personally. Sophie, by contrast, was leaning forward ever so slightly—not close enough to cause any blatant gossip, as there was still a sliver of space between James and herself, but certainly closer than either Emily or Diana had ever stood when dancing with James before.
The evening was going perfectly according to plan. James appeared wildly uncomfortable with Sophie’s advances, and his kiss at home, and his seductive words just a few minutes before—blast her horrible mother for interrupting that particular interlude!—seemed to indicate that he desired her as much as she did him. And he didn’t like it one bit when she feigned indifference. Surely, all of this combined was enough to cause some sort of revelation in even the most thickheaded, emotionally stunted of men—and James, fond of him as she was, could not be said to possess a great deal of emotional intelligence. But surely even he must be awakening to his own desire. For her. Now, in theory, all she had to do was wait for him to come to her.
Violet was drawn back from watching the entertaining tableau before her with a sharp “Lady James.”
She turned, her hackles already going up at the distinct note of disapproval she heard in the voice summoning her, and found herself face-to-face with James’s brother.
“West,” she said, sagging slightly.
West’s eyes, at the moment, were focused on her with an expression of more gravity than she had ever seen. In truth, Violet and West had always gotten on well—early in her marriage, when James and West had been closer, she had invited West to dinner often, and they would frequently dine à trois, West lingering late into the evening for drinks and discussion. The loss of this camaraderie was one of the many things she regretted about the past four years.
“I suppose you have something to do with this,” West said. He jerked his head in the direction of the dance floor, where James and Sophie were currently waltzing near Diana and Belfry. Past them, weaving in and out of the other immaculately dressed couples on the dance floor, she spotted Penvale and Emily.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said airily, but West was having none of it.
“I quarreled with my brother yesterday, and I don’t wish to do the same with you,” he said shortly. “But I’d greatly appreciate it if you two would leave others out of whatever twisted little game it is that you are playing.”
Violet wished to object in outrage, to defend herself, but she wasn’t certain that she could, in complete honesty. She and James both appeared aware that they were now playing a game, one that each of them seemed equally unwilling to concede.
“For the record,” she said, “Lady Fitzwilliam was eager to assist me.”
“I don’t care a whit,” West said with an anger that belied this statement. Violet wondered if Sophie had any idea of the feeling with which he still spoke of her. “She is a respectable widow, and she has no business risking her reputation for the sake of some petty revenge against my idiot brother. I don’t deny that he likely deserves it,” he added wryly, his tone softening somewhat. “But I have always thought rather highly of you, Violet, and I think you are above this.”
In that moment, watching James dance with another woman, accompanied by the man who very well might still be in love with that woman, Violet reviewed her actions of the past fortnight. And, all at once, everything that had seemed calculated and clever suddenly seemed foolish and desperate.
“It has been so nice having him take notice of me once again,” she said truthfully, in a very quiet voice. It hurt her pride considerably to admit this, and yet she somehow could not find it in herself to lie to this man who was, after all, her brother, if only by marriage. She did not like admitting weakness, much less a weakness that she felt to be somehow beneath her. It was far easier to pretend that she did not want James to notice her, that she did not care for her husband’s opinion, that their whirlwind courtship and marriage had been no more than youthful foolishness and lust, nothing deeper.
But she had already realized that this was simply not true. And, all at once, she was tired of pretending otherwise.
“Violet,” West said, looking at her evenly, “I do not know what it was that came between you and my brother. It’s really none of