by Lauren Royal
It was the difference between mere lust and true love. The difference that made his blood pump when before it had only flowed. The difference that aroused him nearly to the point of pain.
The difference that made her his.
Her mouth on him was sweet and hot, and he shuddered beneath her, her tender onslaught robbing him of his wits and his breath. And when at last he couldn’t stand any more, and he drew away and covered her with his body and slid into her welcoming warmth, he knew he was home. Home was wherever Violet was, and Violet was right here.
He shifted slowly within her, forcing himself to hold back, wanting to give her all the pleasure she was giving him. But her hands on his hips urged him on. And when he felt her peak for a second time, his heart gloried as he went with her.
For a very long time, he held her in his arms, kissing her hair and drawing in its sweet scent. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell. Usually one to turn over and go to sleep, he decided she must have enchanted him.
“I have a wedding present for you,” she said softly.
“Damnation.” The moment lost, he kissed her again, then sat up against the headboard. “I have nothing for you.”
“You sent me the feather, remember? And the ring is more than enough.” She smiled at it in the candlelight. Like Violet, it was simple: one large, rectangular amethyst with a row of small diamonds flanking each side. “It sparkles so,” she said. “It’s the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen.”
“A violet-colored gem for Violet. Amy made it. Especially for you.”
“But she’d only met me the once!”
“I think she captured you perfectly, though.”
“She did.” Still smiling, she dropped her hand. “Let me get your gift.”
When she slid from the bed and walked across the room, all he could think was that Violet undressed was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Gorgeous breasts rose above a curvy waist his hands itched to span. Flared hips led to long, shapely legs. Who’d ever have guessed all that was hidden beneath her plain gowns?
“Stop,” he said. “Right there.”
“What?” Her eyes darted furtively around. “Is there another hairy spider?”
“No.” He laughed. “I just wanted to look at you. You’re perfect.”
“I am not.” Self-consciously she folded her arms across her breasts. “I’m neither tall like Rose, nor petite like Lily. Neither plump nor slender.”
“Exactly. You’re perfect. Now, what have you brought me?”
“Just this.” Slipping back into the bed, she handed him a package wrapped in fabric, gathered and tied with ribbons on both ends.
He felt its shape. “A book? For a wedding present?”
“Just open it.” She grinned, looking so excited he thought if he didn’t hurry, his beautiful, naked wife might actually bounce on the bed.
He pulled off the ribbons, letting the fabric fall open.
And the breath left his body.
He stared down at it a moment, then raised his gaze to meet hers. “Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. How—how did you get this?”
“I bought it. With my inheritance.”
“From Newton?”
“From you.”
He pushed it into her hands. “Give it back. I won’t have you sacrificing your own dreams for this book. I’ve already given it up, and I’m not sorry for the bargain.” His voice sounded rough to his own ears, and he forced himself to gentle it. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, my love. It’s just that—”
“No. You’re not understanding. I bought it, Ford. In the first place. Rand told me you’d instructed him to sell it, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t let you sacrifice your prized possession just to convince me of your love.”
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. It was a moment before words would come, and when they finally did, he had only three.
“I love you.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
IT WASN’T THE first morning Ford had awakened with a woman in his bed, but it was the first time with Violet. The first time that really counted.
At first he just lay there a while, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, enjoying the color he’d put in her cheeks, her lips still rosy from their middle-of-the-night encounters. Finally, unable to help himself, he reached out, brushing the side of her face with the backs of his fingers.
“Ford?”
“Hush, my sweet. Sleep.”
With a sigh, he rose so she could do so. Quietly he padded to the washbasin and splashed his face, then reached for a towel.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
What kind of a man was he? He’d thought he was doing the right thing, the responsible thing, when he’d sold the book to save Lakefield. He’d been so pleased with himself when he’d managed to make his home livable and still have money left to last for a while until the estate could turn a profit. It was the first time in his life he hadn’t spent every shilling the moment he laid hands on it.
Last night, when Violet returned the book, he’d been stunned and thrilled to discover the depth of her love and generosity. But as he studied himself this morning, reality set in.
Bloody hell, her money had paid for everything. And would continue to pay their expenses for the next few months, at least.
He closed his eyes, guilt battering his newfound happiness. Never mind that he was accustomed to living hand to mouth, he was now a married man. Shouldn’t he be the provider?
Society said not necessarily, but his heart told him yes. Especially because he’d been telling Violet that all along.
Straightening, he looked in the mirror again and ordered himself to come to terms with it. Like it or not, his new wife had been his anonymous benefactor. At this point, all he could do was resolve to work hard, and not in his laboratory. Instead, on his land and in his study—he would do whatever it took to make sure his renovated estate proved successful.
As he tossed the towel to the washstand, his gaze fell on Secrets of the Emerald Tablet. He would ask Rand—the scheming bastard—to resume the translation, too. But he would no longer depend on an ancient book to rescue him. Gold wasn’t waiting at the end of rainbows. Or in an alchemy crucible, either.
