Rule's Bride (3 page)

“Then allow me to explain,” Mrs. Cummins said, thrusting her big bosom forward as she made her way closer to the door.

“This is Mrs. Dewar. She has crossed the ocean to see her husband. Now please go and find him and tell him that we are here.”

The man was shaking his head, opening and closing his
mouth like a fish on dry land, when Violet stepped past him into the foyer.

“Where is he?” she asked firmly.

The butler looked helplessly around for assistance as the other two women followed her inside.

“I am afraid…I am sorry, but his lordship is not at home.”

His lordship? She thought his brother was the one with the title.

“When is he expected to return?” Caroline asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Sometime after supper. It could be quite late. Lord Rule rarely keeps me informed of his whereabouts.”

Violet shared a glance with Caroline, whose eyes had rounded at the reference to Rule as a lord. “My cousin and I will each need a room,” Violet said. “Please show us upstairs to our quarters, if you would.”

“B-but I can't do that!”

Violet drilled him with a glare. “Why not?”

“Because I…because I…”

“Keep in mind that as
his lordship's
wife, from now on you will also be answering to me. I hope you don't mean for us to get off on a wrong foot.”

The old man's pale eyes widened. For several long moments, he just stood there.

Caroline leaned toward her. “He doesn't seem to know Dewar has a wife,” she whispered. This had not gone unnoticed by Violet.

“Which shall make an annulment all the easier,” she whispered back. “I am waiting,” Violet pressed.

The butler cleared his throat. “I'll have Mrs. Digby, the housekeeper, show you both upstairs.”

Violet just smiled. She turned to their traveling companion. “You have done a very fine job, Mrs. Cummins. Car
oline and I have both arrived safely, just as you promised. Which means your duties are ended.”

Reaching into her reticule, Violet pulled out the bank draft she'd had prepared to be given as final payment once they reached London.

The older woman looked uncertain. “I don't know…You haven't even spoken to your husband yet. And this man doesn't seem to know who you are.”

Violet forced a smile. “My husband has always been a very private person. But you may rest assured he will be delighted to see me.” Now that was a bald-faced lie.

Mrs. Cummins reached out and tentatively took the bank draft Violet held out to her. “I could stay with you a few more days if you like.”

“No! I mean, that won't be necessary. Caroline will be staying for the next several days until I am settled. Go and enjoy your family. That is the reason you traveled all the way to London, is it not?”

Mrs. Cummins smiled. “Well, if you're certain…”

“I am quite certain. Thank you again for everything.”

“You have the address where I can be found, should you need me.”

Violet patted her reticule. “The information is right in here.”

“All right, then. I believe I shall do as you suggest. I am eager to see my mother and the rest of my family.” With a wave and a final farewell, Mrs. Cummins trundled out of the foyer. A footman was sent to bring in their luggage, and a few minutes later a woman appeared who looked very much like Mrs. Cummins—gray hair, big bosom, rounded hips.

“I'm Mrs. Digby, my lady. I'll show you and your cousin upstairs to your rooms.”

My lady?
It appeared marriage to the brother of a duke
gave her a title, as well. Goodness, she had no idea. “Thank you.”

Their luggage was brought up to their rooms and as soon as Violet closed the door, a quick rap sounded and Caroline rushed in.

“My lady! I can hardly believe it. I thought Rule's brother was the one with the title.”

“He is. I don't know how it works. Rule never mentioned anything when he was in Boston.”

“Probably because Americans don't use titles.”

“I suppose.”

“I wonder where he is.”

“I have no idea.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But he is certainly in for a surprise when he gets home.”

Caroline grinned. “Oh, my, yes—he certainly is.”

R
ule drained his brandy glass and set it on the table in front of him. He and Luke had made the social rounds, then ended the evening playing cards at White's, his gentleman's club. It was late and tomorrow he had work to do.

Rule slid back his chair. “I'm afraid I am out, gentlemen.” He shoved his cards into the center of the table. “Looks as though I wound up even—which, with Luke playing, I consider a win.”

Luke just laughed. “You're headed home, then?”

“I'm done in. I'll see you at the end of the week.” The Marchioness of Wyhurst was holding a ball in honor of her daughter Sabrina's birthday. Rumor was the marchioness was determined to find the girl a husband, but so far the elegant blonde had refused every suitor who had dared knock at her door.

Rule blew out a breath, wishing he had sent his regrets, though he couldn't quite say why. But Lady Sabrina had been a good friend to the Dewars, and it was, after all, the lady's birthday.

He released a sigh, still uncertain why it was that
staying at home was beginning to hold such a strange appeal.

