Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

W hen Violet awoke that morning, she was relaxed, her limbs heavy with fatigue but devoid of tension. She was calm in a way that was unfamiliar as of late, and yet very welcome.

Peeling her eyes open, she saw nothing but her husband. He was mostly on his stomach, his head turned toward her, with his right arm curved around her torso. Because he was so close, she wasn’t able to see as much as she would have liked—just his handsome face relaxed with sleep, his tousled curls, and the slope of his shoulder. She spent far too long studying the contours of his cheek, the straightness of his nose, the fan of his fair lashes, and his slightly parted lips.

Memories of the previous night assailed her. Every look, every touch, every sensual moment replayed itself, and remembering made her ache in the best way.

She wanted a repeat.

Again.

And again.

She barely caught the groan that threatened to escape, and as she tried to slow her pounding heart, panic attempted to override arousal. She wasn’t supposed to desire him this much. And she definitely wasn’t supposed to wish for more. They had an arrangement, and she’d promised herself she’d remain emotionally unattached.

After only a single night, she feared she’d already broken her promise, because she wanted to stay in his arms until he awoke, and then she wanted to remain by his side for the remainder of the day. She wanted to know everything about him. Not just the way his body felt against hers.

Curiosity was dangerous, and by the time she slipped from his loose embrace, she was trembling. It was a different sort of trembling than she’d done the night before.

Not nearly as pleasant.

Because it was fine that she liked him and enjoyed his company. But it was not fine to crave him. Nor was it fine to need him.

A physical connection was acceptable. Wanted, even.

But the way she felt after last night told her it was already more. So much more.

Regrettably, reminding herself that she refused to risk her heart by becoming emotionally entangled with another man changed nothing. She still wanted to crawl back into his arms and never leave.

Because the urge to rejoin him was difficult to ignore, it took the full strength of her will to turn away from the bed and begin to dress. Fortunately, he didn’t stir as she quickly pulled a gown over her head, wound her hair in a tight knot at her nape, and slipped out of the room.

The hallway didn’t offer enough distance from the temptation he posed, so she escaped to the main level of the house.

It wasn’t far enough either.

The impulse to run straight out the front door beckoned. She ignored it because she knew quite well that running away wouldn’t do any good.

Problems didn’t disappear when she avoided them.

On the contrary, they seemed to lie in wait for her to return.

With her sister still at the Greydon townhouse and her husband asleep, there was no one to distract her as she requested tea and then drank two cups in rapid succession. She poured a third, picked up a scone, and ate it in quick, efficient bites. Barely pausing to breathe, she nibbled a second scone, gulped her third cup of tea, and rose from her seat.

Running away might be foolish, but a brief respite from her thoughts was necessary if she was going to reestablish the distance she needed between Edward and herself.

She knew just what she could do to distract herself—collect Isabelle and hope that seeing her sister again would help restore her balance. Peering through the window at the heavy mist that shrouded the street, she concluded that it wasn’t ideal weather for an outing that was meant to improve her mood, but it would have to do.

She had a quick word with the housekeeper, grabbed her cloak, pulled her hood up over her head, and ventured into the damp morning air.

Even in the rain London was a noisy city, but the noise was just a backdrop to her thoughts. Because she was busy reminding herself that passion did not equal love, she barely registered the sounds from outside and couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting in the chilly hack as it clattered its way to the Earl of Greydon’s townhouse.

* * *

Edward didn’t have expectations for the morning after his wedding, but if he had, he would have been disappointed, because when he awoke, he was alone in Violet’s bed.

His clothes were scattered about the room, and his wife was nowhere in sight.

Stomach rumbling, he sat up and looked around. He had no knowledge of Violet’s routines, and he had no idea where she went when she woke up, so he had no choice but to rise and go in search of her. Stretching his arms over his head to try to loosen some of the soreness that had settled in his limbs after a night of lovemaking, he forced himself to get up.

The rain beating upon the window gave no indication of the hour, but his stomach rumbled a second time, reminding him that he required sustenance. He hadn’t eaten anything since tea the previous day and neither had Violet. She had probably awoken as famished as he was.

Wearing nothing but a sheet, he started searching for his clothes. Since he didn’t know where his trunks had been taken, he didn’t have anything to wear other than his wedding attire. He wandered about the room, piling each article he unearthed in a heap on the bed.

Once he’d located everything, he dressed as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the state of his garments. His waistcoat and jacket were missing, his cravat was badly rumpled, and his shirt was full of creases. Frowning, he attempted to smooth his curls before turning to the mirror in the corner to inspect himself.

A hesitant glance confirmed that he looked positively ghastly.

