by Sabrina York
There was nothing to smile about.
Kaitlin blew out a breath and gazed at their reflections. Her shoulders slumped. “You’re nervous because he will be here, aren’t you?”
Violet started and shot her friend a frown.
“Don’t worry.” She smoothed a strand of Violet’s hair. “Edward and Ned will be there too. You’ll be safe.”
This reassurance earned a snort. She wasn’t afraid of Ewan. Heaven have mercy. The last thing she felt when she thought of him was fear.
Kaitlin leapt to her feet and paced. “I wish he wasn’t coming. He has to be there. It’s his sister’s party. But if you like I will stand by your side all night long.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“He will stick out like a bruised thumb, a man like him. I’ll be surprised if someone doesn’t mistake him for a groom.”
That comment lanced Violet’s heart. Because he had been a groom. Once upon a time. “Please, Kaitlin…”
Her friend ignored her, continuing to pace. “Imagine the gall. After everything that happened, coming here. Asking Edward for favors. Thank God Edward was able to keep that mess with him quiet. No one knows what happened in Scotland—”
“It wasn’t a favor.”
Kaitlin stopped short and spun around. “What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t a favor. It was an agreement. Didn’t Edward tell you? He agreed to host a season for Sophia in exchange for Callum’s debt. And to let us both go.”
Kaitlin plopped down on the bed, her mouth agape. “H-he forgave the debt?”
“Every penny.”
“It was an enormous amount of money.” A whisper.
“He’s really not such a bad man, Kaitlin.” Violet didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Ewan. She certainly didn’t know why it was suddenly so important that Kaitlin accept him.
It wasn’t as though he was anything to her. He would never be anything to her other than a sweet, painful memory she kept locked away for those precious hours in the deep clutch of night.
Kaitlin studied her for a moment and then became suddenly fixated on the folds of her gown. “I’ve been wondering about something,” she finally murmured.
“Yes?”
Her eyes flicked up, intent, searching. “How do you really feel about Ewan McCloud?”
Violet tried desperately to keep her expression completely blank. Apparently she failed. She saw it in Kaitlin’s face.
Her friend came up off the bed and then, though she was dressed in a priceless gown, she dropped to her knees at Violet’s feet. “Oh, darling. You care for him. After everything that happened?”
Violet didn’t mean to put out a lip. It went out all on its own. Tears welled.
“Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”
“B-because. He doesn’t feel the same.”
Kaitlin sat back on her haunches and stared. “He doesn’t?”
“N-no.”
“Has he told you that?”
“No. I-I haven’t talked to him since we…since we…since Scotland.”
Kaitlin grinned. “That’s because you’ve been hiding. Oh! That’s why you’ve been hiding. And here I thought you were afraid of him—”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“Because he wants to court you.”
Violet stilled. She stared at her friend in shock. “H-he wants to court me?”
“Oh.” Kaitlin clapped a hand over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
“He wants to court me?” Joy, utter joy, sang in her veins. Feet that had been so heavy now longed to dance. Her heart soared. “He wants to court me!” And then her spirits plummeted. “How do you know he wants to court me?”
Kaitlin stood and brushed out her skirts. “He asked Edward’s permission.”
“Edward told you this?”
A snort. “Don’t be silly. I overheard him and Transom talking about it. Edward said he thought it was a good idea…considering—which I did not understand in the least.” She pinned Violet with a fixed gaze.
She turned her head to hide her blush.
But one could not hide much from Kaitlin. She settled on the bench at Violet’s side once again. “You really like him? A lot?”
“I…love him.”
“Ah.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like ah, as in what a pity.”
Kaitlin shook her head. “Not a bit of it. If he’s the man you want, then we shall win him for you.”
“Even though he’s a brigand?”
“He is that.”
“He’s trying to be better.” And glory. He wanted to court her.
“I know.”
“Then what is it, Kaitlin? Why are you frowning?”
Kaitlin sighed. “It’s just, if you do marry the McCloud you will probably move to Scotland and I shall never see you.”
Violet laughed, delight dancing in her soul at the thought. If she married Ewan, she would live wherever he wanted. “You’ll see me. I shall always turn up. Like a bad penny.”
Kaitlin kissed her cheek. “Darling,” she said. “There’s nothing bad about you at all. Now. We both look wonderful. Let’s go have a wonderful evening and catch you a husband.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ewan stood at the edge of the floor and watched as Violet twirled through a dance, smiling adoringly up at her partner. That the man was William Winslett didn’t help. His fingers curled into a ball.
He knew what a charmer Winslett was with the ladies. He could tell she was taken with him. He’d sat through dinner at the impossibly long Moncrieff table and watched them banter back and forth. He’d barely been able to choke down a bite.
The duchess—apparently to punish him for his sins—had seated him at the far end with Violet’s brothers. Too far away from Violet to so much as speak to her. And the brothers had taken it upon themselves to glare at him repeatedly throughout the meal. One of the twins—he couldn’t remember which one—had had the temerity to kick him, more than once.
It was clear, if he was to win her, he had to woo her brothers as well. He wasn’t sure which would be more difficult.
