“Miss Sharpe,” the boy blurted immediately. “Miss Violet Sharpe from the Bloom Room.”
“Well, cock on a duck.”
Drake bolted for the door.
Chapter Twenty
Violet lifted herchin and drew in a slow breath, the cool freshness of her small plot filling her lungs. Pip should have delivered the letter to Drake by now, and she should be gone.
Yet she tarried.
And tarried.
If she were truly brave, she’d have sent two letters to Drake. One with the truth. She had even gone so far as to compile a list of all the reasons she should tell him and all the reasons she should not. She had not progressed beyond that list.
Bravery, it seemed, had its limits. So had she.
Outside the gate, a hired carriage and driver waited with her belongings. She had no intention of running from the life she had built here. But she did intend to leave. A trip to Bristol—until the dust settled with Drake and her brother.
And her heart.
Her heart, most of all.
How she wished she could return to the quiet when she had woken up in his bed. Even before, when their bodies melded, but mostly afterward, waking up to his stare. She’d thought, for a foolish moment, perhaps she’d foundsomeoneof her own. Whatever the nature of it. Whatever it might become or never become at all.
She couldn’t recall when last she’d felt so at peace. That peace, however, had lasted mere moments.
Violet sighed. She should have slapped that ruffian’s face.
What do you believe lovers to be?
Not them. That had become abundantly clear.
Perhaps she should find a husband after all.
“My lady.”
Violet started at the voice at her back, whirling around. Her eyes widened. Dear blazes. She couldn’t believe her eyes! “Rook? What are you doing here?”
The man stepped through the gate of her plot, nodding. “So it is you, my lady. I had hoped I saw wrong.”
Violet blinked at the man. So many emotions were rushing through her, she couldn’t make sense of what Rook said, of his presence here in her garden. “Saw wrong?” she repeated, dazed.
“The night of the fight, my lady. When you fled the scene with that Fury dog.”
That Fury . . . “Drake Fury?”
Rook nodded, cupping one of his hands in the other. “A nasty creature, that one.”
Violet’s mind spun, her gaze dropping to his bandaged hand. Rook and Drake? How hadthatcome to pass? Rook was her father’s man and, after her parents’ death, became her brother’s. Also hers, in a manner of speaking. He had been a great help in keeping her brother occupied when she snuck from her home.
Which meant... Her heart sank. “My brother is here, then?”
“I don’t know, my lady.”
“You don’t know?” Her brows furrowed. “Aren’t you here under his orders?”
“I was, my lady. Then I got caught by a dog,” he muttered with a scowl. “Now I’m under the orders of the dog.”