He had never considered himself particularly vain, but as he surveyed his appearance from top to bottom, he had no choice but to conclude that he cared quite a bit more than he’d thought he did about how he looked. His previous lack of vanity seemed to be directly related to the fact that he normally had access to pristinely pressed clothing that was precisely tailored to his form, and that he was rarely forced to ready himself without the aid of warm water.

When he sniffed, the unmistakable scent of sex tickled his nose. It was possible that the smell lingered in the air or on the bedding, but it was just as likely that it clung to his body.

He sighed as his stomach rumbled again.

There was nothing else to be done. He couldn’t hide in this bedchamber and lament his untidy state forever, so he crossed the floor and pulled open the door.

When he stepped into the hallway, he found it empty, with no sounds filtering through the tidy space. Since he had no way of knowing who else was in the house or where Violet had disappeared to, he retraced his steps from the previous afternoon.

When he arrived in the sitting room, he didn’t find his missing jacket or waistcoat, nor did he find the remnants of the tea he and Violet had shared.

He wasn’t sure why, but he wandered further into the room as if he could conjure Violet if only he looked harder. A voice from the doorway startled him. “Sir.” He turned to find a short round woman with a cap upon her head and a direct unblinking stare. “If you’ll follow me, Miss Violet requested a full breakfast for you before she went out.”

“Out?”

She nodded once. “She is fetching her sister.”

She was what? He had assumed they would collect Isabelle together. Why on earth had she gone without him?

“When did she depart?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

The woman frowned. “Not more than half an hour ago.”

“Did she say when she intended to return?”

“Miss Violet does not explain herself to the staff,” she replied.

He blinked at her clipped tone, and then trying to ignore his sudden panic at why Violet had left him, he smiled broadly. “Forgive me. I’m a bit discombobulated this morning. We haven’t even been properly introduced. I am Edward Grey, Violet’s husband. And you are?”

Her demeanor did not change. “Mrs. Swanson, housekeeper.”

“Mrs. Swanson. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry that I’m so out of sorts. I’m afraid I’m hardly myself before I’ve broken my fast.”

“We have more than enough food to satisfy you. If you’ll follow me, you can remedy your hunger,” she responded pointedly.

He was positively famished, but he wanted to chase after his wife as soon as possible. “Perhaps you could supply me with something I could take with me? I was meant to accompany Violet, and I probably ought to be with her when she fetches her sister.”

“Were you?” She sniffed. “And where exactly is Miss Isabelle?”

“She stayed with my family overnight. My brother, Lord Greydon, and the rest of my siblings are thrilled to welcome Violet and Isabelle into our family, and my sisters were eager for Isabelle’s company, so she remained with them while we spent the night here.”

“Your brother is a lord?” she asked, her left eyebrow arching so high it almost disappeared under her cap.

“Sebastian is the Earl of Greydon.”

She nodded once, not appearing particularly impressed.

“He inherited over a decade ago.”

Still no response.

“I also have three younger sisters. And a sister-in-law,” he added, for no discernible reason other than that he wanted the housekeeper to know that Isabelle had been in good hands.

She nodded again. “There are scones. I suppose they could be wrapped up for you.”

“How delicious.” He inclined his head. “If you could spare two or three, I’d be much obliged.”

She nodded and hustled out of the room while he waited impatiently, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

After what felt like an eternity but was only a handful of minutes, she returned with a small basket. He couldn’t see what was inside, but the aroma was mouthwatering. “Smells wonderful.”

Her lips turned up at the edges, and her expression softened for the first time. “It’s a family recipe, passed down from my mother.”

“How lovely,” he said with a smile. “I greatly appreciate your assistance this morning.” He held up the basket. “I cannot wait to dig into these. Thank you.”

He turned toward the hallway that would lead to the foyer where he would collect his overcoat and hat before braving the rainy, damp weather, but her voice stopped him in his tracks. “Would you like your jacket and waistcoat before you go?”

He froze. Where was his brain?

It was obviously preferable for him to arrive at his brother’s townhouse not a disheveled mess, so he pivoted and said, “I would be much obliged.”

“I’ll fetch them now and press them as quickly as I can.”

She disappeared again.

This time, he left the sitting room and lingered in the foyer, waiting for her return and sneaking bites of the rich buttery scones. They were as delicious as they smelled.

A thump at the door startled him.

And then a moment later, there was a clicking sound as if someone was unlocking it. Expecting to see Violet and Isabelle, Edward lurched forward, pulled it partway open, and froze.

“Basil,” he said in shock. The slightly shorter man stepped forward like he intended to enter, but Edward held onto the door firmly, not allowing him to. “What are you doing here?”

Basil sidestepped on the stairs to avoid the steady stream of water that was running off the roof onto his shoulder and looked pointedly at the door as if Edward was blocking it accidentally.

