Sinful Confessions (7 page)

Julian debated the decanter of wine on
the bureau and shook his head. Now was not the time to get foxed, no matter how
tempted he was. He paused when he heard a creak outside. But, no, it wasn’t
her. Would he be forever waiting on Viola during her stay? Did she have any
idea how simply being around made his heart hitch?

What
had he been thinking? He should have let her go. He’d only intended to try to
make some kind of bumbling apology. The idea of her crying over him made him
feel bitter inside. He was not worth crying over. But when he’d realised she
intended to leave, something odd had come over him. A wild kind of desperation.
He hadn’t even realised what he’d done until he felt the flex of the delicate
bones of her wrist beneath his fingertips.

So
his mind had latched onto the only convenient reason for him begging her to
stay. For her to truly experience England. Today they would take the carriage
to Kenilworth Castle. He’d only been there himself once, in spite of it only
being an hour’s carriage ride away. He supposed it was easy to take these
things for granted when one had these things on one’s doorstep.

Julian
drew out his pocket watch and snapped it shut. No one would be angry with them
for being late—this was not a ball or an important social event. However, he
could swear she was deliberately late, just to make him feel like he was
standing upon hot coals. Every minute she made him wait had him imagining what
she was doing. Was she slipping on her stockings or dabbing some stain on her
lips? Spritzing perfume on her neck or tucking a curl behind her ear?

All
these little feminine moments had been something he’d greatly appreciated about
Sybil. Women could have no idea how entrancing it was to watch a woman skim her
fingers over her own skin.

Footsteps
finally sounded on the steps and he watched her ascend the stairs much as he
had the night she had fallen sick. Instead of seeming shaky and wan, she beamed
at him. Vibrancy fairly shimmered from her and he couldn’t resist the smile
curving his lips.

He
skimmed his gaze down her and paused at the sight of stockinged legs peeking
out of the dark green bloomers she wore. Good God, she was wearing trousers. He’d
heard of some women in London kicking up a stink because they wanted to wear
trousers whilst cycling but he’d never seen it himself. After all, this was the
country. He tried to drag his gaze away from where the tight cuffs latched
around slender calves but he couldn’t seem to.

“I
thought I should dress sensibly for the occasion.”

Julian
snapped his gaze up to her face. He’d already embarrassed the girl enough. He
couldn’t possibly tell her how inappropriate her manner of dress was.

“Very
well then.” He motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

Viola
surprised him by looping her arm through his. Gone was the teary-eyed, furious
woman from the previous day. He wished her letters had prepared him better for
her temperament. Unpredictable wasn’t the word.

He
shouldn’t like it.

Unpredictability
didn’t mesh well with his life. He really should not like it.

Julian
helped her up into the carriage and seated himself opposite her. He had thought
that was the better option. He’d been wrong.

Instead
of not worrying about her bottom jostling into him—a bottom he couldn’t help
noticing under the short cut of her riding jacket—he was faced with the nagging
need to stare at her. If he continued, she would probably jump onto the nearest
ship back.

As
the carriage took them down the road, past the trees and out through the main
gate, he forced his gaze to the rolling hills of the Warwickshire countryside.

They
passed a charming inn that he used to frequent before Sybil had died. He stole
a peek at Viola. The road took them past some of the cottages on his estate. He
flicked a glance her way and ran his gaze down to where her stockinged ankles
sat primly together.

Julian
eyed the flocked pattern of the curtains on either side of the window.

He
darted another look at those ankles. The stockings were thick enough, made in
the same deep green shade as her bloomers. But he could see the delicate bones
of her ankles and the way they curved. He was fairly certain he’d never found
an ankle so appealing and Lord knows, he’d been with enough women to see many a
naked ankle.

Over
the next hour, he tried to keep his attention—and hers—on the scenery and
various buildings in the area. He pointed out the church where he had been
christened and some of the older buildings in the county, and Viola eyed it all
with avid curiosity. The unadulterated look of fascination on her face made not
watching her impossible. She wore her every emotion so openly. He’d never seen
anything like it.

It
was with a certain sense of relief that they arrived in the village of
Kenilworth. The carriage took them over the bridge and brought them around to
the front of the grand castle. Its red stone loomed over the small cottages and
large expanse of open land around it. Even he found it impressive.

“Oh
my,” she breathed, half-standing to peer out of the window and admire it before
the carriage had come to a complete stop.

As
the vehicle did finally stop, she staggered a little and Julian put his hands
out to brace her. Hips and a pert rear met his palms. He drew them back as if
scalded and she gave him a sheepish look.

“It
truly is magnificent.”

He
waited for the groom to open the door and pull out the steps before stepping
out and aiding her down. She lifted the brim of her hat and eyed the sprawling
ruins. The old keep still stood and a wall encircled it. The rest of the
building still filled the lines of the wall but was not in as good a condition
as the Norman part of it.

