When their lips met and his body pressed against hers, she’d discovered a passion she’d never imagined. It was a real kiss, or at least she had thought it was. She didn’t question the why of it. Stupid, as it turned out. She had no idea he had mistaken her for Marie until he raised his head and realized what he’d done. And that was the first crack of her heart.
The second was the shock on his face and he’d uttered, “Bloody hell, it’s you.”
What could she do but slap him hard across his face?
Still, the damage was done. Which apparently, in the more scandal-prone minds of society, was in the intensity of the embrace—just to add yet another layer of humiliation—rather than the slap. All in all it was the Holy Grail of gossip. A man whose engagement was about to be announced found in a compromising position with the friend of the intended fiancée. Her parents had then insisted on marriage as the scandal was such her mother warned she would never make a decent match now. James’s uncle Richard, the Earl of Ellsworth, had left James’s decision up to him but left unsaid the questions of honor and responsibility involved. In spite of James’s devil-may-care reputation, no one had ever questioned his word. Violet had protested—obviously James had no desire to marry her. It was pointed out James no longer had a choice, nor did she. James did what was expected and two days later they were married.
Through the years Violet did wonder what might have happened if she had refused to marry him. If she had stood up for herself.
She certainly did the morning after their wedding night when she learned he intended for their marriage to be little more than a pretense. When her heart had shattered. Violet had truly thought, up until that moment, there was the possibility they might make the best of this. They had been friends of a sort. If she had, in the back of her mind, wanted more, well, that was a silly thought. But she absolutely would not stay with a man who didn’t want her.
A week later, Violet engaged a companion—Mrs. Cleo Ryland, a delightful widow only a few years older than Violet—packed her bags and headed to Paris. James had provided her with the resources she needed to see everything she had ever read about, everything she’d ever dreamed of seeing. If he did not intend to be her husband, she intended to take full advantage of his generosity.
She had earned it.
“IT’S BEEN A long time since we danced together,” James said mildly.
He had danced with Violet any number of times before their marriage as he couldn’t dance exclusively with Marie. There were rules about that sort of thing. Violet and other friends and acquaintances were always with James and Marie and the couple was quite properly never alone. Marie wanted a dashing, handsome husband with a respectable title and a tidy fortune to provide her an unsullied position in society. She was not about to let so much as a hint of impropriety jeopardize that. In Marie’s eyes, James was a perfect fit.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken.” Violet summoned a nondescript smile.
“Pride is a cruel mistress, Violet.”
“One of many mistresses, no doubt,” she said lightly. Regardless of how rarely she was in London, gossip about his numerous liaisons inevitably reached her, thanks to her mother and a handful of well-meaning friends. She’d ignored them for the most part. He had his life and she had hers.
“Regardless of what you might think of me, I meant that with all due sincerity.” He paused. “I am trying to admit to my past mistakes.”
“And then what?”
“Then atone for them.” He met her gaze directly.
She drew her brows together. “I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say, James, but I am certain the dance floor in the middle of Lady Brockwell’s annual ball is not the best place to do it.”
“On the contrary, my dear.” He grinned and for a moment she saw the man she’d married. “We would make Lady Brockwell’s ball the talk of London.”
“Oh, I’d rather not. I’ve never particularly liked her.”
“Are you staying at Ellsworth House?” he asked.
“I always do.” She paused. “You had warning, I sent a telegram from Lisbon.” Whenever she headed toward London she sent a telegram to Andrews, James’s butler, to give the household notice as to her impending arrival. And give James the time he needed to escape.
“Thoughtful of you as always.” He cast her his most charming smile. “Now, may I escort you home?”
“I’m not sure I am ready to leave.”
“Forgive me if it sounded like a question. It wasn’t.”
She raised a brow. “Is that an order, then?”
He hesitated then grimaced. “Of course not. Sorry, I’ve never dealt with a wife before.”
“Not one of your own, you mean.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if she had pushed him too far. Good.
“And I’ve never dealt with a husband. But one dance and then we’re off?” She shook her head. “Won’t that set them all to talking? Why are Lord and Lady Ellsworth leaving so early? What do you think they’re up to? That sort of thing.”
“Probably, but only until the next interesting tidbit comes along. Should be no more than a day or two.”
It really was pointless to argue with him. And they did have things to talk about that were best discussed in private. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to do so tonight, however.
The music ended and he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and steered her in a relaxed manner toward the door, stopping here and there to exchange a word with acquaintances. As if there was nothing at all out of the ordinary for Lord and Lady Ellsworth to be in the same room together let alone departing as a couple.
Once they had settled in the carriage, Violet let out a resigned sigh. “You do realize my mother will hear of this and will probably be calling on us by morning.”
“My apologies.”
She chose her words carefully. “I’m not sure I would have attended the ball if I had known you were going to be there.”
“Whereas I knew you were going to be there and thought it better to greet you in public.”
“Oh?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said abruptly. “To London, I mean.”
“I am here because of Uncle Richard, of course,” she said coolly, ignoring the catch in her throat. “I was so saddened to hear of his passing. I wish I had come to see him again.”
Uncle Richard had never thought it necessary to vacate the premises upon her visits home. He and Violet had spent long hours together during her stays, playing cards or chess, attending plays or lectures, and discussing whatever happened to pass through their minds. He’d been ill for some time but on her last visit a year ago, she’d thought he had improved. He was the only person
