Chapter 7

CHAPTER7

Xander drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him, straining to listen to any noise coming from the road. He had sent a carriage to Violet’s house under the cover of darkness and now awaited its arrival. Relieved that his mother and sister had taken their own rooms whilst in London, it left the house empty.

Well, nearly empty.

Earlier that evening, he had gone to his butler, eager to give him and the rest of the staff the night off. They had prepared a dinner for him which now sat in his dining room under silver cloches to keep it warm, with the candles lit around the room. Then, they had either left or retired early for the night. It left the main rooms of the house quite empty, with only Xander wandering between them as he repeatedly looked between clocks, waiting impatiently for Violet’s arrival.

Will she come?

He was beginning to think he should have made the code more obvious, or that he should have mentioned in advance he was sending a carriage, when the sound of a carriage drew his attention. Standing from his place at his study desk, he moved to the window and peered out of the glass.

The carriage came to a halt on the cobbles outside his townhouse, and before the driver could step down to open the door, for no footman accompanied them, the person inside opened the door alone.

She stepped down, with her face masked by the hood of her cloak. Even her body was completely hidden from view, for the cloak did such a good job of shielding her, but when her feet touched the floor, Xander knew that petite height.

She’s here.

Holding back a smile, he left the study as quickly as he could and moved toward the front of the house. He didn’t bother waiting for her to knock on the door but opened it wide and peered out.

The hooded figure halted in the rain, looking up at him as behind her the driver stayed in his seated position, flicking the reins and moving the carriage toward some shelter down the road.

Xander leaned against the doorframe, knowing that his face had to be practically in complete shadow, for there was only one candle lit in the entrance hall, and it was far behind him, silhouetting him. He crooked a finger in her direction, beckoning her inside.

Slowly, she walked forward, doing as he asked and moving toward him. He barely stepped out of the way to let her inside and took advantage of the way her arm brushed his, indulging in the feeling, and then he shut the door behind her.

“Violet?” he whispered to her as she turned to face him again, her hands curling around the hood of her cloak and lowering it to her shoulders.

Once more, he was struck dumb by her beauty and the way those green eyes stared at him. He was hard-pressed not to kiss her now and meld her body to his in the middle of the hallway. His body yearned for that touch, and a tight coiling sensation mingled in his stomach, wanting her.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, wetting her lips a little as he moved toward her.

“No.”

“What?”

“No Your Grace. My name is Xander.”

He reached for her cloak and untied the laces at her neck, watching as the blush spread across her cheeks. He didn’t quite touch her, only the material, but the promise of that touch was tantalizingly close.

“Xander.” She said his name with a sort of moaning sigh that only made his desire grow. “For the ruse, I must call you this? For the false courtship?”

“Call me by my name anyway,” he urged and drew the cloak off her shoulders, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush the tops of her arms as he drew it off her.

Distracted, his eyes roamed over her. Whereas the other night she had worn a rather modest and pristine ivory gown, she now wore a bold gown of rich green silk. It nestled under her bosom, high on her waist, and fell to the floor in a smooth skirt of silk. The deep neckline revealed the slim curve of her breasts, making his mouth dry.

“Do you have a scene in your story such as this one?” he asked her, continuing to trail his fingers down her arms as he lowered his hands to her wrists, then snapped his touch away and took the cloak with him. He dropped it over a coatstand by the door.

“I do,” she whispered, her words drawing his attention back to her.

He cocked an eyebrow, curious as to what she had planned in her story. “And what happens to your heroine in a scene such as this?”

Her breathing grew faster, her chest rising and falling in such a way that his eyes shot down to that open neckline. She was quite intoxicating, even without trying to be. The fact that these words hadn’t frightened her, but excited her, made it all the worse.

I will behave.

The thought cut through the haze suddenly, and he offered his hand to her. Slowly, she took his hand, her fingers gently brushing his own. He took hold of her hand more firmly and towed her sharply forward. She closed her eyes, turning her head up as if she thought he would kiss her.

Not yet. Nearly…

He hovered his lips over hers, making her wait, then said, “Time for dinner.”

Her eyes shot open, and the smallest of smiles curled her lips. “Is this part of my punishment, Your Grace?”

He smirked, liking the way she thought that he was teasing her, taunting her into wanting him.

“Hold onto that thought,” he said and drew her forward again, her hand in his own.

They left the hallway and entered the dining room. She hesitated in the doorway, her eyes moving from him to the spread.

“Were you expecting a whole party?” She nodded at the myriad of cloches in the center of the table.

