She nodded vehemently. “How could you doubt it?”
Because you’re the only female who’s ever said it?
He coughed in his fist. “I wasn’t certain you saw me that way.”
“I don’t go around kissing just any gentleman.” Although she blushed to the roots of her hair, her gaze was steady and sincere.
“Just me, then.” Hope bloomed in his chest. Curling a finger under her chin, he said, “Could it be that you’ve taken a liking to me, lass?”
Her tawny gaze turned troubled. “Maybe I have, Carlisle, but look at our history of misjudging one another. We’re so different, you and I.”
“Whatever our differences are, we’ll overcome them. Learn to compromise,” he said resolutely.
“Compromise,” she murmured. “Just like Thea said.”
“You spoke to your sister of me? Of us?”
“With the omission of certain details, yes.” She nibbled on her lip—by Jove, he wanted a nip at that plump ledge, too. “Sisters talk, Carlisle. Don’t take it to heart.”
“Have you spoken of other men in this fashion?” Satisfaction rolled through him when she shook her head. “Then itdoesmean something.” He took hold of her hands. “Violet, my sweet, give me a chance to court you. I know the timing isn’t right, what with this mess involving Wick. But after I get this sorted, if you give me permission I’ll—”
“The timingisright.”
He frowned, not following.
“Don’t you see, Carlisle? Fate has thrown us together time and again for a reason.” Her beautiful eyes were beseeching. “We have to worktogetherto find out what really happened to Monique and clear Wick’s name. And, in doing so, we’ll get to know one another better and see how we get on. If you want to court me, let me be a part of this.”
Why did she have to want the one thing he couldn’t agree to?
With simmering frustration, he said, “Don’t you understand it isn’t safe? You’re more delicate than you realize, lass, and vulnerable too. I won’t risk anything happening to you.”
“For crumpet’s sake, I’m not some shrinking flower—”
Approaching voices and footsteps cut her off.
Her eyes grew large as saucers. “We can’t be seen alone in here. Emma will have my head!”
Richard scanned for possible hiding places. The voices were getting closer, no time to get off the stage. His gaze hit the wardrobe: big enough for two—barely. Grabbing her hand, he reached for the wardrobe door. He pushed her inside and followed, closing the door swiftly behind them.
In the darkness, he waited, Violet jammed up against him.
Laughter… people had entered the amphitheatre. Their voices were muffled by the heavy wood of the wardrobe, but he heard a woman and a man talking. He strained to hear their conversation, to gauge how long this might go on. At the same time, he was distracted by the exquisite torture that was Violet: her feminine scent, her lips within kissing distance, her sublimely perky bosoms pressing into his chest...
“There’s something poking into me,” she whispered.
Good God, not this again.
Before he could utter an apology, she wriggled against him, rendering the source of her discomfort—and his—harder than an anvil.
“It’s against my back. I think I can reach it,” she muttered. “I’ll just push it aside…”
Before he could puzzle out what she was referring to, there was a soft click—and the ground dissolved beneath their feet. She gasped, and he threw his arms protectively around her as they plunged into darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Lying in the musty gloom, Violet tried to catch her breath. When she did, she felt a sensation building up in her, rising from her belly, tickling her throat like champagne—
A hand clamped over her mouth just in time to muffle her giggle.
