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Chapter 13
Max was caught off guard. In the lamplight, Violet’s pale skin had the lustre of alabaster, and her hair the sheen of a raven’s wing. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman so beautiful. There was a glow about her. She was the fulfillment of every husband-to-be’s fantasy.
But that was not what he’d signed up for.
As he returned her limpid gaze, he imbued his look with all the longing and loving he felt in that moment. He could give free rein to his natural impulses for there was no need to act—yet, act he must, for Aunt Euphemia’s sake.
It was regrettable that Mabel had become embroiled in his deception. His aunt was declining. It pained him to hear her wracking cough get the better of her with increasing frequency these days. Sometimes he found her in her chair, almost unresponsive to his welcome; she was so fatigued by a bout of coughing.
His aunt, he feared, would not live to discover his lie but Mabel would know, of course.
He didn’t know if she’d be more shocked at the kind of woman Violet really was or at his elaborate deception.
Yet, gazing at Violet now, she could have passed muster as a princess, she looked so noble and angelic.
The priest’s words sounded muted and unreal as Max obeyed his directive to kiss the bride.
His bride.
Gently he raised her veil and lowered his face to her soft, inviting lips.
Violet melted at his touch. The brush of his lips against hers was like a butterfly’s wing, tantalising and fleeting. He could risk no more.
But he did. And the sensation of desire it evoked was like warm honey flowing through her veins.
By the time Max and Violet drew apart, Miss Thistlethwaite was weeping delicately in the front pew, and Violet felt she would follow any minute.
In fact, her own eyes were wet as Max bent to kiss his aunt who was twisting her lace handkerchief in excitement.
It was late in the evening, and light snow covered the ground as they headed out towards the carriage.
“I hope I shall see you when you return from your wedding tour but if not, you know my heart has been gladdened more by this than anything else in my long and wasted life.” She blinked rapidly. “For I have seen my dearest nephew allied with a woman he deserves.”
Violet swallowed as she felt the pressure of Max’s hand over hers and then a sudden panic.
What now? They’d not discussed what happened immediately after the ceremony. Throughout it all, Violet had hardened her heart using every ounce of physical willpower she had to be immune to feeling.
She’d blocked her ears to the words the priest was intoning, forcing the right expression only. Strangely, that part hadn’t been too difficult to navigate when she’d feared it would be the most painful. However, she was so used to cauterising her feelings in the day to day—or evening to evening—rituals of her job that it came naturally.
Now, the expectation in Miss Thistlethwaite’s expression as she saw them to their carriage made her suddenly ill with nerves while the greatest sense of loss swept through her like an icy blast. Max would gaze lovingly at her for the seconds it took to exit out of his aunt’s line of vision, and then he’d direct the coachman to take her right back to Madame Chambon’s.
It was all part of the arrangement, in theory.
“So, Max, I know discretion is of the utmost importance, but I hope you’ve found a lovely place to take Violet to tonight,” his aunt murmured, causing Violet to blush. “She should get used to her new status as a wife before you embark on the excitement of travels.”
“Indeed, it is all taken care of, Aunt.”
Violet couldn’t believe he responded so smoothly. None of the awkwardness of being caught on the back foot that she’d have exhibited.
“And where might this place be?” Violet asked as the carriage lurched forward. “You with your fine morals and fear of discovery will surely want to end this while you’re ahead.” Her voice sounded unaccountably bitter to her own ears.
She couldn’t see him when he answered, but there was compassion in his voice.
“Friends as we’ve become cannot take each other’s leave so coldly, Violet.”
“I thought you couldn’t wait to put a line under our little association. I’m hardly something to be proud of. You’re an honourable man, Max. You don’t consort with whores.”
“I don’t and I’m proud of it.”
