One night in a lords bed, p.11
One Night in a Lord's Bed, page 11
But he wouldn’t.
Because there was still one line Alex would not cross, even more so than not dallying with an innocent. He would not hurt another person who was already hurting. And Violet was hurting. She might not say so. She would likely even deny it. She might not even realize it herself. But she was hurting. He had seen the hurt in her eyes the moment he had walked into that infernally small drawing room, and she had looked up at him with those wide, hazel eyes. He had looked and he had seen.
Alex had seen a mirror of his own hurt in Lady Violet Denton. The pain of abandonment. The pain of believing that one was not good enough. That they were not wanted and of no value to anyone.
His pain was no longer as acute as it had once been, time and a few friends healing those wounds to some degree. But for Violet? For her, the pain was still sharp and raw. He could see it when she looked at him and wondered to herself why he was there. Wondered what value she had to him that he would seek her out. And what he would do with her when he was finished with her.
Alex had seen that pain and he had made a vow then and there. He would not inflict any more hurt upon this already injured woman. He would rather die first.
So as much as he wanted her and as much as his cock ached for the feel of a woman, he would not touch Violet. No matter how much it hurt him in return.
Decision made, Alex shut the door between their rooms though he did not lock it.
If Violet called out in the night, he wanted to be there for her. Or so he told himself.
Alex also told himself that he was just being noble but the truth was, he left the door unlocked to test his own strength. Because if he could resist the allure of Violet, naked and warm in bed with only an unlocked door between them, then he was stronger than he imagined himself to be. And he had a feeling that in the coming days, he would need to be stronger than he had ever imagined.
Chapter Nine
Violet awoke to the sound of rain tapping on the window, her bare body lying on one of the softest mattresses she had ever had the great fortune to encounter. It took her a long moment to remember where she was but then images from the night before began to flash in front of her eyes.
Alex finding her in the hallway and carrying her to his room. Alex stripping her bare – not to ravish her but to care for her. Alex putting her in bed.
Alex’s hands on her, touching her as though he wanted her, desired her. As if she mattered to him. As if he cared. He liked the way she said his name. He liked her.
Except that Violet thought he had put her in his bed. Not hers. Either she was wrong, or he had moved her back to her own room for propriety’s sake. In any case, she was back in the old marchioness’ chambers. Or at least she assumed that was where she was since her chambers connected directly to Alex’s. That much she remembered with rather vivid clarity.
“Good morning, miss.”
The sound of a cheery feminine voice had Violet sitting upright in bed rather quickly, a sheet clutched tightly to her chest. In the corner of the room stoking the fire in the grate was a maid so young she barely looked to be out of the schoolroom.
“Good morning?” Violet ventured, having no idea who this woman was. “And you are?”
The maid turned and dipped into a curtsey. “I am Meggie, miss. Lord Buxton assigned me to be your lady’s maid while you’re with us.”
“Are you even old enough to be a maid?” Violet couldn’t imagine Alex having a girl this young in his employ. So much for not dallying with innocents. Also, so much for not lying.
The maid, who had apparently already unpacked Violet’s trunk, one that had magically appeared overnight, paused in her duties. “I’m seventeen, miss. More than qualified, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“My apologies.” Violet prayed she hadn’t embarrassed this young woman. “I just thought…”
Meggie held up her hand. “I know what you think, miss. Same as all the others what pass through here, I’d wager. But it’s not like that. Lord Buxton is a good man. He offered me a position here when I was forced to leave my old one.”
“Forced?” Violet’s head was swimming and she wondered if she wasn’t becoming ill. “I don’t understand.”
“My previous employer, miss, was not as kind as Lord Buxton.” Meggie looked away. “He…mistreated his staff, especially the women, if you take my meaning. Lord Buxton found out about me and offered me a place here. He didn’t even require references.”
Suddenly, Violet understood. Alex had taken in a young, terrified girl who had been abused – and possibly raped – by her previous employer. Alex didn’t dally with innocents. Just as he said. He protected them. Just as he had done with her last night.
Suddenly, everything from the previous night made a great deal more sense and Violet found herself blushing with shame.
Foolish, foolish girl.
Alex hadn’t desired Violet or wanted her in his bed. He was being protective of her. Just as he had been with Meggie. She truly was a foolish, foolish girl, just as her mother had called her all those years ago. Still, best to get these ridiculous ideas out of her head now before she made a fool out of herself, she supposed.
“I see. My apologies, Meggie. I had no idea.” Violet looked around the room. “But I should tell you that you don’t need to unpack my trunk. Lord Buxton and I will be leaving soon. Likely today, I should think.”
Instead of listening, the maid continued to pull out the remainder of Violet’s dull, drab wardrobe and for a moment, Violet was also embarrassed that she didn’t own one pretty gown any longer. Not that it really mattered, she supposed.
“I’m afraid not, miss.” Meggie continued on as if Violet hadn’t spoken. “The rain that started last night ‘as continued on, it did. The roads are a mess and the ones on eastward of here are washed away. Or at least one of them is. According to Beekson, the butler, you and the master won’t be able to leave for a day or two. Possibly longer.”
