“You’d be very welcome,” she said softly. And he would. In all the time she’d been at Madame Chambon’s, Violet had never met a man as charming as Lord Belvedere.
“Ah well.” He began to neaten the draughts board, placing the scattered pieces in their rightful places. Violet couldn’t keep her eyes off his hands. They were long-fingered and gentle. Well, gentle when needed, and very successful in whipping up her long-dormant sexual impulses, too. She swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that brightened her cheeks as she recalled the clearly mutually enjoyable exploits that had so recently played out upon her bed.
He looked up. “Lightskirts are forbidden in my code of gallantry, and tonight will be a single lapse before I pick myself up after the tumultuous events of this afternoon and forge ahead as the gentleman I propose to be.”
Violet ignored the taunt to her calling. “I think you are more upset about being jilted than you would allow.”
“My pride was dented, it’s true, but I am more excited about the freedom ahead of me than I am downcast at losing face.”
Violet held out her empty glass, then raised it in a toast as the foaming liquid spilled over the edge. “Here’s to your freedom, my Lord. Go forth and make the most of it for not many of us know what freedom is.”
He raised his eyebrows as if her words surprised him, stopping with the glass poised at his lips. “And what is freedom for you, my lovely Violet?”
“Choosing the man upon whom I bestow my favours.” She regretted the words the moment they were out and hoped one of Madame’s spies didn’t have their ear to the wall. Gentlemen paid a fortune to come to this house in order to feel they were the centre of the universe.
“Ah, so that’s why you’re so pleased I’m here since you invited me back, and it’s clear we like one another.” In one swift movement, he placed his glass upon the chest of drawers and pushed her back onto the mattress, kissing her thoroughly on the mouth while one hand skimmed her thigh.
To Violet’s astonishment, her body responded with a skittering of pleasurable anticipation right the way up her spine while her womb pulsed with desire.
Until, to her equal surprise, her pleasure was replaced by a sense of desolation when he rolled off her and stood up, casting about for his shirt which he began pulling over his head.
“You have been utterly beguiling, my delicious Violet,” he said, as his head emerged and he positioned his stiffened collar before reaching for his trousers. His light-brown eyes sparkled. He truly did look like a man who was both satisfied yet regretful to be leaving.
But surely he’d come back?
“And, dear girl, you deserve all the freedom you desire.”
“So, freedom for you is simply not being married to Miss Mabel?” Violet couldn’t let him go without knowing more. “Is that all?”
“Freedom for me is adventuring across the seas to foreign lands. I was supposed to be heading off on my wedding tour to the Continent as we speak, but I’ve a notion that Africa will suit me far better.” As he worked to slide his cufflinks into place, his expression took on a faraway look. “Yes, Africa. There’s gold and diamonds to be discovered there. Perhaps I’ll book my passage to Cape Town the moment I step out of here. I could invest in a gold mine. And shoot some lions and tigers. After all, I’m a free man now without obligations for the very first time I can remember. I can do anything I want. You have no idea how wonderful it is to say those words out loud, Violet. I’m free.”
Violet watched him in silence. Already he was leaping forward in his life, envisioning all the marvellous opportunities that stretched ahead. She felt like weeping at the vast chasm between what each could hope for from their respective futures. Instead, she murmured, “There are no tigers in Africa.”
He stopped as he slid the second cufflink home, his lips trembling with suppressed amusement. “Not only beautiful, you are also clever, Violet. I was testing you, of course. Though what would you know about tigers?”
The pounding in her head made her close her eyes. What would she know about tigers? More than he’d ever find out, she thought painfully.
“A little,” she ventured. But he was too occupied with tidying himself to attend to her properly. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he turned and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Farewell, my lovely Violet. Thank you for this evening. You brought me back from the brink.”
“But now you will never think of me again. Or visit?”
Why had she said that? It sounded bitter, and that was something she’d sworn she would never be. Not like her grandmother who revelled in it, and who’d ensured the orphans thrust upon her would never know what it was like to be carefree as their punishment for being born.
He was halfway to the door but he turned, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face. What a handsome man he was, his well-cut suit highlighting his broad shoulders and long legs, his smile boyish and heartrending. In two strides, he returned to sweep her into his arms and kissed her deeply.
A long, languid, thorough kiss that left her shaking and desperate for more when they both came up for air.
For a moment, they remained clasped tightly in one another’s arms, the only sound their heavy breathing.
After a moment, he whispered, “No, I will not return, alas. But I’ve enjoyed what we shared.” He held her away from him and gently touched her lips with his forefinger. “It was a…particularly satisfying intimacy I could never engage in with a young lady I’d only just met.”
“You just did.”
“With a marriage prospect, then.” He cleared his throat and seemed to try for a brisker, more lighthearted tone. “Well now, my clever Violet who possesses such attention to detail, it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you.” He dropped his hands and made for the door. “I wish you all the best for your life. You never know, perhaps I’ll send a postcard from the Sudan or Cairo, for I don’t expect I’ll forget you in a hurry.”
