by Anna Bradley
But once he’d closed the door behind them and turned to face her, Nick didn’t know where to begin, and her agonized expression made him hesitate. Her eyes were wide and wary, and her lips were trembling, as if she were trying to hold back tears.
This, because of a few sour notes on the pianoforte? Well, more than a few, but still, it seemed unlikely.
“Did you only ever learn to play the Haydn piano sonatas?”
He meant it as a joke, to try and diffuse the strange tension between them, but if anything the dark shadows in her eyes grew even darker, and she began to wring her hands. “No, I—no. I admire Haydn too much to even attempt the sonatas.”
He couldn’t have said why, but the back of his neck began to prickle with dread. “I don’t understand. I heard you play it at Lord Derrick’s dinner party not two weeks ago.”
Nick was still angry with her for avoiding him these past five days, but as her face drew tight with misery, alarm squeezed his chest, and his wrath gave way to concern. He went to her and gathered her hands in his. “What is it? You look unhappy, and…unlike yourself.”
She let out a faint laugh, but it was more desperate than amused. “Unlike myself. Oh, Lord Dare, you haven’t the faintest idea how right you are.”
He half-expected her to pull away from him then, but her fingers clung to his as if she was afraid he was going to push her away. “I have something to tell you, my lord—something unpleasant I should have confessed to you days ago.”
Nick looked down into dark blue eyes still shadowed with regret. Whatever it was she’d done, he’d just as soon have it out now, so they could move past it and begin to plan their nuptials. “This unpleasant thing you must confess—is it the reason you’ve been hiding from me?”
“Yes. I’ve been an awful coward. I beg your pardon for refusing your calls this week. I did want to see you, but well…I was afraid of what you’d say, and I didn’t know how to explain what I’d done, and I’m…ashamed of myself, Lord Dare.”
Afraid? The lady who’d risked a dunking in the Thames and braved the Cockpit Steps in the dark to hunt for a headless ghost was afraid of him?
She looked away from him, down at her hands, but Nick, who was truly concerned by this point, took her chin between his fingers and raised her face to his. “Don’t look away from me, Hyacinth. Just tell me what’s got you so worried, and we’ll find a way to…”
Nick trailed off when her gaze met his, and he was horrified to find her eyes had filled with tears. “Oh, sweetheart, no.” He moved closer and took her face between his hands, and all at once everything else—the strange business with the pianoforte, her mysterious disappearance this week—all of it faded into insignificance at the sight of those tears. Nick had never been one to be moved by a weeping lady, but seeing those fat drops spill over her wet lashes and roll down her cheeks felt like taking a knife to the heart. “Don’t cry, Hyacinth.”
For some reason this only made her tears fall faster, until she was crying so hard she could only speak in incoherent gasps. “B-but that’s just i-it, my lord. I’m n-not—”
“Hush.” He caught the back of her head in a gentle grip and pressed her face to his chest, then ran his hand over her back in long, soothing strokes until at last she began to calm. “There. That’s better.” He tilted her face up to his again and pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, and the tip of her nose.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her at all, and if he’d stopped there—if he’d been able to resist her trembling mouth—what happened next might not have been quite such a scandal, but as it was, in the next breath his mouth found hers, and then he was nudging her lips open with his, his tongue tasting the salt of her tears as her arms stole around his neck—
Neither of them heard the library door open, but they couldn’t fail to hear the outraged shout that followed.
“Damnation!”
The voice was loud, masculine, and furious. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Dare? Take your hands off her at once!”
Nick’s head jerked up. He and Miss Somerset sprang apart, and Nick stepped away from her, his palms held out in surrender.
Standing in the doorway to the library, his entire body rigid with fury, stood Miss Somerset’s brother-in-law, the Marquess of Huntington, and if his expression was anything to go by he was the protective sort, because he looked as if he were about to tear Nick’s limbs from his body, one by one.
As painfully as possible.
“Lord Dare wasn’t…we weren’t…oh, for goodness’ sake, Finn! It’s not what it seems.”
