Holding her skirts in both hands, she was off, sweeping past him, rushing toward the staircase before anyone else caught sight of her and put an end to her freedom. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she raced for the steps, taking them two at a time. Lucien had left for the Home Office earlier that morning, and she did not think he had yet returned.
Which meant she may have a window of time in which she could set her madcap plan into action. And it was indeed madcap. The mere thought of what she was about to do set butterflies free in her belly and made her knees feel weak. It was irregular and unusual. Highly perilous.
But her mind had been made. She was weary of everything. She needed escape. So too did someone else she knew.
Marry anyone else.
Gads, how his words stung as she raced up the steps, leaving Mr. Pye far behind. She only had a limited amount of time for her freedom, and she needed to make the best use of it. This may be her only opportunity to seek out Strathmore once again on her own, depending upon Lucien’s wishes.
One day, she would not have to cleave to her brother’s whims any longer. One day, she would be free. And it was up to Violet to find that day, to make it happen.
Make it happen, she would.
Breathless from her hurried climb, she reached the top step. With a careful glance over her shoulder to be certain no one else either watched or followed—bless Pye and his love of her abysmal scarf and his inherently trusting nature—she hastened down the hall leading her to the portion of Lark House that was diametrically opposed to hers.
It was the place where Strathmore’s chamber was. She found his door and knocked, her nerves making her nauseated as she cast wild glances all about her, praying no one would come forward. When there was no answer, she took a deep breath and opened the door slightly.
“Strathmore?” she whispered into the chamber.
He did not answer, but the sound of another door opening down the hall was enough to startle her into motion. She hastened over the threshold, closing the door at her back, hoping no one had seen her enter. A cursory evaluation of the chamber suggested the duke was long gone. But then it occurred to her he was perhaps in the adjoining bathing chamber.
When Lucien had replaced the interior of much of Lark House the year prior, most of the chambers had been refitted with adjoining bathing chambers.
Which meant it was possible Strathmore was at his bath. True, it was the height of the afternoon, and true, it was an odd time indeed for bathing, but now she had found the bravado and the excuse to find her way to his chamber, she needed to act.
She made her way to the adjoining bathing chamber and found the door closed. She knocked once on the door. Then twice when no one answered.
“Enter,” he called at last, just when she was questioning the wisdom of her actions and thinking she ought to run and hide, simultaneously.
He was within.
Perhaps in his bath.
Which meant he was also unclothed.
The knowledge stole her breath and sent a current of heat straight to her core. Wicked Violet reveled in it. So did Regular Violet.
Her hand was on the latch. And just like that, she entered. Stepped forward. A wave of humid heat hit her, along with his scent in full force. She stopped after the first step, heart beating far too fast. He was not in the tub after all, and neither was he naked, though he was in a state of dishabille that was positively scandalous since she was an unwed lady alone with him.
She devoured the sight of him dressed in a loose silk robe belted at his waist. A small vee of his chest was visible, kissed with a smattering of dark hair. It was the first time she had ever seen a man’s bare chest before, and now that she had been given a glimpse, she wanted more. She wanted to see it in its entirety.
His feet were bare, his calves strong and masculine, covered too with dark hair to match the too-long, wet waves upon his head. She had intruded upon him in one of his most intimate moments, and seeing him thus not only shook her, it stole her breath.
“Lady Violet, what are you doing here?” he asked calmly, his tone dark and deep, sinuous as a curl of smoke unfurling in the air.
His question drew her gaze up his lean, tall form, once more, back over his beautiful chest to settle upon his mouth. Ah, that mouth. It was made for sin, sculpted and full and enticing. Smiling at her now in knowing fashion. Saying her name.
“Lady Violet?”
Oh, what a ninny she was. Standing here gaping at him after she had trespassed in his chamber yet again. She forced her mind to function. Forced her lips to move. To form words. Meaningful words.
“Y-you were bathing. In the midst of the day.” It emerged from her as half observation, half accusation.
Fantastic, said Wicked Violet snidely.Now he will think you a fool.
He grinned. “Has my jailer made a decree prohibiting me from bathing now?”
She blinked, trying to dispel the unwanted flames burning inside her. Attempting to remain calm and poised. As poised as she could manage, anyway. “Of course not, it is merely that one does not often bathe in the afternoon.”
