The Song of Love

by Platt, Meara

  Violet stared down at her plate, wishing she could go back to sleep and pretend this day had never happened. “I don’t know about that. I’m sure he feels he’s been tricked. It was never my intention. I only meant to save myself from the bees.”

  “I know, my dear. Romulus was quite clear on that point. He does not blame you at all.” She patted Violet’s hand again. “I look forward to getting to know you. I’m sure we shall become fast friends.”

  “Thank you, Lady Exmoor.” She sincerely meant it, for the woman was kind and amiable. Despite her gentle appearance, she obviously had the spine to hold her ground when dealing with her husband.

  Violet admired her for that.

  She’d noticed James Brayden, Earl of Exmoor, when they’d all walked in. He was as big as Romulus. But he was not nearly as handsome, for his face was badly scarred. At first glance, Violet had thought him quite frightening. However, she quickly looked beyond those scars and saw how much he loved his wife and the goodness inside of him. “I hope we do become friends, whether or not I marry your brother-in-law.”

  Hortensia sighed. “Resign yourself to it, Violet. You and Mr. Brayden shall marry. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will go for you.”

  Aunt Sophie frowned. “I hate to agree with Hortensia in this matter. If Lady Withnall spreads gossip about what she saw, you will never recover from it. I’ll do my best to make her see reason. We Farthingales marry for love, and it isn’t fair to deprive you of the chance.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Sophie.” She stared at the ginger cake set on her plate but had no appetite for it just now.

  Her aunt nodded. “Meanwhile, clear your head of these worries and simply take the time to get to know Romulus. Perhaps your hearts will lead you to each other. This would be the happiest outcome. I shall remain ever optimistic. After all, look at the chaos my daughters caused during their debut seasons, and they came out of it all right.”

  Violet was heartened by that. Lily’s courtship wasn’t the only one botched, and yet she and Ewan were now blissfully happy. Her cousin Rose had abducted her best friend’s brother who later had the good sense to marry her. Laurel met her husband when she practically trampled him to death with her beast of a horse. Fortunately, Graelem had merely suffered a broken leg. Daffodil had almost killed her husband by shooting off an elephant gun. That was most frightening of all, for no one wanted a dead duke on their doorstep. Hard to explain that one away. Daisy had saved her husband from certain death when he’d almost sailed into a trap laid by Napoleon’s spies.

  Bees were nothing.

  Violet sighed and raised the teacup to her lips. “Lady Exmoor, what else can you tell me about your brother-in-law?”

  “What does it matter, Violet? He took off your clothes,” Hortensia interjected before Lady Exmoor had the chance to respond. “No matter who or what he is, you are marrying him.”

  Violet choked on her tea, but covered it up with a small cough and a dab of her lips with her table linen. “He unlaced my gown, that is all. It is not the same thing as taking it off. As for marrying him, that remains to be seen.”

  She was doomed if her own family insisted on overlooking the innocent facts.

  Lady Exmoor took a sip of her tea before responding to Violet’s question. “Well, as you have no doubt guessed, Romulus is honest, fiercely loyal, and quite protective. All these Brayden men are.”

  Hortensia sniffed the air. “What is that odd scent?”

  Violet groaned softly, realizing she still reeked of pickling brine. “Do you mean the oatmeal soap I scrubbed myself with? Or the lingering scent of vinegar? Mr. Brayden claimed it was an antidote to the venom from the bee stings. The welts are still all over my face, neck, and limbs, but the venom is no longer burning me. I didn’t think to ask him how he is feeling. I hope he is not suffering from his stings.”

  “He hasn’t complained,” Lady Exmoor assured her. “He was more concerned about you.”

  The men came out of the study a short while later. They were five men in all. The two Braydens and her three uncles, John, George, and Rupert. She called them uncles, but they were really her father’s cousins. Still, in this large family, it was easier to simply refer to the older men as uncles and the women as aunts.

  If one attempted to delve deeper into the family connections, it would all be too confusing.

