Where’s the book? she’d asked.
There’s no book, he’d said.
And then he’d taken her in his arms.
That kiss—that first magical press of his lips to hers—how she wished she could go back and relive it. She’d been caught completely unawares, after a solid decade of yearning for just that moment. All those years of wishing and hoping and practicing on her hand…cast out the window, instantly. Because it was happening.
She felt her own life racing ahead of her, leaving her breathless in pursuit. Each step in the sensual progression took her by surprise. His hands on her br**sts. Then his mouth on her br**sts. The dizzy rush of inversion when he tipped her back onto the bed. His heavy weight, pressing her into the mattress.
Wait, she’d wanted to plead. Give me a moment to catch up.
But she hadn’t said a word. Because she knew him too well. If she’d expressed the slightest uncertainty, he would have ceased his attentions. And that would have been a tragedy.
She’d wanted it too. Each kiss, each caress. She’d wanted all of it.
All of him.
“What do you say?” she asked. “Was it a ruthless seduction or a simple mistake?”
Her companion scowled. And unleashed a robust chain of what sounded like pure Breton blasphemy.
Violet glanced in Finn and Fosbury’s direction, reassuring them with a mild smile.
When she spoke again, she kept her voice hushed and her manner calm. “I wasn’t unwilling, if that’s what you’re thinking. Quite the opposite.”
“Even so. He was a devil to take advantage. And a fool to ever let you go.”
“He was a disappointment, I’ll say that much. That’s how I came to call him in my mind, you see. The Disappointment. It pained me too much to think of him by name.”
“The Disappointment.” He snorted. “It was that bad?”
Her face flushed. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Then it wasn’t good.”
“From what I’ve been led to understand, it was about as pleasant as any girl can expect, her first time. Some parts of it were wonderful. It might have improved on the second go, but—”
But then he’d gone. He’d left England the very next day.
Though almost a year had passed, her viscera helpfully reenacted all the shock and pain of that betrayal. Her stomach clenched, and her heartbeat took on the hollow thump of a kettledrum.
“His father had purchased some land in Antigua, and he went to survey the property. He didn’t even come to tell me himself, just sent a note. I never saw him again. That was the disappointment.”
“Gutless bastard.”
“I was cowardly too.” She studied her tea. “I hadn’t asked him for any promises. I never told him of my feelings. Maybe he didn’t realize I would have liked more.”
“He knew. He most certainly knew.” He ducked his chin, seeking her gaze. “Your heart is written on your face, mon ange. That’s what makes your face so beautiful.”
Her pulse fluttered. What did he mean? What did any of this mean?
She wished she could collect all the warmth and compassion in his eyes and weigh it on some sort of scale. Did it add up to mere polite concern, or to something more? Guilt or apology, maybe. Perhaps even love?
She said, “You are remarkably well-spoken for a humble Breton farmhand.”
He ignored her baiting remark. “You have been treated poorly and have suffered much. I’m sorry for it. But I am here.”
“Yes. You are here. But I don’t know that you can be trusted. Until I’m convinced otherwise, I must assume you are an enemy. A threat to my safety and my friends’.”
“Come.” He cocked his head, urging her close.
With a cautious glance toward Finn and Fosbury, she leaned forward. Until the heat of his breath could be felt against the exposed, vulnerable curve of her neck. Her heart thundered in her chest.
“If you get us alone,” he whispered, “I will tell you everything.”
Chapter Four
Alone?
Her pulse thumping, Violet sat back in her chair and regarded the bound man. His eyes glittered with challenge. He asked her to risk her own safety and that of her friends, even though he’d given her no reason to trust him.
Well, then. If she could not trust him, Violet had no choice but to trust herself. She must follow her own instincts.
The decision made, she stood and turned. “Mr. Fosbury? Finn? I’ve made an important discovery. Our man speaks French. Quite well, in fact.”
She shot a glance at their captive. His eyes didn’t glitter now. Did he feel betrayed, perhaps? Very well. It might do him good to learn that feeling.
“Cor,” Finn made an ungainly slide from the windowsill. “I knew it. Good for you, Miss Winterbottom.”
“As a matter of fact,” Violet said, “the man has expressed a wish to confess everything. But he’ll only speak directly to the commander.”
Finn straightened. “We must inform Lord Rycliff straightaway.”