Someday, somehow, he would provide Violet with the funds to publish her book. But the way it looked now, he thought with a resigned sigh, “someday” was far in the future.
A knock came at the bedroom door. He hurried into his breeches and went to answer it.
“Will you be wanting breakfast, milord?”
He looked from Hilda to Violet. “In an hour,” he whispered. “My wife is still abed.”
My wife. His heart swelled at hearing his own words.
“She’ll wake, will she not? It’s hot and ready now. Eggs and cheese. This new French cook certainly is fancy.” Hilda shoved a heavy tray into his hands. “Your mail is there, too.”
Openmouthed, he watched her sway down the corridor before he shut the door. “If I cannot control my servants,” he muttered, “how will I deal with my children?”
“You never did manage to control Jewel.”
“Too true.” He turned and put the tray on the bed. “You’re awake.”
“And famished.” Violet struggled to sit and spooned up a bite of the rich dish, puffed from oven baking and redolent with the scent of sharp Italian cheese.
He sat beside her and sipped coffee from a steaming cup. Setting it down, he took the first letter and snapped open the seal.
“‘Dear Lord Lakefield,’” he read aloud, thinking it might be a congratulatory note on their wedding. “‘I am writing on behalf of my client, Daniel Quare, Watchmaker, who is very interested in buying the rights to produce your patented watch. Please find enclosed a contract—’” He looked up. “What the devil…?”
Violet’s face was pure white. “Oh my. They’ve responded. I gave them two weeks, and it’s been way over that, so—”
“You gave them two weeks to what?”
“To agree to buy your watch before I took my offer elsewhere. Your offer, I mean.” Some color rushed back into her cheeks. “I signed your name.”
His wife was obviously confused from lack of sleep. “I haven’t patented my watch, darling. I haven’t even shown it to the Royal Society yet—”
“I patented it. I wrote to Christopher Wren and asked for instructions. I remembered him saying he’d patented a device for writing with two pens at once.”
“You sold my watch?” It was all beginning to click into place. Shaking his head in disbelief, he scanned farther down the page. His heart stopped. “You sold my watch for twenty thousand pounds? Twenty thousand pounds!”
His heart had started again, but it was about to hammer right through his ribs.
“Twenty thousand?” She grabbed the letter from him. “Is that all they’ve offered?” she said, sounding disgusted.
“All? All! Violet, it’s twice the amount of your inheritance!”
She looked up from the page. “But I asked for twenty-five. What makes them think they can get away with a contract for twenty?”
He started laughing. And laughing. “T-t-t-twenty-five,” he forced out. “You asked for twenty-five.”
“And royalties. Was it not enough?” she asked. “I know your design is revolutionary, but I thought twenty-five thousand pounds was…well, you’re worth more than that, of course. You’re priceless.”
“You’re priceless,” he said. “Give me back that contract.”
“You’re not going to sign it, are you? I hope not. They didn’t offer enough. We need to negotiate.”
“Oh, I’m signing it, Violet.” To make certain she wouldn’t stop him, he rolled the paper and stuck it in his breeches. “I wasn’t planning to do anything with the watch, remember? Thanks to you, I’m about to be a wealthy man.”
Thanks to his ambitious, practical, intelligent wife—a woman who embodied all the things he’d once thought unimportant in a female—“someday” had just come a lot sooner than he’d ever dreamed.
His mind raced with plans. “I can sink more money into Lakefield or buy a second estate. Or both.” He grinned. “I can finance the publication of my brilliant wife’s book.”
She cracked a small smile, a smile that stole his heart. “Do you suppose that can wait a while?” she asked. “I’m hoping to raise some children first, with your help.”
She made him happy. Damn, he was happy. Happy with his wife, happy with his life.
“Hmm,” he said, watching her speculatively. “I believe we’ll have to make those children first.”
And lowering his lips to hers, he poured all his love into a kiss.
EPILOGUE
Seven months later
VIOLET WAS READING in bed when Ford burst into the chamber. “I’ve just had a message from Jason. Cait is delivering their babe, and the family is gathering at Cainewood to celebrate. If we leave soon enough, you may even witness the birthing.”
“That would be nice,” she said dreamily, toying absently with the cover of her book.
“What’s that?” He walked closer. “Aristotle’s Master-piece again? Surely there’s nothing in there you still don’t understand.” His lips curved in a suggestive half-smile. “If so, I’d be willing to give you more lessons.”
She sat up against the headboard and grinned. “I’m thinking I could give you lessons by now. But I’m suddenly interested in this particular chapter. Listen.” She patted the bed beside her and waited for him to sit. “‘Signs taken from the woman are these. The first day she feels a light quivering or chillness running through the whole body; a tickling in the womb, a little pain in the lower part of the belly—’”
“What the devil?”
