fourteen
VIOLANTE LOVED HOW wearing nice, clean clothes that fit properly felt. She wore a completely new set of fresh garments from her chemise and drawers to her brand-new capelet, silk stockings, and embroidered kid gloves.
The scent of lilies wafted from her afternoon gown, and she had styled her hair in soft curls, shiny with scented argan oil. The rouge was a must. Her skin had improved, but a ghostly pallor lingered, and while today’s fashion favoured pale cheeks and liquid eyes, she preferred a bit of colour.
Maybe she was the vainest woman in London, but she couldn’t stop staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her own papa wouldn’t recognise her. The dark-red gown hugged her body and made her look more shapely than she was. Glossy layers of velvet formed a small bustle that enhanced the small of her back. Another light touch of rouge coloured her lips, and the black velvet hat added a few inches to her height. It was the first time in the recent, difficult years that she hadn’t worn patched clothes and broken shoes. Or that her stomach hadn’t cramped from hunger. Goodness, even her head was clear.
She was aware this moment wouldn’t last. Once Keith got what he wanted and she demanded Paul compensate her for what he’d stolen, her life would return to its lonely reality, like a beautiful spell broken by a curse. Yes, breaking the spell had been her decision because she couldn’t marry Keith only to live in comfort. That would be even more lonely, and he didn’t deserve that. He deserved true love and genuine commitment.
But exactly because the dream wouldn’t last, she wanted to savour every moment. The ring…heavens, the ring was perfect. Every time she wiggled her finger, the gem sparkled, and a little flicker of excitement teased her belly. Another spell that would be broken. She wasn’t Keith’s wife. He shouldn’t marry someone like her, a woman who had lost everything and survived by stealing, not now that he was a titled gentleman.
She glanced at the mirror again before leaving her room. Keith came out of his bedroom, dressed in a dark suit that complemented his sable hair and strong build. The silk waistcoat stretched over his broad chest nicely. She couldn’t avoid thinking about those times she’d seen him half-naked working with the other lads. He’d looked handsome then. Now he was simply magnificent.
He raked a slow glance over her, a heated one if she was still capable of judging such matters. Another thing she hadn’t experienced in the past years was attraction. She’d been too busy trying not to die from starvation or infections to care about what men thought of her or to find men attractive. Keith was different.
“You look beautiful.” His serious tone didn’t leave room for doubt. He wasn’t being nice. He told her exactly what he thought.
Her face warmed. “It’s the gown. Excellent quality.”
He offered her his arm. “I beg to differ. I mean, the gown is lovely, but you seem different in it, more confident.”
True. “It makes me feel pretty.”
“That’s the point of nice clothes.” He smiled when she accepted his arm. “Shall we?”
She mentally rehashed the story they’d agreed to tell. “So we met at a ball given by Sir Howard, before that, I spent a few years abroad in Italy, and then we had a regular one-year engagement.”
“I hope the count won’t ask too many questions. I’m not a good liar.”
Yes, she knew that.
He kept looking at her when they went down the stairs. While she had to focus on not tripping on the hem of her skirt, he didn’t need to see where he put his feet not to fall.
He stared at her even when he sat in front of her in the carriage as if he were under a spell. There was no escaping his presence, scent, and warmth in the confined space. The lightest of brushes of her knees against his sent a thrill of sensations up her neck. Another jolt of the carriage sent her forwards, and she hit his legs.
“Sorry,” they said together.
She moved back to her corner of the seat, her pulse thundering. How silly of her. It had to be the gown.
She didn’t know what to make of the fact she still found him attractive. The attraction could be gratitude for his generosity. Or simply, it could be due to the fact she was eating regularly. Or he was indeed too handsome and kind to be ignored. If he’d been only handsome, she wouldn’t have thought much of it. But she had to admit he’d been nothing but compassionate to her.
On the awful day at the police station, she’d ordered him to leave her alone. Yes, she’d been harsh and wrong to send him away. In her defence, at that moment, she’d been in shock and couldn’t have imagined they wouldn’t have seen each other again.
She shook her head to get rid of those dark thoughts. She’d spent many a night obsessing about that day. If the count invited them to Bakewell, she’d have the opportunity to speak with Paul and be compensated. She wouldn’t have to rely on the generosity of anyone and would build something for herself. Once she was independent, she would examine her feelings for Keith without her gratitude and guilt misleading her.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Keith reclined his head, exposing his Adam’s apple. She was developing a fascination with it all over again.
“I doubt it, but pray do tell.”
“What are you going to do if Paul refuses to compensate you for what he stole?” His tone didn’t lack kindness, but it worried her all the same.
“If that’s the case, I will…” She would be utterly lost. No money, no job, no future. “The thought I would catch Paul one day sustained me through my dark days although it was only a vague dream. If I have to be honest, I didn’t do anything to find him. I didn’t have the means to do that. I asked around, but obviously he’d never spent time in the poorest rookeries of London. I clung to the possibility of seeing him again, only to give myself something to dream about, something to survive for. Now that I’m close to achieving that goal, I don’t have anything else left.” She stroked the smooth fabric of her brand-new reticule. “It probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”
“It does. I understand the need to have a goal to survive. I was the same when I lived with Sir Howard before he changed. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that my mother had died while working to feed me before the Fenians—” He clenched his jaw. “Apologies.”
“It doesn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “You can be honest. I thought about that as well. What if the attack that killed yourmother had been organised by my father? The possibility causes me more pain than I can handle. At least you got justice.”
“At great cost to you.”
