Page 45 of Again, Scoundrel

“And remember to keep those cuts clean.”

“I said I’ll be fine, Violet.”

Violet sat and took a few bites of her lunch in silence before she asked the question that had been bothering her since Alistair had rushed into the tavern.

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” The words erupted out of him, startling her. “What in blazes are you doing here, Violet? Do you even know these people?”

He began to pace again, the cadence of his footsteps heavy against the floorboards.

“I do,” Violet said and gave the one shoulder shrug she’d learned from the modiste. “I mostly do. How do you know them? And what’s on Putney Heath?”

“Nevermind Putney Heath. Anything could have happened to you here. Do you understand that? Wandering around Covent Garden, getting foxed at,” he checked his pocket watch, “one in the afternoon. Asking strange men to kiss you. What in the bloody hell is happening?”

Violet stared at him until he’d finished speaking. “Are you done?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The edge had left his voice, but he continued to pace.

“Good. Now listen, Alistair. To the first.” She held up one finger to make her point that it was one of many. “You don’t have the right to speak to me that way, and I ask that you never do it again. Even if you’re worried about me.”

She held up a second finger. “To the second, I am not foxed. I tasted the whisky that was thoughtfully offered to me. I did not want to be rude.”

“You were hiccupping,” Alistair interjected.

“Third,” Violet went on, ignoring him, “even if I was foxed at one in the afternoon, and I assure you I am not, you are hardly one to speak of it. Word is you’re rarely sober.

“And fourth—”

Alistair reached out and caught her hand before she could go on. “No more pointing or counting,” he said. “And I’ve given up drinking.”

“Since when?”

“Since I realized I’d made a fool of myself in front of you at the Somerville dinner.”

That made Violet pause. She hadn’t thought him a fool. She’d thought him irritating and erratic and making fun of her but not a fool.

“Oh,” she said for lack of anything better. “Well, then–” She removed her hand from his. “What are you doing here, really? I want to know.”

He stepped back and looked at her, his eyes the warm chocolate brown she remembered from the balcony.

“I am partnering with McGann. We’re to build a shipping and trading company together. Or I hope we are. We still need to raise the capital. I’ve been trying to convince my father to invest, but it’s not exactly going to plan.”

Violet vaguely remembered the Marquess from the Somerville dinner. Now that she thought of it, the man had spent the whole evening with Alistair’s brother and with nary a word for his other son.

“You don’t get along.”

He let out a short, stiff laugh. “More that my father cannot stand the sight of me, but I appreciate your diplomacy.”

“That cannot be true.”

Her family had always been close, especially after James died and all they had was each other. It was hard for her to imagine anything different than knowing you were loved. Even when her family hadn’t approved of her choice to become a nurse, she’d known they loved her.

“I’m afraid it is true. Since the summer I turned fifteen.”

“Did something happen?”

She hadn’t realized she’d moved closer to him until she found herself standing just an inch away, wanting to smooth that furrow between his eyes again.