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Rule's Bride
Kat Martin
Unrepentant rake Rule Dewar is living the good life when an unfortunate event occurs—he falls in love with his wife. After their strategic ‘marriage of commerce’ three years ago, Rule quite forgot about Violet Griffin, the teenage heiress to a Boston manufacturing fortune. He simply spoke his vows, took over her father’s business and returned to England to resume his usual pursuits: high-priced wine, high-stakes gambling and high-born women.Yet when Violet, now a sophisticated woman, unexpectedly appears at Rule’s London town house, husbandly duties no longer seem so odious—he can’t wait to take his stunning bride to their marriage bed. Violet, however, is not so easily led: she has her own ideas and is seeking an annulment to marry another…



Read what the experts are saying about
KAT MARTIN
‘Kat Martin is one of the best authors around!
She has an incredible gift for writing.’
—Literary Times
‘This steamy trilogy opener is an enjoyable mixture
of tension and romance…make[s] the next
books worth waiting for.’
—Publishers Weekly on Royal’s Bride
‘Royal’s Bride is so good, I have high hopes for the rest of this series!’ —Romance Reader at Heart
‘Kat Martin dishes up sizzling passion and true love,
then she serves it up with savoir faire.’
—Los Angeles Daily News
‘Ms Martin keeps you burning the midnight oil as she
sets fire to the pages of Heart of Fire… Don’t miss this fabulous series! It is definitely a winner.’ —Reader to Reader
‘[Reese’s Bride] is hot, sexy and mesmerising. The pages are rich with history, taut with tension and steaming with passion.’ —RT Book Reviews
‘I loved this book! Kat Martin is a consummate
storyteller and this book is terrific!’
—The Romance Reader’s Connection on Royal’s Bride

Rule’s
Bride
THE BRIDE TRILOGY
Kat
Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my editor, Susan Swinwood, for her help
with this series. It’s a pleasure to work with you.

Prologue
Boston, 1857
They say good things come to those who wait, but Rule Dewar wasn’t so sure. Standing in the long marble hallway at Griffin Heights, his employer’s palatial estate on the outskirts of Boston, Rule waited nervously while the stonefaced butler rapped on the study door.
Ignoring the urge to adjust the knot on his cravat and smooth his hair, he straightened at the sound of muffled footsteps approaching from the opposite side of the door. The door swung open and the man inside the study smiled, clearly anticipating his visitor’s arrival.
“Rule! Come in, my boy. I appreciate your stopping by on such short notice.” Howard Griffin, head of Griffin Manufacturing, makers of high-quality armaments, welcomed him into the study, a vast, book-lined chamber that took up a goodly portion of the west wing of his mansion.
Rule walked past him into the room. “It wasn’t any trouble. I was just going over some of the design change proposals you asked me to look at.”
Griffin, in his early forties and nearly as tall as Rule, had a solid build and reddish-brown hair. He walked over to a pair of polished mahogany doors and slid them open. Hidden within was a sideboard lined with bottles of expensive liquor and cut-crystal decanters on gleaming silver trays.
“So what did you think of the new designs?” Griffin asked as he took down a pair of crystal glasses and set them on the sideboard.
“I agree with your assessment. I believe eventually the smooth bore will be replaced entirely by the rifled barrel. Which means we should consider changing the percentages of each kind of musket now being produced.”
Griffin smiled, clearly pleased, though Rule had the impression business was not what the man had asked him there to discuss.
“Care for a whiskey?” The older man held up a decanter filled with golden-brown liquid. “Or perhaps you would rather have something else.”
Rule preferred brandy, a slightly less potent beverage, but the Americans seemed to like the stronger liquor and he had grown accustomed to the taste. “Whiskey is fine.”
Griffin poured both of them a drink and handed one of the glasses to Rule, who took a sip, the burn of the alcohol easing a little of his tension. Not all, though. Giving in to the urge, he ran a hand over his wavy black hair to smooth the windblown strands back into place. It wasn’t every day his boss, the wealthy owner of the company, invited him into his home.
Griffin didn’t ask him to sit down but guided him toward a window overlooking the garden. Though early in the year, spring blossoms had begun to peek through the soil, and the winding brick pathways were meticulously maintained.
Griffin swirled the liquor in his glass. “In the time you’ve worked for me, Rule, you’ve done an excellent job. I made a wise decision in hiring you.”
“Thank you, sir.” In spite of the fact he was only four-and-twenty, he had been given an impressive amount of responsibility, mostly a result of his Oxford education, which seemed to impress the Americans, but also because of his pedigree.
Rule wasn’t stupid. Being an English aristocrat gave him entry into the top levels of society on both sides of the ocean. Being the brother of a duke opened an amazing number of doors and Rule was willing to use every advantage to further his career.
Griffin turned to stare out the window. In the distance a marble fountain sprayed water into the bright spring sunshine. There was something in his manner that seemed in contrast to his usually dynamic nature.
“I believe you’ve met my daughter, Violet.”
“Yes, sir, on several occasions. Lovely girl.”
“She is young yet, only sixteen, and a bit of a tomboy. My fault, that. I never had a son, so I indulged her.”
Rule’s gaze followed Griffin’s to a huge sycamore on the right side of the fountain. Beneath the branches, Violet Griffin sat in a rope swing, laughing as she pushed herself higher and higher into the air, her full skirt and petticoats billowing out around her stocking-clad ankles. She had a heart-shaped face, a boyish figure and hair the color of new copper pennies.
“As I was saying, she is young yet, but she looks a great deal like her mother—God rest her soul—and in time I believe she’ll turn into quite a beauty.”
“I’m sure she will.” Rule sipped his drink, having no idea how the gangly young girl would look when she grew up and wondering where the conversation was leading.
Griffin turned. His gaze zeroed in on Rule’s face. “Unfortunately, I won’t be around to watch that transformation.”
Rule’s head came up. “Sir?”
“I’m dying, Rule. There is no easy way to say it. I’ve been to a number of physicians, all of whom agree. I’m dying and there is no way to keep it from happening.”