He had been heartened by the shy smile she offered when he entered the drawing room prior to the private family meal. Although that smile could have been for William. It was hard to tell.
“Stop staring at her as though you want to gobble her up,” a deep voice sounded at his elbow. He turned to glower at Moncrieff. “You’re causing a twitter.” Edward handed him a tumbler and Ewan tossed it back. The duke frowned. “Easy now.”
“I needed that.”
“You’re doing fine. Calm down.”
“How can I calm down? Will you look at her? She’s surrounded by…wolves.”
Indeed she was. The dance had ended and Violet had been swarmed by suitors. They boxed her in and vied for her attention, thrusting lemonades and plates at her.
“Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
Annoyance rippled in his gut. “I don’t know how to dance,” he grumbled. Not like this at any rate.
Edward stared at him. “I didn’t even think about that.”
No. He wouldn’t. Edward had been raised with…all of this. He had no inkling how lacking Ewan’s education had been. He lifted a hand to rake it through his hair and, at the last minute, remembered not to. It had taken quite some time for William’s valet to arrange it just so.
“We shall have to get you a tutor.”
“Lovely.”
Perhaps his tone was a trifle harsh because Edward lifted a brow. “You do want to win her?”
“You know I do.” But a dancing master?
Edward chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “My man, sacrifices must be made. In the meantime, why don’t you ask her to take a stroll in the gardens? She does seem flushed.”
Ewan’s eyes narrowed on his quarry. Yes. She did seem flushed. Beautiful—heartbreakingly so—but flu
shed.
Without a word to his companion, he set off across the room.
Violet’s heart lurched as she saw Ewan making his way—directly through the dancing couples—toward her. Her breath hitched.
They hadn’t had a chance to speak all evening. She’d been surrounded by people from the minute she and Kaitlin descended the staircase for dinner.
And when he’d arrived with his charming friend William, when she’d seen him, she’d been speechless. He arrived in the first stare of fashion, dressed like a gentleman—with his beard scraped away and his broad shoulders barely confined in the lines of an elegant tailcoat. The snowy stock tied in an elegant fall at his neck enhanced the lines of his handsome face. She didn’t dare peruse his skintight trousers.
Quite a departure from the gruff, uncivilized brigand who had held her in his arms. But she liked it. She liked them both.
It had been quite disappointing that he avoided her all evening.
But now he was coming over.
“Miss Wyeth. Would you honor me with the next—” The dandy at her side toppled a bit as Ewan bumped him aside. “I say!” he protested, but Violet barely heard. The blood was thrumming in her ears. She gazed up at Ewan. Oh heavens. Had he really been so tall?
He bowed over her hand with impressively perfect form. “Miss Wyeth. Would you care for a turn?”
The men around her grumbled and protested but Violet paid them no mind either. She waved her fan. “It is rather warm.” He offered his arm. She stared at it in shock. Then she looked up at him and laughed. “You’ve been practicing.”
His lips tweaked. “Indeed.”
Together, and oblivious of everyone else, they strolled toward the French doors. Though, in truth, Violet wanted to run. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him. There was so much she wanted to say.
Instead of those things, she settled on small talk. “How are Pip and Jessie?”
Ewan gaped at her. “Pip and Jessie?”
“I hope they are well.”
“Yes. Of course they are well.” They dodged a young buck who staggered into their path. Ewan shot him a glare.
“You didn’t leave them alone on that beastly island?”
“Was it beastly?”
“It was rather desolate. And…Craig—”
“I turned him out. He’s no longer there.”
Relief swamped her. “And Morna? Is she well?”
“Yes. She’s fine.”
“Because her bones ache when it’s cold, you know.”
He sighed. “They’re all fine. Violet. Why are you frowning?”
“I worry about them. I do hope you’ll take care of them.”
His chin firmed. “I take care of my own.”
She thought of what he had done for Sophia, all he had done for Sophia, and something swelled in her heart. He did. He did take care of his own.
A cool breeze kissed her cheeks as she stepped out onto the terrace. She hadn’t realized how warm she’d become—either from the dancing, or from his presence at her side. Several couples ambled along the stone flagstones but Ewan led her down the steps and into the garden.
She didn’t resist but she did feel pressed to say, “Surely we should stay within sight of the doors.”
He merely glanced at her and led her deeper into the shadows.
“Ewan—”
Whatever she had been going to say was obliterated when he spun her around and sealed her mouth with his, silencing her with a ferocious kiss. She nearly swooned as the taste of him flooded her senses. God, she’d missed this, missed him. Everything, his touch, his kiss…his smell. It was like laudanum. A deep, clawing need.
She met his passion with equal fervor, clasping him to her and arching into his embrace, whimpering when his tongue thrust into her mouth. It made her think of another type of thrusting altogether. Her knees went weak.
When he finally broke the kiss, she could barely stand. “God, Violet. I’ve missed that. Missed you.” He was still close. So close she felt his words on her cheek.
“H-have you?” She tried to be blasé but she suspected he knew better.
“Every minute of every day.”
“And…every night?” She didn’t know why she said that. It was hardly something a proper miss on the night of her debut ball would utter. But she loved the flare of ardor in his eyes.
