"It. Is. Dangerous," Orsino replied, his thick eyebrows drawing together into a scowl.
"Dangerous?" Violet raised her brow and glanced pointedly around the sedate gallery, which was empty bar the elderly lady whom Violet had almost barrelled into earlier.
Catching her gaze, the woman offered Violet a charming smile and reached into her reticule.
"Boiled sweet, my dear?" she asked, sending the maid over at Violet's nod of thanks, with a paper-wrapped parcel of humbugs.
"Thank you," Violet said sweetly, as she took one and pointedly popped it into her mouth for the irritated duke's benefit.
"Dangerous?" she whispered again, but this time her voice faltered. Orsino's eyes had turned dark and were focused steadily on Violet's lips. The same lips she had so smugly opened just moments ago.
Her mouth went dry as she saw something flash across Orsino's face, something deliciously wicked and dark. Something which Violet also felt as a pleasurable lurch in the pit of her stomach.
He is the only thing dangerous here, Violet thought nervously, as a queer feeling of longing overtook her.
She sucked nervously on her boiled sweet, so distracted by desire that the ruddy thing somehow lodged itself in the back of her throat. She gave a frantic cough, and Orsino sprang into action, leaping forward to deliver a resounding clap between her shoulder blades which dislodged the sweet--and sent her stumbling across the carpet.
She staggered, but the duke moved quickly, catching her in strong arms before she tumbled to the floor.
"See," he whispered triumphantly, as he helped her right herself, "It is dangerous to go out alone."
Violet longed to contradict him, but his arms were still wrapped around her, and she found that she could not utter a word. Her every sense was heightened. Her skin burned where he touched her. Her heart hammered in her ears. And his overwhelmingly masculine scent--wood, tobacco, and something earthy--threatened to drown her.
For his part, the duke abruptly stilled, as though he had suddenly become affected by holding her in his arms. After a heady moment, Orsino cleared his throat, dropped his arms from around her, and took a measured step backwards.
"If you will allow me to accompany you to your carriage," he said, his voice sounding somewhat strangled, "That is if you thought to come by carriage?"
"Of course I came by carriage," Violet was glad that his words allowed her to feel irritated again, for she could not stand this strange, heady desire which coursed through her veins. It was far easier to feel vexed with Orsino than attracted to him, "I know all about the risks posed by footpads and other villains."
"Good," Orsino harrumphed again, as he began to steer Violet in the direction of the door, "Then I will be glad to escort you safely back to it."
Oh, for goodness' sake, Violet thought, as the high-handed duke led the way outside. Does he think me incapable of making it down a set of steps alone? Her irritation must have shown on her face, for as they reached the carriage, Orsino offered her an apologetic smile.
"Forgive me," he said gruffly, "I was not expecting to find you alone."
"Were you expecting to find me inside, your Grace?" Violet replied innocently, determined to have a little fun with the duke.
"I-ah-I was not," Orsino lied, the tips of his ears burning, "It was a complete surprise to find you there. Alone. But what a coincidence, that you happened to procure tickets for the same day as I."
Violet bit her lip to keep from laughing; the duke was not about to admit that he had wrestled her day's itinerary from her "brother" the night before.
"Are you as taken by Miss Linwood's works as I, your Grace?" Violet queried, quashing the urge to giggle.
"Completely," Orsino nodded, his green eyes catching hers momentarily, and leaving her breathless.
"Tell me, which one is your favourite?" Violet continued, determined to plough on with her fun, for the alternative was to become lost in the sea-green depths of Orsino's gaze.
"Oh, I could not pick merely one."
Violet recognised bluster when she heard it, and Orsino's cheeks had now gone as red as his ears.
"Oh, that's no fun, your Grace," Violet replied, thoroughly enjoying herself now, "You'll have to pick one. I'm simply dying to know which piece you favour the most."
"Oh, look!" Orsino let out an audible sigh of relief, "We've reached your carriage."
They had indeed reached Violet's carriage, where Henry awaited. The elderly gentleman made moves to get down from his perch, but Orsino waved him away with a careless hand.
