"You would, wouldn't you?" As always, Sarah never seemed to know if Violet was jesting or not. "You'd ask him?"
Violet nodded. "I would." And she just might—if she could screw up the courage. She knew from Henry that Payen would be staying for a few days—something about wanting to make sure there was no backlash from the Silver Palm. His presence would add to the scandalbroth, but the worst of it had surely already happened.
She had a pretty good idea of what his answer would be too—some idiocy about him being a vampire and her a human. Sweet God, wasn't that easy enough to remedy? All he had to do was make her a vampire too—the fool.
The door came flying open and in burst Eliza, her face flushed and her eyes wild. She hadn't even removed her hat or gloves. "I'm going to strangle Payen Carr!"
Violet arched a brow. "You've been to town, haven't you?"
Her guardian nodded, still trying to catch her breath. "I have."
"Even though Henry told you expressly not to go. Eliza, you went looking for trouble, and found it, didn't you?"
"It found me," the older woman replied defensively. "I was at the glove shop looking for a new pair of gray gloves when Mrs. Randall approached me—that vile wretch of a woman."
Sarah's eyes widened at the venom in Eliza's tone, but Violet forced a small smile. "She couldn't wait to say something, eh?"
Eliza shook her head as she tugged at her hat pin. "Gossiping busybody."
Folding her arms over her chest, Violet braced herself. "So what's the word from town? Am I ruined?"
Eliza's arms crumpled to her side like a rag doll's. Defeated, she sank into a chair next to Sarah, holding her hat in her lap. "Yes." Her gaze locked with Violet's. "I'm certain Rupert had nothing to do with it, but given Payen's untimely arrival and the fact that he had left so abruptly five years ago…The gossips are convinced you were lovers and that Rupert cried off because of it. I'm so sorry my dear."
Ruined. The word sounded so strange in Violet's head. Ruin was what happened when something was soiled beyond repair. She didn't feel soiled.
Eliza was beside her now. "We'll go to France, or Italy. You'll meet someone there, or at least let the scandal die down."
Violet shook her head. "I'm not leaving. Not yet."
"But dearest—"
"No, Eliza." Her tone was sharp, brooking no refusal. "Last time I checked, it took two people to bring about a woman's ruination. Payen Carr owes me. I let him get away five years ago, but he's not going to run away this time."
Eliza obviously didn't like the look in her eye. "Violet, what are you planning?"
"Payen is mine, and I'm his," she replied, her conviction taking the melodrama out of her words. "And it's about time he figured that out. I'm going to marry that va…man, if it's the last thing I do."
Chapter 4
That Eliza hadn't made good on her threat to open the drapes in his room was the first thought that occurred to Payen when he woke late that afternoon.
The second was the kiss Violet had given him the night before, the taste of it burned into his memory for all time.
Why would a woman whose wedding had just been interrupted—to put it mildly—kiss the man responsible? And the things she had said, the questions she asked. What the hell was her reasoning for that?
Ask himself why he came back, indeed. He had come to keep her from marrying a man who was part of a great evil. Did she think he took pleasure in ruining her wedding?
God, he hoped not, because he had taken pleasure in it. There had been more pleasure in preventing Violet from marrying Villiers than there had been in the last five years of his life.
Pathetic, that was.
And he resolved not to think on it any longer. He knew when he left Violet last time that there could be no future for them. As much as he adored her, the years had tossed one too many capricious women in his path. The years had taken one too many away as well. He'd been betrayed, devastated, endangered, and made a fool of one too many times.
The laughable part was that none of it had hardened him against women or love, but rather it had made him a coward, reluctant to risk his heart—or anyone else's—when there was such an overwhelming possibility of having it broken.
He listened in the darkness, concentrating on the sounds of the house until he found the one he sought. Violet. She was talking to Eliza, asking if Payen had given any indication as to how long he planned to stay.
Long enough to make sure she was safe. Then, he would leave again, but he had made arrangements for Eliza and Henry to have use of his properties in France or Venice should Violet decide to go abroad until the scandal died down. He hadn't heard anything yet, of course, but a canceled wedding always caused talk.
Once he knew that Villiers was no longer a threat to Violet or the Rexleys he would move on, and it would be a long time before he returned—if at all in their lifetime. It was better for all involved if he stayed as far away from Violet as possible.
