Charles acted as if he hadn’t heard a word Max said. “Now the rumors about you and Wingfield make sense. I heard you accosted him at Brooks’s, but I hadn’t believed it. That was over Violet, wasn’t it?”
“Do not make this into something it isn’t, Mayhew.”
Charles dragged a hand through his wet hair. “I cannot believe, after all our years of friendship, that you would do this. That you could care so little for my family. That you could be so callously cruel.”
The moment stretched, the steady drizzle of rain continuing to soak them both, but neither moved. An awful sensation swept across Max’s skin and burrowed into his chest like talons—a sensation he suspected was guilt. However, no promises had been hinted at between him and Violet. He hadn’t lied—she’d known his intentions at every turn. He hadn’t whispered pretty words merely to get under her skirt. He hadn’t needed to.
Still, he didn’t relish exposing the affair and hurting her. Damn Mayhew for forcing him to do it.
It’s for the best. She was never meant for me, anyway.
The world believed him vicious and selfish. A monster who drove his first wife into the grave. It was past time to prove it.
Drawing himself up to his most menacing height, he drawled, “You are overreacting. I haven’t hurt her or ruined her chances at marriage with Sundridge. ’Tis a lark between us. Nothing more.”
“It had better be, because I’m betrothing her to Sundridge, if he’ll still have her. As for you, I hope you rot in hell, Ravensthorpe.”
Charles shoved Max out of the way and headed for the steps. “Oh, and Ravensthorpe?” He glared at Max. “If I ever see you in the vicinity of my daughter again, death sentence or not, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.”
Then he disappeared and Max was alone, the sound of the raindrops his only company. He stared at his shoes and tried not to drown in his regrets.
I did the right thing.
There had been no choice but to tell Charles. Violet wouldn’t agree, certainly, but she’d thank Max one day after she married some young lord and had a passel of children. A cantankerous, cynical duke such as himself had no right to a vivacious and optimistic young woman like Violet. She had years of joy and discovery ahead of her, while he had long crested that particular hill.
He rubbed the center of his chest, where a dull ache had set up residence. Yes, it was definitely for the best.
Chapter Ten
Violet couldn’t move, her back stuck to the stone as rain slithered into her bodice and behind her neck. Her stupid heart oozed misery, as if it had been sliced open to bleed out on the grass.
A lark. He’d called her a lark. Dismissed and diminished her.
That is what you get for eavesdropping.
Yet how was she expected to leave when her father and Max were discussing her? Of course, she had stayed—though a big part of her now wished she hadn’t.
Chest tight, she lifted her face toward the sky, longing to start over again, back before she’d romanticized thoughts of a dark-headed duke with eyes like midnight.
It’s better to know how little you mean to him.
She would never be more than a secret, a diversion he used to the pass the time. He would never love her, not as she loved him.
Indeed, she’d thought she could handle an affair, that having a piece of him was better than nothing at all. What foolishness. What hubris. Turned out it hurt to settle for scraps. She wanted every bit of Max, his body and his heart. His soul.
’Tis a lark between us. Nothing more.
Goodness, she couldn’t breathe. She tapped her sternum with her fist, reminding her lungs to function. It must have worked because she was still standing when her father came storming down the stairs.
When he spotted her, he stopped. “I see you heard.” Grimacing, he closed his eyes. “I would have spared you that, but I suppose it’s best you learn what type of man he is.”
Your cunt was made for my cock, Violet. I’ve never had better.
Even if he’d been telling the truth, their intimate moments had meant nothing to him. She had meant nothing to him.
Swallowing, she faced her father. “I’d like to go home.”
“Come.” He took her arm and towed her along in the rain. “God, Violet. I would have wished any other man in the entire world for you. He is the very last one—”
“Not now, Papa.”
There must have been something in her voice, something desperate and broken, because he clamped his lips shut. They ended up in front of the house, and the Mayhew carriage was soon brought around. With the evening still in full swing, the streets remained quiet at this hour. Violet was grateful for the rain, as it washed away the tears leaking from her eyes.
When they were settled inside, her father handed her a dry cloth. Violet wiped her face slowly. “I am sorry, Papa.”
“Sorry it happened—or sorry you were caught?”
She couldn’t answer. The wound was too raw, her body still sore from Max’s attentions yesterday.
Papa exhaled and pushed the wet hair off his forehead. “I am trying to remain calm, but it is a struggle. How on earth did this happen?”
She forced the admission past the lump holding court in her throat. “You mustn’t blame Ravensthorpe. I threw myself at him—more than once, I might add—and he tried to warn me off many times. Also, he told me that he would never marry me.”
“Then, why?”
“Because I’ve loved him ever since I was a girl.”
And I thought I could make him love me, too.
“Your mother was right. I allowed you far too much independence with your camera and your classes. We should have kept you limited to traditional pursuits at home with a governess.”
On the dark street were the familiar houses that lined their perfect little world, a society where young girls had no control over their future. Where parents used their daughters like bargaining chips. There was a great fascinating city out there, one she’d never experience or explore because it had been deemed unsafe for girls like her.
“We’ll marry you off to Sundridge and no one ever need know,” her father was saying.
“Papa, he could barely bother to learn my name and all he talks of is cricket.”
“You act as if you have options at the moment, Violet. Allow me to dissuade you of that notion. Sundridge is your only hope.”
A sob worked its way out of her chest, but she pushed it down. There would be time enough for that later. “I do not want to marry him.”
“You could be increasing,” Papa hissed, his eyes full of disappointment and anger. “Have you thought of that?”
Max hadn’t spent inside her, so she doubted a child would result. Those details were not something she wished to discuss with her father, however. “Nevertheless, that is no reason to rush into a miserable marriage.”
Papa leaned in. “I will not have my daughter bear a child out of wedlock.”
The absolute nerve . . . Her lips curved into a knowing sneer as she leaned in as well. “You mean like the child you fathered with a mistress two years ago?”
One could have heard a pin drop in the carriage. He stared at her as if she’d smacked him. “How . . . how do you know of that? Did he tell you?”