Callum swung around and would have grabbed James by the collar, had he been wearing one. “Never speak about her like that.”
“Methinks thou doth protest too much, cousin,” James said with a wink, and Callum stepped away with a groan, grumbling as he dried himself off.
So James had seen them together; being spotted was the entire point of this ruse. Had the bloody oysters not sent everyone to their lavvies, Violet would already be ruined and heading to Hampshire as a spinster.
The thought made something in his chest crack and crumble, and he rubbed his sternum to relieve the pressure. “Yes, she’s pretty, and I’m attracted to her. But she only wants to pretend.”
“And get caught.” James shrugged. “Has Valebrook seen you with her?”
“No. If he had, I’d’ve asked for her hand by now.”
“Ah.” James sat on a wicker lounger and folded his hands behind his head. “What a shame.”
The hairs on Callum’s neck stood up. “Ye want him to back out of the investment, don’t ye?”
James could have at least had the dignity to deny it. Instead, his cousin shrugged. “We’re doing well as it is. It’s no secret that I don’t want you going to Panama.”
“I’m doing it for our family, foryou—”
“That’s not true, and you know it,” James barked as he pushed to his feet. “If you were doing this for me, you’d stay here, in England, and let me take care of myself.”
His stomach clenched violently as he stared at his cousin’s retreating figure. Was this the moment to tell him, to admit thetruth about their situation, how perilously close he was to losing everything? “James—”
“Do what you want, Cal,” he spat over his shoulder as he stalked to the door. “If you want the girl, go get her. If you want to go to Panama, go. But do it for yourself, not me.”
Chapter 20
Violet would make aterrible spy. She winced as she rubbed her knee, cursed under her breath, then stretched her hands in front of her to reach blindly in the dark. Once her palms connected with the shelves of books, she maneuvered along until her fingers touched the switch for the gasolier.
Warm light spread from the sconces embedded in the walls, and Violet exhaled in relief before turning to scowl at the ottoman that had nearly sent her tumbling. Valebrook’s private library had been built in the last century, as a previous earl objected to heating the massive library housed in the original abbey’s sanctuary.
This room was still grand; the marble fireplace, now cold, glinted with gold accents, and the mahogany wall panels seemed to let off their own warm light. Hunting prints dotted the walls behind the overstuffed leather chairs bracketing a library-style table. Between French doors leading out to the terrace, rows of books lined tall shelves. Violet knew them to be stuffed with Shakespeare and Moliere, philosophies, histories, and great novels. Years before, herolder sister Marigold found a stash of naughty novellas tucked behindThe History of Animal Husbandry in Yorkshire, and they had spent hours giggling and gasping at the pictures within.
Not the animal husbandry, of course—that raised more questions than it provided answers.
Through the inlaid door, she heard the murmurs from the ladies’ parlor just beyond. A prickle of anticipation struck in her breast. Most of the guests had recovered enough from the oyster-related gastrointestinal distress for a supper of beef tea and toast, then had separated for after-dinner games. This was by far her boldest attempt at ruination yet, with all the women in the parlor on the other side of this door. But she couldn’t pretend, even with herself, that they were the source of her anxiety.
She’d avoided speaking to Callum during drinks and supper, although she’d sensed his gaze tracking her as she moved through the room.
Ye’d want my hands all over ye, my mouth all over ye.
She grazed her fingers along her neck, as though she could feel him still, the languid tendrils of desire climbing over her limbs and between her ribs. Their impersonation of lovers was far more appealing than spinsterhood, the taste of pleasure too tempting to ignore. When he kissed her, when her body pressed against his, she felt safe,wanted.
And perhaps that was enough, at least for now.
The door to the hallway behind her cracked open, and she swung her gaze to the man taking up the entire entry. Shadows hung below the slashes of brows, casting his eyes in darkness. Shewas certain they’d be fluid silver, diaphanous pools of mercury. Her heart tried to harden against that face, one that made her do foolish things for affection.
He stepped in then, his expression uncertain as he drenched her in his gaze, and she softened. She wanted to believe Callum to be a mystery, but he’d revealed his drives and desires as cleanly as he must manage his business, with efficiency and unwavering purpose. He’d never made her think he could be more than a solution to her most pressing problem. A man who declared himself to be incapable of loving a wife would dedicate himself to fulfilling his prophecy.
His eyes missed nothing as he took her in, and Violet fought the urge to preen under his attention. But then he stopped, close enough that she could see shards of blue in the stormy seas of his irises, the glints of silver at his temples. “I brought ye something.”
Her surprise put her in real danger of tumbling over the ottoman once more. “You did?”
His hand moved as though he ached to touch her, but he pulled it back and buried it in his pocket. “All they had for supper was toast, so I thought ye might be famished.” His expression was sheepish as he withdrew a bundled handkerchief and unwrapped it.
Her jaw dropped. “You brought me cheese?”
He visibly fought the smile digging into his cheeks. “I asked the cook to gather some things ye’d like. I have more if ye’re still peckish.”
