Violet swallowed, forced her mind to comply. To form coherent thoughts that did not involve her devoted inspection of his masculine beauty. “My brother would not be pleased if he were to learn of our interactions, naturally, Duke. But I am not selfless. I have been kind to you because I believe in your innocence, and because I am restless within my own life, needing to find meaning in it where there is seemingly none, and because I find you endlessly fascinating.”
Oh dear.She had not meant to say the last bit aloud.
But she had, and now there was no recalling it.
Her foolish words hovered in the air between them like an electrical wire that had been suddenly cut, but still ran hot with live current. One touch, and she would be forever done.
“Fascinating.” He stared at her solemnly.
So solemnly, she could not read him, could not find an indication of how he felt about what she had just so recklessly admitted.
“Fascinating,” she echoed softly, for there was no turning back now. No denying what she had already spoken.
He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them even more. “Fascinating how?”
She eyed him warily. “I was not aware there was a multitude of ways in which one can find someone fascinating.”
“Oh but there are.” His voice was low, resonating with sin, and it glided over her skin like a caress. “There is fascinating in the sense of one’s eccentric uncle who invents oddities in his spare time. Fascinating, when used in conjunction with a book one is reading, for instance, is merely interesting. And then there is a different kind of fascinating altogether, the sort of fascinating that makes your drawers go up in flames.”
He was so calm, so matter of fact in his dissertation, that by the time he had finished it with such wicked words, she could do nothing but gape at him. “My drawers?”
The two words emerged from her as a squeak.
That decadent mouth curved into grin. “Your drawers, my lady.”
“I am certainI ought not to answer,” she said weakly, looking as if she were half-tempted to either throw herself into his arms or swoon.
He had not intended to discomfit her so fully, but he had to admit he was rather enjoying himself now that he had. The flush of pink on her cheeks, set against the backdrop of her midnight tresses, was far too tempting. Arden’s sister, and agent of Griffin’s retribution or not, Lady Violet was stunning. Her loveliness was not a standard English beauty’s boring similitude. She possessed a small, saucy nose with a pointed tip, and a pout that was too wide and full. Her chin held a small divot, and when she smiled, she could bring a man to his knees.
She was an original, Lady Violet West. There was no other lady who possessed her unique, intrinsic loveliness, beginning with the kindness of her intrepid heart, and extending outward. He knew instinctively he would never meet another woman like her.
Hers was the beauty of a cool autumn morning in the countryside; it took his breath and inspired him all at once.
Lord, did it ever inspire him.
To wicked thoughts. Thoughts he had no place thinking, even if he did intend to use her as a pawn in this game of chess he played with her brother. She was taller than most ladies, her legs a thing of mystery beneath her skirts, and he could not help but to envision them. How easily he could imagine those long, curvaceous limbs wrapped about him, after he had kissed and caressed every bit of them. As he plunged inside…
Damn it, he was sporting a cockstand so sudden and fierce, he nearly pressed a hand to his trousers to readjust himself before he recalled such a thing was not done. Griffin was not much for niceties these days. Hell, he had not been much for them ever. But in recent months, he had been swept up in one Fenian case after another, and there had been precious little time for anything other than survival.
Perhaps that was why resting on his laurels at Lark house smarted so much.
That, and the heavy burden of suspicion presiding over him. He must not lose sight of what was most important and allow his admiration of Lady Violet to get the better of him. There was a purpose to this dallying. He had a reason for being within her chamber.
“If you do not wish to answer,” he said at last, “I am left to assume it is the latter rather than either of the former.”
She blinked, her flush beginning to recede as her quick wits returned to her. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”
“So I have been told.” He came closer, drawn to the sweetly floral scent and warmth of her. So close, he noted her pupils grow large and round, dominating the verdant jade of her eyes. “It is one of my most distinguishing traits.”
“I can see why Lucien does not care for you,” she said then, startling him.
He had expected her to be half-wooed, and yet her clever mind was still analyzing. “Arden does not like me because he is an arsehole. Forgive me my plain speaking, my dear. I know he is your brother, but the enmity between us is mutual. I have never liked or trusted him, and it would seem he has had the same notion about me.”
She frowned, those luscious lips of hers firming into a thin line of disapproval. “Lucien is a caring brother and a kindhearted man. You merely need to know him better. He does not allow many people to get close to him or to see the man beneath the mask he wears for the benefit of the world.”
Griffin knew all about masks and hiding in plain sight. He had been doing what he fancied was an excellent job of hiding the nightmares that plagued him, and the fear of his impending lunacy from the world. His father had been mad, and with the terrors Griffin had experienced in France, it was only to be expected he would not be far behind his sire.
“I shall take your word on the matter, my lady.” He paused, the first reason for his presence in her chamber—to assure himself of her well-being and learn any details and news concerning what had happened—returning to him again. “Tell me what happened in the carriage.”
