come back.
What are your intentions? echoed his own voice in his head.
He intended to make Viola happy. He intended to win her favor and make her smile at him again. He intended to get her back into his bed, as often as possible. He intended . . . to make her fall in love with him.
What had he told Justin? If you don’t see yourself marrying her, don’t kiss the girl.
He knew that was the answer. Even more, it was the answer he wanted. When he woke in the dawn to see her dark hair spread across the pillow and her beautiful face soft with sleep right in front of him, Wes had known. He would have been content to stay there in that room with her forever, he who had never felt content in one place for more than a few weeks. He had never felt more at home than with her.
Because he was in love. He’d kissed her, he’d fallen in love, and he wanted to marry her.
And that meant he wasn’t about to leave without asking her, no matter what the Duke of Wessex said.
Chapter 11
The play was going to be an epic disaster.
It began with Miss Penworth declaring that her music had gone missing. Bridget scowled and stomped around until Withers located the pages, under a tea tray in the parlor. Lord Gosling’s costume dropped its feathers again, and it took Viola more than two hours to replace them. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten their lines or lost some part of their costume, and two footmen were required to track down people who had wandered off before their scenes. In addition, the Duke of Frye had arrived at last, and no one knew quite what to say to him now. Only Lady Charlotte Ascot seemed willing to speak to him, while Serena had to restrain Bridget from pushing him out into the snow. Blessedly the duchess resumed her role as hostess, both sparing Viola from the job and preventing the duchess from delivering any sort of remonstrance about Lord Winterton.
There was a sharp little pain in her chest every time she thought about Wes, and how he would depart the next morning. She’d lain in bed all night, wishing he could come to her once more and yet terrified that he would. Was it worse to see him as much as possible and lose even more of her heart to him, or to cut herself off now? She didn’t know, and ended up stealing longing glances at him across the room as she sewed feathers.
At long last the production was ready to begin. The dowager duchess sat in the audience beside her daughter-in-law and the duke, who wore a wary expression. Sophronia looked filled with eager expectation, which only deepened Viola’s sense of impending disaster. Bridget had directed Viola to sit behind the stage with a copy of the script and remind everyone of their lines before they went on. If women could join the army, she reflected, Bridget would be the most fearsome general of them all.
The script had become utterly ridiculous. Viola had Bridget’s own copy, which was covered with crossed out sections and additions in the margins. She did her best to keep up, but when Wes approached to make his entrance, dented crown in place, she faltered and busied herself with adjusting Alexandra’s ghostly draperies. He strode past her onto the stage. Just hearing his voice made her flinch, and she accidentally stabbed a pin through the draperies into her finger.
When Alexandra went on stage to issue her prophecy about the death of the king, Viola found herself face to face with Wes.
“Do you know your lines, sir?” she asked formally.
He nodded.
“Very good. I’ll go where I’m needed, then—”
“Viola!” He caught her hand before she could retreat.
“Please don’t,” she whispered in distress. It was gouging out her heart to think that he must leave tomorrow morning and she would probably never see him again.
“Just for a moment. Please.” She hesitated, undone by the urgency in his face, and he pulled her back behind the curtain at the back of the stage—which had been borrowed from the billiard room.
“The play,” she began.
Wes waved one hand as if to shove the play away. “I’ve just died by decapitation and had my entrails eaten by wolves. I’ve done my service to Lady Bridget’s play. I need to speak to you before Wessex tosses me out.”
He wanted to say good-bye. Another wave of misery rolled