Wool abraded her cheek. Beneath his coat she felt the bleached softness of his cambric shirt and the trained strength of his body. Her beloved friend. Her irresistible secret.
“Well?” he asked, and did not wait before he lowered his head to kiss her. “Are you my captive or not?”
Bittersweet pleasure sang through her. She parted her lips and felt his tongue against hers. His hands supported her even as they stole down her back with a quicksilver sensuality that left her uncertain and shivering in anticipation. The desire in his kiss drained her of her old will and filled her with one infinitely more dangerous.
“I don’t want to shame you,” he said against her mouth. “I don’t want to be your secret friend or lover. I don’t want anything about us to be a secret. But . . . I do want you.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t care about anything else.”
“Yes, you do.”
She twined her arms around his neck, returning his kiss until his mouth moved down her throat to the border of her bodice. Her hands fell to her sides. His breath soothed and teased her vulnerable skin, the tops of her breasts.
“I don’t want to borrow you,” he whispered.
He brought his hands to her bodice and tugged. She shivered, her breasts aching and exposed. His eyes, heavy lidded with sensuality, lifted to hers. “I want to be the only man who has the right to do this to you.”
She took a breath.
His hands slipped under her bodice, cupping her breasts. He bent to her and drew one tender nipple into his mouth. She arched her neck, a hostage to his hunger. He nipped gently at her other breast. Her breathing quickened as he pulled his mouth away and blew on her glistening nipples.
“The only man,” he repeated, as he drew her down with him on the chaise.
She submitted to an instant of panic, of pleasure; she felt his hands drift over her bottom, pressing her to his hard warmth. She had fallen in a curve against his torso. Slowly he turned her onto her back and held her prisoner beneath him. He stared down at her with a longing that flooded her veins with fire.
He kicked his sword to the floor with his foot. She heard the clatter of steel against stone, the rasp of his breath before he began moving his body against hers. Her pulse beat in her throat. She felt the thickness of him and a temptation to do . . . whatever he wished. Unbidden, she raised her hands to his shoulders. He groaned as if her touch tortured him.
“I want to be inside you,” he whispered. “I want your sweetness for myself.”
She was losing her hold on awareness.
“Violet. Dear God, give me the strength, or I will regret this.”
She felt herself falling into darkness.
“
Violet
,” he said again, with an urgency that broke through her daze. “Get up. We cannot be found like this.”
She sat up in dazed reluctance as Kit rolled onto his feet. He resheathed his sword with one hand and reached for her with the other. She rose, shivering as their eyes met. The sky had clouded up in the short time they had spent together in the pavilion. It was dark enough in the tower now to appreciate the torchlight—and the company of an armed escort.
Escort. She glanced toward the stairwell. Had Jane forgotten her promise? Violet had completely forgotten that she was waiting for safe passage from the pavilion.
She felt a pair of firm hands slide up her back. She glanced around, intending to challenge this round of mischief. But Kit was merely lifting her shawl to her shoulders. He veiled the passion in his eyes before she could fall prey to it again. The pitch of his voice vibrated in the quiet like steel cutting into stone.
“I only play games these days that I intend to play to the end. If a man challenges me with his sword, one of us is liable to die. I lived an ugly life, and you were my window to salvation. There were nights in the workhouse when I witnessed . . . when I experienced so much sin that I felt I would taint you with my company.”
Her throat ached. “You never tainted me, Kit.”
“Perhaps not then. Those were innocent games. There is nothing innocent about my desire for you at this moment.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t understand anything until Ambrose told me. I had no idea what you had to endure.”
“No one wants to know what it’s like in a palace. But it wasn’t as bad for me as it was for the younger boys.”
She cringed at the reminder of her naïveté. “You were one of the younger boys once,” she said, forcing herself to grip the fringe of her shawl instead of reaching out for him. Why had she found him when it was too late to matter?
“I never think of the past,” he said. “Well, that isn’t true. I think about you.” He paused, his smile rueful. “I’ve thought about Eldbert and Ambrose, too, but not in the same way.”
“No,” she said, smiling back in spite of herself. “You didn’t scratch their names with yours into a gravestone.”
He grimaced. “What a romantic placeholder for affection.”
“You had affection for both of them, too.”
“I certainly did not.”
“I shall never forget the day Eldbert rode his new mare into the woods and it ran off with him. You had to save him, with Ambrose shouting insults I cannot repeat. And I know that you taught Ambrose how to fight. He was a miserable coward until he met you.”
He shrugged. “All I will admit is that whatever I felt for them was a fraction of my regard for you.”
She turned her face to the window. She was afraid of what he would say next, but she hoped he would say it anyway. “I remember sketching you as if it were yesterday. If I find the drawings, I will show them to you.”
“That implies another meeting. Is there hope for us?”
She bit her lip. Was there hope? Was there any way to be released from her engagement without insulting Godfrey and breaking her aunt’s heart?
“I want to do things to you that aren’t proper,” he confided quietly. “Ungentlemanly things to give us both pleasure.”
“Kit, it’s—”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I need you in a different way than I did long ago. Not only as my friend, but as a lover. I want all of you.”
“How do you know I don’t understand?”
“You would not be alone with me if you could read my thoughts. Perhaps you’re better off to forget me.”
She turned to look at him. “How? I will live at least most of the year in London.”
“Then we shall both live in torment, because neither of us is suited for adultery. And I will never stop wanting you.”
“Adultery,” she whispered, turning back to the window.
“Be mine or forget me. Make the decision before you’re married.”
“It would kill my aunt.”
The orchestra had begun to play in the parkland. She saw a distant splash of color through the window as dancers spilled across the platform constructed for the party. Violet’s heart lifted. The music stirred her. She was so wickedly tempted to ask Kit to dance with her one more time.
