Violet awoke to the sight of a turquoise-blue canopy. Smiling, she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of a generously proportioned, lavishly cushioned four-poster bed. She was in the blue room, her mother-in-law’s old chamber, reclining on a feather-filled mattress that surely had to be the most comfortable place in the world.
According to the clock on the mantel it was well past eight o’clock in the morning, but she had no desire to move, let alone to get up. Given the chance, she’d be more than happy to spend the rest of the day lying there. Even if something seemed to be missing...
‘Mrs Amberton?’ There was a small knock on the door, followed by the sound of Eliza’s voice.
‘Come in.’
‘Morning, ma’am.’ The maid poked her head around the door with a bright smile. ‘The master thought you might like breakfast in bed today.’
‘Oh.’ She wriggled up to a sitting position, thoughts of slumber forgotten after all. She’d never had breakfast in bed before, but the idea had always been wickedly tempting. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘Here you go.’ Eliza placed a large tray over her lap, piled high with ham and eggs, toast and jam.
‘You said this was Captain Amberton’s idea?’
‘Yes, ma’am, though he said to wait awhile because you were fast asleep.’
‘I was? I mean...he did?’ She blinked in surprise. How had he known if she was asleep or not when they’d slept in separate bedrooms? ‘Is he having breakfast in his chamber, too?’
‘No, ma’am, he left for the mine two hours ago.’
‘Oh.’ Violet picked up a cup of hot chocolate and sipped at it thoughtfully. They’d had a pleasant dinner together the previous evening, catching up on each other’s news, before Lance had escorted her up to her new chamber and then left her at the door. But if he’d known that she was still asleep that morning, then surely that meant he’d been in her room at some point—to say goodbye, perhaps?
‘He said I should ask if there’s anything else you might fancy?’ Eliza nodded at the tray.
‘Something else?’ Violet echoed the word incredulously. Considering the massive amount of food piled up in front of her, it was hard to imagine what else she could want. ‘No, this is plenty, thank you. Would you like some? Here...’ she patted the bedcover ‘...why don’t you sit down?’
Eliza stole a fleeting look at the door, hesitating for a moment before perching on the edge of the bed.
‘Can I have some toast?’
‘Of course. Jam and butter?’
‘Yes, please. Cook watches how much we have.’
Violet smeared a generous amount on to two pieces of toast, offering one to Eliza and biting into the other herself.
‘The master seems very keen to make you happy.’ Eliza gave her a conspiratorial look. ‘He’s been like a different man this past month, Mrs Gargrave says.’
‘Mrs Gargrave says that?’ Violet swallowed a mouthful of toast in amazement. It was hard to imagine the housekeeper approving of her husband in any way at all. ‘As a compliment?’
‘I think so, as much as she ever gives one anyway.’
‘How has he changed?’
‘Well, for starters, he gets up early in the mornings now and goes to bed at what she calls a reasonable hour. And she hasn’t filled the decanters in a whole month.’
Violet took another bite to stifle a smile. She hadn’t necessarily expected Lance to stick to that part of their bargain while she was away, but apparently he had.
‘And he was eager to get to the station in good time yesterday. Left a whole hour early, Mrs Gargrave says.’
‘Really?’
She felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. She was starting to think that Mrs Gargrave said a little too much, not that she wasn’t pleased by the thought of Lance himself being eager to see her. She’d had mixed feelings about seeing him again, but when she’d seen him waiting on the platform, she hadn’t been able to stop her heart doing some kind of jig in her chest. She’d told him that she was glad to be back and it was true. Despite her eagerness to travel and her resolve not to think about him in Scotland, she’d felt more homesick than she’d expected, not for Whitby, but for here...for him.
And yet, something about their relationship seemed to have shifted in her absence as well, as if he really had missed her. The way his eyes had seemed to light up when he’d seen her again had made her want to run into his arms the way Ianthe had into Robert’s. When she’d accidentally brushed her head against his shoulder in the carriage, he’d put his arm around her as if he wanted her close too, even if he had chosen to sleep in a separate bedroom last night. Was he what felt missing from her bed?
Having taken the opportunity of travelling with Ianthe to ask some more pointed questions about that particular aspect of marriage, she was half excited, half alarmed by the idea of sharing a bed with him again. Not that it was going to happen for another seven years. Not unless they changed their minds about their arrangement anyway...
‘Your new sitting room is ready, too,’ Eliza continued. ‘Freshly painted and everything.’
‘My what?’
‘Your sitting room. Captain Amberton said you wanted to use the tower.’
‘Oh!’ She swallowed the last of her hot chocolate and wrenched back the bedcovers, wriggling into a dressing gown. Apparently he really did want her to be happy. The very thought of her new sitting room achieved that. She couldn’t wait another moment to see it!
