A Bride Unveiled (15 page)

“Yes,” Jane said with an arch smile, swinging around to the door. “You would not believe how many ladies I’ve met who wish he’d extend his generosity toward them.”

Violet was mulling this remark as she proceeded toward Mr. Dabney’s pantry. She opened the door and stepped into the stuffy darkness, murmuring, “Generosity toward ladies, indeed.” She started to unload her basket, perceiving shelves on the left for food, and pegs to the right for clothing. “I’d like to know what kind of ladies engage his services.”

“Charitable ones, I assume,” he said directly behind her.

She swung around, a wheel of wrapped cheese in her hand. “Is that the only criterion?”

His eyes danced, full of wickedness. “No. Any lady who engages me has to be someone I consider a friend as well as a lover.”

“I’m sure that list is very long.”

“I haven’t finished explaining the other criteria. Why don’t I help you put that on the shelf?”

A shiver went down her backbone. “I can manage.” “It’s so much easier for me,” he said in an alluring voice.

His hard body bumped against hers. There was barely enough room for one person to move in the pantry as it was. She pushed a little. He gave—but only for an instant, so that when she turned, she found herself trapped in an inescapable pose.

She looked up at his face. He gave her an unabashedly sensual smile. He reached back his hand and closed the door. He lowered his other arm and pulled her against him.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she whispered. “Following me here.”

“Excuse me. I was here before you.”

She laughed, enjoying the intimate amusement in his eyes. “You know perfectly well what I mean. You followed me into the pantry. It looks suspicious.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he whispered loudly. “Her ladyship asked me to see if you needed help.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Do you?”

“Absolutely.” She paused. “Should I ring a bell or shout?”

“There aren’t any bells,” he said calmly. “And if you shout, you will frighten the children.”

He had a point. “You can’t keep me in here indefinitely.”

He stared up at the shelves. “We have enough food to last for days.”

Her heart was racing. She could not deny that spending time alone with him sounded like a pleasant imprisonment. “So you protect children, do you?”

He shrugged. “We’ve chased off a few troublemakers.”

“We? Meaning the students at your academy?”

“Yes.” He pressed closer to her, close enough that she felt the imprint of him through her dress. “We aren’t alone. Retired soldiers stand watch in the street with us from time to time.”

“How decent of you,” she whispered.

“How is your aunt?”

“She seemed tired, and I worry that . . .”

He hesitated. “If there is ever anything you need, you have only to ask.”

“I don’t want to lose her.”

“I know. I don’t want to lose you again, either.”

It happened in a heartbeat. He bent his head. The clean angles of his face blurred, and then his mouth covered hers. She parted her lips and felt his tongue flick against hers. It was a brief but decadent kiss. It was a kiss that scorched to the bone and set her blood on fire.

“God,” he whispered, and tightened his hold on her. She lost all sense of everything but him, until a voice outside the door impinged on her awareness.

He let her go and stepped back against the wall, where the coats and cloaks hung from a row of wooden pegs. Violet released a ragged breath. How he managed to appear as innocent as he did when the marchioness squeezed inside the pantry mystified her.

She was still reeling from his kiss and suspected that it showed. She felt as if she had been baptized in flames, singed to the roots of her hair. She’d wanted to stay wrapped in his arms and never move.

“Is all well in here?” Jane asked.

“It’s fine,” Kit said, rehanging a cloak that he had removed from its peg a moment before.

“I’ve put the cheese away,” Violet added, and pointed to the shelf.

Jane glanced up with a knowing smile. “I see.”

“We could use some light,” Kit said.

Jane looked at him. “It might help to leave the door open next time, but I suppose it won’t stay unless you prop it with a brick. Weed has another delivery. Would you like to come and meet the children before we leave, Violet?”

She nodded. “I’d love to.”

Kit straightened. “Should I stay to help or go back outside?”

“Go outside,” Jane said, smiling at him. “The boys are already asking where you’ve gone. We won’t stay much longer. May we drive you anywhere, Mr. Fenton, or do you have your own coach?”

