Page 63 of Again, Scoundrel

She sighed, her head aching and her stomach churning. Of course, there was a consequence. There was always a consequence. Always.

She shook her head. It was a lesson she shouldn’t have to keep learning over and over again, yet she did.

Violet didn’t want to marry. She wanted to do what she’d done today. The time she’d spent with patients had been the pinnacle of her hard work. It was the realization of the deathbed promise she’d made to James. And she would not, could not, give it up now.

In fact, as she’d made her way through the long line of patients, an idea had occurred to her—that she’d take her inheritance and use it to build a hospital, the very best hospital, just for the poor. With a special emphasis on expectant mothers like Jess. Those who needed so much that society would never let them have.

Her heart soared at the thought of it. She would hire only the best nurses and midwives and surgeons. Those who actually read the research and studied the new methodologies. They could learn from each other and teach new students, multiplying the effect.

She could so clearly envision it in her mind. Her hospital would be clean and beautiful, and of service to anyone, no matter their wealth or status. Her patients would be treated with the same dignity and care whether they were a duke or his footman. A vicar or a rat catcher. It wouldn’t matter.

It was an audacious thought; the only truly radical idea she’d ever had. Maybe she was a radical after all. She grinned.

It would be expensive though, her hospital. Taking every last dime of her inheritance and more. She couldn’t marry, or her fortune would no longer be hers. And she would have to go back to New York, where she had connections and could fundraise.

She couldn’t be stuck in England where she didn’t know anyone, under the thumb of all the English rules. And with all the Mrs. Jensons, who would stare daggers at her even after she’d just saved her daughter’s life.

No, thank you.

She’d accomplished one dream today, and that had given birth to a second. She lay awake and imagined it, her beautiful hospital with gardens and clean rooms and decent meals, available to everyone. No one would ever have to die from a disease that could be treated if Violet could help it.

She turned onto her side, feeling Alistair’s slumbering form behind her, pressed up against her back and feet. She enjoyed the feeling of him there, the prickles of his hair and the hardness of his thighs and the width of his arm that encased her.

She reveled in what was different; he was hairy where she was smooth, firm where she was soft. And what was the same—how his skin and blood and bones were made of the same stuff as hers.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax against his body. It felt right, natural, to be with him today, and she didn’t want to consider what had to happen next. She wanted to enjoy the peace she’d found in her mind and body in the moments after he’d brought her to her peak. How she’d loved every touch, every caress given and received between them. And the feel of him inside her and on top of her, when he pressed his tongue against her most private parts. She gave a little shiver.

She’d enjoyed watching him enjoy her, too. Feasting his eyes on her body and finding his own peak. It brought her pleasure to be able to bring it to him, for her body to be an instrument of passion the same as his was.

She shook her head.

No use thinking about that.

Not now, when she understood more clearly than she ever had before that to marry was a limitation she could not afford. That she would not accept. If she couldn’t have both–a husband and a hospital–and she was certain she could not, she chose the hospital.

She shifted again in their shared bed, and he moved closer to her, holding her tightly in his arms.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled, but she didn’t.

She waited until his breath was even again and the constant up and down of his chest told her he’d fallen back into a deep sleep. Then she disentangled herself as deftly and quietly as she could manage and rose.

Violet stood barefoot in his bedchamber and looked around for her belongings, soon realizing exactly how much trouble she was in. She had no gown, no corset, no hair pins, no reticule, no coin, nothing.

How was she to dress?

How was she to get home?

And she still had to see Jess, which she would not do draped in a blanket. She could perhaps borrow his shirt and trousers and check in on her patient. And then don an overcoat and a hat to steal back through Mayfair to Chester House. She could do that.

I can, can’t I?

There would be people about, and it would be a flimsy disguise at best. If she was recognized, it would be scandalous. Catherine would forgive her of course, but her mother would be furious.

She’d stayed out late tending to emergency cases in New York before but always accompanied by the other nurse matrons. And never until dawn. Certainly never returning home in a man’s clothing.

But if that was all she had, she’d make do. She’d find his wardrobe, dress, see to Jess, and then get back to Chester House. She reached up and touched her hair. She’d also have to find her hair pins. Someone must have taken them out while she slept.

Alistair.