A Bride Unveiled (19 page)

She had just noticed a tent on the slope around which an audience had gathered to watch an Elizabethan rapier duel when she heard a cultured voice call her name.

She hesitated. Kit had emerged from the tent in a long-tailed black coat slung over a billowing white shirt and narrow brown trousers. His gaze slowly appraised the crowd. Would it be too improper of her to draw his attention? Perhaps she could walk around the tent, acting as if she’d lost her way. She could drop her fan again. No. A lady would never resort to such an obvious tactic.

But then, before she could put any plan in motion, another lady in the audience, a brazen one, who obviously didn’t care what anyone thought, threw a red rose at Kit’s feet. He laughed but left the flower where it had fallen.

Reluctantly Violet turned to face the person who had spoken her name again. To her relief it was the Marchioness of Sedgecroft.

Jane’s green eyes sparkled with irresistible mischief. “May I borrow your company for a few moments? I am trying to elude the most boring baronet in the world. Speaking of which, where is your—Oh, dear, I wasn’t referring to
your
baronet, who I’m sure is the most perfectly exciting gentleman imaginable.”

Violet glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. “Indeed.”

Jane shot her a questioning look.

Violet shook her head. “I’m sorry. I was diverted.”

“Fenton is too exciting,” Jane said with a sigh. “You saw how the schoolchildren worship him. Well, he is who my son asks for at night before he falls asleep, and in the morning when the nursemaid tries to put on his clothes.”

Violet could only smile in sympathy. She understood too well how exciting Kit could be. Even now both women subsided into silence to watch him supervise a bout. Not that anyone in the audience seemed to be paying attention to his students; when Kit performed a stylish series of disengagements to demonstrate correct positioning, a hush spread over the crowd.

He moved with a sensual grace that captivated the eye. Violet felt a secret thrill as she remembered his hard body pinning her still for his kiss. He performed a lunge that appeared physically impossible, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

“I have to have him,” Jane said simply.

Violet’s mouth dropped open. She realized that the fashionable world took lovers at whim, but that the marchioness could speak so fondly of her son in one moment and of “having” Kit in the next was beyond shocking. She didn’t know how to react.

Jane turned to her with a laugh of apology. “Oh, my dear, your
face
. It is not at all what it sounds like. I should have told you the other day. The marquess is determined to hire Fenton as our family master-at-arms, not as
my
paramour.”

Violet swallowed. “The thought never entered my mind.”

“Yes, it did,” Jane teased. “It’s my fault for—Oh, quickly, take my arm and proceed forward. The baronet has me in his sights. I did warn you—I am shameless. I shall abandon you to his company if he catches up with us. He’s forever complaining about his bowels.”

Violet hastened her step. It amazed her that the marchioness could travel as fast as she did on the tiny slippers that showed in pretty glimpses through her pink silk skirts. “Do we have a destination?” she asked breathlessly.

“The pavilion.”

Violet stared at the white-turreted pavilion that loomed in the distance. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? It is also a place that respectable people avoid at all costs, which naturally makes it a spot of great interest. You may have heard it said that there are secret passages inside that provide ideal trysting spots, as well as escape routes for the amorously inclined.”

“Are there?” Violet asked.

“Oh, yes.”

As it seemed unlikely that she and Jane would be accused of misconduct if they were caught together, Violet decided she had little to risk by accompanying the marchioness on her excursion.

Not that she had the wits or wherewithal to resist a woman who, a moment later, could admit with candid warmth, “It was four years ago in the pavilion that my husband kissed me insensible.”

“After you were married, you mean?”

“Of course not. He was a scoundrel. Shortly after kissing me, the handsome hypocrite caught his sister Chloe in a compromising position with a young officer and brought down the wrath of God upon their heads. I’d never seen such a display of temper in my life. It was marvelous, and rather frightening.”

Violet laughed at this confession. From what she had heard of the Boscastles, the scene described was not an exaggeration. The men of the family allegedly tended to overprotect their own. When it came to passion, however, they were reported to play by another set of rules.

