“Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”
His mind was spinning, trying to sort things out. Violet was in London, had crossed the Atlantic to reach him. He started walking toward the drawing room, wide awake now, no longer feeling the least effects of the alcohol he had consumed.
As he strode into the room, she sat bolt upright, her eyes bright and blinking, glanced around for an instant as if to recall where she was, straightened and shoved to her feet. She was smaller than he remembered was his first impression, petite but shapely. In truth, she was different in every way than he recalled.
Except for her glorious copper hair, the likes of which he had never seen.
He groped for something to say. “Violet. I cannot believe you are here.”
She gave him a chilling smile. “It took a while to reach London. But at last, here I am.”
He couldn’t seem to make himself move. “So you are.”
He did move then, closing the distance between them, reaching out to take both of her hands. She wore no gloves, he noticed, and realized that aside from the bridal kiss on her cheek, he had never actually touched her without the barrier of some sort of clothing.
“Welcome to London,” he said. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more proper greeting.”
Violet drew her hands from his and looked him over, head to foot. For the first time, it occurred to him that his cravat was undone and dangling round his neck; his collar was missing, shirt unbuttoned and his hair slightly mussed.
Violet, on the other hand, looked…well…
Violet Griffin Dewar was beautiful.
“It must have been quite an evening,” she said, those leaf-green eyes he remembered taking in his dishevel.
He flushed like a schoolboy. “Not really. I stopped by to see friends and wound up playing cards at my club.”
“You were gambling? I didn’t realize you were a gambler.”
His embarrassment faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I rarely gamble. I was simply passing time.”
“Yes, well, you certainly managed to do that.” She glanced up at the clock over the mantel, the hands pointing to the lateness of the hour, condemning him.
“I am certain you are tired,” she continued. “I shall leave you to find your bed. I just wanted you to know I was here and to say that I would like to speak to you first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, of course.” His gaze ran over her. In the yellow glow of the lamp on the table, he saw that in the past three years her features had softened, the sharp angles smoothed into feminine lines and curves. Her cheeks were as pale as cream and heightened by a touch of rose. A full bosom swelled above her tiny waist, her neck was slender and as graceful as her hands. Her lips were fuller than he recalled, beautifully curved and a lush shade of pink.
No longer the boyish young girl she had been at sixteen, Violet had matured into a woman. She was everything her father had predicted and more, the sort of female any red-blooded male would want in his bed.
And she was his wife.
A trickle of desire filtered through him, tightening his groin. He cleared his throat, ignored the thickening in his loins. It was merely that the hour was late and he hadn’t had a woman in weeks.
“My condolences on the loss of your father. He was a very great man.”
“Thank you.”
“I am truly sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. If only you had sent word ahead—”
“My decision was made somewhat quickly. Any letter would have arrived at the same time I did.” She gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”
His return smile was weak. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.” He should have left for Boston months ago. He hadn’t considered it a breach of his word until that very moment. The notion did not sit well.
Violet lifted her chin. “I shall see you in the morning, then.”
Rule nodded. “I’ll have Hat rouse one of the chambermaids and send her in to help you undress.”
“Hat, I presume, is your butler?”
“It’s Hatfield, actually. I’ve always called him Hat.”
“Of course.”
Rule stood by as she collected her skirts and swept gracefully from the drawing room. As she disappeared through the door, a rush of air escaped his lungs.
God’s blood, his wife had come to London! He still couldn’t believe it. He would have to tell his family, try to explain why he had kept his marriage a secret.
Rule thought of facing his two brothers and their wives—worse yet, his aunt Agatha, the matriarch of the family—and inwardly he groaned.
Violet pushed through the door of her bedroom to find Caroline still fully dressed and asleep on top of the bed. Her cousin jerked awake as Violet stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.
Caroline blinked owlishly then grinned. “Tell me what happened. I won’t be able to sleep a wink until I know.”
Violet released a weary breath. She had only slept in fits and starts on the sofa and jousting with Rule had left her edgy and drained.
“He was quite the gentleman. But then he always was.”
Rule had accepted her arrival more graciously than she had expected. Oh, he had been surprised to see her—wildly so. But he had recovered his composure quickly and played the willing host.
Which perhaps she should have expected. His smooth, sophisticated manner had been one of the things her father had admired.
“What does he look like? Is he still so very handsome?”
Handsome was a very pale word to describe a man who looked like Rule. “He is handsome. Beyond handsome, to be truthful. He is even taller than I remember.”
“With those lovely blue eyes and those wonderful dimples?”
“That would be him—though I didn’t see the dimples tonight. I don’t think he found anything the least bit humorous about my unexpected arrival.”
Caroline grinned. “Well, then, if you are still set on tossing him over, maybe you should give him to me.”
Violet laughed. “Once I am rid of him, I don’t care what he does.”
Caroline arched a golden eyebrow. “On second thought, I don’t want your leftovers. I think I shall find a man of my own.”
Violet bit back a smile. “Good idea.” Their tastes in men had always been different and even though Rule was quite a beautiful specimen, he was merely a man. Violet had learned the hard way there was more to a relationship than physical beauty.
“Did you tell him?” Caroline asked, sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you say you wanted an annulment?” Both of them were still fully dressed. And both were exhausted.
“I would rather have a good night’s sleep and face him in the morning.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“That will be the chambermaid, here to help me undress. I didn’t know you were still awake.”
“I’m glad someone is here. She can help us both.”
And so a full-figured, brown-haired woman in her late twenties walked into the bedroom, hiding a yawn behind her hand.
“Me name’s