Page 8 of Most Sought-After Scoundrel in London (Wicked Widows League #31)
“ V iolet?” a deep husky voice said. “Violet, it’s time to wake up.”
Violet rubbed her eyes. There hadn’t been a need, nor did she have the funds, to hire a maid to attend to her in years.
As her vision cleared, her breath caught in her chest as the profile of the man she’d been dreaming of came into focus.
Cameron, the Earl of Hurlington, was indeed a fine-looking gentleman both in reality and in her sleep.
She pulled up the bed linens to her chin. “A good morning to you, Lord Hurlington.”
“Perhaps you were half asleep, but you agreed nonetheless, so I’m going to remind you of our pact to cease with civilities.” He flashed her a charming smile before walking over to the windows and drawing back the curtains, allowing the early rays of daylight to stream into the room assigned to her.
Squinting, Violet pushed herself back to lean up against the padded headboard.
She scanned her chamber, which was four times larger than her room at Matron Manor.
Her gaze settled on the desk positioned in front of the window, and definitely not on the man who was leaning against the piece of furniture.
Arms folded at his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, Cameron stared back at her.
Was he waiting for a response from her? Had he asked her a question?
The man looked unruffled by the silence that hung in the air.
Meanwhile, her mind raced with questions.
However, after having spent three days in close quarters with the man, she was well aware that for every query she made, the man would have one of his own that often placed her in the predicament of not being able to answer without divulging facts that shouldn’t be shared.
Rather than feeling uncomfortable under Cameron’s steady gaze, a spark of ire rolled through Violet.
Determined not to let this man intimidate her, she crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side as she continued to lock gazes with the man. It wasn’t until the sound of a cart being pushed in the hall and the entrance of a maid that Cameron moved.
A blushing young housemaid uncovered two plates laden with bread, ham, and eggs.
Violet smiled as the maid’s cheeks continued pinkening when she peeked up at Cameron, who was inspecting the food with obvious hunger.
Her own stomach growled. She quickly pressed her palms over her midsection and the coverlet, hoping to mute the sound that had Cameron looking back over his shoulder at her.
With a chuckle, Cameron turned back to address the maid, “Thank you, Annie, you may go.”
As soon as the latch clicked into place, he picked up the two plates and placed them on the desk.
He then vanished for a moment behind a closet door and re-emerged with a robe.
Crossing her chamber as if it were his own, he strode directly to stand in front of her and held the robe out ready for her to don.
She lifted the bed linens and peeked to confirm she was only garbed in a linen slip. Her cheeks warmed at the sight of her nipples through the thin material.
Who had assisted her last eve?
Her last recollection was of Cameron, carrying her back to the house. Embarrassed, she glanced over at the man she believed to be a rogue, but Cameron had kindly averted his face as he waited for her to slip her arms through the material.
He then proceeded to march over to the cart to fetch napkins and silverware. “Shall we?” Cameron asked as he gestured for her to join him at the desk.
How had he managed to form such a friendly and strong rapport with her?
It normally took months for others to become accustomed to her silence and understand that she wasn’t ignoring them or being cold but that she was simply more at ease with the quiet and preferred to only speak with absolutely necessary.
She wasn’t one for idle chatter or to simply converse to avoid silence.
Violet slipped into the chair he held out for her, and pressed backward as he placed her napkin in her lap.
An unfamiliar feeling engulfed her. In a complete daze, she watched Cameron take his own seat.
Head turned to face her, Cameron’s smile turned into a frown. “Are the eggs not cooked to your liking?” He glanced down at his plate and then over at hers before adding, “I specifically ordered the items you mentioned you favored.”
He remembered her preferences. He’d made the effort to see to her care.
She picked up her fork and cut into the slice of ham. “What is it that you want, Lord Hurlington?”
“Your full cooperation and attention for the rest of our stay.” He spread apple jam over his slice of bread and offered it to her.
Apple jam, her favorite. Surely it was a trap. Violet picked up her own piece of bread and dipped her knife into the jar. “Tell me why I should agree to your request.”
“You wanted to know more about the Network, and I’ve been granted permission to provide you with the answers you seek. In return…” He took a bite of the bread.
As he chewed, his nose wrinkled, making Violet giggle. Not everyone cared for the tart jam. “And in return?” she prompted him to continue.
“An oath.”
Violet jumped in her seat at the clatter of her fork and knife hitting her ceramic plate and then the wood table.
The last time she made an oath, it was before a reverend, and it was the biggest mistake of her life.
She took in a slow, deep breath. Cameron wasn’t asking her to marry him; she barely knew the man.
But then again, how well had she really known her late husband?
Not as well as she had thought, or she would never have knowingly agreed to marry the degenerate gambler and two-timing scoundrel.
Gathering her wits, she mustered her courage and asked, “What type of oath?”
“One that binds you to a lifetime of service…”
She held up her hand to stop him from saying more, wanting to know more but not believing the words he was uttering. Violet replayed the key words she’d just heard. Network. Granted permission. Oath.
Oh, my!
Tampering with the need to squeal with delight, Violet calmly asked, “Are you saying that I have been invited to join the Network and work alongside PORFs?”
Could her wish of becoming a member of the secret society be within her grasp?
All her life, she’d wanted a purpose. Wanted to be part of an organization that strived to accomplish objectives, a life that had more meaning than simply attending ball after ball, soirees, and the endless rounds of tea.
While her poetry had provided her a means to an end, it hadn’t provided her with a higher sense of purpose.
Violet searched Cameron’s features for clues as to what his response would be, except she was distracted by the curve of his lips that were rumored to be soft yet firm when pressed against your own.
She’d never been kissed by a man, not even her late husband.
Fascinated, Violet found herself leaning closer to the man who was blatantly grinning at her.
“You have indeed, Violet. If you vow to keep our existence a secret and successfully complete the training, you shall join me and the others in the Network to serve and protect PORFs in their duties.”
She jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms about Cameron’s neck in joy. The man rose to his feet, lifting her off hers. With his arms securely around her waist, he held her close and said next to her ear, “I shall assume your answer is yes.”
Leaning back slightly so she could meet his gaze directly, Violet nodded. “I’d love the opportunity to join you.” When his eyes widened, she quickly corrected herself and said, “I mean, I most definitely want to be a part of the Network. You have my promise to keep everything I learn a secret.”
Her heart swelled at the tenderness in Cameron’s eyes.
Even though no one had ever looked at her in that manner afore, she had witnessed it many times between gentlemen and ladies on the dance floor.
It was finally her turn to be the woman who was being admired, and Violet now understood how a look could steal one's breath away.
He set her back down on her feet, and once she found her footing, she asked, “When do we start my training?”
“As soon as you have finished eating.”
On her tiptoes, she said, “I’m too excited to eat.”
“And I’m your trainer, and you will do as I say.”
He released his hold on her but she didn’t take a step back, standing her ground. “And what if I don’t do as you say?”
If her knowledge of how the Network operated was correct, Cameron was selected to train her and if she failed, then he too would fail.
She would gamble all she owned, the little that it was, that the Earl of Hurlington had never failed at anything.
How far could she push London’s most wanted scoundrel?