Violet shook her head. “Not in the slightest. What do we do now?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and wished, for just a moment, that they were back in the closet. Perhaps with the door open.
“We try again tomorrow.”
Her face fell. “That makes sense.”
“Aye.” He hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “Ye willnae tell anyone what happened, will ye?”
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed hard. “About when I… when I panicked.”
Her hand flexed as though she intended to touch him, but reconsidered. “Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone about what happened. But why don’t you want anyone to know?”
Damn her need to pick apart everything he said. The rest of the people in his life accepted his word without question, although perhaps his general glowering demeanor did not encourage discourse. But Violet never let a statement rest until she understood every underlying motivation, every thought that went into its construction. “Because they may think less of me,” he managed.
Her lovely mouth twisted, and he was certain she was puzzling out his explanation. With her, fewer words seemed better than more.
She watched him closely, and her gaze prickled at his skin until it felt too tight, like he’d outgrown his clothing.
As though something beneath the surface ached to break free.
Finally, she sighed. “I think more of you having seen it.”
He watched as she walked down the hall, trying not to notice which room she entered but failing miserably. She had tamed the panic that he knew so well, that always left him flattened and paralyzed, without hesitation, without judgment. He’d planned for this ploy with Violet to be a diversion, but he was handing pieces of himself over to her without her having to ask.
And as he dressed for dinner in that bloody starched coat and tie, his tired mind settled on a disturbing realization.
Dammit. He wanted to give her more.
Chapter 14
Carriage
Garden tryst(goose!)
Linen closet
Music room
Stable (manure???)
Small library
Violet tapped her pencil against her lips and willed her mind to deliver more inspiration. Her first four attempts at ruining herself had been hopelessly mangled; perhaps destroying her reputation would be more difficult than she intended.
But she was not one to give up without a fight. Her attention drifted across the parlor, where most of the guests had gathered after breakfast to read, gossip, or return correspondence before the men set off on a ride and the women took carriages into York to shop. Violet would not be among the ladies shopping, as her reticule held barely enough coinage to buy a scrap of ribbon, and she wondered if Callum would join the men riding out today.
Her eyes caught on the footman circulating the room to deliver mail, then drifted to the table near the door. Callum and James sat reviewing paperwork of some sort; James leaned back in his chair and chatted with passersby, but Callum remained focused, his broad shoulders curved as he scribbled down notes, his brows drawn together until a deep crease was etched between them.
He’d made himself utterly unapproachable; even the footman hesitated before depositing Callum’s post beside him. But she’d seen the person below his frigid surface. She hadn’t expected a man like him to admit to any weaknesses, let alone accept her help in overcoming them. During dinner the night before, she’d watched him like a hawk, as though she could detect from a distance if his pulse raced again, if his mind was lost in torment. She held no doubt that she’d toss herself across the table if he needed her, and she wasn’t particularly excited about that.
“Miss Waverly, a letter for you.”
She startled, then accepted the envelope from the footman before her stomach swooped. There was no mistaking the elegant scroll of the Viscountess Redbourne. Why would her mother be writing to her at this point in the party, unless it was something worrisome?
She skimmed the updates on her mother’s gardens (the white roses are blooming early), her father’s dogs(puppies!),and the state of the household (two more kitchen maids let go, with references, of course), until the last paragraph, hastily scrawled below the original text, came into view and immediately blurred as her eyes burned.
