The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (33 page)

By the pottery stand, Miss Turbett stood with her papa, looking far less happy. Her expression was pinched, her father’s furious as he watched Wick and his cronies make merry at the tavern. At a table adjacent to the raucous rakehells, Gabby sat with her papa and Mr. Garrity. As the redheaded girl chattered away, her parent looked apprehensive and their guest like the cat that had gotten into the cream.

And so the afternoon went.

At one point, Violet wandered off to sample goods with Polly and Primrose. By the time she finished trying all the different flavors of biscuits at a bakery stall, she found she’d lost her companions in the crowd. Lady Ainsworthy was sitting on a bench farther back, waving her fan in an irritable manner. Vi looked longingly toward the part of the village she’d yet to explore: a spire rose enticingly from a churchyard up ahead.

“I know that look. You’re off to find trouble.” Wick came sauntering up with a tin cup in hand. “If so, may I come?”

She grinned. “I was just going to explore a little.”

He handed her the cup. “Here, drink this first. Compliments of the fellows and I.” He jerked his thumb toward their chums, who were waving from the tavern.

Vi waved back and gratefully downed the beverage. The cider slid pleasantly down her parched throat, although she grimaced at the bitter aftertaste of the mulling spices. Setting the cup down, she said, “Shall we?”

It was like old times. For the next quarter hour, she and Wick laughed and explored the grounds of the ancient church. Here, the noise of the crowd faded away to birdsong and the chirping of crickets. Surrounded by a wall of sun-bleached stone, the churchyard was littered with crumbling grave markers and overgrown with ivy. The place had a forgotten, almost dreamy feel. Come to think of it, Vi was feeling a little… woozy?

She stumbled, catching herself.

“Are you all right?” Wick came up beside her.

“Nothing. Just the heat, I expect.” She
was
warm, she realized. Heat itched strangely beneath her skin, heightening her awareness of her clothes, how restrictive they felt.

Concern shone in Wick’s eyes. “We’d better get you back.”

As he guided her toward the gate, another wave of dizziness surged over her. She pitched forward, would have fallen if Wick hadn’t caught her. She sagged against him.

“What’s the matter with you, Vi?” He tipped her face up with his gloved hands, the touch of leather sending an odd spark over her nerve endings. He peered at her. “Egad, your cheeks are flushed—”

She swayed forward.

“What in the devil’s name is going on here?” a familiar voice growled.

Richard stood in the arched gateway.

Chapter Thirty-Three

In her muddled state, Violet could only stare at Richard’s enraged features. His brawny form filled the stone gateway, and he looked foreboding—like the way he had when they first met.

What got stuck in his craw?
she thought foggily.

“Bloody unhand her Wickham,” he snapped.

“You’re not serious, are you, Carlisle? Look at her, she’s—”

The next instant, Violet felt herself being yanked away from Wick and dragged to Richard’s side. Her senses were already spinning, and the sudden movement didn’t help matters. She clung to Richard to stay upright.

“Leave, Wick, before I do something I regret.” Richard’s voice had a lethal edge.

“I’m not leaving her. She’s unwell, you idiot. I was just—”

“
Get the hell out.
”

Vi cringed, Richard’s roar pounding at her temples.

“It’s all right, Wick,” she managed. “I’m fine.”

Wick shook his head. “I’m not leaving you with this jealous fool—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Richard’s deadly earnestness pierced Vi’s haze and gave her enough wherewithal to say, “Please go, Wick. I’ll be fine. I want to talk to Richard alone.”

“You’re sure?” Wick studied her.

She nodded, even though the action made her feel even more buffle-headed.

With a disgusted look at his brother, Wick strode out the gate.

Before Vi could speak, the universe spun crazily. Breathless, she found herself with her back against the stone wall. Richard’s hands were planted next to her shoulders, trapping her.

His eyes burned into her. “So has this all been a game to you?”

Game?
“What on earth do you mean?”

“You’re just like the others. A damned flirt. A trollop.”

The burst of anger cleared her head. “Now wait just a deuced minute—”

“Hell, you’re even better than them. Better at lying. Better at duping men, seducing them.”

