Rule's Bride (6 page)

“You promised to give me thirty days. During that time, I expect you to behave as my wife. If things don't work out, we can inform my family then.”

It wasn't an unfair request. Besides, whatever consequences he and his family might suffer wouldn't matter, since she would be on her way home to Boston.

“Are we agreed?” he pressed.

“As you wish.”

Rule seemed relieved. They went out to the carriages, which were parked in a row out front. His brothers and their wives would be following in their own vehicles. Caroline traveled with Lily and Royal, excited to be riding in the magnificent, gilded, four-horse ducal coach.

Rule assisted Violet into his elegant black carriage and followed her inside. Instead of taking a seat across from her, he settled himself beside her, his wide shoulders brushing against her, sending a little curl of heat into the pit of her stomach.

“You look beautiful, Violet. Your father would be very happy tonight.”

Guilt trickled through her. Griff had wanted her to marry Rule. It meant a great deal to him to believe he had secured her future. But her happiness was the thing he wanted most.

She wasn't about to throw that happiness away on Rule Dewar.

T
he birthday ball, given by the Marquess and Marchioness of Wyhurst, was an extravagant affair unmatched by any of the events Violet had attended in Boston.

The mansion itself was palatial—three stories high, built in a U shape, the exterior faced with gleaming white marble. Torches lined the drive up to the house, which was entirely enclosed by ornate wrought-iron fencing.

Inside, the magnificent entry was the full three stories tall and capped by an amber glass ceiling. Columns and reflecting pools had been painted on the walls, making it look like the entrance to a villa in Rome.

The marquess, an older man with snow-white hair, stood in the receiving line next to his petite, dark-haired wife and beautiful, willowy blonde daughter, Sabrina.

Rule made the introductions. “Good evening, Lord Wyhurst. My ladies. I would like to present my wife, Violet. She is just arrived from Boston.”

The blonde's gorgeous blue eyes widened. “Your wife?” she repeated as if she couldn't quite believe her ears.

Rule just smiled. “That is correct, my lady, and this
is her cousin, Miss Caroline Lockhart, also here from America.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Lady Wyhurst said with a smile that looked a little forced. Violet wondered if the marchioness had designs on Rule as a son-in-law. Being the son of a duke, he was undoubtedly considered quite a catch.

“Congratulations, my boy,” the marquess said with a smile that appeared sincere. He turned that warm smile on Violet. “Welcome to England, my lady.”

She opened her mouth at the use of the title, then felt Rule's gentle nudge in the ribs.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly.

The marquess returned his attention to Rule. “About time you settled down, my boy.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Even if it took an American girl to bring you to heel.” He winked at Violet and she managed to smile.

Unfortunately, she'd had little to do with the marriage. It was her father's money that had brought Rule Dewar to the altar.

The formalities were finally at an end. The group moved on, the Dewar family surrounding her as they made their way up the stairs. Crossing a false-stone arched bridge, they walked into a ballroom that had been transformed into a magnificent villa complete with gardens and a beautiful ocean view.

The conversation in the entry announcing Rule's marriage must have been overheard because the room was buzzing by the time they walked in, the entire assembly of several hundred guests whispering and staring in their direction.

For an instant, Violet's feet refused to move. She felt Rule's hand reach for hers. He laced their fingers together and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“They're just curious,” he whispered. “Don't pay them the least attention. You know how people love to gossip.”

She knew, all right. She just wasn't used to being the center of that gossip. Thank God, she would be on her way back to Boston by the time the marriage became known to be invalid.

Rule rested her trembling hand on the sleeve of his coat and led her farther into the ballroom, winding his way among the guests.

“Can you believe it?” one of the matrons whispered. “Rule Dewar. I can hardly credit that handsome scoundrel has finally been leg-shackled. And by an American, no less.”

“Probably had no choice,” a second woman said tartly. “I'll be counting the months. Won't be long before the truth is known.”

“Dewar is an utter rogue,” another woman said. “That isn't going to change. If she
is
with child, it won't be long before he'll have the poor chit shipped off to the country.”

Violet took a fortifying breath and fought to ignore the women's words, but no matter which way she turned, the same conversation swirled around her. Rule and his libertine ways and the matter of his hasty marriage. None of them knew, of course, that he had been married for the past three years.

