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Violet looked at William lying next to her, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t yet have the deep regular breathing he usually did when sleeping. On the contrary, he was still breathing hard, struggling to regain his breath following his recent exertions, his perspiration adding a healthy sheen to his lightly tanned skin. She felt pleased with her afternoon’s endeavours; William had the stamina of a man half his age and wasn’t easily satisfied. She bit his exposed nipple playfully, giggling when he flinched in surprise.
“What did you do that for?” William asked, rubbing his injured nipple ruefully.
“You have always told me pain is an aphrodisiac. I wondered if it would be the same if you were the one experiencing the pain.” She lifted the silk sheets and peered at his naked body. With another little giggle, she answered her own question. “It would appear not.”
“I would love to teach you the error of your ways, Violet my dear, but I must return to my cabin and prepare for dinner. It is important I keep up the pretence of a happy marriage, as even in these enlightened times, many people find it distasteful doing business with a known philanderer.”
William swung his legs out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom, something he had never done in front of his wife. There he relieved himself before splashing refreshingly cold water on his face.
When he returned to the bedroom, Violet had moved to the dressing table where she sat admiring her naked breasts and delicately pulling a brush through her tousled hair. She had a nonchalant, almost distant look in her eyes as she asked softly, “Will the baby change anything between us?”
Shocked, William stopped picking up his clothes and slowly turned to stare at his young mistress. He tried to gather his thoughts, to formulate an appropriate response, but it was like his mind had shattered; the ideas, opinions, and values that together formed his ability to produce reasoned, coherent thoughts were nothing but broken fragments, scattered across his psyche.
After several seconds of catatonic stupor, he finally uttered, “Baby? What baby?” His thoughts rushing back, fighting to reform inside his head; a dozen voices, all clambering for attention.
“Your baby,” replied Violet innocently. Secretly, William’s obvious discomfort pleased her. It meant, just as she’d suspected, he hadn’t known about Bridget’s pregnancy. She knew William detested children as they had talked about it on several occasions. He viewed them as nothing more than parasites, eating into their parents’ wealth and giving nothing in return. ‘Let the poor have children; they have nothing to lose,’ had become his mantra on the subject.
“You ... are ... with child?” William asked slowly, his finger pointing vaguely at the slight paunch of Violet’s alabaster-white stomach.
“Me? No, perish the thought.” She added an almost imperceptible shudder for dramatic effect, carefully ensuring it was not too subtle for William to notice. He had never been good at understanding the subtleties of feminine body language. “Mistress Grafton. She is the one carrying your child!” Violet brought her hand to her mouth with a soft gasp, adding in an incredulous tone, “Surely you knew? I’m so sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn.”
William sat on the bed with the look of a prisoner listening to the judge sentencing him to hang. His normally ramrod straight back and military bearing had, for the moment, deserted him, leaving him hunched and withdrawn. He wore a stunned, almost blank, expression on his pale, blood-drained face as he wrestled with the news of his impending fatherhood.
“Bridget! Mrs. Grafton ... is pregnant? Are you sure?”
William stared at Violet quizzically, the intensity of his gaze scaring her. She could see his confusion of earlier turning to anger; his eyes had darkened, his jaw hardening to the point it could have been hewn from granite. Suddenly, conscious of her own nakedness, she reached for the silk gown she had discarded so seductively only an hour or so before and slipped it on, covering her own vulnerability.
She was beginning to wish she had kept quiet and not tried forcing his hand. What did she expect would happen? Was he going to abandon his wife and unborn child for her, a mere chambermaid in his employ? Even if they did share certain interests in the boudoir, it would be social suicide for a man of his position. Violet suddenly realized his question hadn’t been rhetorical, he still stared at her, expecting an answer from her.
“I ... I saw the bump myself, and sh ... she has suffered from sickness in the morning.” Violet stammered as she sought the correct response, thinking it prudent not to mention the conversations she and Mrs. Grafton had shared on the subject. She did not want William thinking she had been in some small way disloyal to him, she had witnessed firsthand the bruises he had inflicted on his wife’s fair skin and did not want the same happening to her, at least not out of anger.
Without warning, William sprang into action. Almost jumping from the bed, he gathered his clothes from all four corners of the exquisitely furnished bedroom before quickly dressing in silence. Violet watched him without further comment until he’d laced up his shoes and downed the last of the Scotch he had poured himself on entering the suite.
“Are you all right, my love?” She ventured, tentatively, regretting the words even as they left her mouth.
William stared at her for a moment with a look of contemptuous disdain then, slamming down the empty glass, he stormed from the room. Violet jumped as the thick oak door slammed shut behind him. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see him again. Flinging herself angrily onto her unmade bed, she sobbed into the pillows that still bore the musky scent of his cologne.