“What
are
you talking about? Better than whom?” She was confused—by his anger and her own. And by her throbbing awareness of him, of his large form caging her against the wall. “You can’t possibly mean that Wick and I—”

“He was going to kiss you,” Richard thundered. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t feeling well…”—she wetted her lips at the flare of his nostrils—“it might have been that cider Wick gave me. It tasted a bit off. Anyway, Wick was just concerned. As any friend would be.”

“Aye, I know how
friendly
you can get, so don’t take me for a fool. You’re not ill—you’re bloody aroused. I
know
how you look when you’re in the throes. Those flushed cheeks and parted lips, the come-hither heat in your eyes.”

His words seemed to tear away some internal blinders. All of a sudden, what she was feeling became clear, the sensations coalescing in a humming rush… of
need
.

Gadzooks. He’s… right?

“I d-don’t understand.” Why would she feel aroused around
Wick
? She didn’t desire him.

Richard leaned closer, his expression ravaged. “Don’t you? I’d wager my estate that your nipples are hard right now. If I tossed up your skirts, your pussy would be wet and greedy, wouldn’t it?”

She stared at him, her breath puffing from her parted lips.
Right again.

A savage light came into his eyes. He swore, and the next minute his mouth slammed onto hers. The kiss was hard and punishing, but she didn’t care because she wanted it. Wanted him. Her arousal blazed, incinerating everything else. Wild for him, she sucked on his tongue, licked inside his mouth, panting for more.

She felt her skirts being shoved up, warm air kissing her thighs. When he touched her pussy, they both groaned. She could feel how wet she was, how her flesh throbbed for his touch.

“Say this is for me, not Wick.” His eyes were hungry, tortured. “By God, say it, lass—”

He thrust his fingers into her, and she gasped as the orgasm hit her.

“My, my. This is
quite
the performance, isn’t it?”

The female voice perforated Vi’s bliss. She twisted to see its source: Mrs. Sumner, standing inside the gate with Lord Wormleigh. Both were watching on with leering expressions.

Richard yanked down Vi’s skirts, took a hasty step back.

But it was too late. Mrs. Sumner and Wormleigh had exited, their excitement palpable.

