Ripe for Pleasure (26 page)

“And you love him.”

Leo nodded and held out a towel. That was the worst of it. He did—even after seeing what Charles had done to Viola, and the
horrors he’d unleashed upon her staff and neighbors. It simply didn’t seem real, didn’t seem possible, that it had been Charles.

If his family found out, they’d think it was over money. Something petty and rude. He’d never make them understand that the
treasure had become the least of it.

Maybe Beau, but not the rest. Not his brother. Certainly not his parents.

Viola rose unsteadily, and he helped her from the tub. Steam rose off her skin as though she were diffusing into the air.
The urge to grab her, to establish that she was real and his, surged through him. He crammed it down, ruthlessly.

“I love him, but I chose you.”

Her single open eye pinned him in place as neatly as if he were an exotic insect in a display box. “And you’re not sure if
you can forgive yourself.”

“No.” Leo shook his head, hair slipping from his queue to hang about his face. “I know I won’t be able to forgive myself for
even the smallest part of it. Not what I did to Charles; not for what I did to you.”

Viola nodded in an entirely noncommittal way and gingerly pulled on her dressing gown. She wrung the water from her hair,
a spiraling stream spilling back into the tub.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you either. Damnable, isn’t it? Love and hate getting tangled up this way.”

Leo held his breath, not entirely sure that she’d said what he thought. Had she been referring to them, or to him and Charles?
She didn’t wait for a response, retreating to her dressing table where various pots of salve had been left by her maid.

“But do you think it worth finding out?” His question fell into the room, heavy as a stone sinking in water.

Viola studied her face in the mirror, fingering her various cuts and bruises, ignoring him completely. Ignoring things was
an art, and she was a master in it. Finally she selected one of the small pots and began anointing her bruises with the salve
inside it. When she was done, she turned her head to face him.

“One of the things life has taught me, my lord, is to never discard anything of value. Does it make you wince to be thought
of as a thing? To be weighted and accessed as a commodity? Good. Yes, I think it worth finding out, but I make you no promises
of forgiveness or understanding. I don’t even promise to treat you nicely. Hell, I can’t swear I won’t stab you in your sleep.”

“Hate, love, and the urge to do murder. All the makings of a true Vaughn.”

Viola’s head snapped around, but she didn’t reply. Leo watched quietly as she returned to drying her hair.

It was more than he had any right to expect, though far less than he wanted. She didn’t owe him a damn thing, but having sacrificed
his cousin—his family—he couldn’t help but want more from her, of her. He’d pledged himself
to her in that moment, body and soul, and he wanted that in return. Craved it, bone deep.

As for the possibility of being murdered in his sleep, he’d expect no less from any woman in his family if she were treated
so abominably. Why should Viola be any different?

CHAPTER 29

T
heir return to Dyrham was a ludicrous affair that nearly made her wish she’d chosen to remain in town: four easy stages, in
the best-sprung coach she’d ever experienced, the seats folded out into a sumptuous bed where she and Pen could curl up and
nap the miles away.

Leo handled her as though she were fragile as fine wine, not to be shaken or unduly disturbed. His servants treated her likewise.
Only Pen could be trusted to cram her way in, pushing and shoving and demanding attention in her domineering and irresistible
way.

The lime avenue alerted her that they’d reached the outskirts of the estate. Pen turned in a restless circle and began to
pant. The familiar arch of limbs and leaves stirred an ache of longing behind her sternum. Ridiculous to have become so attached
to a house in such a short time.

The coach rolled to a stop, and Pen raised her head, ears pricked, tail churning with excitement. The coach swayed ever so
slightly as the footmen jumped down. The door opened, and Pen scrambled out, happy to be home.

Viola’s breath caught. Dyrham wasn’t home, whether her dog realized that or not. Leo had been right when he’d asserted that
London was no place for her to recuperate. Too many chances for someone to see her, for rumors to start, for someone to ask
questions. But all the same, she suddenly wished she’d answered differently and had gone instead to stay with Lady Ligonier.

She wanted this to an extent that frightened her. Wanted Leo, too, despite his many betrayals. What might she be willing to
give up to have it? To have him? And would it be worth it in the end?

She’d broken so many of her rules with him, for him.

Her poached egg arrived with its usual desultory promptness. A week of sleeping in, wandering about her room, and being kept
on nursery rations had her ready to rip the paper from the walls.

The entire household tiptoed around as though she were at death’s door. Everything was hushed, well-oiled, fully functional,
but deadly dull. The letter announcing that Lord Leonidas’s cousin would live had only seemed to makes things worse.

She dumped the egg into the saucer of her teacup and fed it to Pen. The dog swallowed it whole and turned to wipe her face
across Viola’s dressing gown. Viola stared down at the bits of drool and egg liberally smeared across her knee. At least this
one was linen and easily laundered. Silk was going to have to be banished from her wardrobe entirely unless her income from
the second installment of her memoir filled her coffers to unknown heights.

Or perhaps she could start a new fashion: watered silk,
à la chien.
She rubbed the egg off with a towel from her dressing table. Was there any point in getting dressed today? She turned the
idea over in her head.

If she didn’t leave this room soon, she was going to go mad. So yes, there was a very good reason to get dressed, even if
Leo might not approve. He’d been free to come and go, while she’d been caged like some animal in the Duke of Richmond’s menagerie.

