by Suzan Butler, Emily Ryan-Davis, Cari Quinn, Vivienne Westlake, Sadie Haller, Holley Trent
Which only made him love her more.
There was that word again. That feeling. Was that what this was? Did he love her?
He lusted for her, dreamed about her, adored her passion and her sense of humor. He even adored the part of her that always wanted to be practical and useful. The part of her that never balked at cleaning his open wound or bathing a complete stranger.
She was the first and last thing on his mind every day. Hmmm.
He turned her to him and kissed her, slipping his hands into the robe, which was far too masculine for her sumptuous curves. She deserved delicate muslins and beautiful brocades. Laces and gold threads would complement the fine jewels he could give her.
He’d start with emeralds, which would bring out the green in her hazel eyes. Next, he would try rubies and garnets to match the flush in her skin when she slipped back into her proper demeanor. No, it would match the fire in her, the heat that she revealed only to him. And he would bring her diamonds. Diamonds so that everyone who looked at her would know how much she was treasured.
As he lifted his face and looked into hers, he realized he was besotted. When he’d lost his memory, he’d lost his mind, too. He never allowed himself to become too attached in his relationships. He had fun, he devoted himself to his lovers’ pleasure, but when he needed to move on, he never gave a second glance.
Would he still feel this way in a month or two when he was gone? Perhaps the intensity of his feelings would subside once he no longer spent each day in her company. He must feel this way because he was too accustomed to her presence.
* * * *
Violet sank into the hot water, praying that the day never ended. Waking up with Kit reminded her of how safe she felt enveloped in his arms. She’d slept more soundly than she had in months.
When she thought of last night, how he’d bound and blinded her, rendering her completely helpless to his assault, she flushed. His assertiveness and creativity surprised her. He made every moment feel vibrant and alive, like racing a horse at full speed.
Even now, her heart beat faster at the thought of him.
Violet dipped her towel into the water and steamed her face. She’d sent Miriam away so that she could have a moment alone. The truth was, she didn’t want the girl to see the bruises from Kit’s intense lovemaking.
“Lord help me,” she whispered. She would let that man chain her to a dungeon wall if it meant he would kiss and stroke her from head to toe. He never pushed her farther than she could go, but she was afraid of the dark need within her. The need for him to strip her down bare, to divest her of the walls of her control, until she was a mass of dough ready to be kneaded by his deft fingers.
What kind of woman let a man tie her up and tickle her until she screamed? What kind of woman wanted a man to spank her until her bottom was red and chafed? And what kind of man would do that to his lover?
She should run. But she did not dare. With Kit, she felt alive. There was no pretense. No compulsion to be the dutiful widow, no need to see to every minute detail of the household, no obligation to be anything but herself.
How could she run away from that freedom? Because in his arms, she yielded her body, but her soul was free.
Chapter Eleven
Nine days later
As Violet took a sip of steaming hot tea, Kit leaned across the desk. The smell of bacon and eggs permeated her study. She reached for a scone, but he stole it from her fingers.
“I want to build a snowman.”
“What?”
“It’s a crisp morning, and the snow is fresh and thick outside. Let us go and build a snowman.”
“It is cold outside, and yesterday, you got dizzy when you tried to mount your horse. I think we should stay indoors.”
She took a bite of her eggs and noticed that he’d hardly touched his plate. For a man who ate about as much as a boar, this was a rarity.
“I have been indoors for far too long, I want to enjoy the snow. I want to play with you in the snow.”
She filched the half-eaten scone from his fingers. “If you think I am going to let you lift up my skirts and pummel me into the icy ground, you are wrong. It is bad enough when you tried to fondle me in the stables. What if Hinkley had seen you?”
He lowered his voice. “As much as I would love to have you naked under me and torture your nipples with snow and chips of ice, that is not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“When I was a boy, we would go out into the field and make scarecrows in the autumn and snowmen in the winter.” Sometimes he would throw apples at the scarecrows until they fell over, which often resulted in Bella screaming at him for wasting their hard work.
“Are you remembering more of your past?” Violet asked after swallowing the last bite of the scone.
“Not really,” Kit lied. “I mean I remember playing in the snow and getting toys at Christmastide and I recall picking apples in the autumn, but how does that help me to recover my identity?”
“It is a start. Every bit you remember tells you something about yourself. It may not be your name, but it solidifies your sense of who you are.”
She was so earnest. He should save them both the pain by telling her the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Every day he spent with her was a day he was free. There were no obligations, no lectures from Bella and Freddy, nothing he had to do but treasure every moment with Violet.
“So what do you say? Shall we go and build a snowman?”
“I have never done such a thing before.”
“Then I will teach you.”
After they finished breakfast, Violet went to change into her wool stockings and Kit asked Mrs. Norris for a scarf and greatcoat. His was still stained from the shooting, but the divergent color was only noticeable up close. He’d have to order a new coat once he got to Oakfield.