Violet felt the weight of ruination crashing down.

~~~

As Richard watched, Lady Ainsworthy’s carriage drove off with Violet and the other Kent girls, sending an angry plume of dust into the village square. His mind was in turmoil. What had he been bloody thinking?

The plain truth was that he hadn’t been. Seeing Violet in Wick’s arms had unleashed a rage unlike any he’d known before. The force of his fury had knocked out all reason, and it still roiled in him… along with prickling agitation.

Wormleigh and Sumner were vicious gossips. They’d wasted no time in hurrying back to the fair to spread lurid tales of discovering Richard and Violet
in flagrante
.

Violet was ruined.

Becoming aware of the keen audience gathered around him on the green, Richard felt his face flame. He wanted to punch his fist through a wall. But that would help nothing, wouldn’t stem the damage he’d done to Violet’s reputation. By Jove, nothing would. As furious as he was with her betrayal, he was angrier at himself—for hurting her. For allowing himself to hope…

It doesn’t matter. You’re going to marry her.

At this point, he didn’t have a choice. Anguish pierced his anger. Because, despite everything, he still wanted to make her his—

“What the bloody hell have you done?” Wickham shoved his way through the crowd toward Richard. “You stupid sod!”

Richard’s fists clenched. “Back off.”

Wick glared at him. “Not until I knock some sense into you.”

That does it.
Red saturated Richard’s vision. He threw a punch.

Wick danced out of reach. “Violet’s my
friend
—practically my sister.”

“You tried to
kiss
her.” Richard circled his brother.

“For God’s sake, I did not. She was feeling
ill
. I think that cider made her foxed or something.”

“So you took advantage of her!” Snarling, Richard issued an uppercut.

Wick dodged at the last moment. “Why would I do that, you imbecile? She’s in love with you.”

Emotion exploded in Richard. With a roar, he charged his brother, tackling the other onto the ground. His fist connected satisfyingly with Wick’s side.

Wick grunted. “Go ahead and pummel me. Doesn’t change the fact that Violet loves you.”

“Shut the bloody hell up!” Richard pinned his brother, landed a facer.

“Or the fact that you love her back,” Wick gasped, “and that scares you witless!”

The words punctured Richard’s raw haze. He stilled, his fist poised above Wick’s face. “What the devil did you say?”

“You’re terrified that she’s going to reject you like the others, so you assumed the worst. Because you can’t get it through your thick skull that Violet loves you, you didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt and instead pushed her away. Which makes you a moron!”

The truth hit Richard like a right hook, the force of it making his head jerk back.

Wick was… right. Every word he’d said—true. Richard had been so afraid of repeating his past that he’d doubted the woman he loved. Doubted that she could love him back. And his fears had led him to act like the worst kind of bastard.

His rage abruptly subsided.

“Bloody hell,” he said hoarsely, “I
am
a moron.”

“Exactly. Now would you mind getting off of me?” Wick glowered up at him. “We’ve provided enough free entertainment.”

Richard became aware of the murmuring crowd around them. Feeling like the world’s biggest fool, he rose… and offered his sibling his hand.

“I owe you an apology,” he said gruffly.

Wick touched his swelling jaw and winced. “Save the groveling for Violet. You’ll need it.”

Richard’s throat closed. God… he’d mistrusted her, treated her badly—
ruined
her. Groveling was too good for him; he deserved to be horsewhipped.

With hammering urgency, he said, “I’ve got to get back to the house. To make things right.”

Wick dusted off his jacket, grumbling, “I’ll come with you, you great lummox. But only because I want Violet to be my sister. That way, at least I’ll have one sibling who isn’t insane.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The two brothers rode back to Traverstoke as the sun was sinking into the horizon. As dusky light flickered between the passing oaks, Richard’s thoughts were a whirling vortex. How was he going to make things right with Violet? If not because of Wick, why had she been so aroused in the churchyard? He still didn’t fully understand all that had happened, but he did know that he’d wronged her. He urged Aiolos into a faster gallop.

The sooner he got back, the sooner he could straighten things out. Grovel, if need be.

Nearing the house, Richard saw people clustered outside by the fountain. Amongst them, he spotted Violet with Kent and his wife along with two men he didn’t recognize. Nearby, footmen were loading trunks onto a carriage. Richard dismounted, heading straight for Violet, his brother behind him.

As he approached, he saw Violet’s flushed face—hell, the tear tracks on her cheeks—and remorse pounded like a fist against his chest. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Lady Ainsworthy pushed her way forward to confront him.

“And there is the defiler himself,” the dowager hissed. “Have you no shame, sirrah, showing your face here. My back was turned for a single moment, and you managed to ruin this gel beyond all redemption—”

“Thank you, Lady Ainsworthy, we can take it from here,” Kent cut in. “If you would be so kind as to give my family privacy?”

The simmering menace that emanated from Kent gave even the dowager pause. With a huff, she turned and hobbled back toward the house. Once she was gone, Kent said, “Lord Carlisle and Mr. Murray, I’d like you to answer some questions.”

The investigator’s cool, impersonal tone stirred the hairs on Richard’s neck. This wasn’t about Violet then? And why did Kent want to question Wick? All of a sudden, the identity of the two strangers struck Richard: hell…
Kent’s partners
. The brawny brown-haired fellow was likely Mr. McLeod, the imposing African beside him Mr. Lugo.

Foreboding snaked through Richard. Sensing his brother’s trembling tension beside him, he silently willed the other to stay calm. What did the investigators know?

“Mr. Murray, explain your connection with Monique de Brouet, if you please,” Kent said.

Devil take it, how had they discovered Wick’s relationship with the deceased?

Richard’s gaze shot to Violet. She looked as dumbfounded as he felt.

Red splotches appeared on Wick’s cheeks. “I—I don’t have any connection,” he stammered unconvincingly.

“You were not her lover? You did not break things off a mere fortnight before this party, causing problems between the two of you? Monique de Brouet did not threaten to get revenge for the way you treated her?”

“How did you find out…?” Wick’s bewildered gaze turned to Violet. “You
swore
you wouldn’t tell your brother about my ring. You promised,” he choked out.

“Wick, I didn’t tell him anything,” she said in a trembling voice.

“Ring?” Kent swung to face his sister, his expression thunderous. “What
bloody ring
?”