A Marquess for Christmas (12 page)

She
wanted it. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in a long time. But
such wanton abandon came with a cost. Was it one she was willing to pay?
Perhaps she should take the pleasure they’d found and let that be all.

No
matter how she envisioned this, all roads led to a poor end. How long could she
keep him here? A few more days? A week? A month? Two? That was the best she
could hope for.

Kit
had made no promises. Nor could he. How could a man who did not know who he was
offer her more than a passionate tryst? Though she thought him a gentleman,
what if he wasn’t? He admitted that he was a boxer. Could not a successful
pugilist have the degree of wealth that a merchant or gentleman did, assuming
he invested his funds well? Could he be a commoner? Or was he the heir to some
grand dukedom?

She
was not sure which would be worse. A low-born boxer or a rich duke so far above
her that she could never be more than a fleeting affair. Unless she became his
mistress. Could she lower herself to do such a thing?

A
silly voice inside her head said she could do anything if it meant keeping him.
Yet if she became his mistress, she would be the one kept. He could have any
number of women aside from her: a wife, another mistress, lovers…

Her
eyes welled up, but she wiped the tears away. Crying was the least productive
thing she could do. If she was on the battlefield with a mangled leg and a hole
in her chest, then she could cry. If her brother was found bloody and dead,
then she could cry. But crying over a charming man—who had no choice but
to leave her and resume his life—was useless.

Violet
eased apart from him and planted her feet on the cold wood floor. A hand
grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

She
did not look at him. If she did, she would want to stay. Instead, she looked
for her chemise and stays and put them back on. She shook out her discarded
petticoat and tied it around her waist. As she tied the laces on her stays, he
took hold of her waist and pulled her against his body.

He
was so warm and hard. His chest crushed hers and she felt so small in his arms.
Again, her eyes welled, but she blinked the moisture away.

“I
hope you are merely stepping out to get some bread and cheese or to check on
tonight’s dinner.”

“I
have a few things to attend to. You should lie down and get some rest, Kit.
Someone will come and check on you for dinner.”

His
voice was a shard of ice. “
You
are
not coming back for dinner?”

She
turned her head from him. “I cannot say.”

“You
mean you will not say. Why are you running from me?” His voice strained as he
spoke, which finally convinced her to glace at him.

His
eyes went wide and his hands gripped her arms as he held her a short length
from his body. “Did I
hurt
you?”

Why
did he think that? If he had hurt her, she would have screamed at the top of
her lungs until Avery came and beat Kit to a bloody mess. Or she would have
clawed and fought until
he
screamed
in pain.

“Do
you think me as weak and fragile as that?”

“Then
you enjoyed your earlier punishment?” His gaze searched her face.

Yes.
“I do not enjoy being treated as a four-year old, but I did find the rest
pleasurable.”

Kit
sighed heavily. “Good.” His relief was almost tangible. He smiled at her and
she felt the walls around her begin to crumble.

“I
need time.”

His
gaze was long and hard. “Time for what?”

“To
collect myself. To speak to Mrs. Norris and Avery. To take a bath.” The waver
in her voice was too weak. She had to appear strong. This was a man used to
charging his opponents like a wild bull.

“How
much time?” He crossed his arms.

Somehow
the loss of his hands on her made her feel empty rather than relieved. “I do
not know.”

“I
do not understand you.” When he shook his head, his dark tresses swayed and she
bit back the desire to run her fingers over the strands of his hair.

He
cupped her chin and leaned down so that they were nose to nose. “You do not run
from me. I respect that you…” He let out a long breath. “Need time. It has
likely been a long time since you have known intimacy with a man. I am not so
much of a brute that I would ignore that. But
tell
me. Do not run and force me to chase you. You will not like
the result.”

Was
that a threat? She looked into his eyes. Yes, it was. Should she be afraid?
Somehow she could not bring herself to be. Kit was a man who lived his life on
the edge of a knife blade. She’d known men like that before. Avery had once
been such a man.

