The hedges parted thanks to Ravensthorpe’s arm, and there was soon enough room for her to slip through the branches. She tugged her skirts free, no doubt ripping the delicate silk. Clothing, however, was the least of her concerns.
Ravensthorpe’s eyes were like frozen ice, a winter storm that chilled her to the bone. He put some distance between them, and his mouth was set in a flat, unhappy line when he whirled around. “What in hell do you think you are playing at?”
Her mind blanked in the face of his anger. “I went out for a walk.”
“A lie. No lady walks on the lawn and risks her slippers.” He pointed to her now-ruined footwear. “Again, what are you doing here?”
What happened if she admitted the truth? Would he finally see her as an adult, not some silly child he’d ignored for the past two years? She hated that he no longer talked to her. He acted as if she didn’t exist, instead spending time with women who were married to other men, like the countess. What was so wrong with Violet?
“You are trying my patience, little mouse.”
The truth fell from her lips. “I followed you.”
“That is obvious,” he said, the words like icicles, sharp and brittle. “What I cannot fathom is why.”
“I was curious as to the type of woman who attracted you.” She winced, but there was no taking it back now.
“Again, why?”
God above, was it not obvious? Was he actually going to make her speak it aloud?
You have nothing to lose. You have already embarrassed yourself.
“Because I wished to take her place, Your Grace.”
Ravensthorpe dragged a hand down his face. Turning, he went to the iron bench near the fountain and sat, his long legs spread out before him. Violet wrapped her arms around herself, feeling like the world’s biggest fool.
“Violet, you must return to the house and forget this ever happened. You must forget me. There are dozens of men in there tonight who would gladly share a tryst with you.”
“But they are not you,” she whispered.
He winced as if struck. “I am far too old for you.”
Old? She paused, blinking at him. He was not old. He was male perfection wrapped in a cloak of confidence and swagger. She’d seen plenty of decrepit men and Ravensthorpe was far from that group. Besides, it was nothing for a lord his age to wed a debutante. Such matches happened every season. “You are forty-one. Hardly old.”
“No, but I am too old for you. I am your father’s friend. I’ve known you since you were born, for God’s sake.”
“You are two years younger than my father, if memory serves.”
He gave a dry laugh. “Christ, Violet. Are you trying to say two years makes a difference?”
“I don’t care how old you are.” There. She’d said it.
“You should. It would be far better for you to find a man your own age. Or close to it.”
She cared little for the men her age. Foppish fools who worried more about appearances than anything else. During dances, they merely stared at her bosom and stepped on her toes.
Besides, how could she ever be interested in anyone other than Ravensthorpe? He’d starred in her dreams for so long there wasn’t room for anyone else in her head. “I don’t want a man my age.” I want you.
“You are eighteen. You have a lifetime ahead of you. Find someone to share that life with, someone who makes you happy.”
He appeared less angry at the moment and more like the kind man she remembered, so she decided to present him with a reasonable argument. “Many girls my age marry older men. It’s common amongst the ton.”
“Are you . . . Is this about becoming a duchess?” He sounded horrified. “Even if we were closer in age, I am not interested in marriage, ever. I will never take another wife.”
She hadn’t known his feelings on marriage, but she didn’t care about titles. She wanted the man, end of story. If that was outside of marriage, so be it. “I am not proposing marriage, Your Grace.”
“Christ, do not use my honorific in that tone of voice.”
Why? She’d called him “Your Grace” hundreds of times. “I apologize, duke.” It was a more personal form of address, one he would reserve for intimate members of his circle. She hoped to one day join that inner circle, whispering in his ear whilst they were in bed.
“Fuck, that is worse.” Standing, he put his hands on his hips, an imposing tower of disapproval. Something about his scowl made her want to bow and scrape for his admiration. She nearly licked her lips. He said, “You are the daughter of my closest friend. This is inappropriate and needs to end, Violet.”
She would not back down, not without answers. “Is that why you stopped talking to me? Why you won’t even look at me anymore?”
He glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I do not interact with children.”
“You did. With me. For years and years. And then you stopped like I’d contracted smallpox.”
“That was before. When it was harmless.”
“What does that mean? Have I hurt you in some manner?” She didn’t understand. He was speaking in riddles. She had made her position clear, yet could he not do the same?
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Before you developed breasts and hips. Not to mention an arse I’d like to sink my teeth into. Have you no looking glass? Your body is made for sin and your face would make angels weep.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You have every man panting after you the second you walk into a bloody room.”
Violet’s knees wobbled. The air left her lungs and she feared she might faint. This was what Ravensthorpe thought of her? Lord above. She was rounder than most girls her age, with their tiny waists and bosoms that barely peeked out from their gowns. Indeed, she was what her mother called “robust.”
But Ravensthorpe liked the way she looked. He said she had every man panting when she walked into a room. Did that mean him as well?
Was this why he no longer talked to her?
Men were so confusing.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “If you like the way I look, then why ignore me?”
Something dangerous flashed in his gaze. “You must stay away from me, Violet.”
“Why? I am not pressuring you for marriage. I merely want . . .”
Heavy, angry footsteps brought him directly in front of her. “To fuck me. Is that it, little mouse? Do you need me to put my cock inside you and make you scream?”
Lust rushed through her veins, heavy and thick, and her lips parted as she exhaled. Lord, she wanted that so badly. To experience all she’d seen in those erotic photographs with the man standing in front of her.
He read the answer on her face. “Have you ever been fucked, Violet? Had a man’s fingers inside your tight pussy? Or maybe a thick cock?” When she said nothing, he barked, “Answer me.”
“No.” She hadn’t considered even trying with anyone other than the man standing in front of her.
“Do you even know what it’s like to make yourself come? Do you stroke your clitoris under the covers at night, or perhaps in the bath?”
Her mouth dried out, speech impossible. Triumph lit his eyes, as if he’d succeeded in exposing her as inexperienced and unsuitable. “Stay away from me. Do not follow me again. Forget you even know me.”