  John Farthingale was the eldest, and this was his home. He was the patriarch, but everyone knew his wife Sophie was the heart and soul of the family and their comfortable home. George was a renowned doctor. He’d taken her aside before she’d gone upstairs to wash and dress in order to examine her and make certain the bee stings were nothing more serious. For some people, even one sting could be deadly. She’d suffered at least twenty, and Mr. Brayden probably more.

  Rupert was the negotiator of the family, responsible for their contracts and finding new materials, the Italian velvets, muslins, satins, exotic sarcenet silks, to introduce into the family’s thriving mercantile business. It was likely he led these betrothal negotiations.

  Romulus marched straight toward her and offered his arm. “Take a walk in the garden with me, Violet. We’ll stay in sight of the house, if you are concerned.”

  She readily accepted, eager to be away from all these prying eyes. “Do you think the bees have gone?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I think so. We should be safe enough. With their hive knocked down, they’ve probably moved off to find another garden and another tree in which to rebuild their honeycomb.”

  She nodded. “I’m eager to hear what went on in the study. Will you tell me what you gentlemen discussed?”

  “Yes, I don’t want the financial arrangements to be kept from you.”

  Once Violet had grabbed her shawl, Romulus led her outdoors to a wooden bench beside the stone wall that separated their homes. She sat while Romulus remained standing next to her with his foot on the bench. He propped an arm on his bended knee and leaned toward her. “We are betrothed now,” he said, stating it as a matter of fact. “The contracts will be drawn up in the next few days, and your uncle and I shall sign them at the end of the week.”

  She tucked her shawl around her shoulders as a soft, May breeze blew cool air through the garden. The sun was shining, and a few birds were chirping in the trees, but thankfully, Violet heard no buzzing. It was as Mr. Brayden had said, the bee swarm had flown off to make a new hive. “Hopefully, Lady Withnall will change her mind before then.”

  His expression turned grim. “She won’t.”

  “Nevertheless, we ought to keep our betrothal as quiet as possible on the chance she does. What would she gain by telling the world what she saw?”

  He shrugged. “The satisfaction of striking terror in the hearts of all in the ton who have sinned. I suppose that would be just about everyone. Not even the best people are always saints.”

  “Well, nobody knows me in London other than my family. I am not a wealthy heiress and my father is no one important. The news will be met with a big yawn.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “We shall see what happens by the end of the week. For now, I intend to see this through.”

  He had that implacable look again, so she nodded. “Mr. Brayden, what are your thoughts on our next step? Since we are obliged to see each other anyway, I was hoping we might spend some time testing out the advice in The Book of Love. But we don’t have to if you’re opposed to the idea.”

  “Not at all. It could be useful.” He cast her a wry smile. “I’ve never been in love before. I’d be curious to know what it entails.”

  She nodded, relieved he was being so reasonable. “Poppy, she’s my sister and now married to the Earl of Welles, insisted I read it before I started my round of balls and soirees. She and her friends, Olivia and Penelope, claim it is magical.” She shook her head and laughed. “We’ll certainly need a bit of magic to get ourselves out of this fix.”

  Although the way Romulus was looking at her just now, he did not s
eem to be in any particular hurry to extricate himself from their betrothal. There was something utterly devastating about his gaze, a mix of tender and steaming. She quite liked the way he was looking at her.

  This man would melt her insides if she weren’t careful.

  He made her feel beautiful, but she couldn’t possibly be. Not with bright pink welts on her nose, chin, and all along her neck and shoulders. And her scent. Good grief! Even though she’d rubbed herself down with oatmeal soap, she had been unable to completely rid herself of the vinegar odor.

  She was hardly alluring.

  He had welts all over his body, but his clothes now covered those. He did not seem to have any on his face. It was unmarred and strikingly handsome.

  “Mr. Brayden–”

  “Romulus will do.”

  “Romulus…um, forgive me. Really? That sounds quite intimate. Would you prefer if I call you Captain Brayden? Or Commander Brayden?”