However,
Violet was no meek woman. Kit would learn that soon enough. Though she was very
much a woman, she was independent and opinionated. If she’d been any less, she
would not have survived the marches and battles in the war.

“Fine.
I will not run. But never assume that I will cower before you. I am not afraid
of your temper, Kit. Nor will I ever be.”

She
backed away from him and resumed lacing her stays, then looked through the
blankets for her gown.

“I
have never met a woman quite like you.” His voice was soft, all trace of the
bull gone.

“I
have known many men like you,” she countered.

“Really?”
Even before he spoke, she could feel the heat of his body close to hers. So it
was no surprise when he touched her waist.

“I
met soldiers in the war who thrived on the thrill of the battle, who lived for
pistols, liquor, and women. I’ve known reckless boys who charged into war with
idiot ideals and came back missing limbs, if they came back at all.”

“But
am I the only one you graced with your heavenly body?” he asked, running his
fingers up her sides then back down again. Her body hummed in response. Like a
cat, she leaned into him, rubbing him.

“My
husband was not that sort of man,” she said. “I have taken no other to my bed.”

He
turned her around to face him. The glide of his lips over hers made her knees
want to give way. She yielded, wrapping her arms around him and slipping her
fingers through his hair.

Why
was it so hard to say no to him? Violet prided herself on the strength of her
resolve. She was adept in a crisis, but in Kit’s hands she was pudding, waiting
to be licked and eaten.

“You
seek to distract me with kisses,” she said.

Kit’s
grin was wide. “Is it working, madam?”

“More
than I would like to admit.”

“Then
do not leave me.”

Interesting.
Those were the words she wanted to utter to him. The thing that burned in her
heart and made her afraid to stay. What if he cared more than he let on?

“Let
me attend to my duties and then I will return for dinner.”

This
kiss was a quick, firm press of his lips to hers. “Not a full concession, but I
shall consider it a victory nonetheless.”

“Try
to remain in bed while I am gone. I heard about you trying to sneak out to the
stables a couple of days ago.”

His
lashes dropped and he smiled slyly. “If you would let me out of this room once
in a while I should not have to resort to such tactics.”

“Shall
I have to tie you down to the bed?”

A
gentle bite to her ear made her gasp. “That sounds promising.”

Her
eyes went wide. He truly was wicked.

As
he licked the edge of her ear and then swirled his tongue in its opening, she
lost her sanity. Her fingers clung to his arms and her breaths were quick and
shallow.

“Though
I prefer to do the tying.”

“Rogue.”

“Rake,”
he countered, biting down on the lobe again, but hard this time.

“I
do not doubt it.”

He
released her and she saw that his eyes were glazed and his gaze hungry.

“Go,”
he said. “Go before I decide to take you up on your idea.”

“Of
tying you up?”

“No.
Of tying
you
up.”

She
squeezed his nose. “If I am trussed up and locked to the bed, it is because I
allowed it. Remember that, my lord.”

His
thumb swept her lip and she became lost in his brown eyes. “I will never forget
it.”

* * * *

Violet’s
cheeks were aflame when she found Avery. She didn’t know what to say to him.
He’d been her most trusted ally for the past few years. Though class separated
them, the reality of the horrors they went through had formed a bond far closer
than servant and mistress. Violet thought of him as a friend.

She
cleared her throat. He was bent over showing Sally how to properly clean a
crystal vase.

“My
lady.”

“Avery,
can we meet in my study?”

“Of
course.”

All
the way to the door, she could feel the pitter-patter of her beating heart.
This was certainly improper, but then again, theirs had never been a
conventional relationship.

She
didn’t relax until she sat behind her desk. She gripped the solid wood and
trusted that if the war hadn’t broken her, this awkward conversation would not
either.

Avery
went to the thick, red damask drapes and pulled until the darkness faded and
the stark light of the afternoon shone through.