A thought that galled her.

And embarrassed her.

She was his wife—at least in name. He should have had the decency to own up to the vows he had made. It took all of her will not to turn and march out of the ballroom.

Ever supportive, Caroline hurried up beside her. “They're all just jealous. Rule married you, not one of their prissy daughters.”

“Your cousin is right.” Black-haired and beautiful, Eliz
abeth Dewar floated toward her. “They'll have their fun for a bit, but in the end, you are Rule's wife. That is all that matters.”

“Both Beth and I faced the same sort of gossip when we were first married,” Lily added. “In time, your marriage will be old news, just as ours is.”

Violet glanced to where her husband stood in conversation with a group of men and women. “Apparently Rule is quite popular with the ladies.”

“Yes, well, that is all in the past,” Elizabeth said. “Your marriage was not yet official, not the way Rule saw it. Now that you are here, you won't have to worry about that sort of thing again.”

But Violet didn't believe it. A leopard didn't change its spots, and a scoundrel didn't cleave to just one woman.

It didn't matter. In a month, he would be free to live as he chose, and she would be on her way back home.

“I appreciate your kindness and support,” she said to the women. “Truly I do.”

Lily smiled. “We're sisters now. Sisters take care of each other.”

Violet felt an unexpected thickness in her throat. She had never had siblings, though she had wanted a brother and sister very badly. “Thank you.” She felt a renewed shot of guilt. The Dewars were willing to accept her into their family, while she had no intention of living up to their expectations of her as Rule's wife.

A little shiver of awareness went through her as he returned to her side. The man fairly exuded confidence, power and virility. Violet did her best not to notice.

“They are playing a waltz,” he said. “I have yet to dance with my wife. Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

She started to remind him he had agreed to call her
Violet, but somehow it no longer seemed important. Instead she took his arm, wishing far more that he would stop referring to her as his wife. She would never truly be his and she wasn't the sort to pretend.

Still, she let him lead her onto the dance floor and took her place in front of him. Since he stood nearly a foot taller than she, dancing with him should have been awkward, but from the moment he took her in his arms and the music started, from the instant he swept her into the rhythm of the dance, it was like floating on air.

Round and round the parquet floor he whirled her, keeping perfect rhythm, holding her a little closer than proper, even for a husband. She tried to ignore the warmth of his palm at her waist, the way his long leg wedged between hers with each of his graceful turns. She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, as if she belonged to him and he couldn't wait to ravish her.

Her breathing quickened. A tendril of heat curled softly in the bottom of her stomach. She forced herself to think of Jeffrey, handsome and fair, blond hair gleaming as he held her hand in the gardens at Griffin Heights and told her he had fallen in love with her.

She tried to imagine she was waltzing with Jeffrey, but when she looked up, it wasn't Jeffrey's face she saw but the solid jaw and beautiful blue eyes of the man she had married.

A man who wanted nothing but the use of her body and her father's armaments factory.

She steeled herself and eased a little away.

“You're a very good dancer,” Rule said as the waltz came to a close.

“Am I? I thought it was you.”

He smiled. “Perhaps it was the two of us dancing together.”

“Perhaps.”

“There is a theory that a man and woman who dance well together, make love well together.”

Her cheeks colored. “I—I wouldn't know.” But an odd sensation filtered into her stomach.

“We are married. Perhaps we should test the theory.”

Violet shook her head, though deep down she couldn't deny the tiny thread of interest the notion stirred.

Making love with Rule Dewar. She had been fascinated with the man's incredible good looks and charm from the moment she had met him. If things were different, if there were no strings attached and she and Jeffrey didn't already have an understanding, she might be tempted to try it.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Violet looked up to see a dark-haired, handsome man nearly as tall as Rule striding toward them.

“They are, indeed. It's good to see you back in Society.” Rule smiled down at her. “Violet, this is Benjamin Wyndam, Earl of Nightingale. He's the previous owner of what was formerly Hawksworth Munitions and is now Griffin Manufacturing. The man from whom your father purchased the plant.”

“Yes, I remember hearing your name. Lovely to meet you, my lord.” Inwardly, Violet smiled, beginning to get the hang of using the ridiculous British titles.

