Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

“Can you see him?”

“It’s shameful. Quite appalling. What must her parents think to have him here?”

The words kept reaching Xander’s ears. It seemed no matter how many ladies Anthony introduced him to, it was not enough to block out the whispers. He pulled at the cravat around his throat, loosening the pressure as he looked around at the people whispering.

They caught his look and scurried away, only for him to see there was another group of ladies behind them now glaring at him. Older, they looked down their long, wrinkled noses at him.

There was someone in the crowd who hadn’t yet looked at him like he had already been convicted of murder. That was Lady Violet, though she was currently nowhere to be seen. The fact that the lady was on his mind, unnecessarily so, irked him. He needed to get out of here.

“I need some air,” Xander whispered to Anthony beside him.

“Are you sure?” Anthony asked. “I could have sworn there was one lady who piqued your interest tonight.” He smiled a little with the words, but Xander couldn’t return that smile.

There must have been some sort of twitch in his expression that Anthony recognized after years of knowing him, for he laughed.

“I know, I know. Go get some fresh air. After all this whispering, I can hardly blame you.”

Xander nodded and turned to the table beside them. He topped up his claret glass, knowing he would need it, then left the room through the nearest door. He hastened outside, striding past the group of men that were gathered, smoking their pipes on the terrace, then headed deep into the garden.

He knew this garden, almost as well as he knew his own. As a child, he had played in this garden with Anthony and his sister, Tilly. They were happy memories—now tainted, of course, but he had been happy once.

Striding through the borders, he darted between two tall yew bushes and headed to what he knew was the most secluded corner of the garden. Tucked away behind a formal pond in which fish swam, their scales glimmering in the moonlight, was a stone pavilion. A small thing, scarcely two feet higher than his head and ten feet wide, it was a place to shelter in the garden.

Xander sat on the marble bench within its stone confines, staring out at the pond and the fountain in the middle. Tipping the claret to his lips, he gulped eagerly, the red liquid burning the back of his throat.

This is necessary. If I can just stay with the ton long enough to persuade them that I have nothing to hide, that will be something.

He also had another motivation, though. Helena may have insisted that no good could come from enacting a punishment on the writer of that story, but Xander disagreed.

I long for revenge…

Abruptly, there were footsteps in the garden. Someone’s shoes tapped on the patio stones beneath them, and he groaned inwardly, rubbing his brow. It seemed even in this quiet corner of the garden, he couldn’t isolate himself.

At the other end of the patio, stepping out toward the pond bordered by stone slabs, was a woman. Xander’s eyes were drawn toward her as he recognized her at once.

Lady Violet.

* * *

It was the woman he had bumped into in the bookshop the year before, and the same woman he had met at the refreshments table earlier tonight. As he looked at her, watching as she turned her head back and forth, looking for something or someone, he felt something rousing deep in his gut.

Anthony was quite right when he’d said at least one lady had garnered Xander’s interest tonight, and that lady was Violet.

She was quiet, perhaps much quieter than his former lovers, but there was something about her quite entrancing. He indulged in staring at her now, without her seeing him, admiring her petite and slimly curved figure beneath her bright ivory gown.

She was quite stunning, her figure intoxicating and making him think things he should be considering. She turned her head, the light brown curls of her updo falling down her shoulders as she revealed her face.

She had to be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was an unusual beauty, her eyes bold and almost disproportionately large for her face, though he rather liked the effect. Her bottom lip, rather fuller than the top one, was a draw, making him think of those lips touching his skin, moving down his chest and down to the opening of his trousers.

He inhaled sharply, trying to shift his thoughts elsewhere, but she must have heard him, for her head turned toward him.

The eyes that he now knew to be green after looking at her under the candlelight in the ballroom found him in the pavilion, and she hurried toward him.

Do not come near me, My Lady. You would not like what I am thinking.

A wild idea of kissing her in this pavilion, of drawing her onto that bench and introducing her to pleasure, took over him. He imagined trailing his hands over her slim curves, then taking hold of the hem of her gown—

“Your Grace.” Her words as she stopped in front of him interrupted his illicit thoughts.

“My Lady.” He stood up from the bench and took the last gulp of claret, then set his glass down on the bench behind him, taking a step toward her.

He towered over her, something he rather liked. The way her chin turned up toward him was intoxicating, making him think of her being down on her knees before him.

