It couldn’t be. But… it was. She turned, as did those either side of her, and his eyes met hers.
Violetta.
Here.
When he had thought never to see her again.
Unaware of the turmoil in Kit’s mind, Dash was introducing him.
“…and this is my cousin Violetta, the Countess of Caldicot. You may have met some of the guests before, but perhaps not, as you were on the continent for so long. But come, be seated, and let us all eat.”
Dash urged him forward, and a footman pulled out what Kit realised was the only empty chair at the table – the one right beside Violetta. He swallowed, fighting the irrational urge to turn and flee the room. His eyes were still on her as he sat, and whilst her face was an impassive mask now, for those first few seconds, it has been filled with as much shock as he had felt.
Suddenly, the week or so to Christmas stretched before him like an eternity of torture. His hope of a Christmas which might finally be enjoyable had been shattered in an instant.
*****
The footman deposited slices of various meats onto her plate, and Violetta sipped her wine, relaxing. She knew a number of those present, but most were people she had not met before. Dash had a very eclectic circle of friends, so the time from now until Christmas should be quite interesting. There was enough variety amongst these people to keep her entertained. She wondered who had just arrived – for a footman had come in, whispered in Dash’s ear, and Dash had left with him.
She set her wine glass down, just as footsteps sounded behind her - Dash returning with the new arrival. She took her time about turning in her chair to see who it was, but before she had even half turned, her mind had registered what Dash was saying, and she froze in place.
“Everyone, I make known to you Christophe Bourdain, the Duke of Lustering. We met in Italy, quite some years ago. Christophe, present at the table we have….”
The rest of Dash’s words faded from Violetta’s awareness, irrelevant. What mattered was that Kit was standing there beside Dash. Kit was the late arrival. She had not been aware that Dash knew Kit, and she was quite certain that Dash was not aware of the fact that she and Kit had been lovers. Certainly, Dash knew somewhat of her past history – but she had never, in conversation with him, named names.
“…and this is my cousin Violetta, the Countess of Caldicot. You may have met some of the guests before, but perhaps not, as you were on the continent for so long. But come, be seated, and let us all eat.”
Dash finished speaking, as her eyes met Kit’s. He looked as horrified as she felt. She forced her expression to bland politeness, her heart thundering, her mouth dry, as he took the seat beside her. His scent came to her, bearing as always, a cloud of inescapable memories. She reached for her wine again, almost shaking. There was, now, little hope that the time until Christmas would be enjoyable.
The footman served him, and everyone around the table settled to eating, once Dash had resumed his seat beside Mariel.
“Well. This is certainly not what I expected, when I bid you farewell, mere hours ago.”
His voice, whilst light and almost amused in tone, held a vibration of something else, as if he was truly shaken to find her here. Sharp anger ran through her – she had as much right as he to be here – more, perhaps, as Dash was her cousin.
“It is not what I expected either, Kit – and certainly not what I would have chosen, had there been a choice.”
“What Vee? Do you imply that my company is so abominable that you would avoid it?”
She turned and met his eyes again, their green gold depths holding her, pulling her in.
“You know damned well that I would. After the last few days… why should I expect your behaviour to be acceptable? It wasn’t ten years ago, and it isn’t now. I would ask you to not seek my company, whilst we are here. I would not wish to upset my cousin by causing a scene – and given how just your presence provokes me…”
“Such language for a lady… and you wound me again. I thought that we had, at least, reached some accommodation, over the last few days. Was I that inadequate a lady’s maid?”
She glared at him. He was doing it on purpose, provoking her here, where she must maintain a semblance of good manners before a room full of people. There was nothing for it – she would have to utterly ignore him, there was no other viable option.
She sipped wine, and ate, all the while utterly conscious of his presence beside her, his leg close to hers under the table. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Then her eyes shot open in shock. She turned to him, furious, to be met by that aloof and amused gaze again. He was laughing at her, even as he…
Even as he trailed his fingers along her thigh, under the table, whilst he sat there, sipping wine, and pretending that he did no such thing. She set her cutlery down, and lifted her wine in one hand, letting the other hand fall down to her lap.
It was difficult trying to push his hand away, whilst looking as if nothing was wrong, nothing was happening. Especially with him watching her, so full of cruel amusement. Where was the man who had gently bid her farewell, just this afternoon? This was more the man who she had found in the Inn Common Room, when she had fallen in out of the storm.
She pushed his hand away, but instead of moving it, he twisted it, and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Her breath left her in a gasp. Memory flared, of moments when they had touched like this, moments when they had been so hungry for the feel of the other, that the touch of a hand had been heaven.
She took a large drink of her wine, and sat perfectly still, completely unresponsive, even while the stroking of his thumb on the back of her hand drove trails of heat through her body. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, his touch enflamed her.
The footmen cleared away the plates, and brought out the dessert dishes – which allowed her, finally, to retrieve her hand, and forced him to remove his from her thigh, so that he could eat. It was almost, but not quite, a relief – not quite, because the heat remained where his hand had been, searing her, branding her soul with memories of him touching her far more intimately.