A day or two? Violet wanted to scream in frustration. A day or two trapped here with Alex would be sheer torture. Yes, they had established something of a truce yesterday, but that did not mean they got along. Last night didn’t count, as they had both been weary to the bone and likely not been thinking clearly. When they were? He would still probably be a pompous, arrogant ass who did not like to reveal his precious information and she would still be out of sorts with him.
He also still would not like her nearly as much as she liked him. Again, whatever he had said last night did not count, even though she wanted it to.
Except Alex had told her a few things about her brother. Violet could concede that much, at least. And he wasn’t all bad, she supposed. Meggie’s presence in the house was proof enough of that.
“I suppose I should dress then and go see his lordship. Perhaps we could discuss travel plans over breakfast.” When flummoxed or uncertain, a practical approach to matters had always been Violet’s best defense.
“Nay. Luncheon, my lady. You and the marquess both slept far longer than any of us thought you might.” Meggie turned to another trunk, removed a garment, and then shook out a lovely, pale pink gown that Violet did not recognize. She did not have more than one trunk. Not any longer. “Then again, you were near exhaustion and Lord Buxton injured when you arrived last night. Or so I’m told.”
Alex? Injured? Violet wondered how she could not have known. He hadn’t told her, but surely she would have seen some injury on his body, even in the growing dark of the previous day. Was she that self-centered that she hadn’t noticed?
“I had no idea,” she finally managed, desperate to leap out of bed and see Alex for herself but also knowing that would not be wise.
“Ah, he’s fine, he is. Takes more than that to hurt Lord Alex. Still, it’s nigh on half eleven, miss. You might want to dress.” Meggie gestured to the clock. “Though Lord Buxton said to leave you sleep as late as you liked. Said you came from rough circumstances.” Meggie looked away. “I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.”
Violet supposed the young maid did know. “Yes, but like you, Lord Buxton came to my rescue.” For which she had only grudgingly thanked him. Then again, he had seen her naked. He had undressed her himself. They were well past polite thank you-s at this point. “And I am very grateful.”
Changing topics, Violet gestured at the dress Meggie was holding, this one a light topaz colored frock. Gorgeous and obviously well made, the gown bore a trace of golden lace at the bottom, indicating it was a Madame LaVallier creation. Since Violet had only seen the famed London modiste’s fabulous gowns in fashion plates and recreations in the newspapers, she knew that gown couldn’t be hers. Had her trunks been mixed up with someone else’s? Was Alex also assisting another young woman? Was she here beneath his roof too? If so, Violet imagined the woman would like her things back.
An image of Alex with an unknown woman passed through her mind just then and made Violet shift beneath the covers uncomfortably, the idea actually bringing her physical pain. She also had to fight down a stab of jealousy when she thought of Alex with another woman. Drat it all, anyway.
“I must say, that gown you are holding is quite exquisite, but whose is it?” Violet was rather proud that her voice did not betray her silly thoughts.
“Yours, miss,” Meggie replied as she gave the fabric a loving pat and hung it in the wardrobe.
Violet shook her head. “You must have my things mixed up with someone else’s. I’ve never owned anything nearly that fashionable.” Or that lovely, Violet wanted to add.
Once again, Meggie shrugged, revealing more of her practical side, something that Violet could appreciate. “Beekson said all of these were your trunks, my lady. And Beekson never makes a mistake, miss, just so you know.”
“Trunks? All of them? As in more than one?” Violet finally took a moment to truly look around the room and she was left utterly speechless when she did so. She had departed Mrs. Smithson’s with a single, battered trunk, the same one she had possessed since childhood. That one, with the few precious possessions she still owned, was tucked into a far corner of the room, obviously unopened.
The rest of the room, however, was littered with massive new trunks, far more extravagant and expensive than anything she had ever owned. Trunks. Plural. As in six or seven. Not to mention a new valise, several hat boxes, and other assorted bits and pieces of luggage that Violet had never seen in her life. And that had also obviously cost a fortune. A fortune she did not have.
The Dentons, and the Moxham marquisate in general, had never been particularly wealthy. Well-settled perhaps, but certainly never enough to be extravagant. At least not at this level. This sort of excess could be afforded only by the highest reaches of Society, like the Duke of Candlewood. And, yes, possibly the Marquess of Buxton as well.
Had Alex done this for her? If so, how had he known she would be coming here? To his home? Better yet, how had he known her exact measurements, for that peach day dress that Meggie was now unfolding looked as if it would fit her perfectly?
No. No. This was wrong. He could not do this. He should not do this. If nothing else, Violet still had some small shred of pride left, though admittedly there wasn’t much. She was no one’s charity case either. Nor was she a kept woman.
If people knew, if Society found out…
She would be ruined. Or more so than she already was.
According to what Violet had read in the Town Tattler, when she was mentioned – which had been only once – she had been portrayed as a young woman unfairly punished for a youthful indiscretion. Most people felt her punishment had been too harsh and Violet had secretly hoped that she might eventually return to Society with her brother, if even for a few days, before being returned to the country to live out the rest of her days in solitude.