The breath lodged in Rule’s lungs. For the first time he noticed the slightly yellow cast to Griffin’s skin, the faint purple hollows beneath his eyes.
He swallowed. “What…what is it, sir? What sort of illness has afflicted you?”
Griffin’s eyes looked bleak. He shook his head. “Some kind of liver malfunction. Nothing they can do to stop it.”
Rule’s chest was squeezing, making it difficult to breathe. Howard Griffin was one of the most vital men he had ever met. An aura of power and authority seemed to follow him wherever he went. They didn’t know each other well, and yet Rule had enormous respect for him.
“I’m sorry, sir. I find myself utterly at a loss for words. You say these doctors are certain?”
“I’m afraid so, yes, and as much as I would like to pretend otherwise, it is time I accepted the fact and made plans accordingly.”
Rule steeled himself. “Whatever you need, you know you can count on me.”
Griffin’s lips faintly curved with something that looked like satisfaction. “That is what I’d hoped you would say.” He turned back to the window. “Though I doubt what I am going to ask will remotely resemble what you might be thinking.”
Rule made no comment.
“Whatever fate holds in store for me, my foremost concern is the welfare of my daughter. I need to know her future will be secure. I need to be certain she will be well cared for and that she’ll have the sort of home a woman wants. In short, I need to find her a husband.”
Rule’s stomach knotted. Surely Howard Griffin wasn’t thinking of him as a candidate for his daughter’s hand in marriage?
“She likes you, Rule. In fact, I believe she even harbors some sort of schoolgirl crush on you.”
“You are not thinking—”
“Actually, I am, but don’t look so horrified. What I am about to propose isn’t quite what you think.”
“I understand your fears, Mr. Griffin, but as you said, your daughter is only sixteen.”
“And yet it is my duty as her father to arrange for her future, to ensure she marries well and is happy and well cared for. If there were more time, of course, I would do things differently. Unfortunately, time isn’t something I have.”
Rule could only imagine how the man must feel. He had a daughter he loved and now he would never see her grow into a woman. “I see your dilemma, sir, but I’m afraid…”
“My choices are limited, Rule. I need to make arrangements for her future, though in some ways she is still a child. Which is the reason I would require her future husband to wait until she has reached her maturity before the marriage is consummated. She would have to be at least eighteen.”
Rule found himself shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir. As much as I respect you, if you are asking me to marry your daughter, I’m afraid I’ll have to—”
“Before you give me your answer, at least hear me out.”
The man was dying. The least Rule could do was be polite enough to listen. He gave a curt nod of his head. One thing was sure. No matter how much he admired Howard Griffin, he wasn’t about to get married and especially not to a sixteen-year-old girl.
“Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you what I am proposing. Perhaps when I am finished, you will no longer look at me as if I have already lost my wits.”
Rule managed a smile. Damn, he bloody well liked this man. He hated the thought of him dying so many years before his time.
It was a shame he would have to refuse him.
Seated on an ornate gold velvet settee in her bedroom, Violet Griffin sat next to her cousin and best friend, Caroline Lockhart. Eyes red rimmed from crying, Violet blew her nose into a lace-trimmed handkerchief and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“I still can’t believe it.”
“It isn’t fair,” Caroline said. “You’ve already lost your mother. You don’t deserve to lose your father, too.”
Violet sniffed, wiped away fresh tears. She had been crying for days, ever since her father had called her into his study and told her the terrible truth—that in less than a year, he would be dead. “Father says life is never fair.”
“I suppose not, but it certainly should be.”
Violet looked up at her friend. “F-Father wants me to marry. He says it’s the only way he can die in peace.”
Caroline’s pale blue eyes widened. Blonde and fair and an inch taller than Violet, she shifted on the sofa, the skirt of her pink taffeta tea gown making a rustling sound as she moved. “Dear Lord, you are only sixteen!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Caroline bit her lip. “So whom does he want you to marry?”
“The Englishman, Rule Dewar. You remember him. He came here for supper several times and on another day came to luncheon. You met him at luncheon.”
Caroline’s expression turned dreamy. “It isn’t as if I would forget. I have never seen a more beautiful man.”
Violet just nodded. “That is what I thought the first time I saw him. He has the most amazing blue eyes and his hair is so black it looks blue.” She glanced down at her lap then back at her friend. “Do you think I should marry him? Father wants to make sure my future is secure before—before…”
“Your father loves you very much,” Caroline said softly.
“I know he does.” Violet dabbed at a tear escaping down her cheek. “So should I? Papa has always asked so little of me and it would please him so greatly.”
“Do you think…Does Rule want to marry you?”
“I don’t know. Father says he does.”
“It’s an odd name—Rule. Where do you suppose it came from?”
“Father says it was his great-grandfather’s name, inherited from the mother’s side of the family or some such thing. He says the two of them have already come to a financial arrangement that would take care of both of us. He says Rule wouldn’t actually…he wouldn’t actually become my husband until I turned eighteen.”
Caroline nodded. “You mean he won’t demand his husbandly rights before you are old enough.”
“I suppose.” Violet twisted the damp handkerchief in her hands. “Until then, he is going back to London to manage the plant we own there.”
Caroline smoothed her pink taffeta gown. “So do you want to marry him?”
Violet shook her head. “I don’t want to marry anyone. Not yet, at any rate. But if I have to get married…well, then, I guess I would choose Rule.”
Caroline grinned. “Can you imagine? The man is the brother of a duke! If you marry him, you’ll be the envy of every girl at Broadmoor.”
Mrs. Broadmoor’s Academy for Young Ladies, which both girls currently attended, was the most exclusive finishing school in Boston. Violet didn’t particularly like the place. She preferred a different sort of education, the kind her father had already provided: math and history, science and geography, French, Latin and Greek.
But she was determined to be the lady her father always wanted her to be, so she applied herself with equal purpose to her studies at the academy.
Tears welled. Now it wouldn’t matter if she graduated at the top of her class. Her father would never know.