“We
have to climb the mound, I’m afraid.” He pointed to where the ground dipped
into what had once been the moat and then rose back up at a steep angle.

“What
a fine job I did dress appropriately then.”

Damn
her, did she have to keep reminding him that he could simply glance down and
have a fine view of her long legs?

Julian
noted two other carriages on the road nearby and spied a group of people
exploring the ruins. Since a book had been written on the castle, it had become
an increasingly popular place for people to visit. He hesitated but Viola
strode on and he was forced to follow. He didn’t do people well, not since—

“Well,
would you look at this?” Hand to her hat, she paused to take in the full view
of the castle. “It is beautiful.”

He
nodded numbly. Beautiful. Indeed. Her auburn hair fluttered in the wind and a
loose lock came to curl about her face, sticking to her lower lip as she turned
to beam at him. Beautiful.

“I
knew it would be wonderful, but I didn’t expect it to be like this,” she
continued and began to march on again.

Taking
a moment to gather himself, he let her go on a few paces. He had not expected
her to be like this either. Bold, vivacious, breathtaking. He scowled and tried
to recall how he’d pictured her when he’d been writing to her, but she’d been a
sort of faceless entity. Julian was not at all sure he liked knowing how
attractive she was. It made resisting the idea of anything further all the more
difficult.

With
a sigh, he trailed after her. Writing letters and falling for her had been
easy. What better way to avoid women than to fall for a woman he could never
have?

Underfoot,
mud squelched and slurped. The rain from the previous days hadn’t drained away
and what once used to be the moat proved to be particularly slippery. He
hobbled across and caught up with Viola as she proceeded up the other side toward
the castle.

Breaths
coming heavily, they both stopped to admire the red walls. “It is said that
Queen Elizabeth stayed here with her lover,” he told her with a grin.

“How
exciting. Come on, Julian.”

Viola
led him about the castle. He felt less like the guide and more like the guided.
Her enthusiasm quickly made him forget the few other people milling around the
ruins. Every now and then he’d pause and watch her as she stared up at the
great walls. Each time he did so, his chest grew tight, as though his heart was
swelling.

By
the time they had finished exploring, it was nearing lunchtime. He motioned to
the carriage and she hopped down from her spot on top of a short, crumbling
wall. Behind her, Julian noted two young women staring at her with sour
expressions. Viola must have seen him glance their way, as she paused to view
them over her shoulder. When she turned back to him, he realised she knew as
well as he did what they were thinking.

“I’m
almost surprised she’s not smoking cigars and drinking,” one of the women
muttered.

The
other giggled. “She would fit in well at the gentleman’s clubs.”

Viola
dropped her gaze. She darted another look at them and came up to his side. He
perfected his most marquess-like expression and looped his arm through hers. “I
am grateful you came appropriately dressed, Miss Thompson,” he said loudly. “Few
ladies would have such foresight. And I hear tell the Viscountess Harberton is
quite the patron of active wear for women these days. I do so prefer the
company of women of sense.”

She
stared at him for several moments before a grin broke across her face.

“Refer
to me by my title,” he whispered.

She
nodded, her smile expanding. “Why thank you, Lord Lockwood,” she replied, just
as loudly. “I do like to wear the latest fashions and thank goodness, they are
so very comfortable.”

The
women stared at them before turning hastily away and scurrying off in the
opposite direction. If they knew anything of society, they should know his
name. He hoped they felt heartily ashamed of themselves.

“Silly
cows,” he uttered under his breath. “Mrs Whittleworth packed a picnic,” Julian
informed her while they made their way back to the edge of the ruins. “Shall
we?”

“Oh
yes, I’m famished.”

They
made their way down the side of the mound. She gripped his arm when her foot
went from underneath her and he had to pause to ensure they didn’t both go down
on their arses. But as they reached the bottom, she slipped again and this time
her arm tore from his. She landed on her rear with a squelch.

Julian
groaned. What a fine time he was showing her. First she had suffered insults
from strangers and now she was coated in cold, English mud.

Then
the strangest thing happened. She looked up at him, slapped her hands down on
either side of her and laughed.

He
stared at her for some time while tears of laughter began to form in her eyes
and trickle out onto her cheeks. The woman was utterly mad. She finally
gathered her breath and offered him a mud-coated hand. He took it and helped
her up, aware of the dirt squashing between their joined hands. He couldn’t
seem to stop himself from staring at her. It was as though his brain could not
quite process her. Did he laugh with her? Apologise for letting her go? Ignore
the fact she was now covered in mud?

He
settled for an apology and drew out his handkerchief to offer it to her. “I am
sorry.”

“Do
not be.” She stepped close and flicked a lock of hair out of her eye.