Violet came down in a green pelisse and matching hat. She wore thick gloves and a yellow scarf. When she took the last step, he grabbed her waist and kissed her.
Her eyes went wide. “Kit!”
“I wanted to thank you for agreeing to go out today,” he said. He adjusted her cap, which had gone askew, grabbed her hand and led her outside.
They trekked a few yards until he saw a spot where the snow was especially thick. In his pockets, he had a few buttons, a pipe, and an old red cap.
“Gather up the snow into a pile,” he instructed.
Violet crouched down and used her arms to sweep the snow into a pile.
“Now, see if you can shape the pile into a large round ball.”
As she worked, he gathered his own pile of show to add to hers. They packed the snow as tightly as possible, running their hands around the circumference and shaping the powder and slush as best they could.
Once they’d gotten a semi-round mound, he went to work on the next layer. As he scooped and packed the snow into a smaller ball, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun doing something so simple.
“My ball is melting, Kit.”
“Keep packing it with ice, as the snow melts, it will harden together. Even if our snowman only lasts for a day, it will be alright. We can always try again tomorrow!”
Violet laughed. “That is, if you can drag me out again tomorrow.”
“I can think of a few enticements,” he said. “Perhaps it is time for a new wager.” He pointed a finger at her. “Though you have not made good on the last one.”
Why she hesitated, he did not know. Was she afraid to tie him up? Or did she have some wicked plan that he had yet to discern?
She did not respond to his accusation. Instead, she came over to him and looked at his ball of snow. “Yours looks so much neater than mine.”
“I have done this before. You merely need practice.”
“Hmpf.” She spun around and walked in the other direction. He saw her bend down to start a new ball.
“We will ne
ed arms and a head, so why don’t you try a smaller ball?”
He carried his ball over to the larger one. It was too small, but he would build more upon it. Glancing back at Violet, he saw her furrowed brow and tried not to chuckle. She took this far too seriously.
He stomped through the snow to where she stood. “It is not about doing it perfectly. Just have fun with it,” he said, cupping a handful of snow and shaping it.
Before she knew what he was about, he threw the snowball at her chest.
“You devil!”
She bent down and grabbed a hunk of snow and crushed it in her palm before throwing it at him.
They volleyed snow missiles at one another until Kit threw one that hit Violet so hard that she fell onto her derrière. Kit plopped down into the snow beside her and wrapped her into his arms.
“Very good, angel.”
“But I fell.”
“The point of this is to have fun. You were having fun. I consider that a success.”
Sometimes Violet was so serious, so intent on doing everything exactly right, on taking care of every little detail that she missed out on the little joys of life. He hoped to remedy that before he left.
“Now, shall we finish our snowman?” he asked.
“Yes.”
It took an hour to get it put together and he was more of a blob than a proper snowman, but they managed it.
Kit put in four small buttons for the mouth, two big buttons for the eyes and stuck the pipe into his face. He remembered the red wool cap and put it on.
“We need a nose,” Violet said as they admired their handiwork. “And the balls for the arms didn’t quite work.”
“Let me see what I can find,” Kit said. He looked around, trying to think of something. He found two branches that were suitable for arms and plunged them into the side of the melting snowman.
“Now what of the nose?” he asked.
Violet bit the corner of her lip. “Hmmmm…” She wrapped her arm around Kit’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Such a simple thing, but it was the first time she’d done something like that outside of the bedchamber. He gripped her waist and pressed her close, wanting the moment to last forever.
But she slipped out of his arms and turned toward him with twinkling eyes and a big smile. “I have an idea!”
She took his hand and ran forward, pulling him along after her. She dug into the basket of food they’d brought with them. Violet thrust her hand in and pulled out a large walnut, still in its shell.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think it will work.”
They ran back to their little ice man and Kit bowed and gestured for Violet to put on the finishing touch. She wiggled the walnut into the empty spot and surprised Kit by throwing her arms around him and giving him a big kiss on the mouth.
Though he loved her hungry, devouring kisses, he liked this spontaneous and affectionate side of her, too. The kiss was warm rather than hot, but he enjoyed it just the same.
“Shall we see if there are any more apples left on the trees?” he asked, not wanting to go inside yet.
“Yes, though most of the trees are barren, we might find a few left.”
She looped her arm in his and ran forward toward a copse of trees and Kit tried to keep pace with her.
When the dark thoughts teased the edges of his mind, he focused on Violet’s face and ignored them. Tomorrow would take care of tomorrow. For today, he had everything he wanted.
* * * *
The next day, Kit and Violet sat together at the large polished dining table while Mrs. Norris hummed and carried over a plate of pound cake. His mouth watered as he eyed the dessert. She cut slices for them and Kit couldn’t help but moan when he took a bite.
“Glad you like it, sir.” Mrs. Norris puffed out her chest and smiled.
“I love it.”
“Let me have a bite,” Violet said.
