Page 9 of The Devil and the Heiress
“Nevertheless, I’ll have your promise,” Violet insisted.
“Fine, I promise. Now I have to go before he comes back.” Giving Violet another smile over her shoulder, she hurried out of the room.
•••
Christian had never found much use for Ware and other men of his ilk. Haughty and with an inflated sense of superiority, they did nothing and accomplished even less. Their whole purpose of existing seemed to be to enjoy themselves to the detriment of everyone else. Not that Christian frowned overly much on that sort of existence—his own hovered somewhere around that level minus the damage to the undeserving—he simply despised their dishonesty about it all.
Their initial dislike had formed at Eton where the viscount had been a year behind Christian, but the depths of Christian’s loathing had hit a new low when Ware had walked into the ballroom with Violet on his arm earlier that evening. Their courtship was proceeding faster than Christian had anticipated. His only consolation was that Violet appeared to not favor the man at all. She had mostly ignored him, leaving Ware to glare at whomever had her attention. It was a sign of an insecure man, which meant Ware wasn’t at all certain of his intended and Christian needed to act fast.
Violet had left the ballroom only moments earlier, but Ware was already on her trail, having caught sight of her as she hurried out. Christian rushed through the crowded room but lagged behind Ware’s faster progress. When Christian finally broke into the corridor, Ware had paused at the far end as if determining whether to turn left or right.
“Ah, she got away from you, did she?” Christian called, lessening the distance between them with each word. When he reached the other man, he said, “You will have to be more vigilant to catch an heiress.”
Ware’s eyes flashed with anger and frustration. “Good evening, Leigh. We haven’t had a chance to chat tonight.”
“Why would we chat?” Christian raised a brow. “We are hardly friends.”
Ware gritted his teeth and his jaw hardened. “Because we are civilized men.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Christian. “I have never made such a claim.”
The man swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the encounter but at a loss as to how to remove himself from it.
“Miss Crenshaw does not seem to find favor with you,” said Christian. “Do you anticipate that she will accept your offer?”
Ware’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Come now, I know you have offered for her.”
“How do you know that?”
“There are no secrets, Ware. You are a fool if you think there are.”
The man swallowed again, his lips pressing together to form a thin line. The urge to tell Christian to leave off was written all over his face, but he was too much of a coward to do it. “She will, once we know each other better.”
“Prepared to win her over with your charm, are you?” When Ware’s scowl only deepened, Christian added, “No? Your wealth? Oh, I forgot. You have nothing.” Mineral rights notwithstanding.
“What do you want, Leigh?” Ware gritted out.
“Violet Crenshaw.”
Shock registered on the man’s face, making him blanch, before his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward with a ferocity on his face Christian had never seen there before. Desperation pushed men to desperate measures. “Leave her alone. She is mine.”
“She will never accept you.”
Ware grinned, momentarily alarming him. “Then I shall have to arrange it so that she has no choice in the matter.”
Anger immediately began to roil within him, but Christian forced a bored smile. “Then you had better go catch her. I saw her being escorted toward the terrace.”
The grin fled Ware’s lips, and he hurried off in that direction.
Christian stood for a time, pondering the viscount’s meaning. He clearly intended to compromise her in some way. The idea shouldn’t horrify Christian so much, since his own plans had briefly wandered down that path, but the thought of Ware being anywhere near her was unsettling. At least when Christian had considered it, he had planned to give her so much pleasure she could not think straight. Ware, selfish boar that he was, would not be as considerate.
A door slammed behind him, and Hereford hurried out, his face a mask of anger as he stormed toward the front of the house without looking in Christian’s direction. Intrigued and concerned, because that room was one of the few places Violet could have hidden herself, he slowly made his way toward the salon, the pain in his ankle from chasing Ware making his limp more pronounced. Just as he reached for the door, it opened and he found himself face-to-face with Camille, Hereford’s duchess.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” He gave a short bow.
Startled, she tried and failed to smile, murmuring a greeting under her breath as she turned and hurried after her husband. Christian glanced inside the room, expecting to find the salon empty, but Violet stood in the middle. Wearing an ice-blue gown that hugged her figure, she was as lovely as he had ever seen her. The moment their eyes met, a frisson of electricity moved through him, drawing him to her with the same invisible current that had moved between them ever since he had first laid eyes on her.
