Do not be stupid, Viola told herself. But she put her hand on his arm and went with him.
Chapter 7
Wes’s pulse seemed to be pounding against every inch of his skin. Her hand was on his arm, and her eyes were glowing like emeralds, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than Viola Cavendish, standing in the frigid night, head thrown back to gaze at the stars. Her lips had parted in wonder, and Wes had nearly kissed her right then and there.
It was all he could think about now. That, and her hand on his arm as she went with him on the most specious errand ever invented. He knew very well it was Byron’s poetry he quoted, but for a half hour alone with her, he’d happily check every book of poetry from Marlowe, Jonson, and Shakespeare. If they weren’t distracted before locating the poetry books, that is . . .
They reached the tall double doors of the library. She picked up a lamp from a nearby table as Wes reached for the doorknob.
But a lamp already burned inside, on the desk by the near hearth. The two people in the room looked up, startled, and in a flurry of movement flew apart.
Not, though, before Wes saw who they were and what they were doing. Lady Alexandra was frantically smoothing her dress back into place. Justin ran one hand through his disheveled hair, but seemed to realize it was hopeless. His jacket was off, his cravat was askew, and he gave Wes a glance that was half sheepish, half defiant.
Wes shut the door with a bang.
“Uncle, let me explain,” began Justin.
“Close your mouth,” said Wes in a deadly soft tone. “I will speak to you later. Lady Alexandra, are you hurt?”
Her flush was visible even in the low light. “Not at all, sir.”
“What is going on?” Mrs. Cavendish finally found her voice.
Lady Alexandra looked frozen. Justin cleared his throat. “It was not nearly as bad as it looked.”
“No?” Mrs. Cavendish turned a frigid gaze on him. “What was it, then?”
Justin opened his mouth, seemed to realize the problem, and closed his mouth.
“It was only a kiss,” said Lady Alexandra in a quavering voice. “Just a little one.”
Mrs. Cavendish looked pointedly at Justin’s white shirtsleeves. They must have been alone here for some time. Wes could have smacked himself for not paying more attention to Justin’s interest in the girl. How long ago had they snuck away from the party in the drawing room? Alexandra had been sitting on the desk, Justin’s hand on her knee—thankfully on top of her skirts—and her arms around his neck. It probably had only been a bit of kissing, but Lady Alexandra was the daughter of a duke, a young lady who was expected to make a very good marriage and have a spotless reputation.
And if that reputation became tarnished and stained by Wes’s feckless nephew, there would be hell to pay.
“I hope your mother Her Grace agrees,” Mrs. Cavendish told Lady Alexandra.
Alexandra shot her an agonized look, but nodded. Viola reached for her arm and drew her firmly toward the door.
“Mrs. Cavendish . . .” Justin’s voice was hesitant. “Truly it was my fault. I asked her to come away from the party . . . Blame me.”
“I do, sir,” she said bluntly. “But it is not my response you need to be concerned about.” She swept Alexandra out the door.
A full minute of silence reigned in the library. Justin didn’t seem to know where to look. Wes counted to ten to save his temper from erupting. “What the devil?”
He must have mastered himself better than he thought, because a slight smile crossed Justin’s face. “She’s very pretty.”
Wes stared at him stonily.
“She’s great fun too.”
Wes maintained his stare.
Justin began to wilt. “It was naught but a little kiss.”
“Don’t you ever say that to me again!” Anger finally boiled over. Justin flinched as Wes advanced on him in a fury. “Go to your room and stay there. Do not speak to anyone. Do not ring for a servant to remove your boots. Do not do anything but sit quietly in your room. If I can’t trust you to do that, we leave tomorrow morning even if we must climb through snowbanks higher than our heads, carrying our baggage. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Justin muttered.
Wes continued to glare at him. “I will attempt to smooth things over as much as possible. If you leave your room before I come speak to you, I shall find a switch and thrash you like the boy you clearly still are.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Justin whispered.
Wes grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair and flung it at him. “Go.”
Justin’s ears were red as he tugged his jacket back on and ducked out of the room.
Wes paced for a few minutes. Bloody hell. Was that boy’s head completely empty? What was he thinking?
He had to stop himself there. Of course he knew what was in Justin’s head; much the same desire had been beating away at Wes’s own brain. If not for Justin, he might be kissing Viola Cavendish right now . . .
But that was a totally different situation, he argued to himself. He was not a green boy and she was not an innocent young lady. They both knew what they were doing. If he kissed her, if she kissed him, it would be because they both wanted it . . .
He sighed. It didn’t really matter. And he suspected that how he handled Justin’s indiscretion would have a large impact on whether he’d ever get another chance with Viola.
Viola kept a firm grip on Alexandra’s arm as she hurried down the corridor toward the dowager’s apartment. The only way for Alexandra to head off any trouble over the kiss was to confess it immediately to her mother, before a careless comment or whisper could blow the whole thing out of proportion. Viola also hoped the experience would leave a lasting impression on the girl and prevent her from doing