She ran down the corridor and stopped in the doorway of the tower, rendered speechless. Her former prison had been transformed into the prettiest, cosiest room she could ever have imagined, with cream-coloured walls complemented by an assortment of pink-and-white-striped furniture and a dark, dusky rose carpet. Pictures of seascapes adorned the walls and there were bunches of bluebells arranged in vases on every spare surface, as if someone were trying to make the room as homey as possible.
‘What’s that?’
Her eyes fell on a battered and ancient-looking wooden chest beneath one of the windows. It seemed incongruous, out of place with the rest of the furniture and yet familiar somehow. It certainly hadn’t been there the last time she’d been in the room. She would have remembered it.
‘I don’t know, ma’am, but Captain Amberton said not to open it without you. Would you like me to help you unpack it now?’
‘No.’ She felt a sudden urge to be alone. ‘That’s enough for now, thank you, Eliza. I’ll manage.’
‘Very good, ma’am.’
She crouched down by the chest, waiting until the sound of Eliza’s footsteps had receded before unfastening the metal clasp, a feeling of anticipation making her feel slightly dizzy. Nervously, she opened the lid, pressing a hand to her mouth as she did so. Sure enough, there they were, all her mother’s old books, just as she remembered them, like a group of long-lost friends. She reached in and picked up the uppermost tome, a copy of Malory’s Arthurian legends, hugging it to her breast and laughing aloud with happiness.
* * *
A few hours later, she looked up from her newfound favourite position, comfortably ensconced in an armchair by the fireplace. Her sitting room was finished. Her mother’s books were arranged in pride of place on her bookshelf, while the chest remained under the window, ornamented with cushions to provide an additional seat. She’d been so engrossed in her books that she’d declined lunch, although Mrs Gargrave had appeared on several occasions bearing a tea tray, tutting loudly each time to find the mistress of the house still clad in her dressing gown.
She didn’t care. She was wearing a pair of spectacles, too, the ones she needed for reading, though she was starting to wish that she’d purchased a new pair on her travels. The tiny metal frames had an irritating habit of sliding down her nose at inopportune moments, making the words in front of her go suddenly blurry, though it was a minor irritation at best. Nothing could spoil her mood today. Everything else was perfect. She’d come to the pleasing conclusion that her husband could lock her up every day if he wanted to.
‘Happy?’
The sound of his voice made her leap out of her chair in surprise, as if her very thoughts had conjured him.
‘Lance!’ She put a hand to her chest. ‘You startled me!’
‘Apologies.’ He grinned from the doorway, the whiteness of his teeth contrasting vividly with the black flecks all over his skin and clothes. He looked even more dishevelled than usual, his hair tousled and windblown, as if he’d just arrived home and come straight to find her. Somehow that idea made him even more attractive.
‘You were smiling.’ He seemed to be studying her intently. ‘I hope that means you’re happy.’
‘Very. I love my new sitting room.’
‘Good.’ His grin spread even further. ‘Do I need permission to enter this private domain?’
She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then relented. ‘I’ll let you off for today, seeing that you found my mother’s books.’ She gestured towards the new window seat. ‘Where was it?’
‘In the attic, as it turned out, though I’m afraid I can’t take the credit. My leg isn’t much use around ladders, but our young friend Daniel was very helpful.’
‘I hope you gave him more than a shilling.’
‘I did and a job, too. He’s down in the kitchens right now.’ He advanced a few steps towards her. ‘You look very studious.’
‘Oh!’ She raised a hand to her head self-consciously. She’d forgotten that she was wearing her spectacles, the ones her father had said made her look even more unattractive. He’d always hated them. No doubt Lance would, too.
‘Don’t take them off.’ He put a hand out to stop her before she could pull them away. ‘They suit you.’
‘They do?’
‘Very much.’ He advanced a few steps into the room. ‘Do you know, I’ve never kissed a woman in glasses before.’
‘Oh.’ It seemed a woefully inadequate answer, but she didn’t know how else to respond.
‘May I?’
‘May you...what?’ Her mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.
‘May I kiss the bride? I didn’t do it properly on our wedding day and you know what they say—the longer you wait to do something, the harder it becomes.’
‘Do they say that?’
‘They might.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought it sounded persuasive.’
Her heart sank. Persuasive. That was all his words were then, empty words intended to charm and convince her. He’d probably used them a hundred times before. It was just a casual kiss for him, nothing more. After all, he wasn’t attracted to her. He was happy to wait seven years...
‘And...’ he seemed to read the scepticism in her face ‘...because you look quite enchantingly pretty.’
‘In spectacles?’
‘You can take them off if you want.’ He moved yet another step closer. ‘Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’
She swallowed, trying to keep her head. Enchantingly pretty. She ought not to be charmed, but he didn’t look as if he were either mocking or toying with her. He looked serious. He looked as if he were really about to kiss her and she, apparently, was going to let him. Her legs were showing no signs of bearing her away. On the contrary, she was afraid that if she tried to move, then they might simply give way beneath her.
