Page 65 of Again, Scoundrel

“I’ll do no such thing until we’ve had a conversation. Violet, of course we are to marry!”

“I don’t understand. You’ve never done a single thing they wanted you to do. Why would you even consider marriage unless—”

She stopped talking and then she stopped breathing.

Unless you want to marry me.

Understanding rocketed through her. She’d been a fool. The man felt something for her. And she something for him. That much was clear after tonight.

But it didn’t mean she would or could marry him. In fact, it meant the conversation they were about to have was going to be that much harder.

Violet walked to the bed and sat on it, gently taking his hand. It felt like ice to her.

“Don’t be angry,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Her voice was soft as she looked into his dark, almond-shaped eyes. “I’m sorry, Alistair, but I cannot get married. I won’t. That would ruin me. Not this. Not tonight. Tonight was…”

He turned his face away from hers and cut off whatever she was about to say.

“You’re right.” His voice was strange and indifferent now, sending a cold, sharp shard through her heart. “It was a ridiculous idea. Of course, we won’t marry.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous,” she said. “I loved this day with you. And this night.” She reached her hand out to gently brush his arm, but he jerked away from her touch. “I didn’t even know it was possible to feel as I do when I’m with you. I just cannot marry. I never will. It’s not you.”

“I understand, Violet. No need to explain further. I’m inconstant. I drink too much. I’m a second son with no fortune or career to call my own. A failure in every way. You’re right to say no. There’s nothing in me for you. There’s nothing in me at all.”

She reached for him, but he stood quickly, moving his body away from her.

“Alistair,” she said. “Those are not my words either.”

“I believe you did call me inconstant, Miss Goodwin. I’ll see you home now.”

“Alistair, please talk to me,” she said, but she could tell he was gone from her already. The man in front of her now was practically a stranger. “I will see you again, won’t I?” she asked but even as she did, she wished she hadn’t.

She’d never see him again. Not like before. That time, when he was soft and open and she was loose and free, was gone. She wanted to reach for him again, to touch him in any way he’d let her, but she didn’t.

He didn’t want her touch; he’d made that clear enough. What he wanted from her she could not give.

Perhaps in America she could be who she wanted to be and have a husband too. But not here in England. She’d learned that lesson from her cousin and her aunt too well. Here, where Alistair was, her future was not.

Chapter

26

Violet’s clothes were ruined except for her drawers, so Alistair found a linen shirt and a pair of buckskin breeches in his wardrobe to put her in. And then he helped her dress as a valet might. It should have been fun, arousing even, but they barely spoke a word to each other as he worked.

He found he preferred the chilly distance between them now. Perhaps the coldness could numb him. He hadn’t realized before this evening that feelings could physically hurt, the way a battle wound did. That the ache in his chest was as sharp and painful as if she’d plunged a dagger there. And that their newfound frostiness was the only method of self-preservation he had to keep that hurt at bay.

Of course, she won’t marry me. Why would she?

He had nothing to offer her, which meant he was nothing. All these years, his father had been right. He was nothing.

The thought cut him like a blade as Alistair crouched to his knees to roll up her breeches at the ankles. They clung indecently to Violet’s hips and thighs and gapped at her waist and calves. And they were far, far too long.

While he was on his knees cuffing them, her ankle bone, his old friend, called out to him to be caressed, but he steeled himself not to touch her more than was necessary. As if she were some off-putting mother-in-law and not the woman of luscious curves and tremendous appetite he had just ravished in his bed. His fingers trembled from the thought of it, from wanting her. Even so quickly after he’d just had her.

Again, they said to him. Again.