Timothy attempted—and failed—to smother his snicker. “Darling, you’re a clever girl. Iknowyou can convince a man to take liberties with you. Look at what Townsend—”
He snapped his mouth shut and pulled her into an embrace. “Shit, Vi, I’m so sorry. That was horrible. I never—”
“It’s fine. You meant no harm.” His waistcoat muffled her words, and she was grateful as she didn’t want to be seen crying, again, even by her closest friend.
Gregory Townsend had made her feel pretty, appreciated,and comforted her in the heartbreak of her broken engagement. They’d met in a coffee shop when Rose had dragged her to meet some of the intellectual set—e.g., decidedly non-marriageable men. He’dtold her she had beautiful eyes, the color of tea. Not the most flattering of comparisons, but she was heartsick, and she lapped up the compliment like a kitten taking to milk. He hadn’t intended to stay in Oxford long; as a trusted advisor to a railroad tycoon, he was passing through on his way from London to Birmingham.
Their meetings were secret—Your father won’t approve of me until I’ve established myself, just give me time.
His words were sweet—You’re so beautiful, so perfect, and anyone who can’t see that is a fool.
His promises were precisely what she needed to hear—I’ll marry you, I swear it. Let me give you pleasure. Be my wife now with this act.
Damn her cursed luck that women across England welcomed men into their beds without consequence, but Violet would be the exception to the rule.
And the consequence was almost the death of her.
She pressed her palms against Timothy’s chest and fixed him with a wide smile that burned at the edges. “Thank you for the encouragement.”
“Happy to be of service. Have you set your sights on anyone?”
Her smile faded. “Yes, Mr. Taggart—James. We spoke about him last night.”
Timothy’s lip trembled. “We did? I don’t recall.”
“Of course you recall.” Something dark passed over his expression but was gone so quickly Violet wondered if it was a trick of the light. “You said he had a reputation as a rake, so I thought if anyone was, um,amenableto my advances, it wouldbe him.”
“I thought you’d changed your mind and were considering the cousin instead?”
“Callum?” The name burst out of her mouth, the first time she’d said it since last night, but not the first she’d thought about him. She wanted to pluck it out of the air and push it back inside her throat. “No, he’s dreadful and brooding. I can’t imagine him taking…” She waved her hand about. When would she develop the courage tosaythe words? “Libertieswith me.”
“The brooding ones can surprise you. Lots of growling and—” He grunted and bobbed his eyebrows, and a laugh escaped her.
“No, I’ll leave him to you.” She gave him a weak smile. “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need luck.” He pulled her close into a hug, pinning her arms to her sides. “You need a miracle!” He released her with a cackle and skipped away, blowing her a kiss over his shoulder.
As much faith as Timothy had—or didn’t have, perhaps—Violet spent the next quarter hour edging ever closer to where James stood surrounded by other gentlemen and, before long, even more of the ladies. One by one, they fell under his spell, but he never kept his attention on any woman for longer than a few moments. Eventually, he took his glass and, with a parting nod, slid out through the French doors onto the terrace.
Violet clutched her drink in her hand—some colorless concoction Bridget had shoved in her direction with the wide-eyed warning todrink slowly—and followed him, snagging an additional glass of champagne from a passing footman. James was leaning against the balustrade when she saw him, bathed in a pool oflamplight pouring through the windows, a cigarette between his lips as he stared out over the garden.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, and he startled, then smiled.
“You’ve caught me.” He chuckled and stubbed out the cigarette under his foot. “Nasty habit.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” Lies. The smell of cigarettes left her nauseated, but she could tolerate it for the time being. “I was hoping you could help me.” She lifted the clear drink Bridget had made her. “Reportedly, this is excellent, but I had one sip and lost the tip of my tongue. Would you like it?”
His smile was wide this time, and when his fingers brushed hers to take the drink, a shiver of excitement shot up her arm.
No, not excitement. Just a shiver. It was bloody cold outside.
“Thank you, Virginia,” he said as he took a sip. “Ah, a gimlet. Valebrook spent some time in the navy, so I’m not surprised he has an affinity for gin.”
She pursed her lips and lifted one finger. “It’s, um,Violet, actually. We met last night?”
He pressed his free hand to his forehead. “Violet, of course. I remember you, just…”
Her laugh sounded awkward to her own ears. “Of course, there were lots of unfamiliar faces.”And I’m forgettable.She took a bracing gulp of her champagne and stepped closer. “It’s awfully cold out here.”