He took another slice of cake and held it out for her to take a bite. The dessert tasted like baked gold sprinkled with the sweetest honey. He’d never tasted anything so delicious in his life, except perhaps for Violet.
She opened her mouth to accept the morsel of food, but he smeared it into her face. When her tongue came out to lick the moist cake from her lips, he kissed her. It was a double taste of heaven.
Just like the last week and a half. They’d spent nearly every minute together. He sat with her when she went over her accounts. He went with her to the market to buy a new hog and two cows. In the evenings, they played chess, piquet or hazard after dinner. Sometimes they sat at the pianoforte and sang a ballad.
Since it was a bit too cold to go back outside and play with their snowman today, Violet coerced Kit into looking over fashion plates. She wanted a suit made for him in time for Christmas, which was in a fortnight. She was convinced he should wear a cherry red jacket.
As Violet wiped her lips with a napkin, he resumed the argument. They sat at the mahogany dining table, with silks, woolens, linens, and cottons of various colors splayed before them.
“I have no intention of dressing up as a tomato for Yuletide.”
“You are hardly short and round, so I doubt anyone should mistake you for a tomato, sir.”
“There is nothing wrong with a black jacket and trousers and a cream waistcoat.”
“What is to distinguish that from any other occasion?” She took a sip from her teacup.
“Well, then a navy jacket with brass buttons.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are hopeless.”
“You are almost—” He stopped himself from completing the sentence. He was going to say that she was almost as stubborn as his sister, Bella. But he did not want the reminder of his past to spoil their afternoon.
“I am what?”
“You are almost as stubborn as I am.”
“Perhaps we’ll soon test that theory,” she said and the low tone of her voice made him perk up.
When he glanced at her, her head was down to examine a light fabric with green stripes. He could not see her eyes.
Nine days had passed, but she still hadn’t tied him down and ravished him. He’d brought it up that night, but she reminded him that she would claim her prize at her own discretion and he would have to wait.
He had a feeling she wanted to keep him on edge, wondering where and when she would force him to yield. It was driving him crazy.
“Is that a promise, angel?”
“Wait and see.” She could have been speaking about whether to have beef or mutton for dinner from her lack of inflection.
“You are merciless.”
Her head snapped up and she stared at him. “Why is that?”
“I think you delight in torturing me. You have the advantage, yet you do not use it.”
She handed him a goldenrod-colored velvet. “What about the yellow? And perhaps you can trim the lapel with this one?” She handed him a black swatch.
“Better.”
“We should make a few different suits.”
“Please tell me you do not intend to dress me up for each of the twelve days of Christmas.” He rolled his eyes. “I will not do it.”
“No, do not be silly. But at least four. You’ll need one for Christmas and another for Epiphany and at least one more in case we attend any festivities in the village. And of course, you’ll need your black jacket and trousers for standard evening attire.”
He did not tell her that he would not need three outfits as it was unlikely he would be here after Christmas. She wanted to plan for the holidays and he wanted to spend his time with her. So he would let her play dress-up and plan a new wardrobe if it made her happy.
“You have no intention of telling me when you will make good on your promise.” He handed her a swatch of a wine-colored wool. “That is cruel.”
“Hmmm. I like this.” She put it in the basket with the fabrics they intended to us
e.
“Violet.”
“I am no more cruel than you, Kit.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You who like to bend me over the bed and bind my hands with curtain cords.”
“But I generally give you warning before I do so.”
“You have already had your warning.”
He’d never thought he would meet his match. Violet truly was as stubborn as he, though he never felt chafed with her the way he did with Isabella.
“Now you should let me plan a gown for you,” he said.
“Oh, really?” She leaned her face on her left elbow and looked over at him. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let me see the plates.”
She handed him the fashion drawings and he looked for the elements he wanted. Sheer fabrics. A neckline so low that it could scarcely be worn in public. He picked a black sheer Swiss fabric that had little raised dots and black lace. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and drew an impromptu sketch based on two of the fashion plates. He envisioned a sheer overlay of the Swiss over a thin black cotton with lace trim under the bust and lace ruffles that peeked out underneath the hem like a petticoat.
“I am not wearing black at Christmas. And I could not walk outside in that!”
He flashed her a wolfish grin. “Who said that you would ever step outside in it?”
She blushed redder than he’d ever seen her.
“No petticoat required.”
“You are a beast!”
“Would you have me any other way?” She picked up a fan from the table and whacked him on the shoulder. “I am sorry, my lady, but that will only spur my bullish nature.”
She gripped his chin and held his face close to hers. “Perhaps you need a firmer hand?”
“Aye.”
“I think that can be arranged.” Her voice skimmed over his skin like silk.
“You are serious?”
“Completely.”
Finally. As much as he loved pushing her down to the bed, loved tying her hands with whatever fabric or rope he had on hand, he was looking forward to having Violet inflict her will upon him.
