Ripe for Pleasure (32 page)

L
anguid as a cat, Viola stretched beside Leo till her extremities quivered. She made a happy, contented sound and pillowed
her head upon his chest, damp skin to damp skin. Leo wrapped one arm around her and twisted one dangling curl around his index
finger. Her hair never ceased to amaze him. It was pointless to even resist the urge to touch it, the almost constant need
to touch her.

He’d been a bastion of self-denial since his arrival and kept to his own rooms each night. Had kept his hands—and everything
else—to himself, doing a fair imitation of a proper affianced gentleman. It had gone smoothly enough until Viola had crept
into his room an hour or so ago.

He traced the shell of her ear with a curl-wrapped finger. “My mother says I shouldn’t ask about your first marriage or your
refusal to invite your parents to bear witness to ours.”

“And so you find you can’t stop yourself.”

He chuckled, and she pulled away slightly, attempting to sit up. He kept his hold on her hair, and she swiveled about to face
him.

“Do you mind my asking?”

“No.” Her finger circled on his chest, tracing an invisible pattern. “But I’m not certain you’ll like—or even understand—the
answer.”

“To not even write to tell them. It seems—”

“Unnatural?” she asked. “My parents never answered a single letter after I eloped. I’d shamed them, disobeyed them. I put
myself outside their circle of responsibility, beyond their ability to love. You look horrified. Don’t be. Ours wasn’t a warm
family to begin with.”

“Was he so unworthy, your first husband?”

She laughed, but her eyes were bleak. “I was the unworthy one, not Stephen. He was the son and heir of a baronet, but his
parents disapproved, and my father was dependent upon Sir Henry for his living. ‘The life of a vicar is a hard one, full of
denial and piety. We should all know our place in the world and be grateful for it. Seeking to exalt ourselves is defiance
of God’s plan for us.’ ”

The bitter tone of what were undoubtedly family maxims turned his stomach. “And you dared to be ungrateful for what your father
thought God’s plan?”

“Well, I dared to believe that God helps those who help themselves, and that Stephen loving me might also fall within God’s
plan.”

“Heresy, clearly. For who could possibly love you?” He ran one finger down the side of her face.

She bit his hand hard enough to sting, the smile lurking in the corner of her mouth attempting to work its way up to her eyes.
He rubbed at the mark she’d left.

“Defiance was my crime. My sin.”

“Hence your defense of Glennalmond.” When his
mother had told him, Leo had known some such thing must be at its core.

“I can’t stand for there to be discord between the two of you on my account. It’s not worth it.”

“There you’re wrong.
You
are worth it. My brother will come round. See if he doesn’t. He’ll be at the church, Friday-faced as a wet cat perhaps, but
there all the same.”

“Under duress.”

“No, Father told him to take himself off if he couldn’t behave. The only compunction to appear is love. My brother may not
like me very much, but that’s not what matters.”

“Well, then, you’re far luckier in your family than I.”

Leo nodded again, anger flushing through his veins. Whatever her failings, she’d deserved better from her family, and she
deserved better from his brother. Glennalmond couldn’t see past the “what” to the “who.” Of course, he had much the same problem
with his own wife.

“And your husband’s family?”

Viola snorted and shook her head. “They blamed me when Stephen died. It was my fault for forcing the estrangement. My fault
for taking him away from them. My fault he’d contracted scarlet fever. My fault our child had as well.”

He didn’t realize she was crying until a sudden smattering of tears traced their way across his skin. “Here now, love.” He
sat up and wiped his thumbs across her cheeks. She shook her head violently, hair flying, cutting him off. His mother had
mentioned the death of her husband, but not that she’d had a child as well.

“They were enraged that I had the temerity to live,
useless and unnecessary as I was,” she said, her voice gruff.

“And your own parents?”

“Sent a letter along much to the same effect.” She wiped at her eyes and pushed her hair back. “My own vile conduct had landed
me where I was, and their death was a judgment upon me. If it hadn’t been for my husband’s best friend, I’d have ended up
in the workhouse.”

Leo held his breath, stifling the urge to comment. He might be a scoundrel who’d seduced his way into her bed for money, but
he’d never betrayed a friendship as that gentleman had. No, not gentleman. He didn’t deserve the title.