“You, as well, my lady.” Nightingale smiled at her softly and she noticed a sadness in his eyes that seemed deep and abiding. “I lost my wife two years ago. I hope you and Rule are as happy as Maryann and I once were.”

And clearly he grieved for her still. “I am sorry, my lord. And thank you for your kind wishes.” What else could she say? The earl had obviously loved his wife. If only Rule could—

She broke off the thought. Rule wasn't the sort to fall in love. Their marriage was no more than a business arrangement. If she wanted a husband who loved her, she would have to marry Jeffrey.

Violet frowned, disliking the way the thought had come out. She didn't
have to
marry Jeffrey. She wanted to.

It was simply that he was so far away.

Another man walked up just then. He was perhaps forty, beginning to lose his hair and had eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “So this is your lovely bride. Your marriage seems the only interesting bit of gossip I've heard all evening. Your wife is quite a lovely surprise, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Rule said somewhat stiffly. “Violet, this is Burton Stanfield. Over the years we've had some business dealings together.”

“That is correct. And a few weeks back I tendered an offer to buy Griffin Manufacturing. Unfortunately, his lordship turned it down.”

A buyer for the company! Exactly what she needed. But Rule had refused the offer. The information nettled, considering how much she wanted to sell. At home, trouble was brewing in the Northern and Southern states, the country fiercely divided over the issue of slavery. Violet had friends on both sides, people she cared about. She didn't want to be in the business of making the weapons that might be used to kill them.

Still, Rule had done a good job managing Griffin so far. He might have had good reason for turning the man down.

Violet focused on Stanfield. “Perhaps your offer wasn't high enough. With the tensions growing between the states in America, there is already increased demand for weapons. I should think that would make Griffin worth a good deal of money.”

Burton Stanfield smiled. “A woman with a head for business. How unusual.” He turned to Rule. “I believe you have managed to capture yourself a very interesting female.”

“Her maiden name is Griffin,” Rule explained. “Violet spent a good deal of time with her father at the Boston branch of the business.”

“I am also half owner of Griffin,” she said sweetly, drawing a frown from Rule.

Stanfield studied her with heightened interest. “Is that so? Then perhaps I can win your support for my cause.”

She kept her smile in place. “I'm afraid I would have to discuss the matter with…my husband.”

Stanfield cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed. A promise I shall hold you to, my lady.”

Rule's hand settled possessively at her waist. “If you will excuse us, there are some other people I would like my wife to meet.”

“Of course.” Stanfield made a polite bow and stepped out of their way. Leaving the man behind, she let Rule guide her rather forcefully toward a quiet area off the main part of the ballroom.

“It is not considered polite to discuss business matters at affairs such as these.”

“Is that so? Or is it merely impolite for a woman to discuss business matters at affairs such as these?”

Rule eyed her darkly. Then a corner of his mouth edged up. “You are not like other women, Violet Dewar. Perhaps that is the reason you intrigue me.”

“Do I?”

His blue eyes darkened. “In ways you are yet too innocent to understand.” He took her arm and laced it with his. “Come. We'll make a pass round the ballroom. I'll speak to a few more of the guests and then, if you are ready, we'll go home.”

Violet breathed a sigh of relief. “I should like that above all things…my lord.”

It was the first time she had used his title and Rule grinned, carving the dimples she remembered into his cheeks.

“My lord?” he repeated as if she had finally accepted him as her master. “That has a very nice ring.”

She bit back a smile and shook her head. “You are a devil, Rule Dewar.” With the devil's own charm.

And the way her stomach lifted when he looked at her the way he did now, as if she were a particularly delectable sweet, put her on guard.

If she weren't extremely careful, she might wind up in the devil's bed.

 

Rule left Violet in the care of his sisters-in-law and wove his way among the guests. As much as his somewhat tarnished reputation would allow, he wanted to smooth the way for his wife's admittance into the inner sanctum of upper-class British Society.

As he paused here and there to speak to friends and answer questions about his bride and his unexpected marriage, he began to frown at some of the things he was overhearing. Gossip about the reasons for his hasty wedding, implications that his bride had been less than pure at the time they spoke their vows.