by Anna Bradley
She swallowed. “At first, yes, but then…”
“Then?” He held his breath.
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, and her words emerged in a sudden rush. “And then it wasn’t about the book anymore.”
She didn’t say anything else, or even explain what she meant, but the breath Nick had been holding since the moment he’d discovered her deception left his lungs in a heated rush. “Tell me what it was about, Violet.”
She gave him a shy glance, but her dark blue eyes were hopeful. “That day we spent at Wapping Old Stairs…after that day, I just wanted…you.”
The last word was soft, a whisper only, but Nick heard it, and his eyes drifted closed.
“But I know that’s no excuse for lying to you, and I—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He opened his eyes, reached for her hand, and pressed his lips to her palm. “I forgive you. It’s done, Violet.”
Her eyes went wide. “I—but you were so angry that night. I thought…I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me.”
“I was angry.” He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “But even then I knew I’d forgive you.”
Wonder lit her face, and for the first time since they’d become betrothed, the smile she gave him was genuine. “I don’t know that I deserve such a forgiving husband after my deceitful behavior, but it seems I’m to be rewarded with one, after all.”
“Is it a reward, having married me, Violet?” His voice was soft. “A reward, and not a punishment?”
Her eyelashes swept down to hide her eyes. “I could ask you that same question. I daresay you never expected to marry a lady like me. No gentleman wants a bluestocking for a wife.”
He cupped her face in his palm. “I do.”
Her eyes filled with questions, but Nick didn’t give her a chance to ask them. Instead, he lowered his mouth and hovered his lips over hers, making it clear he wanted to kiss her, but still giving her a chance to pull away.
She didn’t. She curled her fingers into the lapels of his coat and parted her lips in invitation.
Nick groaned as he took her mouth with his. He’d only kissed her twice before, but he already knew the shape of her lips, had memorized her sweet taste, and it felt as if he’d been kissing her for years.
Or for a lifetime.
He lifted her arms to twine them around his neck, another groan tearing from his throat when she sank her fingers into his hair. She sighed when his mouth opened over hers, and that breathless little sigh undid him.
He darted his tongue out to trace her bottom lip, and a faint whimper rose from her throat at his urgency, but she didn’t pull away from his hungry kiss. Her fingers closed into fists in his hair, and when his lips moved away from her mouth to brush dozens of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and behind her ear, she responded with a desperate tug.
Her passion, the tiny sting of pain made Nick wild to have more of her. “Violet, let me…” His hands moved restlessly over her back, then settled on her curved hips. “Hold onto me, sweet.”
Her tongue met his in a single shy stroke, such an innocent caress, and yet her eagerness had him breathless and panting as he surged inside, his tongue searching for more of her silken warmth.
She grabbed his shoulders with a gasp when he lifted her in his arms and set her down on his lap. He nudged her legs gently apart with his thigh to make a space for himself between them. A helpless moan escaped his lips when he remembered how she’d straddled him in the carriage, stroked him between her thighs again and again until she’d made him shudder with pleasure in her arms.
His cock hardened painfully, and oh, God, he wanted to do that for her, here and now—to make her come again and again as he held her, her breathless cries in his ears as she trembled against him. He slid his hands under her skirts to stroke her thighs, crazed with love and desire, but just then the carriage rattled as they jolted over a deep rut in the road, and it jerked him from his sensual haze.
“Not here, Violet…we’re almost at the inn, sweetheart.”
Violet’s arms tightened around his neck in protest as he slid his hand out from under her skirts. He’d only meant to kiss her gently, to reassure her, not to attack her like an animal. For God’s sake, she was his wife now, and as soon as they retired to their bedchamber at the inn he could take her in private, as many times as they both wished.
Surely he could wait another few minutes?
They were both panting, and she was gazing at him with such an adorably confused expression it took all of Nick’s self-control not to snatch her back into his arms. “I, ah…I nearly forgot I was a gentleman.” He offered her a sheepish smile. “Carriages seem to have that effect on me now.”
