Sinful Confessions (6 page)

Viola
retrieved the book that had been abandoned on the shelf and tucked it back in
place before facing him once more. He felt a fool. Intimidated by this slender
woman. She ran her gaze up and down him and her lips tilted.

“I’m
sorry if I shocked you. You should know from our letters that I am not the best
at holding my tongue or watching my actions. I shall try better I promise,
particularly if we are to be ma—” She clamped her mouth shut and threaded her
hands in front of her.

Bells
rang in his head. Those carefully honed senses he’d been mastering since he had
turned sixteen and had inherited his father’s title went on alert. Ambitious
mamas and simpering misses had all whispered that word behind his back. She
didn’t need to finish the sentence to make him realise what she had hoped.

“Married,”
he finished for her, numb shock working through his body and making the word
toneless.

“Well...”
She lifted her shoulders.

“Viola...”
He shook his head. “We are not to be married.”

He
felt foolish saying the words. He hadn’t asked for her hand, hadn’t even
implied he was looking for a wife. Which he wasn’t. He would rather die old and
lonely than be responsible for the death of another woman. Julian did not know
how or why, but he was bad for women.

Her
mouth opened and closed for some time. “You mean... did you want it to be a
surprise perhaps? Or... or...”

“No,”
he snapped and regretted it when she jolted back against the bookcase. “You
misunderstand me. I have no want of a wife. Forgive me, Viola, but I have no
want of you.”

“But...
your letter...” Her lashes fluttered several times then she fished into her
shirt before drawing out a crumpled piece of parchment. He recognised the quick
flash of handwriting. It was his own.

“Viola...”
he warned, his voice growing deep with horror.

This
woman had come here with the expectation of marrying him. For whatever reason,
she had travelled across the ocean for him. He didn’t want to know why. All he
wanted was her gone. It was too much. He wished she’d never come here, wished he’d
never been faced with the reality of what was behind those letters. The reality
was too tempting by far.

With
shaking hands, she held out the paper and read from it. “I...I have fervent
hopes that when my business is completed with your father, you shall not forget
me...” A sob broke her words and she thrust the paper at him.

He
pinched the bridge of his nose and read the rest of it.

I
have come to appreciate your letters and find myself looking forward to reading
of your news and ambitions. I have great hope that you shall come to England
soon and enjoy what it has to offer. May I recommend the National Gallery in
London and, of course, the splendid Kenilworth Castle in my own home county—of
which we have discussed. Your passion for English history will make this visit
a delight. I hope your passion will be enough to persuade you to make such an
arduous journey.

Whilst
our families will marry in business this April, I hear tell of another such
happy event from your father. I confess I fear the end of our correspondence.
Will you assure me of your devotion to our letters? 

Yours
humbly,

Julian

He
couldn’t quite believe those were his words. Had he truly spoken like that?
Julian supposed so. He always expressed himself much better on paper. Yet he’d
never mentioned their marriage. And the news of the happy event—he’d been told
there was a likelihood she would be marrying the son of another shipping
merchant. A merger as it was. He recalled the deep ache that had struck him and
how he’d been deliberately charming in his tone, determined not to show his
anguish.

“Damnation,”
he muttered. His words were misleading. He could only blame gut-clenching
jealousy and the idea of marrying another man for his ridiculous turn of
phrase.

He
lifted his head and heaved a sigh. But what woman would come halfway across the
world in the hopes of marrying a man she didn’t know?

“I
never intended...”

Her
chin wobbled but she lifted her head high. “To mislead me? Well, you did,
Julian. You played me cruelly.”

“Now,
wait a moment. I never meant to play you. How was I to know you’d get it into
your head that intended for us to be anything other than friends?” He waved the
letter. “Hell, we were barely that. Why would I marry a woman I’d never laid
eyes on? We wrote to each other, nothing more.”

Tears
shimmered in her eyes. Viola’s throat worked. She drew in one long audible
breath. “Nothing more,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. “Of course, nothing
more.” She surprised him by dropping into a quick curtsey, muttering a farewell
and dashing away from him.

Julian
watched her go. His lungs seemed to deflate while she hastened down the spiral
steps and out of the library door. All the heat that had built up under his
skin vanished, leaving him cold and empty. He glanced at the creased letter in
his hand and imagined he could feel the warmth from where it had been pressed
to her breast.