“Just listen.” She turned the page. “‘Ten or twelve days after, the head is affected with giddiness, the eyes with dimness of sight—’”
“Violet—”
“‘—the breasts swell and grow hard, with some pain and prickling in them’”—smiling to herself, she pulled off her spectacles—“‘the belly soon sinketh, and riseth again by degrees, with a hardness about the navel.’” Though her husband’s breathing was sounding a bit ragged, she kept reading. “‘The nipples of the breast grow red, the heart beats inordinately, the natural appetite is dejected, yet she has a longing desire for—’”
Ford’s hand clenched her arm. “What’s the title of this chapter?”
She turned back to the previous page. “‘Of the Signs of Conception.’”
When she looked up, his heart was in his shining blue eyes. “Does this mean…?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I hope you’re pleased.”
And a heartbeat later, he gathered her into his arms, telling her without words just how very pleased he was.
Apparently being with child had some effect on her responses. When his mouth met hers, her head was affected with giddiness, and a delicious heat started spiraling through her, making her heart beat inordinately. His hands went to her breasts, and she felt some swelling and prickling…
Wait, she thought, with what little sense she had left. He always made her feel those things.
Always.
They were going to be late to Cainewood.
THANK YOU!
Thank you for reading Violet! I hope you enjoyed it!
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If you’d like to learn more about the real people, places, and events in Violet, turn the page for my Author’s Note…
BONUS MATERIAL
Author’s Note
Explore the Chase Family World
Excerpt from Lily
Books by Lauren Royal
Contest
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Jewels of Historical Romance
Contact Information
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
It goes without saying that Ford didn’t invent frames to hold spectacles on the face—credit for that goes to a London optician named Edward Scarlett, who came up with the idea in 1730. The first spectacles for reading were made in the late 13th century (and the first ones for distance about 300 years later), but before Scarlett’s innovation they were simply held to the face or balanced on the nose—momentarily helpful, but not something one could wear all day long. I like to think that if Ford Chase had really lived, he’d have been brilliant enough to invent eyeglass frames half a century earlier.
Although the minute hand began appearing on watches around 1675, it’s not clear who managed it first. Obviously someone missed a chance at a profitable patent! Everyone agrees the two-handed watch was developed in England, but some historians claim that Daniel Quare was the first to sell such a timepiece, while some say it was Thomas Tompion or others. But what does seem to be clear is that the minute hand was made possible by Robert Hooke’s 1660 invention of the spiral spring, which brought watches from a totally unpredictable performance to within two or three minutes’ accuracy a day.
A true genius, Robert Hooke did much more than revolutionize timekeeping; he also made important contributions in chemistry, meteorology, astronomy, and physics. Other scientists of the time are much revered today, including Isaac Newton, Christopher Wren, and Robert Boyle. Yet Hooke has been largely forgotten. Newton and Wren were both knighted, so why not Hooke, arguably a greater scientist? In 2003, Gresham College marked the 300th year of Hooke’s death by a series of lectures designed to resurrect his reputation.
Gresham College has provided free public lectures in London for over 400 years.
Over time, it’s occupied several different locations. The lectures currently take place at Barnard’s Inn Hall, in a building that dates from the late 14th century. To see the upcoming schedule, visit the college’s website at www.gresham.ac.uk.
The Royal Society really was welcomed back to Gresham College in 1673, “with six quarts of each of canary, of Rhenish wine and of claret, and with fine cakes, macaroons and march-panes,” as the City Archives describe an account of their entertainment. But the actual date of the celebration was Monday, December 1. I took the liberty of tweaking history a bit in moving the event to the warm summertime, so Ford could decorate the piazza. All of the people I mentioned at the ball were members at the time, including John Evelyn, best known for his diary that has given us a window into the Restoration period, and John Locke, whose ideas were a powerful influence on the subsequent history of the Western world. Thomas Jefferson called Locke one of “the three greatest men that have ever lived, without any exception,” and drew heavily on his writings in drafting the Declaration of Independence.
Along with these men of note, I enjoyed bringing Hooke and the other scientists—and yes, alchemists—to life. Although the mere idea of making gold from base metals is a laughable one today, up until the mid-18th century it was considered a serious science. During the 1600s, most of the luminaries of the day practiced alchemy, King Charles included. Ironically, it was his chartering of the Royal Society that eventually led to alchemy’s decline. In that ordered environment, modern chemistry and the new scientific methods taught men to free themselves from the old traditions and question theories that had prevailed for centuries.
Although I invented the title Secrets of the Emerald Tablet, Alexander the Great did claim to have discovered the Emerald Tablet in the tomb of the legendary Hermes, and medieval alchemist Raymond Lully was said to have written a treatise about it that subsequently disappeared. No one knows the title, however, and although other writings attributed to Lully survive, that particular one was never found.