A
smear of brown marred her cheek so he leaned in and dabbed it away with his
handkerchief.

“This
has been wonderful,” she told him when he drew back, breathless and tense.

Viola
flung her arms around him suddenly and flattened her lips just to the left of
his mouth. The movement took him so by surprise that he jerked and found his
lips pressed against hers. He froze.

Warmth
and softness moved over his mouth. A groan rose from deep within him, and he
could not help but respond. He slipped his tongue into the moist recess and she
surprised him by responding in kind. Julian didn’t touch her. She had such a
hold of him, he wasn’t sure he could move his arms to do so. The vague thought
that the prudish women might spot them had him pressing the kiss deeper and
finally drawing out his arms to wrap them around her and bend her backwards.
Fiery need coursed through him, setting his senses alight. If there were people
watching them now, he cared not one whit. All that mattered was the sensual
taste of Viola Thompson.

When
he drew back and righted her, her hat was askew and her lips were puffy. He
offered her his arm and glanced back to see that they had indeed had an
audience. Julian could not help but grin to himself. Tomorrow he’d likely
regret kissing Viola but for the moment, he revelled in it very much.

Viola sank onto the chaise with relish.
The cushions accepted her body with a sigh of fabric and she could not mask her
own sigh of relief. All these new experiences—they had truly worn her out.

Julian
dropped his newspaper and gave her an amused look as she sprawled dramatically.
“Tired, Miss Thompson?”

“Exhausted,
Lord Lockwood.”

“A
day of rest tomorrow then perhaps?”

She
lifted her head. “Oh no, certainly not. A good night’s sleep and I shall be
raring to go.”

So
far Julian had taken her all over the local area and into Stratford-Upon-Avon
where Shakespeare had lived. She had never seen so much history in her life.
The old Tudor buildings with their odd angles and beautiful wooden beams
fascinated her. But she also wanted to see other things.

“I
wondered if we could perhaps take the train to London? I stopped by oh so
briefly on my journey here and saw virtually nothing of it.”

“No.”
He snapped up his paper.

Viola
gaped at him. “Pardon?”

“No
London,” he said from behind the printed sheet.

“But
why?”

“I
do not like London.” Still, he didn’t lower his paper.

She
scowled at the article and folded her arms. “I shall go alone then.”

“You
will not.”

“I
will so. I travelled all the way to England alone. I think I can manage a short
train ride to London. Besides, Jenny can be my companion for the day. I’m sure
she’d be thrilled.”

With
a rustle, the newspaper lowered. Jaw tense, he thrust a finger at her. “You are
not going to London and you are not taking Jenny.”

“Julian,
whilst I appreciate you showing me around and your kind hospitality, you are
not my husband.”A tiny tremor seemed to run through his body. She noted how her
words made his posture stiffen. Nevertheless, she continued. “You cannot tell
me what to do.”

“London
is too dangerous.”

“Then
come with me. You said yourself that I should visit London one day in your
letters.”

“Yes,
but certainly not alone.”

She
lifted her hands in exasperation. She wished she understood this man better.
One moment he was kissing her with a passion she’d never before experienced and
being the charming, dutiful host, then the next he was gruff and thoroughly
dislikeable.

“Come
with me then,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“Goddamn
it, no!” He thrust aside the newspaper and came to his feet. “No London. No
more pestering. I won’t have it.”

Viola
fought the desire to scrabble back in her chair and curl up into a ball. It was
not the first time she had seen his temper but last time she had run from him.
Would she do that again or should she stand tall? She had spent much of her
life bending to the will of men—her brothers and her father—even her fiancé. 
But stubborn pride didn’t dictate her reaction so much as curiosity. Why did
the idea of going to London affect him so?

“Why
not, Julian?” she asked softly, coming to stand in front of him.

He
glowered at her, drawing up his shoulders in a threatening manner. Indeed with
the wide breadth of his chest and the way his nostrils flared, he certainly
threatened, but Viola knew he wouldn’t harm her.

“Will
you forget about it?” he said through clenched teeth. “Just forget about it!”

She
took a step closer until they were almost chest to chest. His rose and fell in
aggravation while hers did the same as her heart thrummed against her ribs.

“What
could possibly frighten you so much about London?”

“Frighten?
I am not frightened.”

She
tilted her head to view him and pressed a hand to his chest. Even through his
jacket, waistcoat and shirt, she felt the quick beat of his heart. He flinched
but didn’t move. Perhaps he was trying to prove his courage or maybe he felt as
she did around him—captured by her presence. That might have been wishful
thinking, but either way, she was grateful he didn’t attempt to turn away.

“Fear
makes your heart beast fast. It makes your palms clammy.” She took his hand in
her other one and thread her fingers through them. “I don’t know what could
make a man like you scared but I should like to know. I should like to help.”

