One Night in a Lord's Bed, page 3
During that long week of waiting that had turned into two and then three, Violet had written letter after letter to her brother and her family’s solicitor. Save for her cousin, Moses Naughton, Violet had no other family, at least not that she knew of, as her parents had passed away some time ago. The solicitor, a Mr. Feely, wasn’t actually family either but he had been with the Denton family, and by default, the Moxham viscountcy, for so long that he rather felt as if he was. At that point, Violet was beyond desperate and would take any assistance she could get.
Except that no matter how many letters Violet sent, she never received a reply and as April stretched into May, she had begun to wonder if her brother had finally grown weary of being responsible for her and left her to her own devices. After all, Violet had been nineteen. Nearly twenty at that point. She should have been out in Society by then, such as Society was in her little village. Provided she would be welcomed, of course. She had only remained at the finishing school for the extra year because she had taken a little over a year to mourn her parents’ deaths. Except that she had spent the year of mourning here at Mrs. Smithson’s, so there was that.
Violet had also wondered if, now that she was of age to debut, William had no idea what to do with her or even how to go about bringing out a young woman. After all, it wasn’t as if there were any family members he could ask for guidance or to serve as chaperone, possibly save for an ancient aunt who lived somewhere near Manchester. If the woman was even still alive. For all Violet knew, the woman was long-dead, and her entire family had mourned the old woman’s passing without her.
Like most things concerning the Denton family, Violet was told precious little of what went on back at Cross Hill and with the family in general since she had arrived at Mrs. Smithson’s. But then again, that was part of her punishment. Over the years she had learned to live with the not knowing but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Because she didn’t. Not one bit. It was not pleasant to be treated as if you didn’t exist. Though one did learn to live with the knowledge after a time.
On the other hand, it was more probable that now that she was of age, William had simply abandoned her. Violet hated to think that of her once-beloved brother, but the previous Christmastide season, he had been behaving like something of a scapegrace, chasing after bits of skirt, drinking, carousing, and generally acting like a young lord of the realm would. Not that Violet disapproved, for she was hardly a green girl despite the fact that she was still an innocent. She had kissed a gentleman, after all, much to her chagrin. To her mind, her brother deserved a bit of fun – so long as he remembered that he had a sister as well.
In her heart, Violet believed William’s absence meant that it was more likely that something had happened to him. But then why wouldn’t Mr. Feely send for her or at least send a coach to bring her home to Cross Hill? After all, Moses was next in line for the Moxham title and her reprobate cousin had made no secret that he intended to take Violet as his wife should that “lucky day” (his words and not hers) ever occur.
Why was no one coming for her? For that, she had no answer.
Fortunately, Mrs. Smithson had been a kind woman who had run a quality ladies’ finishing school and, taking pity on Violet, had agreed to allow her to stay on until someone, somewhere could tell her what had become of her family. Unfortunately, Mrs. Smithson had passed away only a few weeks later and Miss Kinsley had inherited the school. And she was not nearly so kind.
Actually, Violet would describe Miss Kinsley as more of a Gorgon from Greek myth than anything. One with an extremely bad temper.
Upon taking control of the school, she had immediately informed Violet that her arrangement with Mrs. Smithson was worthless and that Violet was expected to work to earn her keep. She could teach French and embroidery as both instructors had left the school upon Mrs. Smithson’s passing, and Miss Kinsley had no wish to take the time to replace either of them. Not when there was a young lady with no family and no alternatives already under her roof.
Having no other choice, Violet had agreed to the proposal, thinking it would not be such a bad thing. It would also likely only be for a few weeks at most, for someone would come for her by the end of June, surely. Except that June turned into July which stretched into August. And still, no one came.
By the start of the fall term, Violet had reconciled herself to the fact that it was possible no one ever would. So she had packed away her pretty frocks, now slightly worn with age, along with her ribbons and slippers and other fripperies that marked her as a student and donned the horrid brown gowns that more resembled flour sacks and identified her now as one of the teachers. The brown gowns were Miss Kinsley’s “personal touch” on what was quickly becoming more of a prison than a ladies’ finishing school. In fact, there were times when Violet suspected that the prisoners in Newgate had it better than the staff at Mrs. Smithson’s.
Now that the spring term was coming to a close once more, Violet had spent the last few weeks trying to work out some way that she might escape this life and this drudgery. There was no way that Miss Kinsley would let her go voluntarily and would probably run directly to the local magistrate if Violet left, claiming that she was still owed funds for Violet’s care. That was just the sort of nasty, evil woman Miss Kinsley was. She would likely attempt to keep Violet in servitude forever if she could.
Feeling more lost and alone than she ever had – which was saying something given the events of her life since she’d been a young girl – Violet had taken to praying for a savior or a proverbial white knight. Someone to come swooping in to rescue her from what had become an utterly wretched life. She had rather thought that her rescue might come in the form of her brother, or if not him, then some distant relative she had not realized existed.
The last person she had expected to come to her aid was the notorious Marquess of Buxton.
Perhaps she should have been a bit more careful what she wished for.
