“A task, madam, I am happy to undertake,” James said gallantly, and then he spoke no more, for he was before her on his knees in an instant, her face in his hands, his mouth moving urgently over hers.
It was the night before, all over again—and yet somehow different, somehow more. Last night, James had been possessed with a feverish urgency, some part of him convinced it was a dream, that Violet would disappear from his arms if he paused for even a moment. And his need had been matched by her own—she had clutched him, urged him on, faster, faster.
Now, however, James deliberately slowed himself—after all, they had plenty of time. There were still words to be spoken, hurts to be addressed, but they would do so together. He no longer feared the return of the cold and echoing silence that had occupied the house for so long.
So instead of pressing her back more deeply into her chair and kissing her until she could not breathe, he broke the kiss and rose to his feet, extending a hand toward her. She stared at it blankly, looking disconcerted.
“I am as fond of this chair as any man,” he explained politely, “but it occurred to me that it might make more sense to avail ourselves of the bed that is so conveniently nearby.” He jerked his head in the direction of the piece of furniture in question—one that James in fact had never occupied himself.
Violet, he was delighted to see, blushed. “Of course,” she said, standing and taking his hand with so blatant a display of eagerness that James had to bite back a giddy grin. Instead, he satisfied himself by leading her toward the aforementioned bed before turning her away from him and making short work of the buttons on the back of her gown.
“I don’t recall you being quite so quick at that,” Violet said over her shoulder, a note of suspicion in her voice as he pushed her dress aside and dedicated himself to unlacing her corset.
“It is remarkable what I can achieve when presented with an extremely enticing motivation,” James said.
“So you’ve not been practicing?” He detected a slight hint of un-Violet-like uncertainty in her voice, and he froze, his fingers at the lacings at the base of her spine. He looked up.
“Violet.”
“It has been rather a long time…” Her words came out as a rush.
“Good lord, woman, did you see how I nearly fled in terror when Lady Fitzwilliam so much as batted her eyelashes at me?”
“That’s true,” Violet admitted, and he was glad to see a smile curving the corners of her mouth once more.
“Violet, it’s only ever been you,” he said, and freed the lacings, stepping back so that she could fling her corset aside. “I could never even see anyone else.”
“You didn’t seem terribly out of practice last night,” she said lightly, turning and gliding back into the circle of his arms, sliding her own around his neck, but he saw by the teasing glint in her eyes that his words had banished any real concerns.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, and kissed her once more.
It was an all-consuming, full-body kiss, and it seemed like only an instant later—though it must have been several minutes—that James found himself on the bed, shirtless, Violet underneath him, her chemise pulled to her waist, her legs spread wide and his head between them. He moved his lips and tongue with deliberate, torturous slowness, causing Violet’s breath to hitch in her throat in a fashion that would have been gratifying had he had enough reason left to appreciate it. At the moment, however, he felt as though he were slowly being consumed by flames, and his entire world had narrowed to Violet.
Just Violet.
Violet, who was stirring restlessly beneath him, her breathing harsh. “James—” she said, and he was amused to hear the note of impatience mixed with the desperation in her voice. He raised his head.
“Too slow again?” he asked innocently.
“It is a quality I generally appreciate,” she assured him, huffing a breathless half laugh. “But I must say, at the moment—”
“I’ve nowhere to be this afternoon,” he said solemnly. “I didn’t see any reason to rush the proceedings.” The stiffness currently pressing almost painfully against his trousers indicated something else entirely—and Violet took full advantage, undulating her hips upward so that her leg brushed against him and smiling, catlike, at the sharp intake of breath he was unable to stop.
“Violet—”
“Since I seem to be the only one in a hurry,” she said, her tone indicating that she knew perfectly well this was not the case, “it seems only fair that I control the proceedings.”
James arched a brow at her, inwardly gleeful. Even more than the lovemaking itself, he had missed this. Laughing with her. Teasing her. He hadn’t fully realized how much he’d missed it until he’d regained it—and he’d be damned if he’d ever give it up again.
“All right,” he said, making his voice as disinterested as he could, under the circumstances—those circumstances including the fact that another portion of his anatomy was making it quite clear that he was not disinterested in the least. “If you think you can.” He drew back from her slightly, giving her enough space that she might flip him onto his back, which she proceeded to do with alacrity.
She crouched above him, her chemise sliding off one shoulder, showcasing a delectable portion of creamy skin. Her hair was tumbling down in such disarray that he reached up and finished the job, removing pins and tossing them to the floor without a second glance.
“You will be picking those up later,” she said severely, running her hands greedily down his torso, the muscles of his abdomen fluttering under her touch.
“If I can walk,” James replied slyly, and she grinned wickedly at him.
“Was that a challenge?”
“You decide.”
Her decision, though not vocalized, was evidently in the affirmative, as he found a few short minutes later when, having dispensed with his boots and trousers, Violet, straddling his legs, reached into his smalls, took him in hand, and proceeded to take him into her mouth.