"I shall help Miss Havisham in," he called, as he guided Violet with a firm hand around the corner and out of view.
"I hope you don't think me presumptuous," Orsino continued, with a smile, "But I fear we might have been waiting a while for your man to get down to assist you."
"Yes," Violet agreed solemnly, "And in the interim, you might then have been forced to offer me an answer."
"Is it so obvious that I do not know a thing about Miss Linwood?" Orsino queried, with a rueful laugh.
"Only a little," Violet shrugged, unable to stop herself from answering his infectious grin with one of her own.
"I know nothing of Miss Linwood," Orsino admitted, dropping his head as he spoke so that some of his wavy hair fell forward into his eyes, "And I knew that you would be here, which is why I am here. I rather fear that as you were not accepting my calls, a little ingenuity was required on my part."
"Oh," Violet flushed at having been called out on her avoidance of him.
"I can't say that I blame you," Orsino ploughed on, "But now that your brother has had the chance to explain matters, I hope that I might see a lot more of you, Miss Havisham."
This was the moment, Violet thought, the moment that she should tell the duke that, in no uncertain terms, she would not be seeing him again. It was the most opportune time Violet would ever have, and yet, as she gazed at the handsome man who towered above her, her resolve wavered, and she could not find her voice.
"I am not the only one who wishes to spend more time with you," Orsino continued, taking Violet's silence for acquiescence, "My sister is determined to get to know you better. I believe she has invited you and Lady Havisham to the theatre this evening. The three Theatre Royals are staging Shakespeare plays concurrently, and tonight Haymarket will be staging Twelfth Night."
"Oh," Violet replied stupidly in response, as she wondered what on earth had happened to all the words she once knew--Orsino's presence and command of the situation had left her stuttering out monosyllables.
"Splendid," Orsino grinned, reaching out a large gloved hand to open the carriage door, "Until this evening, Miss Havisham."
Violet allowed the duke to take her hand and assist her into the compartment. She was not so dazed that she did not recognise the frisson of tension which passed through her at his touch.
"Goodbye, your Grace," she managed to say before Orsino shut the carriage door.
As Henry manoeuvred the vehicle into the traffic of Leicester Square, Violet sat back against the carriage seat, once again cursing her stupidity.
The perfect opportunity to stop Orsino on his stupid crusade to court her had slipped through her fingers because...she had no wish to stop him.
Curses, Violet thought despondently, as she now realised she was fighting on two fronts; against Orsino and her own foolish heart.
The feeling of dismay that she had tried to outrun that morning now pressed doubly down upon her as she returned to Havisham House.
"Oh, there you are, Violet," Dorothy called, as Violet trudged into the drawing-room, "Her ladyship was wondering where you'd got to."
"I told Aunt Phoebe that I would be in Saville House all morning," Violet gave an irritable sigh.
"I don't doubt you did," Dorothy smiled, "Though I didn't know what to say to your caller."
What caller? Violet frowned; social calls were made to ladies of influence, and as Violet had none of that, she never received any.
"Dashed if I can recall her name," Dorothy replied, "But she did leave a card."
Violet departed the drawing-room for the entrance hall, with Dorothy on her heels. There, in the silver tray which was used to collect cards left by callers--and which was usually empty--Violet found a cream, heavily embossed card, which bore the name of Lady Olivia Cardigan.
"Oh, Lud," Violet whispered to herself, before turning to question Dorothy, "What did she say?"
"Oh, not much," the lady's maid frowned as she tried to recall, "Just that she was keen to make the acquaintance of Sebastian Havisham's sister."
Oh, no; Violet resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands and sob.
"Oh," Dorothy clicked her fingers as she recalled one last detail, "And she said that she wants her cat back. Whatever that means."
Chapter Eight
Any peer worth his salt rented a box in one of the Royal Theatres, and Jack was no exception. Well, in truth, it was Frederick--who had adored the theatre--who had initially leased the box, but Jack had kept it on when he assumed the title.
