Take your best shot.”
She raised her chin and he lowered his. He’d never wanted anything so much. The fire blazed inside him again, all liquid heat and simmering pleasure. Her lips touched his, delicate and timid.
This would not do. His arms came around her, and he claimed control of the kiss. He’d show her what a real kiss was, what a real kiss could do to one’s body and soul.
He devoured her lips and she gasped. He wasted no time taking her mouth, surging inside, tasting of her treasured sweetness.
It was heaven. Angelic voices sang in his head. Any moment now, he expected her to unleash her fury, but she clung to him instead, her tongue darting to meet his. Her arms locked around his neck, and there was no stopping him now. She surrendered to him, and he surrendered to his need of her. It was potent and reckless, fueled by months of celibacy. He wanted to crush her to him, to walk back to the bed and lay her beneath him, hitch up her skirts and sink into her sweet, innocent body as if he had every right, as if it was his sole purpose in life.
He mentally and physically pulled back, his heart racing, sheer panic chasing away all his heated thoughts.
Dear God. He let her go and stepped back, all the way back to the door. He ripped his hat off and ran his fingers over his head, forgetting he had no hair to run his fingers through. He let out a string of curses, and she stood there, blinking at him in confusion.
“Until next time, Miss Everly.” He opened the door and slipped out, something crunching under his boot. He looked down.
The bloody kite!
He swooped to pick it up and tossed it at her feet. “If it means so much to you, don’t lose it again.” He closed the door and practically ran for the back stairs.
Chapter 5
Violet stood there for a moment, staring at the door. Her lips tingled, her nerve endings dancing with pleasure. Of all the ways she imagined kissing him, it wasn’t like that. For the slightest moment, before he grabbed his ears, she’d touched his neck and could feel the silky rippled skin of his scars. She’d been scared to do more, and yet desperate to touch them and explore them fully. There was so much about him she didn’t yet know, including the full story of the scars and how they had changed him. He was a wild man, unpredictable. Passionate. And more importantly, she doubted with every fiber that he was ill. He radiated vitality. She closed her eyes, touching her lips with her fingertips and reliving the feel of his. It was magical, it was…insanity. She could feel everything as if he still touched her.
This wasn’t good at all. She tried to pull herself together, fixing her appearance in the mirror. She looked utterly untouched, and yet she would never be the same again. There was no going back now. No other man would ever eclipse her desire for Weirick. When she left this castle, her future with him would be secured, or she’d have no future at all.
That single kiss told her everything she needed to know.
She loved him.
And he was—at the very least—physically attracted to her. That was better than nothing. Physical attraction was fleeting if starved of an emotional connection. Violet surmised that much in her three previous seasons.
So, what could she do to make him love her back? She frowned at her reflection. No one could be made to love. She was going to have to risk everything. Her heart pounded as she considered what that meant. She was going to give herself to him in every way. No façade, no lies. She’d bear her soul, bare her body if need be, and hope that it was enough. She couldn’t make him fall in love with her, but if she trusted her heart, she hoped he would come to love her on his own if he knew that her heart was true.
She gathered her shawl tightly around her and quit her room before her mother came looking for her. But as she descended the stairs, her mind churned busily over the duke. There was something very raw about him, almost as if he carried an invisible wound and was wary of others bumping it. He reminded her of a frightened animal, cornered and hurt, prepared to lash out.
But why?
Was it because of his father? She would have to ask Bernie. She was Violet’s only ally, and perhaps if Violet told her all, Bernie would help.
It was another risk. Violet was very close with her sisters, but she hadn’t bothered to form friendships with other young women during her seasons. Violet was put off by the slick facades people wore, the shiny smiles that masked words of venom. Violet suspected she and Bernie were the same in that regard.
Violet reached the hall and returned to the terrace. Some guests had wandered back to the drawing room, while some strol
led the gardens. She went to her mother’s side first, who was speaking with the duchess. Both paused as Violet approached.
“I’ve returned,” she said a bit breathless.
Both women looked over her appearance. Violet began to panic and hoped it didn’t show. “Is something wrong?”
“Is that shawl new?” her mother asked as she touched the edge, embroidered with purple flowers.