She took a shaky breath. Whether he knew or not didn’t matter. Violet would know, and pleasing him now was more important than ever.
There and then, she made her decision.
“I’m going to do it, Carrie. I’m going to marry Rule Dewar.”
Caroline let out a girlish squeal, slid over and hugged her. “You’re going to be a bride! I can hardly believe it!”
Violet stared down at the handkerchief in her lap and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Neither can I.”
Two weeks passed. It seemed the blink of an eye to Rule. It was Saturday, a warm spring day he tried to see as a positive omen for the monumental decision he had made. Standing in the vast gardens at the rear of the Griffin mansion in front of a flower-covered arch above the altar, Rule stared up the aisle at the future Mrs. Rule Dewar.
She looked exactly like what she was, a naive young girl barely out of the schoolroom. Even in an elaborate wedding gown fashioned of endless rows of white Belgian lace, she was a gangly, boyish young woman. Hardly ready for marriage and certainly not the sort Rule would choose if she were.
In truth, marriage was the last thing he wanted.
But Howard Griffin was beyond persuasive, and the deal he had offered was more than anything Rule could have dreamed. After Griffin’s death, once the marriage was consummated, he would inherit half of Griffin’s fortune and become half owner of Griffin Manufacturing. The other half would belong to Violet, the woman soon to become his wife.
The laws were different in America and his bride’s fortune would remain her own, but together they would be a powerful force in the financial world.
And there was an added benefit. Aside from the money and ownership of an extremely successful company, Rule would be fulfilling his father’s greatest wish. The late Duke of Bransford was convinced that an alliance with the Americans would carry the Dewar family securely into the next century, and Rule had promised to see it done.
Marriage and a business that spanned the Atlantic would certainly be a satisfactory means of making that happen.
His gaze ran over the few rows of seats filled by Griffin’s friends and family, an intimate gathering that would have been a spectacular affair if Violet were older and the wedding not a hurried event that was only a means to an end.
He wondered how many people in attendance knew the circumstances of the wedding and thought that Griff, as Rule was now supposed to call him, had probably spoken to most of them and explained the situation. Rule thought the majority would sympathize with a dying father’s desire to ensure his only child’s future and agree with his decision.
At the top of the steps leading down from the terrace, Griffin extended his arm and Violet rested a white-gloved hand on the sleeve of his satin-lapelled, black broadcloth tailcoat. She was even more petite than he had realized, and earlier he had noticed that her eyes were a pretty leaf-green. There was a sprinkling of freckles on her nose, he had observed as he had proposed, very gallantly, on bended knee in the drawing room in front of her father.
She was little more than a child and part of him rebelled at the notion of making her his wife, even in name only. He fought an urge to turn and run, board the fastest ship he could find back to England. But the die had been cast, the future laid out for him like a juicy piece of meat, and he had been unable to resist.
By the end of the ceremony, he would be on his way to becoming an extremely wealthy man. In the meantime, until the dismal occasion of his father-in-law’s passing, Rule would be employed at a lavish salary as head of the London branch of Griffin Manufacturing and live in high style in the city.
The organ began to play the wedding march, returning his attention to the moment. Walking next to her father, Violet managed a half-hearted smile and started down the aisle to where he stood waiting. Rule reminded himself he wouldn’t truly be a husband for at least several years, wouldn’t have to face that sort of responsibility until he was ready.
Pasting on a smile he hoped looked sincere, he thought of the future he was securing for himself, the fulfillment of the promise he had made his father, and prepared to greet his bride.
Violet kept the smile fixed on her face as she made her way down the aisle. Only close family and a few intimate friends were in attendance. Quite enough for Violet, who just wanted this day to end. On the morrow, Rule would sail for London and her life would return to normal. At least for a while.
She refused to think of the months ahead and the terrible fate awaiting her father. Instead, she focused her attention on the man she would marry. Rule gave her an encouraging smile and her heartbeat quickened, began a steady thrumming inside her chest. Good heavens, he was handsome! She had never seen a man with eyes so blue and fringed with a double row of thick black lashes. She had never seen more beautiful lips, full and pleasingly curved. Winged black brows formed a faultless arch over each of his magnificent eyes, his nose was straight, and his smile flashed an even row of perfect white teeth.
When she reached his side, he took her trembling hand in his larger, warmer one, and his smile widened, carving dimples into his cheeks. Goodness, she had never seen a face assembled with such perfection.
And he was going to be her husband!
The thought made her knees start to tremble. As her father handed her into Rule’s care, she stiffened her spine and told herself she was doing this because her father wished it, but deep down she wasn’t completely sure.
For long minutes she stood there rigidly as the minister performed the marriage ceremony. Rule repeated his vows and she hers, and then it was over and he bent and kissed her cheek.
Violet suppressed a flicker of disappointment. She had never been kissed. She thought she deserved at least that much from the man who was now her husband.
“Well, Mrs. Dewar,” he whispered softly, his warm breath feathering goose bumps across her skin, “how does it feel to be married?”
She looked up at him. “So far I have no idea. What about you?”
Rule laughed, a deep, rich, musical baritone. Of course his laughter would be perfect, just like the rest of him.
“You’re exactly right—I haven’t a clue, either. I don’t feel the slightest bit different.”
“Maybe it takes a while.”
He smiled, seemed to relax. “Perhaps.” She loved his accent. It fit so well with his immaculately tailored clothes, expensive leather shoes and snowy cravat.
“I believe your family has planned a wedding celebration. Perhaps now that the worst is over, we’ll be able to actually eat.”
Violet laughed. She hadn’t expected that. That he would be able to make her laugh. It made him seem less formidable, more approachable. “I’m starving. I was afraid to eat anything earlier. I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep it down.”
He smiled. “Exactly so.” He continued to smile, and she thought, Could this beautiful man actually be my husband? But as he took her hand and placed it on the sleeve of his coat, she knew that it was so.
