To Have and to Hoax(104)

“You seem to be making quite a habit of that,” Violet said sweetly.

Ignoring her, James continued addressing her mother. “If I am not mistaken, you were informing Violet of the ways she has failed as a wife.”

“Indeed I was,” Lady Worthington replied frostily. “And you should be thanking me for it, sir. If someone does not bring her back in line, how can you ever expect her to provide you with an heir?”

James turned to Violet.

“Darling, have you noticed our parents seem to have a particular fixation with your breeding organs?” James asked. Violet bit her lip to keep from laughing at the aghast look on her mother’s face.

“Lady Worthington, please allow me to make something abundantly clear,” James continued. “Any fault in my marriage lies entirely at my own two feet. Your daughter is not perfect, but she is perfect for me—and she has made me a better man than I would ever have managed to be without her. I only hope she can ever forgive me for taking such a damned long time to fully appreciate her.”

Lady Worthington was gaping at him, but he evidently was not done yet. “My wife and I have rather pressing matters to discuss at the moment, so I am going to have to cut short your tea. But please believe me when I say this: neither one of us will ever walk through this doorway ever again if you do not learn to treat your daughter with the respect she deserves.”

Any comment Lady Worthington might have wanted to make was forestalled by James reaching down, seizing Violet about the waist, and lifting her bodily from the settee. He executed another polite bow and then, without further preamble, took Violet by the elbow and steered her rather firmly toward the door.

Violet waved cheerfully at her mother on the way out, then paused, some of James’s infectious recklessness spreading to her as well.

“By the way, Mother,” she said casually, “you might want to begin keeping a closer eye on the Times from now on. Any letters published under the name of Mr. Viola were written by me, and I’m sure you’ll disagree with every single word.” Relishing the look of abject horror on her mother’s face, she allowed James to lead her from the room.

Outside, James tossed her perfunctorily into the carriage before climbing up behind her and pulling the door shut.

“If you are attempting to win my favor, this is hardly the way to go about it,” Violet said huffily, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “I believe you treat hounds with more courtesy than that.”

“Would you mind ceasing to speak for more than three seconds?” James asked pleasantly.

Violet opened her mouth and then deliberately shut it again and settled back into her seat. As soon as she ceded the space between them, James leaned forward, somehow taking up more room than it seemed logical that he should.

“In response to your earlier question,” he said in a conversational tone, “no, I have not come to some sort of glorious, earth-shattering conclusion in the past couple of hours. I’ve merely followed you to explain to you what I had already worked out.”

Violet arched a brow. “James, you lied to me this morning.”

“Afternoon, technically.”

“The point remains.”

“I know,” he said quietly, and all hint of jesting was immediately absent from his voice. “I lied to you because I was afraid that you would still think I was having my actions dictated by my father. Violet, I had already realized that I should have trusted you all along—I didn’t want my discussions with him, and with Jeremy, to complicate things.”

“You should have trusted me to understand that,” she said, her voice equally quiet. “I was mistaken four years ago when I did not come to you immediately with what I’d learned of our parents’ scheming—not,” she added severely, “as mistaken as you were in not believing me when I tried to explain the situation to you—”

“I know that,” he said quickly. “And I’m sorry.”

“But I understand the instinct nonetheless.” She sighed. “I need to know you’re not going to let your father come between us ever again. I need to know I’m not going to receive notes about your nearly killing yourself on the back of a horse, just to spite your father. I need you to think of me, of us, before anything else.”

“I was an ass today,” he said, and then his mouth quirked up at the sides. “Not just today, if we’re really being honest with each other, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Violet.” All at once, his voice was deadly serious once again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t trust you to . . . to . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated; the result was curls that were even more disheveled than they’d been a moment before. “I didn’t trust you to trust me that I trusted you.”

Violet blinked. “I’m sorry?”

James appeared to be running his words back through his mind, then nodded once, apparently satisfied. “I believe I had the right of it, actually.”

Violet couldn’t help smirking. “It sounded peculiarly appropriate.”

“As convoluted as we deserve?” He grinned at her, and the sight was devastating.

“We did rather make our own beds, didn’t we?” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back this time.