Lord Huntington didn’t look at all convinced, which wasn’t surprising, since it was, in fact, precisely what it seemed. “Are you in the habit of debauching innocents, Dare? I’d heard as much, and it seems for once the gossips didn’t exaggerate.”
Nick understood his lordship’s rage, and he wasn’t proud of his actions, but he’d be damned if he’d let any man question his honor, or, more importantly, Miss Somerset’s virtue. He advanced on Lord Huntington, his hands clenched into fists. “You insult the lady, Huntington. You go too far.”
“It’s you who’s gone too far, Dare, and you can be damn sure I’ll see to it you make it right.”
Neither Nick nor Lord Huntington backed down an inch. They stood toe to toe, staring at each other, and it might have become ugly indeed if Lady Huntington hadn’t appeared at the library door just at that moment. She took in the scene in one quick glance, paled, and lifted a shaking hand to her throat. “Oh, no. Oh, Violet! What have you done now?”
Nick went still, his body going numb as one of Lady Huntington’s words echoed over and over again in his head. When he turned to face Miss Somerset at last, his voice had gone dangerously quiet.
“Who the devil is Violet?”
Chapter Fifteen
The muted thud of Finn’s boots on the thick carpet sounded like a death knell.
He was pacing from one end of Lady Westcott’s private sitting room to the other while Violet, Iris, Hyacinth, and Lady Chase followed him with their eyes, their gazes flitting back and forth as if they were watching a game of shuttlecock.
None of them said a word.
Violet was under no illusions it would remain quiet. They were mere seconds away from a deafening outburst that would leave all their ears ringing for months to come. They waited only for Lord Dare and Lady Westcott, who’d adjourned to Lord Dare’s study for a private discussion before they joined the rest of the party in the sitting room.
The moment of reckoning had arrived.
Violet had known from the start of this mad scheme the truth would catch up to her at last, but she’d been foolish enough to believe when it did, the only witnesses would be herself and Lord Dare.
But this…
Her heart crowded into her throat. In her worst nightmares she’d never imagined it would happen in Lady Westcott’s sitting room, with both his family and hers there to witness her shame.
Lady Chase hadn’t uttered a single word since she’d collapsed onto one of the yellow silk settees, but she was never able to hold her tongue for long, particularly when one of her granddaughters was due for a scolding.
Duping an earl into a false courtship certainly qualified as such an occasion.
“Well, Violet, I do hope you’re pleased with yourself. Just look at poor Lord Huntington! Why, anyone can see he’s on the verge of an apoplexy. If he expires in his sleep tonight and leaves your sister a widow, we’ll have you to thank for it.”
Violet wanted nothing more than for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her whole, but she forced herself to face her grandmother with dry eyes, a straight back, and hands folded neatly in her lap. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”
And she was—sorrier than she’d ever been in her life—but her misery had more to do with the astonishment on Lord Dare’s fa
ce when he discovered her deception than it did with Finn’s imminent demise.
But a simple apology, no matter how heartfelt, wasn’t going to appease her grandmother, who dismissed it with an outraged sniff. “Well, don’t tell me, child. You may offer your apologies to Iris after Lord Huntington drops dead.”
Hyacinth, who after a prolonged search had been discovered hiding in the butler’s pantry, made a faint noise of protest. “As Lord Huntington is still among the living, perhaps we can put aside the matter of his death for a moment. Surely Violet’s first apology should be to Lord Dare?”
An apology, a dozen apologies—it wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as Violet saw his face, she’d known he’d never forgive her.
“Lord Dare and Lady Westcott, yes, though I don’t see why either of them should forgive you, Violet,” Lady Chase snapped. “If Lord Dare had treated you thus, you can be sure I’d demand far more than an apology, but I suppose you’ve gotten your way, haven’t you, miss? He won’t have you now, and neither will any other honorable gentleman once this scandal gets out. You’ll end a spinster, just as you wished.”
