A Marquess for Christmas (13 page)

“We
could inquire with Bow Street.”

“Yes,
that is a possibility. But you are the one I trust.” She put her hand on his
arm. “Thank you.”

“My
lady is most welcome.”

He
exited the room and she breathed a sigh of relief. She still hadn’t addressed
the inevitable gossip of the servants, but one worry was off her table.

Chapter Eight

Kit
sat at the table with a piece of paper and a quill. As soon as Violet was gone,
he’d bribed Adam, one of the footmen, to bring him something to write with. He
needed to get a letter to Freddy. Though Kit was not yet ready to leave
Welbury
Park, it would be cruel to let Bella think
something terrible had happened to him.

For
all her meddling, Kit loved Bella and he would not make her relive the horror
of losing their parents. This was a hard time for her as it was. He regretted
storming off, but it was hard not to rage against her despotism. Bella was a
beautiful tyrant with no country to subjugate.

He
shook his head as he scribbled the opening lines. Poor Freddy received the
brunt of her domination. Though for some strange reason, Freddy seemed to like
it. Maybe he knew some secret that Kit had never learned.

Kit
read over the short missive, knowing Freddy would be smart enough to read
between the lines.

Dear Freddy,

You will forgive this brief note as I have
no time for niceties. I recently came to some difficulty while assisting a
lovely lady on the road. Some ruffians attempted to make off with her
purse—and a good deal more. If you saw her, you’d understand why common
men believe in angels.

I sustained an injury, so said angel took me
into her home and has taken very good care of me. I will rest here for a few
more weeks and then return in time for Christmas day.

Trust me that all is well. I will see you
soon, brother. Tell Bella I will come back shortly, but do not tell her where I
am. Keep her busy.
 

I will see you in a few weeks.

Sincerely,

Kit

Marquess of
Kittrick

Welbury
Park

Leicestershire, England

He
folded up the missive and went to the satchel that Avery had retrieved for him.
He folded back the thick leather and dug around for the nub of wax and his seal
ring.

Dipping
the wick into a candle flame, he watched the green wax pool onto the parchment.
Once he sent this letter, there was no denying his past. Any fantasy he might
have had about staying with Violet at
Welbury
Park
was gone. A man with no name, no past could be free to choose the future as he
wished.

A
marquess had responsibilities. For all his wealth, he could not erase his title
or his station. He was branded at birth, and no matter how much he rebelled
against the confines of the court and polite society, he would never completely
escape them.

 
He pressed down the ring, which formed a
ram’s head surrounded by laurel leaves. With a sigh, he put the ring away and
tapped on the door three times, giving the signal for Adam to return for the
letter.

It
was done now. He tried not to think about the future beyond tonight. Tonight he
had everything to look forward to. An enticing woman with a mind as wanton as
her luscious body would be his to devour. That was all that mattered, all he
wanted to remember.

Kit
spent the next few hours alternating between resting and imagining Violet
draped across his bed, naked and yielding to every dirty thing he wanted to do
to her. He didn’t get much sleep.

In
his mind, he saw her body over and over again, even remembering the mole on her
torso and a tiny one on the back of her neck. He would kiss every inch of skin,
explore every curve and crevice.

That
is, if she would let him.

She
said she needed time. What did that mean? Was it a day? A week? A month—
God’s blood, it better not be that long
.
Patience was a skill he avoided. There were too many pleasures in life to
dilly-dally. Abstinence was for monks, not healthy, attractive men in their
prime.

So
here he was, waiting. She’d promised to come to him for dinner. In anticipation
of tonight’s festivities, he’d given himself a fast towel bath and put on the
nicer of the two dressing gowns he had. He’d begged Mrs. Norris for a proper
dinner jacket and trousers, but the old woman said he needed to rest his
injuries and refused to oblige him.

Avery
did not argue with Mrs. Norris, but did give him a comb, a nice crisp shirt,
cravat, and a bit of cologne.

He
was tying his cravat when there was a knock at the door.

“You
may enter.”

Violet,
followed by Mrs. Norris and Sally, came in with trays of food. He watched Sally
lay out a thick white tablecloth over the old walnut table. While it was
certainly an improvement, it did not cover the gnawed leg.

Violet
wore a pale yellow gown adorned with sparkling gold dots. His eyes skimmed over
the puff sleeves to the generous swell of her bosom—which was well
displayed—and he was even more pleased when she turned and he could see
the elegant curve of her back. The dress split to form a long V, leaving her
back mostly open.

Though
she was fully dressed, she might as well be naked. He must send a letter of
praise to her dressmaker. As necklines got lower, gentlemen looked forward to
dinner and opera and all the social niceties women required of them.

He’d
gladly give his wife a little more purse money if she looked like that.

What?
What the hell had just gone through his mind? Kit didn’t have a wife, nor did
he want one.

Yet,
he could imagine Violet coming to his bed every night. He could imagine sitting
across from her at a long table and ignoring everyone else present. He could
imagine sitting with her at the opera and admiring a view that had nothing to
do with the actors on stage.

“I
hope you are hungry.” She smiled at him as the servants laid out an elaborate
spread for them.

A
footman lifted a silver lid, revealing roasted mutton with carrots and
potatoes. Kit could smell the rosemary. His mouth salivated as each dish was uncovered.

The
smell of the fresh baked bread made his stomach squeeze. He’d hardly eaten this
morning because Violet hadn’t come to breakfast with him. She more than made up
for it now, first with a gown that displayed almost every curve he longed to
see and now with savory meats and vegetables and a delicious-looking soup.

He
waited until the footman had sliced the meats and served up the bowls of broth
to speak.

“You
look lovely, Violet.”

“Thank
you, Kit.”