“How
can I assist you, my lady?” His face revealed nothing, not that she’d expected
any trace of emotion there. Avery was a good butler, but he’d also once been a
superior card player. When his thoughts showed on his face, it was because he
allowed you to see them.

 
“You and I have known one another for a
very long time.”

“Yes.”

“We
have seen blood and death and the follies of humankind. We buried John
together.”

“Yes.”

“So
I shall not pretend with you as I might with
Hinkley
and the others.”

He
waited for her to continue. His grey eyes were as pale as the cold winter sky
outside.

She
picked up a quill and rolled it between her fingers. “You and Mrs. Norris know
everything that goes on in this house.”

“That
would be a fair assessment.”

“Then
you know what passed in Mr. Kit’s room this afternoon.”

Silence.

With
a deep breath, Violet continued. She fingered the feather of her pen for a
moment before she met his gaze again. “You seek to spare me,” she smiled, “and
I am grateful to you for that. But you more than anyone else knows the pain of
my husband’s loss and the empty years that followed it.”

“My
lady, there is no need—”

Why
did she feel the need to explain herself to him? Avery would not judge her for
finding happiness, however fleeting. Was it her own conscience she needed to
clear?

She
pursed her lips. “I wish I could say that I was the perfect widow, with no
thought for any other man save John. But he is gone.”

Again,
Avery merely watched her. His eyes were no longer the clear crystal of moments
ago. She could see the subtle shift to ash.

 
“I do know what will happen here. Kit is
welcome to stay as long as he wishes, but you and I both know that it is not a
question of if he will go, but when.”

Avery
gave a nod.

Violet
glanced at the tall, sturdy oak clock, ticking the minutes away as if nothing
ever changed. She watched the pendulum swing, counting the beats and knowing
that time was not on her side.

“He
has made no promises and I have asked for none.”

Why
did Avery give her that look? She could only think of it as pity. Was she
pitiable? Perhaps. But her course had been set since the day Kit had rescued
her.

“I
am no innocent, Avery. You and I both know that was robbed of me long ago. Now,
my choice is to accept the truth and to prepare for it as best I can. I know
you sent out a few inquiries when he first arrived, but I want you to try
again.”

She
was surprised to hear him speak as he’d been silent for so long. “Has he
remembered aught else?”

Now
she was the one who nodded.

“Is
there anything that can identify his lordship? Has he remembered his family
name?”

“I
do not think so. However, he did mention that he remembers being a pugilist.
And given the scars we’ve seen on his body, I can believe it. We know his name
is Kit or Christopher and now we know he frequented boxing matches in London.
That should surely help us track down his family, if he has any.”

“You
know as well as I, my lady, that he is no mere thug who made his fortune in
sport.” The gravel in his voice made Violet look up.

“Probably
not. But if we can find some of the patrons for these matches, someone ought to
recognize him.”

“I
cannot access the clubs of the fancy.”

She
smiled. “Something tells me he did not discriminate against an able-bodied
opponent if they had the backing to put up for the match.”

“Aye.”

His
officious demeanor was slipping, but Violet was polite enough not to remark on
it. Charles Avery had his secrets, just like Kit. And though he was her closest
friend, she might never know what they were.

“The
more we know about him, the better.”

“And
you are sure you wish to know?”

No.
But she would not say it aloud. “Yes. I know the man that he is, but we need to
find out who he was before he came here. At the very least, we should inform
his family of his whereabouts. Christmastide is almost upon us.”

She
didn’t know why it mattered so much. Whether he were a lord or a commoner, he
could choose to leave at any time. Perhaps the old expression was true: to be
forewarned was to be forearmed?

Avery
nodded. “Very well, my lady. I shall send a letter to some friends in London to
see what I can discover. There is a chance I may have to travel there myself.”

“If
such a need arises, we will make arrangements.” She stood. “I would rather send
you than hire someone or send a footman.”