Brigand (16 page)

For one thing, their perfume turned her stomach—it was
probably the scent of their pomade but it hardly mattered. The stench was
revolting. Their soft white hands made her want to laugh. Their effete
expressions and oh-so-proper conversations were deadly dull. Not a one of them
set her heart to racing with a look, a word, a touch.

They hounded her in veritable herds, forcing countless
glasses of lemonade upon her. If she drank each one, she would explode. She
hoped she hadn’t killed any of the palms Hortense had been so delighted to
bring in. They were now all swimming in lemonade.

And still they stalked her, those men bearing glasses of
vile brew.

Hence, her skulking.

“There you are.”

Violet nearly leapt out of her skin. Her heart chattered as
she whirled on Kaitlin. “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, darling.” Her gaze narrowed. “I take it you’re not
having a good time?”

“These men! They’re like hounds with a scent.”

Really. There was no reason for Kaitlin to laugh. “Did you
expect something different? You are rather lovely. And the cousin of a wealthy
duke.”

“I’m hardly a tasty rabbit.”

“I beg to differ. You are quite the prize here tonight.”

“But Sophia—”

“Sophia is lovely as well,” Kaitlin said as an older
gentleman spun her by in a reel. She fairly glowed; her gown belled out around
her. “But we both know your connection with Edward is what these men are
after.”

Violet snorted. “So flattering.”

Kaitlin grinned. “You know what I mean. On your own you’re
quite a catch, but with a duke behind you…you’re irresistible. Sophia’s brother
is wealthy but not a lord. He doesn’t have a title. She will have to work a
little harder to attract a Dittenham or a Sheffield.”

Violet wrinkled her nose. “I shall advise her to be lazy.”

“Hmm. That bad?”

“Hideous. Although Dittenham assures me, when I am his wife
he will allow me to buy any dress I like, so long as his mother approves.”

“Quite generous.”

“And Sheffield has expressed a keen desire to teach me how
to speak like a true English lady.”

“Oh?”

“Without the savage brogue.”

Kaitlin nibbled her lip. “So they’re both top contenders
then?”

Violet tried to swallow her growl but failed. “Have you see
Ewan?”

“I was wondering if you’d ask. I saw the two of you head out
to the garden.”

“So, apparently, did Ned.” Violet crossed her arms.

“Oh my. Well, he’s in the study with Edward.”

“Coward.”

“All men are when it comes to evenings such as this.”

Although Edward had stood by Kaitlin’s side, proudly
presenting her as his new duchess to all the harpies. Harpies who had come to
gawk at the woman who had finally tamed the Dark Duke. And to appraise her
waistline. They’d been sorely disappointed. Kaitlin was still extraordinarily
trim. But to those who knew her well, the new glow was unmistakable.

A man—one who was not a coward in the slightest—spotted her
and scurried in her direction. Violet tamped down the urge to run.

“Ah, Miss Wyeth. There you are.”

Her eyes crossed as Dittenham bent over her hand and his
fragrance wafted to her nostrils.

“May I beg another dance of you? Oh, do say yes.” He glanced
at Kaitlin. “With your permission, Your Grace.”

Kaitlin—the traitor—dipped her head. “Naturally, Lord
Dittenham. I am certain Miss Wyeth would be delighted to dance with you.” There
was truly no call for her to say those words accompanied by such an evil smirk.

She began to wonder if Kaitlin was, indeed, a friend at all.

Ewan knew he should probably be out in the ballroom but he
couldn’t dance with Violet—not without making himself look like an utter
fool—and clearly he couldn’t take her for another walk in the garden. On top of
that, he would rather put out his own eye than watch her dancing and laughing
with other men. So he stayed in the study, engaged in a conversation with
William and Granger, and thoroughly enjoyed himself instead.

Granger was a sensible man with solid ideas, and a sharp wit
to boot. More than once his keen observations and clever repartee had him and William
howling with laughter. That he had little patience for the pomposity of their
fellows didn’t hurt.

When one man pranced into view—a dandy named
Dittenham—Robert, or Robin as he bade Ewan call him, likened him to a
fluttering bird.

In all due respect, it was probably bad form to snicker.

Ewan didn’t care.

By the time they emerged from the sanctity of the study, it
was late—or early, as it so happened—and the evening was drawing to a close.
Sophia, he discovered, had already gone to bed and many of the guests had left.

Violet, he noticed with a sharp lurch to his heart, was
still there.

It was only polite to pay his respects to his host before he
took his leave. And as Violet happened to be standing next to the duke and his
duchess, naturally he headed their way. Perhaps there would be a chance to
speak with her again after all.

But no. As he approached, Ned changed directions and homed
in on them, not faltering in his step until he stood by her side. He dropped
his arm around her shoulders and shot Ewan a nasty smile. “Lovely evening,
wasn’t it?” he said.