For now, the marquess himself was glaring down at her from his towering height of what she imagined had to be well over six feet and Miss Kinsley was looking at her as if she knew exactly why this gentleman, in particular, had come for her – and what sort of woman that meant that Violet truly was beneath her prim and proper exterior.
“On your feet, gel!” Miss Kinsley snapped. “The marquess is here to fetch you. Finally.” She sneered that last word.
“Lady Violet. It is a pleasure.” She was surprised when the marquess extended her a hand and helped her to her feet as if he was a proper gentleman and she a true lady. “I have heard so much about you.”
He had? Violet was confused. If this man knew about her, then he had to know William as well. Did that mean that William was in London? She had so very many questions. Instead of asking them, however, she rose on quaking knees and managed to dip into a respectable curtsey. Something about this man’s demeanor told her that questions would be answered in private, if at all. He was not about to allow a woman like Miss Kinsley to have any sort of control – real or imagined – over him.
“Lord Huffton. It is a pleasure as well.” Violet dared to look into his eyes, which was perhaps not the wisest of ideas, for she was certain they saw into her very soul.
If she were being fanciful – which she most certainly was not – she would say that he looked more like a demon than a man. Or at least what she imagined a demon might look like. The marquess’ eyes were so dark they were almost black, though she suspected they were more likely either a dark blue or perhaps brown. Just now, however? They looked black.
In fact, all of him looked rather black. His breeches, which stretched tight over what looked to be well-muscled legs, were a dark gray and his coat stretched tight over what Violet suspected was a firmly muscled chest was coal black. His cravat was a stark, snowy white, but that was the only light thing about him. Even his hair was dark, an odd shade of sable brown that tended to the darker side.
And then of course, there were his eyes. So dark that she was certain a lady could get lost in them quite easily. They entranced her, and Violet had to look away before she was caught up in whatever spell he was weaving around her with just those magnificent eyes of his.
Lord above, but he was sinfully handsome. Older than her certainly, and perhaps too old for her to dream of waltzing with, but then, he was still the Legendary Lover of London. What woman wouldn’t fantasize about this man, no matter her age? Even if he looked just a bit like a demon. A demon who might very well bite if she wasn’t careful.
Still… He was sinfully handsome. She also understood why women took the risk.
Violet wondered for a moment if this man meant to swallow her whole, for he looked as if he was more than capable, not to mention more than willing. Then her more practical side took over and somehow, she found her voice. “I take it that you are here to fetch me at my brother’s direction?”
An expression she could not interpret passed over his face briefly. It was there and gone before she could decide what it had meant, not to mention what it meant for her. “I am.” His voice was low and rough, with a slightly gravely quality to it. “Your brother is a...friend. Lord Denton and I share an affinity for faro.”
The marquess seemed to stumble over the word “friend” for some reason which made Violet uneasy. However, she also understood she could not be too choosy about her rescuer. Her brother had abandoned her for over a year which would soon go on to two. He still wasn’t here now. This man was here. That meant something was terribly wrong, even if the marquess didn’t say as much.
Lord Buxton was also Violet’s ticket out of this wretched place, and she would be a fool to kick up a fuss and jeopardize her chance for escape. Given the dark glitter of his eyes, he likely knew it as well. The man was no fool and he was counting on the fact that neither was she.
If she wanted to return to her world of privileged Society, such as it was in her little village and her gilded cage of a home, she would keep her mouth shut and not give Miss Kinsley any indication that she had no idea why this man had come for her.
Straightening her spine, Violet offered Lord Buxton her most charming smile, the one that had started to falter a bit over this past year. “In his last letter, he mentioned meeting you over the faro tables. He has always enjoyed that game immensely.” That, of course, was a complete and utter lie, but it was all she could do or say to prove to this man that she was willing to play his game if only he would take her away from here.
Behind the marquess, Violet saw Miss Kinsley’s eyes widen and her nostrils flare, something she did every time she was about to launch into a tirade of one sort or another. Or accuse one of the girls of either lying or misconduct.
“Though that letter was well over a year ago,” Violet hastened to add, making certain not to look at the finishing school owner more than necessary, lest the woman have any further indication that Violet was lying. “I have not heard from him since. Something has happened, I fear.”
The marquess inclined his head, his expression unchanging. “There was an incident, yes. I regret that no one was able to come for you sooner. However, the delay was unavoidable, I’m afraid.”
The vagueness of his statement was not lost on Miss Kinsley. “What sort of incident?” she demanded. “I’ll not release the chit to you unless I know she will be in good hands.”
If Violet had thought the marquess was frightening before, as he turned his black gaze on the headmistress, he was now downright terrifying. “The incident is none of your concern. As I said earlier, do not meddle in the affairs of the Crown. They are none of your concern.”
“She’s not your concern either,” Miss Kinsley fairly glowered. “This is highly irregular and not at all appropriate! A notorious gentleman coming for an unwed young lady without a chaperone! It’s simply not done! And I’ll not have you simply take my best teacher away without compensation!”