A chemise gown worn over her jumps would be decent enough for the close gardens. She wouldn’t even venture so far as the folly.
She just needed fresh air in her lungs and sunlight on her skin, to look at something other than these four walls and the
distant, teasing canopy of trees and the sparkling twist of water.

An hour later, Viola was seated under a bower of laburnum, Pen lying at her feet, watching the butterflies and bees with hawklike
interest. It had taken resolution to bully her way past her maid and Leo’s butler, but she’d done it.

Off to one side, she could see the duchess’s tower. Occasionally, a groom would appear past the corner of the stable block,
exercising one of the horses. She saw Oleander, and Quiz, and a flash of blood bay that could only be Meteor. At one point,
Nance and Sampson wandered by in the distance.

Nance had been more than eager to return to Dyrham, and it seemed that her feelings were returned in full by Leo’s footman.
Would Leo mind if Viola stole his footman? She’d need one of her own if she left Leo, and Sampson was the obvious choice.

Nance had rushed to the kitchen upon their return
and rescued the Midsummer-men from the rafters. She’d found both pairs sweetly entwined, and she’d put great stock in them.
Viola had wrapped her own in paper and tucked it into a drawer, feeling foolish in the extreme as she did so.

Two dried twigs, tied together and bent in until the flowering heads were united. Nothing but a country superstition, but
she couldn’t bring herself to toss hers out any more than Nance could.

A bee tumbled slowly from flower to flower, its soft hum providing a lazy contrast to its activity. Viola breathed deeply
and concentrated on the feeling of the sun working its way through the layers of her clothing… She woke to Lord Leonidas’s
chuckle and the sound of Pen’s feet churning the gravel walk as she greeted him.

“Not as recovered as you thought, eh?” His long-fingered hand caressed the dog’s ear, pulling it softly while Pen leaned into
him with all her might.

Viola covered her answering yawn with her hand. “I needed air.” Her body hummed in tune with the bees at the sight of him.
The sun turned his hair into a dark halo and caught the slight burr of his beard, shadowing his jaw. Shallowness was a sin
she’d have to lay claim to, covetousness, too.

“Walls starting to close in on you?”

She nodded. It would all be so much easier if only he weren’t so beautiful. It caught one off guard. His green eye was merry
again, something it hadn’t been even before her abduction. When was the last time she’d seen that particular glint? For the
life of her, she simply couldn’t remember. Her traitorous heart set her pulse fluttering.

Damn it all, she didn’t
want
to want him.

A smile tugged at her mouth, and she gave in, even though the motion pulled at her still-healing lower lip. He was a scoundrel,
and he’d nearly got her killed, but that teasing green eye was impossible to resist.

Weak, wanton, and a fool. That’s what she’d become. What she’d been reduced to. And she was likely to remain so for as long
as the world allowed her. Outside Dyrham, she might come to her senses, but while here, never. Had he known that when he’d
swept her out of town? His wicked green eye implied he had.

Leo took Viola’s answering smile as an invitation to linger. Since her abduction, she’d been haughty, reticent, angry, dismissive;
anything other than welcoming and soft. And he couldn’t blame her, though he wanted the lady with the knowing smile back far
more than it was safe for a man to want something.

What was it his grandmother always said about provoking the gods? Something about hubris being a man’s downfall? He couldn’t
quite remember, but it amounted to not setting one’s heart on something too hard. The swelling around her eye had entirely
disappeared, leaving just a purple-black ring. The bruise on her cheek had faded, too, nothing but a sallowness edged in grayish
lavender to show where it had been.

Leo tamped down the rising flood of guilt. She didn’t want his apologies, and they wouldn’t do his cousin a damn bit of good.
He’d been given a choice worthy of Solomon, and he’d made it.

He flicked back the skirt of his coat and sat, straddling
the bench where she’d been dozing. She sighed and leaned into him, much as her dog had done moments before. Her head settled
on his shoulder, and one hand gripped his waistcoat, fingers curling inside. He could remember his nephews in just such a
pose, sleepy and content as he carried them to the nursery.

He wrapped both arms around her and rested his head atop hers. He’d been planning on chasing his invalid back into the house,
but this was infinitely preferable. Her hair smelled faintly of citrus, lemons or orange blossom. He buried his nose in her
hair, content to wonder, content to wallow in the thrill of simply being allowed to do so.

After several minutes, Viola turned her head slightly and kissed him, lips firm, almost demanding. A tremor ran through her.
Leo groaned and kissed her back. It had been forever since he’d touched her, and he’d not been sure he’d ever be allowed to
again.

“Come up to the bathhouse.” She slid off his lap and tugged him up. A shadow of her coquettish smile slid across her mouth.
God, how he wanted that smile back. He’d give just about anything to see it in all its glory.

Fingers twined, they wandered slowly through the garden and up to the path that led from the house to the bathhouse. Once
inside, she kissed him again, kept kissing him, lips, tongue, and teeth all brought to bear, even as he fumbled with the series
of ties at the back of her chemise gown. The gown fell to the floor in a pool of white linen. She backed away, smiling, eyes
never leaving his.

Whatever had happened to her, between them, she was still quite powerfully herself. Still Viola. Wicked charm still infused
her eyes. Her naughty dimples appeared for
the scantest of moments, flashing like a distant light at sea.