The Husband Trap (19 page)

And what of Jeannette, did she return his regard?

Oh, heavens, Violet sighed, what a tangle each of them had woven for the other.

To date, she had received only one letter from Jeannette. A brief, hastily scribbled missive typical of her twin’s careless style. Jeannette had assured her all was well, giving her current direction in Italy. She and Great-aunt Agatha were having a splendid time, she’d written, attending many elegant parties and meeting dozens of fascinating people. “Violet,” it seemed, was beginning to come out of her shell, much to the amazed approval of their aunt.

Violet prayed Jeannette was not overdoing it, would not end up revealing their deception. But her twin was clever. It wasn’t likely she’d give herself away.

They planned to stay in Naples through the last week of August, then journey south to Florence, where they would remain for at least a month. Jeannette had said she would write again with news and the location of their new accommodations after they arrived. Violet had yet to receive another letter from her twin.

She tapped the illicit billet-doux against her hand, supposing she ought to send the blighted thing on to Italy. The wisest course of action, though, would be to destroy it. It was all very well for her to know to whom the letters really belonged, but if anyone else should see? If Adrian should ever read…she couldn’t bear to contemplate the horrendous outcome of that.

No, the letters must stop.

Yet Jeannette would never forgive her if she destroyed the thing. And there was another problem besides. No matter what action she took, what was to prevent K from sending another letter, even if she did succeed in getting rid of this one?

She would have to write Jeannette. Make her agree to sever the connection with this mystery man. What other solution could there be? Perhaps in time he might develop a tendre for “Violet” and all could be well. Assuming her sister truly had feelings for this K person and wished a future with him.

Violet slipped the letter into her pocket, then seated herself at the desk. She reached for a fresh sheet of writing paper. Totally engrossed, she did not immediately hear the footsteps behind her. When she did, she flicked a glance over her shoulder and dropped her pen.

Chapter Eleven

Violet’s breath squeezed hard in her lungs as Adrian approached. Powerfully aware of the spectacles perched on her face, she whipped them off, clutched them inside her palm. As casually as possible, she lowered her hand and the incriminating eyewear, concealing both within the folds of her skirt.

Oh, Lord, had he seen them?

Her gaze fell upon the letter she’d been writing, her heart jackknifing up into her throat. She couldn’t let him see
that
either, and he was almost upon her.

She edged a sheet of plain paper over the one upon which she had been writing, then pivoted abruptly in her chair.

“Adrian,” she greeted, flashing him a wide smile. “What a happy surprise. Are you returned already? I thought you said your appointment with Mr. McDougal would last the entire afternoon.”

He stopped, gave her a curious smile. “Our business took less time than expected.” He glanced over at the desk, then looked slowly back. “What have you been doing, madam? Writing letters?”

She stood, careful to face him as she deliberately moved away from the desk. She angled the hand holding her spectacles behind her back.

“Yes,” she said. “We received two more invitations, though I haven’t had a chance to review them yet. I was composing a letter to…umm, Violet. She is due to leave for Florence soon and I did not want to miss her before she departed on the next leg of her journey.”

“How is your sister?”

“Very well, last she wrote. Italy agrees with her, it would seem.”

“Jealous of her adventures?” he questioned.

“Of course,” she replied with the kind of breezy candor she knew Jeannette might have employed. “But I console myself with the surety that one day you shall take me there. You have promised, have you not?”

“Yes. One day we shall visit the Continent, Italy included.”

She smiled.

He smiled in return. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

He nodded toward her concealed hand. “Whatever it is you are trying so desperately to hide behind your back.”

Blast.
And she had thought he had not noticed. What to do? Her heart pounded furiously, realizing there was no hiding them, not now, not anymore. Unless she could brazen her way out.

Going on the defensive, she said, “It is nothing. If I wanted you to know, I would tell you.”

He took a step forward, idly clasped his hands at his back. “Why don’t you wish to tell me?”

Violet raised her chin in a haughty tilt. “It is a private matter.”

“A private matter? Here in the downstairs drawing room?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, and I would thank you not to inquire further.”

For a hopeful moment she thought he was going to desist. Then he swung his arms free, took another step forward. “That tactic may work on everyone else of your acquaintance, but it won’t wash with me.” He held out an insistent hand. “Let’s see.”

Her shoulders dropped, together with her defiant posture. “Adrian, please. It’s nothing important. Let it be.”

But his curiosity was roused and once Adrian was curious about something, there was no stopping him. “Show me or I fear I shall be forced to resort to stronger methods.”

He reached out before she could step away, snagged her wrist and brought it forward. He unfolded her clenched fist.

“Spectacles?”

Violet tried not to let her worry show. “I need them to read, if you must know.”

Surprise showed plainly upon his face. “I had no idea. And you’ve been hiding your glasses from me all this time?”

She lowered her eyes. “Imperfect eyesight is an affliction I share with my sister. But unlike her, I do not choose to broadcast the impairment to the world. A woman never shows to advantage wearing eyeglasses, you know.” She expressed the sentiments easily, repeating the same phrases her sister and mother had said to her a thousand times over.

“They cannot look so very bad,” Adrian insisted gently.

“You never said they looked good on my twin.” The words were out of her mouth before she could prevent them.

“The question did not arise. But I never thought your sister looked plain in her spectacles, if that is what you mean.”

An inexplicable breathlessness stole over her. “Did you not?”

“You are both beautiful women. You are twins, after all. Put on the glasses.”

“No! I couldn’t.”

“Put them on,” he urged in a gentle voice.