As
he sipped his soup, he watched her. He noted each rise and fall of her bosom,
noted the way she held her spoon to her lips.
Mmmmmm
. What he wouldn’t give to
sample her mouth again.

She
blushed and glanced at her staff then looked down at her soup. This wouldn’t
do. Violet was back to the shy female he met weeks ago. He preferred her as she
was earlier, bold and carefree. Wicked to the core.

“Would
you please excuse us?” he said to Sally and the others. One by one, they filed
out of the room.

Violet’s
eyes went wide. “Why did you do that?”

“So
that I could do this.” He set down his tray and climbed down from the bed to
take her hand and kiss it, first going up her fingers then turning to kiss the
inside of her wrist.

“We
are having dinner!” With another blush, she glanced away.

“Where
is my wicked widow?” he asked. “I quite like her.”

Her
eyes turned green again and he decided this was his favorite shade of hazel.

“I
already shamed myself by staying with you in the bright light of day. At least
we could wait until everyone is abed.”

He
wanted her now. “You will learn that I am not good at waiting.”

She
bit her lip and pulled her arm back. “You shall have to learn.”

“It
is not as if they are ignorant.”

“Just
because I chose to…be intimate with you does not mean I need to flaunt it about
like dinner theater. What I choose to do with you is my affair, but I will not
give them more gossip than we have already. I am the lady of this house. I will
behave as such.”

He
walked over to her chair and turned her so that he could place his arms on
either side. “You are the lady of this house, but this room is mine. When you
walk through that door, you leave all of that behind you.”

“Of
all of the arrogant and presumptuous things—”

“Would
you have me be some meek invalid led around by the apron strings of his nurse?”

“No.”

He
leaned in close and gave her a dark stare. She should know he would not take
orders from her.

“Kit,”
she said, pushing him away and jumping out of her chair. “You may well be lord
of your own province somewhere, but here in this house, I am queen. You are
here at my discretion, so it does not matter your title or station. You will
treat me as your equal, not as your courtesan.”

The
fire in her eyes should have made him back down. It was as good as a slap in
the face. Instead of being angry or rebuked, he was glad. This was the woman he
adored. The one who had disappeared moments ago.

She
continued. “I am not your mistress, Kit.”

Hmmmm
. The thought had not entered his mind before now.
Would she consider it? If he asked her, would she become his mistress? Or,
would she part ways with him once she found out the truth about his identity?

Another
woman would expect him to marry her. Somehow, he could not imagine Violet doing
so. Obviously, she had enough money to support herself well. She had at least
eight servants by his guess and a fine country home, though a little isolated.
While she was no countess, she lived very comfortably.

What
benefit would there be to her? She had her freedom now. Still, if she were his
mistress, he could see her whenever he pleased. He could shower her with gifts
and take her on a tour of the Continent. Maybe even take her to the Americas.
And when she tired of him—or he of her—they could part as friends.

If
she were his wife, she would have that and more. But unlike most of the women
he’d met, she did not covet being a marchioness. He’d overheard Miriam and
Sally one day and knew that Violet had turned down the proposal of an earl over
a year ago. If she were hungry for a title, she would have taken it.

He
could ask her to be his mistress. She’d brought it up. But as he looked in her
eyes, the words died before they could ever be spoken. She was too fierce and
independent to become his
chatelaine
.
The thing he loved about her was that independence, the innate strength and
capability that were as natural to her as breathing.

She
was not Isabella. She was not his mother or his aunt. Violet was something else
altogether.

“I
apologize,” he said, gently taking her elbow and gesturing for her to sit. “Let
us resume dinner and I will try to behave in a civilized fashion.” He winked at
her. “I make no promises after dessert.”

“You
are incorrigible.”

* * * *

Violet
took her seat and waited for him to go back to his place on the bed. It was odd
to sit at dinner this way, with Kit’s long legs draped across the bed and him
in clothes no woman should see save his wife and his mother. She reminded
herself that they’d done this before, many times.

It
felt different now. Maybe it was knowing the sensation of his hands on her
body, the pleasure of them in her sex. She shifted in the hard chair,
pretending that she didn’t feel the stirring in her belly, which had little to
do with the savory food displayed before them.

Giving
in now would set a precedent and she could not allow him to have the upper
hand. Kit expected everyone in his presence to acquiesce to his commands. Did
it even occur to him that anyone would disobey? She doubted it.

Violet
knew she was in too deep, thrust in the middle of a vast ocean with no boat and
no paddle. She clung to the tiny raft of her control. It was all that could
save her from drowning.

The
truth was, she wanted to yield. She wanted to let him conquer her body in any
and every fashion he could contrive. But like him, she had her pride. Though it
was her fear that drove her rather than protecting her vanity.

If
she gave all to him, what would be left for her once he departed? Her heart and
body already were lost, what else would surrender along with them? Her soul?

“You
are far too quiet, Mrs. Laurens.”

Her
head snapped up. He had not called her that in a very long time. “Hmmm?”

“You
have barely touched your soup and your mind is preoccupied. Would you like to
tell me what troubles you?”

No.
She would not. “Next month is Christmas. With so much going on, I had not even
thought about it. We shall have to get a goose and pick out garlands and
mistletoe. We shall need to cut down a tree for the Yule log.”

“That
is not what you were thinking about. Come here, Violet.”

It
was not a request and she did not have the energy to fight him. She set her
napkin on the table and walked over to the bed.

He
made space next to him and patted the bed. “Sit down.”

Warmth
seeped into her from the spot where he’d been lying. The urge to lean into him
and drink up the heat from his body was almost too hard to resist. She swayed
and then pulled back.

Kit
made the decision for her and pulled her against him. So close that she could
smell the cologne he wore. She’d been too distracted to notice it before. It
reminded her of a dark forest, woody and strong. Yet it drew her in so that she
snuggled closer.