Nothing
more.

He
shook his head. He knew better than that but it was dangerous to admit more.
Dangerous to suggest that he could possibly have fallen in love with her simply
through her letters. Perhaps she had felt the same, but he’d never know now. If
this was indeed love, he had to protect her from him. For God’s sake, he’d just
ranted at her for a misunderstanding. He’d watched her hopes crumble before his
eyes and still managed to tear her down further. Even if he wanted to marry her
and didn’t fear for her safety around him, how could he subject her to a man
like himself?

Folding
the paper once more, he tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. He
couldn’t. Viola Thompson had to leave and forget he even existed.

Where was her dratted handkerchief? Viola
sniffed noisily and stuffed her slippers into her travel bag along with her
nightgown and the evening gown Jenny had so carefully hung. Who cared if it got
creased? She’d bought it especially for this trip and what a waste that had
been. Heat singed her cheeks and she paused to cover her face with her hands.

What
a fool she must have seemed. This starry-eyed American hoping for a love-match
with an eloquent English lord.

“Foolish,
foolish, foolish,” she muttered to herself. “Oh stop it.” The tears were coming
again. She drew in a noisy breath and scanned the room for her handkerchief
again.

Her
gaze landed on the one on the table at the bedside. Jenny must have had it
washed and pressed as it was folded neatly. She picked it up and ran her
fingers over the embroidered monogram. To think she had imagined their initials
together on their own linen. Oh God, could she get any sillier.

What
would her friends say? They expected her to return with at least a proposal, if
not a husband in tow. Her brothers would take great delight in her failure. And
society would have yet another thing for which to look down upon her. Her
broken engagement had given the gossips and society columnists a great deal of
delight. What would they say about her now?

New
York Heiress Scares Away Yet Another Man.

She
had so wanted not to be a failure for once. She had one job as a daughter—first
it had been to be useful on the farm and once her father had gained wealth, it
was to marry a rich man. Her share of the inheritance would do her nicely but
of course, her father wanted more for her. She’d already lost one rich man, and
now all her dreams had come to nought. The worst of it was, she had really,
truly come to care for Julian. Or at least the Julian she knew on paper.

She
dabbed her nose with the handkerchief. He didn’t seem at all like that man in
real life.

The
door creaked open. Viola waved a hand. “I don’t need any help, thank you.”

A
clunk sounded and she released a breath. She really didn’t want to be seen in
such a state, even by Jenny. She’d been crying for the past two hours before
deciding to pack her belongings. Her eyes felt sore and swollen, and she hadn’t
dared to look in a mirror to see the damage yet.

“I
am sorry.”

She
swivelled at the sound of the three low, soft words. A hand to her mouth, she
staggered back and her legs struck the bed. To prevent herself from falling
onto the mattress, she put her hand to the bedpost. Humiliation struck her anew
at the sight of this handsome marquess. She couldn’t decide if she preferred him
with a necktie, without or with it tugged loose as it was now. He had clearly
been running his hand through his hair as it was mussed.

Good.
The man had the most foul of tempers. She hoped he felt awful for what he’d
said. If his lowered gaze and shifting feet were anything to go by, he did. Or
perhaps he was simply concerned about her doing something foolish, like trying
to force him into marrying her. Well, she had no intention of marrying a man
like him.

“It
doesn’t matter.”

Viola
turned and snatched her perfume and cold cream from the dressing table and
flung it into her bag. She eyed the white tub for a moment and decided she
would pack it more carefully later. Knowing her luck, it would spill onto her
clothes and it would be nearly an eleven-day journey home if the weather was
fine. She certainly didn’t need any more disasters.

“I
never intended—”

“To
mislead me, yes, you said.”

She
kept her back to him. Julian was entirely too handsome and dashing. She could
only guess at what he would look like when she’d been writing to him and of
course, she hoped he would be handsome, but she had been prepared to accept him
no matter what. A man who wrote letters as he did was more beautiful than the
handsomest of men, regardless of how he looked.