Weaving their way through a small barrage of wellwishers, they made their way from the garden back inside the house. Rule kept her close at his side and she appreciated his effort to play the role of dutiful husband. As the afternoon progressed, she told herself that everything would work out. That her father’s judgment had never proved wrong before and she should trust that judgment now.
The hours seemed to have no end but finally the guests departed, all except Rule, her father and Aunt Harriet, her mother’s sister and one of Violet’s few close relatives. As she stood next to Rule and the small group who remained, a wave of exhaustion hit her and she swayed on her feet.
“Are you all right?” Rule asked, his hand going to her waist to steady her.
Violet managed to smile. “I’m fine.A little tired, perhaps.”
He glanced at the clock above the marble mantel in the drawing room. “The others have mostly gone and I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave, as well. I have some packing to finish before I head down to the ship.”
Violet felt torn.
She was married, but her husband was leaving. She wasn’t sure when she would see him again.
On the other hand, she wasn’t ready to be a wife and she wasn’t sure how long it would take before she would be.
“We’ll walk you out to your carriage,” her father said, and the group made its way in that direction, ending up outside on the wide front veranda.
“Have a safe voyage,” Violet said, not sure what sort of farewell was appropriate under the circumstances.
Rule bowed over her hand, lightly pressed his lips against the back, and she could feel his warm breath through her glove. “Goodbye, Violet.”
She watched him descend the steps and climb into his carriage, then, as if he had never been there, he was gone.
Her father’s hand settled gently on her shoulder. “He’ll be good to you, dearest. He has given me his word he will see to your every need.”
She only nodded. What about love? she thought. The word had never entered her mind until that very moment and certainly wasn’t part of any conversation she’d had with her father. Love wasn’t a necessary part of marriage, she knew, and yet…
For some strange reason, as she watched Rule’s carriage depart, a lump formed in her throat.
“Rule will make you a very good husband,” her father confirmed. “When the time is right.”
“I’m—I’m sure he will.” She watched Rule’s carriage disappear through the massive iron gates that bore the tall, golden image of a griffin—the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle—and felt oddly depressed.
“Come inside, sweetheart,” said her aunt Harriet, a silver-haired woman in her fifties with an unshakable loyalty to her and her father. “You must be tired after such a trying day.”
Violet just nodded. She felt drained and strangely bereft. She had a husband who wasn’t there and soon her father would also be gone.
As they crossed the front porch and went inside the house, Violet clung to Griff’s arm, wishing things could be different and fighting not to weep.

One
London, England
Three years later
“Rule, how good of you to come!” His hostess for the evening, Lady Annabelle Greer, floated toward him across the elaborately decorated ballroom in the London mansion she shared with her husband, Travis. “And I see you have brought Lucas with you.”
Her gaze shifted across the room to where his best friend, Lucas Barclay, made conversation with a delectable young widow he had only just recently met. Rule and Luke had attended Oxford together. Beyond that, they were shirtsleeve relatives of a sort. Rule’s oldest brother, Royal, the Duke of Bransford, was married to a cousin of Luke’s brother’s wife.
Rule returned his attention to his hostess. “It’s good to see you, my lady.” With her light brown hair and clear blue eyes, Annabelle Townsend Greer was nearing thirty and the mother of three children, yet she was still a beautiful woman.
“I’m surprised you came. You are usually too busy working.” She tapped her painted fan against his shoulder. “Don’t you know it is highly improper for a member of the aristocracy to labor for money like a commoner?” She grinned. “But then, none of you Dewars have ever given a fig for propriety.”
Rule grinned back. “I might say the same for you, my lady.” He could still recall rumors he had heard of the torrid affair that had resulted in Annabelle’s marriage to Travis Greer, a former lieutenant in the British cavalry, confirmed bachelor and his brother Reese’s best friend.
Anna just laughed. “I admit to being a bit outrageous at times. Not recently, though.”
Rule smiled. “No, not since your husband had the courage to take you in hand.”
Anna grinned at the ridiculous remark. If anything, it was the other way round. Travis walked up just then, a well-built man with sandy-brown hair and small, gold-rimmed spectacles who was clearly in love with his wife. A respected journalist with the London Times, he wrote articles about whatever war the country might be fighting at the moment.
The empty sleeve of his coat bore testimony to the price he had paid when he was in the cavalry with Reese.
“Good to see you, Rule.” Travis glanced around the ballroom, the mirrored walls reflecting images of dozens of elegantly dressed men and women. “So which of these lovely ladies has managed to capture your attention? I heard you ended your…association with the beautiful and intriguing Lady St. Ives.”
Rule took a sip of his champagne. “News travels fast.”
“I assume you’re on the prowl again.”
He was indeed on the lookout for a new, more interesting mistress. He had grown tired of Evelyn Dreyer, Viscountess St. Ives, and several weeks back had ended the affair. It wasn’t Evie’s fault, he knew. For some time now, he had been feeling restless and bored, in search of something but not quite certain what it was.
Travis’s gaze shifted away from him and moved around the ballroom. “Or could it be that you are finally on the hunt for a wife?”
The sip of champagne Rule had taken nearly spewed from his mouth. He shook his head. “I’m definitely not looking for a wife. At least not at the moment.”
No one in London knew he was married. Not even his family. He would have to tell them, of course, and soon. Should have done it long ago. But telling them would make it real. It would force him to admit it was past time he did his duty, went to Boston and retrieved his wife.
The thought had him excusing himself and heading for the liquor table for something stronger than champagne.
Luke caught up with him there. “The crowd is beginning to thin. How about we head over to the club? Or we could go to Crockfords, do a little gambling.” Luke was nearly as tall as Rule, with dark brown hair and keen brown eyes. He had a scar through his right eyebrow that gave him a rakish, dangerous appearance women seemed to find attractive.
“Or if you are up to it, we could stop by Madame Lafon’s.” Luke grinned lasciviously at the pun, but Rule shook his head.
There was a time the elegant bordello had been one of his favorite ways to spend an evening. Lately, the notion of bedding one of the house’s beautiful harlots held little appeal.