Her cheeks went even pinker, and she let out a soft laugh that was so charming, and so utterly unlike anything he’d ever heard from her before, Nick couldn’t prevent a rush of masculine pride, and he found himself grinning back at her like a besotted fool.
He was going to make love to her tonight, and when they were both sated and she was lying in his arms, he was going to dream about her smile, and that flirtatious little laugh. Tomorrow he would make her laugh again, and for every tomorrow afterwards, whenever that laugh was on the edge of her mouth, he would catch it on his lips.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’ve hardly touched your dinner, Lady Dare.”
Violet jerked her head up, but when she found her husband’s warm gaze fixed on her she lowered her eyes at once and resumed pushing her food from one side of her plate to the other. Every time she met his darkened eyes across the table her belly leapt with nervous anticipation.
Dear God. She’d been anxious enough when she wasn’t certain what would happen when they retired to their bedchamber. The tension between them, the awkwardness of the wedding ceremony, and his anger over her deception—it was enough to make any young lady dread her wedding night.
But the tension between them had dissipated when she’d begged for his forgiveness, and he’d so graciously offered it in return, and then there’d been all the kissing, and touching, and now, well…whatever interest her husband had in dinner had given way to his interest in her. He was twirling the stem of his wineglass between his long fingers, those smoky gray eyes of his fixed on her as if he were anticipating another kind of feast altogether.
Now she was quite certain she did know what would happen when they retired to their bedchamber, and she was more nervous than ever.
Not that she hadn’t imagined this moment. She had imagined it, more times than she dared to admit even to herself. But now it was here, and he was there, and somehow his shoulders looked broader than they ever had before, and his chest and arms more powerful, and wasn’t there just the faintest hint of ferocity in the curve of his lips? And soon he wouldn’t be there at all, but here, and…well, it was rather overwhelming.
“May I pour you more wine, my lady?”
His low, rough voice teased along her nerve endings, and a shiver shot up Violet’s spine. “No, I—no, thank you.”
“Are you ready to retire then?”
He sounded…eager. Violet risked another glance at him and found him watching her, one corner of his full mouth curved in a sensuous grin as he studied her flushed face, and her belly quivered with a delicious ripple at the hot look in his gray eyes.
Nick had ordered their trunks brought up and unpacked while they dined, so when they retired to their room, all would be ready for them. The sheer white nightdress her sisters had chosen for her would be laid out on her bed, and—
No. Not her bed. Their bed.
“Lady Dare? I asked if you’re ready to retire.”
Not just eager. Impatient. Dear God, that poor flimsy nightdress would be reduced to shreds. Violet’s hand trembled as she laid her fork beside her plate. “Yes, my lord. I’m ready.”
“There’s no need to look
so terrified, Violet.” He smiled, and his warm hand covered hers. “I’m not quite the animal you seem to think I am.”
Violet bit her lip. Perhaps not, but he did have very large hands.
His voice dropped to a low rasp. “I promise I’ll take exquisite care of you, sweet.”
Violet swallowed. He’d never been anything but gentle with her, and she knew he’d never hurt her, but she might have felt more reassured by his words if his tongue hadn’t curled around the word “exquisite” with such sensual promise.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way up the deserted staircase to the bedchamber, but Violet shivered again at the heat of his body close behind her, his warm breath on her neck, his hand brushing against her hip as he reached around her to open the door, and—
“Oh!” A young maid with her hair scraped back into an enormous white cap was standing at a table by the fireplace, but she whirled toward the door when they entered, and dropped the papers she held in her hand with a guilty flush.
“I beg yer pardon, my lord.” She bobbed a quick curtsy. “I were jest readying the room for ye.” She began to sidle away from the table, her gaze darting toward the open door. “Ring if ye need anything else, aw right? Good night, my lord. Yer ladyship.”