Rather like a certain sword master who followed his own code.

Violet willed herself not to think of him, but it was useless. Would she have a chance to speak with him today? Surely if he knew that Sir Godfrey had come to the party, he would . . . Well,
what
would he do? What could he do? Rush in with sword to save the day? Kit was protecting her by acting as if they had only recently met. No weapon could break through social barriers.

“And,” the marchioness continued blithely, unaware of Violet’s inattention, “Grayson dared to initiate his romantic nonsense with these infamous words: ‘There is a time to be wise, and a time to be wicked. Which do you suppose it is?’”

That was too much. Violet came to a halt in front of the double-porpoise fountains that flanked the pavilion entrance. Their light spray cooled her face. “I wouldn’t have known how to answer.”

“Neither did I,” Jane admitted, urging her forward. “But it is not called the Pavilion of Pleasure without reason. A kiss from the right man renders words superfluous. Do be careful where you walk. It is dark and damp inside, as I recall.”

Violet peered into the shadowed interior and felt a forbidden tug of curiosity beckon her senses. How long had it been since she had done anything daring? Not counting kissing Master Fenton. She would have adored a friend like Jane when she was younger.

“I hope you aren’t one of those ladies who are afraid of the dark,” Jane murmured.

“No.”

“Or of enclosed spaces.”

“It reminds me of a crypt.”

Jane laughed in delight. “As if you had ever been in one. But then, perhaps the pavilion was designed to make us huddle closer to the wicked gentlemen who bring us here.”

“Do I hear water dripping?” Violet asked, glancing around.

“That is probably one of the bathing pools. I would suggest at any other time that we soak our feet, but I shall ruin my slippers if they get wet.” Jane motioned toward a staircase that was so narrow Violet might have missed it on her own. “I believe that will take us to the turret room. As I recall it has a passage inside that leads into the rear garden.”

Violet climbed slowly in Jane’s shadow. She couldn’t help thinking that there had to be an easier way to avoid another guest.

“You are kind to help me out,” Jane said over her shoulder. “It’s difficult to be a lady in certain situations, isn’t it? One must pretend to be polite to the oddest sorts.”

“Yes,” Violet agreed in a wry voice as they reached the top of the torchlit stairwell and walked into a circular chamber.

Violet stared around the tiny room in speculation. A Grecian chaise occupied most of the space, its function obvious. A light breeze entered the arched window that overlooked the garden party in progress. She glanced at the unlit fireplace. “Is the passageway in there?”

Jane nodded. “Yes. But fortunately it is well maintained, and we shall not emerge the worse for wear—”

“My lady!” a frantic voice cried up from the depths of the stairs. “Forgive this intrusion if it is not you, madam, but I am sent to fetch you!”

Violet turned in suspense.

She had to admire whoever dared to approach the marchioness in such passionate haste. A lover? A family member?

“What is it, Weed?” the marchioness demanded in a voice of exasperated affection. And then, to Violet, she added, “You did meet our senior footman, Weed, at the ball? I could not survive without him.”

The marquess’s stone-faced senior footman, who apparently served as Jane’s personal confidant, appeared at the top of the stairs. He bowed, albeit distractedly, in Violet’s direction. “The Duchess of Scarfield is aggrieved that she cannot find you.”

“Well, heavens above,” Jane said. “We cannot aggrieve Her Grace. Would you like to come and meet my sister-in-law, Violet?”

“I don’t—”

“Good choice,” Jane said before Violet could venture an opinion. “I’d hide from her, too, if I could. I can guarantee she won’t complain about her bowels, but I’m bound to get a lecture for some reason or another. Weed, send a footman to escort Miss Knowlton from the pavilion to keep the gossipmongers quiet. Violet, be careful of rogues on your way down. One never knows who might be traveling through a secret passage at a party. And by the way, I never forget a favor.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”

“A word about what?”

