Violet lowered her lashes and made the most of her nervousness. Because if she were making such a confession, she would not truly have been capable of making it with a good deal of confidence.
“I know it must seem silly to you.” Her lungs squeezed. Even when one was only pretending to confess to… feelings for another person, it was difficult.
“Why would it seem silly?” He didn’t sound wholly unconvinced—only partly.
Violet turned away. She could do this so much easier if his spicy, leathery scent wasn’t overwhelming her senses. “As you well know, I’ve been on the shelf for some time now. And I have no intentions of ever marrying.” This was true. These things were easier to say knowing they were not lies.
He didn’t move or speak, and so Violet continued.
“But a lady, a woman…” She faltered, suddenly recalling far too many nights lying in bed, aching for sensations—experiences—denied to ladies such as her. Nights when she’d touched herself while imagining… And then later, afterward, feeling unsatisfied but swamped with guilt for daring to try…
Which hadn’t been at all fair. Not when she’d never quite succeeded…
“A woman…?” he encouraged her.
Violet raised her hands and fidgeted with the lace around her collar. “A woman has certain needs. Companionship,” she blurted before he misinterpreted her proposal. “The attention of a handsome gentleman, perhaps a kiss or…something, before she wakes up and it’s too late.”
“What is it you’re trying to say, Miss Faraday?” He was standing very close to her again. She’d not been wrong that first day, thinking of him as some sort of exotic cat. “Are you saying that you fancy a fling? With me?”
His voice sounded gravelly, and deeper than normal.
Violet lifted her chin and held his gaze for the first time since she’d begun this charade.
And, staring into the depths of this man’s dark, navy-blue eyes, she conceded that her confession wasn’t entirely for Posy’s sake.
Because a small percentage of her—a very tiny, almost minuscule part of her—was jumping for joy at the idea of being the object of a handsome gentleman’s attention—of this gentleman’s attention.
Mr. Cockfield—her cousin’s butler.
“Perhaps.” But the word came out little more than a rasping whisper. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps.”
His fingertips moved from her elbow to her chin, exerting the slightest amount of pressure so that she couldn’t look away.
“Why, Miss Faraday. I do believe this spring just became a good deal more interesting than I’d imagined it.”
Could She?
Interesting?
“Interesting?” Violet echoed in dismay. That wasn’t at all the response she’d expected.
What had she expected? A polite refusal? Laughter? Mockery?
Had she anticipated that he would gather her into his arms and declare he’d wanted the same thing all along?
Anything might very well be better than…
Interesting.
Violet swiped his hand down and turned away.
“Only because I find you interesting, Miss Faraday.” His voice halted her. “And you’ve surprised me. That’s rare.”
Was he complimenting her?
She turned back to face him. “You surprise me too,” she admitted. No wonder her cousin didn’t treat this man as an ordinary butler.
Because he wasn’t an ordinary butler—not even close to it.