Hyacinth slid her fingers into Violet’s hand and squeezed. “It wasn’t just Violet, Grandmother. I deceived them, too—”
“Oh, hush, Hyacinth. What nonsense. You never would have dreamed up such a dreadful scheme yourself. No, I know very well who’s responsible.” Lady Chase pinned Violet with a look that made Violet shrink back against the settee. “I don’t pretend to know why you did it, but whatever your reason, Violet, I hope it was worth it.”
She’d been so sure it would be, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t worth it now, and though Violet hadn’t known it at the time, it hadn’t been worth it at Cockpit Steps, or Execution Dock, or even at the Hunterian Museum. Her beloved book, her sketches—she wouldn’t have believed it was possible anything could matter more to her than that, but she’d been wrong. Her sisters had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened to them, and now her heart was heavy with bitter regret.
The shock in Lord Dare’s gray eyes, the way they’d darkened with hurt…
Nothing was worth that.
Never was that truth more painfully evident than five minutes later, when Lord Dare and Lady Westcott entered the sitting room. Violet managed to keep her chin up as she watched their grim procession, but she faltered once they were all seated and every head in the room turned in her direction. Hyacinth must have felt her begin to tremble, because she wrapped her fingers more tightly around Violet’s.
For what seemed a lifetime to Violet, no one moved. No one spoke, and the silence grew colder and heavier with each passing moment, until at last Lord Dare rose to his feet and approached the settee where Violet and Hyacinth were seated.
“Miss Hyacinth.” He bowed over Hyacinth’s hand, and then he turned to Violet and held out his hand to her, his jaw hard and his lips pressed into a severe line.
Dear God, she could hardly bear to look at him, but he stood there in front of her, silently, his hand held out, waiting for her—they were all waiting for her—and she had no choice but to offer the tips of her gloved fingers.
“And Miss Somerset.” He grasped her hand in his and bowed over it politely, his demeanor proper, his address correct.
Correct, and cold. So cold.
Violet allowed herself one quick look into his eyes, then wished at once she hadn’t. There was nothing but ice in that gray gaze, and an answering shiver darted down her back. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he refused to release her. Instead he urged her to her feet and led her across the room.
“May I present my aunt, Lady Westcott? Aunt, this is Miss Violet Somerset.”
Lady Westcott had a headful of thick silver hair, and between that, the severe elegance of her dress, and her regal mien, she was an intimidating figure. It took every ounce of Violet’s composure, but she made herself meet Lady Westcott’s gaze as she sank into a shaky curtsy.
“My lady. It’s a pleasure to…”
The words died in her throat as she realized the absurdity of them. It wasn’t a pleasure. Not for her, and not for Lady Westcott. Not for any of them.
Lady Westcott studied her for longer than was polite, her gray gaze cool, but just when Violet was ready to sink to her knees in the middle of the sitting room, Lady Westcott reached out and took her hand, her grip strong enough to be remarkable in a lady of her advanced years. “Miss Somerset. You have your grandmother’s blue eyes.”
“Yes, my lady, and your nephew has your gray ones.”
A brief silence followed this statement, and Violet’s cheeks heated. It wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all, and she couldn’t have explained why she said it, except Lord Dare’s unusual silver-gray eyes were the first of his features she’d admired, and it was comforting, somehow, to know at least this one truth about him.
He’d inherited his aunt’s extraordinary gray eyes.
Lady Westcott blinked in surprise, but she didn’t look displeased, and after a moment she inclined her head. “Yes, he does, and so did my brother, his father. Gray eyes are a Dare family trait.” She lowered her voice so only Lord Dare and Violet could hear her. “But perhaps one day soon you’ll find that out for yourself, Miss Somerset.”
Violet’s mouth fell open. No, surely her ladyship didn’t mean—
“I’m waiting for you to explain yourself, Dare.” Finn had been standing beside the fireplace, watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes, but now he strode across the room to face off with Lord Dare, his arms folded over his massive chest.
Lord Dare eyed his accuser without flinching. “Oh, I think Miss Somerset—that is, Violet Somerset—can explain it more clearly than I can, Huntington.”
