How to Be a Proper Lady: A Falcon Club Novel (31 page)

“I am afraid that if I sleep,” she whispered, “when I wake up you will be gone.”

His eyes opened and the warmth in them seized not her breaths this time but her very soul. So, she supposed he owned that too now, not merely her heart.

He turned onto his shoulder and cupped her face in his big palm, and passed his thumb gently across her lower lip.

“I will not go.”

“You did upon each of the other occasions.” She didn’t care that she was revealing herself. She loved him so thoroughly.

“If you do not wish it, Viola, I will not go.”

She wanted to ask if he meant only tonight or this week or forever. But the courage that had seen her through kidnapping and tempests and grief and loneliness deserted her. She could not bear to hear his reply now because she knew what it would be. Tonight she wanted, for one precious moment, to be only with him and imagine it would last forever.

She leaned forward and placed her lips on his. His hand moved to the back of her head and he kissed her softly, tenderly, making her imagine that he cared for her. He had a truly black heart to string her along like this. If she were a typical flimsy sort of female she might be devastated when he did leave. Fortunately she was made of sterner stuff.

She drew away, pulled the covers to her chin and, feet and heart both quite sore, finally she slept.

Chapter 26

H
e woke her before dawn with kisses. First on her mouth, then her cheeks and neck, rousing her gradually, then not so gradually when his hand cupped her breast. With his fingertips he caressed the peak, then with his tongue. She murmured her consent and pleasure. Eyes closed, she slid her arms about his waist and welcomed him to her.

This time it was different. They knew each other’s bodies, the familiarity of skin and heat, and they moved slowly, luxuriously savoring their joining. There was no urgency or haste, only the perfection of form and feeling uniting into one.

At first.

Soon enough they might as well have been standing up in a closet again for all the luxurious savoring they did. Still, they enjoyed it, athletically and considerably, despite the early hour and paucity of sleep.

“I—” He exhaled hard into her hair. “I did not intend that.”

“Truly?” She ran her palms over his broad shoulders and along his back, wishing he never had to leave the place between her thighs and suspecting that in terms of feminine modesty, in this she was a complete failure. “The bed did not knock against the wall as I expected it to. Did you notice?”

“Nothing.” His voice was quite rough. “I noticed nothing but you.”

Her heartbeats halted, which was quite silly of them because
of course
he had noticed nothing but her. What man wouldn’t under the circumstances?

A lock of dark hair fell across his eyes and his mouth curved into a tilt. “I intended only to kiss you.”

“Admit it.” Bravado might save her. “You have no control over your actions with me.” But looking into his sparkling eyes, she doubted it. Nothing could save her now.

“Little,” he agreed. “Enough, however, to leave here before a servant appears.” He pulled away, drew on his trousers and took up his shirt, then returned to the mattress and sat beside her. “Are you satisfied?”

Her eyes widened.

A roguish grin crossed his mouth. “Satisfied with not being left alone while you are sleeping.”

No. “Yes.” Not in the least. “Thank you.” If she dared, she would reach out, drag him back to her, and lock her fingers together so that he might never leave, so that the coal maid would find them together and Serena and Alex would demand he marry her. That was what gentlemen did when they compromised ladies. Those were the rules.

But Viola had long ago compromised herself without his assistance, and Jin knew she was not really a lady. He needn’t play by all the rules, only those that suited him best.

He pulled his shirt on and leaned down to her.

“No, Miss Carlyle.” He touched his lips to one side of her mouth softly, then the other. “Thank you.”

She grabbed his wrist. Impulsive. Foolish. Reckless. She could not help but be herself, no matter how she tried.

“Tell me you are leaving Savege Park this morning, Jin Seton, and I will walk over to my dressing table, retrieve my pistol, and put a bullet through your heart.”

It seemed to her then that many thoughts passed behind those blue eyes, many emotions. Surprise. Satisfaction. Hope.
Assent
. But those that remained dashed ice over the rest: caution and—once more—wariness.

She released him, her frayed heart in her throat. He glanced down to where her fingers lay spread atop the counterpane beside his hand, not touching.

“I told you I would not go,” he said.

“That you did.” She tried to control the quaver in her voice. “And a sailor is only as good as his word, isn’t he?”

