by Jenna Jaxon
As they turned again, Donningham going beneath her upswept arm this time, she admired his even features, dark brown hair and eyes. His nose was straight, if a little narrow. Still, his jaw was firm and he had an air of cool composure about him that she liked very much. A man seemingly ready for any contingency. In truth, she knew him not at all, but if he asked for her hand, by God, she would bestow it before he could draw another breath.
Tristan’s sudden and complete neglect of her this week had forced her to the conclusion she had come to depend on him far more than she should. They had become so comfortable together Violet quite often forgot for days at a time that he would marry soon. She must be gone from Lammas House before that happened.
“We do seem well matched, do we not?” She gave her partner a half smile and a flirtatious flutter of her lashes. “In the dance, of course, your lordship.”
“Indeed, Miss Carlton.” He rose to the bait like a hungry pike. “We might be well matched in other ways as well.”
She cast her gaze down as they came together, then whirled in a series of rosettes. Perhaps she could begin to hope all would be well after all. No, not well. Life would not be well or pleasant or anything but miserable without Tris. Tolerable at best. Still, Donningham appeared to be a kind man. If she could give him children in exchange for respectability, then it was a bargain she could bear.
Her friend, Alethea Forsythe, twirled by in the arms of Lord Manning.
Violet would speak to her tonight about the possibility of removing to the Braeton’s house until she was sure of Donningham’s interest. Pray God the man would take her without a dowry. She had one final piece of business with Lord Trevor. Then she could begin in earnest to plan a future without him.
* * * *
Tristan lurked in the shadow of a pillar on the edge of the Braeton’s ballroom floor, resolved to pay Miss Carlton no mind this evening. He was a minimal escort, nothing more. The woman was on her own. A good plan in theory, however, his gaze seemed to have acquired a mind of its own. It riveted itself to Violet and Donningham as they chatted and refused to waver while the couples gathered for the first set.
His heart had beat faster the moment he had seen her this evening, bringing a curse to his lips. ’Sblood, why wouldn’t this obsession with her abate? The night he’d given her the harp he’d been within a hair’s breadth of saying “to the devil with it,” scooping her into his arms, racing up the stairs, and ravishing her until both of them were sated to the point of oblivion. Reputation be damned.
Amazingly, he’d been able to walk away and, through some miracle of fiendish self-discipline, had remained away. Until tonight. Of course, he’d known he’d see her at the ball. He was her symbolic escort. Somehow, though, he’d not understood how much it would hurt to see her with Donningham, or any other man to whom she’d granted a dance.
He jumped at a light touch on his elbow.
Miss Harper stood at his side, her pale, sweet face flushed with a tinge of color at the cheeks. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Mamma said as we are betrothed, I should dance the first set with you.”
Lady Downing, a severe matron in a dark, blood-red gown, nodded at him from across the floor. Had she seen his interest in Violet and sent her daughter to remind him of his duty? Intentional or not, Miss Harper’s presence broke Violet’s spell. “Forgive me, Miss Harper. I was remiss in my duties not to ask you sooner.” He offered his arm, achingly aware of a lack of sexual tingle, no heat where her small hand rested in the crook of his arm. His gaze shot to Violet, now laughing with Donningham. Oh, but it was insufferable. He dragged his gaze away and patted Miss Harper’s hand.
She accompanied him meekly to the floor.
A sweet girl indeed.
Once they stood in their places facing one another, Tris took her hand. “Do you dance often, Miss Harper?”
Glancing away from him, she shifted from foot to foot. “I do not dance as often as I would like, my lord. Unfortunately, since my sister-in-law has taken ill I have no one to partner me.” She knit her brows together, which gave her a charmingly fretful look.
“How does Mrs. Harper fare?”
Dora looked away. “No worse but no better, I am sorry to say. Father has postponed our wedding because of it.”