“I walked, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jane turned to Violet. “Will he be a bother?”

What was a gentlewoman supposed to say? “Not at all,” Violet replied.

“Splendid,” the marchioness said, as if there had ever been a doubt she would be accommodated. “Then it is settled. Miss Knowlton and I might even take a peek at the fencing school. From our window, of course.”

Violet followed them back into the classroom, startled when the children sighted Kit and broke into a loud cheer. He grinned, giving Violet a sheepish look, but she was cheering inside for him as well. “It seems as if he is everyone’s hero,” she commented quietly to Jane.

“Could he be yours?” Jane asked with a directness that rendered Violet speechless. “Oh, Violet, do not blush like that. You will have to learn that I am a tease. I did warn you of my wicked nature.”

“Perhaps I should warn you of mine,” Violet murmured, resisting the urge to watch Kit leave the room.

“You? I doubt it, my dear. Your aunt has raised you with great care. You have never been exposed to the vices of society.”

“Perhaps I only need the chance.”

Jane laughed. “Stay in London long enough.”

“You are
not
wicked.”

“Some people think I am,” Jane said.

“Then they are envious.”

“Let us read to the children for an hour,” Jane said, her eyes brimming with warmth. “The wicked world will fall away as we do.”

And it did. Violet sat down to read a primer with a little boy named Jack, who had dark circles under his eyes and looked up from his book every few seconds to check whether Kit was still at the window. “I’m gonna be a sword master like ‘im when I grow up, miss,” he whispered. “All the boys ‘ere are gonna go to the academy and get training.”

“Are you?” she asked, pushing a lock of hair from his eyes.

He nodded. “If we finish school. That’s the pledge. And we gotta stay out of mischief. It’s about . . . What’s that word?”

“Honor?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

She was surprised at how quickly the hour passed and how attached she had become to the few children she had met. It made her ache again for her own family. It made her grateful for what she had.

Kit was quiet during the ride to his fencing salon. So was Violet. But then, the marchioness chatted enough for three people, possibly capable of carrying on a conversation with herself. Violet wondered what Godfrey would think if he could see them. And then she felt guilty that she hadn’t thought of him all day.

But how could she, with Kit to divert her? He looked at her only once during the carriage ride. His eyes had glittered like glass, so clear that she could see through to his soul.

A good soul.

A soul locked inside a man who looked dangerous indeed on the outside.

It had been a humbling day, one that had strengthened Violet’s resolve to dedicate herself to good works. It gave birth to a dream that one day she would be able to endow a school in Monk’s Huntley.

Even if she couldn’t afford to establish it herself, she could collect donations, and Kit could—Her dream ended there. Godfrey would disapprove. He—

Kit’s voice jolted her. “Well, it’s back to business as usual. Pardon me, ladies. It has been a pleasure, but the sword calls.”

“Do what you must,” the marchioness said with a gracious nod.

Violet looked up, realizing that the carriage had stopped in front of an attractive redbrick establishment. From what she could see a sword fight was taking place on the sidewalk. A boisterous audience comprised of students, shopkeepers, and young gentlemen placing bets on the outcome obstructed the passage of traffic. A hot-pie vendor shouted that he had sold his last wares.

“Good gracious!” the marchioness said, blocking Kit’s exit with her outflung arm. “One of those swordsmen is my brother-in-law, and he’s promised the family he’ll behave. Stay here, both of you, while I confront the rascal.”

“Which rascal is it?” Kit inquired, sitting back obediently. “And are you certain I can’t be of assistance?”

“It’s Devon, the one who never outgrew the nursery. Just look at the big lummox. He isn’t wearing any protection at all. Jocelyn will have a fainting fit when I tell her what he’s up to now.”

The door opened, and Jane stepped out into her senior footman’s hand. Kit started to laugh. “I can’t let her go into that fracas alone,” he said in a low voice. He looked at Violet. “Will you promise to stay here if I leave?”

“Do you think anyone would dare harm her?”