  His smile was also devastating. “Romulus, now that we are betrothed. I know you are not pleased by the idea. Think of it as merely being friendly, for I hope that is what we shall be. Friends, at the very least. Save Captain Brayden or Mr. Brayden for when we are in company. As for me, I prefer the informality. Violet is a pretty name. It suits you.”

  She laughed. “My eyes. I know. My parents dressed me in violet clothes, decorated my bedchamber in shades of violet. All my life, everywhere I’ve turned, there was something violet.”

  “Ah, then I shall hold off on my suggestion.”

  She tipped her head, curious as to what he meant.

  “I was going to offer to redecorate one of the bedchambers in my house to suit your tastes. I had thought to have it done in shades of purple, but I see now you would prefer something completely different for your quarters.”

  “My quarters?” Was he suggesting they would not share a bedchamber if they married? “Mr. Brayden–”

  “Romulus.”

  She sighed. “Romulus, this may sound quite forward…”

  “You may tell me whatever is on your mind. Why are you frowning?”

  “I did not realize I was.” She clasped her hands together, hoping to appear composed, but her blush probably gave her away. Her face tended to turn a bright, strawberry red when she was embarrassed…which she was now. “I hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements if we were to marry.”

  “I’m sure there’s lots we ought to be thinking about. We’ll have the week to figure it all out.”

  “I don’t need a week for this. You see, Farthingales make love matches…”

  “And?” He arched an eyebrow, appearing quite wicked and taking unnecessary delight in her discomfort. “Violet, you will cut off the circulation in your fingers if you grip them any tighter.”

  She looked up at him in dismay. “The thing of it is…it doesn’t seem right…that is, what is the advantage to having separate sleeping quarters near each other? Is there any?”

  “Oh, I see. You prefer privacy. I can set you up at the opposite end of the hall, if that is what you wish. I just thought…never mind.”

  Her heart sank. She wasn’t getting her point across at all. “What if I wish for other arrangements?”

  His eyes rounded and then his gaze turned wary. “Do you mean you would not wish us to reside under the same roof?”

  “Oh, no. I should hope we do live together.”

  “But not near each other and not at separate ends of the hall? I’m not certain I understand your question. Do you wish to be close or far?”

  “Close.”

  He nodded. “Our rooms will adjoin, if you like. You won’t need to walk into the hall to enter my chamber. I won’t put a lock on the door between our rooms. You may enter whenever you wish. Or if you prefer a lock, I can have one put in.”

  She shook her head. “But that is the problem. The chamber is yours.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, now looking more confused than ever. “And you will have yours. As I said, right next to mine, if you wish. Or at the opposite end of the hall. The choice is yours. And you may decorate it any color you choose.”

  She took a deep breath. “Is there any reason why we cannot share a bedchamber?”

  His entire body tensed, and he appeared to have stopped breathing. “Share?”

  “Yes.” She thought she was being clear on this point, but he was frowning and shaking his head as though still confused. “This is done in my family,” she continued, realizing it was best simply to make the demand. The worst he could do was refuse. “Farthingale husbands and wives share sleeping quarters…they share a bed.”

  She thought she heard him choking.

  He cast her such a puzzled look, she couldn’t tell whether he was about to burst out laughing or give her a blistering lecture. “Are you saying you wish to share my bed?”

  How many times had she mentioned the word ‘share’ already? Did she have to hit him over the head with the suggestion? And how had they gotten on this intimate conversation? Oh, she supposed she’d brought it up. As Lady Exmoor said, better to be honest. “Yes. Share. Unless you’d rather not.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know about such matters. I just thought… Well, because this is what my family does. This is how they’ve always…” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t going to say it aloud. What would he think of her if she just blurted that she wanted to sleep with him?

  “Violet…” Now he was laughing at her.

  She rose. “Obviously, I should not have brought it up.”

