Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

Xander put down all the installments of The Dark Duke he had read. There were four chapters before him, spread across the editions of the magazine. The version of himself in those pages certainly wasn’t quite him, but there was enough darkness in the description that if anyone did believe he was this man, then his reputation was torn to shreds.

He drew forward the latest edition, his eyes darting across one of the sentences.

… he had taken her to his bed with ease, ruining her, destroying the reputation that had once been pure like untouched white silk…

That was not what a woman’s reputation was like to him. Any woman he had ever bedded wanted it and knew what was at stake. He had never bedded a woman who did not know the risks. Or who did not enjoy them.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he cast his mind back to Violet, thinking much of what had happened between them outside in the garden the night of the ball. The moment he had called her a good girl, and she had quivered so seductively, seemed to have latched itself onto his memory and would not let go.

He kept imagining more things, though the lady he had fantasized about in that bookshop was no longer confined between bookshelves.

The night before, he had pictured taking her in that garden, thrust up against the side of the pavilion. He also pictured having her in his bed, rising above her as he spread her legs, finding her core.

“Xander?”

He threw the magazines into the open drawer of his desk and shut it tight, just as the door opened and his mother walked in. He stayed sitting down behind the desk, not wanting his mother, nor his sister, who followed in behind her, to see what was going on with his body.

“I need to be certain,” Katherine said with a firm tone, placing her hands on her hips as she stopped in front of his desk. “Xander, were you serious when you said you wished me to hold one of my parties again?”

“It would mean people staying in this house for a week,” Helena reminded him from where she hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “People whispering in these corridors.”

“I thought you wanted me to show my face to the ton and prove them wrong,” he told Helena, who nodded.

“I said show your face. Not invite them into your house!”

“I am still certain,” Xander said with a slow nod.

If it got Violet in this house, then he would be perfectly happy about it. To his surprise, Helena smiled broadly at the idea. His mother’s reaction was not such a shock, for she clasped her hands together and bobbed on her tiptoes as if she was a woman much younger than her years.

“This is wonderful. I must make the arrangements at once.” Katherine turned and darted out of the room, calling to the housekeeper to come and help her make the preparations.

Helena stood to the side to let her pass, then closed the door behind her and moved to the window seat, plush with cushions against the mahogany wall paneling.

“Well, I am glad to see you do not fear them anymore,” she said, sitting back on the cushions. “I saw too that you and Anthony talked to many ladies last night.”

He said nothing but busied himself with some of his tenants’ papers in front of him. He was determined whilst he stayed in London that he would continue the good work he had been doing in Hampshire for the good of his tenants. He had a rather long letter to write to his steward that morning.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m quite glad you’re returning to your rakish self.” Her words made him stop and raise an eyebrow in her direction. “At least you are more like yourself again,” she said pointedly.

He nodded, appreciating her words. Even as he looked at the tenants’ papers, his mind drifted back to Violet and the way she had bitten that full bottom lip of hers.

“What about Tilly?” Helena’s question made him freeze.

He didn’t look up at his sister as he answered her. He didn’t like it when Tilly was mentioned. But it had been years, and his sister was right. He needed to move on. He didn’t have to always be this angry.

Keeping his eyes on the papers, he focused on the scent of the ink as he uncorked the nearest inkwell to begin his letter. “What about her?” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm.

“What if she returns?” Helena stood, moving toward the desk. In her effort to catch his eyes, she rested her palms on the other side of the desk. “Technically, you are still betrothed. Neither of you broke off the betrothal. Not officially.”

It ended the day she left.

“Let me worry about that,” he said calmly, his eyes darting up to meet hers.

There must have been some sort of reassurance in his look, for Helena nodded and stepped back from the desk.

“I hope it is not something you will have to worry about at all,” she murmured, more to herself than him, as she slipped back out of the room.

* * *

“Please, I need your help.” Violet caught Celia’s hand on the way up the stairs and dragged her in the direction of her bedchamber.

“Looks like I do not have much choice in the matter,” Celia jested behind her, though Violet paid no attention. She was too busy glancing down at their mother and father over the banister.

