Her silhouette stilled, and he wondered if she stood in only her chemise. The thought ignited an annoying stirring in his chest and lower.
“What mistake? Stealing from my father or abandoning him like a rat when the ship is sinking?”
He towelled himself dry and buttoned up a fresh shirt still stiff with starch. “Paul was devoted to Mr. Sharpe. The whole affair destroyed him. That day, he panicked. I find it hard to forgive him, but I understand he was worried about his mother.”
“His choices didn’t destroy him as much as they destroyed me.” The sound of fabric being tugged came.
“It’s not a competition.” His voice rose.
“It’s not a happy collaboration either.”
He didn’t say anything else. It was her battle with Paul, and he’d already got into the middle of it too much. Yes, he tended to forgive people. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have called the police to protect Sir Howard. But Violante had gone through terrible years. He respected her pain. Years of living on the streets would make anyone bitter.
He stepped out of the screen in a clean suit and soft leather shoes. Bugger, he was tired. His muscles ached. He wanted to shut those ugly curtains and take a nap. Sod the count and his guests.
He gazed up and hitched a breath. The lemon gown Violante wore exalted her golden hair, and with the sunlight lighting her from behind, she looked like an angel with a glowing halo. The mauve dressing gown hanging from a hook and fluttering behind her completed the picture, giving her a pair of wings. Energy rushed back to him.
“You look beautiful.” So much for being tired. Damn.
“The modiste is an artist. She would make a hag look pretty.” She flushed, fiddling with her bodice. “Since Mrs. Collins isn’there, I need help with the buttons, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to ask for a maid.”
She turned around, showing him her half-naked back. Not really naked. Her chemise and corset covered most of her skin. But the flimsy fabric let him see her shoulder blades. Her neck was fully exposed as well. Lots of creamy, smooth skin to enjoy.
His mouth grew dry. The temptation to run a finger over her inviting back shook him. The tiny fabric-covered buttons slipped through his fingers, but he managed to fasten a few of them. The closer he came to the naked part of her skin, the slower he went. He wasn’t to be blamed. The temptation was too strong.
“I don’t want to argue with you about Paul,” she whispered.
“Neither do I.” The frilly hem of the chemise was too pretty not to touch it. Sod his resolve to be controlled. It wasn’t working.
“I’m stuck.” A swift shiver left a trail of goosebumps on her spine.
“Stuck?” He paused, leaving the dress half-buttoned.
“You moved on, built a life, and became someone different. I live in the past, still trying to understand who my father was and why I didn’t see the truth. I feel guilty about my mother. For all these years, I thought she didn’t care about me and ran away with a lover. Now I’m worried about her. I have so many questions. Did she leave of her own volition? Did Papa kick her out? Why didn’t she write to me? If she knew what Papa was doing, why didn’t she take me with her?”
If the private investigators he’d hired found Violante’s mother, that might give her some peace of mind. But he didn’t want to give her false hope.
“I can’t move on,” she said, “and I know you think I’m ridiculous and stubborn, but my papa was my entire world. He was taken from me, and Paul stole from him. At the same time, Iwant to be the master of my destiny, not live on your generosity or stealing. I did that, and it’s not living. Not really.”
“I understand. I genuinely do.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her golden eyelashes fluttering. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He resumed buttoning the dress up.
He stifled a groan when he brushed her silky skin. Another shiver went down her back, and he wondered if his touch caused it. Or maybe she didn’t like having him so close.
She tilted her head forwards when he reached the last button. A little golden curl of her hair kissed the curve of her neck. He’d never envied a curl as much as he did now. It was only by sheer determination and discipline that he buttoned the dress without touching her.
“Done.” His voice sounded all husky and low.
She turned around, standing inches from him. She was so close her breasts almost touched his chest. “Let’s face the count, husband of mine.”
He shouldn’t like the wordhusbandso much.
They went down the stairs together, their fingers brushing. He tried not to make anything out of that, but a shot of desire rushed through him unbidden, no matter what his logic said. Loud voices and the clink of glasses came from the drawing room, shocking him back to reality.
He paused in the hallway. “Ready?”