When, finally, the meal was done, and the men rose to go to the library for port, Violetta felt oddly bereft without his presence, even while she was grateful that he was gone. This was going to be a very difficult few days.
As the women went towards the parlour, Mariel came to her, a small frown on her brow.
“Is all well with you, Violetta? You looked… uncomfortable… all through dinner. Is it… is it something to do with the Duke? He seems a pleasant enough man, and Dash values his friendship, but… is there something I should know?”
“All is well enough – I am just tired, after the last few days, and not in the mood for light conversation.”
Mariel regarded her seriously for a moment, then gave a little smile.
“Why do I not believe that? But I will not pry. However, if you do wish to talk about it, I am happy to hide away somewhere private with you, and listen. I would not have you be distressed.”
“Thank you. I will seek you, or Dash, if there is anything I need to talk about.”
*****
Dashiell Hardstone, Marquess of Longwood, had rapidly come to the conclusion that his cousin and his friend had met before this evening, no matter what they had implied. There was a tension between them which positively sizzled, and an undercurrent of what he could only describe as anger.
Curiosity filled him. And concern. He cared about Violetta, for she had always been his favourite cousin, and he knew that her childhood had not been easy, no matter how little she had ever admitted of that. If something was not right with her, he wanted to help, if he could.
Perhaps, if he could arrange things correctly, he might get the chance to speak to each of them, privately, and discover more of what drove that tension. As the men moved into the library, Dash made sure that he ended up sitting beside Christophe, on one of the couches near the fire. Once
they had all been supplied with port or brandy, he cautiously breached the subject.
“Chris… it seemed to me that you might have met my cousin before tonight?”
Green-gold eyes met his, and Christophe’s lips twisted into a wry, almost self-mocking smile.
“You always were too damned observant, Dash. Yes, I first met Violetta a long time ago. In circumstances which I do not wish to discuss. I was not aware that she was your cousin – had I known she would be here, I would have declined your invitation, for the comfort of everyone.”
“That sounds rather… intense… as a reaction to the presence of someone you have known for a long time. Is there something I should know?”
Chris laughed softly.
“Intense? Yes, well, almost anything to do with Violetta is likely to be intense. I promise to be on my best behaviour, and not disturb your other guests. As to whether there is anything you should know… I think that I prefer to keep my sordid history to myself. But should that change, I will be sure to seek you out, to burden you with it.”
Dash looked at the man before him, remembering what he had been like in Italy, remembering a man far more light-hearted than this, although with the same genial presentation to the world. Obviously, he kept much of himself hidden.
“If you feel the need to talk about it, I assure you, I won’t find it a burden. I’ve seen my share of intense moments, this last year.”
Chris laughed again, differently, more genuinely.
“So I’ve heard. Do tell me about this museum of yours, and the tale of how you tricked society into regarding a Museum of Human Eroticism as the place to be seen? Does it hold all of your collection? Or only part?”
“Only part. Some is still here at Longwood Peak. It’s quite a tale – and it’s also the tale of how I came to meet my lovely wife.”
Dash allowed Chris the change of topic, and settled in to tell him the story, but the puzzle of his association with Violetta remained, in the back of his mind.
*****
She was right, Kit thought, he was cruel.
But no matter how much he had found himself softening towards her, trapped in that Inn, he still didn’t trust her, didn’t, entirely, believe any protestation of innocence which might emerge from her mouth. And the opportunity to bedevil her had been too much to resist.
If he was to have his chance of a pleasant Christmas destroyed by her presence, then he would continue to provoke her, in the hope that she might say something which would explain their very divergent apparent remembrances of the past. Perhaps even do more than just provoke her… for the memory of their searing kisses at the Inn was almost as strong as that of kisses ten years gone.
The feel of her fingers twined with his had brought its own freight of memories, and when the men had moved to the library for port, he had been relieved to step away from her, yet loath to leave her presence. Somehow, she induced a madness in him, a confusion of the mind.
When Dash had asked him about it, he had chosen not to lie – if Dash could so clearly see that he and Violetta knew each other, then denial was pointless – but that did not mean he wished to speak of it, in any detail. His usual mask of geniality was far safer than any deep and honest conversation – even if, as he suspected was the case, Dash recognised it for the mask that it was.
Chapter Nine
Violetta spent the time in the parlour with the other women talking, but also dreading the moment when the men would join them again. Given that Kit had had the audacity to touch her like that, at the dinner table, what else might he dare, with others present?
It was one thing to have had an Inn full of strangers believing her a trollop, it would be another entirely for her cousin and his houseguests to do so!
But when the men came into the parlour, Kit simply regarded her with a slightly sardonic smile, and then pretended she did not exist. Which left her feeling hurt, instead of happy. She was becoming as confused by her own feelings as she was by his words.
She turned her eyes away from him, and tried her best to pretend that he was not there. In which attempt she did not succeed – but she did at least manage to have an interesting conversation with Mariel, and her friend Selina.