“I forgot a ledger when I left yesterday. I thought I took everything, but this morning, I realized the one I was working on when Violet announced her news is still in the study.”

“You cannot take the ledgers with you,” Edward responded, his grip on the door remaining tight.

Basil crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “I must have all of them. How else will I keep track of the accounts?”

“You won’t.”

Basil made a sound between a snort and a chuckle. “Are you joking? I cannot allow the accounting to fall behind. A missed day of entries creates headaches that reverberate for weeks.”

“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. I will be taking over your responsibilities for Violet’s father’s business interests. There is no need for you to concern yourself with the ledgers.”

“You…you…” Basil laughed. “You think marrying Violet gives you the right to—” He stopped abruptly. “You, sir, are misinformed. You may have stolen my intended but not my livelihood. Ha. You wouldn’t know what to do with those ledgers if they belonged to you.”

Edward’s knuckles turned white. He knew how to read a ledger, and there was no chance he was allowing the other man to take it. None. “I married Violet, and therefore her inheritance is mine. As to her father’s business—I will terminate whomever I choose, and that includes you.” He paused. “Although in your case, Violet stripped you of your position yesterday when she spoke with you.”

Basil chuckled darkly. “She most certainly did not.” His lips curved upward as if he were suddenly amused. “She has no more control over the business than you do. I should have explained yesterday, but frankly I was not inclined to enlighten you, and if I didn’t require that ledger, I might consider letting you discover the truth on your own.” The amusement on his face suddenly turned to something else. Sadness, perhaps. “Although Violet’s father was most adamant that she never know, and he’d be horrified if I let her discover the truth.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s too late now. I cannot protect her.”

Edward didn’t want to ask, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. “The truth about what?”

“Her father’s business interests.”

Edward waited for Basil to elaborate, but the other man said nothing.

“What about them?” he finally asked.

Basil rubbed his hands together. “Now that I think about it, I must admit, I’ll take some satisfaction from being the one to explain this to you.” He paused dramatically. “Violet’s inheritance includes the house and the money, but her father’s clients are mine now.” He shook his head. “Or…rather…they can’t be passed on to her. Or you. Her father’s and my business dealings were never contingent upon our marriage.” He shuffled closer, leaning his shoulder lightly into the door. Not enough to push, but enough to suggest he could if he wanted to. “If you’d like to let me in, I’d be happy to explain further.”

Edward did not budge. “You can explain here. You seem to be forgetting that I am not a woman at your mercy, and you cannot manipulate me.”

“At my mercy. Please. Is that what Violet told you?” Basil scoffed and rolled his eyes as he straightened. “Violet does not understand?—”

“Sir, I have your things,” Mrs. Swanson said from inside the house.

Edward released his grip on the door slightly, and Basil slipped into the foyer like the slippery eel that he was.

When the housekeeper spotted the other man, a smile split her face. “Mr. Basil,” she greeted him warmly, and Edward had the urge to toss him back into the rain. “I was afraid we wouldn’t see you again. Would you care for some tea?”

“Mrs. Swanson, you are too kind. I simply popped by to collect some things from the study. I’m afraid I have a busy day ahead of me, so I cannot linger.”

He started to move toward the hallway.

“Stop right there,” Edward said.

Basil did not halt. Didn’t even pause.

Edward muttered to himself and then stomped after Basil.

“Explain,” he demanded, after they entered the study.

“Close the door first.”

Edward obeyed, and when he spun back around, Basil had picked up a thin ledger. He held it with both hands as he perched on the edge of the desk.

“I do not know why it took me so long to notice how unnecessarily dramatic Violet is. She seemed so docile when we first met.” He sighed for the umpteenth time. “Allow me to explain. I became an apprentice at fifteen. For the next seven years, I worked tirelessly to become indispensable to Mr. Shaw. He witnessed my dedication, and he taught me everything he knew. He gave me more and more responsibilities until my knowledge surpassed his. When he was confident that he’d taught me all he could, he brought his daughters to London with the understanding that, if Violet was amenable, we would marry. He wanted her and Isabelle taken care of when he was gone, and he trusted me to do so. He had been considering retirement for some time, and after she agreed to the betrothal, he gave us his blessing, and then allowed me to take over day-to-day operations.”

“Violet said?—”

“—Violet might not have all the facts.”

The truth hit Edward in the face. “You lied to her.”

“Maybe.” Basil winced. “A little bit, but I didn’t mean any harm. She was being stubborn, and I had vowed to protect and care for her.”

“You let her disappear for months.”

“I vowed to protect her from the truth ,” Basil said, a touch louder than necessary.

Foreboding ticked up Edward’s spine. What truth did Basil keep alluding to?

“The truth?” he prompted.

“Her father was a businessman. Of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

Basil hesitated, and then added, “He moved goods for a profit.”

