Made in Manhattan

Violet had always wanted to pivot dramatically on her heel, and she did so now, delighted that she’d opted for a dress, which added a bit more flair to the gesture.

She started to walk away from the gaping trio and pulled up short when she saw a man leaning against the railing, a beer bottle swinging idly from his fingers, his expression blank.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and his eyebrows to her. “Quite the speech there, Duchess.”

So. He’d heard.

“Shit,” she muttered.

His mouth twisted in an almost-smile at her uncharacteristic profanity.

“I’m mad at you,” she snapped a bit childishly, snatching his beer out of his hand and taking a gulp. Belying her words, she shifted to stand beside him rather than walking away. They both leaned against the railing, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, companionably watching the party, as though there weren’t fireworks between them with every other encounter.

“Fair,” Cain said.

Violet gave him a wary look. “So you acknowledge you were an ass at the tailor’s?”

He gazed over at the recipients of Violet’s stinging setdown, but she got the impression he wasn’t really seeing them.

“Not just then,” Cain said quietly.

“That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He smiled slightly, reaching out to take his beer back. “Then perhaps you weren’t listening properly.”

Violet told herself to go back inside, to find Ashley. Even Keith would be safer. Her feet didn’t move, as though the stupid appendages preferred staying out here with a man who aroused her anger to the tepid rounds of small talk that awaited her inside.

“Saw you talking to the duke,” Cain said, interrupting her thoughts.

It was on the tip of Violet’s tongue to tell him that it was absolutely none of his business, but something in his tone stopped her. Beneath the usual mockery, there was a touch of earnestness. Of… vulnerability?

“Saw you talking to Alison,” she said in return.

Talking. Flirting…

Cain lifted a shoulder, and then shifted slightly, to study her profile. “You and the duke back together, or what? He looked like a lovesick swain.”

Violet reached for his beer again without looking at him. “We are not back together.”

“But he wants to be.”

She made a noncommittal noise.

“He does, but you don’t,” Cain guessed.

Violet sipped the beer again, a little surprised how good it tasted. She’d never fancied herself a beer drinker, but she liked the way the slight effervescence rolled over her tongue, the way the bottle felt in her hands.

He didn’t respond. Not that she expected him to. She was beginning to know the man. Understood that he—

“I don’t know what I want,” Violet said, peeling at the label on the bottle with her thumbnail.

Without warning, Cain slipped a hand behind her head and, pulling her face toward his, kissed her.

His lips boldly explored hers, firm and warm. The kiss seemed to say everything he wouldn’t aloud, but it felt like a code that she couldn’t quite crack.

Cain pulled back and straightened, releasing Violet as suddenly as he’d reached for her. He grinned shamelessly and reclaimed his beer bottle. “I don’t care about Alice.”

“Alison.”

“Whatever.”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know her name. I’m not even sure you know mine.”

She’d never heard him call her anything but the gently mocking Duchess.

“I know it. Course I know it.”

Violet didn’t turn her head, just cut her gaze his way. “Are we going to talk about that kiss, or ignore it like we did the last one?”

He tipped the bottle up to his lips, smiling. But he said nothing.

Nineteen

Oh, thank God you’re here,” Alvin said, already reaching to scoop Coco out of Violet’s Chanel bag.

“I came as soon as I got your texts. What’s the matter?” she asked, surreptitiously giving him a once-over and trying to figure out whether it was a perceived bacterial infection, a bruise he thought signaled cirrhosis, an itchy spot on his arm that he’d read was a symptom of a rare blood disease…

She was startled by the sound of loud, angry voices coming from the parlor.

“That’s what’s wrong,” Alvin said.

“Oh dear,” Violet said, feeling nonplussed. She hadn’t heard yelling in Edith’s house… ever. “Maybe I’ll just go in and—”

The door flew open, and Cain stormed out. He halted when he saw Violet.

His hair was down around his shoulders, eyes blazing, shoulders hunched as though ready for a fight. Or perhaps already in the middle of a fight, Violet realized as Edith came to the doorway, looking plenty stormy herself.

Violet blinked. She’d never seen the older woman like this. Edith practically crackled with disapproval, all of her angry energy directed at her grandson.

“If you leave now, you’ll undo all of our hard work,” she said, her tone like a whip in its frustrated fury.

“I’m not leaving forever,” he snapped back at her. “Just a few days. You and the company survived twenty-something years without me, I think you can spare me for three fucking days.”