In the end, she excused herself quite early, claiming fatigue from travelling, and took herself up to bed. Kit’s eyes followed her as she left the room – she could feel it, as if he had physically touched her. She did not, however, allow herself to turn and meet that gaze – she would not give him the pleasure of knowing that he affected her so.
Despite her tiredness, sleep was a long time coming, and laden with dreams – of Kit’s kisses, and of that night, so long ago, when he had not come for her, as he’d promised.
*****
The next day, Kit accepted Dash’s invitation to ride with him, as he went out to see how his tenant farmers had fared through the storm. Most of the other men had declined to join them, being more interested in lounging about by the fire and spending their time in idle conversation. The crisp cold air felt refreshing, and being away from the house for some time made Kit feel less trapped – for in the house, he might, at any moment, come face to face with Violetta.
How he was going to manage a week or more in the same house with her he did not know – for any conversation they had was as like to become argumentative, or close to that, and lead to nothing good - at least, any conversation where others were close by. If they were alone, then their conversation might take another tack entirely – either angry accusations and avoidance of truth about the past, or fiery physical interaction which they both did, and did not, want.
But here, with more than twenty people, and all of the servants in the house, what chance was there that they might be alone?
Precious little, he thought, unless they actively colluded to arrange it – which seemed most unlikely.
As he rode, talking with Dash about their respective estates, assessing the damage the storm had wrought to cottages and farm buildings, Kit found himself surprisingly at peace. Dash spoke of his life since they had seen each other last, and Kit discovered that he envied the man. Dash had a relationship with his wife, built on love and trust, which was very much what he had once hoped to have with Violetta.
Would he ever have that sort of love?
The whisper of thought in his mind shocked him – ‘you already do’ – and he pushed it aside, with all of its implications. There was no going back from what Violetta had done, no reclaiming the foolish hopes of youth – for to do so would require trust, and that trust had been broken, absolutely.
When they returned to the house, Kit gathered a few books from the library, and shut himself away in his guest suite, finding the Christmas cheer of the decorations downstairs entirely too much, too out of alignment with the nature of his thoughts.
With the exception of dinner, when he was seated at the opposite end of the table from her, he did not see Violetta that day – but no matter his attempts to read and the like, she was never far from his thoughts.
After dinner was long over, and most people had taken to their beds, he went back down to the library, seeking something different to read, perhaps an old favourite, in the hope that he would find it more absorbing. The house was quiet, and he saw no one in the hallways but a single footman. In the library, he set his lamp down on a side table, relying on the light from the dying fire to find the section of shelves he wanted.
It was only when he held the book in his hand, and turned back towards the door that he realised he was not alone.
The firelight gilded her dark hair, and drew sparks of light from her blue violet eyes, leaving the rest of her mostly in shadow, where she sat in the large wingbacked chair. Those eyes studied him, with an intensity which took his breath away, as if by looking at him, she might unravel the past.
“Vee.”
“Kit.”
He went to her, drawn by an invisible cord. She watched him come, unmoving. He should turn and leave, no good could come of th
is. But he did not. He came to a stop in front of the chair.
“Why? I did not understand the answer you gave me, at the Inn. I want to understand, why you so betrayed me as to marry Caldicot in haste.”
He had not planned to ask it. It had simply fallen from his lips, coloured by the anguish which he had carried for that ten years. She studied him, anger, frustration, and something more flickering across her face. Her voice, when it came, was sharp, bitter, but most of all, tired, as if the endless pain of it wearied her.
“I told you. I had no choice. To put it far more crudely, I was forced to it. By my father, and by the fact that you did not come. You were not there, when I might have escaped. You betrayed me, abandoned me, left me trapped. Are you happy, now that I have told you so baldly?”
Kit gaped at her, trying to process her words. He had been told… but she had just said… As he struggled with it, she rose, bringing her face mere inches from his.
“I…”
She sighed, and went to turn away. Without any conscious intent, he reached for her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. It was a kiss full of everything he could not put into words, of anguish, and uncertainty, a kiss loaded with his anger at her, at himself, and now at her father, if what she had just said meant what he thought it did.
For just a moment, she returned that kiss – then she stiffened, and tore herself from his grasp. He was still standing there, aching and confused, when the door clicked shut behind her.
It wasn’t until far later that night, on the edge of sleep, that his mind processed the other part of what she had said – that she had been forced because he had not come, when he was supposed to. Anguish filled him, and he cursed his father for an interfering fool – a fool who Kit was beginning to suspect had intentionally prolonged Kit’s drugged convalescence for a very specific reason.
*****
Violetta had gone to the library to simply sit and think, away from Amalie’s fussing over her, away from everyone else. All day, she had barely seen Kit, and, alarmingly, she had missed his presence. This simply would not do. She could not allow herself to be drawn in by a man who had betrayed her once already.
Christmas with THAT Duke: Regency Romance (Regency Scandals Book 3) Page 7
