Rule's Bride. Kat Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ Cummins—gray hair, big bosom, rounded hips.

      “I’m Mrs. Digby, my lady. I’ll show you and your cousin upstairs to your rooms.”

      My lady? It appeared marriage to the brother of a duke gave her a title, as well. Goodness, she had no idea. “Thank you.”

      Their luggage was brought up to their rooms and as soon as Violet closed the door, a quick rap sounded and Caroline rushed in.

      “My lady! I can hardly believe it. I thought Rule’s brother was the one with the title.”

      “He is. I don’t know how it works. Rule never mentioned anything when he was in Boston.”

      “Probably because Americans don’t use titles.”

      “I suppose.”

      “I wonder where he is.”

      “I have no idea.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But he is certainly in for a surprise when he gets home.”

      Caroline grinned. “Oh, my, yes—he certainly is.”

       Two

      Rule drained his brandy glass and set it on the table in front of him. He and Luke had made the social rounds, then ended the evening playing cards at White’s, his gentleman’s club. It was late and tomorrow he had work to do.

      Rule slid back his chair. “I’m afraid I am out, gentlemen.” He shoved his cards into the center of the table. “Looks as though I wound up even—which, with Luke playing, I consider a win.”

      Luke just laughed. “You’re headed home, then?”

      “I’m done in. I’ll see you at the end of the week.” The Marchioness of Wyhurst was holding a ball in honor of her daughter Sabrina’s birthday. Rumor was the marchioness was determined to find the girl a husband, but so far the elegant blonde had refused every suitor who had dared knock at her door.

      Rule blew out a breath, wishing he had sent his regrets, though he couldn’t quite say why. But Lady Sabrina had been a good friend to the Dewars, and it was, after all, the lady’s birthday.

      He released a sigh, still uncertain why it was that staying at home was beginning to hold such a strange appeal.

      Making his way to the door of the club, he called for his carriage and left the building. As he settled himself inside, he pulled the bow of his cravat, letting it drape around his neck, removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit.

      The next sound he heard was the latch snapping open and the door swinging wide.

      “We’re ’ere, guv’nor,” said the coachman, a burly man with a short brown beard who stepped back so that he might depart the carriage. “Good night, milord.”

      He climbed to the street. “Good night, Bellows.” Leaving the coachman to his late-night duties, he headed for the door. Light spilled from a window in the drawing room and he thought that Hatfield must have accidentally left a lamp burning. The old man was getting quite old, but Rule wouldn’t fire him. Hat had been a loyal employee of the family for too many years.

      He reached the door and was surprised when it swung open. Hatfield stood in the entry, gray hair standing on end, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

      “What is it, Hat? I told you not to wait up.”

      The butler straightened, looking more like his old self again. “You’ve a guest, my lord. Two of them, actually.”

      Rule frowned. “A guest? I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it?”

      “Your wife, sir.”

      Silence fell in the entry. “My…my wife is here?”

      Hat nodded, moving the strands of hair hanging over his wrinkled forehead. “Yes, my lord. She arrived from America late this afternoon with her cousin, a Miss Caroline Lockhart.”

      “I see.” Of course he didn’t see at all and all he could think was, Bloody hell, what am I going to do now?

      “Your wife, sir…she’s waiting for you.”

      “Violet is…My wife is waiting for me? She is up at this hour?”

      “Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”

      His mind was spinning, trying to sort things out. Violet was in London, had crossed the Atlantic to reach him. He started walking toward the drawing room, wide awake now, no longer feeling the least effects of the alcohol he had consumed.

      As he strode into the room, she sat bolt upright, her eyes bright and blinking, glanced around for an instant as if to recall where she was, straightened and shoved to her feet. She was smaller than he remembered was his first impression, petite but shapely. In truth, she was different in every way than he recalled.

      Except for her glorious copper hair, the likes of which he had never seen.

      He groped for something to say. “Violet. I cannot believe you are here.”

      She gave him a chilling smile. “It took a while to reach London. But at last, here I am.”

      He couldn’t seem to make himself move. “So you are.”

      He did move then, closing the distance between them, reaching out to take both of her hands. She wore no gloves, he noticed, and realized that aside from the bridal kiss on her cheek, he had never actually touched her without the barrier of some sort of clothing.

      “Welcome to London,” he said. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more proper greeting.”

      Violet drew her hands from his and looked him over, head to foot. For the first time, it occurred to him that his cravat was undone and dangling round his neck; his collar was missing, shirt unbuttoned and his hair slightly mussed.

      Violet, on the other hand, looked…well…

      Violet Griffin Dewar was beautiful.

      “It must have been quite an evening,” she said, those leaf-green eyes he remembered taking in his dishevel.

      He flushed like a schoolboy. “Not really. I stopped by to see friends and wound up playing cards at my club.”

      “You were gambling? I didn’t realize you were a gambler.”

      His embarrassment faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I rarely gamble. I was simply passing time.”

      “Yes, well, you certainly managed to do that.” She glanced up at the clock over the mantel, the hands pointing to the lateness of the hour, condemning him.

      “I am certain you are tired,” she continued. “I shall leave you to find your bed. I just wanted you to know I was here and to say that I would like to speak to you first thing in the morning.”

      “Yes, of course.” СКАЧАТЬ