Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)

She found her hand encased in his in the dark. “And I don’t consider you one.” His voice was like a caress, but it did not change the fact that theirs was a transaction which supposedly took no account of hearts. “Regardless of how you make a living.” His tone changed. Brightened.

Was he afraid Violet might get the wrong idea?

He patted her hand and leaned back against the squabs. “So now we’re going to say a proper goodbye. I’m going to Africa in a few days, and you’re going to surrender yourself to Lord Bainbridge. I’m jealous; I admit it, but I need to make my own way in the world, and you’ve known that from the start. I’ve not deceived you, have I?”

She shook her head. How could he speak so lightly?

“But you are not yet his, and I, like you, owe my allegiance to no one at this very moment. So, let us take our leave as we would want to. Like the friends we are.”

Like the friends we are?

Despite the lump in Violet’s throat, she wasn’t sure she could manage saying goodbye at all if he insisted on this. But she could hardly admit her susceptibility. And there was no question about it being a goodbye forever. It was, and she might as well take what pleasure she could from it. She’d had precious little of that over the past few years.

So, with a smile for him as they passed into the light, turning into a better-lit part of town, she took the arm he offered when they alighted and tried to adopt a carefree tone as he led her up the path to the small guesthouse in Hampstead to which his carriage conveyed them.

Shaking out her skirts, she arran

ged the flounces of her bustle with care as they paused on the top step. “With rose petals in my hair and wearing such a dress as this, I don’t think they’ll look at us askance.”

To her surprise, he put his hands on her shoulders. His tone was warm. “You look every bit the bride I would consider the most beautiful in the world.”

Except my corrupted soul prevents this becoming reality. But there was no point in spoiling the happy moment, Violet thought as she bit her lip, smiling back at him.

“The wife you choose will be a very lucky woman. You’ll not throw yourself away lightly. Not as I have done,” she added with a laugh and a quick squeeze of Max’s arm to ameliorate the seriousness of her words. “I mean, in every instance but this one.”

It was enough to defuse the tension so that both were smiling with real pleasure as they made themselves known to the landlady and signed the register.

Smiling. Like the happy, carefree newlyweds she assumed them to be.

The room was large and elegantly furnished. Violet threw out her arms and twirled in the centre of the soft cream carpet, staring at the small chandelier above.

“What a palace,” she declared, filled suddenly with pleasure and anticipation for what lay before her. A night of love and rapture. A final goodbye. She wouldn’t be sad. She’d had more consideration shown her by this man than had ever come her way in a lifetime.

And she had the comfort of knowing Miss Thistlethwaite was content.

“And you are its queen.” Max arrested her twirling as he caught her in his arms. “By God, I think I’m going to miss you, Miss Violet Lilywhite.”

“For the duration of the journey to Cape Town, I daresay,” she said, lightly. “I hope you suffer terribly on the voyage, and that Cape Horn is as rough as can be. I hope you think only of me as you retch miserably, knowing I shall be even more miserable at the knowledge that you found the prospect of shooting lions and tigers more diverting than me.”

“Only lions, my dear, and I shall have to agree with you otherwise there’d be no point in this.” He escorted her to the small, elegant sofa in front of the fireplace. “Let us make the most of our last night together. Of course, I shall miss you terribly. But the diversions of Africa beckon and the enticements are strong and…” he broke off “…the champagne has arrived.”

A young maid entered following a tentative knock, bearing a tray with a bottle and two glasses.

“Now, let us drink to the future.”

Violet was quiet as he carefully filled both their glasses. It seemed a cruel choice of words. What future did he think she had to look forward to?

But what was the point in spoiling it? If she’d learnt nothing else, it was to take the best that was on offer. “To the future,” she said, tipping back her head and drinking deeply before brandishing her glass ready to be refilled. Perhaps another would help stop her from feeling.

Feeling too much pain at their impending separation.

Feeling too much pleasure at what would be their last time.

“And to you achieving splendid things, Max darling. Now, for goodness sake, enough of all this skirting about what we’re really here for. Kiss me. Properly.”

She was more than ready for the press of his soft, eager lips upon hers as he swept her into a tight embrace. With one hand clasping her waist, the other cupped her cheek as he savoured her response. She sighed with pleasure as he breached the seam of her lips, his tongue sweeping across her teeth, gaining access to the cavern of her mouth.

Her breasts tingled, and her belly roiled with need. No man had ever had this effect on her.