“Did you need some fresh air as well?” he said, forcing himself to sound normal. As if he didn’t have the thoughts he did.

“I came to find you.”

He didn’t answer her, just quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

Why would she be looking for me?

“I wanted to apologize for my departure earlier,” she said hurriedly, looking down between the two of them. “I had a feeling you may have been about to ask me to dance.” She looked up again, her full lips stretching into a smile.

“Ah, this is your way of apologizing to me? Meeting me scandalously outside, completely alone?” He stepped toward her, testing the waters, curious to know if she was as attracted to him as he was attracted to her.

When she didn’t back up, her lips parting a little and her breathing growing labored, he knew he had his answer.

She is attracted to me.

His eyes trailed down her figure, then back to her face, but he had to block out all thoughts of what they could do together.

“You should return inside, My Lady.”

“What?” she said shakily.

“You know my reputation. I do not doubt it. Do you really wish to damage your reputation by being out here alone with me?” he asked and then backed up.

He returned to the pavilion and sat down on the bench, spreading his legs a little wider to be comfortable. She didn’t scurry away like a frightened mouse but continued to look at him, quite openly.

Those eyes…

He had a wild thought of those large green eyes staring up at him as he pleasured her. Perhaps he would pleasure her with his hands first, introducing her to the idea of a sexual thrill with his fingers. He did not doubt, with what he had heard of her tonight, that she had no prior lovers.

After she had parted with Lady Grace, champagne spilled on her gown, which had now dried, Xander had asked Anthony about her. What Anthony had said still burned in his mind.

“Lady Violet is a wallflower, learned, and highly intelligent, though I think there is more to her than meets the eye. Occasionally, I’ve heard she is witty when she’s comfortable with those around her. Perhaps there’s hidden passion there, though not many glimpses of it.”

“What has sent you out here alone, Your Grace?” she asked and took a step forward.

The fact she came nearer still was making his desire stir in his gut. Rarely had he felt such desire after exchanging so few words with anyone, though he supposed it was natural when he had met her once before.

The lady from the bookshop had entered his dreams occasionally this last year, though those dreams had always ended with him making love to her in the back room of that bookshop, with her hands clinging to the shelves as he penetrated her.

“I imagine it is to escape the spotlight.” She offered a sympathetic sort of smile that made his gut stir again. “I am sorry if the whispers have drawn you out here.”

“It’s those same whispers that should persuade you to return inside now.” He nodded past her, back in the direction of the house.

His breathing had picked up a little. He felt like some sort of predator, more animal than human at that moment, and it made him rub the bridge of his nose self-consciously.

If Lady Violet had the capacity to stir this animalistic side of him, it would be best for a proper lady such as her to run away from him, fast.

“We are unchaperoned,” he added simply, lowering his hand and meeting her gaze once more.

“Technically, anyone could see us from those top windows.” She turned and pointed at the windows over the nearby yew bushes. “So, we are not completely without a chaperone.”

The somewhat playful smile as she turned back to him entranced him.

There is that wit Anthony mentioned.

“I may have used that excuse more than once in the past myself.” He smirked a little at her. “But my intentions toward the ladies I was with at the time were hardly… pure and proper.”

She bit her full bottom lip, and it nearly drove him mad. He imagined making her bite her lip in other ways—to stifle a moan, perhaps.

He stood abruptly from his bench and moved toward her again. Still, she didn’t move away, though she shifted her weight a little between her feet this time. He glanced down, wondering if she was debating running, or if she was hoping to cause some friction and alleviate a sudden ache between her legs.

Let it be the latter.

“Are you frightened of me, Lady Violet?” he whispered, bending toward her, watching her response with great attentiveness.

“No,” she murmured.

“Not even when you have heard what I may have done to my ex-betrothed?” He raised his eyebrows, watching and waiting for these words to drive her away.

A mad blush crept up her cheeks—it glowed in the moonlight—but she didn’t once look away.

“I do not imagine any man guilty of such a crime would now mention it to me. Do you?”

Her astuteness made him chuckle.

She doesn’t believe the rumors.

It made him desire her even more. She was willing to brave all the suspicion, all the gossip, just to come out here and talk to him. He saw no shy wallflower before him anymore, but someone with a heart of her own.

When he laughed at her words, she smiled a little, some sort of triumphant smile, as if she had achieved what she wanted to.

