Page 7 of Most Sought-After Scoundrel in London (Wicked Widows League #31)
T he fresh air was a nice reprieve. Violet stretched her arms out wide and spun in a circle.
She was finally free from the confines of the travel coach.
She wondered about the neatly manicured gardens at the back of the Hadfield’s country estate, which was far more welcoming than the austere mansion her belated husband had owned and sentenced her to for the first two weeks of their short-lived marriage.
A bone-deep shiver rolled throughout her, sending her to her knees.
Arms crossed and eyes tightly shut, memories of being thrown out into the night by creditors had welled up tears rolling down her cheeks.
That was the past.
She’d survived.
A heavy arm wrapped about her.
Like years before, her mouth fell open to yell for help but knowing that there was no one to come to her aid, she pressed her lips tight and pushed away with all her might.
Rather than a crude swat of a meaty hand meeting her cheek, two warm, kid-leather-covered palms cupped her face. “Violet, what happened? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”
She blinked until her vision cleared, and a very concerned Lord Hurlington was assessing her from head to toe.
Violet tried to shuffle backward but the man moved with lightning speed, shifting his hands from her face to grip her tightly about the arms. Eyes trained on her, Lord Hurlington said, “Breathe. Nice and slow.” His grip eased, and he sat back onto his heels. “You are doing brilliant.”
Mesmerized by his gaze, Violet did as the man said and focused on the simple task of breathing. Brain still in a fog, she opened and closed her mouth twice but words escaped her.
“No rush, there’s plenty of daylight remaining,” Lord Hurlington said, glancing up at the cloud-covered sky. “But it might be best if we try to return to the house. Can you walk?”
Weakened knees had her wobbling as she attempted to stand.
In the next moment, she found herself swept off her feet and cradled up against Lord Hurlington’s chest. Why the scoundrel believed it appropriate to take such liberties and why she allowed him to do so was as befuddling as to why she’d succumbed to a crippling episode of the past when she hadn’t in months.
Suddenly bone weary, Violet rested her cheek against Lord Hurlington’s shoulder and murmured, “My thanks, Lord Hurlington.”
“Hmm. Wouldn’t you agree that after spending three days in each other's company, we should discontinue using formalities? Why not refer to me by my given name, Cameron, and I shall address you in kind, Violet?”
She should object to his suggestion but his sure and steady strides had her heavy eyelids closing. Engulfed in a warmth she’d never experienced before, Violet drifted off to sleep, her mind devoid of troubles and focused on only one thing—Cameron, the Earl of Hurlington.
Cameron glanced down at the brave and resilient woman slumbering in his arms. Negotiation was one of his stronger suits, yet it had taken every tactic he knew to obtain the barest of information from Violet.
The clever chit avoided answering direct questions and evaded his inquiries with retorts that had his mind going about in circles.
Not only was he bone weary from traveling three long days, he was exhausted from all the mental calisthenics Violet had put him through.
However, he’d confirmed three key facts: Violet was exceptionally apt at keeping secrets, her marriage not been a love match, and while she held very few in high regard, he was slowly becoming one of those she believed worthy of trusting.
The flutter of curtains in the window on the second story was a signal he couldn’t ignore even if he had other plans of his own.
With rain clouds approaching, Lady Bronwyn had sent him out to fetch Violet back to the house.
All hopes of sequestering Violet away in the arbor were dashed as he strode up the steps of the terrace and through the country estate that Lord Hadfield had managed to resurrect from years of neglect.
Fortunate not to have been born into a family faced with financial concerns, he couldn’t fully understand the pressures or fears that Violet had alluded to during their journey.
The urge to discover more about Violet hadn’t waned as soon as the woman was out of sight, as usual.
In fact, the longer he was away from her, the more anxious he became.
Even now, as he strode down the hall to her bedchamber, dread was seeping into his bones at the knowledge he’d be banished from her side soon.
“Good gracious, Hurlington, could you walk any slower?” Lady Bronwyn admonished in a whisper. While he and his hostess were of the same age, she could make him feel ten years her junior.
“Do you wish for me to wake her?”
“Most definitely not.” Lady Bronwyn ushered them over to the bed and drew back the coverlet.
As soon as he laid Violet down, he was shooed away, and Lady Bronwyn, wife to the head PORF, attended to Violet like a maid.
Her humble actions were just one of Lady Bronwyn’s admirable qualities that Cameron had witnessed over the years, reinforcing his commitment to the Network and serving PORF to the best of his abilities.
His gaze naturally wandered back to Violet. Why the special treatment? Why Violet?
Over her shoulder, Lady Bronwyn scowled at Cameron, but rather than obeying the unspoken order to leave, he widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.
Once Violet was securely tucked in, Lady Bronwyn marched up to him, the top of her head barely even with his shoulders, and motioned for him to bend lower, which he did as he unraveled his arms and clasped them tightly behind his back. “We need Lady Violet to be well rested.”
“Why?”
“We have a message that needs to be disseminated widely and our usual methods have become…”
He finished Lady Bronwyn’s sentence for her, “Outdated. Too predictable.”
Over the years, Cameron had complained to the Network elders and PORFs alike, that following tradition and continuing to be steeped in antiquated methods would lead to their secret being discovered by others.
He shifted his gaze back to the lady sleeping soundly in the four-poster bed.
There were too many like Violet who were more than capable of putting the pieces together.
Violet rolled onto her side and sighed. His immediate reaction was to go and check on her.
Before he could even move a muscle, Lady Bronwyn swatted his arm and said, “For the love of God, Hurlington, can you please focus?”
Gaze averted back to the woman in charge, Cameron awaited her next order.
Lowering her voice to a whisper, Lady Bronwyn shared, “We have been observing and monitoring Lady Violet for nearly three years. The decision to involve others in our affairs is not one we take lightly.”
Three years. Was it a coincidence that Violet had also been married and widowed three years ago?
Cameron wasn’t a believer in fate or that life events were a result of pure happenstance. Why would he? After all, his entire life had been coordinated by others from birth.
Lady Bronwyn snapped her fingers in front of him.
“Hurlington, you are here because we have chosen you to train and work with Lady Violet in devising a method for our message to be distributed. We were extremely excited when Lady Violet came up with the ingenious idea to poll the widows using messages delivered on the wrappers of sweets. You and Lady Violet have our full support, and we are expecting great things from you both.”
Despite knowing full well that information was only provided on a “as needed” basis, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why me?”
“Aren’t you the one who has been vying for us to reassess our methods?” Lady Bronwyn smiled and added, “You have a fortnight.”
A fortnight. Two weeks. Fourteen days was hardly enough time to train another. Unless…
He shook his head. The idea of spending day and night with Violet didn’t make his stomach knot, which was peculiar.
He required, even savored, the quiet evening hours for himself.
Others might assume his gaiety came naturally, but the truth of the matter was that he had to spend hours upon hours practicing smiles in the mirror and continuously rehearsing conversations in private.
Would Violet be disappointed to discover that he wasn’t naturally at ease with others?
Cameron looked about the room. Lady Bronwyn was nowhere in sight, and Violet was sleeping peacefully like she didn’t have a care in the world.
That would change the moment she awakened and it was his duty to indoctrinate her into his world that was full of risk and danger.
Damn. He should have listened to his mama and been more careful in what he wished for.
Had he known it would place Violet in danger, he would have kept his trap shut and been content to conduct matters as they always had, even if they were no longer as effective.