“Mostly in the night.” He stroked her waist. His hand rose slowly up her side until it teased the underside of her breast. She shuddered. Sighed.
“K-Kaitlin said you wanted to w-woo me.”
His teeth glinted in the darkness. “Did she?”
“Yes.”
“I want a damn sight more than that.”
She loved the way his voice cracked. “Really?” A naughty urge possessed her. She swished her hips and rubbed against him. That he was stone hard thrilled her to the core. “What do you want?” A low hiss.
“You know what I want.” He tugged her closer again. Nibbled her ear until she shivered and cooed. “I want to fuck you.”
“Oh.” The word, coarse and harsh and shocking, sent ripples of want through her. Her body melted, began to weep, preparing for him. She wanted him. She wanted him in. She wanted him in and filling her and pummeling her with the force of an untamed storm. She wanted—Mercy. She just wanted. Madly, she cast about, searching for a place they could—
“There you are!” Ned’s voice was pointedly casual but Violet recognized the taut thread humming just below the surface. “Having a nice evening, are we?” He stepped between them, which was a feat because they were still plastered together. He clapped Ewan on the shoulder with more force than strictly necessary and hooked Violet’s arm in his. “You can’t go deserting your admirers like that, darling. You’re making them pout.”
He tugged her along at his side, back into the flickering torchlight, chattering gaily, though his grip on her arm was anything but casual. Violet looked back to see Ewan scrub his face and then set out after them in a slow prowl.
She caught his eye and sent him a smile, one in which she invested all her longing.
It was gratifying that it made him trip over his own feet.
* * * * *
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Yes. Ewan had expected Ned to find him as soon as the pup escorted his sweet sister out of his clutches. He hadn’t expected a confrontation now, though, in the middle of the ball. Granted, they were in the duke’s study, surrounded by men intent on escaping the cloying perfume and guttering candles of the ballroom in favor of the choking delights of a good cigar.
Even though Ned had the decency to hiss, heads turned.
“Not here, Ned,” Edward purred with a smile.
“You don’t know what I caught them—”
“Not. Here.” Edward wrapped his arm around the boy and held him close. “Remember whose reputation is at stake.”
Ned paled. His throat worked. “But he… They…” The sputtering didn’t become him. Edward tightened his fingers until they went white and Ned finally trailed off into silence. His frown, though, spoke volumes.
“He has declared his intentions.”
Ned boggled. He didn’t seem pleased. He glared at Ewan. “You cannot be serious.”
“I most certainly am.”
Ned spun on Edward. Leaned in close. Growled, “But he’s a—”
“I know what kind of man he is.” There was an edge to Edward’s tone. He forced a smile. “Say, my boy. Did I ever tell you of the time I was a prisoner in a French castle?”
Ned blinked as the conversation veered in a startling direction. “W-what?”
“Oh yes.” Edward’s voice rose just a notch. “We were working for the Home Office during the war, Transom and I—”
Ned’s throat worked. “Transom?” And then, “I didn’t know you worked for the Home Office.”
“Ah yes. During the war. The frogs caught us and tossed us into a dark hellhole.” He turned to Ewan. “
Miserable, wasn’t it?”
Ewan’s heart tightened as he realized what Edward was doing. He’d told very few people about that time, hated talking about it. But Ned should know. He nodded, looked down at his feet.
“You were there too?”
Edward raised his glass. “Saved my life, boy.”
Ewan forced a smile. “I beg to differ. I remember more than one instance when the roles were reversed.”
“So,” Edward clinked their glasses together, “we saved each other.” He shot Ned a meaningful glance and indeed, the boy seemed chastened. Although there was still the hint of a mutinous expression on his face.
The men standing near all crowded around to ask one question and then another and before long Ewan was surrounded by a coterie of noblemen, all of whom hung on his every word.
Edward, of course, slipped away to pour himself another drink, leaving Ewan to suffer all this attention alone.
The bastard.
On a high note, he took Ned with him.
* * * * *
Upon prompting from his companions, Ewan was in the midst of the tale of their brash escape from their prison, when he chanced to look up. Words stalled in his throat as he set eyes upon the man who had just joined their circle.
Because his face was shockingly familiar. It was the one he saw every morning when he peered in the glass. He was shorter than Ewan but not by much, and while he lacked the brawn Ewan had gained through hard years of manual labor, he was hardly a sprig.
And he was gaping at Ewan as well. “I say,” he said. “Have we met?”
“I don’t believe so.”
William stepped forward. “Allow me to make introductions. Robert Granger, Ewan St. Andrews.” They had agreed to use his given name rather than the moniker he had adopted, as the mere whisper of the name McCloud might cause the ladies of the ton to faint dead away.
“Granger.” A familiar name. Where had he… Ah yes. No wonder Hortense had mistaken him for this man. The resemblance was striking. Indeed, even as he pondered the thought, the men in their circle were murmuring amongst themselves.
“St. Andrews.” They shook hands. Granger’s grip was firm. Ewan liked that in a man. “I take it from your accent you hail from Scotland.”