“Not on purpose,” he replied, taking his top hat from the seat. “I can’t vouch for what she’ll do, however.”

Violet wished dearly to follow, but the moment he stepped out of the carriage a university student recognized him and shouted at the top of his voice, “Master Fenton is in our midst!”

She smiled as he made an unsuccessful dash for the
salle
. The crowd swarmed around him, bumping the coach. That a half minute later Weed handed the marchioness back inside, closed the door, and stood guard against the steps was a tribute to his dedication that Violet could only admire.

“What a rout!” Jane explained, collapsing on the seat against Violet. “That man has a following that verges on the unholy.”

Violet looked over Jane’s head to the window. Kit had drawn his sword and was fencing backward. Three of his students forced him to the salon door, where he slipped into a flawless lunge, disarming the trio in one move, and vanished from Violet’s view.

“That was staged,” Violet said in admiration. “They did that on purpose so he could escape.”

But she wasn’t at all surprised that Kit had a devoted following. She had been beguiled by him once herself.

“It is an amusing way to make an exit,” Jane said. “I wish I could do that at some of the affairs I attend.” Jane studied her as the carriage rocked into motion. “Perhaps we shouldn’t tell your aunt or fiancé about this part of our excursion. I don’t think I should mention it to my husband, either. Are you good at keeping secrets?”

Violet smiled at her. “Yes. It’s one of my best traits.”

O
n the following day Sir Godfrey called to take Violet and her aunt for an afternoon drive through Hyde Park. He had brought Aunt Francesca a straw bonnet decorated in silk lilies that he’d bought at a discount. When Violet caught her aunt making a face at the hat in the hallstand mirror, she decided that a day in the park might not be a good idea after all.

“I have a treat for you,” Sir Godfrey insisted behind her with a mysterious air that to Violet felt more like a threat.

“What sort of treat?”

“You, my dear, will have to wait.”

Violet compressed her lips. “May I have a hint?”

“No,” he said, escorting her toward the door, “you may not.”

“Will I like this treat?” her aunt asked, pulling off the bonnet and handing it to Twyford with a grimace of distaste.

Godfrey stared at Francesca in arrested disbelief before a respectful smile relaxed his face. “I will be disappointed if you do not, madam,” he said, offering Francesca his arm.

Violet and Twyford glanced at each other before Francesca reluctantly placed her hand upon his forearm and reached back for Violet’s hand. Violet hesitated. She wasn’t sure what had happened between Godfrey and her beloved aunt, but she would rather stay home than serve as peacemaker between them. Moreover, if she left the house, she might miss another visit from Jane, or the message that she could never admit she was waiting for.

She would have to be careful not to bring up the subject of fencing, specifically of fencing masters, to Godfrey. She doubted she could convince him that she had developed a sudden fascination with sword fighting, after she had missed his performance at the ball.

She paused at the door to button up her aunt’s short woolen spencer and followed her with Godfrey to the carriage he had parked in the middle of the street, obstructing traffic to and fro. Perhaps she should pretend that nothing was wrong, a situation rendered impossible as the three of them settled into the carriage and her aunt bent at the waist to examine one in a pile of long objects that poked out from beneath a tarpaulin under her feet.

“What in the name of creation is this?” Aunt Francesca demanded, and then proceeded to frighten the wits out of Violet by pressing the knob at the end of the long object and releasing a sword blade in Sir Godfrey’s face from the polished cylinder.

Violet swallowed a gasp as she stared at her betrothed. The blood drained from his cheeks, and small wonder, with Aunt Francesca swiping a lethal blade at his throat in bloodthirsty delight. “Well, look at that. It is a sword, Violet. Your fiancé has brought a virtual cache of the things with us to the park. How remarkable, Sir Godfrey. Do you intend to open up a shop as we drive along Rotten Row?”

He wrested the cane from her grasp in red-faced indignation. “I have already sold them to the pupils in the academy where I fence. Please, Lady Ashfield, give me that stick before you stab one of us.”

Aunt Francesca’s voice rose in skepticism. “Is the academy you attend located in the park?”