“How about Crockfords?” he said. “I’ve been on a bit of a lucky streak lately. Perhaps it will hold.”
Luke smiled. “Crockfords it is.”
The one thing Rule wasn’t ready to do was go home. If he did, his conscience would nag him. He would think about the money Griff had left him when he died, the profitable investments from his lavish salary and the promise he had made. Though he had kept track of Violet through her aunt, Harriet Ardmore, he hadn’t been back to see the girl since the day they were wed.
He had planned to be there when her father died, but Griff had passed with very little warning, leaving Rule no time to make the monthlong crossing from London to Boston. He’d sent a letter to Violet, of course, expressing his condolences, then was careful to write her a short note at least every other month.
But it wasn’t the same as assuming his role of husband.
As he made his way out of the ballroom and stepped into the cool night air, he told himself it was time he kept his word. In the next week or two, he vowed, he would book a trip to Boston.
It was past time he went to collect his bride.
Rule ignored the sinking in the pit of his stomach.
Violet stepped off the clipper ship Courageous, grateful to once again be standing on dry land. At last, she was in London. She tightened her hold on the reticule hanging from her wrist and glanced at her surroundings. The docks buzzed with activity: stevedores unloading cargo, passengers disembarking from an endless line of ships along the quay, merchants hawking their wares to a herd of newly arrived, unsuspecting prey.
Gulls screeched overhead, their raucous cries mingled with the clatter and clank of ships’ rigging, sounds Violet had grown so accustomed to she barely noticed.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Her cousin, Caroline Lockhart, hurried along beside her, next to Mrs. Cummins, a lady of impeccable credentials who had been paid to act as their traveling companion.
“It is quite a bit different than I imagined,” Violet said, peering up at the skyline marked by tall church spires and a haphazard array of roofs dotted with chimney pots. “Everything looks older than I thought but that only seems to make it more charming.”
Though the area around the docks was certainly not the best. The buildings here were dilapidated and in need of repair, and aside from the travelers, most of the people on the streets were dressed in shabby clothes.
“I’ll hire us a carriage,” offered Mrs. Cummins, a bigboned, sturdy woman with iron-gray hair. They would be parting company soon, once Violet arrived at the residence belonging to her husband.
Husband. The word left a bad taste in her mouth. She hadn’t seen Rule Dewar since their wedding day three years ago.
Oh, he had sent an occasional note but clearly he had no intention of fulfilling his duties to his wife.
And Violet was extremely glad.
She had been so young when she had met him. Young and impressed with his extravagant good looks. And she’d been grieving for the father she would soon have to bury. Griff wanted her to marry and she would have done anything to please him—even wed a man she didn’t know.
“All right, girls, here we are.” Mrs. Cummins led them toward a ramshackle coach pulled by two tired-looking bay horses. The driver tipped his hat as he jumped down from the box and began hefting their steamer trunks into the boot at the rear of the vehicle.
Mrs. Cummins, very conscientious in her duties, watched the proceedings with a discerning eye. She had taken the job as companion in Aunt Harriet’s place since Aunt Harry turned green at the mere thought of four long weeks at sea.
The substitution was fine by Violet, who had been living mostly on her own since her father died. Desperate to fill her days with something more than sadness and grief, she had begun taking an interest in her father’s Boston munitions factory.
Growing up, she had spent a great deal of time there, learning about the business of making muskets and pistols, enjoying the hours with her father, playing the role of surrogate son.
“Come, girls,” Mrs. Cummins called out to them. “Let us get ourselves inside. This isn’t a good place to dawdle.”
The coachman held open the door and waited for each of them to climb into the worn leather interior. Violet settled herself in the seat, adjusted her conservative navy-blue traveling gown and tightened the strings of the matching bonnet beneath her chin, but her thoughts remained on her father.
In the beginning, he had been concerned that an interest in business might not be wise for a young lady, but soon it became apparent she was far more excited about making money than she was about playing the role of wealthy, pampered young lady.
Then, six months after Griff had died, Mr. Haskell, head of the Boston branch of the company, had suddenly taken ill and been forced to retire. Aunt Harry had nearly suffered an apoplexy when Violet told her she planned to take over Mr. Haskell’s duties, but Violet assured her that she would keep her role completely secret, and eventually her aunt had bent to Violet’s very strong will.
Mrs. Cummins’s worried voice drew her attention. “Dear me, what has happened to that address?” Her chubby hands dug frantically through her reticule. “I can’t seem to find the paper it was written on.”
“Number six Portman Square,” Violet told her, knowing the address by heart. It was printed at the top of Rule’s gold-embossed personal stationery, there on each of the very few letters she had received in the past three years.
Mrs. Cummins rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Driver, did you hear that?”
“Aye, madam. Number six Portman. ’Tis a bit o’ a ride, but I’ll get ye there safe and sound.”
“I hope it doesn’t take too long,” Caroline said with a weary sigh. “I am beyond ready to take off my shoes and put my feet up for a while.” Like Violet, Caroline was also nineteen. The two were alike in other ways, as well. Each was a bit too outspoken and unfashionably wont to do as she pleased, but Violet was better at disguising her nature than Caroline, who didn’t much care what other people thought of her.
She glanced outside the window, checking the angle of the sun. The afternoon was waning and all of them were tired. Echoing Caroline’s sentiments, Violet could hardly wait to reach their destination.
Her thoughts returned to the man she had wed and a tendril of anger slipped through her. Rule Dewar had the gall to marry her, then completely abandon her. He had given her father his word, had promised that he would provide for her, and though she had plenty of money and servants enough to staff a large part of Boston, it was hardly what her father had intended.
And it certainly wasn’t what Violet wanted. She wanted a husband who loved her, a man she could count on. She wanted a family and children. She had played the fool once for Rule Dewar. Not again.
A faint, bitter smile lifted her lips. Rule was about to get his comeuppance. He would retain whatever sum her father had left him, but he was about to lose his half interest in Griffin Manufacturing.
