34. Groveling Does a Duke Good

An hour later, Fenwick House

After waking no fewer than three servants with his request for a means of traveling to Fenwick House in the wee hours of the morning, Alfred opted to ride his horse. "I cannot wait for the coach," he told the groom, who had mentioned it would take twenty minutes or more to hitch up the horses. "I'll take Mouse."

The groom had seen to saddling his walker, and while he was doing so, Alfred spent the time reviewing the other horses in the stable. "I don't recognize this one," he said, holding up a lantern. "Or maybe I do," he added, his brows furrowing when he was sure it was Violet's walker, George.

"That would be the Marquess of Fenwick's mount, Your Grace. He rode it here late last night. Like you, he didn't want to bother with a coach to only go a half-mile."

Alfred gave a start. "Fenwick is here? At Weston Hall?"

"Indeed, Your Grace. Seems the duchess was expecting him."

For a moment, Alfred considered heading back into the house. The thought of waking the marquess—or worse, interrupting whatever it was he and his mother were doing in her apartments—had him changing his mind.

He could request an audience with Fenwick once he had determined if there would even be a reason to do so.

The bracing chill in the air helped keep him awake as he rode Mouse south in Park Lane. The ride also allowed him to rehearse what he would say once he was granted entry into Fenwick House.

He didn't want an audience of servants garbed in dressing gowns as he made his intentions known to Violet.

He wanted to speak with her in private.

Securing the reins around the wrought iron fence in front of the Fenwick townhouse, he looked up to discover a light still on in a third-story window.

A light framing the silhouette of someone looking out.

In the dark, he couldn't make out who it was who saw him, but his nervousness grew as he approached the front door. Lifting the boar's head knocker, he pounded it several times, wincing as he imagined who it might awaken.

He was about to pound it against the blue painted door again, but the sound of a bolt being thrown stilled his movements.

The door opened to reveal a butler wearing a night cap. He was wrapped in a dark robe and displayed an expression of fright.

"Pardon my late arrival, but I am the Duke of Weston, and I'm here to... I wish to be taken to Lady Violet," he stammered, holding out a calling card he remembered to fish from his waistcoat pocket at the last minute.

His eyes widening, the butler glanced at the card before he stepped back to open the door wider.

"If you'll wait, Your Grace, I'll see if?—"

"I wish to be taken to her right away," he insisted using his most commanding voice. Although he might not have learned anything about running a dukedom from his father, he had certainly learned how to sound like a duke when the circumstances required it.

"Your Grace," the servant acknowledged, lifting a candle lamp from a nearby shelf. "If you'll follow me."

Several gaslit sconces along the main hall's walls were low lit for the night, their flames casting long shadows of the marble busts mounted on caryatids positioned between doors.

The marble floor led to a central stairway, and although he wanted to climb the steps two at a time, Alfred forced himself to follow the butler at his slower pace. "Is Crawford in residence?" he asked in a whisper.

"He is, Your Grace, although he has been abed for several hours." The butler stopped in front of the only door with a sliver of light spilling from its base. Gingerly knocking, he stepped aside when Alfred motioned with his hand to move.

"Thank you. You're dismissed."

His expression conveying his uncertainty, the butler finally nodded and made his way towards the servants' stairs at the back of the house.

When the door opened, Alfred stood and stared.

Dressed in a night rail and a dressing robe, Violet was tempted to call out that she wasn't receiving any callers when Browning's familiar knock sounded at her bedchamber door. When no words followed, though, she grew curious.

Whatever would her father think when he discovered Alfred, Duke of Weston, had paid a call in the middle of the night?

She opened the door a few inches, and when she realized Alfred was alone, she said, "Your Grace." Habit had her dipping a curtsy, although she clutched her dressing gown more tightly around her, which meant her hand wasn't available for him.

Whatever would have Alfred coming to Fenwick House at this time of the night? Having seen the duke's arrival on Mouse from her window only moments earlier—someone riding horseback in Park Lane at almost three o'clock in the morning was enough to have her peeking out her window—she managed to keep an impassive expression on her face as she studied his dark features.

Although she usually found him quite handsome, his eyes seemed deeper set, his face was flushed from the cold, and he seemed unsteady on his feet.

"Your hair is so long," he commented.

Violet blinked. Not sure what to say, she merely stared at him.

"May I come in?"

Realizing it best no other servants see him hovering about in the corridor, she stepped aside. She closed the door when he was fully in the bedchamber, his gaze not on his surroundings but on her.

