“Is that what you want?” His gaze had flicked to the bed. He would have made love to her. Was it considered making love when it was only an affair? Because that was all that it could be.
He is a butler.
Violet closed her eyes and summoned the memory of the only time she’d lain with a man. It had been so very long ago. She’d been so unworldly, so very inexperienced.
She buried her face in her pillow.
She’d gone walking in the garden with Christopher. It had been the night before he was to ship out. They’d been recently engaged, and they’d just finished a large dinner hosted by his uncle, the Duke of Coventry, at his sprawling Mayfair manor. Adelaide and her husband had been there, along with Christopher’s two cousins and both their parents. No one had objected when the newly engaged couple slipped outside alone.
There had been no guarantee that he would return.
Christopher had led her off the path to where tall oaks dappled the lawn. It had been dark there, but she’d smiled upon seeing the blanket and picnic basket awaiting them.
“Sit with me?” He’d sent her a pleading look, the one that never failed to charm her into giving him almost anything he wanted.
“Of course.” Violet had lowered herself onto the blanket and modestly spread her gown around her. She hadn’t been at all worried or concerned. They were engaged. Her parents and Adelaide had been pleased, as had his parents. This was to be his last mission and it wasn’t really even deemed to be all that dangerous of one.
“Come here.” He’d reclined, propping himself on his elbow, pulling her down to lay beside him.
And then he’d begun kissing her. It had been lovely and comforting and so very romantic.
“Violet,” he’d groaned and shifted his body to cover hers. “I need you.” His touch, which had initially been gentle and coaxing, turned more purposeful. Whereas at first, he’d only brushed his fingers below her breasts, he grew bolder, squeezing and tugging at her bodice.
He’d said he needed her, and the sensation had not been entirely unpleasant. And at the tender age of nine and ten, she’d not fully comprehended the act but had instinctively allowed him to settle between her thighs.
“I love you, Violet.” He’d paused to stare down at her. “You love me, don’t you? Don’t send me away without proving your love for me.”
She’d nodded. Because, of course, she’d loved him.
And over the weeks that he’d courted her, she’d felt a certain longing as well. She’d wanted to give herself to him.
She’d known the importance of waiting until marriage. But he needed her. And there was no guarantee he’d return alive.
She loved him. Of course she would show him how much she loved him.
And so she’d not resisted when he’d pulled her skirt up or when he’d reached between her legs. She’d not stopped him when his fingers had pressed inside of her, eliciting unexpected fear and pain.
She trusted him. She loved him.
And she’d wanted this.
He’d kissed her like a man who would drown if denied. “I love you,” he’d said. “You feel so good, Vi.”
She’d wanted to stop, but how could she? He was already touching her. He was going to be her husband.
She’d not cried out when he’d pushed his member inside. No, she’d welcomed him, summoning her own need, feeling some desire despite the pain.
Move in me, she remembered thinking.
And he had.
But rather than the gentle stroking she’d craved, he’d pushed her knees wide and began thrusting jerking motions. He’d slammed into her, his passion unleashed.
Violet had stiffened and clutched his shoulders, gritting her teeth. She’d expected something different than this… Was this what he needed?
She remembered how her thighs had ached and just when she thought she couldn’t endure a second longer, Christopher had thrust deep inside her with a shudder and then withdrawn. He’d gripped his member in his hand and expelled his seed onto the tops of her thighs.
Violet rolled over in her bed, drawing her knees toward her chest. The memory of that night had the ability to shake her, even after all these years. She’d chosen to give herself to him and then felt… violated.
