He hated to shatter her illusions, but it had to be said. “My dear, I’ve no need of the first and can find the second anytime I wish.”
She was quiet after that, but he didn’t take it back. Someone must give her the unvarnished truth. Someone must lower her expectations, both with regards to him and her future marriage.
A marriage not so far in the future, it seemed. Max hadn’t a clue as to why Lady Mayhew was in a rush to marry Violet off, especially to a twit like Sundridge. Lady Mayhew hadn’t ever seemed cruel, but perhaps the resentment in the Mayhew marriage had bled into her relationship with her daughter.
Still, Sundridge and Violet, married? Max’s gut cramped at the thought. That fool did not deserve someone with Violet’s spark or adventurous spirit. To hear her moans or capture her sighs with his mouth. To suck on her gorgeous tits or tongue her luscious cunt. It was out of the question.
“I’ll have a word with Sundridge,” he said curtly.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want to marry him.”
“You say that as if they won’t merely find someone else, another hapless soul to take Sundridge’s place.”
He didn’t care much for that, either. “I won’t let you marry just anyone. I’ll use my influence to help you make the best possible match.”
“Such as?”
“There’s . . .” Every name that went through his head was instantly discarded. No man he knew was good enough for her. “Hmm.”
She studied his face, observing his indecision like a hawk searching for prey. “Well?”
“I shall need to think on it.”
She snuggled into his side and buried her nose in his neck. “I cannot see why I must marry at all. I could move into a small apartment in Chelsea above a camera shop, then maybe open my own photography studio.”
And leave herself open to all sorts of mashers, charlatans, and miscreants? He sat straighter. “Absolutely not. That would hardly be safe.”
“Perhaps, but I would be independent. I’d be willing to trade some peace of mind for that.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“And I could still see you.”
Satisfaction raced through him as he considered it—and he was instantly ashamed. Violet could not become his mistress. To do so would ruin her social standing and likely get Max shot by her father. “You do not want that life, darling. You deserve the protection and security of a proper marriage. To be pampered and provided for until you die.”
“By a man like Sundridge? No, thank you.” Clever fingers played along Max’s jaw, stroking the skin above his collar. “Will you grant me a favor, Maximilian Thomas William Bradley III?”
His lips twisted into an affectionate smile. “Indeed, someone has been studying Debrett’s.”
“I used to write it on paper when I was younger.”
Surprised, he leaned back to lock eyes with her. “You did?”
“Yes, and I drew little hearts around it, too.”
He dropped his head onto the chair back. “Violet, my God. I should toss you in a carriage and send you home.” But he wouldn’t. Good sense had departed ages ago when it came to this woman. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He’d never felt this connection with a lover before, this consuming need to not only touch and kiss her, but to just be with her, to talk about everything and nothing. Maybe it was because he’d known her for so long. Or perhaps it was merely Violet, this daring and intelligent woman who challenged him at every turn.
She playfully pushed his chest. “Stop talking nonsense. Will you grant me a favor or not?”
He tapped his fingers on the armrest, thinking. He didn’t like agreeing without all the terms. However, this was Violet. History had shown that he had a difficult time telling her no, unless the topic was marriage.
He kissed her temple. “It depends.”
“On?”
“On whether this request involves a lack of clothing and a flat surface.”
“As a matter of fact, it does. Would you like to hear what I want?”
Blood gathered in his groin as he considered all the ways he planned to defile her this afternoon. “Of course. Name it and it’s yours.”
“May I photograph you?”
He blinked. “But I thought you said . . .?”
“Oh, I did.” She cocked her head, her eyes dancing. “I want to photograph you without your clothes.”
Chapter Eight
When Max chuckled, Violet did not join in. The request hadn’t been a jest. Devastatingly handsome, the duke was a specimen of living, breathing art, and if he did not deserve to be photographed and preserved, then nothing did.
He angled to see her face, the light catching on the threads of silver in his ink-colored hair. Her lower half clenched at his beauty, so harsh and masculine it hurt to look at him. His dark gaze narrowed on her. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“That is hardly an answer.”
She smoothed the fabric covering his chest, petting him. “Because you are so very pretty and I wish to try out my new camera.”
“Violet . . .”
He sounded exasperated, so she explained. “It’s not uncommon. Shops near the Strand sell all sorts of—”
“You should not know of those places,” he said sharply.
“Everyone knows of those places, Max.”
“Do not wander in there. If you wish to see those types of images, I’ll purchase them for you.”
“Why not pose for them instead?”
“Back to this, are we?” He shook his head. “Not the sort of portrait a duke poses for, darling.”
The endearment warmed her insides, but she didn’t stop pressing him. “Please? The light is gorgeous right now, with the perfect amount of afternoon sun. We’ll lock the door and the photos will only be for me, I promise.”
“Until you are angry with me and then copies are shipped off to my enemies.”
That stung. “Do you honestly believe I would ever do such a thing?”
“No, but they could end up in the wrong hands. What if your mother or father discovered them?”
She sensed victory. “My darkroom is in the attic and they never go up there.”
“And you’ll lock them up?” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “I cannot believe I am contemplating this. My ducal ancestors are undoubtedly spinning in their collective graves.”
“What if you turn your head, so the camera cannot clearly see your face?”
“That sounds better, but only if you allow me to take some of you as well.”
“Nude photographs?”
“Yes.”
She licked her lips and shifted on his lap. Did she dare? He would see all her imperfections and flaws, captured for eternity.
“Not so brave now, are you?”
The taunt hit home, making her feel foolish. “Fine. I will if you will.”
He ran a hand along her side and cupped her breast. “As long as I am able to keep the photographs of you.”
She arched her back, pushing into his palm. “What will you do with them?”