“Heather gave it to me for my birthday,” Violet answered.
“It’s quite pretty,” the duchess said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I noticed you took a liking to Miss Marsden. She and the others are heading toward the shore if you would like to join them. I’ve just been informed that the rest of our guests have arrived. If you will excuse me, I must adjust our dinner plans accordingly.” Lady Everly and Violet nodded respectfully as the duchess departed.
“Do you wish to see the shore up close?” Violet asked her mother.
“I think not. I will return to the drawing room. You should go on ahead.”
Violet looked around before inching closer and lowering her voice. “Was something wrong with my appearance?”
“It was nothing, you looked a bit flushed.”
Alarm bells rang in Violet’s head. “It must have been my jaunt up and down the stairs. This wasn’t the first shawl I chose, and then I changed my mind half way down and returned. Then I couldn’t find this one. It was tangled with my nightgowns, if you can believe it.”
“I almost can.” Her mother lifted Violet’s hand and patted it before moving back into the house. Violet watched her leave, confused and more than a little alarmed. She took a deep breath and turned away, heading to the steps that lead to the first garden tier. Below, she could see guests, including Lord Chester, Bernie, and her sisters. Mr. Cage was also there and Lord Andrews. Violet took her time catching up to the group, contemplating what her mother could have meant. Did she suspect Violet was lying, did she suspect Violet was with someone? By the time she reached Bernie’s side, her mind was a mess.
“There you are.” Bernie smiled and linked their arms.
“Here I am,” Violet said with a weak smile.
Bernie pulled her a few feet away from the group. “Are you unwell?”
“No.”
“Is it Roderick? He upset you, didn’t he? I knew it, that slippery pig. I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry. I’ve seen him bare arse and pickled in the ocean. One word from me and he dare not look in your direction again, though that would hamper the courtship should he choose you out of the lot of us—”
“Bernie, stop.” Violet giggled. “I don’t want to even imagine what bare arse and pickled means.”
“I assure you, you don’t want to see it either.” Bernie shuddered. “Though if what my sister says is true, out of the ocean, it looks—”
“Bernie!” Violet grabbed Bernie’s shoulders and gave her a little shake, all her humor gone. “I must confide in you. It’s a lot to ask, and I’ve only known you for hours, but I must tell you something.”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “Very well.” She looked around for someone. “Chester,” she called out. “I’m returning to the house with Miss Everly.”
He nodded, already moving to the next tier with her sisters. Bernie took Violet’s hand and pulled her back to the terrace, but instead of going inside, they went around the castle to a set of french doors.
“This will ensure privacy.” Bernie opened the door and pulled Violet into the conservatory. It was shadowed and fragrant with citrus fruits. The air was heavy and cloying, the opposite of the crisp ocean breeze outside.
“Come.” Bernie tugged Violet to a set of rattan chairs and they sat. “You have my full attention.” Bernie folded her hands in her lap. Her cheeks were rosy, and wispy curls framed her face, jostled loose by the cold breeze coming off the water. She was quite pretty, Violet realized. But somehow, she knew that Bernie wouldn’t see herself that way.
Violet cleared her throat and folded her shaky hands in her lap. This was harder than she thought, confessing her love for a man she hardly knew. Abruptly, she realized how strange this was for her. She was not an open person by nature, and truth be told, she’d been hiding a lot of herself from those closest to her. Tears pricked her eyes. She’d been keeping secrets from those she trusted most. Did that mean she didn’t trust them at all?
“I’m sorry.” Violet tugged her handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her eyes. She would not allow herself to cry. She twisted the handkerchief in her hands and took a deep breath. “I’m in love with the duke,” she blurted.
Bernie turned her head to the side as if she couldn’t quite hear Violet. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m in love with the duke,” Violet said again. Saying the words made her giddy and a little nauseous. “I’ve never admitted it to anyone.”
“But you just met him today.”
Violet shook her head. “I met him five years ago in Hyde park. I hit him in the head with my sister’s kite, and I’ve been in love with him ever since.” Violet brought her hands to her face. The more she said, the more idiotic she felt. She dropped her hands and sighed. “When I went to get my shawl he barged into my room and kissed me—and then I kissed him because I wanted it to be even—and this is truly far more ridiculous than it sounds in my head.”
