“That would be unorthodox but, very well.” Violet’s smile lit up her face.
Alexander found himself returning it, drawn in by the light shining from her when she smiled.
Extraordinarily beautiful.
“So to whom does the book belong?” Alexander asked.
“What? Oh, this…?” Violet seemed startled by the question and the volume slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor.
Alexander stepped forward to pick it up at the same time that Violet made the same move. His fingers met hers as both took hold of the book. The contact froze them both in place. Alexander looked up to find Violet looking at him. His eyes held hers for a long, delicious moment. The tension was palpable. He felt that he could grasp the air between them.
“I think I have it,” Violet said quietly.
Alexander released his hold and stood. Violet clutched it to her once again. “And it is my book. A guilty pleasure.”
“Why guilty?” Alexander asked.
“Because it is an indulgence. For people who do not have serious or, for that matter, godly minds. I am in the habit of coming out here in the evenings to read. Uncle George would not approve if he knew of it.”
“Which is why you keep it out here?” Alexander asked with a gentle smile. “And what exactly are its contents?”
Violet became flustered again, opening her mouth, turning away, turning back. Alexander’s closeness made her face scarlet, and his breath touched softly against her skin like a soft caress. His smile caused her heart to beat faster and she tried to take yet another step back, but Alexander only moved closer to her in stubbornness. She was left speechless, unsure of what to say. She met his eyes once more, his pupils dilating as he looked between her lips and her eyes.
She didn’t dare stop him when he moved closer. His mouth opened and he captured her with a possessive nature as their lips touched and their bodies melted against each other. Her core was drenched in desire, but she couldn’t allow herself to surrender, no matter how much she desired so. And then, he pulled away and it was all over.
She allowed a moment to capture her breath, before saying, “Your Grace. I must tell you that I am forced to decline my offer of help. I do not think it would be appropriate for me to help you or be in your company. I am very sorry.”
Chapter 6
Alexander found Sebastian Cadzow at a coffee house not far from the skeletal remnants of the Palace of Westminster. It was an establishment frequented by many men who made their living within those fire-gutted halls and he recognized several members of the Commons and Peers as he walked in. Sebastian sat in the bay window of the coffee house, known as Black’s, situated on the Tothill Road, not far from the Abbey. The common room was crowded with men standing or sitting, engaged in conversation, or simply perusing a newspaper, as Sebastian was.
Still bewildered and angry from Lady Violet’s sudden rejection of him, Alexander barged his way through to Sebastian’s table. One man turned angrily, reaching for Alexander’s arm to remonstrate with him. One look at the Duke’s face was enough to turn him away, swallowing outrage. Sebastian saw him and kicked a chair out from under the table.
“Take a seat, my friend. You look like you need one. A coffee over here if you please!”
Alexander sat down, leaning forward, hands clasped on the table.
“What news of the bill?” he asked tersely.
“That is what has you in such a taking?” Sebastian asked with an arched eyebrow.
He wasn’t drinking coffee, having dined only a couple of hours ago at the Ravendel house. Instead, he had a wooden tankard which, by the smell, contained porter beer, though he had hardly touched it. Alexander took the tankard and drained half the contents.
“Keep yer coffee! Give me a cup of this!” he called out.
“The Bill was not approved. The Tories have tabled an amendment for a week’s time. The amendment will be read and debated before another vote on whether to send it back to the Commons,” Sebastian said easily. “A long time in politics, I can assure you. Plenty of time to ensure we have the votes to drive it through. But that is not what has you so upset.”
“Upset? Upset? A man doesnae get upset. He gets ragin’ angry. And that’s whit I am, I can assure ye,” Alexander snapped, his Glasgow dialect racing to the surface.
Sebastian sat back in his seat, putting his feet up on the chair opposite and folding his arms.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I recognize that the men we seek an alliance with will not be confident in my ability to steer this bill through. Because I am not a Duke born to the purple. I am a Glesga chimney sweep who grew up in a Catholic orphanage and was a child labor slave. I have two choices. Either I remove my name from it altogether and go sit on my backside in Hampshire. Or I convince them I am every bit the…English Duke as they expect.”
The word English was almost spat out and Sebastian frowned.
“But you are a Duke born to the purple. And an English one at that.”