He stood and went to the door, then paused there. “And his deeds.”

“Like returning a lost daughter to her family?”

He glanced back at her, his brow sober. Without replying, he left.

V
iola dressed in her prettiest morning gown, whistled through Jane’s ministrations on her hair, and could not eat a bite of the breakfast brought to her at the shockingly late hour of ten o’clock. She had no idea if Jin would still be at Savege Park, little faith in the possibility, and all the hope in the world.

When she finally descended on blistered feet to the ground floor, she discovered the front of the house in a bustle. Party guests with haggard faces and bloodshot eyes dragged their own weary feet through the foyer to their carriages on the drive. Footmen and maids scurried through the open front door, laden with bags and cases. But three gentlemen and two ladies entered.

The back of her neck prickling, she paused on the stair and watched the gentlemen remove their hats. Her stomach went flat. Followed by a panicky tickle. Her joints locked and she could not take another step down.

As though drawn by her stillness amid the bustle, Aidan turned his attention up to her. His countenance opened in a smile of pure pleasure. He walked to the base of the stairs, and she met him there.

“Hello, Aidan.”

“Violet. Oh—” He shook his head. “I told myself I would not do that, and now already I have. Miss Carlyle, how do you do?” He bowed.

“Violet will do. It is what you have called me our entire acquaintance.”

“But you are a grand lady now.” His gaze passed over her. “I should not be so bold.”

She frowned. “That is ridiculous. But . . .” She glanced past him to the others. Seamus sketched her a smirking bow. The others, an older man and lady and a girl just out of the schoolroom, looked about with wide eyes. “Aidan, what are you doing here?”

“We invited him, of course.” Serena swept past her down the stair. “Mr. Castle? And this must be your family.” She drew them out of the flow of servants and departing party guests. “Mr. and Mrs. Castle, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Lady Savege, it is our pleasure indeed.” His mother spoke in a soft voice with a pleasant tone. Aidan had gotten his wide, well-shaped mouth from her, and his hazel eyes. His brawn and nose had clearly come from his father.

Mr. Castle bowed. “My lady, we are honored to be guests in your home. Our son told us much of his friendship with Miss Carlyle and her father over the years. We are glad to finally have the opportunity to know her. Miss Carlyle.” He nodded to Viola. “How do you do?”

“This is my sister, Caitria.” Aidan drew the girl forward. She curtsied modestly. “And my cousin Seamus.”

“You can see we are all at sixes and sevens here.” Serena gestured. “Will you come to the drawing room for refreshment while my housekeeper prepares your private chambers?” She ushered them forward. “Caitria, what a lovely name. My husband’s sister is Katherine too, you know, though she goes by Kitty.”

Aidan and Seamus hung back.

“Pretty house you’ve got here, Vi.” The Irishman winked at a maid hurrying past.

“It is not my house. It is my sister’s and the earl’s. I am visiting.”

“How has your visit been?” Now Aidan took her hand. “Have you enjoyed your reunion with your family? I had no letter from you, though I anticipated one. When Lady Savege’s invitation came, I admit I leaped at the opportunity to come here. I wished to earlier.” His eyes showed a mixture of hope and mild chastisement.

“You could have written to me.” She tugged her hand away, resisting the urge to dart a glance about the foyer.

“I was eager to, but I didn’t know if you would like it.”

“Why wouldn’t I have liked that? We have written to one another for years. You are my oldest friend.” But he was no longer her lover, and he no longer held her heart. He never had. Not the way Jin held it. Not completely and irretrievably.

Finally he grasped her hand. “You are so changed, Violet. Viola.” He chuckled uncomfortably. “So changed I don’t even know what to call you. I feared this would happen if I remained away for even so few weeks, and so it has. You look like a lady.”

“Well, I am the same inside.”

“No.” He shook his head, his brow creasing. “I am indeed your oldest friend, and something is different about you.”

She drew her hands away. “Nonsense. Now come to the parlor for tea. I would like to finally speak with Caitria and your parents. It seems I already know them.”

“And they are anxious to speak with you. I’ll admit my real delay in coming sooner was that my mother had planned a dinner party and we could not leave until after. Or I would have been here a fortnight ago at least.” He smiled and turned to his cousin. “Seamus?”