“Well, I do not yet know what you like, so I had to make sure the staff prepared enough for you to choose from.” He led her toward the table and pulled back the chair for her.

As she sat slowly down, it tormented him, for his eyes drifted down to how well the gown fitted her, and he had an errant thought of what it would be like to sweep the cloches to the side and put her on the table instead, bending over her to feast on her lips.

He sat down at the head of the table and poured claret for the two of them, aware that she looked around the room.

“We are alone?”

“Completely,” he assured her. “The staff have been given the night off.”

He sat back and gestured for her to help herself. She slowly lifted cloches and began to pile food onto her plate while glancing at him.

Such tension existed in the air that he was nervous to fight it, and he wondered if he should kiss her before they had any discussion at all.

“If you keep staring at me like that, Xander, you will forget to eat your dinner,” she said with such wit that he smiled once more.

“You and I must talk.” He decided to behave and added food to his own plate, too. “I want the whole of the ton to see me as an honorable man. I want this suspicion gone. A suspicion that has hardly been helped by you.”

She paused, her fork poised over her plate as she refused to look him in the eye. “I didn’t know people would realize you were the inspiration behind it.” She looked up, at last. “That character is not you.”

“I know. I’ve read what you wrote.”

“You have?” She leaned forward. “Did you at least…”

“Do not ask me if I enjoyed it.”

“It’s only natural for a writer to long to know if someone enjoys their work or not.” She shrugged and ate, shooting a quick glare at him.

“Rather difficult when I am the man being lambasted for it.”

“Lambasted?” She looked at him curiously, then stopped eating. “Then I really must be a poor writer.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and watching her as a tiger might study his prey.

“I mean that the character in those pages is not one to be lambasted. He is a draw, an attraction, a dark one, yes, but one that is irresistible. You must know that is what I meant.” She glared at him. “Why else gift me Vathek?”

He smiled knowingly. Within a few pages of reading her work, he had sensed at once the gothic influence and how the character in those pages was not quite a hero and not a villain either. He was something infinitely more seductive between the two.

“Perhaps I suspected something.”

At his words, their eyes connected, and neither of them looked away for a minute. She was the first to break their gaze and return to her food.

“How do you wish this ruse to work, then?” she asked, her manner so business-like all of a sudden that he wished to thrust the plates away between them and capture her lips, to make all formality vanish.

“We will pretend to court for a month. We shall attend events together, and I shall send you gifts, as a courting gentleman does with his lady.”

“You sent a good first gift.” She smiled a little at her plate. “I have always been curious about Vathek.”

“It may yet shock you.” Then, he changed his mind as she looked at him again, for her eyes were now wandering and hardly staying on his face. “Or maybe you quite like being shocked, Violet. Maybe you long to be shocked and surprised.”

She bit that full bottom lip, breaking their gaze once more. “And after the month is up?”

“Then you shall break the courtship,” he said with finality. “You can cite anything as the reason—my surly temper, by all means—but you shall walk away, completely untouched and unharmed by me. Then, everyone will see the truth—that I would never harm a woman.”

He spoke so deeply and with such a grave tone that he was aware of how she quivered. It was a momentary thing, as if an excited shiver had run up her spine.

“Very well.” She nodded. “Then that is what we shall do.”

“Before we proceed, there is something I must know.” He abandoned his plate and sat back in his chair, lifting the glass of claret to his lips and looking over the rim at her.

“What is that?”

“The truth. The truth about what happened in that bookshop last year.”

She shifted in her seat, seeming abruptly uncomfortable and fidgeting with her knife and fork.

“Ah, I see I have frightened you, after all. Amazing to see that to scare you has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with lowering those high walls of yours, Vi.”

He shortened her name. It felt natural to do so, and it earned him her focus once more. She reached for her wine glass but in her haste nearly knocked it over.

He managed to catch it in time, their hands touching over the bowl of the glass as they stared at one another.

“You lowered those walls last night for me,” he said, adopting a huskier tone. “Lower them for me now.”

Her eyes bored into his, and then, all at once, there was a twinkle, as if she had thought of something truly exciting.

“If you lower yours for me,” she said simply.

“How do you mean?”

They both stayed leaning forward, their hands on the glass.

“I will tell you the truth, and in return, you will tell me a secret of yours,” she whispered. “Think of it as a game, Xander.”

He couldn’t resist the urge to smirk. “I’ll have you know I am rather competitive. You’ll find me wanting to win any game we play.”

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

Xander looked at her, finding a smile curling his lips.

“Very well.”