“Please do. You can address it to Miss Violet Lilywhite," Violet murmured, wanting to imprint it on his brain. “And you can always ask for me by name if you can toss out your scruples and step over Madame’s threshold. Remember, it’s Violet, not Victoria. Violet like the colour of the sunsets you dream of experiencing in the dark continent and Lilywhite because” She touched her heart. “Though my soul may seem black with sin to you, now, it was lily white when I stumbled into this house.”
A shadow flickered across his face. He looked about to question her. Then he smiled; genuine and regretful as he put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m afraid I shan’t be back, but I shall certainly relive this lovely evening with you when I recline in my chair in the heart of the African bush and gaze at the setting sun. And I’ll certainly recommend you to the more discerning of my set. Decent fellows, they are. Because a girl like you deserves the best.”
Chapter 2
When Max stalked into the breakfast parlour at ten o’clock, feeling distinctly jaded following his exploits of the night before, he was dismayed to find it occupied.
“Rather late for you to be breakfasting, Aunt Euphemia,” he remarked, for she generally rose at six and liked to eat shortly afterwards.
“I’m not such a creature of habit,” the old lady said with a clearly fabricated attempt at artlessness. Max knew she’d been doggedly sitting here for hours just so she could waylay him. As of course she’d feel obliged to do.
Not that he intended calling her out on it.
Or indulging her desire for revisiting yesterday’s events.
After helping himself to haddock and eggs from the sideboard, he took a seat opposite her then pulled the newspaper towards him before hesitating. Did he really have the fortitude to see his public shame laid out in newsprint for the world to see? No doubt Aunt Euphemia had read the article three times.
“I don’t think you should read it, Max,” she said, dabbing her eyes with her lace handkerchief before stifling a little cough she was soon unable to con
trol.
A fortuitous interruption which might deflect her entirely from mentioning that which Max intended never to mention again. His marriage. Before, present, or future. He’d dodged a bullet and he was off to Africa to celebrate.
“I wonder if you’re well enough to be up and about, Aunt,” he said, frowning. “Has grandfather not called the doctor?”
“I’ve been consulting doctors for months and there’s nothing a doctor can do for me now, Max.” Her tone of resignation made him glance up from his food.
“What do you mean, Aunt?”
She didn’t meet his eye, but he studied her as she daintily tore a croissant in half. Her fingers had always been birdlike, but he observed for the first time that the rest of her was distinctly more birdlike than he remembered. Aunt Euphemia had never been a robust figure of health, but she’d dished out justice and hugs with the necessary strength to satisfy a young orphan boy who’d craved both.
“We all must go sometime, Max.”
He felt unaccountably panicked as he searched her face for refutation of that which she’d implied. “You’re far from old, Aunt Euphemia.” He didn’t know if he should grip her hand or what he should say. “You’ve caught a chill. We all suffer from inflammation of the chest but you’re taking a little longer to get better this time.”
Knowing that the sadness in her smile was sympathy for him and not self-pity doubled his pain. Watching her distress as another hacking cough gripped her was unbearable.
“I’d have liked longer but there it is,” she managed, dabbing at her mouth. She looked so frail in the harsh sunlight that filtered through the window that Max felt like leaping up and enfolding her in his arms. The buttered toast he tried to swallow tasted like ashes.
“I had so hoped to see you settled and happy.”
Max nearly said that the two certainly did not go together where he was concerned but thought better of it. Aunt Euphemia had always been such a hopeless romantic, and if it gave her pleasure to believe Max was like any normal, red-blooded young man who aspired to marrying the ‘right’ girl, he’d do it.
“I don’t know what possessed Mabel to do what she did. That letter she sent you made no sense at all.”
Max grunted. He’d received Mabel’s hastily scrawled missive when he’d arrived back from Madame Chambon’s, but by that stage was so buoyed up by spirits—whisky and euphoria from the wonderful time he’d had with that damned fine barque of frailty he’d met there—to care a jot for Mabel’s reasons for crying off.
She’d said she simply didn’t love him as he deserved to be loved, so what was good for the goose should be good for the gander. Clearly, romantic love was more important to Mabel than Max had understood, in which case she deserved better than be bound to him for life.
Aunt Euphemia coughed delicately. “You’d have been a good husband, Max. Kind. Considerate. There are few enough men who fall into that category. Mabel has made a grave error, and I only pray she’ll come to her senses before I’m in my grave.”
“Aunt, please don’t talk like that. It was for the best!” Max reached across and patted her hand, conscious of its papery feel, tempering the alarm in his tone. The thought of not having Aunt Euphemia to come home to once he’d sown his wild oats and returned to familial duty left him bereft.
He cleared his throat. “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t be more relieved.” If only to lessen her pain, he had to reassure her that he was not brokenhearted. Which he wasn’t. He’d been piqued and embarrassed but that had quickly given way to relief. As for his grandfather, let him believe what he liked. Max felt no sense of responsibility for pleasing the old man who’d criticised Max his whole life.
But Aunt Euphemia was in a different category. Max would do anything to make her happy. He began to stroke her hand, smiling to try and erase the sadness from her eyes.
“Oh, you say it, Max, but what will you do now? You and Mabel were to be married after having known each other for so very many years. A whole wonderful world of family and domesticity has been snatched from you by her cruel and selfish behaviour of yesterday.”
