Page 59 of Brigand
“Turn.” Hortense studied her. “Nice. Good hair. Pretty face.The dress, however, is horrid.” Ewan bristled. He’d picked it out. Thought itcomplemented her quite nicely. “She has a wardrobe, I presume.”
Ewan blinked. “A…wardrobe?”
Hortense blew out a snort. “Dresses. Evening dresses, daydresses, walking dresses, morning dresses.”
“I have school dresses, ma’am.” Sophia offered a littlecurtsey with the admission.
“School dresses?” One would think she’d admitted to keepinga full selection of widow’s weeds. “Bother. We shall have to shop.” Hortensebraced her hands on her cane and blew out a sigh—though Ewan suspected she wasnot disappointed in the slightest. She turned her attention on him. “You havethe means to pay for what she may require?”
He tried not to laugh. “Anything.”
“Anything?” If it were at all possible, her eyes glowed evenmore.
“Anything, ma’am.”
“My, yes,” she chortled beneath her breath. “I do fancy thewicked ones.”
On that note, blissfully, Edward arrived. He didn’t sit downfor tea, as Kaitlin suggested. Rather he pinned Ewan with a commanding stareand raised a brow. “My study?”
Eager to escape his discomfort, the constant reminders ofhow out of place he was in this world, he nodded. But he remembered to bow andmurmur a vague “ladies” as he left. He made it a point not to look at Violet.That, he had discovered, was far too painful altogether.
He’d barely glanced at her.
Violet tried desperately to follow the conversation afterEwan and Edward left. And she tried desperately to keep her tears at bay.
Ever since her cousin had told her of his agreement with theMcCloud, ever since she’d known he was coming, she’d been on pins and needles.Playing and replaying their reunion in her head.
She had at the very least expected a smile. She hadn’t evengotten one of those.
He’d been surly and solemn and had ignored her completely.
Her heart wrenched.
How silly she’d been to think a man like Ewan McCloud wouldever share her feelings. Was he capable of love? Of course not.
He had used her. Taken what he wanted. And now that he’d hadit, he wanted nothing to do with her.
The truth so dispirited her she couldn’t bear to pretendcivility. So when Kaitlin and Hortense showed Sophia up to her suite, Violetbegged off, claiming a megrim. It was a complete lie.
But lies had a way of turning into truth, and before longshe was splayed on her bed with a damp cloth over her face. Which waswonderful. Because it soaked up the tears.
She’d always dreamed of her season—even when the family hadgone under the hatches and she’d been convinced it would be an impossibility.She’d dreamed of glittering balls and handsome men and suitors and swains. Ofchoosing gowns and wearing lovely jewels and silk petticoats and slippers…
She wanted none of that now.
The very thought of dressing up and going to Almack’s andfacing a teeming throng—and selecting a husband—sickened her.
Lots of things sickened her lately. She’d spent more timehunched over the basin than she cared to admit. She’d spent a lot of time inher room, weeping, as well.
She’d never been a weepy sort. She hated that she was now.
Hated what he’d done to her.
Well, not all of it.
Even under the cover of night, when there was no one thereto witness her mooning, she would remember him, his touch, his kisses, hispassion. She would remember him and her body would weep.
A familiar ache arose in her womb and she gave a growl,tossing the cloth across the room. Why was she so stupid? Why was she so weak?Why couldn’t she just put him from her mind?