Nick raised an eyebrow as the door slammed behind the maid. “What was that all about? She scurried away like a pack of wild hounds was after her. Are we so menacing as that?”
Violet glanced around the room, but nothing seemed to be amiss. Her white nightdress had been draped over the coverlet, as she’d expected, and the small trunk Bridget had packed for the one night’s stay at the inn was lined up neatly next to Nick’s at the end of the bed. It didn’t look as if anything had been taken, but the girl had clearly been anxious to escape—
“What’s this?” Nick strolled over to the small table near the fireplace, where the housemaid had been standing when they came in. It was likely placed there for private dining, but now it was covered with dozens of papers that looked as if they’d been hastily shoved into an untidy pile.
Violet’s brow furrowed in confusion, but then she froze, her throat closing as her frantic gaze moved over the familiar papers. A few sketches lay scattered across the top of the table, as if the maid had been studying them, and then tossed them aside in a panic when she heard the door open.
“Wait, my lord—”
But it was too late. Nick was already across the room. He’d picked up one of the sketches and was studying it with close attention, an amused smile curving his lips. “Wapping Old Stairs. A perfectly good pair of boots were sacrificed for this sketch.” He set it aside, then picked up the one underneath. “Cockpit Steps. Ah, now I see the trouble. The housemaid was nosing about your sketches. Impudent chit, but I doubt she’s ever seen anything like these before. It’s not surprising such skilled drawings would catch her eye.”
Violet hardly heard him as she stumbled over her feet in her rush to get to the table before he could see any more of her sketches. Dash it, how had the housemaid gotten hold of her book? The footmen had been directed to bring up the overnight trunks only, but somehow her sketchbook had come up as well, and—
Oh, no. Please, no…
Violet’s throat worked as she realized her private portfolio was there too, open and gaping like a gutted fish, all its contents disgorged and scattered haphazardly across the table like bloody entrails. The girl must have thought she was meant to unpack it, and she’d done a thorough job of it. It looked as if every page of the book had been pulled loose.
Nick was turning the pages over one by one, the smile still twitching on his lips as he paused for a moment to study another sketch. “Bunhill Fields Burial Ground. This is one of my favorites. May I compliment you once again on your excellent rectangles, Lady Dare?”
Violet darted forward and began to snatch the pages up. “The servant has made a mess of them, I’m afraid. Why don’t you warm yourself by the fire, my lord, while I gather them all up and put them away.”
But Nick was studying a page in his hand, and didn’t appear to hear her. “This is your list of sketches? My God, I had no idea there were so many. I haven’t seen even half of these. You’ll have to show them to me, my lady, but not tonight. I have another form of entertainment in mind for us this eve—”
He fell abruptly silent as one of the papers on the table caught his attention. He set the page in his hand aside, grabbed the corner of the sketch, and slid it out from under the pile. Violet saw at once which one it was, and her heart surged into her throat with a nauseating lurch.
Everything seemed to slow down then, much as it did when one was caught in a nightmare from which they couldn’t wake. Violet could only watch in numb horror, her lips moving in a desperate prayer as he studied the page, his brows drawn together in confusion.
Please, please don’t let him see—
But her prayers were destined to go unanswered. Fate had caught up to her again, and she was determined to reveal every one of Violet’s mistakes, every one of her sins.
Violet didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to watch, but part of her must have known she deserved this, because she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She saw every single moment of it unfold, and as long as she lived she would never forget the look of puzzled hurt in his eyes when his mind could no longer deny what his eyes so plainly showed him.
For a single, frozen moment he seemed to plead with her—to beg her to reassure him what he saw couldn’t possibly be true—but before she could breathe a word, his face hardened.
“The Selfish Rake?”
