Page 63 of Becoming Lady Dalton
The nurse bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, ma’am, but they are uncomfortable.”
“So is death from consumption. Protect yourself from contagion, I beg you.”
The woman’s chin lifted.
“As you wish.”
In her room, Viola scrubbed her face and hands at the washstand. A maid came to assist her with the removal of her gown. She lay her cheek against the pillow. More tears leaked down the corner of her eye, onto the headrest. The soft sheets warmed around her body.
She’d forgiven her husband. The question remained, could she ever forgive herself?
The knockat his door was swallowed by the emptiness of the room. Piers stared at the half-empty brandy before him. Pages scattered over the leather surface of the writing desk. Embarrassing, really.
Viola, I love you, I would do anything for—I will never give up—I understand why you cannot…
But he didn’t. Not really.
“Enter,” Piers all but shouted. Anything to avoid the sweeping loneliness of his room on Christmas Eve.
Viola slipped into the room like a ghost in her white wrapper.
“I was wrong,” she pronounced, her eyes glowing wide in the gloom of his bedroom.
Piers was on his feet in an instant, unsteady but not drunk—not unless you counted raging need as intoxication.
“About what?” he demanded.
“Wrong to think there was no hope for us, Piers. I may not be able to give you everything you want from me, but I would be dishonest with myself if I held back from telling you how I feel about you.”
“Vi,” he groaned. “I can’t continue whipsawing between hope and despair. Our teasing was fun at first, but seeing you imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit… I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
He stood his ground. Piers had chased her for too long. He needed Viola to take the final few steps. She flew to him, arms open and willing.
Piers bent his head and kissed her hungrily. There was no more teasing between them. No hesitation. This time, there was no holding back.
“Why now?” he demanded hoarsely against her cheek.
“I am tired of punishing myself,” she whispered. “Pushing you into Lady Margaret’s arms didn’t work, Piers. Vowing to remain true to my husband, no matter what the cost. But I didn’t do it out of love. My determination was born of fear and selfishness. I wanted to keep you close without giving you my heart.” She inhaled and brushed a kissed against his mouth. “But it was too late.”
Piers drew back and grasped her shoulders.
“My heart is yours, Viola. Life is too tenuous not to take joy where you find it. And I find I am happier with you than with any other woman on this earth.”
“But what would become of the title?” Anguish roiled the depths of her eyes. Piers folded her body against him and spoke into her tresses as he smoothed them down her back.
“If ever there was a woman worth the sacrifice of a title, Viola, you are the one.”
She shook her head against the silk of his banyan.
“Yes, Vi. If I don’t have a countess and an heir, the world will not end. The title would pass to a cousin, an uncle, or a nephew, depending upon the order of succession when I am called from this world.
Viola claimed his mouth again as she artlessly worked one hand beneath his shirt and waistcoat. Piers caught her by the waist and ground her waist against his, his cock straining toward its long-denied, most heartfelt desire. She pressed back. Though their connection was muffled by layers of fabric, hot blood pounded through him. Viola smiled against his lips.
“Eager, are we?” she teased. This time, her lightheartedness was sweet and tender, stroking him from within and awakening emotions long suppressed.
“Yes,” he growled. Clumsy with need, he found the tie of her wrapper and loosened it. Beneath, Viola was naked. “Oh, woman, you’ll catch your death.”
Piers gulped at the display of her heavy breasts with dusky nipples begging to be licked. Below the nip of her waist, strong hips flared above trim, muscular legs. At the apex of her thighs lay the dark patch of his desire.
