Simon stiffened at the suggestion.
Greys went on. “As Coventry’s heir, even if he is a defector, most would consider him a decent prospect for someone like my cousin.”
“I doubt that,” Simon said.
“She’s been on the shelf for ages. The two of them cared for one another once; they very well could get on again.” Greystone shrugged, and Simon was filled with a flash of rage at his friend for suggesting that Violet take up with anyone but him.
“He’s wrong for her,” Simon ground through his teeth.
“I suppose anything is possible.” Was Greystone being deliberately obtuse?
“Not this,” Simon muttered. “But you will want to meet with him first. Before he’s allowed to speak to her.”
Greys glanced over at him. “She’ll speak with him. But I doubt she’s dressed for the day. Either way, it won’t hurt him to cool his heels for an hour or two.”
Simon clenched his fists. “What are you going to tell him?”
“Oh, I don’t intend to do much talking—other than a few questions, that is.” Greystone held up the report. “He’s a good deal to answer for.”
Simon swallowed hard. Violet would not send him away. She would want answers too.
The marquess straightened his lapels. “Allow me a moment, and then send him into my study.”
Violet took comfort from Simon’s hand, which rested at the small of her back.
“Greystone is with him now. You don’t have to do this today.” He spoke softly near her ear.
Christopher was here. The man she’d seen in the garden last night had not been a ghost, rather he had, quite literally, returned from the dead. It was as though, deep down, all this time, she’d been expecting this. A part of her had never truly believed that he’d been killed—the part of her that remembered the last moments they’d spent together.
“I need to speak with him alone.” She smiled weakly up at Simon.
Simon—the man she loved with all her heart—despite his flaws and secrets. Because apparently, one couldn’t choose who to love.
He hadn’t told her he loved her back, but he’d asked her to trust him. And she intended to do just that.
Violet stared at the door to her cousin’s study where inside, once and for all, she would face her past—and then put it to rest.
“I’ll be right here.” Simon’s hand made a smooth circle where it rested, and she turned to stare up at him.
“Thank you.” Her voice nearly broke. She loved him.
She loved Simon Cockfield, whoever he was.
His eyes burned down at her—with love?
“You can do this.” He was not going to try to prevent this meeting.
A few hours before, the two of them had joined in the most intimate way two people could be together. He had made love to her.
With her.
Anxious to put Christopher behind her once and for all, she turned for the door. This time, when she laid eyes on the man she’d loved long ago, she was prepared.
The two men in the room rose—Greystone, looking concerned and supportive, and Christopher, with a pleading adoration showing in his eyes.
“Violet.” He reached as though to take her hand, but she kept both clasped behind her back.
“Lord Captain Thompson,” she acknowledged him with a nod.