His hips arched up as an inarticulate groan burst out of his mouth—he couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, all he could do was feel the wet warmth of her mouth around him, consuming him. She pursed her lips, sucking, and he groaned again, mingling her name with a fair bit of profanity and the merest hint of blasphemy.
Violet raised her head, a wicked glint in her eye. “Did you just mention the Archbishop of Canterbury?”
“Probably,” James said, amazed that he even had the capacity for speech at the moment.
“Fair enough,” Violet said, then rededicated herself to the task at hand.
Soon—all too soon—James felt the signs of release drawing near, and with a heroic display of willpower he reached down, cupping her face in his hands, drawing her upward. She slithered up his body, the fabric of her chemise doing nothing so much as heightening the sensations between them, and he pulled her face down to his own, kissing her sloppily, ravenously, with every bit of passion he had in him.
He drew back slightly after a moment, sliding his hands down to her waist and seizing her chemise in both hands as he yanked it over her head. Violet leaned back, raising her arms to assist him in his efforts, and in that moment she was so heartbreakingly beautiful that he felt as though the very breath had been sucked from his body. She straddled him, the candlelight casting a flickering light upon the expanse of smooth skin laid out before him, and arched her back slightly, presenting her breasts for him like a gift.
One that he seized, of course.
He took his time, his lips moving over her skin, and all the while Violet undulated above him until he knew with perfect clarity that if he had to wait a moment longer to be inside her he was going to explode.
“Violet,” he said hoarsely, and moved his hands down her supple body until he had seized her slim waist and lifted her, moved her back. “I need—” he began, but interrupted himself with a strangled groan as Violet took him in hand, then sank down on top of him. The feeling of her, wet and warm and tig
ht around him, was nearly enough to make him spend right then and there—but he was not a green boy of fifteen. He knew how to take his time.
And so he did.
His hips rose to meet hers in powerful thrusts, and Violet leaned forward as she moved, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her own head thrown back. He arched up and placed a series of kisses along the column of her throat, loving the way she gasped, then groaning as she inadvertently tightened around him.
He slid his hand down to the space between them, his thumb striking up a rhythm that first made her gasp, then moan. Her rhythm faltered as she became lost to her own pleasure, and in an instant he had surged up and flipped them, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue slipping easily against her own, his thumb still caressing her heated flesh, and in another moment she had convulsed around him, her strangled cry muffled against his lips. The feeling of her spasming around him was enough to trigger his own release; he groaned as the heat rushed through his body before he collapsed atop her with a muffled oath.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke—James, for his part, did not think himself capable of stringing two words together. All he could do was lie there and relish the feeling of his own heart pounding against hers. It was perhaps the best thing he had ever felt.
After a minute, she stirred beneath him and he quickly lifted himself onto his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight. She murmured something incomprehensible in protest, her eyes still closed, and he took advantage of the slight distance he had put between them to stare down into her face—so familiar to him, and yet so achingly lovely that he knew he would never tire of gazing at it.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, gently at first, but with increasing ardor when her mouth opened beneath his and she flicked her tongue against his own. He broke off after a moment with a muffled half laugh, half groan, and rolled over so that he was lying on his back beside her, still winded from their exertions. He felt her arm move slightly against his, then her slim hand sliding against his own, lacing their fingers together.
“That was…” she said at last, but then failed to complete her sentence. He wondered if she, too, lacked the capacity for fully logical speech at the moment.
“Yes,” he said, and lifted her hand to his own mouth so that he might press a kiss against it.
She turned onto her side to face him and he followed suit, so that they found themselves nose to nose, their legs tangled together. He reached out and brushed one of her sweat-dampened curls away from her face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly—not to compliment her, not because of what they had just done, but simply because it was the truth, and in that moment it needed to be uttered so desperately that he had no way to keep the words within him.
She smiled at him, her eyes overly bright. “Why?” she said, and he knew that she was not referring to his previous words.
He sighed. “I saw my father in the park this morning,” he said, surprised to hear that his tone was not as bitter as it usually was when the duke arose as a topic of conversation.
Violet’s brow furrowed. “Oh?” Nothing more—and he was grateful for it. He knew she was curious, he knew the questions must be about to burst from within her—because she was Violet, and that was her way—but here she was, waiting patiently all the same.
“Indeed,” he said shortly, then softened his tone, reaching a hand out to trace down her impossibly soft cheek.
“Did you discuss anything important?” she asked, and he bit back a smile at her attempts to make her tone casual, to disguise the impatience lurking just beneath the surface.
He hesitated a moment—they had in fact discussed something of rather great importance, and yet he still felt that it had so little to do with the matter at hand that it was scarcely worth mentioning. He did not wish to linger upon his conversation with the duke, not when he had already allowed his father to determine so much about his relationship with Violet. “Not particularly,” he said, telling himself it wasn’t a lie. It didn’t feel like a lie—his encounter with his father, to his mind, had nothing at all to do with the love he felt for his wife in this moment, and he had no desire to muddy things between them by bringing his father into it. “But speaking with him—it made me realize that I was allowing him to dictate my life. I was letting him win.”
