Page 16

“We’re home,” Catherine announced as the carriage pulled to a stop.

The door swung open, and Violet exited first, extending her hand to the footman.

It was, she couldn’t help but notice, the wrong hand.

She wondered if Charles, their usual footman, had somehow been replaced during the course of the Waverly Ball.

The fingers that clutched hers now were far too large and far too warm.

And they were holding her hand far too tightly, such that she felt an inappropriate shiver at the contact.

“Charles?” she asked in confusion. “Are you alright?”

She ducked her head out of the carriage and came face to face with a man who was very much not Charles. This man had chestnut curls and almond-shaped eyes so brown they were nearly black. He made her belly tingle and her temper flare in equal measure.

Violet reared backward at the sight of Alistair Crawford standing in front of her, nearly tumbling down the carriage step. He reached his arm out to steady her, grasping her about the waist and placing her lightly on her feet.

Violet stepped away from him as soon as she’d regained her footing.

“Good evening, Miss Goodwin,” he said.

“No.” Violet shook her head. “No, no, no.”

He arched that eyebrow at her. “You are not Miss Goodwin?”

“I will not stand here in the middle of the street and hold a polite conversation with you, Lord Alistair, no matter—” Violet waved her hand in the general direction of his face, “whatever it is you are doing with that eyebrow. I’ve had quite a long evening in which untold damage has been done to myself and my cousin’s reputation.

And,” she glanced down in dismay, “I look like I’ve been trampled by a carriage.

So please do me the favor of telling me why you’re here in the most succinct way possible, so I can take your leave and go directly to bed. ”

“I didn’t realize you had a care for your reputation,” he said.

“Not my reputation as a virgin . My reputation as a nurse . Which you were kind enough to destroy before I’d even begun to build it here.”

“I’d like to explain,” he said. “If you’ll let me. I am here to apologize.”

Violet sighed. “And you’ll leave afterward?”

“Yes. I give you my word.”

“Then go ahead.”

Alistair was quiet, and she watched the muscle tick in his jaw.

“Lord Alistair,” she said after a long moment. “You do know what it is you’re apologizing for, do you not?”

Bollocks!

He really should have thought this through. He’d jumped onto the back of the carriage without giving a great deal of consideration to what he would say to Miss Goodwin when he caught up with her. Except that he was sorry. He hadn’t expected her to ask for details.

All he could think was that he’d seen the look of hurt and anger in her eyes when he’d called for the surgeon, and he regretted being the cause of that look. And that regret was now tumbling around with a good portion of anxiety in the pit of his stomach and making him feel slightly nauseous.

But he couldn’t say that. That wasn’t substantive; it wasn’t what she wanted to hear from him.

She narrowed her eyes, and he watched their color turn from bright blue to a dark sapphire. She was angry. Or aroused. He’d seen that same color then too. He didn’t think she was aroused now.

“Well, sir?” she asked, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Damnit!

He couldn’t very well say he was sorry for calling the surgeon.

He had been protecting her from Mrs. Jenson, and he wasn’t sorry about that.

Whether she wanted his protection or not was irrelevant.

He’d been born into this world of the ton .

And while he cared nothing for its values or prejudices himself, he wouldn’t let them slander her or her cousin if he could help it.

“I apologize for everything,” he said. It was the best he could do.

“Not good enough. Specificity, please. What are you sorry for?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, an idea coming to mind. “Do you really want me to speak of it here?” he asked, his voice low.

“I do.”

“Then I will elaborate.”

He had something to say, finally. Something he thought she would understand. “I am sorry for the garden. You are innocent, and I should not have taken liberties with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Violet snapped. “I took liberties with you if I recall correctly, and that was my choice to make.”

“I pushed you,” Alistair argued. “I overcame your good sense.”

Violet closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Lord Alistair,” she said, “I am an innocent, as you English like to say. But I am not ignorant. I can understand my own choices and hold my own responsibility for them. Ignorance and innocence are not the same thing. They should not be the same thing . Do you understand?”

He breathed in deeply and wished his head wasn’t spinning from the evening’s events and the bumpy carriage ride and the tempest that was Violet Goodwin.

This conversation was slipping sideways, as it always seemed to do with her, veering into territory he didn’t want to cover.

Like when he’d spoken of the Koh-I-Noor diamond and his failed career.

Or when he’d practically begged her to like him, of all things.

Why should he care at all if she liked him?

But he did.

In the end he just shook his head, at a loss for how this conversation ought to proceed.

“No,” he said. “I don’t understand.

Violet watched his jaw clench as he thought, and she knew she’d been right to ask exactly what he was sorry for. Alistair Crawford didn’t understand her at all.

“Alistair,” she said more gently this time. “I’m going to retire now. It’s been a long evening. I know you meant well, coming here, but I must ask you to please go home now. There is nothing more to say.”

“Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll say it.”

She shook her head and spoke softly. “It doesn’t work that way. You’re a part of them, whether you wish to be or not. No matter how hard or far you run, you cannot escape the world that made you. And it is not my world. So, this is where we part ways.”

“Violet, please listen. I did what I had to.”

“No, you didn’t. You did what was easiest.”

Against her better judgment, she stood still for a moment longer to give him one last chance.

Her heart beat hard in her chest; it wanted him to say she could be as skilled and trusted a medical professional as any surgeon might be.

Perhaps even better. It wanted him to believe in her.

It wanted him to announce that belief to the world.

But her heart was wrong to hold onto such a na?ve and foolish hope, because he said nothing.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured in the face of his silence. “I must be off to bed.”

“Violet, please.” He reached for her, but she stepped away from his outstretched hand with a firm “goodnight.”

Violet disappeared into the house, leaving Alistair to stand alone in the drive. He had failed this evening utterly, on every front. He’d double-crossed McGann, Violet was furious at him, and he’d made a scene in front of the entire ton that his father was sure to hear about.

He felt as if he could do nothing right, as if he was completely adrift in this world.

It was the same way he felt the year he’d turned fifteen and snuck away to join the Navy.

The year his entire family had turned pear-shaped for reasons he’d never understood.

The year his father had begun to hate him.

He absentmindedly reached for the flask again, but it wasn’t there.

You’ve given up, he reminded himself.

And then a throat clearing from inside the carriage alerted him he wasn’t alone.

“I could use a hand out,” Catherine called. “If you don’t mind, your lordship.”