Master of Her Virtue - By Miranda Lee Page 0,62

too old for her. Too world-weary. Too cynical. He’d cared about her even then. But he’d still got involved with her, telling himself all along that it was just lust directing his actions.

Leo rolled his eyes at himself.

Truly, Leo, how delusional can you get? If you’d once looked beyond your obsessive desire for Violet, you’d have seen that you’ve been falling in love with her all along!

Strangely, the realisation that he loved Violet did not bring Leo total joy. For what if Violet didn’t love him back? She’d never said so which, now that he let himself think about it, was odd, given her age and rather romantic nature. It was very common for a girl to fall for her first lover, if he satisfied her in bed. And he’d certainly done that. Admittedly, he’d given her dire warnings on the very first night they’d spent together not to confuse lust with love, so maybe she thought what she felt for him was just lust.

And maybe it actually was...

Leo could not believe how much that possibility hurt him. It was like a dagger had been plunged into his heart. Once again he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling now to return to logic when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Panic. Fear. Desperation!

Lust alone would not have waited three months for him, would it? Her feelings had to be deeper than that. But were those feelings true love? Or simply the type of infatuation that a young girl often held for an older man?

This possibility didn’t please him either.

But what if she does love you? What then, Leo?

Because, even if Violet believed she loved him, would that love last the test of time? She was so very young, much younger in experience than her twenty-five years.

As much as he now wanted to declare his love and propose marriage this very night—yes, yes, as crazy as it was, that was what he suddenly wanted to do—to rush her into so serious a commitment at this stage would be wicked of him. At the same time, he refused to risk losing her. She was his. He had to keep her his. Somehow!

Filled with passionate resolve, Leo strode into the bedroom. She wasn’t there. His eyes flicked to the bathroom door which was shut, the sound of a hair dryer just reaching his ears through the solid door.

‘Just get yourself dressed,’ he muttered irritably. ‘By then she might be out of that bloody bathroom.’

No such luck. Even after he’d donned his favourite grey dinner suit, Violet hadn’t made an appearance. Maybe she was having trouble with her hair. Leo knew how long it took women to get ready for a night out and Violet was no exception. Not that she took as long as Helene. That woman had been obsessed with her looks.

Thinking of Helene reminded Leo of his vow never to marry again.

But that was before he’d met Violet. Before he had found true love.

What in hell was he going to do if she didn’t love him back? If she never wanted to marry him?

Leo grimaced as his gut tightened. Lord only knew!

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VIOLET TOOK ONE last look at herself in the vanity mirror. Frankly, she’d never looked better. Now that her hair was dyed black, strong colours suited her, as did black and white. Knowing Leo was sure to take her out to dinner each night in Paris, she’d brought five cocktail dresses with her in five different colours: black, red, emerald-green, royal-blue and purple.

Tonight she was wearing the purple. Made in lightweight wool, it had a crossover bodice, long straight sleeves and a slender knee-length skirt. Not an overly sexy style, till you added the wide black patent-leather belt which cinched in her figure to a very hour-glass shape. The belt, combined with matching five-inch heels, made all the difference. She’d also left her layered, shoulder-length hair down, blow-drying it carefully to frame her face, which was made up to perfection, her dark eyes standing out against her always-pale skin. One last spray of perfume and she was ready.

Swallowing, Violet steeled herself and left the bathroom.

The admiring look on Leo’s face when he first saw her was satisfying, but it didn’t soothe her inner tension. He’d looked that way at her every evening so far. She could not detect any love in his eyes. Desire, maybe. But desire wasn’t love, was it?

He, of course, looked absolutely splendid in a pale-grey suit, a crisp white shirt and