"I made a terrible mistake earlier today," he blurted. "And I wish to apologize."

Not expecting to hear such words from him, Violet gave a start. "Oh?" was all she could think to say.

"I'm in pursuit of a duchess, you see, and I am not as clever as you," he stated.

Once again, Violet didn't know how to respond to such an odd comment, so she merely stared up at him.

From the haunted look in his eyes, she knew he had struggled with trying to sleep. He was impeccably dressed, however, which had her thinking he might have come from his club.

But on horseback? No gentleman rode a horse to his club. Besides, he didn't smell of cheroot smoke, nor of liquor.

"I didn't sort it until an hour ago," he added before he rolled his eyes. "I can be rather thick at times."

Her mouth about to drop open, Violet forced it to remain shut until she said, "Sort... what exactly?"

"Why it was you didn't tell me about Fenwick being your father. Crawford being your brother."

Violet's gaze darted to the side, and she allowed her confusion to show when she realized she was unable to follow his reasoning. Then, all at once, she understood what he was trying to say. "If you had known... if we had been properly introduced...?"

"Oh, God," he murmured, his eyes rounding. "I wouldn't have spent time with you at the Everly's soirée. I wouldn't have joined you for that ride in the park. I... I wouldn't have danced with you, or..." One of his hands went to his forehead. "I wouldn't have taken you to the gardens and kissed you, and fallen in love with you," he finally said, a pained expression crossing his face. "I would have been miserable for the rest of my life."

Violet inhaled softly and allowed a wan grin to show. "If you really had been my brother, I would not have minded, I suppose," she said in a quiet voice.

"But?" he prompted, taking one of her hands to his lips.

Her eyes widened before her grin did. "I much prefer that you are not." Noting his expectant expression, she added, "Well, especially if you've fallen in love with me."

He chuckled and then quickly sobered. "I want nothing more than to hold you. To kiss you. To spend the rest of the night with you, despite the scandal it's likely to cause," he whispered, one of his hands moving to the side of her head. His fingers slid through her blonde waves to the back of her neck, and he pulled her close enough so he could kiss her on the forehead and then on her lips.

At some point in the middle of the kiss, Violet pressed her soft body against the front of his and moaned softly. When he ended the kiss, pulled away, and looked at her as if he was about to ask why, she whispered, "Well, I'm not about to send you away in the middle of the night."

His face split into a brilliant grin. "Oh, good, because I fear I'm about to fall asleep," he warned. "And if I was forced to ride home, I wouldn't be able to stay awake, and I rather doubt Mouse knows the way home."

Violet tried hard to keep a smirk from showing. "Depressed duke discovered sound asleep on horseback, wandering the streets of Mayfair," she teased.

"Something like that," he whispered.

"So... you're here to play house then?"

"Play house?" he repeated.

Violet grinned as she undid the buttons of his top coat and waistcoat and untied his cravat. Once she had the length of silk unwound from around his neck and folded neatly over the back of a chair, she removed his coats and did the same with them.

When Violet moved to clutch the sides of his shirt, Alfred stilled her hands with his own. "That's enough for now," he whispered, pulling her back into his arms. He kissed her again and then led her to the bed. "As much as I want to make love to you, and I do, my love, I think it's best we wait."

Violet seemed torn for a moment but finally shrugged. "Then lie down before you fall down," she said, giving him a nudge on his chest.

He did as she instructed, grinning when she moved to the end of the bed and pulled his boots from his feet. A moment later, the gas light above was extinguished, bed linens covered most of his body, and her soft body, still encased in the night rail, was tucked against the side of his. Wrapping an arm behind her shoulders, he pulled her farther atop him, until her head was in the small of his shoulder and one of her legs was draped over one of his. "This bed is just right," he whispered. "More so because you're in it with me," he added.

Violet purred her response.

"Are you comfortable?"

"I am," she said, using a finger to trace the whorls of dark hair that showed where his shirt was open at the top.

"Good night, my love."

"Good night, Your Grace," she whispered.

"Weston," he murmured. "Better yet, Alfred, if you'd like, or?—"

"Fred, when we're in a bed," she murmured on a soft titter.

He chuckled softly. The room was silent for a time before he suddenly gave a start.

"What is it?" she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.

"I forgot to propose marriage," he said.

She giggled and dropped her head back down. "You can do it in the morning."

He let out a breath of frustration. "I told you I wasn't very clever."

"Go to sleep, Fred."

A moment later, and they were both sound asleep.