hard-won and troubled as his own. Her hair was slightly disheveled, no doubt a product of their entanglement a moment ago.
He thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Fortunately—as was so often the case with Violet—before he could begin any truly maudlin reflections on her visage, involving pained metaphors or, God forbid, some mangled bits of Shakespeare, she spoke.
“So,” she said, her voice businesslike, “when you say you are sorry, do you mean generally or specifically?” She folded her hands neatly in her lap and shot him a politely inquiring look.
James felt as though he were back at Eton, sitting for an exam for which he hadn’t fully prepared. “Specifically? No, generally?” He resisted the temptation to clutch at his own hair. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Well,” Violet said, “I was merely curious as to what you were apologizing for. Are you apologizing for our rather heated exchange last night, or for your actions over the past two weeks, or—”
“The past four years, Violet,” James interrupted. “I’m apologizing for the past four years.”
“Oh,” Violet said, and James was pleased to see that, for the moment, she didn’t seem to have any other reply. Since the occasions upon which Violet was rendered speechless were few and far between, James seized the opportunity with both hands.
“You were right last night,” he said, “when you said I should trust you—should’ve trusted you all along.” He paused, struggling for words; he was an Englishman, the son of a duke—these were not traits that led to unburdening himself easily. He had always been taught the value of a stiff upper lip, of a controlled demeanor. He had, it seemed, become rather too good at keeping one, and it was time to unlearn that skill as best he could. Never had doing so mattered more.
“You are my wife,” he said simply, and these four words felt as important to him as any four words he had ever uttered in his entire life. They were, he realized, the beginning and the end of everything; she was his wife, and he loved her. “You should be the person I trust above all others. You’ve never given me cause not to. And I . . .” He paused a moment, the words coming too fast now, lodging in his throat. He risked a glance at her, and saw that her eyes were shining, and that there was a look in those eyes—those perfect, beautiful, dark-lashed brown eyes—that he hadn’t seen there in quite some time.
Tenderness.
“You acted as anyone with your upbringing might have done,” she finished for him, and he was surprised by the soft, affectionate note in her voice.
“That’s not an excuse,” he said. “Your parents—”
“Are frequently horrid as well,” she finished for him. “I’m quite aware of that, thank you.” Her voice was dry, and he could see a smile twitching at her mouth for a moment before it faded, her demeanor growing more serious. “But it was . . . different for you. My mother always took an interest in me—too great an interest, in truth,” and in her voice James could hear the memory of a thousand arguments with a countess who never quite knew what to do with a willful, curious, clever daughter who never did what was expected of her.
“Your father . . .” Violet looked at him, a faint line appearing on her smooth forehead as her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “He didn’t need you, and so he ignored you. And I think that that’s the sort of experience that makes it very hard to trust anyone.”
“It doesn’t matter,” James said hoarsely, and he realized he wasn’t just saying it to appease her, to bolster his apology. He truly believed it. He’d been an ass, and he was beginning to realize precisely how great of an ass—and was feeling ashamed. “I was with you in St. George’s; I stood at that altar with you and spoke those vows. It was . . . wrong of me to take my father’s word over yours.”
“Well, we can certainly agree on that.” Violet smiled at him, and it was as though the sun had reappeared after a storm. After a moment, however, her smile faded. “It wasn’t just that morning with your father, though. There were all the arguments leading up to those.”
“We always made those up,” James said, frowning slightly.
“We did,” Violet said slowly, giving him a piercing look. “But I can’t help but feel that they were preludes