Page 62 of The Devil and the Heiress
She nodded. “It’s all I can offer you now.”
“Violet...” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Once we are away from your parents, and have some time to—”
“Please understand. I have lived my entire life under the thumb of my parents. I ran away only to run straight to you. I need to be on my own for a while. I need to know my own mind and make my own decisions. I cannot have anything to do with you. Not if I want to stay true to myself. If you have any bit of affection left for me, you will honor me in this.”
If?His love for her had not faded since the day her brother found them near that brook. In fact, it possessed him, like a wildfire, willful and uncontrollable in its passion. “Of course I do.”
She flinched, and he didn’t know what to make of that except that his affection hurt her.
“Then please keep your distance.”
He took in a breath, nearly gasping at how it raked over the jagged edges of his heart. “As you wish,” he said when he could finally speak past the pain.
She nodded her thanks and walked out of the room. When he had finally recovered enough to follow at a much slower pace, he found her in the entrance hall, her mother fussing over her veil and hair to arrange them for the portrait. He stood there watching as the photographer took her photograph in two different poses. His heart hardly dared to beat.
“My lord.” Mrs. Crenshaw smiled, seemingly the only Crenshaw content with her new son-in-law, and beckoned him over. “Now let us have one of you both together.”
He glanced at Violet. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Walking over to join her, he allowed the man to place him just beyond her shoulder, so that she stood mere inches away, her body heat warming his front. Her scent teased him. It was the French perfume he remembered from the ball, but underneath was her own sweetness that he recognized so well. He had breathed it off her naked skin, licked it from her, and fallen asleep floating in a cloud of it.
“My lord, over here if you will.” Christian had been staring at her neck. The photographer lifted his arm, finger raised to show them where to look.
Before he knew what he meant to do, Christian put his hand on her waist. Her breathing changed, but she didn’t step away. He promised himself it was the last time he would touch her uninvited. When he would have dropped his hand, she covered it with her own, a soft, gentle touch that nearly brought him to his knees with his need to have her in his arms.
The photographs were over much too soon. She drifted out of his arms, and the guests began arriving. They set up in the drawing room beside each other on the far side of the room, but never touching, to greet the well-wishers. Most of them had come to gawk and ascertain for themselves how much of the gossip was real. She smiled at the appropriate times and laughed when she was meant to, but shewouldn’t look at him. It was the same throughout the meal. Near but so far away she was unreachable. Less than two hours after he had given her the ring, it was time for them to leave.
They left together for appearances. Following her into the carriage, he sat across from her, reminded of their trip north not so very long ago.
She waited until the carriage was in motion before she said, “Helena believes that after a week we should begin to be seen in public together to help minimize scandal.”
“What do you think?”
“I suppose she’s right. If it takes a few times for people to see us together at a ball or the theater to stop the gossip, then we can certainly endure it.”
Endure.There was no better word, save fortorture, perhaps, to describe how it felt to be in her presence and know she wasn’t his, that his own actions had pushed her away.
“All right. If that’s what you want.”
She nodded and returned her gaze to the window. He tried to be civil, to do the same, to be polite and honorable, but he was none of those things, and he could not change himself to become that man. Instead, he couldn’t keep his eyes from her as he tried to get a handle on the brute within him that wanted to take her in his lap and kiss her, show her that they were meant to be together and this being apart was unnatural and not good for either of them. He managed to keep to himself, but only because he knew how very badly she needed him to.
All too soon they arrived before the house on Upper Belgrave Street. The white stucco and stone-clad exterior blended with those around it. He had never liked the place and would have sold it if his pride could have borne it. It had felt much better to take it apart piece by piece, undoing the years of work his father had bestowed upon it to make it grand. Now he was condemning Violet to live here with its barren walls and empty corridors. She deserved a realhome, something he was coming to realize he wasn’t capable of providing her.
Her trunks had been brought over as soon as the contract had been signed to allow the servants time to have things settled for her arrival, but this would be her first visit. When a groom opened the carriage door, he started to move, but she was faster.
“Goodbye for now,” she said. “I’ll send you a note once I decide on our first outing together.”
She didn’t want him to see her inside.
“I shall await your word.” He nodded and sat back in the seat, a lump settling in his stomach as he watched her hurry up the steps and disappear inside. For the first time in his life, he longed to be welcomed within those walls. He watched the door until the carriage turned the corner, taking him to the club.
Chapter 23
Lord Lucifer realized that his life would unfold in one of two ways: with her beside him, or apart from him. There was no question in his mind which version he meant to live.
V. Lennox,An American and the London Season
The door to her new home opened, and Violet stepped inside to be greeted by a skeleton crew of servants. “Welcome home, Lady Leigh. My name is Winston, your butler.” The man was tall, portly, gray haired, and very polished. His manner seemed reserved, if proficient, and she didn’t detect any of the skeptical deference she sometimes felt from the servants in other London homes. Perhaps this would go very well.
“Good afternoon,” Violet said, taking in the expansive marble floors in the entry hall. They gleamed white and gray from a fresh cleaning. White columns spanned the two-story foyer to a ceiling inlaid with gorgeous moldings. Two crystal chandeliers would light the space at night. It was an impressive entry that was only marred by the golden wallpaper that had faded to a brownish-yellow, the discolored rectangles left behind where paintings had once hung, and two pedestals obviously missing their busts.
