She had not the faintest notion of how she might find Sir Gawain again, though, and it was a great pity. Despite the festivities of the night, Violet found it difficult not to be just a little disappointed that she had been unable to spend more of the evening in Sir Gawain’s company.
Even if it was for the best that she had not lingered in his presence, she still ached with regret and from another sensation, which she felt deep in her core.
Chapter 7
Violet. That was the young woman’s name. Leo had fled while she was distracted. It had been a quick, impulsive action. He had known that Dame Ragnelle—thatViolet—would want to speak with her friends, and she would want him to come with her.
Even though Leo had not yet been recognized, he did not wish to risk someone realizing who he was. Dancing with Violet had been enough on his nerves. She was a marvelous woman—witty and charming and beautiful.
Leo walked in silence to his house atop the hill. He did not look behind him, but he could still sense the lights and festivities of the town square behind him. Violet’s lovely face lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him. There was something just so intriguing about her, which he could not quite put into words. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a woman’s company so much and even longer since he had desired to spend more time with one.
He wished that he did not have a shred of honor in him. If he were still rakish like in his youth, he would have grasped her hand and coaxed him into leaving the dance with him. They might be in his bed at that very moment, and he might be removing her gown with feverish hands, revealing her stays and chemise. Leo nearly groaned at the thought. This wasunbearable.
As he approached the house, the butler opened the door and bowed. “Your Grace, welcome home.”
Leo nodded and removed his coat and mask. He tried to regain his composure and force his thoughts of bedding Violet far away, so they did not show on his face. “Thank you.”
The hour was late, nearing midnight, but Leo found himself wide awake and longing to speak about his experiences to everyone. At least he wished to speak ofViolet.He had no desire to provide a full account of his dance with her, which involved indulging in certain base passions. “Is Mrs. Gunderson already abed?” Leo asked, forcing his voice steady.
Usually, the entire house would be asleep at such a late hour, but he knew that a few of the staff would be awake to see him to bed. Mrs. Gunderson and Nathanial Jones would accept nothing less.
“No, Your Grace. I believe she is in your study. She assumed that you would want to discuss your evening,” Nathanial said. The butler did not entirely succeed in concealing the disapproval in his voice. He had never understood why Leo and Mrs. Gunderson behaved so informally with one another. “May I offer you anything else, Your Grace?”
“No,” Leo replied, making his way to the stairs. “That will be unnecessary.”
He quickened his pace. Leo had not asked for Mrs. Gunderson to remain awake and wait for him, but he was grateful she had. A warm fondness filled him. No man could want for a more devoted housekeeper. When he entered his study, the fire was lit and crackled merrily. Mrs. Gunderson stood, a decanter of brandy in one hand. She smiled, but her furrowed brow revealed her anxiety. “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.
“I did,” Leo admitted.
Far more than he intended.
“It was an amazing evening, and I made the acquaintance of the most charming young lady.”
Mrs. Gunderson poured two glasses of brandy. “Oh?”
She handed Leo a glass as he seated himself behind his desk. “Yes.”
“I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “Tell me more about this young lady.”
He wished desperately that he had abandoned his morals enough to bring the young lady to his estate with him. Leo swallowed hard, imagining himself pulling the pins from the lady’s red hair, so it fell about her shoulders in a cascade of fiery curls.
“She was very witty and educated,” Leo said. “We spoke about literature, poetry especially.”
Mrs. Gunderson arched an eyebrow. “You have never cared about literature.”
“I know,” Leo replied, “but this young lady—Violet—was so enthusiastic about the written word that I found myself enchanted by her.”
Mrs. Gunderson smiled. “I see.”
“And she is so innocent,” Leo said. “I suspect, based on everything she said, that she hoped the Harvest Dance would present the chance for her to find—ah, something.”
He would do best to remember that she was innocent and respectable. Leo silently chastised himself for thinking about her in such a lustful manner. What had he been thinking? He could have ruined the young lady’s reputation with that kiss alone! And yet he found himself desiring to do so much more with her.
“Something?”
“I believe she wanted it to be like a romance novel,” Leo replied. “She hoped that a dashing gentleman would take an interest in her.”
“And it seems he did.”