Tossing back the covers, he slipped out of bed and walked naked across the darkened room to the attached bath. He washed and dressed and then lit a lamp and sat down to read for a bit. Reading quieted his mind, and helped whittle away the remaining hours until the summer sun began to sink into the west. Almost as though he had set an internal clock, he knew exactly when it was safe to leave the room and go downstairs.
And when he did, Violet wasn't there.
"She decided to take a tray in her room," Eliza told him. The look she gave him left no question as to who was responsible for her unsociability.
There was nothing he could say to make his friend less angry with him. Nothing he could say to make everything better. He could only hope that Eliza, and especially Violet, learned to forgive him.
Although Violet hadn't seemed all that upset with his actions last night. In fact, she had thanked him. So why was she avoiding him now?
The question ate at him all through dinner. He ate because it gave him a sense of normalcy and habit, not because it gave him sustenance. That he would find elsewhere later this evening, when he could sneak out without anyone realizing he was gone.
But before he went, he was going to have to speak to Violet. As the evening wore on, Payen grew more and more agitated. What if something was wrong? What if Villiers had tried to contact her? Or what if they planned an elopement?
It was ridiculous of course, because Violet had seemed so relieved the night before. However, he had been duped by other seemingly "honest" women in the past. If Violet's behavior had been meant to throw him off, she had succeeded.
Damn it all, if she ran off with Villiers he would chase her to the ends of the earth to bring her the hell back. And he'd take Villiers' head off with his own bare hands.
The thought of her running away increased his agitation. Images of her laughing with Villiers, kissing him, letting him touch her flittered through his mind, torturing him more than any adversary ever had, until he was pacing the parlor like a caged beast, ready to pounce at even the smallest prey.
Watching him warily, Eliza announced around eleven that she and Henry were going to bed. Henry opened his mouth, but one glance from his wife shut it. His friend shot Payen a sympathetic glance. "Good night, Old Boy."
Payen didn't have to force a smile. He couldn't remember a time when someone in that family hadn't referred to him as "Old Boy." "Good night, Henry. Eliza."
She merely nodded her head at him. And then, as she followed her husband from the room, she turned and fixed Payen with a gaze that could have frozen fire itself.
"She asked me not to say anything, but I thought you should know. Your little spectacle last night has damaged Violet's reputation irrevocably. The gossips have the two of you pegged as lovers, and regardless of how true that might have been once, she is going to suffer for it now. I hope to God you were right about Rupert, because she is ruined, Payen. Worst of all, you could fix it, but I know you won't. And so does Violet."
She left then, with those bitter words stinging like a thousand angry wasps. Payen stared at the empty doorway, bathed in shame, and worse—regret.
No wonder she hadn't come down to dinner. Whatever kind feelings she'd had for him the night before, were surely destroyed now.
It was better this way. It would be easier when he left, knowing that she despised him. She would go on with her life and he could finally get on with his.
Easier be damned. He could not spend the rest of eternity knowing he had hurt her so badly. The last five years had been hell, he couldn't take hundreds more. Couldn't let Violet live out the rest of her days thinking the worst of him.
He was halfway up the stairs before he even realized he had left the parlor. Violet's room was at the far end of the hall—far enough away from Henry and Eliza's to give her privacy. Unfortunately, he had to pass the Rexleys' chambers to reach Violet's. Luckily, he had been sure and soft-footed as a human, and was damn near cat-like now.
He didn't knock. Couldn't risk anyone hearing. Wouldn't risk her turning him away. He turned the knob, was surprised to find it unlocked, and opened the door, letting himself into her private quarters without so much as a "please."
She was sitting by the window, bathed in moonlight and the soft glow of a lamp, wearing a flimsy little nightgown and wrapper. He could see the soft pink of her thigh through the thin satin, the flush of a hard nipple.
Christ.
Violet looked up from her book, not looking the least bit surprised to see him, or that he had barged into her room.
"Good evening, Payen." Rising from her chair, she cast the book aside, and stood before him, thick, glossy hair rippling around her shoulders, the faint musk of arousal clinging to her flesh. "Close the door, will you. I don't want us to be interrupted."