He couldn’t resist. The idea of finding out more about this woman, the one who seemed so reserved to others yet had kissed him so readily in the garden the night before, intrigued him greatly.

“It will be my turn first, then.” He released her hand on the glass, sitting back, aware that her eyes followed him constantly. It was almost as if her eyes were glued to his, unable to look away for long. “What happened in that bookshop last year? What did I do that made you put me in your writing?”

“It is not you,” she said again with more feeling. “You are the muse, the inspiration, yes, but it is not you.”

“So you said before, but you are still avoiding the question.”

His stern tone now seemed to break that magnetic gaze of hers. She looked down at her glass and took a large sip, gulping the wine before she faced him once more as if steeling herself.

“You struck me, that is all,” she whispered in a sudden rush. “I had never met anyone like you before. There was something about you.”

“What was it?” he asked, hooked on her words.

“Something… like fire.”

A feeling curled in his stomach. The desire he felt for the woman now ripped through him so strongly that he felt his body stirring in his trousers. He had to shift a little, fidgeting to release the tension.

“My mind dwelled on you for so long that I invented this character, someone who was forbidden yet intoxicating enough that my heroine could not stay away from him. That part, at least, is true.” She nodded at her position at the table. “It seems I have the same weakness my heroine possesses.” She laughed lightly, and he smiled, too.

He was glad she had that weakness. This moment was an indulgence indeed, a chance to forget about the wider world beyond the walls of this house.

“Now, it is my turn?” she asked.

“Yes.” He gestured for her to go on as he refilled their glasses.

“What made you kiss me last night?”

He froze. For some reason, he had been expecting her to ask what had happened all those years ago with his betrothed. He was sure it was what most people would have asked at that moment, but, clearly, Violet was not like most people.

He put down the carafe and looked at her, his expression a firm one lining his brow deeply. “A reluctance to resist,” he said simply.

She frowned a little as if she did not quite understand his meaning, but he had no inclination to explain further. He was not going to go into detail about the attraction and the fury, the feeling to want to punish her and satisfy her last night that had torn through him, just as she had said…

Like fire.

“My turn again,” he continued, not giving her a chance to ask him something more. “You seem to perform for the ton.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Anthony described you as a quiet, reserved woman, but what you have done, your writing, the subject of it, and even writing in a pseudonym, reveals to me a more passionate heart than he has described.” He tilted his head to the side and watched her intently, noting the way her eyes returned to him, practically dazzling in the candlelight between them. “What more do you do to perform for the ton?”

“Everything.” She shrugged as if it were an obvious answer. “My father has always been keen on freedom, of being true to ourselves, but my mother believes more in satisfying the ton. I am an accomplished learner because she wishes me to be. I have skills in language, too, all at her request, and I can play the piano as well. I do it, for it pleases her.”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me your piano skills.”

He didn’t hesitate. A sudden need had overtaken him to get Violet away from the dining table. What she had described, this prim lady of the ton, was not the one he had glimpsed, not the one who dreamt of rebellion. He wanted to see that rebellious side to her again.

Pushing away from the table, he stood and offered his hand to her. Hastily, she put down her glass and took his hand. He led her away from the table and through the nearest door, taking a candle with him.

They entered the music room, where in the corner a grand piano sat. The ornate and engraved top shone in the candlelight, and as Xander lifted the lid, the white ivory keys glistened almost yellow in the lemony light.

“Play for me,” he pleaded, his tone softer. “I’d like to see the performance you give for others.”

She squinted her eyes, clearly curious at where he was going with this, but didn’t say anything. She sat down on the piano stool, her eyes on the keys, and began to play. She may have looked soft, her face turned to the keys, glimmering in the candlelight, but as she struck the keys, she shocked him with the sheer force and passion of her playing.

Far from choosing a gentle song, the kind he traditionally heard in the music rooms of the ton, this was Beethoven’s Concerto No. 5, Emperor. She trilled the opening notes, one following another like a cascading waterfall, overflowing with drama.

Inhaling sharply, Xander watched her play, his eyes flitting between her face, the determination with which she looked at the keys, those eyes darting fast like bumble bees, and the way her fingers caressed the piano. The sensuality in it had his mind wondering what it would be like to feel those fingers on his bare skin.

He sat down abruptly beside her so that they were facing opposite ways, and his right shoulder brushed her left shoulder. At the touch, she broke off, her eyes darting to his face. The sudden empty room, with no sound, meant he could hear her breathing heavily.

“Now kiss me, Vi,” he whispered, and before she could even respond, his lips met her own.