“Charming.” Ewan nodded. He turned to Edward and Kaitlin.
“Thank you for everything.”

The duchess laughed. “It was all Aunt Hortense. I assure
you.”

“Ah. Thank her for me as well.”

“I shall.”

His gaze flicked to Violet. As though it had a choice. “Miss
Wyeth.”

She put her hand in his and he pressed a kiss on her glove,
holding her as long as he thought he should. Still, when he released her, Ned
was glaring.

“May I call on you tomorrow?”

She blushed prettily. “I should like that.”

He nodded and stared at her. She stared back.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow.”

Though he hated leaving her, he walked away with a smile on
his face because the evening had gone well. He’d had a nice time chatting with
Granger. And he’d held her in his arms again and kissed her. Most importantly,
she’d let him.

* * * * *

Violet barely slept all night. She couldn’t. The excitement
was far too sharp. She kept replaying her interlude with Ewan over and over in
her head. The look in his eyes. His touch. The taste of his lips.

It had been glorious.

And even more glorious? The knowledge that he still wanted
her. More than that, he was wooing her. The thought made her deliriously happy.

When Mary scratched on her door, bearing a tray of cakes and
chocolate, Violet was not ready to rise. But when she tried to wave her maid
away, the girl protested.

“You must get up, miss,” she said. “Callers have already
begun to arrive.”

Violet shot up in the bed. A skirl of exhilaration clenched
her gut.

But wait. Not exhilaration. Nausea.

She kicked off her covers and bolted for the chamber pot.
After she finished retching, she turned to find Mary staring at her.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “I’m just tired, I
think. Last night was exhausting.”

“Hmm.” Mary nodded and glanced away. “I’ll leave this here
then and be back in a bit to help you dress.” She took the chamber pot with
her.

As Violet nibbled on the cakes—which didn’t help the
churning in her belly—she thought about what today might bring and her
anticipation rose again. Ewan would come. He’d said he would come. Maybe they
could slip away together. To the library. Or the billiards room. Or the garden.
Somewhere they could continue their…conversation.

Mary returned with a nice pot of tea, which Violet sipped as
the maid dressed her hair. It soothed the churning considerably. The nausea
kicked up again as she descended the stairs and then her stomach roiled when
she entered the morning room.

It was filled with flowers. Roses and hothouse orchids and
blooms she’d never seen before. She gaped. “What’s all this?”

Kaitlin, who had been chatting with a young man Violet
danced with the night before, leapt to her feet. As did he. “There you are,
darling!”

Sophia and the three other men perched on the dainty
furniture around her rose as well. Hortense did not. But she did grunt. She was
in the process of wolfing down a biscuit. Ned stood sentry by the mantel,
leaning against it lazily, every inch of him a Corinthian.

“Look!” Sophia trilled. “We have visitors. They brought
flowers.”

Ah, yes. The reason for her queasiness. The fragrance of the
blooms was overwhelming. Stifling.

Kaitlin took her arm and pulled her into the fray,
whispering, “Many of them are for you.”

“Lovely.”

“You remember Lord Steven.”

She did not. But she offered a smile and a nod.

“And Berkley…” Kaitlin went ’round the circle, pattering the
names of these men as though they mattered. Violet couldn’t care less what
their names were. She had no intention of talking to them.

But talk she did. Endlessly and for hours it seemed, about
utterly banal nonsense. All the while her attention kept drifting to the door
in hopes that a tall, handsome Scotsman might come striding through.

There was a moment when a man with the certain turn of a
cheek stepped into the room, when her heart leapt. It wasn’t Ewan but he looked
very much like him. He was introduced to her as Robert, Lord Walsham. She
enjoyed talking to him very much. Much more than the torturous conversation she
shared with Dittenham, who appeared shortly after, strutting like a coxcomb.

Polite hours for morning calls were nearly over when the
door opened and Ewan entered. His friend William Winslett was with him. Ewan
scanned the company, frowning at the other men. Though she knew it was bad
form, she rose and crossed to him, holding out her hands. He kissed them.

“You came,” she whispered.

He glanced down at the small box he held and winced. “I
should have brought flowers.” When he shot a glare at his friend, Winslett only
shrugged.

“I hate flowers.” It was highly impolite to hiss like this.
She didn’t care. His brow arched. “Oh, I love flowers…in a garden. In a room
like this, they are rather overpowering.”

“Lord Winslett. Mr. St. Andrews. Welcome,” Kaitlin cooed
from behind her.

Ewan nodded at the duchess but then his attention snapped to
Violet. He thrust the box at her. “I brought you strawberries.”

Violet’s eyes widened. She paled. Her belly roiled. “Why
ever did you do that?”

“Malcolm told me you liked them. At dinner last night.”

Kaitlin snorted a laugh. “She cannot eat strawberries. They
give her spots.”