Finn’s scowl deepened. “You expect an innocent young lady to explain why I found the two of you alone in a dark library with your arms wrapped around each other?”
“Violet!” Lady Chase let out a despairing moan. “How could you?”
“It’s plain enough what happened, Lady Chase.” Finn hadn’t taken his hard gaze off Lord Dare. “Dare here is a rake. He lured a naive young lady into an indiscretion, and now he’s going to see it set to rights.”
Lady Westcott drew herself up. “If my nephew has done something he ought not to have done, Lord Huntington, you will not need to threaten him to make it right. He’s an honorable gentleman.”
“Forgive me, Lady Westcott, but if he was an honorable gentleman, he never would have lured Miss Somerset into the library at all.”
Lord Dare, who’d remained silent during this exchange, his gaze fixed on Violet, now took a threatening step toward Finn. “What you witnessed in the library was a single, isolated moment, and hardly the whole story of my friendship with Miss Somerset. Before you fling any more accusations about, Huntington, perhaps you’d care to hear the rest of it.”
“I know enough—”
“No you don’t, Finn,” Violet whispered. “Lord Dare did nothing wrong. This is my fault, not his.”
A shocked silence fell, but then Finn, Lady Westcott, and Lady Chase all began to shout at once.
“Your fault? You’re an innocent, Violet. You couldn’t have known what a debaucher like Dare was about—”
“How dare you? My nephew is not a debaucher—”
“I can well believe you’re at fault, Violet! You’ve always been a headstrong, foolish chit—”
Only Hyacinth and Iris, who knew the whole truth, remained silent. Hyacinth buried her face in her hands, but Iris, who must have recognized the enraged look on her husband’s face, leapt to her feet and hurried across the room to him. “Calm down, my lord, and let Violet speak. Indeed, she’s…well, she never meant any harm, but she’s not quite as innocent in this as you imagine.”
“Just how would you know that, Lady Huntington?” Finn stared at Iris for a moment, but when she only bit her lip in answer,
he threw his hands into the air. “Don’t tell me Violet had your approval for whatever she did.”
“Not my approval, exactly.” Iris flushed guiltily. “But I, ah—well, I did know about it.”
Finn pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “For God’s sake, Iris.”
“Well, what did you expect me to do? She’s my sister, and she’s been in terribly low spirits ever since that business with Lord Derrick. I only thought to cheer her—”
“What business with Lord Derrick?”
Hyacinth was weeping, Lady Chase was scolding, Iris and Finn were arguing, and Lady Westcott was proclaiming her nephew’s innocence to all who would listen, but all of them fell silent as Lord Dare’s furious shout rose above the commotion.
He turned on Violet and closed his hands around her upper arms. “What business with Lord Derrick, Miss Somerset?”
Violet stared up into his face, horrified and riveted by him at once. His eyes had gone a strangely mesmerizing silvery-black, and they burned in his pale face. She’d never seen him so angry, not even when he’d struck down the footpad who’d attacked her and pummeled him into a blubbering heap on the cobblestones.
All this fuss over Lord Derrick, who’d hardly crossed Violet’s mind once in at least a fortnight, and who hadn’t a blessed thing to do with any of it. She tried to squirm out of Lord Dare’s grasp, suddenly sick to death of this entire mess, and ready to have it over with.
“Never mind Lord Derrick. He hasn’t a thing to do with this.” Violet sucked in a quick breath, gathered her wits, and turned to Finn. “Lord Dare has been courting me for the past few weeks—utterly respectably, I might add. Perhaps a kiss in a dim library isn’t quite as unobjectionable as you might like, Finn, but it’s hardly a scandal, and anyway, I know you did worse when you were courting Iris.”
“Violet!” Iris shot a nervous look at Lady Chase, and her face went bright red. “Hush, will you?”
“Iris!” Lady Chase made a helpless gesture with her hands, then sagged against the settee. “Hyacinth, fetch my smelling salts at once. Oh, what have I done to deserve such a wayward pack of chits for granddaughters?”