Making his way to the door of the club, he called for his carriage and left the building. As he settled himself inside, he pulled the bow of his cravat, letting it drape around his neck, removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit.

The next sound he heard was the latch snapping open and the door swinging wide.

“We're 'ere, guv'nor,” said the coachman, a burly man with a short brown beard who stepped back so that he might depart the carriage. “Good night, milord.”

He climbed to the street. “Good night, Bellows.” Leaving the coachman to his late-night duties, he headed for the door. Light spilled from a window in the drawing room and he thought that Hatfield must have accidentally left a lamp burning. The old man was getting quite old, but Rule wouldn't fire him. Hat had been a loyal employee of the family for too many years.

He reached the door and was surprised when it swung open. Hatfield stood in the entry, gray hair standing on end, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

“What is it, Hat? I told you not to wait up.”

The butler straightened, looking more like his old self again. “You've a guest, my lord. Two of them, actually.”

Rule frowned. “A guest? I'm not expecting anyone. Who is it?”

“Your wife, sir.”

Silence fell in the entry. “My…my wife is here?”

Hat nodded, moving the strands of hair hanging over his wrinkled forehead. “Yes, my lord. She arrived from America late this afternoon with her cousin, a Miss Caroline Lockhart.”

“I see.” Of course he didn't see at all and all he could think was,
Bloody hell, what am I going to do now?

“Your wife, sir…she's waiting for you.”

“Violet is… My wife is waiting for me? She is up at this hour?”

“Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”

His mind was spinning, trying to sort things out. Violet was in London, had crossed the Atlantic to reach him. He started walking toward the drawing room, wide awake now, no longer feeling the least effects of the alcohol he had consumed.

As he strode into the room, she sat bolt upright, her eyes bright and blinking, glanced around for an instant as if to recall where she was, straightened and shoved to her feet. She was smaller than he remembered was his first impression, petite but shapely. In truth, she was different in every way than he recalled.

Except for her glorious copper hair, the likes of which he had never seen.

He groped for something to say. “Violet. I cannot believe you are here.”

She gave him a chilling smile. “It took a while to reach London. But at last, here I am.”

He couldn't seem to make himself move. “So you are.”

He did move then, closing the distance between them, reaching out to take both of her hands. She wore no gloves, he noticed, and realized that aside from the bridal kiss on her cheek, he had never actually touched her without the barrier of some sort of clothing.

“Welcome to London,” he said. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more proper greeting.”

Violet drew her hands from his and looked him over, head to foot. For the first time, it occurred to him that his
cravat was undone and dangling round his neck; his collar was missing, shirt unbuttoned and his hair slightly mussed.

Violet, on the other hand, looked…well…

Violet Griffin Dewar was beautiful.

“It must have been quite an evening,” she said, those leaf-green eyes he remembered taking in his dishevel.

He flushed like a schoolboy. “Not really. I stopped by to see friends and wound up playing cards at my club.”

“You were gambling? I didn't realize you were a gambler.”

His embarrassment faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I rarely gamble. I was simply passing time.”

“Yes, well, you certainly managed to do that.” She glanced up at the clock over the mantel, the hands pointing to the lateness of the hour, condemning him.

“I am certain you are tired,” she continued. “I shall leave you to find your bed. I just wanted you to know I was here and to say that I would like to speak to you first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, of course.” His gaze ran over her. In the yellow glow of the lamp on the table, he saw that in the past three years her features had softened, the sharp angles smoothed into feminine lines and curves. Her cheeks were as pale as cream and heightened by a touch of rose. A full bosom swelled above her tiny waist, her neck was slender and as graceful as her hands. Her lips were fuller than he recalled, beautifully curved and a lush shade of pink.

No longer the boyish young girl she had been at sixteen, Violet had matured into a woman. She was everything her father had predicted and more, the sort of female any red-blooded male would want in his bed.

And she was his wife.

A trickle of desire filtered through him, tightening his
groin. He cleared his throat, ignored the thickening in his loins. It was merely that the hour was late and he hadn't had a woman in weeks.

“My condolences on the loss of your father. He was a very great man.”

“Thank you.”

“I am truly sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. If only you had sent word ahead—”

“My decision was made somewhat quickly. Any letter would have arrived at the same time I did.” She gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

His return smile was weak. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.” He should have left for Boston months ago. He hadn't considered it a breach of his word until that very moment. The notion did not sit well.

Violet lifted her chin. “I shall see you in the morning, then.”

Rule nodded. “I'll have Hat rouse one of the chambermaids and send her in to help you undress.”

“Hat, I presume, is your butler?”

“It's Hatfield, actually. I've always called him Hat.”

“Of course.”