  He took hold of her hand and would not release it when she tried to walk to the house. More like run back inside, if he would let her. “You mistake me,” he said, obviously holding back a burst of laughter. “I think it is an excellent idea.”

  “You do?” It was her turn to be wary, for she feared he was about to mock her.

  “I’m glad you raised it. We shall do as you suggest.” He nodded. “It is settled. No separate bedchambers. You’ll share my bed.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “Sweet mercy, you don’t have to thank me.” Was he sweating? It wasn’t all that warm. Although she was starting to feel a little uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze. She eased her hand out of his grasp and hugged her shawl a little tighter about her shoulders as a hot shiver coursed through her. It made little sense. One shivered when one was cold.

  Apparently, not always.

  She could use a fan about now.

  Her insides felt quite hot.

  The burning look in his eyes was setting her on fire. “Any other demands, Violet?”

  Chapter Four

  “I don’t know, Mr. Brayden…er, Romulus. I might have other demands. Not really demands, merely requests. Must I list them right away? There may be more, but I’m new to this betrothal business. I hadn’t expected to be dealing with it so soon.”

  Romulus knew he wasn’t being fair, but there was something wonderful about Violet, and he just liked being in her company and hearing her talk. She was being far more reasonable than he deserved. Yes, he’d come to her rescue, his first thought being to pull her out of harm’s way from that swarm of bees. But his second, third, and fourth thoughts once he’d gotten her into his kitchen and started unlacing her gown?

  Lord help him! All he could think then was how fast could he get the gown off her exquisite body and begin exploring every delectable inch of her with his hands, lips, and…yes, he was going straight to hell for this…with his tongue.

  He wanted to touch and taste her everywhere.

  He wanted to hear her soft, breathy, responsive moans.

  Lady Withnall knew exactly what he’d been thinking, and the harridan was not going to let him get away with his sinfully evil desires without making him pay for it. So, while everyone else was willing to sweep his bad behavior under the rug and breathe a sigh of relief for avoiding the close call, the old, gossiping bat was determined to air it out for all the world to see just how lecherous and depraved he truly was.


  But he wasn’t, or rather, he had never been before. This wasn’t at all in his nature. Perhaps it was all those bee stings that had made him daft. Perhaps it was just Violet. There was an undefinably appealing quality about her. He couldn’t explain what it was, only that she stirred him as no other woman ever had.

  She was soft to the touch and spectacular to look at, but the same could be said of other ton beauties. Even her voice did odd things to him, as though she spoke to something deep within his soul.

  How silly that sounded, but he would not deny her sultry lilt affected him. He was like one of those hapless heroes in myth, lured toward the rocky shoals by her siren call.

  Gad, even her innocence was alluring.

  Not to mention her perfect breasts or the perfect way they’d been heaving as he’d unlaced her.

  No, he wouldn’t mention it.

  He would blot it from his memory…if only he could.

  “I’ll have to ask Aunt Sophie about what else I might need. Not that sleeping with you is a…” Oh, heavens. “…need.” Her sigh came out more as a groan. “What terms did you agree upon with my uncle?”

  “Financial terms only,” he said, nudging her back down on the bench and settling beside her even though he knew it was a mistake, for everything about this girl set him on fire. “We did not think to discuss sleeping arrangements.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” She was blushing again.

  He wanted to kiss her, but Lady Withnall would have his hide if he did it now. “We agreed upon your allowance and your inheritance rights should anything happen to me.”

  She fidgeted with her shawl as she gazed up at him, obviously feeling uncomfortable and blaming herself for their predicament. “It sounds awfully mercenary. I am truly sorry. You know I wish this had never happened.”

  “I know. It isn’t your fault.” He stretched his legs in front of him. Although it was a long bench, it suddenly seemed small for the two of them. He was big, and she was this delicious morsel seated beside him and unknowingly shooting flames through his body. “Your uncle is right to worry about your future. I have no doubt James will always look after you if something were to happen to me, but you are my responsibility now, and I do not intend to leave you penniless.”