The ominous feeling expanded. What had he gotten himself into? “ Illegal goods?”

Basil’s eyes darted away. “Maybe. Sometimes. Not always.”

“Her father was a smuggler?”

“ No . A supplier. Or a seller, if you prefer.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The risk, mostly. Smuggling is dangerous, but what we do is less so.”

“Because?”

“It’s harder to get caught. We procure goods and then auction them off. If we were caught, we could claim no knowledge of their provenance.”

Edward had no idea if that would make any difference, but he supposed it didn’t much matter. “And Violet doesn’t know?”

“Of course not. She’s a woman, and as such, her father didn’t want her to worry.”

“If the risk is low, why would she worry?”

“The risk is low, but it isn’t nonexistent. Nor is it drawing room conversation. Her father believed she had delicate sensibilities and wanted to protect her.” He snorted. “He obviously wasn’t well-acquainted with her stubborn nature.”

“Why are you telling me ?”

“Because you need to know. I can’t have you sniffing around and stirring up trouble.” Basil crossed his ankles. “There’s something else.” He shifted his attention to the ground. “As soon as you visit the bank, you’ll discover that there were no stipulations for Violet’s inheritance.” His nose wrinkled. “I imagine she’ll be angry. And have questions. There isn’t much I can say, other than I thought I was doing what was best.”

Edward looked at Basil in horror. “You’re saying that Violet didn’t have to marry. Her inheritance was already in her possession. And she didn’t know.”

Basil nodded.

A terrible thought occurred. “And the money?”

“I’m not a thief.” Basil stiffened with apparent outrage. “I haven’t touched the funds. The money is accounted for. Every last shilling. The bank can prove that the only withdrawals have been Violet and Isabelle’s pin money since their father died.”

Edward raised his brow. “You’re a liar, but not a thief?”

“Believe what you will.” Basil sniffled. “If I’d known she was considering marrying another, I would have told her the truth about her inheritance ages ago. Contrary to what she believes, I’ve always acted with her best interests in mind.”

“By convincing her she had to marry you?”

“It was for her own good.”

It probably wasn’t worth arguing but—“She did not have to marry at all,” Edward practically shouted. How could Basil treat her so cavalierly? And how could Edward tell her that she’d had no reason to marry him?

Even though he hadn’t known the truth, his ignorance made him complicit.

He hadn’t saved her.

Nor had he given her freedom.

He had ensnared her.

If he hadn’t been so determined to marry her, he would have asked more questions. If he hadn’t been so stubborn when Sebastian offered to help, he would have discovered the truth well before the wedding, instead of the morning after. He’d been so eager to marry her that he’d ignored both common sense and good advice.

He had failed Violet, fully and completely.

“How was it for her own good?” he asked, trying to cool his temper.

“I already told you. I made a promise to her father—a man who was like a father to me .” Basil tapped the ledger against his thigh and mumbled, “I thought that eventually she’d get over being mad, and things would return to the way they were.” He tugged on his hair with his free hand. “She loves me.”

“She loved you,” Edward said between clenched teeth. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that she no longer had any warm feelings for her former betrothed.

Basil smirked, but it didn’t quite manage to mask the pain that flared in his eyes.

“Violet was being needlessly difficult by claiming she wouldn’t marry me, and I thought that deep down she still wanted to. I see now that I made a mistake—or mistakes—but at the time, my actions seemed prudent.” His gaze narrowed. “It isn’t as if you can judge. You obviously know how enchanting Violet can be. You married her while grasping nothing about her situation. You know as well as I do, that while at first glance she’s unassuming, once you get to know her, she’s rather lovely.” He tucked the ledger into the folds of his cloak. “There’s just something special about her.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time to continue discussing this. I must be on my way.” He took a step and then paused. “Word of advice, now that you’re married. Do not dally with other women. Violet will be more than displeased, and she is not the forgiving type.”

Basil ambled across the room, pulled open the door, and disappeared into the hallway.

Edward could have chased after him, but he didn’t bother. Instead, he slumped against the desk. In the span of an hour, everything had gone sideways. He had awoken happy and eager to see his wife again, but now instead of anticipating it, he was uneasy.

How could he tell her that their marriage had been unnecessary?

Would knowing alter their future?

They couldn’t reverse time.

They were married. For better or worse.

But he couldn’t help wishing that worse hadn’t occurred the day after they wed.

Unfortunately, wishing wouldn’t change anything. He left the study, made himself as presentable as possible, grabbed the remaining scones, and exited the house.

On the carriage ride to his brother’s, he thought of nothing except how he could tell Violet the truth without dooming their future. By the time he alighted, he hadn’t made any decisions, but he’d made a single vow.

He would do whatever necessary to prevent Basil’s lies from poisoning his marriage.