But
Julian didn’t need inner beauty. He embodied her every idea of how an English
lord should look. And, blast him, he drew her in. Even now she’d seen the
ugliness inside, her hopeful heart wished fervently to see that man from the
letters, to believe that he even existed beneath that foul temper and awful
manners.

For
want of anything else to do, she closed her bag and began to buckle it. She
still needed to pack a few last bits but that meant turning and viewing him.

A
set of warm fingers curled around her wrist. “Don’t.”

Viola
snapped her head around to view him. He’d stepped closer and swallowed up the
small gap between them. Her breath stilted. Her skin under his finger tips felt
warm and goose bumps pricked along her arm.

“Don’t,”
he repeated. “Don’t go.”

Darting
her tongue out along her lower lip, she tried to summon a response. Her
indignation vanished at his touch. How frustrating. She so wanted to shout at
him for how horribly he had dealt with their misunderstanding, but her body
seemed to melt into a puddle of candle wax once he touched her. It was the same
sensation she’d felt when he’d kissed her.

He’d
kissed her. Oh dear, that had been the most romantic, exciting moment of her
life. After months of dreaming and imagining what it would be like, it had
happened. And it had been so much better than she expected.

But
then he had to ruin everything. And, of course, she had to be a fool to have
assumed he ever meant to do anything more than kiss her. No doubt he deeply
regretted that kiss once he’d realised it had given her the wrong impression.
Perhaps he often kissed girls but they were smart enough to know he did not
mean anything by it.

“I
should return home,” she said softly, keeping her gaze on the brass buckle of
her bag.

“But...”
He drew in an audible breath and released her hand. She saw him take a step
back out of the corner of her eye. “You have only been in England a matter of
days. You should stay and... and see the sights.”

Viola
rotated slowly. She glanced at him from under her lashes and tried to forget
the utter humiliation she’d just experienced. Her main aim of this trip had
been to secure herself a husband. But she couldn’t deny she’d been dreaming of
visiting England ever since she was old enough to read about it. The history
simply fascinated her.

“I
don’t know.”

“I’ll
show you around,” he offered. “You can stay here.”

She
let her brow rise. Was this simply him trying to apologise or something more?
Why had he gone from wanting her gone to asking her to stay? No, she wouldn’t
read more into it. She had already made a fool of herself enough as it was. The
likelihood was he did not want her running home and telling Papa what an awful
man he was and how they shouldn’t do business.

“In
your house,” she clarified.

The
thought of being able to explore the beautiful house appealed greatly. She
tried not to smile at his stiff nod. Having been sick for all of her stay here,
she hadn’t managed to see even a quarter of the house and from his letters, she
knew there was much to explore. The gardens, the woods, the secret passageways.
Then, of course, there were the castles of which he had talked and the abbey,
and even his home by the sea. Perhaps she could talk him into taking her to the
seaside.

“Will
you take me to the castle?”

“I
will.”

He
didn’t look pleased about it. Was it simply because it was her or was there
something more to it? Jenny had implied the marquess had only been like this
since the death of his last wife. Was this grief taking its toll on him? Maybe,
if she tried hard, she might be able to find that man who had written such
beautiful letters. Even help him out of his grief perhaps.

Well,
there she went again with her fanciful thoughts, but either way, she would at
least have some wonderful memories and experiences to carry her through her
embarrassment when she returned home empty-handed.

“Very
well, I shall stay.”

A
hint of a smile tilted his lips and he nodded. “Excellent. I shall let Mrs
Whittleworth know.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet a little. “I
hope you will join me for dinner tonight so we can plan your outings.”

“I
would like that, thank you.”

He
gave her a formal dip of his head. It surprised her as Julian had been so far
removed from the rich, powerful marquess she’d expected him to be. But the
movement didn’t seem like that of a man constrained by rules and society.
Instead it was a simple movement of respect, and one that sent her heart
skittering up into her throat.

“Until
this evening.” He retreated from her room and shut the door.

Viola
twisted to unbuckle her bag. Poor Jenny would have to press her clothes again.
Still, even with the thought of all her crumpled clothes and having nothing to
wear for the evening, she couldn’t resist a smile. She might not get her
husband but she would get the experience of a lifetime, all on the arm of a
handsome Englishman. It was not what fairy tales were made of but it would do.