Violet couldn’t wait to see the look on his handsome face when she told him she was there to obtain an annulment.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually Violet and her party arrived at Rule’s London residence, a narrow, four-story brick structure with a gabled slate roof. It sat among a row of similar residences, all of them situated around a small park planted with bright spring flowers enclosed by an ornate wrought-iron fence. Clearly, it was a very exclusive neighborhood, befitting Rule’s station as the brother of a duke.
The thought stirred a trickle of irritation. How ridiculous it was to marry a man for his noble bloodlines. Why, Rule Dewar hadn’t even had the integrity to keep his word!
Not like Jeffrey, she thought, his handsome image popping into her head. Blond hair and warm brown eyes, a nice, sincere smile. Jeffrey Burnett was twenty-eight, nine years Violet’s senior, a man of some means she had met six months ago at a party given by a friend of Aunt Harriet’s. Jeffrey was an attorney who worked a great deal in the shipping business. Since Griffin shipped armaments around the world, they had something in common.
They had become friends of a sort, and eventually Violet had confided the truth of her hasty, ill-considered marriage. A few weeks later, Jeffrey had revealed his very strong attraction to her and his interest in making her his wife.
Of course all of that was moot at the moment.
First she had to obtain an annulment, which would make possible her second reason for coming on such a long journey.
She wanted to sell Griffin Manufacturing.
The driver jumped down and pulled open the carriage door, jarring her back to the present.
“We’re ’ere, ladies.”
Mrs. Cummins gave the man one of her imperious looks. “You’ll need to wait, sir, while I make certain this is the correct address. If so, I shall be needing your services again.”
“Aye, madam.”
Mrs. Cummins would be leaving Violet and Caroline there, though there was a chance they would be turned away. She had no idea what Rule Dewar would do when she appeared uninvited on his doorstep.
As they reached the top of the brick stairs, Violet stood anxiously next to Caroline while Mrs. Cummins knocked on the ornate front door. A wispy, gray-haired man, apparently the butler, pulled it open. He looked down his long beak of a nose as if he couldn’t imagine what three women would be doing on his employer’s front porch.
“May I help you?”
Violet spoke up—she was, after all, Rule’s wife. “I am Mrs. Rule Dewar. I am here to see my husband.”
The butler was frowning, his bushy white eyebrows drawn nearly together. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Then allow me to explain,” Mrs. Cummins said, thrusting her big bosom forward as she made her way closer to the door.
“This is Mrs. Dewar. She has crossed the ocean to see her husband. Now please go and find him and tell him that we are here.”
The man was shaking his head, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land, when Violet stepped past him into the foyer.
“Where is he?” she asked firmly.
The butler looked helplessly around for assistance as the other two women followed her inside.
“I am afraid…I am sorry, but his lordship is not at home.”
His lordship? She thought his brother was the one with the title.
“When is he expected to return?” Caroline asked, speaking up for the first time.
“Sometime after supper. It could be quite late. Lord Rule rarely keeps me informed of his whereabouts.”
Violet shared a glance with Caroline, whose eyes had rounded at the reference to Rule as a lord. “My cousin and I will each need a room,” Violet said. “Please show us upstairs to our quarters, if you would.”
“B-but I can’t do that!”
Violet drilled him with a glare. “Why not?”
“Because I…because I…”
“Keep in mind that as his lordship’s wife, from now on you will also be answering to me. I hope you don’t mean for us to get off on a wrong foot.”
The old man’s pale eyes widened. For several long moments, he just stood there.
Caroline leaned toward her. “He doesn’t seem to know Dewar has a wife,” she whispered. This had not gone unnoticed by Violet.
“Which shall make an annulment all the easier,” she whispered back. “I am waiting,” Violet pressed.
The butler cleared his throat. “I’ll have Mrs. Digby, the housekeeper, show you both upstairs.”
Violet just smiled. She turned to their traveling companion. “You have done a very fine job, Mrs. Cummins. Caroline and I have both arrived safely, just as you promised. Which means your duties are ended.”
Reaching into her reticule, Violet pulled out the bank draft she’d had prepared to be given as final payment once they reached London.
The older woman looked uncertain. “I don’t know…You haven’t even spoken to your husband yet. And this man doesn’t seem to know who you are.”
Violet forced a smile. “My husband has always been a very private person. But you may rest assured he will be delighted to see me.” Now that was a bald-faced lie.
Mrs. Cummins reached out and tentatively took the bank draft Violet held out to her. “I could stay with you a few more days if you like.”
“No! I mean, that won’t be necessary. Caroline will be staying for the next several days until I am settled. Go and enjoy your family. That is the reason you traveled all the way to London, is it not?”
Mrs. Cummins smiled. “Well, if you’re certain…”
“I am quite certain. Thank you again for everything.”
“You have the address where I can be found, should you need me.”
Violet patted her reticule. “The information is right in here.”
“All right, then. I believe I shall do as you suggest. I am eager to see my mother and the rest of my family.” With a wave and a final farewell, Mrs. Cummins trundled out of the foyer. A footman was sent to bring in their luggage, and a few minutes later a woman appeared who looked very much like Mrs. Cummins—gray hair, big bosom, rounded hips.
“I’m Mrs. Digby, my lady. I’ll show you and your cousin upstairs to your rooms.”
My lady? It appeared marriage to the brother of a duke gave her a title, as well. Goodness, she had no idea. “Thank you.”
Their luggage was brought up to their rooms and as soon as Violet closed the door, a quick rap sounded and Caroline rushed in.
“My lady! I can hardly believe it. I thought Rule’s brother was the one with the title.”
“He is. I don’t know how it works. Rule never mentioned anything when he was in Boston.”
“Probably because Americans don’t use titles.”
“I suppose.”
“I wonder where he is.”
“I have no idea.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But he is certainly in for a surprise when he gets home.”
Caroline grinned. “Oh, my, yes—he certainly is.”

Two
Rule drained his brandy glass and set it on the table in front of him. He and Luke had made the social rounds, then ended the evening playing cards at White’s, his gentleman’s club. It was late and tomorrow he had work to do.