“Yes, so he informed me.” Lord Downing’s letter to that effect had arrived last week, doing nothing to appease Tris’s dismal mood. He wanted to be married, to put the constant temptation of Violet to rest. “Please relay my wishes for her recovery.”
“I will do so. I too pray for it every day.” She gave a little sigh. “Before she fell ill, we used to practice dancing every day.” A blush painted her cheeks. “I am quite fond of it.”
Interesting admission. He’d not have guessed the shy creature would profess a fondness for dancing. “And which is your favorite dance, my dear?”
“Oh, the minuet, my lord. So beautiful and elegant.”
“I believe the first set will be an allemande. Are you familiar with that as well?”
“Of course, my lord.” Miss Harper pursed her lips, the first hint of displeasure he’d ever encountered in her. “I am out of the schoolroom and well versed in all the social graces, particularly the dances. I have been learning them since I was six. I hope you will be pleased.” Her eyes shone with an earnestness that made him regret his baiting of her. She did seem eager to gratify him. Just like a child.
“I am sure I will, Miss Harper.” He squeezed her hand and her cheeks turned rosier. Lord help him, she was no more than a child, not someone he should be marrying. The thought of taking this young creature to his bed was indecent. Tris dropped her hand and looked about for something else to focus on. His gaze landed on Violet, flirting with Donningham, which was even worse. He pulled his attention back to Miss Harper, who stared at him with innocent eyes. Damn, he needed to keep his mind on the dancing. The safest thing he could do, apparently.
The musicians struck up the tune and Tris and his partner bowed, then leaped to the side as they began the opening series of turns under their upraised arms. Damned if Miss Harper didn’t acquit herself superbly, lifting her hands high enough to accommodate him going under easily. Tris relaxed and ducked under their hands again. They came to the balance figure and he couldn’t resist shooting a look at Violet just as Donningham ran his hand around her waist.
Tris stopped in the middle of the floor as his breath whooshed out. A wave of rage flushed his neck and face with heat. He gripped Miss Harper’s fingers, wishing they were the viscount’s neck.
“Ouch, Lord Trevor.”
The room came back into focus as he blinked and shook his head. Her cry, soft but insistent, brought him back to himself, thank God. Another moment and he’d have created a scene that would have scandalized the whole company.
“I am so sorry, Miss Harper. Please forgive me a lapse in memory. I fear you know the dance much better than I after all.”
The other couple broke apart and most of his tension drained away. Damn it, he shouldn’t care about her any more.
“I understand, my lord. You must concentrate or the steps become a muddle.” Miss Harper’s smile grew wider as she drew them together for a series of rosettes.
Tris twirled obediently, their hands firmly clasped, until he became dizzy with the effort of concentrating only on the steps. How much longer before this abysmal exercise was over?
His partner laughed as the allemande ended at last, clearly relishing the dance that had been a torture for him. “Thank you, my lord. I enjoyed partnering you very much.” She gave his hand a fleeting squeeze, so light he couldn’t swear he’d felt it. But she looked down and smiled shyly, so it must have happened.
“Fortunate, don’t you think, since shortly we will be partners for life?”
Her eyes widened until the white showed all around the China-blue irises. She backed away from him. “Y…yes, my lord.” She bumped into Lord Donningham and Tris had to grab her arm t
o keep her from falling.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Harper,” the viscount said, bowing to her but keeping his eyes on Violet who was at his side. “Good evening, Trevor. Splendid dance, splendid, don’t you think? I enjoyed myself as I haven’t in years.” His grin split his face and he actually beamed at Violet. “As did my charming partner, or so she tells me. She declares me the most exquisite dancer, but of course, I cannot say the lady nay, or I will have a fight on my hands, I daresay. Unfortunate that we cannot dance the second set as well.” A fleeting frown replaced his smile. “But that would cause quite the scandal, wouldn’t it?” Amiable once more, he turned to Miss Harper, who seemed to be trying to hide behind a large potted fern. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Harper?”
