Caught up in the magnetism of his person, of his character, she realized how dreadfully important it was that she kept Posy away from him.
Everything about him screamed danger. Not that he was dangerous in a physical sense, but in the sense that while wholly unsuitable, he could persuade a lady such as herself to contemplate going against her own inclinations—without so much as even a kiss.
But he hadn’t been the one attempting to persuade anyone. That had been her!
Posy hadn’t stood a chance.
At least she, Violet, wasn’t a complete innocent. She had been engaged once, and she had allowed her fiancé liberties that she ought not to have.
She had far less to lose than her niece did.
“It surprises you?” she asked. “That I am not dead inside?”
“It surprises me that you admit to not being dead inside.”
Violet stared at his mouth. It was not the first time she’d wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him.
But then a cold, ugly feeling twisted in her belly. Had Posy wondered the same things about him? Violet hadn’t considered that in distracting Mr. Cockfield, her niece might experience feelings of jealousy—possibly even betrayal.
But it was for the best. Nothing could come of any sort of relationship between her naïve and trusting niece and this man.
Nor, really, could anything come of a relationship between Violet and this man—nothing proper, that was. Furthermore, whereas Posy stood to have her heart broken, Violet didn’t have a heart left to break.
Hers had shattered into thousands of tiny pieces all those years ago when Christopher had disappeared. Even though she had managed to piece some of it back together, it wasn’t whole enough that it could ever be broken again.
“And you?”
A man as charismatic and dashing as he was most likely had a mistress tucked away somewhere.
Likely, he had ladies, beautiful and sophisticated proper ladies, married ones as well as widows, who were more than willing to take him into their beds.
Was he laughing at her?
“I am not dead inside, either.” That corner of his mouth jerked up. But he was not laughing.
His gaze flicked downward. “I like that color on you.”
She was wearing one of the gowns that incorporated all of his instructions. A dark turquoise linen with modestly puffed sleeves. She’d tucked a lace fichu into the bodice, which was cut lower than she was accustomed to.
She ignored the compliment.
“Do you have mistresses?” She had to ask. Perhaps if she knew this, and could tell Posy about them, that would be enough to save her niece from his charm.
“Not presently.” He continued studying her, and she frantically tried to mask her thoughts from him. “Are you applying for the position, then?”
How had this gone from a mild flirtation to…?
“Of course not!” She jerked her shoulders back. “I simply wanted…” What? What had she wanted? And why couldn’t she make any sense of the words racing through her head?
Every rational thought fled as she stood frozen in his gaze.
“Would you like me to kiss you, Miss Faraday?” His thumb and first finger holding her chin moved gently to massage it. His injured hand, tucked in the black sling, nestled between them.
Before she could answer, however, footsteps sounded outside the door, nearing. And then voices. “We’ll want to check for any scuffs and remove the pitchers of water.”
It was the housekeeper and at least one of the maids. Violet went to step back, but his grip tightened.
“Mr. Cockfield,” Violet protested.
