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."
It wasn't victory that thrilled Violet to her toes, but rather the realization that Payen could no more resist her than she him, the knowledge that she was not alone in this instinctual need.
She'd spent the evening waiting for him, knowing that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, that he would come to her, unable to stand being apart any longer.
God, how she loved being right.
She moved to him. Standing before him, their gazes locked, fused together by this shared heat, she loosened the ties on the front of her robe and shrugged the thin satin from her shoulders. It fell down her arms with a whisper and pooled around her ankles with a gentle caress.
Payen's sherry-hued gaze fell upon the heaviness of her breasts beneath her nightgown. Violet's breath caught, sharp and raw in her throat as he cupped them with his hands. His fingers were warm and firm as they massaged her needy flesh, his thumbs brushing the peaks with brutal tenderness. Her nipples hardened, tightening with every stroke. Sparks of pleasure ignited between her thighs, deep inside her in that place that ached to be filled by him.
Locking her gaze with his, Violet lifted her hands. Hooking her fingers beneath the straps of the gown, she pulled them down over her shoulders. He lifted his hands so that her nightgown fell to the floor on top of the already discarded wrapper. Naked, Violet stood stock still beneath Payen's gaze. Such an intimate appraisal would normally make her uncomfortable and too self-aware, but there was none of that with him, because she knew that in his eyes, she had no flaws—at least not physical ones. He seemed to love the full curves of her body, the width of her shoulders and hips.
"So beautiful," he whispered, the tips of his fingers skimming the pale roundness of her belly, up to her breasts again. "My sweet warrior queen."
Violet shivered at the caress of both hands and voice. She was trembling now, and he'd barely touched her. "Undress."
He grinned, a slow, seductive spreading of his lips. "Make me."
How could she resist such a challenge? Satisfaction rippled through her as she pulled his coat down his arms and tossed it aside. His cravat and waistcoat followed, and all the while, he stood there beneath her hands. He never once lifted a finger to assist her—his fingers were busy elsewhere, touching her anywhere he could, raising patches of gooseflesh on her sensitive skin.
As she pulled the tails of his shirt free from his trousers, Violet thrummed with anticipation. Her body seemed hot and prickly, parts of her heavy with need and others tight with desire. Her breasts brushed Payen's torso, the linen of his shirt scratching her flesh, making her gasp as it rasped against her nipples.
She pulled his shirt up. He grabbed the hem and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor.
His gold and faun hair was mussed, standing up in little spikes that made her hands itch to slip through the silky strands. The lamp lent hollows beneath his high cheekbones and accentuated the rippled muscles of his chest and abdomen.
Her mouth dry, Violet raised an eager hand. She touched the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder, her fingers caressing, gliding over the sleek muscle and knobby bones. Then down, her hand went, over the firm, satiny flesh of his chest. His pectorals were defined and separated by a slight indent that ran down to his stomach, where a fine trail of silken hair disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers.
"I think you're beautiful," she murmured, sliding both hands over him now. "Like a golden god." She didn't care if it sounded silly, that was how she saw him. She traced the indent of his navel with her finger, smiling as he sucked in a quick breath.
"It would take a god to resist you," he told her, his voice slightly hoarse.
Briefly, Violet met the heat of his gaze and saw the truth and desire there. Her heart caught and squeezed. She had to look away. Her gaze slid lower, to the bulge in the front of his trousers. Reaching down, she cupped him with her hand, smiling at the groan that escaped his lips as she rubbed the hard length of him with her palm.
"I've been told," she whispered, leaning close to his ear, "that a man finds it very pleasurable when a woman takes his erection into her mouth."
Beneath her hand Payen's erection twitched. He chuckled softly, fingers trailing down her spine to caress one buttock. "It's true. Are you going to take my cock into your mouth, Vi?"
Pulling back, she met his gaze without shame or embarrassment. "Would you like that, Payen?"
"Christ, yes."
Fingers fumbling, she unfastened the falls of his trousers, her gaze never leaving his as she slid the fine wool down the lean firmness of his hips and thighs. Kneeling, she removed his shoes and pulled his trousers over his feet. She tossed them aside and sat back on her calves, taking a moment to revel in his nakedness.
She rubbed her cheek against his thigh, feeling the springy hair there and warm, firm flesh. Then, turning her head, she admired the proud jut of his erection, the length and size of him. She was responsible for that—his desire and readiness.
For a moment, she doubted herself, and then she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his thickness. His body tensed in response. "That's it," he muttered. "Touch me. Lick me."
Violet needed no more encouragement. His words seemed to strike right at the very center of her sex, intensifying the hot ache there. She could feel dampness on her thighs, cool air on her slick, heated flesh. She kissed the tip, ran her tongue along the smooth, silky head, all the while stroking with her hand.