“It doesn’t have to be a competition,” she said softly, her eyes sad.
“I know,” he said, touching her cheek gently. “I know that now.”
“I missed you,” she whispered. “I don’t ever want to miss you that much again.”
“I missed you, too.” He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. “I hated sitting in the same room and feeling as though you were miles away from me.”
“I’m not miles away now,” she said, her gentle smile slanting into something slightly saucy, her silky foot stroking against his leg. They still had more to discuss, some small voice in his mind reminded him—he needed to prove his trust to her—but even the best intentions could be thwarted by an enticing, naked wife.
He rolled her onto her back in a single smooth motion, bracing himself on his elbows as he bent over her, smiling down into her eyes.
“And thank God for that.”
Sixteen
It was some indeterminate amount of time later that the distant sound of a clock tolling the hour brought them back to themselves.
“Good lord!” Violet said, sitting up all at once. “I’m supposed to be having tea with my mother in half an hour!”
“Send her a note saying you’ve taken ill,” James said, making no move to budge from his recumbent position. His arms were crossed behind his head, the sheet bunched at his waist, and Violet spent a silent moment casting an appreciative glance at the abdominal muscles on display.
After a moment’s admiration, however, she shook her head sadly. “It won’t do. She’ll only make a fuss and I shall never be rid of her. It’s better to go see her now.” She slid her feet to the floor. “And you need to go, too, unless you wish to give Price an awful shock. I hate to think what the sight of you in all your naked glory should do to her delicate sensibilities.”
“Price has nothing like delicate sensibilities,” James grumbled. “She is employed by you, after all.” But nonetheless, he rose, collected his garments from the various spots on the floor in which they had landed in his rather hasty attempt to disrobe, and, after placing one last lingering kiss upon Violet’s lips, departed through her dressing room to his own set of rooms.
Half an hour later, Violet was on her way down the stairs, Price’s rather choice remarks about ladies who inexplicably found their hair in disarray in the middle of the afternoon ringing in her ears. She was only a quarter of the way down the staircase, however, when Wooton opened the front door to reveal Jeremy standing on the steps.
“Wooton, old boy,” Jeremy said, his voice ringing through the entryway, “did I leave my hat here earlier? I was so distracted by Lady Templeton’s haranguing on the way out that I think I walked off without it. On second thought, perhaps I should just purchase a new one and send the bill to her.”
“I believe you did, my lord,” Wooton said, stepping aside to allow Jeremy into the house. “I would be happy to fetch it for you.”
“Capital,” Jeremy said, then added, “Is your master at home?”
Wooton nodded. “He is, my lord, but I fear he is rather busy at the moment.”
“Still lying prostrate at his wife’s feet, I expect,” Jeremy said cheerfully, his smile slipping a bit when his eyes landed on Violet, who was nearly at the bottom of the stairs. “Or perhaps not. Violet, old girl, please tell me you’ve forgiven the poor sod.”
“Jeremy,” Violet said, trying to keep her tone severe, despite the fact that everything seemed to make her want to smile today. “Why would you think I’ve forgiven him?” she asked curiously—after all, when Jeremy had last left the house, Violet and Diana had been discussing the rela
tive merits of Violet having an affair.
“Well, he seemed pretty cut up about this whole business of his father and your mother having orchestrated your meeting—I assume the idiot realizes he should have trusted you now.” Behind Jeremy, Wooton had discreetly slipped back into the shadows, presumably in search of the missing hat—as ever, Jeremy paid little heed to who might be listening to him speak, no matter the topic. Violet felt a sudden wave of cold wash over her, as though she had just been submerged in ice water. Jeremy, who seemed blithely unaware of the effect his words were having, continued on cheerfully.
“I presume he told you about my role in the evening’s events? I owe you an apology, of course—I could have damaged your reputation, and it was quite shabby of me.”
Violet barely heard him, her entire being focused on one single fact: James had lied. He had said he hadn’t discussed anything of importance with the duke this morning, and he had lied.
Why hadn’t she seen it? Why had she been so ready to accept his claims that he had simply realized all at once that he should have trusted her from the start?
Because she wanted it to be true. And this, too, was true: he had told her what she wanted to hear, and she had lapped it up like a fool. But it had been a lie. James hadn’t trusted her—the only thing that had brought him to her bedroom door was confirmation he had received from Jeremy that Violet hadn’t been plotting with her mother all along.
So in all the big ways, nothing had changed. James still didn’t trust her—from what she could make out of Jeremy’s chatter, it seemed that he was the one who was deserving of James’s distrust, and yet there was no sign of any cracking in their friendship. A surge of fury coursed through her, and Violet all at once had no more time for this.
With some sort of sixth sense that she only seemed to possess with regard to her husband, she suddenly became aware that he was near, and darted a glance sideways. He was standing, frozen, at the end of the hallway, a sheaf of papers in his hand—he had mentioned something about needing to see to a pressing piece of business regarding the dratted stables, because even in a postcoital daze, he apparently couldn’t keep his mind off them. His eyes shifted between Jeremy and her, until their gazes locked.
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