The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister 3)

“If you won’t think of me, think of my children,” Lily said. “Shunned—ostracized—mocked! Even you would not be so hard-hearted as to wish that fate on them.”

Selfish again.

“If you could not be received in polite society without cutting off your foot,” Violet said, “how long would it take you to chop it off? Would you call me selfish if I harbored Amanda and kept her safe from such a barbaric act?”

Lily frowned. “This is different.”

“Yes,” Violet said. “It’s very different. If what I have to say is of no lasting moment, everyone will forget in a year. And if it isn’t—well, your children will have a famous aunt. Give me the cut direct and do your best to restore yourself to society’s good graces. Your children can decide for themselves which way they will fall.”

Maybe she hoped that even now, Lily would protest. That she’d say she loved Violet, that she could never cut ties with her.

Instead, Lily shook her head. “If that’s the way it must be.”

Not one word of support. Not one word of love. Not even a hint of regret. There was no indication that Violet mattered to her sister at all.

“Lily,” Violet tried one last time. “Think of what this means to me. For the better part of a decade, I’ve choked back the truth. I’ve hid what I could do, what I’ve thought, who I am. I’m the world’s foremost expert on the science of inheritance. Don’t you feel even a little…?” She trailed off.

Proud?

“Disgusted?” Lily finished. She tossed her head. “I’m trying not to think of what you must have done, the thoughts that must have passed through your head. I’m trying not to think of how much you have been hiding from me this entire time. But yes, Violet. I am disgusted.”

THE LIST OF TASKS TO BE DONE was slowly shrinking, but Violet felt no more at ease.

“I can only imagine,” Violet said that evening, “what will happen when I tell my mother.”

They were in London, in the small gardener’s shed that Sebastian used as an office. He’d greeted her with an embrace and a kiss, but even though they were alone, he had not tried to seduce her into more yet.

It was baffling. He acted as if nothing had happened, as if they were still only friends.

Friends who kissed.

“I’ve always had Lily,” Violet said. “Every time I felt miserable, I could go to her and she’d have something for me to do. I find it difficult to imagine a world without her.”

“Maybe she’ll come around,” Sebastian said.

Violet shook her head. It wouldn’t be the same, even if she did. She’d always wondered if Lily cared about Violet beyond her own convenience. Now Violet knew she didn’t.

She was seated on the sofa, all too aware that the comfortable cushions could so easily fit two. That it wasn’t so different from a bed. He came and sat beside her, and then, when she cautiously leaned against him, he drew her to him. He enfolded her in the warmth of his arms, their bodies nestling together, fitting against each other. It felt odd to be held by him, the two of them drawn together in the little office. They hadn’t been alone together since yesterday, when they’d kissed in Cambridge.

And now…

Her skin prickled in anticipation; her stomach knotted in dread. As much as she wanted his comfort, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen.

“You really think your mother will be worse?” he asked.

Violet shivered. “Lily cries and complains, but she’s all words. Mother? Well, she’ll nod and smile, and then she’ll find some way to sabotage the whole affair. I already know what she thinks of me. Mother is a doer, not a talker.”

He leaned down until she could feel his breath against her neck. “Yes,” he said, “but Lily’s peculiar reaction…that’s Lily.”

Violet started to turn toward him.

“And no,” he said, “I won’t say anything more because she’s your sister and I’m not an idiot. But…” He paused. “No. Not saying that, either. I’m still not an idiot.”

Violet smiled despite herself. “It’s hard for her. She has eleven children. She has to think of them first.”

“Mmm.”

“She’s never done well with dark secrets,” Violet said. “When our father passed away, she managed to convince herself the circumstances were quite different than they actually were.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s a lot to put on her,” Violet continued. “After all she went through with Father, to ask her to accept this?”

He turned her around to face him, leaning in so that his nose brushed hers. “Violet,” he said softly, “there is a massive difference between a man committing suicide and a woman discovering the secret of all biological life. Both cause upheaval, but one is a cause for mourning; the other is a reason to celebrate.”

“But—I’m still breaking an inviolate social rule.”

“Which one?” Sebastian asked with interest.

“The one that says that women should not think of certain things, should not discuss them in public.” She swallowed.

“Ah, the rule that says that women aren’t allowed to be intelligent.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Burn that one to the ground, Violet, and dance on the ashes. And damn anyone who tells you it’s selfish to do so.”

She couldn’t help herself. She smiled at him. His hands slid down her shoulders, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

“Burn it all, sweetheart.”

She was being seduced—thoroughly seduced. His fingers curled around her ribs, bringing her close to him. Her heart pounded; her hands prickled.

“And what do you think?” she whispered.

“I’ll douse the lot in paraffin oil.” His breath was warm against her lips; his hands hot, resting against her hips. “I’d tell you to fetch a match, but you have always had your own spark.”

Violet’s entire being lit up, canting toward him. She yearned to touch him back, to run her hands through the dark curls of his hair. Her body wanted his, wanted him with the quiet, seductive beat of her pulse, the liquid heat that began to gather as he stroked her side.

But she remembered these stages all too well. She knew what it meant to be cajoled. And she couldn’t stop that jolt of fear running through her, that flesh-deep memory of what followed passion.