Page 42 of The Devil and the Heiress
“Here, let’s stand up and give you a rinse.” She came over and helped Violet rise, pouring warm water down her body. Then she handed her a length of toweling before bringing over a fresh bolt of white cotton fabric for more bandages.
“Might we leave them off tonight? They’re uncomfortable for sleeping, and I really am feeling much better.”
“All right. Perhaps I can convince Dr. Mitchell that the sling will be enough for the evening. We can wrap you back up in the morning if he insists.” She placed the fabric on the table and retrieved a cotton nightgown, helping it over Violet’s head. It was clearly borrowed from the older woman, as it hung loose with the wide neck falling off her shoulders. It would be fine for bed, however, because Violet could arrange it around herself.
“It is not my place to say...” began Mrs. Mitchell as they walked back toward the stairs together with thewoman’s strong arm around Violet’s hips to support her. Everyone seemed to think that her legs were broken.
Instinct told her this would be about Christian. “Please feel that you can speak freely, Mrs. Mitchell. I so appreciate all that you have done for us.”
The woman brought them to a pause at the bottom of the stairs. “I have something that might help. Please do not mention it to Dr. Mitchell. He’s a bit more traditional in his thinking than I.”
Intrigued beyond measure, Violet nodded. “Of course. It will be our secret.”
The woman gave a brisk nod and walked through the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the front of the house. Leaving the door propped open, her purposeful steps took her to the room at the very front, which Violet had been told was Dr. Mitchell’s office where he occasionally saw patients. The woman disappeared inside. Shaking her head at the odd exchange, Violet helped herself up the stairs. She would not be an invalid any longer. She was convinced that one reason Christian had pulled back from her was that he found the waiting on her tedious. She couldn’t blame him.
“You should not have attempted the stairs by yourself,” Mrs. Mitchell scolded a few minutes later when she found Violet upstairs running a brush through her hair. She used her right arm, testing its ability after being confined for several days.
“I am much better. I made it up with no problems.” On that note, it was time to start exerting her independence again. “I think I shall come down for supper tonight and eat with everyone else.”
“If you insist, and Dr. Mitchell approves.” Pursing her lips in mock disapproval, Mrs. Mitchell walked over and held out her hand. Violet could just make out the edge of a small tin.
“What is this?”
“Shh...” Mrs. Mitchell glanced toward the door as if she expected them to be discovered in their scheme—whatever it was—at any moment. “It strikes me that your new husband might be concerned about... you know...” She glanced meaningfully at Violet’s midsection and offered her hand again.
“No, I am afraid I don’t follow.” Violet took the tin from her. It was small and rectangular with a hinged blue lid and the wordsProphylactic, 1 treatment, written in black ink.
“Getting you with child,” she whispered. “He might prefer you not in that condition until you are more recovered. I must say it would be a kind opinion, and I agree. You have plenty of time to begin a family when you are fully healed.”
Violet had felt her face heating with every word spoken. “This is... this is for me? To prevent a child?”
The woman smiled kindly but shook her head. “For him, lass. I know you are but newly married. Has he not lain with you yet?”
Violet shook her head, her mouth too dry to speak for a moment. Swallowing, she said, “No... we were waiting. The truth is that we haven’t known each other very long.”
Mrs. Mitchell sighed in approval. “He is an indulgent man. Take your time, then. But when you are ready, give the sheath to him. I suspect he will know its purpose.” She patted Violet’s hand and left her alone.
Violet stared at the little tin, still quite uncertain what it was that she held. She only knew that it was naughty. It had to be if it was meant to prevent conception and she was forbidden to speak of it to Dr. Mitchell. Placing the brush down on the table, she brought the tin closer, as if it were a treasure she had found that warranted further investigation. Her breath caught as she worked the lid open. The unmistakable scent of vulcanized rubber met her nose, though it was faded and not very harsh. The item within was impossible to make out. It was rolled and the color of parchment.If it was a sheath, then perhaps it was meant to go on that male part of him.
That thought set her imagination down a path from which there was no return. Her entire body warmed, and she noticed the way the fabric of her nightgown scraped against her skin, as if her nerve endings had become highly sensitive. She had thought of what it would be like to lie with him many times in the carriage. Perhaps it was possible... if he still wanted her. If she could make him look at her as he had those nights at the inn.
A door downstairs closed with a bang, and a male voice filled the kitchen. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a wild thing looking for escape. She could not allow Christian to catch her with this, not yet. Hurrying to the bed, she shoved it under her pillow.
Chapter 16
He was depravity and his name was Lord Lucifer.
V. Lennox,An American and the London Season
Christian paced in the darkened kitchen, unable to convince himself that he could return to the bedroom they shared and everything would be as normal. He could not believe that because there was no truth to it. Everything had changed. He had seen her nude, and the sight of her had held him captive the rest of the day.
The sun had come out today—a rare and welcome sight—so he had suggested a game of chess with the good physician outside while Violet bathed. His disreputable mind had kept imagining the scene of her bath, but outside and away from her it didn’t matter. He was not physically close enough to act on his baser impulses. Impulses that were growing stronger every day. It was to the point where he made certain he awoke before her in the morning, simply to avoid the issue of her having to witness the inevitable morning cockstand he could not seem to control.
But today, things had gone further, almost out of his hands. The bright sun had obscured the window, hiding thescene he knew was unfolding inside. However, he had happened to glance up when she rose from the bath. The very moment a cloud had drifted across the sun. For a single moment that would play itself over and over in his mind from now into eternity, she had stood there gloriously nude. Her breasts high on her chest, their nipples tight as rosebuds, the curve of a hip, the dark triangle of hair between her legs, he had seen all of her. It lasted the length of a heartbeat before Mrs. Mitchell covered her with a towel. After, he had been forced to pretend that all was the same as the moment that had preceded it.
But he was changed. The lustful brute inside him, the one that he had been able to keep a rein on, had broken free. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to stay seated and not go find her in the kitchen and carry her to bed. The meal had been a laughable display. Him sitting there, eating and barely tasting his food, while scenting the lavender from her skin all the way across the table. Though she was completely covered by a nightdress that could have wrapped around her two or three times, and a dressing gown that was tied up tight, concealing her from neck to foot, his lustful gaze still lingered, knowing that she was naked beneath her clothes, unencumbered by corset or petticoat or drawers. He had but to slide his hand up her leg to find her hot and damp for him.
He took the final draw on his cigarette, closing his eyes as the smoke burned through his lungs. Usually, the exhale left him more relaxed, putting a soft edge on things. It was why he had immediately walked to town after the chess game to acquire the luxury, his own cigarettes having been destroyed in the ravine. The absence of them hadn’t bothered him until now. He typically only enjoyed the occasional smoke after dinner. But now he needed something, anything, to save him from his own impulses.