“Yes, do, my dear. You deserve a better partner than I, certainly.” He handed her over to Donningham, who tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, already talking a blue streak as he led her to the outer edge of the dance floor.
“Will you dance this set with me, my lord, or will you continue to ignore me?” Violet’s eyes flashed amber fire. She bit her lips, then stopped and looked him in the eyes.
* * * *
Violet prayed he wouldn’t simply walk away from her again. She wanted this one dance so she could tell him her plans to move from Lammas House, to marry Donningham if he asked her, to put paid to their friendship once and for all. She grabbed his hand, ignoring the sizzle that shot up her arm and made her hand burn. It hardly mattered now.
He followed her onto the dance floor and they took their places in the line of couples waiting to exhibit themselves in a minuet. Not the best chance for conversation, for it called for each couple to dance one by one with all the other guests looking on. Still, a few words might be spoken. That would suffice.
“Miss Harper looks delightful, Tris. I hope you will be very happy.” Leading the first salvo would be to her advantage. He had always made her feel as though she couldn’t keep up with his wit or conversation. Not this time, by God.
“She is a sweet girl. I am sorry I didn’t have the chance to introduce you. Perhaps later in the evening.” The stiff, formal manner he affected was off-putting but would make this conversation easier, if she could match his aloof demeanor.
“I daresay we will meet eventually as I am out in Society again.”
“Next Season, I suspect. Her family is removing to their estate by the end of this week for the holidays. Her sister-in-law is in poor health.” He looked away then continued. “Lord Downing has postponed the wedding as he fears his daughter-in-law is more gravely ill than first believed. We must wait in hopes of her recovery.”
Violet sighed. Thank God she had made plans to leave Lammas House. She could not stay there any longer with its memories of Tris, knowing him still unmarried yet not free. “I am sorry to hear of her ill health, especially since it will delay your happiness.”
“You know what delays my happiness, Violet.” Spoken so low she could scarcely hear them, his words seized her heart in a strangle hold.
“You must bear it as best you can. As do I.”
He shot her a look, eyes dark and dangerous. “You seem to bear Lord Donningham’s company exceedingly well. Enough to accept his liberties, at least.”
“I did not find them particularly offensive.” How dare he criticize her? “His interest is welcome. Your plan is working well, it seems. You should be happy for me.” Bitterness seeped into her voice but she didn’t care. “I must marry someone, Tris. It if cannot be you, then I do not care who it is.”
His scowl darkened his countenance and deepened the lines in his face. Before he could speak, however, the couple on the dance floor completed their minuet, and she and Tris had to hastily assume the opening position.
Violet tried to think only of the dance, the music, not of the eyes watching her or, God forbid, of the man who danced at her side. Somehow they managed the beginning steps without trouble, although she found it hard to concentrate. She made sure a pleasant, practiced smile graced her lips, the facade of a happy, carefree woman. That in place, she could watch Tris as he circled around her, drink in the sight of his elegant form, dressed in glittering black and gold, as he completed the intricate steps effortlessly, and not give away the agony his closeness created in her. The moment she dreaded, however, was where the minuet called for them to clasp hands. She feared she could not bear his touch without weeping.
As they spiraled in, the mincing steps bringing them closer and closer, she raised her gaze to his face. A mistake she regretted immediately.
His eyes radiated a depth of passion, a hunger she’d never seen on any man’s face before.
It struck her like an arrow piercing her heart, surprising a gasp out of her.
He seized her hand and leaned toward her.
Her mouth went dry as dust.
“I care too much. I plan to ask Lord Downing to release me from my promise.”
Icy prickles cascaded down her back and Violet stopped, unable to move. Shock shot through her body and elated cries rang in her head. “You are mad.”
Gripping her hand, he compelled her to follow him in the circle movement. “Not mad. Heartsick. I cannot live without you, Violet. My heart will break if I cannot marry you.”
