by L. B. Joramo
Mathew met us at the opera house. He was still drunk, and when kissing hello he turned into my lips with his own. I started away from him, but he followed and whispered into my ear, “By God, you’re beautiful. I’ve always known you to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, but even through all these years of knowing you, you still take my breath away with your beauty. I said beauty or beautiful a thousand times, didn’t I?”
I chuckled softly. “Thank you for the compliments.”
“Even with all the redundancy?”
I laughed again, then one of his fingers slid down my neck, and I felt as if I was betraying . . . betraying who? Jacque? Yes, God, yes. But I was engaged to be married to the man who was smiling down at me, his finger softly sculpting my collarbone.
“Mathew, we’re in public,” I whispered and purposely glanced around the vestibule of the stage house. My mother and sister looked at a painting of Lake Eerie, while Jacque turned slowly in their direction. Before he pivoted though I saw his nose flare, his shoulders hunch.
“Forgive me, my dear. I will try to keep my hands by my sides,” Mathew said as he took a step away from me. “Try, but I’m in trouble with what you’re wearing. That dress! ‘Tis beautiful. Ah, there’s that word again. What color is your corset?”
My jaw flew open. Then I darted another look at my sister, mother, and Jacque who had their backs turned away from Mathew and I.
“Oh . . . oh, dear.” Mathew grimaced.
I glared at him.
“I’m sorry.” Mathew smiled lazily. “Too many grogs at the tavern, dear. I forget we are not yet married and as such, I’m not supposed to talk to you in those terms. I do so want to marry you. Can we please marry soon? ‘Tis been three years now.”
“You’re very drunk.”
“Aye. And I love you, Violet Justine Buccleuch.”
I shook my head and began to laugh again. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I’ll behave. I promise, if . . . if you’ll tell me what color your corset is.”
“Mathew!” I slapped his large bicep. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
He stepped forward again and pressed his lips to my ear. “I love you, Violet. I will ‘till the day I die. I love you so much. I want you as my wife; I want you in my bed. I love you so much.”
Icy-hot pain shot right down the middle of me.
I glanced at my chest. My breasts heaved against the restraints of my corset and dress, but I didn’t see any blood. With my heart being torn in two, I could have sworn I would have seen blood pour from my chest. I wanted to cry. Never had I heard Mathew say such brutal yet romantic words, and it did affect me so. My internal organs quivered, and between my legs grew intense liquid heat.
But the feeling of being ripped down the middle made me want to search for Jacque again.
Damnation!
“Lavender,” I whispered.
Mathew released me and looked down at me with his dark blond eyebrows cascading into confusion.
I arched a brow and peeped at my chest. “The color is lavender, a light purple.”
“Oh!” Mathew smiled, then his eyes tripped to the valley between my breasts. “Oh,” he moaned.
“You promised you’d behave.” I pointed a finger at him.
Slowly, his eyes rose to meet mine with a half smile, sloppily thrown on his face. “Oh, yes, I will. Are you wearing black garter belts?”