“Perhaps I should have done better by him.” Her breath shuddered out of her.

“You?” He couldn’t keep the indignant note out of his voice.

“Yes, me. I was alone in the world, save for poor William, and I clung to him quite tenaciously. You can’t possibly understand
what it was like to be a penniless widow at seventeen.”

“I’d guess it was terrifying.” And unfair. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t invited her parents because he wasn’t entirely
sure he could be civil to them.

“At first, it was just bewildering, but William took care of everything.” Her expression softened. Jealousy twisted in his
gut like a bad supper. Ridiculous, but there all the same.

“And misery loves company.”

“Yes, I rather think it does. And we
were
miserable, the pair of us. We were miserable friends for nearly a year
before we became equally miserable lovers for a few short months.”

“And then?”

She shrugged. “One day I woke up and just knew that if I didn’t find a way out, I’d end up flinging myself into the Thames.
I missed Stephen. I missed our child. And though I was past wishing I died with them, I couldn’t let them go while William
was there to remind me of them. Luckily, a way out promptly presented itself in the form of one Lord Doneraile. William was
appalled—that was the first inkling I had that he hadn’t thought out what we were doing any further than I had—but he was
relieved, I think, in the end. He’d become trapped every bit as much as I.”

“So you’ve no regrets about your career as a courtesan?”

“I might be brought to admit regret for its necessity, but given my options? No. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know any
successful courtesan who does. Grace Dalrymple? Sophia Baddeley? Elizabeth Armistead? You’d find not an ounce of regret among
them. And don’t forget, if my parents had taken me back, or I’d chosen the workhouse over my virtue, we’d never have met.”

“Which would have been a very great shame indeed.” He pulled her up and rolled her beneath him, pinioning her hands over her
head.

“I agree, my lord.”

Leo kissed her hard. “In a few days’ time, I, too, will be able to tease you with your title and call you
my lady,
but for now, I’m of a mind to enjoy the thrill of having Mrs. Whedon in my bed. She’s above the touch of a second son like
me, you know.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told. But sometimes she, ah…”
Viola gasped as his hand slid between her thighs. “She, ah, makes exceptions.”

He slipped two fingers inside her and bent his head to tease her clitoris with his tongue. “Why would she do that?” He blew
across her damp flesh, and then fastened his mouth over the sensitive peak.

“Talent.
Oh, God.
The thrill of—
oh, sweet—
”

And then she stopped talking entirely… unless repeating his name in all its various combinations counted.

“You get everything, damn you.”

Viola forced herself awake, pushed her hair from her eyes and struggled free of the bedding that tangled about her legs like
a shroud. She knew that voice. Knew it and had hoped never to hear it again. Had been promised she’d never hear it again by
no less a personage than the duke himself.

“Charles, I’ve told you,” Leo said, “there’s nothing to
get.
The treasure is not there.”

Charles’s laugh rattled about the room like a drunk. Viola reached over the side of the bed and fished frantically for her
dressing gown. Naked was decidedly not how she wanted to encounter Leo’s cousin.

“So you say, but if there’s no profit in it, why marry a whore?”

An angry huff was Leo’s only response. Viola slid her arms into her dressing gown and closed it as best she could while still
seated in bed. The two men were in the far corner of the room. MacDonald stood near the fireplace, rubbing his shoulder. Leo
was beside him, his back to the bed, wearing only a pair of linen drawers.

“The only reason for such insanity is that
you
may not
have the treasure, but she does. Why else make a fool of yourself? Why sully the halls of Skelton with such an addition? Do
you think I’m stupid, Cousin?”

“No, Charles. I think you’re determined to see the worst in the world. The worst in me. The worst in Mrs. Whedon. The worst
in Father even. And I think you’re so angry you don’t even understand that what you see are your own delusions.”

“So now I’m mad, am I? And here I thought you were the madman in the family.”

“What do you
want,
Charles?”

“What do I want?” Anger and sarcasm dripped off his words, making Viola’s skin break out in gooseflesh. “Justice for my family.
For the MacDonalds. A new beginning, for them and for me. The usurper’s German head on a spike, and our true king on the throne.”
His voice rose until he was shouting. “What do I want, Cousin? I want what’s mine. I want what’s right.”

