“When?” Violet’s voice was cooler, firmer.
“Before you. And after.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” he said. “I did nothing except dismiss her.”
“She is pretty.”
“Yes, but—” He stopped. She watched him gather himself, watched him decide. “She is attractive the way frost on a windowis attractive. I noticed it as a man notices weather through glass.” He took a step toward her. “She arranged herself. Every gesture of it priced and placed. I have spent my whole life among people who arrange themselves, and I can smell it the way you smell henbane.” Another step. “You have never once arranged yourself for me. You negotiated like a horse trader. You struck me across the face when you had everything to lose. You asked me to my face whether I had murdered my wives, and I laughed for the first time in years, and I have not been entirely sane since. She put her fingers to her collar, and I felt nothing but the wish to be elsewhere. You roll your sleeves and I lose the thread of my own arguments.” His voice dropped. “There is no comparison, because she was a tactic. You are the world I live in.”
Violet’s heart was doing something unsalvageable.
“That is a very thorough report, Your Grace,” she managed, and heard how little of her voice was left to manage with.
“I have not finished it.” He closed the last of the distance and took her face in both hands, and his thumbs were not quite steady. He kissed her.
It was not careful. It was not gentle. It was the kiss of a man who had held himself apart from his wife and could not hold himself apart for one more second. Her back met the edge of the workbench and she did not care. Her hands found his shirt and held on because her legs had decided they were finished.
He broke away first. They were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers.
“I have not done that,” he said, “for twelve years.”
She understood what that meant. She put her hand against his jaw and felt it working, and said nothing, because there was nothing to say that the kiss had not already said.
He crushed his mouth to hers once more. His lips caught her upper lip then held it. He was deliberate and unhurried. His hand moved to her nape, and the thumb stroked the skin inrhythmic motion. A moan escaped her throat. His other arm circled around her waist and pulled her to him. His growing arousal dug into her thigh. With a groan, he pressed her body against his, his teeth now grazing her bottom lip and biting lightly.
He released her mouth. His jaw was rough against her cheek as he kissed her earlobe then travelled down her neck. His hand found the hem of her nightgown.
“Henry…” she breathed.
“I know.” His mouth found hers again and this time, he held nothing back. His hand came to the back of her head and tightened in her hair. He pulled gently to angle her head exactly the way he wanted, then he was on her.
His mouth opened against hers and just as she gasped, his tongue swiped her bottom lip. He deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue then coaxing her tongue to tangle with his. Pressing her mouth against his own, he ground his hips against her thigh.
Violet’s arms were wrapped around his neck, one hand raking through his hair. Just as she needed to break for air, he released her mouth, his lips then rested on her throat.
“Violet,” he rasped.
“Yes.”
“I want more.”
“Yes.”
“But we cannot.”
“I know,” she breathed.
“But when this is all over…”
He drew back. They were both breathing hard. His thumb moved across her cheekbone slowly. She turned her face into his palm, her eyes closed.
He kissed her again. Softer now with a slight drag of his lower lip. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw. She breathed him in.
“You head back first. I will be close behind you.”
She nodded, and he reluctantly placed her on the floor. She could feel him watching her as she walked through the door.
