The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(71)

She was seated on the sofa, all too aware that the comfortable cushions could so easily fit two. That it wasn’t so different from a bed. He came and sat beside her, and then, when she cautiously leaned against him, he drew her to him. He enfolded her in the warmth of his arms, their bodies nestling together, fitting against each other. It felt odd to be held by him, the two of them drawn together in the little office. They hadn’t been alone together since yesterday, when they’d kissed in Cambridge.

And now…

Her skin prickled in anticipation; her stomach knotted in dread. As much as she wanted his comfort, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen.

“You really think your mother will be worse?” he asked.

Violet shivered. “Lily cries and complains, but she’s all words. Mother? Well, she’ll nod and smile, and then she’ll find some way to sabotage the whole affair. I already know what she thinks of me. Mother is a doer, not a talker.”

He leaned down until she could feel his breath against her neck. “Yes,” he said, “but Lily’s peculiar reaction…that’s Lily.”

Violet started to turn toward him.

“And no,” he said, “I won’t say anything more because she’s your sister and I’m not an idiot. But…” He paused. “No. Not saying that, either. I’m still not an idiot.”

Violet smiled despite herself. “It’s hard for her. She has eleven children. She has to think of them first.”

“Mmm.”

“She’s never done well with dark secrets,” Violet said. “When our father passed away, she managed to convince herself the circumstances were quite different than they actually were.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s a lot to put on her,” Violet continued. “After all she went through with Father, to ask her to accept this?”

He turned her around to face him, leaning in so that his nose brushed hers. “Violet,” he said softly, “there is a massive difference between a man committing suicide and a woman discovering the secret of all biological life. Both cause upheaval, but one is a cause for mourning; the other is a reason to celebrate.”

“But—I’m still breaking an inviolate social rule.”

“Which one?” Sebastian asked with interest.

“The one that says that women should not think of certain things, should not discuss them in public.” She swallowed.

“Ah, the rule that says that women aren’t allowed to be intelligent.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Burn that one to the ground, Violet, and dance on the ashes. And damn anyone who tells you it’s selfish to do so.”

She couldn’t help herself. She smiled at him. His hands slid down her shoulders, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

“Burn it all, sweetheart.”

She was being seduced—thoroughly seduced. His fingers curled around her ribs, bringing her close to him. Her heart pounded; her hands prickled.

“And what do you think?” she whispered.

“I’ll douse the lot in paraffin oil.” His breath was warm against her lips; his hands hot, resting against her hips. “I’d tell you to fetch a match, but you have always had your own spark.”

Violet’s entire being lit up, canting toward him. She yearned to touch him back, to run her hands through the dark curls of his hair. Her body wanted his, wanted him with the quiet, seductive beat of her pulse, the liquid heat that began to gather as he stroked her side.

But she remembered these stages all too well. She knew what it meant to be cajoled. And she couldn’t stop that jolt of fear running through her, that flesh-deep memory of what followed passion.

She let out a shaky breath and caught his hand in hers. “Sebastian.” She let out a breath. “I can’t do this.”

He froze, his hands stilling on her.

“Do what?”

“Be…seduced.” She gulped in a breath. “Particularly by so effective a rake as yourself.”

“A rake.” He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “You say that as if rake was an identifiable species.”

“I know a rake when he kisses me,” she said darkly.

He took his hand from hers and set it deliberately on her hip; his fingers warmed her skin beneath her gown. “It’s not that easy.” His thumb started a little caressing motion, a tiny circle that distracted her. “You have to consider rake phylogeny.”

“Rake phylogeny?” Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me with science.”

“Of course I am.” He winked at her. “And it’s going to work.”

“You’re trying to distract me with falsified science,” Violet accused. “Raking is a learned behavioral trait, not a species designation.”

“Hear me out for now. The thing is, I think you have me confused with rakus indifferentus: the rake whose goal is to plunder as many women as he can, indifferent to everything except whether the hole he utilizes is tight and wet. This sort of rake cares nothing about risk. Pregnancy is irrelevant; the woman’s feelings or reputation—indeed, her consent—is of no concern to him. If he can get between her legs, he will.”

“I am making a list of all the things that are wrong with your species classification.”