He did not much frequent the theatre; being so tall, he found the seats small and uncomfortable, and as he was a man of action, he detested sitting still for so long. Still, one needed to make some sacrifices when it came to courting a lady, and Jack did not so much mind the thought of being cooped up in a tiny box if it meant he was cooped up beside Violet.
"Lud, you're fidgeting," Iris commented, as their carriage made its way through Covent Garden toward Drury Lane.
"I am not," Jack objected, resting his hands--which he had been twisting nervously together--flat on his lap.
Despite having nearly a foot on Iris, his sister always managed to make him feel like a misbehaved school-boy. Had Jack the romantic nous to carry out his battle for Violet's heart alone, he would not have asked for Iris' help, for--just like Montague--Iris would never let him forget that it was she who had helped him.
"I do hope you name your first child after me," Iris said, proving Jack's point.
"What if it is a boy?" Jack wondered, before abruptly pulling himself up, "La! Iris, you cannot start naming our children, when Miss Havisham has shown no interest in me. She is only here because you invited her, not I."
"Hush," Iris waved an impatient hand, "She is a free agent, is she not? If she really had no wish to come tonight, she might have cried off with a headache and allowed Lady Havisham to come alone."
Jack paled; he had not thought of that. Iris, reading his mind in the way that only a sister could, gave a tinkle of laughter at his glum countenance.
"She will not cry off, Jack," his sister assured him, "Mark my words. I know that you will insist on comparing yourself to dear Frederick and thinking yourself lacking, but there are a million things to recommend you as a husband."
"Such as?" Jack queried, horrified to find that he needed some words of reassurance.
"Your obscene wealth, for one," Iris laughed, though she quickly stopped herself when she saw her brother's downcast expression. "You are a wonderful man, Jack; kind, patient, amusing. There are any number of platitudes I could offer you, and they would all be true."
"Thank you, Iris," Jack grinned, "I don't know why, but tonight I feel especially like a great, giant lummox."
"Oh, there's nothing wrong with being large, brother dear," Iris twinkled, "Most women prefer it. I wonder how we might highlight it to your advantage tonight? Perhaps I might bribe one of the ushers to start a brawl and have someone break a chair over your back. That ought to be impressive."
As ever, Jack was not quite certain if his sister was jesting or deadly serious.
"I would suggest that we pay a footpad to stage an attempt to kidnap Miss Havisham as she exits," Iris continued, deadpan, "But then I rather fear that Lady Havisham would beat you to the rescue with her trusty cane, and that would not be impressive, now, would it?"
"Er, no," Jack replied, hoping to end the conversation before Iris dreamed up another scheme that she might actually think to act upon, "Perhaps we might forgo any tricks tonight, Iris. I might try to impress Miss Havisham the old fashioned way."
"What a wonderful idea," Iris agreed, leaning across the carriage to pat her brother's hand, "Just be you, and you shall win her heart. Though try not to scowl at her, as you do everyone else."
"I do not scowl," Jack objected, scowling across at her before quickly re-affixing his expression.
The carriage then drew up outside the Haymarket, and there was no more time for talking. Orsino exited first when the footman opened the door, and he then helped Iris down.
A great crush of people thronged around the entrance, and despite Jack's earlier promise not to scowl, he adopted the mien of the Duke of Thunder, as he escorted Iris through the crowds. People shrank back, as he made his way toward the door, and Jack was not certain, but he could have sworn he heard a small child scream.
"Well," Iris said with a laugh as they entered the elegant foyer, "I can't say there are not some advantages to having the tallest man in England as one's brother. Oh, look, there they are!"
Iris let out a cry, as she spotted Violet and Lady Havisham, standing by the steps. Several heads turned to see what was going on, and once they sighted Jack, a ripple of whispers filled the room.
Lud; Jack bit back a sigh, he had hoped that no one would spot him on his mission. He did not wish for the papers to be filled with gossip about the evening, both for Violet's sake, and his own.
Montague was bound to find the whole thing terribly amusing, and while Jack could usually withstand his friend's ribald humour, his courtship of Miss Havisham felt too fragile to discuss with anyone bar Iris. His need for her left him feeling vulnerable, something he was not used to at all.