“And you think I have it?” Leo spun about as Viola spoke. His cousin shot up from the windowsill, moonlight flashing along
the barrel of the small pistol he held in his hand. Viola’s stomach clenched. Why had she left Pen sleeping in her room? If
she’d brought the dog along, none of this would be happening.

“You must,” Charles said, “for I don’t, and Leo here wouldn’t have any reason to do something so vile as marry a doxy if there
wasn’t some irresistible inducement to force him to the altar.”

“And you think it’s the prince’s treasure.” Viola nodded, mind racing for options. Certainly his shouts must have woken someone
by now.

“Yes,” Charles spat out.

“Why would I want to share it with your cousin? A younger son, who wants nothing so much as a life in the country surrounded
by horses and dogs? Wouldn’t I be better off as a wealthy courtesan in some Continental capitol where these things are understood?
Or as a wealthy widow with a new name in some Irish hinterland?”

MacDonald made a strangled, inarticulate sound of pure rage. “No! Because you know I’d find you. You know I’d be coming for
what’s mine. You need my cousin because he’s the only thing between you and me.”

“So what do you want
here,
tonight?” Viola laced her voice with disdain. “Do you think I brought it with me in a strongbox? Or do you think your cousin
is simply going to let you steal me—and it—right out from under his nose?” She advanced on them, keeping MacDonald’s attention
locked firmly on her. “What’s your plan?”

He was gawking at her now, shaking with rage. He cocked the gun and pointed it not at her, but at his cousin. “I think you’ll
leave with me now, and I think you’ll do it because you don’t want to watch me shoot Leo. And I will. After all, it would
only be fair, seeing as he’s already shot me.”

Leo cleared his throat, and Viola cursed him under her breath. If she held his cousin’s attention, he just might be able to
overpower him.

“What if I told you where it was?” Leo said. “What if I took you to it?”

“So you admit you have it. That it’s real. That you’ve been
lying
to me all this time.”

Leo nodded, hair swinging about his shoulders. “You
could leave tonight with directions and a letter for the footman who guards Mrs. Whedon’s house and the treasure.”

“Leave, with no leverage? With no guarantee that you’d not play me false yet again? I think not, Cousin. I think I’ll hang
on to the one thing I know you value—lord knows why—and let you do the fetching. I’ll see you at the Three Swans in Dover
a week from tomorrow. If you bring the prince’s treasure, I’ll tell you where to find Mrs. Whedon.”

“So I’m to trust you, where you’d not trust me?” Leo felt each word scrape past his teeth. He flexed his hands and shifted
his weight. If only Viola had stayed safely in bed.

“I’m not the one who’s been lying here, Cousin.” Charles’s lips were pursed as he glared at him. He turned his attention to
Viola, gesturing with the gun. “Come, Mrs. Whedon. Out we go.”

Leo took a step back, as though making room for Charles to walk past him. His hip hit the dressing table and the pitcher rattled
unsteadily, the sound of pottery on wood almost like a bell in the silence. And then he was bringing it down on Charles’s
head, no memory of having picked it up, no time seemingly elapsed between thought and action.

Charles toppled. Water flew in every direction, soaking his cousin’s coat and making the floor slick and treacherous.

The gun went off, and Viola screamed. Charles lashed out with his foot, sending Leo crashing down beside him.
A fist connected with Leo’s head, making his ears ring. His fist caught his cousin in the mouth, knuckles and teeth meeting
with bloody results on both sides.

His cousin cursed and clawed at his face. Leo twisted his head aside to keep his eye from being gouged out. Charles attempted
to roll away, catching Leo hard in the stomach with his booted foot.

Leo scrambled after him. He couldn’t have Viola. Couldn’t be allowed to so much as touch her. Never again. Never. Leo slammed
his fist into his cousin’s face. Blood poured out Charles’s nose, and he went reeling back. His cousin’s feet slid out from
under him, and his head hit the stone hearth with a sickening crack.

Leo staggered toward him, but was pulled back. He shook the hands off, only to be grabbed again and hauled practically off
his feet.