He
snorted. “If you really wanted to help you would turn around and leave now. You
would never look back.”

Easing
closer and holding his hand tight in hers, she smoothed her palm over his chest
as though she could ease away the pain beating in his heart. She didn’t say
anything. Viola simply gazed up at him and waited. For this man, she had all
the time in the world.

“It’s
nothing.”

She
waited until he heaved a breath.

“I
cannot go to London. I cannot be around people.” He eased back and disengaged
from her hand. Julian slumped onto his chair and ran a hand through his hair.
She sat again and leaned forward, waiting. He glanced at her and lifted his
tumbler of whisky. Swirling it around the glass, he eyed it. “I told you I’m a
widow?”

“Yes.”

“Three
times.”

She
drew in a breath and remained silent. She knew this but this had to come from
him.

“Lucy
and I married very young. I had just inherited the title and all of its
responsibilities. Of course one of my main ones was to sire an heir.” He gave a
bitter snort. “Lucy was not particularly happy with me and nor I with her but
we tried our best. We were children really. She died of consumption after three
years of marriage.”

Viola
nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. Her feet twitched and she longed
to go to him and hold him against her chest but she suspected he would not take
well to it and she needed him to tell her everything.

“I
grieved for her in a way. Not so much for her company but for a life lost so
young. Then I met Sybil. Her family purchased a large property in the area and
my mother became friends with the Viscountess—Sybil’s mother. We spent much
time together and I fell in love with her. We married just over a year after
Lucy died. Some said that was in poor taste. At the time, I did not much care
for what others thought and my family were pleased with the idea of me finally
being able to have a son.”

Though
a pang of jealousy seared through her, she checked herself. This was not about
her but about Julian and whatever pain he was holding in. “How did she die?”

“In
childbirth.” His gaze met hers and the agony in his gaze shot through to her
heart. She had to fight not let the tears well up in her eyes. “I lost my son
and my wife that day.”

The
words hung in the air, hollow and agonising. What could she say to that? How
could she possibly comfort a man who had gone through so much pain?

“What...
what of your third wife?”

“You
really wish to know all of this?” She nodded. “I had known Mabel since my
younger years. We’d always been good friends and I believed we could make a go
of it. She had need of a husband and I, of a wife. I knew I wouldn’t be so
lucky as to find someone I could love and frankly, grief had eaten away at me.
I couldn’t love someone again anyway. Within two years of our marriage, she
grew distant. We spent much time apart and the gossips spoke of her spending
time with other men. I avoided the gossips at all costs, hoping the rumours
were false. They were not.” He took a sip of whisky and placed the glass on the
table. “Just over a year ago, she left me a letter telling me she was running
away with her lover. Two days later came the news of her death. She and her
lover were shot in a highway robbery.”

A
hand to her mouth, Viola gaped at this man she had almost certainly begun to fall
for. To go through so much loss and betrayal... it didn’t bear thinking about.

“I’m
so sorry.”

He
lifted a shoulder. “I am not the first man to have lost his wife to a lover.
Though not many can claim to have lost so many to death so quickly. And that,
Viola, is why I cannot go to London. Those who recognise me will avoid me and
it is likely you shall be tainted by association. I would not wish you to go
through that.”

“People
avoid you because your wives died?”

“Yes.
They believe I brought them death. Haven’t you noticed how few servants I have?”
He gave a snort. “Some of the delivery boys will not even approach the house
for fear of ‘catching’ death.”

“But
that’s just silly!”

The
look he gave her told her he wasn’t so sure it was. Did he truly believe he was
responsible for his wives dying? She rose and held out her hand to him. He took
it but didn’t seem to know why he had. Confusion echoed in his expression.

Viola
didn’t suppose she could convince him otherwise and she didn’t believe she
could help him conquer any anxiety he felt around people. She knew what it was
like to be talked of. Even recently, those English women had made comments
about her clothing. But she could at least comfort him.

She
lifted his hand, came around him and perched herself on his lap. Then she
placed his arm around her and burrowed her head into his neck. He stiffened.

“Viola?”

His
bristle tickled her nose and the scent of his cologne teased her. Under her
bottom, his thighs were strong and hard. But he was warm and comforting. She
latched an arm around his neck and held him tight. His breathing began to slow
and gradually his hand softened on her waist. His other one found her thigh and
began stroking it.

 “I’m
sorry, Julian,” she whispered. “Sorry for making you angry.”

He
shook his head, nudging her face with his. “I am sorry for my temper.”

She
smiled against his neck. “It’s not so bad. I grew up with my brothers, if you
recall. They had fairly terrible tempers too.”

“I
recall.” He drew in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against her. “I
recall everything,” he said softly. “I am sorry I cannot take you to London.
It’s something I simply cannot do.”

“Forget
London.” She clasped his neck tightly. “I’d far rather be here.”