She stood mute. Trembling, and trying not to show it, she realized she had no choice. She was well and truly trapped. With great reluctance, she slid the spectacles onto her nose, then looked up at him through the glass lenses, his dear face for once in clear, sharp focus. She waited, hands clutched, heart thumping rabbit fast. He would see the truth now, wouldn’t he? Know who she really was?

Her stomach seized at the thought.

“You look exactly like her,” he murmured after a long moment of study. “I know the two of you are identical, but it is truly uncanny.”

Violet blinked.

He didn’t realize the truth. Relief swept through her, followed by an odd sense of disappointment. A deflated, bitter aftertaste she knew she should not feel. Did she want him to find out?

Of course not,
she scolded herself.

Still, what would it be like to have him gaze at her with an expression of caring in his eyes and to know it was meant for her? The real her. What would it be like for him to kiss her as Violet and know he wanted her regardless? To hear him speak her true name—
Violet
—a passionate whisper on his lips, a murmur of ecstasy uttered in the dark, cool hours of the night or beneath the fresh warmth of a morning sun.

But such thoughts were pure insanity. Such a circumstance could never be. Abruptly melancholy, she reached up to remove her glasses, not trusting her luck to last.

“No,” he said, stopping her. “Leave them on.”

She frowned.

“I understand that you do not wish to wear your spectacles in public,” he continued, “but here at home you must use them as much and as often as you need.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “I assure you, my dear, your radiance is in no way diminished by the addition.”

She should refuse. It was too great a risk even now. Yet what a relief it would be to see normally again. What a delight to read and write without having to sneak peeks through her glasses when she thought she was not being observed.

His suggestion was a temptation not to be denied.

“Very well,” she said, acquiescing as if his request were a great burden. “I shall wear them if my need is great. But
only
here in the house and only in private.”

“Now that that is settled, I stopped by to inquire whether or not you would like to go rowing on the lake. ’Tis a fine day, far too beautiful to stay cooped up indoors. I’ll ask François to pack us a light afternoon repast, and we could dine on the small island at the lake’s center. My siblings and I used to play and swim there in the summer. I know of a comfortable, secluded spot just perfect for a picnic. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to it for some while.”

Violet caught the wicked gleam in his dark eyes and knew he had more than boating and dining in mind. Her body warmed at the notion. “I have my letter to finish, but I suppose it can wait. I should change into something more appropriate for the out-of-doors before we leave.”

“Very well.” He feathered a pair of kisses over her lips, a taste of more to come. “I shall go speak to François about our meal. A half an hour, shall we say?”

“A half an hour it is.” She smiled.

She waited until he left the room, then gathered up the pages of the letter she had been writing to Jeannette. She locked them, together with the letter from her sister’s lover, into a small, recessed drawer in the writing table. She would finish the letter and have it posted on the morrow.

Pocketing the key, she went upstairs to change.

The last of summer faded, the heat of August melting into September. October dawned, treating area inhabitants to chill, frosty mornings, mild afternoons and crisp, clear evenings. Bright as newly minted coins, the leaves glinted on the trees in festive colors: ruby, copper and gold. Bushy-tailed squirrels, badger and deer busied themselves making their woodland homes ready for the winter to come. Inside, people lighted fires, exchanged cool cottons for woolen warmth, drank mulled cider and ate hot soups in place of cooler, lighter fare.

At Winterlea, it was much the same.

Erin, one of the downstairs maids, tended the fire in the duchess’s study. Violet thanked her when she finished, exchanging smiles with the winsome girl, who couldn’t have been a day over fifteen. The maid gave a shy curtsey and departed, ash pail and fireplace brush in hand.

The room was a comfortable one, smaller than many others in the huge house. Over the past few weeks, Violet had quite made it her own.

Set at the rear west corner of the house, it overlooked one of the gardens, which was bedecked for fall with lush sprays of goldenrod and sunny-faced chrysanthemums. Peaceful and quiet, the room exuded a gentle, soothing hush that Violet loved. On afternoons when Adrian was occupied with business and there were no tenants to visit, no neighbors come to call, she would curl up in one of the room’s snug armchairs and lose herself inside a book.

Reveling in a greater sense of freedom now that she could wear her glasses without fear of discovery, she indulged herself by reading here in the study whenever she could manage. She kept a piece of embroidery near at hand just in case she was interrupted. She didn’t want anyone, especially Adrian, to realize she was spending her afternoons happily buried in a book.

Horatio snuffled, snoring gently where he lay near her feet, dreaming his doggy dreams. Violet resumed her reading and was deeply engrossed many minutes later when a light scratch came at the door. Acting fast, she hid the book between her hip and the seat cushion, pulled the embroidery frame a few inches closer so it appeared as though she was sewing. Only then did she bid the person to enter.

March stood in the doorway. “Pardon the intrusion, your Grace, but I thought I should inform you Lord Christopher has arrived.”

Violet’s eyebrows shot upward at the news. Adrian’s younger brother, here? Now? He had written nothing about a visit in the letter Adrian had had from him only last week. To her knowledge, he was supposed to be at University, studying for mid-term exams.

“Lord Christopher has gone up to his rooms to change,” March supplied. “He asked after his Grace upon his arrival. When I explained that his Grace is not home at present but that you were receiving, he said not to trouble you. He then requested a meal and went upstairs.”

She could tell from March’s tone and his actions that he disapproved of her brother-in-law failing to stop and immediately pay his regards to her. On the few brief occasions they had met, Lord Christopher—or Kit, as he was known to his intimates—had never been anything but unfailingly polite and friendly to Jeannette and Violet both. She didn’t know him well, but given his unusual behavior, it seemed something must be amiss.