Violet stumbled the rest of the way to the table and reached out a shaking hand to clutch at his coat. “I drew that sketch the morning after Lord Derrick’s dinner party, after you mistook me for Hyacinth. That was weeks ago, Nick. It was dreadfully unfair of me, and it’s been weeks since I’ve seen you in such a way—”
He shook her hand off. “I’m flattered, my lady, to find I was a subject of your intellectual musings, and not merely an escort. Ah, and look. There’s an essay to go along with the sketch. Shall we see what opinion you hold on selfish rakes?”
“I didn’t…I never meant to…”
But Nick’s gaze was already moving over the page. When he reached the end, his head jerked up and the page fell from his fingers and drifted back to the table. “You heard me with Lady Uplands in Lord Derrick’s library that night. You…watched us?”
Violet squeezed her eyes closed. “I—I’m sorry. I should never have—”
“Why ever not? Come, Violet, we’re both aware of how curious you are, and I did bring it on myself with such disgraceful behavior. But you must have been thrilled to witness such a salacious debauchery. Tell me, why didn’t you include a description of my cock in your essay? Oh, but wait. Perhaps if I look through the rest of the sketches, I’ll find a drawing of it.”
“Please, Nick. You don’t understand. Once I knew you, I intended to burn that sketch. You must know I don’t feel that way about you anymore—”
“Oh, but I understand perfectly, sweet.” He smiled at her, but it was an ugly twist of his lips, and his eyes remained cold. “The sketch is a good likeness of me, I’ll give you that, and God knows there’s no better example of a selfish rake in all of London. Isn’t that right, my lady?”
“No. You’re not…that’s not true, Nick.”
Her voice was nearly inaudible, no more than a choked whisper, and he ignored her and snatched up the list of sketches again. “Let’s see…no, I don’t see ‘The Selfish Rake’s Cock’ here—rather a waste, since surely a talented artist like you could draw it accurately. But there is something else here I didn’t notice before. You have a chapter entitled ‘The Perfect Gentleman.’ Well, I suppose if you’re going to have the rake you need the gentleman as well, for comparison purposes. But I wonder, Violet—which sketch goes with that chapter?”
/>
Violet’s blood ran cold. Oh, God, she’d forgotten about that sketch. If he should find it, there was no explanation she could offer he’d ever believe. She dove forward and scrabbled for the remaining pages on the table, desperate to snatch the sketch away before he could see it, but once again fate was determined to have this moment out to the bitter end, because just as she stumbled into him and grabbed the table to steady herself, Nick found the sketch.
“Ah. Here it is.”
She lunged at him to grab it, but he held it out of her reach, and when he saw who it was…
A choked whimper tore loose from Violet’s throat as his face drained of color. When he turned to her his lips were white, and his eyes were shadowed with pain and fury. “Lord Derrick.”
Since the moment she’d met Nick, Violet hadn’t given Lord Derrick a second thought. All of her thoughts, all of her emotions, were tangled up in the man standing in front of her, and whatever she’d once felt for Lord Derrick had faded into insignificance.
It hadn’t been love. A girlish infatuation perhaps, an appreciation for Lord Derrick’s kindness, but not love. She knew that now. The way her heart soared with joy when Nick smiled at her, the constant ache she felt to touch him, the urge to brush his hair away from his eyes or take his hand—that was love, and she’d never felt any of that for Lord Derrick.
Only Nick.
She had to tell him, to make him understand—
“I offer a compliment to your taste, Lady Dare. Derrick’s a worthy gentleman. There’s none better in all of London, in fact. I should have guessed it, of course—two of your sisters mentioned something about your broken heart. Pity, but it does you credit Lord Derrick should have been the one to break it. Your sisters seem to think your heart is mended, but perhaps you haven’t quite overcome the disappointment? You were happy enough to linger with Derrick in the alcove today, and he appeared to be more than satisfied to have you to himself.”
Violet recoiled as if from a slap. “No! You don’t think…you can’t possibly be implying something improper occurred? It’s been weeks since I cared for Lord Derrick in that way, and Lady Honora is my friend—”