Rule slid back his chair. “I’m afraid I am out, gentlemen.” He shoved his cards into the center of the table. “Looks as though I wound up even—which, with Luke playing, I consider a win.”
Luke just laughed. “You’re headed home, then?”
“I’m done in. I’ll see you at the end of the week.” The Marchioness of Wyhurst was holding a ball in honor of her daughter Sabrina’s birthday. Rumor was the marchioness was determined to find the girl a husband, but so far the elegant blonde had refused every suitor who had dared knock at her door.
Rule blew out a breath, wishing he had sent his regrets, though he couldn’t quite say why. But Lady Sabrina had been a good friend to the Dewars, and it was, after all, the lady’s birthday.
He released a sigh, still uncertain why it was that staying at home was beginning to hold such a strange appeal.
Making his way to the door of the club, he called for his carriage and left the building. As he settled himself inside, he pulled the bow of his cravat, letting it drape around his neck, removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit.
The next sound he heard was the latch snapping open and the door swinging wide.
“We’re ’ere, guv’nor,” said the coachman, a burly man with a short brown beard who stepped back so that he might depart the carriage. “Good night, milord.”
He climbed to the street. “Good night, Bellows.” Leaving the coachman to his late-night duties, he headed for the door. Light spilled from a window in the drawing room and he thought that Hatfield must have accidentally left a lamp burning. The old man was getting quite old, but Rule wouldn’t fire him. Hat had been a loyal employee of the family for too many years.
He reached the door and was surprised when it swung open. Hatfield stood in the entry, gray hair standing on end, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
“What is it, Hat? I told you not to wait up.”
The butler straightened, looking more like his old self again. “You’ve a guest, my lord. Two of them, actually.”
Rule frowned. “A guest? I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it?”
“Your wife, sir.”
Silence fell in the entry. “My…my wife is here?”
Hat nodded, moving the strands of hair hanging over his wrinkled forehead. “Yes, my lord. She arrived from America late this afternoon with her cousin, a Miss Caroline Lockhart.”
“I see.” Of course he didn’t see at all and all he could think was, Bloody hell, what am I going to do now?
“Your wife, sir…she’s waiting for you.”
“Violet is…My wife is waiting for me? She is up at this hour?”
“Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”
His mind was spinning, trying to sort things out. Violet was in London, had crossed the Atlantic to reach him. He started walking toward the drawing room, wide awake now, no longer feeling the least effects of the alcohol he had consumed.
As he strode into the room, she sat bolt upright, her eyes bright and blinking, glanced around for an instant as if to recall where she was, straightened and shoved to her feet. She was smaller than he remembered was his first impression, petite but shapely. In truth, she was different in every way than he recalled.
Except for her glorious copper hair, the likes of which he had never seen.
He groped for something to say. “Violet. I cannot believe you are here.”
She gave him a chilling smile. “It took a while to reach London. But at last, here I am.”
He couldn’t seem to make himself move. “So you are.”
He did move then, closing the distance between them, reaching out to take both of her hands. She wore no gloves, he noticed, and realized that aside from the bridal kiss on her cheek, he had never actually touched her without the barrier of some sort of clothing.
“Welcome to London,” he said. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more proper greeting.”
Violet drew her hands from his and looked him over, head to foot. For the first time, it occurred to him that his cravat was undone and dangling round his neck; his collar was missing, shirt unbuttoned and his hair slightly mussed.
Violet, on the other hand, looked…well…
Violet Griffin Dewar was beautiful.
“It must have been quite an evening,” she said, those leaf-green eyes he remembered taking in his dishevel.
He flushed like a schoolboy. “Not really. I stopped by to see friends and wound up playing cards at my club.”
“You were gambling? I didn’t realize you were a gambler.”
His embarrassment faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I rarely gamble. I was simply passing time.”
“Yes, well, you certainly managed to do that.” She glanced up at the clock over the mantel, the hands pointing to the lateness of the hour, condemning him.
“I am certain you are tired,” she continued. “I shall leave you to find your bed. I just wanted you to know I was here and to say that I would like to speak to you first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, of course.” His gaze ran over her. In the yellow glow of the lamp on the table, he saw that in the past three years her features had softened, the sharp angles smoothed into feminine lines and curves. Her cheeks were as pale as cream and heightened by a touch of rose. A full bosom swelled above her tiny waist, her neck was slender and as graceful as her hands. Her lips were fuller than he recalled, beautifully curved and a lush shade of pink.
No longer the boyish young girl she had been at sixteen, Violet had matured into a woman. She was everything her father had predicted and more, the sort of female any red-blooded male would want in his bed.
And she was his wife.
A trickle of desire filtered through him, tightening his groin. He cleared his throat, ignored the thickening in his loins. It was merely that the hour was late and he hadn’t had a woman in weeks.
“My condolences on the loss of your father. He was a very great man.”
“Thank you.”
“I am truly sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. If only you had sent word ahead—”
“My decision was made somewhat quickly. Any letter would have arrived at the same time I did.” She gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”
His return smile was weak. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.” He should have left for Boston months ago. He hadn’t considered it a breach of his word until that very moment. The notion did not sit well.
Violet lifted her chin. “I shall see you in the morning, then.”
Rule nodded. “I’ll have Hat rouse one of the chambermaids and send her in to help you undress.”
“Hat, I presume, is your butler?”
“It’s Hatfield, actually. I’ve always called him Hat.”
“Of course.”
Rule stood by as she collected her skirts and swept gracefully from the drawing room. As she disappeared through the door, a rush of air escaped his lungs.
God’s blood, his wife had come to London! He still couldn’t believe it. He would have to tell his family, try to explain why he had kept his marriage a secret.
Rule thought of facing his two brothers and their wives—worse yet, his aunt Agatha, the matriarch of the family—and inwardly he groaned.
Violet pushed through the door of her bedroom to find Caroline still fully dressed and asleep on top of the bed. Her cousin jerked awake as Violet stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.