“Just because I may not be guilty of that crime does not mean I have pure intentions toward you if you stay out here alone with me.” He leveled his gaze at her, watching her reaction again. That blush seemed to grow madder. “You do not wish to know what I am thinking, My Lady? Alone with me? With a pavilion beside us, and you shifting your weight between your legs, brushing your thighs together as if desperate for some sort of… touch?”

His leading words made her halt abruptly, her lips parting.

“Read your mind, did I?” he asked, smirking a little.

Still, she didn’t run away. Despite the fact he knew he should back up from her again, the fact that she was still here after all of his provocations, all of his warnings, gave him hope.

He stepped toward her, intent on kissing her, on capturing that full bottom lip with his own. Her eyes became half-lidded, her head turning up toward him, apparently wanting that kiss, too.

“Wait,” she whispered. He was an inch away from taking that kiss when she stopped him. “You may be innocent of your crime, Your Grace, but I should confess to one of my own.” She pulled her head back an inch, enough for him to look her in the eye. “I am the reason you are here tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked in surprise.

“I am the writer of the story, The Dark Duke.”

For a second, he just blinked, certain he had heard her wrong.

No, a lady could not have written that…

“But it was written by a man.”

“A pseudonym,” she said hurriedly. “I did not think they would publish it if they knew I am a woman.”

Xander stepped back, feeling as if he had been slapped across the face with her words.

This was surely not possible. The woman he had desired so much all evening, the one who was now tormenting him by refusing to run away and standing before him, was the same one who had caused him such turmoil.

He grew icy, not saying a word as he marched up and down in front of the pavilion, finding a need to pace to release his energy.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, her voice pitching higher as she started to follow him. “I had no idea the story would be read as much as it has been, nor it would be as popular.”

He didn’t answer her, and she tried to step in front of him, to stop him from walking, but she was so petite that it was easy for him to walk past her and return to his pacing, throwing nothing but a glare in her direction.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you like this. Truly, I did not,” she said, following him once more. “I was simply inspired by you last year when we met, and a creation came out of meeting you. A character that is not you—”

“How does it end?” he asked, at last, still unable to stop pacing. “Hmm? What happens to your twisted version of me?”

“It’s not a twisted…” She faltered when he glared at her. She no longer followed him but stood still, her face downturned and her arms folded across her chest as he paced up and down. “I do not know how it ends. I’m yet to decide.”

“You think me capable of all those things you have written?” he said with sudden vigor and turned to face her, unable to stop himself. “You think me capable of seducing the completely innocent lady that is in your story? Of hurting her?”

“That is not how it’s written—”

“That I would touch her like this?” He moved his hand to the back of her neck and tilted her head up toward him.

He wasn’t thinking through his actions. All he thought of was his anger and his desire. They mingled together madly in his gut until all he wanted to do was bend Lady Violet across that bench.

“Oh…” She gasped at the touch but didn’t pull away.

“Kiss her, like this?”

He moved his lips to her neck. He started with a searing trail of hot kisses, then he made them wet and nipped the place beneath her ear. When her hand curled around the lapel of his jacket and she moaned aloud, he smiled against her skin.

I have her. This is her punishment for what she has done to me.

Yet, he wasn’t really sure if it was a punishment at all.

“Maybe I was hoping you would,” she confessed in a rambling whisper.

He lifted his head, watching the blush grow across her cheeks as she looked at the center of his chest. That nervousness was back in her, that shyness, and he wished to break through it completely, to shatter it like glass and hear her moan his name.

“You’re quite the good girl, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

Rather than kissing her again, he bit her earlobe, listening to her moan once again.

I cannot punish her, I cannot do it. But I can use her.

He released her abruptly, and she tottered on her feet, looking in danger of falling into the pond behind her before she managed to regain her balance.

“I’ll make you a deal, Violet,” he said, dropping her title, for what was the point in keeping it now? “I will help you finish your story, and in return, you will help me repair my reputation.”

“What?” she murmured. “How?”

She was shuddering, and from the way she now pulled at the neckline of her gown, he had a feeling it was from excitement, not fear.

“We will pretend to court for a single month.” He held up a finger. “Then, it will end, and you will leave me. Alive and well, you will be seen walking away from me. My reputation will be repaired—everyone will see I can never hurt a woman, and you will have the finale to your story. Are we agreed?”