"Lady Havisham, Miss Havisham," Jack gave a neat bow, as they reached the pair. "How lovely to see you both."
"Can you see Lady Havisham?" Iris interrupted, "All I can see is half a dead peacock."
"At least I have deigned to dress myself," Lady Havisham groused in return, from under her feathers, "You seem to have dressed for a Grecian wedding, Iris. I am not entirely sure if it's a nightrail or a bedsheet you have on."
"The style is called à la grecque, my lady," Iris replied blithely, as she linked arms with the irascible Scotswoman, "It was the height of fashion during the Byzantine era when you were a girl, was it not?"
Jack watched with a bewildered grin, as his sister pulled Lady Havisham toward the stairs, leaving him and Violet alone.
"You'll have to excuse my sister," he said quietly, as he offered Violet his arm.
"Only if you excuse my aunt," she replied, with a shy smile. She hesitated for a moment, before placing her small hand on his forearm, and when she did, Jack noted that she seemed as affected by their nearness as he.
A pained silence fell between them, as Jack led them up the staircase toward their box. He was no good at small talk, especially with women. In the army, conversations had tended toward banter and lewdness, and he could hardly recite a risqué limerick to break the silence.
"I like your--your," Jack began, then lost track of what he had been about to say when Violet turned her bewitching, purple gaze upon him.
"I like your...you," Jack finished stupidly, flushing at his lack of verbal dexterity. Shakespeare, he was not.
"Your Grace," Violet replied after a pause, and Jack flinched, for he recognised from her cautionary tone that she was about to impart bad news.
Thankfully, his heart was spared immediate damage by Lady Havisham, who turned to call--or rather bellow--to the pair to keep up.
"This is our box," Iris added, as she led the way to their seats.
Jack had to admire his sister, as she subtly arranged things so that Violet was placed beside Jack, in the darker corner of the box.
"Do you enjoy the theatre, Miss Havisham?" Jack inquired, once they were finally settled into their seats.
"I do," Violet kept her face turned forward as she replied, as though afraid to look at him, "Though I do not attend many plays. My brother is the true drama lover of the family."
"Ah, Sebastian," Jack smiled, happy to have something in common they might discuss, "We are acquainted. I wonder if he is here tonight?"
Jack peered out into the theatre, scanning the facing boxes and stalls for any sight of young Mr Havisham, whilst beside him, Violet let out a little squeak of dismay.
"Is anything amiss?" Jack queried, turning toward her with worry.
"A spider," Violet mumbled, her face pale, "But it is gone. Tell me, your Grace, do you attend many plays?"
"Not as many as I would like," Jack conceded, with a regretful wave to his large form, "I find that I am not built for such small spaces."
Miss Havisham's eyes followed the wave of his hand, and she blushed a little as he caught her appraisal. He had not noted until he said it, but the box was so small that Jack and Violet were almost pressed up against each other in their chairs. His thigh grazed hers, accidentally, and he was gratified that Miss Havisham let out a sharp sigh, which gave voice to his own sudden discomfort.
"Oh, look," Violet said, breathing a sigh of relief, "They're dimming the lights."
Indeed, the gaslights of the theatre had begun to flicker, and the roar of the crowd died down to a gentle hum. On stage, the curtains rose, and Jack settled back into his seat, to enjoy the night's performance as best he could.
For a while, he managed to focus his attention on the opening act of Twelfth Night but found his attention wandering toward the lady beside him. For her part, Violet appeared rapt by the play; her face was turned toward the stage, and her posture was rigid and straight. It was only when Jack moved slightly, and Miss Havisham immediately jumped, did Jack realise that her nerves were as highly attuned to him, as he to her.
It was rather gratifying to realise that Miss Havisham was not as immune to him as she might think she was.
"Well, what do you think so far?" Jack queried, as the curtains fell for the intermission, "Can't say that I find the storyline very plausible."
"Oh, it's more plausible than you might think, your Grace," Violet replied with a slight laugh before Iris interrupted.
Wilful Wallflowers Collection: Books 1 - 3 Page 27