unable to be overly much bothered. And then, without really giving the matter much thought at all, he did the only thing that, in that precise moment, seemed at all reasonable—or perhaps even possible.
He kissed her.
And the moment his lips descended on hers, all reason fled.
The only vague thought that flitted through his head as his lips moved over hers was that he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten how soft her mouth was as it brushed against his own. She seemed momentarily startled by his kiss, her entire body freezing in the instant that he first touched her. But then, suddenly, it was as though she melted all at once, kissing him back with a fervor that matched his own. His tongue darted out, teasing at the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted. This, too, he had forgotten: the precise feeling of her tongue tangling with his own, the strength with which her hand moved to the back of his neck, cradling his head in her palm as she kissed him.
He slid both of his hands to her waist, pulling her more firmly against him. Each spot where their bodies touched felt suddenly alive, as though every single nerve was sparking at the friction. He could feel himself stiffening and, rather than stepping back to put some much-needed distance between them, he let his hands drift down to cup her bottom, keeping her pressed tightly against him so that there was no space between them, nothing but warmth and desire.
And here was yet another thing that he had forgotten: how perfectly their bodies fit together, her breasts crushed against his chest, her arms tangled around his neck, their heads tilted at just such an angle as to allow the kiss to stretch on endlessly, time seeming to stand still. He broke his mouth away from hers at last and moved lower, planting a series of soft kisses along the silky skin of her neck, the sound of her uneven breathing making his heart pound even faster.
“James,” she moaned softly, and his tongue darted out to taste the hollow of her throat, flicking against the pulse that beat steadily there. She shivered, the small vibration rippling down her body like a wave, and slid her hands into his hair, pulling his mouth back up to her own. His mouth opened, her tongue darted inside, and he nearly groaned aloud it felt so good—it was all he could do to keep from sinking to the floor with her, hiking up her skirts and—
The sound of a throat clearing, with perhaps more force than was generally necessary to such an endeavor.
Violet broke the kiss with a gasp, whirling around to face the doorway, where Wooton stood, his face carefully impassive.
“My lady, your carriage is ready,” he said, his tone neutral.
“I, yes, thank you, Wooton,” Violet said, panting slightly. “I’ll be along shortly.”
“Very good, my lady,” Wooton said and, with a perfect bow, exited the room.
James could have kissed his butler in that moment—needless to say, not a sentiment he had ever expected to experience. But who knew how far things might have gone had Wooton not interrupted? He ought to give the man a raise, really.
Because James was feeling deeply unsettled. How could it be that he still responded to Violet with such intensity? Why was it that a few stolen moments spent kissing his wife in his own study left him feeling more alive than he had in years? It was infuriating. Absurd. And so James did what he always did whenever he was feeling off-kilter, lacking the upper hand.
“I’d forgotten how easy it can be to silence you,” he said, his tone deliberately even, just the slightest note of mockery lurking underneath.
It worked in an instant; Violet had turned to face him a moment before he spoke, and in that moment he had seen a hundred things in her face—uncertainty, amusement, lust. But as soon as the words left his mouth, her face closed, her gaze shuttering and the corners of her mouth turning down.
“And I’d forgotten what an ass you can be,” she responded, her own voice clipped and remote. She turned on her heel without a further word and sailed from the room.
And James—despite having achieved exactly what he’d intended, despite having put some much-needed distance between them—was left feeling precisely as she had described him: like an ass.
Ten
“Violet,” Diana said, rising from the chair upon which she was seated, dropping her paintbrush in the process. “This is a