Rogues and Ripped Bodices (12 page)
Read Rogues and Ripped Bodices Online
Authors: Samantha Holt
***
“I
suppose you shall be returning to America once you are well.” Viola glanced up
from her book to find the marchioness peering down at her. “Your family must be
missing you.”
Viola offered a wide smile. “Not at all. My
brothers and father will be happy to have me out of their way for a while
longer.”
Her lips pursed. “You were lucky Julian acted so
quickly.”
“I do not think it luck, my lady. Your son is a
clever man.”
Those pursed lips softened slightly. “He is
indeed.”
Viola tried not to let her smile expand.
Julian’s mother had remained coldly civil, murmuring some slightly sympathetic
words after her accident but it would take some time to get her to warm to her.
However, she knew something Julian didn’t. He might not be able to see it and
his mother certainly never expressed it, but Viola saw pride there.
And who wouldn’t be proud of such a man?
It left Viola with only one conclusion. She
could not give up yet. He had saved her life. The week since the carriage
accident had been painful and frustrating but also wonderful. Julian had tended
to her with such caring… she had to believe she could change his mind.
“Mother.”
Viola’s heart skipped when he entered the
library. She eyed his broad torso and revelled in the memory of their time
together. Unable to walk properly, she had spent the past week being cradled in
those strong arms, being pressed against that chest. It was a sort of sweet
torture.
“Julian,” his mother acknowledged. “If you will
excuse me, I must talk to the housekeeper.”
When she was gone, Julian rolled his eyes and
settled behind his desk. “Was she bothering you?”
“No, not at all.”
“Was she rude?”
“No more than normal. I’m not so delicate that I
cannot handle her myself, Julian.”
He let slip a reluctant smile. “That I well
know.” He glanced at her leg that was resting upon a footstool. “How is it? Are
you in pain?”
“No. It is better but it’s ugly.” She scrunched
up her face in annoyance. “It will scar.”
Julian shook his head. “It is not ugly. Besides,
a scar is nothing compared to what could have happened.”
Viola lifted her skirt to eye the steadily
healing laceration. He raised a brow and skimmed his gaze down her. Heat
gathered low in her stomach.
“What are you writing?” she asked, tucking her
skirts back around her and placing her book aside.
“A letter.”
“Har-di-har.” She narrowed her gaze at him.
“Another complaint?”
“No, a letter of thanks to the doctor.” He waved
a slip of paper at her. “I intend to reward him richly for his services.”
“You know he said that you did all the work.”
She gave him a soft smile. “You saved my life, Julian. Had you not acted so
quickly, I might have lost my leg or my life. You know how easily these things
can kill a person.” His expression grew thoughtful and he stared at her
intently. She fidgeted under such scrutiny. “What is it?”
“I nearly lost you.” He stood and came to her
side. Sinking down to his knees, he took her hand and placed a fingertip to it.
He wrote the words as he spoke them, tracing tiny letters on her palm. “I was
so terrified of losing you by marrying you and yet I nearly did anyway.”
She cupped his rough jaw with her free hand.
“But you didn’t. And you saved me. Had you not been there, I might have died.”
“Yes.” His jaw worked. “I love you.” Again he
sketched the words. “I cannot lose you again. I was so terrified of getting
hurt that I hurt us both. I won’t make that mistake again.” He turned over her
hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Marry me.”
For a moment, she forgot to breathe. Was she
merely dreaming again? Had her English lord truly asked for her hand in
marriage?
“Viola?” he prompted.
She laughed and took his face in her hands to
kiss his forehead. “Of course, I will. I love you, Julian Cynfell, Marquess of
Lockwood, Viscount of Marworth, Baron of Alderwood... have I missed any?”
“Several actually,” he said with a wry smile
before gripping her hands and turning his face to kiss both of her palms. “I
loved you from the first word, Viola,” he told her. “I’ll love you until the
last.”
My Dearest Viola,
Today it has been eighteen years since we
married. You always claimed I gave you so much—a life in England, a beautiful
home, five handsome children—but the truth is, you gave me everything. You gave
me hope, love and joy.