“Your best slave, you mean.” The marquess’ voice was so frigid that Violet had to suppress a shiver herself. She also noted that he ignored Miss Kinsley’s insinuations about the inappropriateness of the situation. Violet had the same fears, but she certainly wasn’t about to voice them now. “Believe me, madam, I have made note of the conditions here, and I have no doubt that you work all of your staff to the bone and give them little in return. One look at this place, in particular, that hazard of a rotting ceiling in the main sitting room, is proof enough of that.” He waved some kind of paper beneath her nose. “And it is not as if you have a say in the matter any longer. Assuming you ever did. This paper gives me the legal right to take Miss Denton and there is naught you can do about it.”
As the headmistress gasped in disbelief, Lord Buxton turned back to Violet and she did her best not to shrink back in fear as his dark, glittering eyes pinned her in place where she stood. This man was not one to be trifled with and the last thing she wished to do was show any sort of fear. She knew his type and he would likely use the fear against her the moment her defenses were down.
“How soon can you be ready to leave, Miss Denton?” he growled, though Violet somehow understood he was not angry with her but at the situation in general.
Once more, she met his gaze. “Within the hour, if that is sufficient, my lord. Perhaps less if I hurry. I only have a small trunk and my traveling valise. As you know from my brother, we are not a wealthy family.” She was fairly certain that if Lord Buxton knew William as he claimed, he was well aware of their circumstances.
“I am aware, Miss Denton.” Lord Buxton’s eyes never left hers. “In fact, I believe you will find that I am aware of a good deal more than you realize.” His head jerked in the direction of the hallway. “Now off with you. I find myself ready to quit this place, as I am certain you do as well.” His voice was softer just then and Violet felt a moment of relief.
Perhaps this would not be so bad, she reasoned with herself. Yes, traveling with an unwed gentleman without a proper chaperone would destroy her reputation – or what was left of it anyway – but only if someone discovered them. What were the chances of that, especially this far out into Hertfordshire? Yes, Cross Hill was all the way in Cornwall, which was a great distance away, but this man was from London. Maybe that was where William was waiting for her, and London was certainly much closer than Cornwall. And maybe the marquess did have a chaperone stashed somewhere. He had mentioned a carriage outside, hadn’t he? Perhaps she was a shy, older aunt who had no wish to set foot in such a dreary place. Or a skittish maid.
Perhaps. But not likely.
As always, foolish girl. Foolish, foolish girl.
Much like the situation with her brother, Violet knew she was only kidding herself, spinning fanciful tales of comfort that weren’t true. She was alone, or would be soon enough. William wasn’t coming. This man was here, and he was likely the only companionship she would have for the journey to wherever they were going.
Alone with the Marquess of Buxton, one of the most notorious men of the ton. There was no chaperone. There never had been. She would have to make do with what she had – which was precisely nothing. Then again, she always did.
“As you wish, my lord.” Violet dipped into a curtsey again before she quit the room. “I shall be ready to depart in a trice.”
Chapter Three
“A trice” actually turned into more like two hours – Mrs. Smithson or whoever she really was doing everything in her power to keep Miss Denton as a prisoner for as long as possible before his temper snapped – and Alex was well past furious by the time they were finally in his carriage and underway. All it had taken to secure the girl’s release were some threats, a bit of menacing, and a roar or two and eventually, the old dragon had given in and released Violet into his care.
But that was still more effort than he had wanted to expend.
This was bad enough business as it was. He didn’t want to tire himself out any more than necessary in the process.
Alex had hoped to be able to ride his mount while Miss Denton took the carriage alone. After all, now that he had procured her – and determined to his satisfaction that she was a sister and not a wife or spinster relation – he had no desire to interact with her any further. It wasn’t as if he wished to become acquainted with her, and he certainly didn’t want to tell her the truth about her brother. Or non-brother as it were.
What if she became hysterical when she learned the news? What if she fainted? Worse, what if she cried? Alex despised weepy females above almost all else.
Best to leave that unpleasant task to someone else, someone more qualified to deal with emotional women. And, as Miss Denton was an innocent, he wasn’t about to seduce her in order to make her feel better should she become overwrought and emotional. Or even if she didn’t. Had she perhaps even been an aged spinster, he might have given it a go, for women of a certain age were no longer as innocent as they had been in their youths, virgins or not.
Though in truth, Alex had no idea how old Lady Violet was. Considering that he had just found her at a finishing school – decrepit though it was – he had to conclude that she was nineteen at best. More likely eighteen. Of age, but certainly not to his tastes. Not at all the sort of chit he toyed with and certainly not one old enough to know how this sort of game was played. Thus, it was best to leave her alone in the carriage until it was time to stop for the night at a coaching inn.
What he would do with her when he reached the inn he had selected for their first night on the road, he hadn’t a clue, but that was a bridge to be crossed later. For now, Alex wanted to be as far away from Miss Denton and those large, insightful eyes of hers as he could possibly be.
Because now that he had her out of that dreadful place, he could see that she was not quite as fragile as he had first believed. A bit malnourished, certainly. Also a bit downtrodden and maybe a touch fearful as well. But not sickly and certainly not as weak as he had first assumed. There was fire within her. Alex could tell. After all, it took one strong-willed spirit to recognize another. And every so often, he saw his own defiant spirit reflected back at him from deep within her eyes.