A flush crawled up his face.

The duchess grinned. “A suggestion, sir?”

“Please.”

“Don’t take any more advice from her brothers.” Kaitlin
smirked. “I, on the other hand, love strawberries.” She took the box. “Thank
you so much, Mr. St. Andrews. Very thoughtful.” Her voice rose as she headed
back to the others, dragging Violet with her.

Violet sat at the far end of the divan, away from Dittenham.
To her delight, Ewan sat next to her. His thigh grazed hers as he settled
himself.

“Would you care for tea, Mr.
St. Andrews
?” This,
Hortense warbled with an amused glint. She clearly enjoyed the subterfuge.

“Thank you, no.” But when Violet passed him a plate of
cakes, he took one, and the opportunity to stare soulfully at her. From that
angle, no one else could see his expression. No one but Ned.

Her brother strolled over to the divan and gusted a sigh.
“It is so heartening to see so many men paying their respects to my sister.”
Then, to her horror, Ned insinuated himself between her and Ewan on the divan,
tossing an arm over both their shoulders.

“She is quite lovely,” Dittenham purred.

“Quite.” Like lemmings, they all echoed the word.

Violet forbore from rolling her eyes, but only just. “Sophia
is quite lovely too.” There was a measure of satisfaction in dressing them
down. And then amusement as they all scuttled to compliment Sophia as well.

“Did you know your brother was in a French prison during the
war?” Berkeley—or was it Bingham?—asked. This sent the conversation into a
whole new direction but Violet was fairly oblivious. She was stunned at this
revelation.

Ewan had been in a French prison?

She leaned around Ned to send Ewan a searching glance. He
tendered a sheepish smile in response.

For the next while, the men talked amongst themselves and
plied the women with effusive compliments and ate all the really nice cakes.
Violet made it a point to gore Ned regularly with her elbow but he didn’t take
the hint and move, so Violet—again—didn’t have a chance to speak with Ewan.

When Aunt Hortense peered at the ormolu clock and sighed,
the visitors, all well-trained in the
politesse
of the morning call,
came to their feet. Ned sprang up and led the way to the door. Violet stood as
well, though she might have stood too quickly. Or the flowers really were a
touch too much. Or she should have had more to eat. Because all the blood
rushed from her head and wooziness assailed her.

She put out a hand. A tiny sound passed her lips.

Ewan’s head whipped around. Their gazes tangled and concern
flitted across his face. “Violet? Are you all right?”

She opened her mouth to respond but no words came out.

The giddiness rose. Her vision went cloudy. And she felt
herself falling.

He caught her.

Of course he did.

He was her Ewan. He would always catch her.

That was the last thought she had before everything went
black.

* * * * *

“You must call a doctor.” Ewan stormed from one side of the
room to the other.

“I already did.” Edward frowned. “And will you sit down?
You’re making me dizzy.”

“We don’t need a doctor.”

Ewan spun around to gape at Kaitlin. “Are you mad? She just
fainted. Women don’t just faint like that.”

Edward nodded. “It’s true. I mean, they might like men to
think they’re fragile but you rarely ever see a woman truly swoon.”

Kaitlin crossed her arms and pinned her husband with a hard
glare. “I swooned. And her maid told me she was ill this morning.”

Ewan’s heart hitched. “She was ill?”

But neither Edward nor Kaitlin paid him any mind. Edward
stared at his wife; he paled. As one, their heads swiveled, skewering Ewan with
sharp perusal.

“What?”

Edward stood. Bristled. “How’s the wooing going?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How. Is. The. Wooing. Going.” Surely there was no need to
spit.

“Terribly.” Ewan raked his fingers through his hair. “Her
brothers are worse than a battalion of trolls. Can’t even get close.”

“I suggest you try harder.”

“I’m trying, but—”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Kaitlin snapped. “You’re Ewan
McCloud. Kidnap her again if you have to.”

“That wasn’t me!” How many fucking times did he have to say
it?

“Do whatever you have to do. Just get it done. Propose to
her.” Something in the duke’s eyes gave him pause. He turned toward the fire as
the thoughts filtered through his head. Violet had been ill. She fainted. There
was some reason he should hasten to claim her—

Oh God.

He suddenly felt a little faint himself.

It couldn’t be.

But when he thought back on all the times they’d made
love—he knew it could. “You don’t think…”

“I do.”

Ewan’s knees failed him. He plopped down on the couch and
buried his face in his hands. Twin shards of excitement and dread skirled through
him. If it was true, if Violet was carrying his
bairn
, she’d have to
marry him.

Kaitlin fixed him with a speaking look. “We’re all attending
the Grantham musicale tonight. I suggest you put in an appearance as well.”

“And finish this,” Edward added on a snarl.

Oh, he would. He would finish this once and for all.