They spun out of the circle, unwinding the spiral they had created, drifting apart. Once away from his intoxicating presence, Violet’s mind cleared and the horror of his words crystallized. Society would never forgive such a dishonorable act. No matter how loudly she screamed inside to let him carry out his plan, she knew in her soul she could not allow him to ruin himself, his honor, his reputation for her. Should he jilt Miss Harper, he’d be an outcast in their trenchant society, party to a scandal neither he nor she would ever recover from. Even if he then married Violet, their lives would be spent in seclusion, shunned by all the people they knew. She could not do that to him, to their children, or to Miss Harper. Better to trade their misery for honor than their honor for happiness.
They spiraled in again. He clasped her hand, and once more the rush of heat engulfed her. “I will not marry you, Tris.” The words burned in her throat.
He stopped dead, mouth falling open.
Determinedly, she continued to turn them in a circle, the steps automatic, her mind seared into a blank.
“What?” he hissed. “Why not?”
“I won’t allow you to become an outcast for my sake.”
“It’s as much for my sake as for yours. I love you.”
The words echoed in her ears and she wanted to weep with joy, but there was none.
“I love you too. Too much to be a party to your downfall. You must marry Miss Harper. There is no other way.”
He gripped her hand unmercifully. “Violet.”
Wincing, she shook off his hand, continuing the minuet steps as best she could. Thank God her body remembered what to do, for her mind and heart had gone astray, the agonizing ache of regret pulsing all through her.
The dance ended with them at the far end of the ballroom. They did not take hands again. She doubted Tris could bear her touch and she certainly would not think of touching him. Her resolve hung on a thread ready to snap at the merest contact. Still, one thing remained unfinished between them. “Will you come to the house Christmas Day? We have much to discuss, I think, and I have a present of sorts for you.”
His face might have been chiseled out of flint. “I hardly think that would be wise.”
“Neither do I, still, I need you to come. I have a forfeit to pay if you remember.”
He stared at her and she waited for him to refuse. Then he gave a terse nod and turned his back, making his way through the crowd.
Violet wanted to sink onto the floor and never arise. She’d just managed the most difficult request of her life. Welcoming a customer at Madame Vestry’s paled in comparison to willingly throwing her happiness away with both hands. She could only pray now the worst was truly over.
&
nbsp; Chapter 11
Violet sat at her toilette table on Christmas afternoon, turning a small tin horse over in her hands. Christmas had always been a time for food and revelry at her home. When she was growing up, her parents had held a weekend party each year for the children of the family at Yuletide. She remembered with fondness the sleigh rides, snowball fights, hot cider and special gingerbread, and various parlor games she had played with her brother and cousin. During these events she and Jamie and their cousin Kit had grown especially close. She still had this small tin horse she had won one year, one of the few possessions she’d managed to keep through all her recent travails. She set it back on her toilette table, a reminder of happier times, and rose to head downstairs.
This year she enjoyed the creature comforts provided by Tristan’s generosity, although she sadly lacked the spirit of the season. She and Susan had ventured out to a midnight service last evening, in an effort to reclaim the special feeling of the holiday. Tris’s absence these past weeks had cast a pall over everything, for she had truly missed his company. His visit this evening would hardly be a joyous one. An ending rather than the beginning suggested by the Christmas story.
After a small festive luncheon eaten, at her insistence, with Susan, Mrs. Parker, and Thomas in the kitchen, she’d retired for a nap and now made her way to the music room to practice and await her guest.
She’d done little in the way of decoration since she hadn’t been in a holiday mood at all. Susan had tucked some greenery throughout the house, bringing the fresh scent of pine and bayberry into the rooms. The candles gave off a golden glow as she settled at the harpsichord first. She had progressed from the Scarlatti and ventured into Bach, now pouring her sorrow into the keyboard as she worked to once more perfect the selection before Tris’s arrival. At last satisfied with the pieces, she moved to the harp.