Violet would never be a debutante. That time had long since passed, and she had already been presented at court. She would never have a Season. She was too old for that. She would never have a husband. She was too old and too mired in scandal for that as well. But she could have a day or two to live in the glittering lights of London so that she might carry those memories with her in her old age. She had hoped to convince William to give her that much at least before he cast her aside.
But if she arrived at Havenhurst with a flashy new wardrobe full of the finest silks and satins and fripperies money could buy on the arm of the Marquess of Moxham – known reprobate and rake? People would talk. They would say she was his mistress. His doxy. Even if she wasn’t and had never been. For no woman who had been teaching French and embroidery at a remote finishing school, lady or not, would have gowns done in the first stare of fashion. Such a woman would have gray, drab gowns. The kind packed in Violet’s original trunk.
But a nobleman’s mistress? She would have clothes like this.
And all of the assembled guests at Havenhurst would believe that was precisely what she was.
No. Violet would not allow that to happen. She could not.
And she would tell Alex so. Once she was clothed in her old things, of course, though Violet had a feeling that Meggie would not allow her anywhere near that old trunk. Very well. She would make do. She always did.
Swinging her feet over the side of the bed and doing her best not to blush over her nudity, Violet decided it was time to dress for the day. And to figure out just what sort of nonsense Alex had obviously been up to long before he had even met her.
Alex was standing near the window overlooking the back gardens and enjoying a glass of brandy – something he rarely did, but today seemed like a good occasion to indulge – when Violet stormed into the room. Much as he had expected she would.
The moment she had awoken, Beekson was there with the news, having received the signal from Meggie the maid. It was at that point that Alex had begun to prepare himself for what he knew would most likely be a very enraged young woman, though hopefully one more fashionably dressed than she had been in years. If ever.
At the very least, Alex hoped Violet would wear one of the new frocks he had commissioned for her.
He was not disappointed.
When Violet strode into the room in a magnificent fury, she looked just as magnificent as her temper appeared to be. If not more so.
Clad in a peach muslin day dress trimmed in white lace, she looked the picture of innocence. If innocence more resembled one of the Greek Furies than a sweet and demure young lady. Her hair had been artfully arranged in a riot of curls and she smelled of his signature citrus soap made from the rinds of the lemons and oranges he cultivated in his orangery.
In other words, she looked and smelled divine. Like sin and temptation itself.
Something primal stirred in Alex’s gut at the sight of her, but he ruthlessly tamped down the sensation. Now was not the time to let his cock rule his brain.
“Violet. How lovely to see you.” Alex plastered on what he thought was his most charming smile and prepared for the worst.
“That is Miss Denton to you, my lord!” she snapped irritably.
He raised an eyebrow at her much the way Beekson did. “After I have seen you unclothed? I think not. Besides, did we not cover this last evening?”
“You bought me clothes!” she raged. “Clothes! How could you?”
Alex rolled his eyes, his temper already close to a boiling point at the picture of temptation she painted. And really, the chit ought to be more grateful. “Yes. I bought you some new clothes. Well, to be more precise, I procured you an entire new wardrobe once I was fairly certain I had located you. I wished for you to have pretty things and look the part of a lady, which you are. It was also necessary to Lord Candlewood’s plan to present you to Society when the time was right. Thus, I followed my orders and procured you a wardrobe. How terrible of me.”
“Do you know how this looks?” Violet shook her fist at him as she crossed the room. “It will appear to everyone that I am your mistress!”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Alex gave her a rather sarcastic look, hoping to prevent her from coming closer as that would be a very bad idea, given how much he wanted to kiss her just then. “After all that has transpired between us, that is what you are most worried about? That someone will think you are my mistress?”
“I’m an innocent!” Violet raged, reaching out as if to slap him before thinking better of it. God’s bones, if she touched him, Alex knew it would be all over. He would lose his already tenuous hold on his self-control and pounce on her. “You don’t dally with innocents! You said so yourself! And yet you made me appear to be your whore!”
He snorted, his anger coming very close to exploding. “You were naked in my arms last night, my sweet. I did not hear you protesting then.”
“No one knows that!” Violet shot back, a blush creeping up her cheeks, though she still did her best to appear to be the injured party. “No one saw! But this?” She grabbed a fistful of the skirt’s fabric and shook it in his general direction. “This is something people will see. And even if it is not true that I am your mistress, they will talk. I cannot do this and you cannot make me!”
“You are not my mistress and everyone will know that! I do not…”
“Dally with innocents. Yes, I know,” she spat. “I believe we have covered that rather thoroughly. Many times over. So much so that I am sick of hearing it!”
Growing exasperated, Alex slapped his hand on a nearby table, making a vase rattle. He was tired of arguing. “That does not mean you still cannot be properly attired. No one need know where these clothes came from.”
At that, the chit had the gall to laugh. “You think modistes, no matter where they are located, do not talk, Alex? You know they do. All servants do, no matter how well you pay them. They will talk and people will know you ordered these clothes. No one else. And they will assume I allowed you to bed me in exchange for a lovely new wardrobe and God only know what else. And I will be thought a whore and ruined, more than I already am. You can’t do this to me, Alex. I won’t allow it!”
