James pressed his hand against the windowpane. “I thought he loved me. I never dreamed…”
The men sat in silence for several long moments, memories swirling between them. For Callum, Duncan McTavish had been a bounder, a blackmailer who used James, claimed to love him, then threatened him with exposure, with prison. With death.
Callum refused to have another death on his hands, and had paid an exorbitant sum to buy McTavish’s silence. Then he’d littered the gossip pages with rumors about James’s dalliances with women, rumors of chorus girls and merry widows, a never-ending parade of imaginary women gracing his bed.
But when the rat McTavish returned to Callum’s office a month later, demanding even more and producing love letters James had written to him, careful payments to the right people in the shipyards ensured the man wouldn’t return to bother James again.
How could he admit that he’d had his cousin’s former lover killed to protect him? Or that he couldn’t afford to bribe the next person who discovered James’s truth? Callum maintained the belief that this situation had been a onetime occurrence until hisuncle had passed and Callum found the ledgers tucked beneath a false panel in his desk. Thousands of pounds paid to keep James safe, to pay off magistrates and those who would testify to his cousin’s crimes against morality. The guilt that constantly churned in Callum’s gut twisted, reached up and squeezed his heart until he felt his chest close to bursting.
“Let’s get through this party, secure the investors, and be done with it.” Callum’s words grated against his throat, and when James met his gaze, his blue eyes were damp. “As long as we keep our focus, avoid attracting attention, we’ll walk out of here better than we came in.”
Chapter 6
“And where have youbeen?”
Violet had barely set foot in the morning room and already she was being chastised by her great aunt. “I walked into town to post a letter to Rose and another to Marigold. I’ve also had breakfast and tea and read half a novel. Where haveyoubeen?”
Aunt Margaret leaned back in her chaise. “Abed, dear girl, like all of us who hadfunlast night.”
Violet flopped down in the chair beside her aunt and blew a loose hair from her forehead. She’d been unable to sleep the night before, the humiliation from her interaction with that horrid Scot too fresh in her memories.
As though the woman could hear her thoughts, Margaret eyed her niece with a wry smile. “Are you all in a tizzy over your disastrous showing last night?”
Oh, blast it. “What do you mean?”
Margaret snorted. “When you fled from Lord Pennington?”
Violet wrinkled her nose. “He made… unwelcome advances.”
“And you didn’t send your knee into his bollocks?”
She stifled a snicker and shook her head. “I thought it would cause a scene.”
“Oh, and I heard you poured champagne on the Scotsman.”
Red edged her vision. “Is that what he’s saying? Because I didn’t—”
Margaret cut her off with a lazy wave of her hand. “I have eyes and ears in many places you needn’t worry about. Perhaps it’s time to stop bothering yourself to impress a man. Your mother said Sir Phineas may attend the final ball. If you think you can avoid a proposal, you’d best find a better option, and soon.”
Something soured in her stomach. Sir Phineas Hamilton, baronet from Sussex. Father of a teenaged son and young daughter, and seeking a new mother figure to fill the void left after his wife’s death the year prior. When she’d refused his offer for marriage the first time, she’d been early in her affair with Gregory and still harbored fantasies of marriage to the dashing salesman.
She’d entertained the baronet’s continued pursuit of her hand, leading her father to conclude she was giving the man serious consideration as a husband. But then she’d learned the truth of Sir Phineas one horrible night, followed by a worse morning when her father had refused to believe her.
“I’m surprised he still wants to marry me,” she managed. “I thoughtmy reputation would frighten him away.”
“That or your lack of a dowry.” Margaret huffed. “He wants a mother for his daughter, not a wife.”
Her stomach shifted unpleasantly. “I… I don’t think I’d like to have a husband.”
Margaret scoffed. “No onewantsa husband, darling. But, alas, they are a necessity.”
“You don’t have a husband, and you’re fulfilled.”
Her aunt appeared to think about it for a moment before nodding. “I am. Lacking a husband is quite lovely, really.”
Violet leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Was your family terribly angry when you chose not to marry?”
“Chose?” Her laugh was more of a cackle. “Oh sweet girl, I didn’tchooseit. Spinsterhood was thrust upon me when I was ruined.”