Rule stood by as she collected her skirts and swept gracefully from the drawing room. As she disappeared through the door, a rush of air escaped his lungs.

God's blood, his wife had come to London! He still couldn't believe it. He would have to tell his family, try to explain why he had kept his marriage a secret.

Rule thought of facing his two brothers and their wives—worse yet, his aunt Agatha, the matriarch of the family—and inwardly he groaned.

 

Violet pushed through the door of her bedroom to find Caroline still fully dressed and asleep on top of the bed. Her cousin jerked awake as Violet stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.

Caroline blinked owlishly then grinned. “Tell me what happened. I won't be able to sleep a wink until I know.”

Violet released a weary breath. She had only slept in fits and starts on the sofa and jousting with Rule had left her edgy and drained.

“He was quite the gentleman. But then he always was.”

Rule had accepted her arrival more graciously than she had expected. Oh, he had been surprised to see her—wildly so. But he had recovered his composure quickly and played the willing host.

Which perhaps she should have expected. His smooth, sophisticated manner had been one of the things her father had admired.

“What does he look like? Is he still so very handsome?”

Handsome
was a very pale word to describe a man who looked like Rule. “He is handsome. Beyond handsome, to be truthful. He is even taller than I remember.”

“With those lovely blue eyes and those wonderful dimples?”

“That would be him—though I didn't see the dimples tonight. I don't think he found anything the least bit humorous about my unexpected arrival.”

Caroline grinned. “Well, then, if you are still set on tossing him over, maybe you should give him to me.”

Violet laughed. “Once I am rid of him, I don't care what he does.”

Caroline arched a golden eyebrow. “On second thought,
I don't want your leftovers. I think I shall find a man of my own.”

Violet bit back a smile. “Good idea.” Their tastes in men had always been different and even though Rule was quite a beautiful specimen, he was merely a man. Violet had learned the hard way there was more to a relationship than physical beauty.

“Did you tell him?” Caroline asked, sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you say you wanted an annulment?” Both of them were still fully dressed. And both were exhausted.

“I would rather have a good night's sleep and face him in the morning.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.”

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“That will be the chambermaid, here to help me undress. I didn't know you were still awake.”

“I'm glad someone is here. She can help us both.”

And so a full-figured, brown-haired woman in her late twenties walked into the bedroom, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“Me name's Mary. Mr. 'Atfield, sent me ta 'elp ye.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Violet turned, presenting her back so that Mary could unfasten the buttons. In minutes, she was rid of her clothes, dressed in a long white nightgown and neatly tucked beneath the covers. Caroline waved farewell as she departed the room, and Mary followed her down the hall to help her undress and get settled for the remainder of the night.

The door softly closed and Violet stared up at the blue silk canopy above the bed, certain she wouldn't be able to sleep. Instead, exhausted from the tension of the day, in minutes she drifted into a deep, all-consuming slumber.

 

Rule lay awake, staring into the darkness. His wife was there—Violet was in London.

Now that he was over the shock, and the notion had begun to settle in, he felt an odd sort of relief. His decision was made. He could start living up to the promise he had made to Howard Griffin.

And Griffin had certainly lived up to his.

Violet was as beautiful as her father had envisioned, though not in the typical sense. She was petite, but not slim, her green eyes a little too large for her lovely heart-shaped face. Her flame-colored hair was amazing, but not in the current vogue, and there was a confidence about her that hadn't been there when she was sixteen.

It shone in the way she moved, the firm set of her chin, the way her eyes flashed, revealing a hint of stubbornness she couldn't quite hide. And there was something more, a sensuality that hid beneath the surface, a deeply rooted passion, he suspected. He was drawn to it, intrigued by the thought of exploring it.

He couldn't remember the last time a woman had piqued his interest as Violet had, or stirred his lust in quite the same manner.

Perhaps it was the fact that she was his wife, the woman who would bear his sons and comfort him in his December years. Perhaps it was that he had married her, but never tasted the fruits of that marriage. She'd been a child back then. She wasn't a child anymore.

Her image returned, Violet elegantly gowned in pale blue silk and charmingly asleep on his sofa. As he lay awake in the darkness, he imagined carrying her upstairs and undressing her, discovering, inch by inch, the treasure hidden beneath her clothes.

His body clenched and blood began to pool in his groin. He wanted her, this woman he had married.

He wasn't ready to look beyond that. He was still trying to grasp the fact that he was a husband and in time might even become a father.

First things first, he thought, and found himself smiling. Violet was there and she was his wife. He had been searching for a woman and one had magically appeared on his doorstep.

Rule smiled into the darkness. It was only a matter of time before he could claim his husbandly rights.