Indeed, I have wealth and power, but none of
this could have brought me so much contentment as being able to tell people
that you are my wife. Even I, with my way with the written word, cannot explain
what I feel for you. It is something so precious that it cannot be expressed by
mere ink and paper. It is something, I think, only you can understand.
You know that I have always said I would rather
die than let anything happen to you and that still stands. However, you
banished the black fear from within me with your love and kindness. Though I
long never to be parted from you, I know without doubt, that our souls will
remain forever entwined.
On this day, our eighteenth wedding anniversary,
please know that my love and admiration for you has only ever grown. With every
trial we have faced, we have come out stronger. I’ve enjoyed watching you
become more beautiful and graceful with each passing year. Your humour and
tranquil disposition will continue to carry this family through whatever else
the years bring us, and I thank God every day that you have passed these traits
onto our children.
I will forever be grateful to you for never
ignoring my letter and for proving to me that I am worthy of your love. I only
hope I can spend the rest of the days ensuring that I remain worthy.
Your loving and doting (and sometimes grumpy)
husband,
J
THE END
Table of Contents
Yorkshire,
England 1853
Lucian winced as Ellie’s
high-pitched voice grated down his spine. He tucked himself further around the
side of the house and hoped the shadows hid him from her. Unfortunately the
little lanterns scattered around the gardens for the ball destroyed any hopes
of remaining hidden. The warm glow—while romantic—lit most parts of the path
that trailed around the Elizabethan home.
Damn and blast, he should have
asked Lady Clarissa to meet him in the maze or by the gazebo. That would have
been equally romantic, if a little shady. But certainly less chance of being
caught by Miss Eleanor Browning, the seventeen-year-old daughter of the hosts
for the evening, Lord and Lady Browning.
His name echoed into the night
and he shrank around the corner of the building. Here, the glow from the
windows highlighted him, but if he went any farther he would have no chance of
spotting
Clarissa as she slipped out of the ballroom to
join him for their rendezvous.
Clarissa was softening, he was
sure of it. Tonight, he was certain to get a kiss at the very least. Maybe even
a feel of that divine figure the widow failed to hide under layers of tulle and
silk. Before long, he’d have her stripped down and writhing in his bed. The
elegant woman would be spilling his name from her lips and begging him for
more.
He grinned to himself and
curled a fist in anticipation, feeling the warm stirrings of desire as he
pictured her, flushed and naked against his bed sheets. He had been pursuing
her for nigh on a month now. A hard nut to crack that one, but thoroughly worth
it. There was, after all, not a deluge of attractive, experienced widows in the
country, so one had to make the most of the opportunity when one was presented
with one.
A flurry of bright pink skirts
and frizzy hair came dashing up to him, and Lucian groaned inwardly. This was
not the sight he’d been hoping for. He had wanted to see the dark, expressive
eyes of Clarissa, not these insipid grey things staring up at him with all the
adoration of a child thanking her father for her latest pony.
“Lucian, here you are. Will you
not return to the ballroom? The next dance is on,” Ellie said breathlessly.
He clenched his jaw. He’d
already taken one dance with her—at his mother’s persuasion—even with the
knowledge one dance would never be enough for Ellie. She had trailed after him
like a lost puppy for several years now. At three and twenty, he had little
interest in a mere child and certainly not an irritating one like Ellie. But
his mother had known she would struggle for dance partners and had pushed him
to lead her out for the first dance in the hopes other men might follow suit.
What a damn fool. He should
have known it would only encourage her. Their families had been close for many
years though even his mother would not wish for him to make a match with Ellie.
His mother had hopes of him marrying higher than his father’s rank. The
daughter of a duke perhaps or...by God, royalty would probably be her
preference.
“Well, Lucian?” Ellie prompted
and tugged on his arm.
“I’m taking some air,” he
replied gruffly.
There, that would frighten the
chit off.