Bernie clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “Why are you telling me this? How do you know I won’t tell the whole household?”
“I…I just have a feeling I can trust you, and that you can help me.”
Bernie leaned back and smiled. “Thank you! I’ve never been trusted with anyone’s deepest secret before. But I’m not sure how I can help.”
“I’m not sure either, but you know a lot about him and his family. I know nothing about him.”
“Are you sure you love him? Are you positive this isn’t some passing fancy?”
“I don’t think a passing fancy would survive five years, three seasons, and eight proposals.
“Eight!” Bernie gasped. “How could you turn down so many opportunities to…” Bernie stopped. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Do you know what I would do for one proposal? I can only imagine these men must have been truly lacking to warrant rejection.”
Violet would stay mute about that. As one of nine, Violet could only imagine the desperation Bernie felt to find a husband, or that of her parents burdened with feeding nine daughters and finding husbands for them all. At first glance, her clothes were passable but clearly out of fashion and well worn.
“They all had the same flaw, Bernie,” Violet said quietly.
“They weren’t going to be dukes?”
Violet looked up, hurt. “That isn’t it at all.”
“I’m sorry.” Bernie looked down at her hands in her lap. “It’s just hard to imagine wanting one man so intensely that you would give up eight opportunities to be your own mistress and take care of your family. But I suppose that isn’t something you’ve ever had to worry about.”
Violet clenched her teeth. “No, but my sister did. She was going to marry a man so despicable we mourned her wedding to him, but fate had other plans. We had nowhere to live, nothing but the clothes on our backs until she met the Duke of Ablehill. He saved us.”
“That sounds like a fairy tale.” Bernie didn’t look up.
“It felt like it too. But it was real. She followed her heart, and it led her to the one she loved. Help me, Bernie.”
Bernie looked up. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“Tell me about him. Tell me what happened with his father, with the scars. Tell me the truth.”
“The truth is I’m still shocked. I don’t know how you turned away eight men.” Bernie shrugged.
“I will marry for love or not at all. That is how.”
Bernie’s eyes widened again. She lifted her chin and nodded. “Very well, you love him. You want to know how to win his favor?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea how to do that.”
“Then tell me what you do know,” Violet pleaded.
Bernie shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know anything that can help you.”
“But you must. Your families are close, your staff must cross paths frequently.”
Bernie chewed her lip. “Ask me something specific then.”
Violet thought for a moment. “The scars. How did they happen?”
Bernie leaned forward again. “That I do know. It was drunken stupidity gone wrong. Chester says it was a fight over cards. Weirick, the duke, is rather fond of fisticuffs. Chester wasn’t there, but he saw Weirick when he returned to Selbourne.”
“When did this happen?”
Bernie paused for a moment. “The summer of 1820, July, I think.”
Violet sucked in a breath. “I met him in the spring of that year.”
Bernie continued, “After Weirick pummeled his opponent, the loser—I can’t recall his name—threw an oil lamp at his back.”
Violet gasped. “He could have killed him!”
“Everyone thought he had. Weirick was knocked unconscious. He recuperated at home, delirious with fever. His father booked passage by ship to return him to Selbourne to die.”
Violet couldn’t breathe. To think this had all happened so soon after she met him, and she’d had no idea. They had been at Ablehill Castle by July, settling into their new home. And he’d been only hours away, suffering.
“Then what happened?”
“He got better, Chester was allowed to see him. The duke was livid. He’d always prided himself on his son’s beauty. It was the only reason Weirick was allowed to have his awful long hair. He carried it off, though I never liked it. Then there was the scandal. I don’t know much since the old duke paid heavily to keep it quiet. Chester knows, but he wouldn’t tell me. Because of the burns, the doctor told Weirick’s valet to shave his remaining hair off. The duke went berserk after that. He called Weirick horrible names, all in front of Chester. He called him a monster, a hideous monster. He told his son”—Bernie paused and swallowed—“that he wished he would die.”