Page 25 of The Devil and the Heiress
The White Horse Inn was a well-kept, picturesque establishment in a small village outside of Cambridge. Violet seemed to regard the thatched roof along with the white plaster and stone exterior with all the enthusiasm of a proper tourist, smiling and pointing out the weather vane with a metal horse perched on top. Christian smiled to himself as he ushered her through the misting rain and the front door. Traveling with her was proving to be an entertaining experience.
The innkeeper, a small, round man, seemed pleased to see them when they walked inside. He jumped to his feet and hurried around his desk to greet them. “Good evening, Lord...”
Before Christian could reply with a name, Violet offered, “Rochester.”
He glanced at her with a raised brow, and she offered a gentle shrug.
The innkeeper gave a short bow. “Milord, would you be needing a room for yourself and your wife?” His smile was eager as he leaned forward. He was obviously pleased to be entertaining a nobleman. Christian had directed his coachman to leave the Great North Road some miles back to avoid the main coaching inns, so he doubted the quaint establishment had seen more than local gentry.
“I’m his sister,” Violet offered.
The man stared at her, obviously surprised by her accent. Christian stood silent for a moment, having forgotten that they would need to navigate this particular issue with care. “Two rooms. I also need accommodations for my coachman.” The innkeeper’s pink-rimmed eyes had stayedwide in surprise, so Christian felt the need to add, “My sister has been abroad for some time.”
“Of course, milord.”
Glancing toward the dining area that featured a bar along with several tables, most of them occupied by young men, Christian said, “A private dining area for my... uh, sister and me to have a meal.”
“Yes, milord.” The man gave Violet a dubious glance as he led them to a small room off the main dining room. He bowed and fussed over them, helping Violet out of her cape, before seeing them settled at a small table. A maid hurried in and set the table for the two of them, and then they were left alone with a bottle of Bordeaux and a candelabra lighting the room. Rain tapped gently against the diamond-paned window.
Violet smiled at him, the light catching the pink apples of her cheeks. “I’ve never been to a proper English inn.”
He gave her a bland smile and filled his wineglass very nearly to the top. “Have you not traveled outside of London?”
“Yes, but only by train. Even when our family traveled to Rothschild’s estate in Hampshire there was no need to use the services of an inn.”
“Then here’s to your first night at an inn.” He held up his glass in a mock toast before taking a swallow. “How lucky I am to share the evening with you.”
Actually, a fit of conscience had been bothering him ever since they had left London behind. When they were found—if his plan worked and marriage resulted—there would be no escape from the gossip. She would no longer be viewed as the innocent and beautiful American heiress. It wasn’t a terrible fate, but it bothered him more than he had anticipated. Christian had never despoiled an innocent. Married women, yes; widows, for certain; but never an innocent. But had her plan been successful and she eventually made it to her destination under her own guardianship, similar talk would have happened anyway.
“How old are you, Miss—?”
The maid chose that precise moment to barrel into the room bearing a tray filled with their dinner. Violet smiled, biting her lip to stop her laughter as the woman gave them a startled once-over.
“Your meals, milord.” She quickly unloaded her burden, leaving the table laden with crusty bread, pots of butter, and a steaming platter of roasted lamb and potatoes.
“Thank you,” said Violet.
The woman nodded, her gaze bouncing slowly back and forth between them.
“That will be all for now,” he said.
She bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried out the door, no doubt on her way to the kitchen to report on the true state of their relationship.
Violet snickered when the door closed behind the woman. Gently yanking on the ends of each finger, she began the process of removing her gloves. “Now you’ve done it,” she teased. “Imagine, a brother referring to his sister as miss and not even knowing her age. They will gossip about that for days.”
He could not help but stare at the expanse of smooth, pale skin she revealed. His own skin tightened in awareness as he imagined that it would not be very long at all before those hands would caress him. They could be married in Scotland in a week.
“You realize they do not believe you are my sister?”
Her playful smile told him that she did. “Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest persona to assume. When he believed I was your wife, I... well, I...” She blushed attractively, and her gaze dropped to the gloves lying in her lap. “It didn’t seem proper.”
“No, I suppose not. Perhaps we didn’t think things through. Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all.” Her voice was surprisingly strong in her conviction as she began to butter a slice of bread. “Stayingwas out of the question, especially knowing what Lord Ware was prepared to do.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood upright. Something in her tone suggested Ware had indeed tried to further his pursuit of her. “He came to visit.” It was not a question, but she nodded. “What did he do?”
She shrugged and focused all her attention on her task, sliding the fresh butter all the way to the edge of the bread. “He made certain to get me alone, just like you said he would. He wanted us to be discovered in an embrace.”