But instead, she looped her arm
through his, near forcing it through, and gazed up at him. “Well, I shall join
you then. It is a might stuffy in there and the evening is so very beautiful.”
It was. Hence why he had high
hopes for breaking through Clarissa’s reserves. Candlelight, the scent of
honeysuckle in the air, stars above...the fates had aligned perfectly to give
him this elegant setting in which to meet the woman he would make his lover and
yet...
Ellie.
The damned girl was determined
to ruin everything. She was like a shadow. An ugly shadow. Lucian glanced down
at her and tried to find something attractive in there, something to lessen his
annoyance, but there was nothing. His mother would scold him, telling him she
had taught him better and to look for the beauty within, but what use was inner
beauty when all he wished to do was enjoy the outer.
His father’s health was
declining. Before long, he would be the Viscount Rushbourne and his life as a
rake would be at an end. If he was to enjoy himself before the tireless duties
of a viscount were upon him, then he did not need to be looking for
inner
beauty
.
“You should return to the
ballroom,” he said stiffly. “No doubt there are many gentlemen lacking a
partner.”
“Oh hardly. Mama says the
balance is not very good this summer. Too many women and not enough men. I have
been sitting out the past two dances. I told her that would never have happened
had you been present and I simply didn’t know where you were, so I came in
search of you.”
He twisted in an attempt to
disengage her arm from his and only managed to draw her close as he turned to
face her. He eyed the riot of curls piled atop her head. With its dull,
straw-like colour, he had never seen her hair look more like a haystack than
today. The pink gown did nothing for her reed like figure—no amount of ruffles
could disguise her lack of breasts—and her small features peeked out from under
those curls like...well, like a damned scarecrow.
Yes, a scarecrow, that’s what
she reminded him of. Perhaps that was uncharitable of him, but at the present,
he didn’t much care. He longed to be touching the glossy dark curls of Lady
Clarissa and slipping his hands around her neck to be breathing in her
fragrance. The only scent that reached him now was an overpowering scent of
jasmine.
“You should not be out here
alone,” he tried again.
“Oh, but I’m not alone. You are
here.”
“Precisely.”
She giggled. “I do not think
you would do anything untoward.”
Lucian resisted the urge to
roll his eyes. How she avoided every rumour—true, and not so true—about him, he
did not know. Ellie was in total ignorance of his reputation somehow. But
everyone else knew it well and to be caught outside with him could potentially
mean her ruination. More likely her mother would drag her in and scold her, but
the danger was there. How typical of Ellie not to think. Throughout the years
he’d known her, he had witnessed her impulsive, silly streak over and over.
“It does not matter if I would
actually do anything untoward, you should not be out here alone. Return now and
maybe you can secure yourself a partner for the next dance. My feet are sore
and I’m wearied.”
“Poor Lucian. You are so much
in demand that the ladies have turned you into an old man before your time,”
she teased.
Lucian didn’t respond with
anything but a glare, though it seemed to go unnoticed. “Ellie,” he warned on a
growl, “return to the ballroom.”
A crease appeared between her
brows and she took her arm from his, only to place her hand on his chest. “Are
you not well? You seem terribly out of sorts.”
“I am perfectly well,” he
replied through gritted teeth.
Or at least he would be once
he’d rid himself of this scarecrow and replaced it with an elegant, exotic bird
of paradise who would more than match him in looks. How Ellie ever thought she
would interest him, he had no idea. They were as far apart in looks as... as a
scarecrow and a mannequin in London’s finest clothing emporium. He, dark and
refined, perfectly poised and immaculately dressed, and she, looking as though
she had just been dragged from the nearest field.
Yes, he was being uncharitable,
he admitted, but damnation, the widow could be here at any moment. Weeks of
work were about to be destroyed by this silly little girl.
“Ellie,” he said more calmly,
in the hopes she might see reason, “it is improper for you to be out here with
me. Go inside before either of our mothers catch us.”
“I should not like to leave you
if you’re sickening.”
“Ellie...” This time he didn’t
even manage to hide his growl of frustration. The word came out like a curse.