“I’m off to the stable, cousin. So busy around here, I’d best make certain the cattle are attended to.” The Irishman lifted a brow and sauntered toward the door. He passed a maid going through it and his hand disappeared. The maid gasped, then ducked her head and hurried on.

Viola frowned. “Why did he come?”

“We are returning to the Indies. We will be sailing from Bristol a week Monday, driving there straight from here.”

“So soon?”

“By the time I return it will have been nearly four months since I departed. Plenty of time for the repairs on the house and outbuildings to have been completed and the new crops sown. I must get back before my steward and his wife grow too comfortable sleeping in the master bedroom.” He smiled.

She could not meet his eyes. Instead she allowed him to tuck her hand into his elbow and went with him to find his family.

J
in reined in his horse at the edge of the bluff. The leathers lay damp against its glistening neck and it blew mist into the sea air. But only one of them had gotten satisfaction from the hard ride.

Breakers beat the beach below, gray and white. Heat thickened the salty breeze, and thunderclouds gathered, rendering the sun’s rays unsteady. Unsteady, just as he felt. Unsteady and thoroughly out of control. Viola had turned him inside out and he did not want it—not the desperate need to be with her, the attachment that was almost violent in its strength. Such attachment could come to nothing. It
would
come to nothing, as another attachment he’d long ago felt with this strength had come to nothing.

His mother had kept him close, not allowing him beyond the quarters of her personal servants for fear of discovery. But he knew he was hers and that he was loved. A private child by nature, he never shared their secret with the others, and her husband’s anger was commonly known. Even at that young age Jin understood what could happen were the truth discovered.

Then it was discovered, revealed by a fellow servant who saw too much and wished to curry favor with his master. And in an instant she gave him up. Her love had not proved strong enough. In her clear eyes he’d seen pain and grief but had not believed it. Ripped from his world, bound in shackles, and beaten for his defiance, he had readily believed that she did not suffer to see him go.

After that, at any chance he was able, he took out his anger on the world—anger born of a blood-deep panic that there would be nothing else for him no matter how hard he fought. That goodness and peace were not for a soul like his.

Now the panic rolled in him anew. Viola was mistaken in her wishes. Strong-willed, hardheaded, and passionate, with her every word and touch now she offered him that which he could not fathom. Could not trust. Could not accept. Not for her sake. She deserved better. A great deal better than him. And she could have better. She must.

But the truth battered at him that—simply—he feared. He knew every path from this world to hell and back again. He had paved those paths with his deeds and made himself master of them. But he knew nothing of that which now glimmered tantalizingly before him, that other realm. That perfection. And it frightened him.

He had not felt fear in so many years, he had forgotten he could.

Blindly he walked his horse along the cliff, the blustery gray above presaging the storm that would come when the heat rose later in the day, like the heat he found in her. He wanted her sharp tongue and foolish arguments and courageous defiance and sheer lunacy. For years he had been searching for forgiveness from a higher power, imagining that was his single desire: to atone. But now he only wanted her, and he was terrified.

Riding until his horse dropped, however, wouldn’t solve anything. He stroked the animal’s neck, then turned it inland. The outbuildings of Savege Park sprawled amid scrubby trees and hedges set back from the coast, the stable a massive complex of paddocks, stalls, and carriage buildings. Jin entered through the rear of the wing farthest from the comings and goings of guests, dismounted, and pulled off his hat and gloves.

There wasn’t a stable hand in sight. He dragged the saddle and blanket off his horse’s back, then slid the bridle over its ears. The bit jingled as it came from between the animal’s teeth. When it quieted, he heard the sound.

Prickling heat spread in his belly.

Muffled sound. Not the muffled scuff of hooves in straw or an animal’s whinny.

Muffled screams. A woman’s cries beneath a heavy hand. In a stall not far away. Seven—eight stalls along the row.

He snapped the halter to the door latch and broke into a run. Horses turned their heads. At the seventh doorway he reached for his knife, but his palm flattened on his empty waistcoat. He’d come out unarmed. But his fists had never failed him before. He pushed the door of the eighth stall open.