Had she come to enjoy his glower?
She felt the presence at her side before she heard him, and her chest tightened, anticipating his voice.
“May I have this dance?”
Her lips flattened, then curved into a forced smile as she turned to face Sir Phineas, his hand extended. “I would like a dance, thank you.”
Her body moved mechanically through the quadrille, the movements as familiar as breathing even though she felt like she was wading through fog. She knew Sir Phineas was speaking, but the words drifted and faded, becoming nonsensical in her mind. Every turn had her searching the doorways for Callum, waiting for the moment he would see her and run to her, pull her from the dance. Knowing that she would feel his presence when he entered the room, when the energy shifted to accommodate him.
But it never came.
The song ended and Violet lurched to a stop. If Sir Phineas noticed her trembling as he took her arm, he said nothing, escorting her off the dance floor as the orchestra picked up a galop.
“I have been quite patient, Miss Waverly,” Sir Phineas said, maneuvering her to a shadowy alcove next to the wide French doors leading out to the terrace. The air was sticky here, the glass failing to keep out the damp from the storm. “Have you given any more consideration to my offer?”
A highly inappropriate laugh pushed at her throat. As though she’d forgotten the choice that awaited her. As though, despite everything that had happened at the house party, her circumstances had changed. She fought the urge to rub her chest, where a corkscrew was working its way past her ribs.
Marriage or spinsterhood. Because finding a love for the ages was no longer a question—she’d found that love, and it had left. With Sir Phineas, Callum’s claim on her heart would never be challenged. She would be a mother in a sense, unburden her family. He could give her pieces of the life she’d dreamed of, and scraps of a dream were better than being starved.
Another crack of lightning rent the sky, and Violet startled, knocking herself out of her thoughts. Callum may not be coming for her, but she’d take as many blissful moments of freedom as she could manage. “I’ll give you an answer at midnight.”
Sir Phineas smirked. “Rather dramatic, but fine. I’ll be waiting.” With a bob of his head, he left her, unable to see the tremors that threatened to buckle her knees.
She watched him return to the ballroom, chin held high, confident in the knowledge she would accept his suit. Beyond him, James and Timothy stood close, heads bent together, her friend’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. Bridget and Valebrook had returned to the dance floor, lost to each other, merrily oblivious to the surrounding festivities.
The humid air seemed to swell in her lungs, taking up too much space and making her chest ache. Society had done its best to break her, to make her believe love didn’t exist, but she’d been wrong.
With one last look at the ballroom from the shadows, Violet Waverly threw herself into the storm.
Chapter 35
Formal wear had committeda multitude of sins in Callum’s lifetime, but nothing could be more egregious than making him late to dance with Violet.
Not that she’d promised him a dance, per se, he thought as his too-thick fingers fumbled with his white bow tie yet again. But he’d been unable to stop thinking about holding her in his arms for the entire train ride from Edinburgh to York, silently urging the hired hack to speed up as it raced through a downpour to Claremont Abbey. Raced being a generous term, as the incessant rain had left the road muddy and rutted, bringing their pace to a crawl that made Callum nearly explode from the strain of his frustration.
He was still shoving himself into his black tailcoat when he descended the stairs, rushing into the ballroom like the devil himself was on his tail. Perhaps he was, because Violet was nowhere to be seen. His eyes swiped over the room, pausing to clock James deep in conversation with Trembly before going to the windowsbeyond. A flash of lightning gifted him with a flare of illumination, and he glimpsed a young woman in an aubergine dress as she dashed towards the atrium.
Not sprinting across the ballroom and knocking guests aside like he was back on the rugby pitch required a remarkable amount of self-control. His ears buzzed, his thoughts so wild and turbulent they burned to ashes. All he knew as he pushed through the doors and into the garden beyond was that Violet was there, and he needed her in his arms again.
Angry, spitting rain threw fat drops at Callum’s hair and shoulders, as though spiteful that the clouds had cast out the last of their energy and objected to being propelled along by the wind. The sky rumbled with the remnants of the electric storm, the oxidized air heavy with humidity.
Who would have predicted a petite woman with berry lips and a wicked plan would push him into glorious madness at a country house party? He’d thought his life had returned to normality when he’d gone to Edinburgh, to the work that defined him. But no amount of labor or distance could strip Violet from his mind, and the closer he got to her, the more his soul vibrated with the need to hold her, to consume and be consumed by her.
You’re here to say goodbye,he reminded himself as he dodged puddles, closing the gap between them.You’re leaving, and she’s moving on with the life she wants without you.
His hands fumbled with the wet knob of the door to the atrium, a shudder rumbling through the glass and up his spine as he finally shut it behind him. The drumming of the retreating stormdiminished, the lights from the sconces casting a soft glow over the clusters of leaves and vines.
“Callum?”
His chest tightened as his ribs knit together, as though banding around his heart to protect it. But the pitiful organ was lost already, completely in the hands of the woman standing beside a nest of potted hibiscus. Her skirts swirled around her feet as she turned to him, and a jolt of pride hooked in his sternum. For the amount he’d paid Mr. Marks to have it altered and delivered for the ball, he’d expected her to be lovely, but the reality was breathtaking, otherworldly, more than worth selling his gold watch. If only he had the wealth to shower her with all the silks in the world.
He did not know how much time passed while he stared at her, but suddenly she was standing in front of him, her eyes searching his for a long moment before she fell against his chest, a soft, shuddering sigh escaping as she pressed her cheek between his pectorals.
The sense of rightness, having Violet in his arms, sent his knees shaking. She was clinging to him, her hands scrabbling at the fabric of his waistcoat, and he wanted to strip himself bare for her, show her the raw edges of his body and soul, wrap himself around her and protect her from harm.
“You came back.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, dampened by the roaring of blood in his ears, but the words resonated like clanging church bells. A summons to be better, to belong to something larger than himself.
A thousand phrases battled for prominence, odes to her beauty, praise for her clever mind, declarations of eternal love—but none seemed worthy, worthy of the moment, worthy ofher,so he dropped his head and put his tongue to better use.
