Page 66 of Again, Scoundrel

They itched to reach for her, to tickle the underside of her knee and make their way up her curvy, beautiful thigh. To insert themselves into her wet center and bring her to her knees with desire.

No.

This time he didn’t listen. He briskly helped bind her breasts with a cravat, which he covered with one of his linen shirts as stonily as he could do anything in the vicinity of her breasts. The shirt hung far too low on her, almost down to her knees. He watched her shove it down into the breeches, and then he handed her an old overcoat. It was much too large, with drooping shoulders that looked ridiculous, but it was the best he could do.

He disappeared into his wardrobe for a hat, the final touch, and then stared at her, as expressionless as he could make himself, while she heaved her hair up into a lopsided coiffure. It was a shaky, tenuous affair at best, her hair, but she managed to get it up and under the hat.

“If you’re to examine the girl before you leave, you ought to hurry. Dawn is breaking.”

“Jess,” Violet said. “Her name is Jess. And of course, I’ll see her.” She gave him a strange look, which he ignored.

“Come along, then.”

He led her out of his bedchamber and down the hall to his single guest room. The maid and footman were still abed after the long evening, but they wouldn’t remain so for long, so they moved quickly and quietly.

“Hurry,” he instructed her, before opening the door to where Jess slept.

He waited outside, impatient, while Violet checked in on the girl.

Jess.

Of course, he knew her name was Jess. He didn’t know why he had pretended otherwise except that it felt good to repudiate something of the time they’d spent together. To pretend it hadn’t happened.

Violet re-appeared after only a few minutes. “She’s doing well,” she said. “Still sleeping. No fever.”

Alistair didn’t reply. He only turned his back to her and led the way outside, stepping from the shadows of his townhouse to hail a passing hack.

He wished momentarily he had use of the family carriage but ignored the thought. To have use of the carriage would mean a great many things he didn’t want to contemplate at the moment. A hack would do well enough to get Violet home and out of his life.

When the hack stopped, Alistair threw open the door.

“Come,” he said and climbed inside, leaving Violet to follow on her own.

Then he knocked on the roof to alert the driver they were ready, and they rode back to Chester House in silence.

Violet arrived home after her evening with Alistair expecting to have a great deal of explanation ahead of her. She slept a few restless hours before waking to the blaze of the late morning sun and making her way to the morning room, where she found her mother, her Aunt Lydia, and Catherine seated at the table.

“Good morning,” she said. “I can explain—”

“Oh, Violet!” Her mother cut her off. “Good morning, dear. You slept late. Have some breakfast. We have so much planning to do!”

Violet paused, eyeing her mother carefully. The woman seemed not to have noticed that she hadn’t arrived home until after dawn. And especially that she hadn’t slept in her own bed. She moved her eyes to Catherine, who smiled at her pleasantly.

“Cousin,” Catherine said. “I do hope you’re feeling better after you went to bed early with a headache.”

She shot Violet a look that very explicitly said, play along if you know what’s good for you.

“Yes,” Violet said. “I had a headache.”

“Mother and Aunt Nora were out at the musicale, as you know, and I stayed home to tend you. Which was quite gracious of me, if I don’t say so myself.”

“Yes,” Violet agreed, trying to keep her face impassive at her cousin’s ridiculous story. “Very kind of you indeed.”

“Catherine,” Lydia cut in, “will you share the news or not?”

“I was getting to it, Mother. If you’d give me a moment to continue.”

“What news is that?” Violet asked, helping herself to coffee and some breakfast. She was starving.