An Heiress for All Seasons (The Debutante Files #1.5)(10)

“Oh, I’m perfectly charitable . . . to those deserving.” Grinning, she lifted her glass at the viscount in mock salute.

“Aurelia, be kind. The viscount is a guest—”

“He’s not a guest, Mama. He’s always underfoot. As common as that old stool in the drawing room in desperate need of refurbishing from the constant abuse of Will’s boots. . . .”

Color stained the viscount’s cheeks and his lips compressed as though he were fighting back a response.

“Aurelia.” Will’s voice rang with quiet command. “Enough.”

With a lift of her chin, she closed her mouth and focused her attention on her plate.

Violet studied the earl, intrigued how one word from him held such command. She doubted there were many people that Aurelia obeyed, but it was clear the girl respected her brother.

As though he felt her stare, his gaze snapped to her. She started with a small jerk to find herself the subject of that intense blue gaze. Even though he only stared at her face, she felt stripped bare sitting there with everyone else surrounding them. As though he could really see her. And perhaps he did.

Even after only just meeting her, he perhaps knew her better than anyone else did in this country. For he knew the one thing she had not told another soul since leaving home. That she would marry no one here. That she would live a spinster rather than marry a man who wanted her for only the fortune she brought him. She would rather be alone than spend her days with such a man. He knew that and still he looked at her as though he would gobble her up, clearly indifferent to the audience around them. She fidgeted on the seat.

Aurelia leaned close to whisper in indiscreet tones, “I believe someone is fond of you. You have achieved the impossible.”

Clearly, she meant others to hear. Titters broke out along the table. Mama and Lady Peregrine beamed, looking back and forth between Violet and Lord Merlton.

“You’re being fanciful,” Violet murmured.

“My sister has been described as many things, but never fanciful, Miss Howard. She’s a bit of a pragmatist.”

Heat scalded her cheeks. It was virtually a declaration. He was implying that his sister was right and he fancied her. Violet bit back the response burning on her tongue: You are fond of my dowry.

His lips lifted in a crooked, irresistible grin.

Oh, why, of all places, had they come here? Why must she be tempted by him? Why not a dim-witted man with putrid breath and missing teeth? The idea that she could have him, his smiles, his attention, was enticing. Only it wouldn’t be real. She would be giving up on herself if she surrendered to the illusion of that. That life would be a lie, and even on the best of days she would always know that.

To be fair, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him as much as she didn’t trust herself. Yes, he was handsome. Beautiful, even. But she wasn’t so weak to let that guide her. It was his intensity. His confidence. When he looked at her . . . and said the outrageous things he said, she felt alive. Every nerve in her body tingled and broke loose from slumber.

She had not even realized she had been living and walking around half-awake until now. Until him. He made her feel breathless and anxious and thrilled and nauseated all at once.

“Perhaps you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do,” she countered, ignoring her mother’s small sound of displeasure beside her. “There’s a bit of the fanciful inside everyone.”

He clung to his smile, but his eyes changed . . . hardened with something akin to determination.

This time, she didn’t look away. She let him drink his fill of her and read the resolve in her own expression.



Violet spent the next three days avoiding the earl. No easy feat with matchmaking mamas involved.

She knew she couldn’t avoid him entirely for the remainder of her stay, but she could make certain they were never alone again. She glued herself to Aurelia’s side whenever possible, never straying far as they hunted for a Christmas tree or arranged holly and decorated beribboned boughs throughout the house.

The man was trouble. He made her doubt herself and all her carefully laid plans. He made her doubt . . . everything. With a satisfied nod at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she exited her bedchamber to join the others for dinner downstairs, smoothing a hand over her gold skirts. Ever since Papa told her that it made her eyes glow like a lion’s, it had been a favorite. Even Mr. Weston complimented her when he had seen her wear it.

A sudden thought slid through her mind, jarring her as effectively as a window slamming shut. Would the earl like it? As quickly as the aggravating thought arrived, she banished it with a sharp intake of breath. His preferences did not matter.

“You’re avoiding me.”

She gave a small yelp at the deep voice so close to her ear. Whirling around, she faced the glowering earl. “You frightened me.”

He stepped closer in the corridor, the breadth of his chest pushing at her bodice. Instantly, her breasts tightened. She stepped back hastily, furious with her body’s treacherous reaction to him.

Her body had never felt like this before . . . as though it was its own entity, apart from her. Not even when Mr. Weston kissed her had she felt so . . . had she felt.

A breath shuddered past her lips. A situation that was drastically unfair. She and the earl had not even kissed—nor would they ever—and yet he made her entire body sit up and take notice.