Page 55 of Dukes All Night Long
Passion Before Dawn
Evan
V iolet remained in his embrace. Clinging to him.
He hadn’t meant to hold her this long. Hadn’t meant to let the silence stretch or let his hands drift along the line of her spine, memorizing what time had changed and what had remained exactly as he remembered.
The scent of her—a wintery spice with something sweet beneath it—curled through him, grounding and undoing in equal measure.
Her warmth seeped into him, softening things he hadn’t realized had gone cold.
He didn’t want to let go.
Not now. Not after the discoveries they’d just shared. Not when the weight of her against him made the world finally feel bearable again.
He bent his head, pressing his cheek to her temple, closing his eyes as he let the shape of her settle deeper into memory. She was real. Here. Breathing the same air.
The thought of her leaving unraveled something inside him.
“Don’t go,” he said, voice low, rough. The words cracked open something he’d been holding shut.
She stilled.
“Evan,” she began, but her breath caught.
“Sir Frederick will disapprove,” he finished for her. “I know.” His arms tightened around her instinctively, as if he could keep the rest of the world at bay just by sheer will. “But I also know I can’t let you leave. Not now. Not after finding you again.”
He felt her heartbeat against his chest, steady and real. Her silence cut deeper than any protest.
“I’ve lost too many chances already,” he said, the words scraping raw from somewhere beneath the bruises of the night. “When you walked back into my life, I told myself I could be strong enough to let you walk out again. But I can’t. I won’t. That wasn’t strength. It was cowardice.”
Her head tilted up slightly, her eyes catching the firelight, unreadable and too full at once.
“I know it complicates everything,” he continued. “I know the danger, the timing, the consequences. But I can’t let this—us—be one more thing I regret.”
She took a breath, then whispered, “We’ve spent the evening uncovering secrets, speaking of danger and duty. But there’s one truth we’ve circled without addressing directly.”
He reached up, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek with reverence. “And what truth is that?”
“That I never stopped loving you.”
He stopped breathing.
“Even when I hated you for leaving,” she said, voice steady now, painfully clear. “Even when I convinced myself I’d moved on. I never did.”
The words hit harder than anything he’d uncovered that night. Harder than the ledger, than the truth of his uncle’s death. It was everything he’d feared he’d lost and everything he hadn’t dared hope for.
She met his gaze, unwavering. “For the past three years, I’ve lived half a life—hiding in missions, pretending purpose could replace the rest. But it couldn’t. It never could.”
He swallowed hard. “And now?”
“Now I’m staring down dangers that could take either of us. And I won’t waste another moment pretending this doesn’t matter.”
Emotion surged before reason could stop it.
His hands slid into her hair, drawing her close.
Her arms locked around his neck, their bodies fitting together like a memory too long denied.
The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative.
It was hunger and heartbreak, reunion and apology.
It was everything they hadn’t said until now, poured into a moment too urgent to pause.
“This is madness,” he murmured, lips brushing hers.
“Then let’s be mad,” she whispered. “Let’s remember what we’re fighting for.”
His hands trembled as they found her waist, drawing her closer still. “If we do this… it changes everything.”
She met his gaze head-on, fierce and unshaken. “Everything changed the moment I saw you across Hamlin House.” Her fingers moved to his cravat, loosening it with practiced ease. “We’ve been moving toward this since then—maybe since the day we parted.”
He caught her wrist gently, not to stop her but to make her pause. His eyes searched hers, needing certainty. “Violet, are you sure?”
Her lips curved into a smile that was both soft and determined. “I’ve spent three years being cautious, calculating risks, weighing outcomes. For once, I want to be reckless.”
He hesitated, one last flicker of doubt. “I don’t want you to regret—”
She stopped him with a kiss, slower this time. “The only thing I’ve ever regretted was letting you walk away three years ago. I won’t make that mistake again.”
The last barriers dissolved. Propriety, caution, even their shared mission—all receded before the urgent need to reconnect.
He lifted her into his arms, her weight familiar and precious, and carried her to the chaise longue beneath the window.
Moonlight spilled across them as he laid her down, his movements reverent.
Her hair tumbled free as he removed the last pins, auburn waves spilling across the upholstery. She reached for him, drawing him down to her, and he went willingly. The first touch of his lips against her throat drew a soft sound from her—half sigh, half plea.
“I dreamed of this,” he confessed against her skin. “Nights in empty rooms, with only your memory for company.”
“Show me,” she breathed, her hands working at his waistcoat buttons.
Layers fell away between them—waistcoat, cravat, petticoats, stays.
Each revealed more of what they’d been denied, what they’d both ached for through the long separation.
His hand trembled as it traced the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breast. Her fingers mapped the planes of his chest, rediscovering territory once claimed, now being reclaimed.
In the soft lamplight of the study, surrounded by evidence of conspiracy and murder, they created a moment of communion that defied the darkness closing in around them.
Their union was both affirmation and defiance—life asserting itself in the shadow of death, love blooming amid threats and secrets.
When they came together at last, bodies joining as their souls already had, Evan felt a completeness he had thought forever lost. Violet’s eyes held his, unflinching and certain, as they moved together.
Each touch was a promise, each breath a vow.
The world narrowed to this room, this moment, this woman—the only truth that mattered.
Later, as they lay entwined on the Turkish carpet before the dying fire, reality returned by degrees. Violet’s head rested on Evan’s chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine.
“We should move somewhere more comfortable,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Mmm.” She seemed unwilling to move. “In a moment.”
He chuckled. “What would Sir Frederick say if he could see his prized operative now?”
“He’d say I’ve been compromised.” She smiled against his skin. “And he wouldn’t be wrong.”
“Compromised, or simply reminded of what matters most?”
She raised herself on one elbow. “Both, perhaps.” Her expression grew serious. “This doesn’t change what we must do, Evan. The danger is real. The Black Rose Society must be stopped.”
“I know.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But it changes how we proceed. No unnecessary risks. No solitary heroics.”
“Agreed.” She lowered her head to kiss him softly. “Partners in this, as in all things.”
“Partners,” he echoed, sealing the word with another kiss.
The mantel clock chimed three. They gathered scattered clothing and restored some semblance of propriety. Evan stoked the fire; Violet attempted to tame her hair and caught sight of herself in a mirror.
“This is hopeless,” she laughed. “I look thoroughly debauched.”
“You look perfect.” He came to stand behind her, arms encircling her waist. They gazed into the mirror above the hearth, their reflections united.
He turned to face her. “Stay. It’s nearly dawn already.”
“It’s not that simple. You have servants who will see me. And Sir Frederick. He’s expecting—”
“Just until morning. We’ll speak to Sir Frederick together. I’ll deal with the servants.”
Her hesitation was brief. Then she nodded. “Until morning.”
They left the study hand in hand, ascending the staircase where Christmas garlands reminded him that life endured. In his bedchambers, they found comfort in each other again—gentler, no less profound.
As they lay tangled in the sheets, Violet traced the line of Evan’s jaw with her fingertips.
“I was angry with you for so long,” she whispered. “For leaving without explanation. For making me feel like what we had meant nothing to you.”
“It meant everything,” he murmured. “That’s why I left. I was terrified of what we were becoming.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m terrified of losing you again—to The Black Rose Society, to Sir Frederick, to misunderstanding.”
She pressed close. “Then keep me with you.”
“Always,” he vowed.
Outside, dawn crept across London’s rooftops. Inside, two souls slept entwined, their dreams for once free of loss or duty. For a few precious hours, they rested in the haven they had reclaimed, storing strength for the storm to come.