Page 35 of Duchess By Condition
We’re going to have to come to another arrangement,he thought,because I am not ready for this woman to leave my life.
“I should go back to bed,” she said quietly, looking away from him and making him wonder how much making up to her he was going to have to do because of tonight’s indiscretion.
“I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I should not have been so forward.”
“No,” she murmured, her gaze still averted from his. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” But the color in her cheeks gave away the lie.
And now she was leaving the library, and as he watched her go, all he could think was that if she had been so happy about having his hand on her face, she wouldn’t be leaving. She would have stayed. She might have told him it wasn’t proper—he would have agreed—but she would have stayed.
He took back the book he had put on the shelf and went back to his chair. Maybe she could sleep after all this, but he would be even less able to than before. He opened the book up to the page he had been looking at last, but he couldn’t even bring his eyes to focus on the words. It was hopeless. He closed the book again.
I can provide her with a new place to live if needed. I can give her money. But I can’t give her Noah without sacrificing the house—and sacrificing my own place in Noah’s life.
The thought cut through him like a knife, and he closed his eyes and let the pain roll over him.
What had the two of them gotten themselves into?
CHAPTER 19
Ashrill scream pierced the silence.
Jonathan jumped to his feet. He had been balancing ledgers in his study, and, predictably, the task was so dull that he had been having trouble focusing on it. His mind had begun to wander—but now that shriek had brought him back to himself, back to the present moment.
It was high-pitched. Feminine.
Violet!
He ran from the study, down the hall to the foyer, where he found Williams pulling open the door. Jonathan pushed past the butler and ran out first, his heart hammering madly. What could have happened to make her scream like that? Had she hurt herself? Was there someone on the property threatening her? His hands balled into fists at the notion—if anyone had dared to put a hand on her…
He heard a sound in the distance. Not a scream this time, though definitely still her voice—it was more of a soft groan. He followed it around to the side of the house, where the garden sat—and froze, startled and momentarily horrified at the sight that greeted him.
She was there. She was drenched in red—it dripped from her hair, it soaked her clothes. And he was sure, for a horrible moment, that what he was looking at must be blood.
Violet wiped a hand across her face and gave it a rough shake, sending droplets of red spattering onto the grass.
The color was wrong for blood, Jonathan realized, and his breathing began to steady. It was too bright. Blood in this amount would be darker. But what was he looking at? He frowned. “What happened to you?”
“It’s tomato juice.” She held up a hand as if he would be able to tell from a closer inspection. “There was a string on the ground, and when I stepped on it, a bucket of tomato juice fell off that hedge.”
“It had to be Noah,” Jonathan realized, looking at the bucket that was now lying on the ground at Violet’s feet. Now that she had explained all this, he saw how foolish he had been to think of blood at all. The air smelled of tomatoes. Of course, that was what it was. “The staff mentioned he liked to play practical jokes. He must have left this here for someone to stumble into.”
A shiver ran through Violet.
She was cold, Jonathan thought. He shrugged out of his jacket, walked over to her side, and moved to drape it over her shoulders.
She stepped back quickly. “Don’t put that on me.”
“Why not?”
“Are you actually asking? I’ll get tomato juice all over it, Jonathan. It will be ruined. It’s a nice jacket.”
He shook his head. “Stop,” he said firmly. “I can always get another jacket. And you’re cold.” He moved to put the jacket on her again, and this time she stood still and allowed it to happen.
When he’d finished, he carefully adjusted the collar to lie flat on her, his fingers lingering against the side of her neck. His heart rate had not quite subsided—it had frightened him more than he’d realized it would to see her like that, and to think that she had been seriously hurt. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt over the heel of his hand and used it to wipe the tomato juice from her face.
She froze at first, awkward under his touch, and then seemed to decide that it was all right. She tipped her head back a little to give better access, and for the first time, Jonathan noticed the subtleties of her features. The roundness in her cheeks, soft as he moved his thumb over them. The narrowness of her nose. The way her jaw came to a point at her chin. It was a lovely picture. It occurred to him that he’d like to draw her, and then he recalled that he didn’t know how to draw.
He stepped back, suddenly awkward, lowering his hand and clearing his throat. “That, er, that’s better.”