“Did it not occur to you that you are putting your innocence at risk by being
out here with me?”
“My innocence?” She gaped up at
him.
Ah, now he had her attention.
He leaned over her, gradually pressing her back with his mere presence. She
stumbled back—one step, then two.
“The night is dark and
beautiful.” He lowered his voice. “Flowers scent the air and the stars twinkle
overhead. I have indulged in wine and my veins run warm with it.” He urged her
further until she gasped when her back met the outside wall of the building.
She put a hand to his chest to
hold him back. “I am not afraid of you.” Ellie smiled but he saw the nervous
flicker on her lips. “I know you, Lucian. You may act the rake but you’re
honourable at heart.”
“I am nothing of the sort.” He
swiped aside her hand and closed the gap, flattening himself against her. He
felt the sharp intake of breath and the way her body quivered. “You should not tempt
a man like me.”
“T-tempt?”
“If you’re not careful, I shall
have no choice but to kiss you. I suggest you leave now, before I do something
we shall both regret.”
He noted the way her throat
worked. Really he should back off and release her, but something in him wanted
her to wriggle against him and work her way out. Why the devil should he want
that bony body squirming against his? Perhaps he really was a little foxed.
And then he saw the change in
her eyes. They grew smoky. No longer dull. Her lips parted in silent
invitation. Damnation. This was not how this was meant to happen.
Lucian bore over her, affecting
his darkest, most viscount-like look. One that told a person they were nought
more than a speck of dust on his dinner jacket. He’d seen his father use it to
full effect and occasionally used it himself to frighten away any ladies who
thought they might join him in his bed for longer than a few nights.
“Do not mistake me, Ellie. If I
kiss you it would be from mere boredom.” There. The smoky haze had vanished.
She was back to being an annoying child who had insisted on tugging at his
sleeve for too many years. Better she see him for the person he was now rather
than later.
“Lucian?”
“I am no more attracted to you
than I am to my...my horse,” he declared, getting into the spirit of things. “I
make no habit of kissing or even bedding innocents, particularly not ones like
yourself. So be a good girl and run along. Go find another man to pester. May I
suggest one who is particularly foxed?”
Ellie gasped, pain radiated
from her expression. If he thought about it, the odd sensation pulling at his
gut was too close to guilt. But he was saving her from himself. She saw him as
some sort of hero. A knight in shining armour. Really he was doing her a
favour. Now she would be wary of all rakes and find herself a gentleman who
might appreciate her for whatever redeeming features she had. There had to be
something
about her someone would like, surely?
Still she stared and still he
hadn’t backed away. Her chest rose and fell against his. He spied dampness in
her eyes before she lowered her lids to try to hide it. Lucian pressed a hand
to the sandstone wall, ready to push away and then...
Then the strangest thing
happened. She lifted her lashes, which were surprisingly thick and curly if he
thought about it, and secured that drab grey gaze of hers on his. But he could
not stare for long. For some inexplicable reason, his gaze fell to her lips.
And he leaned in.
And kissed her.
Ellie drew in a breath as his
lips met hers. He tasted sugar on her lips. They were soft, small, fragile. His
hand came away from the wall and clasped the back of her neck to hold her in
place. Vaguely, he noted her fingers had come up to curl into the lapels of his
dinner jacket. Was she trying to push him away? His mind had shut down. What
was this scarecrow’s lips doing to him?
That skinny body began
squirming, breaking the spell and he heard his name—a muffled protest against
his lips. He had to stop. And he did, but it was too late.
“What the deuce do you think
you are doing?” a gruff, very angry sounding voice rang out.
Lucian lifted his head to the
see the Baron—her father—striding towards him. He swung his gaze to Ellie,
whose cheeks were flushed and whose hands were trembling, and back to her
furious father, whose face was red enough to match the colour of the strawberry
jelly they had been served that evening.
His insides shrivelled a
little. Now he was in big trouble. He was going to be forced to marry a scrawny
scarecrow. Damn his luck.