Max laughed softly. If only his aunt knew how desperately Max had railed against the notion of family and domesticity. As his marriage had drawn closer, he’d felt increasingly trapped and desperate.
But that’s not what his aunt wanted to hear. She’d spent most of her adult life in mourning for the one true love her brother had refused to allow her.
He gently chafed the backs of her hands from across the breakfast table. “I’d only admit it to you, Aunt Euphemia, but I wasn’t in love with Mabel, nor she with me. We were doing what our grandfathers wanted rather than following our own hearts. But Mabel was braver than me. She cried off and I applaud her for it.”
“Oh no, Max!” Aunt Euphemia’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been childhood sweethearts for fifteen years.”
“We’ve known each other as neighbours for fifteen years,” Max corrected her. “And we were too young and ignorant to object when our grandfathers conceived the notion that we should become betrothed. I’ve never felt romantic love for Mabel nor she for me. She’ll be much happier with some worthy and deserving husband who can lavish her with the attention and compliments I never could. In fact, I’d not be surprised if she made such an announcement before the year was over.”
“Mabel was in love with someone else?” His aunt gasped, pulling back her hands to put them to her face.
“I’m almost sure of it.”
Aunt Euphemia’s mouth trembled. “And what about you, Max? That’s all very well for Mabel, but now you’ve been abandoned. You’re all alone with no one to love yet you’re in the prime of your life.” She dropped her hands and raised her chin, her look determined. “I shall find you someone, Max. Before I go, and if it’s the last thing I do, I will see you happily settled with a young woman who deserves you.” She squared her shoulders, and an alarming note of enthusiasm crept into her voice as she continued, “The London season is just around the corner. I shall ensure you are invited to every event worth attending. Never mind that you’ve been embarrassed, I shall see that it’s to your advantage—”
“Aunt, please… no!” Max had to stop her. This was the last thing he wanted. He was off to Africa, and there was an end to it. He’d intended booking his ticket this very day.
Cut off in midstride, his aunt blinked at him. “But Max, you’re nearly twenty-six. You have family obligations. You must marry.”
That might be sadly true, but his grandfather was still in good health and had no intention of handing over the reins to let Max run the estate for a good number of years yet. This was the perfect opportunity for Max to run away to sea or to hunt lions or discover diamonds. His sudden and unexpected release yesterday from the shackles of matrimony had fired him up with renewed enthusiasm for life.
“But Aunt, I don’t want to be dragged about London ballrooms and drawing rooms in search of a wife.” He’d have to be honest or his aunt would find some way of altering his resolve. She might be frail, but Max knew he’d be dangerously susceptible to agreeing to a night out here and an event there, just because it would please her so much.
She pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly as if to stem the tears he could see glittering in her surprisingly clear blue eyes. His aunt had never been a beauty, but he could see how her sweet nature would have been appealing to the suitor she’d spoken of so wistfully over the years. The suitor her brother had sent packing because he didn’t have the pocketbook or address Aunt Euphemia’s older and exacting brother deemed worthy of the family.
“Don’t run the danger of closing your heart off to sentiment just because of what happened yesterday,” she said softly. “I may have been disappointed in love but let me tell you that it’s the greatest emotion a person can feel.” She pressed a trembling hand to her breast. “I would not go to my grave without the knowledge that you’ve been touched by it too, my boy.” She took a shuddering breath. “Y
ou’re the closest to a son I’ve had, and you lost your darling mother—and your father—much too young. All your life you’ve been looking for love, Max. Don’t start pretending to me, now, that you don’t need it.”
“Please, Aunt, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” Max was feeling rather desperate and beleaguered right now. “I simply said I didn’t want to be paraded all about London in search of a wife.”
“And I’ll not go to my grave knowing you are lonely and still looking for love, Max.”
“But you won’t. I mean, you’re not going to your grave for a good long time, besides.” He looked down, buttering another piece of toast he didn’t think he could eat.
“It’s what the doctor says, Max, and there’s the truth. Another winter as cold as the last will see the end of me. That’s why I need to put my affairs in order. Doctor’s orders.”
She sounded more resolute and accepting than Max could have imagined anyone would be following such a dire pronouncement.
He swallowed. Not his toast, but the lump in his throat. “Then the last thing you need is to squire me around—if that’s the right term—in the hopes of hitching me up with some worthy female before season’s end.”
“It is the very thing I need,” she said stolidly.
“But…but pointless,” Max responded, flailing as he found himself unable to drag his gaze away from her gimlet eye. “Pointless because…because my heart is already engaged to another.”
“Oh, Max! Why didn’t you say? So it’s not only Mabel whose affections have been engaged elsewhere?”
Max hesitated. The way her face lit up at the thought that romance might be in the air gave him a jolt of pleasure. But only momentarily. This was one lie he’d have to extricate himself from, so he’d better not get himself in too deep at the outset.
“Penniless, unfortunately. Totally unsuitable. Grandfather would never countenance it. No more to be said, really.” He began to chew, his thoughts in turmoil, hoping his aunt would be satisfied.
Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London Book 4) Page 2
