To Have and to Hoax(107)

Violet snorted. “Better yet, why don’t you promise to avoid getting in a riding accident in the first place?”

James grinned at her. “Fair enough.”

“I promise never to pretend to be dying to extract revenge for an argument,” Violet continued, then leaned forward and made short work of unbuttoning his shirt.

“I promise never to pretend you’re actually dying and keep you bedridden for days on end.” His thumb continued its gentle pressure, and he stole another kiss.

“I promise never to cough significantly in an attempt to gain your sympathy.” She loosened the collar of his shirt enough to drag her lips along his throat.

“I promise never to flirt with another lady as an act of revenge against your revenge.” His hand left her breast to join his other hand in reaching around her, undoing the buttons of her frock with practiced ease.

“I promise to support you, whatever you should decide to do with regard to your relationship with your father. And West, too.” She drew back from kissing him, her tone not as light. The look in his eyes was all she needed to see—the gratitude, the love.

“I promise never to spend a silent breakfast with you ever again,” he said quietly, and the underlying message was crystal clear. They would never again allow their fears, their mutual uncertainties, to come between them.

“I promise never to depart in a huff in a carriage again,” she said, deliberately lightening the tone. “Or at least, not to my mother’s house.” She gave him a saucy smile and slid her hands inside his shirt, running her palms over the smooth heat of his bare skin.

“I promise to follow you every time,” he said, a wicked glint in his eye as he undid the last of her buttons and reached up to ease her dress down over her shoulders and down to her waist. “And I promise to ravish you in the aforementioned carriage once I catch you.” He leaned down to place a heated kiss at the spot where chemise met bare skin, sending a shiver coursing through Violet.

“And I promise to enjoy it thoroughly when you do,” she said.

And, as they rattled through the streets of London back toward Curzon Street, she immediately set about keeping that particular promise.





Acknowledgments


The publication of this book is the culmination of a lifelong dream, and I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to a large number of people, including: Taylor Haggerty, world’s best agent, who believed in this project first and whose relentless passion and positivity have meant more to me than I can possibly express.

Kaitlin Olson, editor extraordinaire, who in addition to being all-around brilliant also helped me figure out what exactly I was trying to say.

The entire team at Atria who have worked so hard to bring this book into the world, including Megan Rudloff, Isabel DaSilva, and Sherry Wasserman.

Karin Michel and the rest of the staff, past and present, of the Chapel Hill Public Library.

The many teachers and professors who at various points encouraged my writing, both creative and academic.

My friends—from Florida, from UNC, from SILS, and beyond—and especially Lisa Duckrow and Alice “BriHo” Hayward, for half a lifetime of . . . everything; CAMEL for growing up with me; and Beatrice Allen, Kerry Anne Harris, and Allie Massey Jackson, for important support at key moments in my life as a writer.

The Shaws, who have given me a home away from home.

My family—Mom, Dad, Alice, Nan, and the Madison, Georgia, Bests—who never told me this was too big of a dream. To Mom and Dad especially: thank you for raising me in a houseful of books, and for showing me—by your own example—the value in telling stories.

And, finally—to every friend who has spent the past decade listening to me joke about consumption being the most romantic way to die: I’m sorry. I promise I know it’s really not.