“I shall call on you next week,” Jane said with a blithe wave.

The footman bowed again and led the marchioness to the narrow aperture in the wall. Their voices faded. Violet went to the window, wondering how long it would take her clandestine escort to arrive, and whether she could see the fencing tent in the garden from her vantage point.

I
t was all very well and good for the Marchioness of Sedgecroft to indulge in improper behavior. In society’s eyes Jane and her scoundrel of a husband could do no wrong, while Violet’s every move would be subject to scrutiny. She envied Jane’s aplomb and doubted—

“If a lady stands in a tower window long enough, it might be assumed that she’s asking to be rescued.”

She spun around, her breath rushing out in surprise as she recognized the lean-hipped figure standing at the top of the stairs. “Reassure me that you are
not
my escort.”

Kit gave her a guarded smile. “What are you talking about?”

“The marchioness did not send
you
here to escort me back to the party so that she could escape?”

He glanced around the tower, his hand sliding to his sword belt. “Escape from whom or from what, exactly?”

“From . . . from the gentleman who was following her at the party . . . and complaining about his bowels.”

“And he followed the pair of you into the tower?” he asked in a doubtful voice.

“As far as I know, we lost him before we reached the pavilion.”

His eyes danced with humor. “Is he armed and dangerous?”

She paused. “Not in comparison to you.”

He took a step toward her. For countless moments she was unable to move. All she could do was stare at him, at his lean, intense face and the light eyes that seemed to lay bare her every secret.

She summoned her will and edged away from the window. Mesmerized by his presence, she did not notice the slow descent of her blue cashmere shawl from her shoulders toward the floor. Kit reacted before she did. He reached out with his sword to catch the shawl and lower it to the chaise.

His eyes lifted to hers, bright with rue. “There. Proof of how much my sword and I have improved since the day you and your shawl ensnared us.”

Violet bent to pick up the wrap, lowering her head so that he would not see the emotion she was struggling to hold back. “I won’t argue that.”

“Don’t go yet,” he said, and she went still, watching his shadow advance on her across the stone floor.

Again she could not move. This time, however, a physical barrier impeded her in the form of a masterful man. Kit was not only standing in her way; he was standing so indecently close to her that a shock went down her back. She basked in the heat that radiated from his core. He magnetized, melted her.

“Go if you must,” he said. “I won’t stop you.”

Silver glinted from the sword at his side.

She raised her gaze.

Temptation smoldered in his smile.

“That almost sounds like a challenge,” she said, tossing back her hair in acceptance.

He laid his sword across the foot of the chaise. “I’d say that we were even now, except that you’ll always have the advantage over me.”

“Tell me the truth,” she said softly. “You didn’t happen to arrange this little escapade with the marchioness, did you?”

“I take offense at the suggestion. You ought to know I would never stoop to anything that low.” His mouth lifted in a grudging smile. “Well, I might, but this was not a plan on my part.”

“It’s too coincidental that she brought me here and abandoned me as abruptly as she did.”

He looked past her to the chaise. “She said nothing to me.”

She studied his chiseled profile in fascination. “She speaks very highly of you.” She touched his forearm, aware that it was a dangerous step for her to take. “Are you angry?”

“At you?” He turned his head and looked down at her with an unconcealed desire that took away her breath. “The entire world could send me into exile, and I wouldn’t miss it if I could take you with me. The truth is that I saw you enter the pavilion, and I followed on the off chance that I would find you alone and”—he glanced at the sword on the chaise—“take you captive.”

Violet stared down briefly at the length of polished steel that he had placed upon her soft blue shawl. When she looked up at him again, she knew that a hundred suitors could ask for her hand and she would never feel for one of them as she did for this man.

The flickering torchlight, his beautiful face, danced in her vision. His arms swiftly enclosed her; he had captured her as promised. She pushed without conviction at his chest in one moment. In the next she grasped a handful of his coat and drew him nearer.