Page 63 of Hunted By the Guardian
Anger swept over her.
He kissed her—and then he said this to her? Was this what he believed she wanted to hear, truly?
She struggled to regulate her tone as she responded. “You’re saying that when the house becomes yours, you won’t ask me to leave and go live somewhere else.”
He hadn’t picked up on the way her mood had turned. He was still smiling. “Wouldn’t that be best?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that solve everything for both of us? I think it would.”
“You’re saying,” she said, “that because the house is definitely going to be yours, you’ll do me the kindness of permitting me to stay.”
Now he understood. His face fell ever so slightly. “Violet…”
She held up a hand. “Because even though this place was left to me, and even though it’s my home by rights, you can’t imagine another outcome than for it to come to you. Is that it? You’ve thought all this time that really it was going to be yours, and it was just a matter of getting me out. And last night, when you said that telling me that story wasn’t your way of trying to manipulate me out of the house, all you really meant was that you had decided you were willing to allow me to stay here. That it didn’t matter to you whether I left or not.”
Noah had put his fork down again and was watching her closely, which made Violet feel bad about losing her cool. But even so…how could this be what he was offering now? Was this the way he’d been thinking about things the whole time? Had it always been nothing more than a matter of waiting around for her to be told she had to leave?
And what if he was right? What if the house had always been his? How strange and rare was it for a lady to inherit property at all? It had always been a fantasy, maybe, something Aunt Margaret would have liked to provide, but something that had never been a real possibility. Maybe Violet had been ridiculous to believe in it in the first place.
Maybe.
But she wasn’t going to take pity. Not from him. Not now. It was the worst possible way to follow things up after that kiss last night, the worst thing he could have done. That he felt sorry for her, that he thought he needed to go out of his way to do her some kindness…the very idea made her stomach churn.
Noah looked at her and then back at Jonathan. He had sensed the way the mood had turned, she could tell, and he wanted to know what was wrong—he wanted to help. But he couldn’t follow what had happened, and Violet didn’t want to clue him into it. He shouldn’t have to know.
She rose to her feet. “I’ll excuse myself,” she said. “Noah, when you’re finished with breakfast, return to your room, please. I want you to rest for the remainder of the morning.”
It was telling, perhaps, that Noah did not even attempt an argument. He nodded and picked his fork up once more, clearly ready to do as he had been bidden if only to avoid any further discomfort.
Violet left the room as quickly as she could without actually running. She couldn’t bear to spend one more moment in the presence of the man who had kissed her—the man she had believed, mere hours ago, that she was starting to have real feelings for. But now he was suggesting she live in his house, as what, a caretaker to Noah? If he had any romantic feelings for her, he would have said that before just asking her to live in his spare room.
Every time she thought she understood who he was, he proved her wrong, and she didn’t want to risk it happening even one more time.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
This house is going to be mine. It was left to me. Just because his mother made a painting of it once upon a time, that doesn’t cause anything to change—and I’m not going to allow him to make me soften or forget the fact that this place is supposed to belong to me.
I will not let him take away my home.
CHAPTER 33
Jonathan had always felt as though the solicitor looked like a rodent of some kind.
He stood at the door, regarding the little man and trying to recall his name. It took longer than it should have—and then, all at once, he remembered. Tomlin. Joseph Tomlin. It was a name that sounded fuller and rounder than the narrow-faced man in front of him. It didn’t seem to fit.
It had been a little more than ten minutes since Violet’s retreat from the breakfast table. Noah was still there. He had given Jonathan an unpleasant frown when Violet had walked away, as if to say that he knew this was Jonathan’s fault, but he hadn’t said anything, and Jonathan had suspected—still did—that that was because Noah couldn’t figure out exactly what Jonathan might have done wrong.
Jonathan felt the same way.
He had expected Violet to react happily to the offer to stay here. It would mean they could stop worrying about what would happen when the two of them separated, because there would be no separation. They would be able to simply enjoy living here and raising Noah together. They would be as happy as they had been since moving in together—happier, in fact, because there would be no looming dread about what was going to happen when it all came to an end.
“May I come in please, Your Grace?” Tomlin asked officiously.
Jonathan stood back to admit him, feeling a bit foolish, and more than a bit angry. He would have been irritated enough to be dealing with this man so early in the morning. He didn’t enjoy Joseph Tomlin at all. There was an arrogance to him that always made Jonathan want to put him in his place.
But for this to come on the heels of an argument with Violet, it made it even worse. And worse still was the irritating fact that there should have been no argument at all! He had only meant to do something kind for her. He had thought she would be grateful.
“What brings you here so early in the morning?” he asked Tomlin rather gruffly.
Tomlin raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need to be angry, Your Grace,” he said. “You did ask me to return when I had established proper ownership of this house under the law.”