“I want you, too,” she whispered.
She turned again, but he was gone, and a footman wearing gold-and-black livery stood politely awaiting her attention.
“Miss Knowlton?” he said as she met his gaze.
She flushed, hoping he had not heard her. Or worse, that he had not thought she had been talking to
him
. “Yes.”
“The marchioness has asked me to personally attend you for the rest of the party.”
The Marchioness of Sedgecroft shook out her skirts in dismay. “It’s as dark as pitch in this passageway, Weed. Remind me to inform Wenderfield that he needs to keep the torches lit below as well as above during a party. One cannot escape a tryst with a sprained ankle.”
“Yes, madam.”
Jane sighed. “Do you see any other cobwebs on my skirt?”
“I cannot see anything in this light. Well—”
“Wait until we’re in the garden. The last thing I need is for Grayson to accuse me of having an affair.”
“That day will never come, madam.”
“Will you choose me, Weed, if it does?”
He pushed his long arm through the heavy mantle of ivy that concealed the pavilion’s place of egress. Jane glanced up at the tower. “Don’t answer, Weed. It was not a fair question. I used to think that you would choose Grayson. But now I’m not sure of that at all.”
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “I see no cobwebs in your hair or on your dress, madam.”
She turned onto the hedge-enclosed path that led around the pavilion to the main garden. “Do you think my matchmaking scheme worked?”
“Only time will tell.”
“They seemed so well suited for each other,” she said with a sigh. “They tried hard to pretend otherwise at the school. You saw them dancing together at the ball the other night. It was as if they had known each other forever.”
“Yes. One might say there was a sense of destiny between them.”
“I hope so,” Jane said. “Just because I sabotaged my own wedding with a wonderful result does not give me the right to ruin another woman’s engagement.”
“You gave destiny a helping hand, madam. Nothing more. Nothing less. It is all very romantic.”
“Well, her aunt might not think so.” Jane smiled. “Unless, of course, Master Fenton receives the bump in elevation that the marquess has suggested. Still, the fact is, Weed, that what I am doing could cause a scandal. The lady might lose her priggish haberdasher and be forced into Fenton’s arms.”
Whatever distress Godfrey might have felt when he realized that Violet had disappeared from the party was apparently soothed when she reappeared on the southwest lawn with one of the Marquess of Sedgecroft’s footmen in tow.
“I was concerned, naturally, when I could not find you,” he said, putting away his pocket watch. “But Pierce Carroll said he had noticed you wondering off toward the pavilion with the marchioness, and I thought to myself, ‘Well, good for her. I will not interfere.’ ”
She nudged him toward the crowded breakfast tables. “Where is my aunt, Godfrey?”
“She went inside the house for a private tea.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Should I join her?”
He stepped directly into her path. “Could you spare a moment for the man you are to marry? Have you heard
anything
I have said to you?”
No, she hadn’t. She blinked, searching her brain for the first thing that she could remember from their conversation. “Yes. I heard everything. Who in the world is Pierce Carroll, and why doesn’t he mind his own business?”
He looked taken aback.
“He’s one of the other pupils at the salon. Thinks quite highly of himself, does Pierce. Fancies himself above the rest of us, I suspect. I don’t like him. I think he may have stolen a snuffbox from my shop. Of course, I can’t come out and accuse him.”
“Oh.”
“Did you have a pleasant time?” he inquired after a pause.
Violet gazed wistfully at the dancers on the platform. She had deceived herself into believing that she could be content with a man who cared only about his status. How could she marry a man who disliked dancing? How could she marry a man she could never love? A . . . passionless prude?
“Violet, dear, I asked you a question. Did you enjoy yourself in the pavilion?”
A blush of guilt suffused her face. “Yes, Godfrey,” she answered with complete honesty. “I enjoyed myself more than I have in years.”
He raised his brow. A moment passed. “I don’t suppose the marchioness mentioned my name or the emporium?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You mentioned me, didn’t you?”
She gave an evasive shrug.
“Well, you must have talked about something during all that time.” He scowled, his hands clasped behind his back like a schoolmaster. “What
did
you discuss?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“We talked about kissing.”
“About what?”
“You heard me, Godfrey.”
“I couldn’t have.”
“She told me the story of her seduction. Well, part of it, anyway. I assume there was more.”
“Good God. No wonder the nobility has a wicked reputation.” He blew out a breath. “I hope you will not fall under her influence.”
“I thought you wanted me to associate with high society.”
“I do, but . . .” He shook his head. “I should know better than to worry about anyone putting improper ideas in your pretty head. Perhaps she is drawn to your goodness.”
“I think she is good, too, Godfrey.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Can you imagine bringing your own footmen to a party? It must give one a sense of security.”
She smiled up at him. He wasn’t a bad person. He deserved a wife who would love him. “It’s an intrusion, in my opinion,” she said softly.
He gave her a hesitant smile that filled her with remorse. “When you look at me like that, Violet, I am tempted to agree.”
Chapter 16
K
it strode back to the fencing tent in a dangerous temper. His most experienced pupils recognized the look on his face and wisely did not utter a word. Ironically the only student who failed to respect his mood was Godfrey, who was not included in today’s demonstrations.
Kit was leaning up against the willow tree, watching Pierce Carroll, garbed in Gypsy Rom attire, throwing knives at a target on the lawn. It was a chillingly good performance.
He felt a glimmer of suspicion. Who had taught Pierce to throw? To fence? Untrained talent was all well and good. But Kit hadn’t witnessed such intensity since he had studied under his father’s guidance. In fact, Pierce threw a blade with such precision that for several moments Kit forgot his foul mood, until Sir Godfrey walked up to remind him of it.
Kit tried to ignore him, but Godfrey refused to read his cue. “May I have a moment with you in private, Master Fenton?”