They were deep in conversation, with Marianne gushing about what a beautiful gown they had picked for Violet that day, and Jonathan wondered aloud if Violet would have preferred a book instead. His question earned him the outrage of his wife.

“Come, quickly, before they see.” Violet dragged her sister down the landing and through her bedchamber door, shutting it quickly behind her. She leaned against the wood, feeling her heart beating hard against her chest for fear of discovery.

Across her bedchamber and hanging from a nearby door was a swatch of material that they had ordered for Violet’s new dress from the modiste that day. Violet cast it a resentful look, thinking of how dull the shape was and how her mother had fussed with the material pinned around her, dragging the neckline higher and higher.

“You wish me to cover for you tonight?” Celia asked and moved toward the material, admiring it by running it through her fingers.

“Please?” Violet asked, stepping off the door.

She did not want to point out that she had covered for Celia on a few occasions, saying that Celia had gone to bed early with a headache, and when their mother insisted on taking tea to Celia, Violet had volunteered to take her place.

Celia did not argue, though. She smiled and glanced back at Violet. “Well, I can hardly preach good behavior now, can I?” she said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “Very well. I shall claim that you are feeling under the weather. Time of the month and all that. Our father will certainly ask no questions or come and check on you then, and if our mother endeavors to see you, I shall volunteer in her place.”

“Thank you.”

Violet sighed in relief as she walked across the room to her open window, wondering exactly how she was going to accomplish the feat tonight. She could only presume and hope that the Duke would send a carriage for her, though nothing had been said about it in his letter.

“Oh, I am hopeless at this. One night away, and I do not even know how to accomplish this. I do not even know what to wear.” She looked down at the gown she wore, feeling ill at ease about it. It was hardly anything beautiful, nothing like the gowns Celia wore.

“That is why you have me, to help you,” Celia said playfully. She released the material and walked past Violet to the open door. She took out one dress at a time and then discarded them on a chair nearby. “No, no, no,” she murmured at each one. “Do all your gowns have high necklines and long sleeves? Goodness, it’s a wonder Mama has not put you in a convent yet.”

“If she was not so fond of following the ton’s ways, I think she may have.” Violet sighed heavily and sat down in another chair, looking forlornly at the dresses that were now piling up.

She quite agreed with Celia. She did not want to wear any of them tonight.

“Hmm, how about this one?” Celia suddenly asked and reached for a gown at the back of the cupboard. She unfurled the long Empire Line skirt and held it out for Violet to see.

Rich in Pomona green, far from the usual pastel colors that Violet wore to please their mother, this gown would bring out the hue of her eyes quite perfectly. It was cinched high on the waist, with short sleeves and a rather deep neckline.

“I wore that for my debut,” Violet whispered. “Mama asked me not to wear it again.”

“I wonder why.” Celia cast a look at the ceiling as if she could peer through it and start pleading with the heavens for patience. “She did not like the way people stared at you in that gown. Come, you must wear this one.”

Violet stood up from her chair and moved toward her sister, taking the gown and holding it up in front of her body as she moved toward the mirror. She had become a little curvier since she had first worn the gown and rather feared that her breasts might strain against the material, yet she also wondered if it would accentuate the deep neckline and if the effect might be rather more flattering than revealing.

“Maybe,” Violet whispered.

“Oh, go ahead,” Celia urged. “Do you not want some inspiration for the ending of that story of yours?” She giggled.

Violet bit her lip, quite determined not to tell Celia or any of her friends that the Duke of Barlow had set his mind quite strongly on the idea of helping her finish the book.

What does he want to do with me tonight? Is it to discuss the particulars of our ruse to repair his reputation? Or to discuss my story instead?

“Say you’ll wear it,” Celia pleaded once more. “I assure you that you will be quite beautiful in it.”

Violet’s eyes darted to meet Celia’s in the mirror. They may have been different colors, but there was a similar glimmer in both.

Violet found herself mimicking Celia’s smile.

Maybe I have some of my sister’s bravery, after all.