‘May I, Violet?’
He said her name softly, like a caress, and she nodded. Slowly, he raised both hands to her face, cradling it between his fingers as his thumb trailed a light path over her skin, leaving a trail of heat that seemed to penetrate deep into her body. She closed her eyes as he leaned in towards her, then his lips were on hers, pressing gently, as if he were taking deliberate care not to disturb her spectacles. His mouth felt tender and yet hard at the same time, barely touching her at first and then starting to move, nudging hers to respond.
For a few seconds she didn’t know what to do. Then the heat seemed to build in intensity until she couldn’t not move any longer. Instead she responded instinctively, moving her lips against his in a way that made all her insides turn to liquid at once. Her mind seemed to go silent as her body took over. The tip of his tongue slid inside her mouth, stroking the edge of her lips and she reached her own tongue out to meet it, sucking and tasting and exploring as her hands found their way up around his neck.
She felt his own hands move away from her face and slide down over her throat, down the sides of her breasts and around her waist, scooping her up off the floor until she was standing on tiptoe, pressing against him so closely that she could feel the taut, muscular lines of his chest and something else, even harder and more muscular, pushing between her legs.
He released her abruptly and she was able to start thinking again—if it could be called anything as coherent as thinking, that was. Her mind seemed to be in turmoil, only slightly less than her body, which seemed to have received some kind of violent physical shock. Her limbs were all quivering with the after-effects.
‘There you are, Mrs Amberton.’ His voice sounded distinctly husky. ‘Consider yourself kissed.’
She opened her eyes. Why had he stopped? She’d had the impression that they were just getting started... Except that maybe he wanted to stop, she thought in mortification. Maybe he’d had enough. He was smiling as if it had been easy for him to stop when her whole body was still trembling with desire.
‘Our young friend also found something else you might like.’
‘Really?’ She forced her scattered thoughts to focus. ‘That sounds mysterious.’
‘Wait here.’ He walked to the door and reached for something just outside. Judging by the shape and size it was clearly a painting, though with the back of the canvas towards her, she couldn’t see what the subject was.
‘This was in the attic, too.’ He turned the frame around slowly, his gaze fixed on her face the whole time. ‘Judging by the resemblance, I believe it must be your mother.’
She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. It was undoubtedly her mother. The similarity was more striking than she could ever have imagined, as though she were looking into a mirror, at a serious-looking young woman with white-blonde hair, luminous blue eyes and large, wide-set features that perfectly matched her own. She felt a stinging sensation behind her eyelids, as if there were tears pressing against them.
‘Violet?’ Lance sounded concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You haven’t.’ She shook her head, hardly able to express what she was feeling. She seemed unable to drag her gaze away even as he placed it to one side, leaning it against a chair before coming to stand just in front of her. ‘It’s just a shock.’
‘Then you’re pleased?’
‘Yes. I just never knew...never imagined...’
‘That you were so much like her?’ He looked down at her intently. ‘You are. You’re just as beautiful, too, Violet. Would you like to hang it in here?’
‘Yes.’ She rubbed a hand across her face as a lone tear escaped and trickled downwards. ‘How about over there, instead of the seascape?’
‘Wherever you like.’ He lifted down the old painting and hung the portrait in its place. ‘There. What do you think?’
‘Perfect. I think she looks perfect. I could look at her all day.’
‘Then what if we eat dinner in here tonight? You’ve made it so cosy, it seems almost a shame to go downstairs.’
‘That would be lovely.’ She gave a small start. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost six o’clock.’
‘In the evening?’ She looked down at her dressing gown in dismay. ‘But I never even got dressed!’
‘I did wonder about that.’ He grinned. ‘Not that I mind informality, of course.’
‘No wonder Mrs Gargrave looked so disapproving.’
‘Wait until she finds out that we plan to have dinner in here.’
‘I’ll tell her that you’re a bad influence.’
‘And she’ll believe you.’ He put a hand to his heart as if he were wounded. ‘She’ll be scandalised, of course, though I do believe it’ll be one of my lesser crimes.’
‘Shall I tell her?’
‘No, let me. I need to have a bath and a shave first anyway. I’m still covered in dust.’
‘Then I’ll get dressed finally.’
‘Pity. I rather like you in your nightclothes.’ His gaze flickered downwards, lingering over her hips, and she felt her blood start to heat again. What did it mean when he looked at her like that? What did their kiss mean? Surely it had to mean something! What was he thinking?
‘You know, you really are just like your mother, Violet.’ He gave her the answer as their eyes met again, his own dark and intense, as he made for the door. ‘You look perfect, too.’