Page 32 of To Have and to Hoax
Drat. She had no idea.
“Violet,” he said, bowing slightly before shutting the door behind him.
“James.” She watched warily as he approached the bed with purpose. He reminded her of a graceful predator in the wild, stalking his prey. A lion, perhaps, or a tiger. There was something catlike about his movements.
“When I returned home and Wooton informed me that you were ill once again, I knew I must come see you immediately.” He stopped at her bedside, close enough for her to catch a whiff of his scent—a combination of sandalwood and soap. She tried not to admire the way his coat fit across his broad shoulders. “How are you feeling?” He reached out and seized her hand, and she allowed herself one moment of weakness in which to savor the warmth of his grasp, the comfort it conveyed.
“A bit better,” she said weakly, then coughed. “Certainly less poorly than I was feeling this morning.” She smiled at him, allowing the corners of her mouth to tremble a bit, as though she were merely putting on a brave face. This was not entirely an act—she had risked death by boredom today, which she felt was brave in its own way.
“Good, good,” James muttered, though Violet was not certain he had listened to her words as carefully as he ought. There was something rather . . .odd. . . in his eyes, and he was lavishing a perhaps undue amount of attention upon the hand he held so tightly in his own. It was a bit disconcerting, after the woefully inadequate displays of concern he had offered until this point. Violet was immediately suspicious.
He sat down beside her on the bed, then immediately leaped to his feet once more. Violet watched him, perplexed, before she realized the cause of his sudden motion: the feeling of several sturdy leatherbound books beneath the bedspread. He reached underneath the counterpane and retrieved one of the offending volumes.
“Er,” Violet said.
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“You see,” she said, improvising hastily, “I felt my mind growing—er—disordered, and so I felt that reading something familiar and comforting might make me less confused.” It was, as even Violet would admit, not her best work. She was supposed to haveconsumption, for heaven’s sake; she wasn’t a mad old maiden aunt who wandered about the house at all hours of the night in confusion.
“I see,” James said, then peered at the spine. “And you foundAgricultural Innovations of Shropshire, 1700–1800to be just the sort of comfort read you were looking for?”
Drat. “Er,” Violet said again, thinking quickly. “I thought it might include some sheep.”
“Sheep?” James said blankly.
“Yes, sheep,” she said with greater enthusiasm. If she was going to do the thing, she might as well get into the spirit of it. “You know, about hip height? Very woolly?”
“I understand what a sheep is,” James said. Violet could practically see him grinding his teeth. “How, precisely, is this a source of comfort for you in your moment of need?”
“Sheep remind me of my childhood,” Violet said mournfully. She heaved a great sigh, one that might have been more convincing had James not been perfectly well aware how eager she had been to escape her mother’s clutches at the age of eighteen. “It wasn’t all lovely, of course, but there were moments . . . walking through the gardens with Roland when he was a baby . . . seeing the sheep dotting the hills behind the house . . . all that baa-ing . . .” She trailed off, staring into the middle distance with a wistful expression.
“So adorable. So pudgy. With such fluffy hair.” She sniffled.
“The sheep?” James asked.
“No, Roland!” Violet said with indignation. “He’s a bit of a rotter as far as brothers go, especially now that he’s at Oxford, but he was a darling baby.”
This was in fact something of a stretch. Roland had been a very red, very fussy, very smelly baby. Violet, however, smiled a watery smile at her husband, as though barely able to refrain from bursting into tears.
James regarded her as though she’d entirely taken leave of her senses—which, Violet was forced to admit, was not an unfair reaction to the past three minutes of conversation.
“Well,” he said as though he’d come to some sort of decision, placing the book down on the bedside table. “It is clear that you shouldn’t leave this bed anytime soon.”
“Er,” Violet said, her mind racing. The words she was thinking at the moment were decidedly unladylike.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, reaching behind her to plump her pillows. Violet caught her breath at his proximity—he hadn’t touched her, and yet he was so close to her that if she were but to lean forward a hairsbreadth she could press her lips to the underside of his jaw. That decidedly unhelpful thought sent her heart racing once again. His scent was stronger at such close range, and she recalled how in the early days of their marriage she could tell as soon as he entered a room, no matter how crowded—as though she were somehow more attuned to his scent than to anyone else’s. At first, she had thought it rather odd; after a while, however, it had merely been comforting, to look up in a room full of people and find his gaze unerringly, see those green eyes seeking out her own.
It had all been so . . . lovely. There was a great sense of peace that came from the knowledge that there was one person above all others who was always on her side.
Until, of course, he hadn’t been.
Until he had chosen to believe the worst of her, of her motives for marrying him.
Until he had added her name to the long list of people that he could not trust. She understood to a certain extent why he had such difficulty trusting others—a childhood with the Duke of Dovington would have that effect on many men, she suspected. What she could not understand was whyshehad not been worthy of his trust. Why, four years ago, he had allowed a single argument to do such damage to a marriage that had been—to her, at least—so precious.
Her usual surge of anger came upon her, and she embraced it, finding it a relief after a few days spent in James’s company, during which her defenses had lowered infinitesimally. This anger was a welcome reminder that before her was the man who had made her fall head over heels in love with him—and then pushed her away just as abruptly, making the past four years a misery.
Well, she was finished with all of that. She refused to allow one person to be the sole keeper of her happiness a moment longer.