Caroline blinked owlishly then grinned. “Tell me what happened. I won’t be able to sleep a wink until I know.”
Violet released a weary breath. She had only slept in fits and starts on the sofa and jousting with Rule had left her edgy and drained.
“He was quite the gentleman. But then he always was.”
Rule had accepted her arrival more graciously than she had expected. Oh, he had been surprised to see her—wildly so. But he had recovered his composure quickly and played the willing host.
Which perhaps she should have expected. His smooth, sophisticated manner had been one of the things her father had admired.
“What does he look like? Is he still so very handsome?”
Handsome was a very pale word to describe a man who looked like Rule. “He is handsome. Beyond handsome, to be truthful. He is even taller than I remember.”
“With those lovely blue eyes and those wonderful dimples?”
“That would be him—though I didn’t see the dimples tonight. I don’t think he found anything the least bit humorous about my unexpected arrival.”
Caroline grinned. “Well, then, if you are still set on tossing him over, maybe you should give him to me.”
Violet laughed. “Once I am rid of him, I don’t care what he does.”
Caroline arched a golden eyebrow. “On second thought, I don’t want your leftovers. I think I shall find a man of my own.”
Violet bit back a smile. “Good idea.” Their tastes in men had always been different and even though Rule was quite a beautiful specimen, he was merely a man. Violet had learned the hard way there was more to a relationship than physical beauty.
“Did you tell him?” Caroline asked, sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you say you wanted an annulment?” Both of them were still fully dressed. And both were exhausted.
“I would rather have a good night’s sleep and face him in the morning.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“That will be the chambermaid, here to help me undress. I didn’t know you were still awake.”
“I’m glad someone is here. She can help us both.”
And so a full-figured, brown-haired woman in her late twenties walked into the bedroom, hiding a yawn behind her hand.
“Me name’s Mary. Mr. ’Atfield, sent me ta ’elp ye.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Violet turned, presenting her back so that Mary could unfasten the buttons. In minutes, she was rid of her clothes, dressed in a long white nightgown and neatly tucked beneath the covers. Caroline waved farewell as she departed the room, and Mary followed her down the hall to help her undress and get settled for the remainder of the night.
The door softly closed and Violet stared up at the blue silk canopy above the bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead, exhausted from the tension of the day, in minutes she drifted into a deep, all-consuming slumber.
Rule lay awake, staring into the darkness. His wife was there—Violet was in London.
Now that he was over the shock, and the notion had begun to settle in, he felt an odd sort of relief. His decision was made. He could start living up to the promise he had made to Howard Griffin.
And Griffin had certainly lived up to his.
Violet was as beautiful as her father had envisioned, though not in the typical sense. She was petite, but not slim, her green eyes a little too large for her lovely heart-shaped face. Her flame-colored hair was amazing, but not in the current vogue, and there was a confidence about her that hadn’t been there when she was sixteen.
It shone in the way she moved, the firm set of her chin, the way her eyes flashed, revealing a hint of stubbornness she couldn’t quite hide. And there was something more, a sensuality that hid beneath the surface, a deeply rooted passion, he suspected. He was drawn to it, intrigued by the thought of exploring it.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had piqued his interest as Violet had, or stirred his lust in quite the same manner.
Perhaps it was the fact that she was his wife, the woman who would bear his sons and comfort him in his December years. Perhaps it was that he had married her, but never tasted the fruits of that marriage. She’d been a child back then. She wasn’t a child anymore.
Her image returned, Violet elegantly gowned in pale blue silk and charmingly asleep on his sofa. As he lay awake in the darkness, he imagined carrying her upstairs and undressing her, discovering, inch by inch, the treasure hidden beneath her clothes.
His body clenched and blood began to pool in his groin. He wanted her, this woman he had married.
He wasn’t ready to look beyond that. He was still trying to grasp the fact that he was a husband and in time might even become a father.
First things first, he thought, and found himself smiling. Violet was there and she was his wife. He had been searching for a woman and one had magically appeared on his doorstep.
Rule smiled into the darkness. It was only a matter of time before he could claim his husbandly rights.

Three
Violet came awake slowly and sat up rubbing her eyes. She glanced at the canopy above her head, at the robin’segg-blue walls, and tried to remember where she was.
Then it all came thundering back. London. A bedroom in Rule Dewar’s town house. Their conversation last night.
She spotted Caroline standing at the foot of the bed and jerked her gaze to the clock on the wall. “Oh, my goodness. I hadn’t intended sleeping so late.”
“You were exhausted. The trip was long and so was the evening, waiting for your husband to arrive.”
Violet made a sound of irritation in her throat. “I hate it when you call him that.”
Caroline laughed. “Well, he is—at least for the moment. Up with you, now. Mary will be here any moment to help you dress—and you had better do it swiftly. There is an army of servants waiting downstairs to greet the new Lady Rule.”
“Lady Rule? You’re jesting. That is who I am?”
“Apparently so.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
Caroline grinned. “It does, rather. But still…”
For the next half hour, Caroline and Mary helped Violet prepare to greet her husband and his staff. After that, she planned to deliver the news she had traveled so far to give him.
She and Caroline left the bedroom arm in arm, heading for the stairs.
“I have already seen him,” Caroline admitted. “I spoke to him this morning. I awakened earlier than you. I was hungry so I went downstairs. I passed him on the way to the breakfast room. I introduced myself and I think he actually remembered who I was.”
“You’re a woman. A man who looks like that must be used to having dozens of women fawning over him. He probably remembers every one.”
“I was only a girl when we met. At any rate, he was very polite.”
“He would be. It was another of the things my father liked about him.”
“Your father liked him a very good deal.”
“Yes, and look where that got me.”
Caroline said no more and as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rule walked out of the hallway. He smiled, perfectly groomed head to foot, even after his late-night carousing.
“Good morning, ladies. I hope you slept well.”
“Well enough,” Violet said.
Servants began arriving, surrounding them where they stood at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. Awaiting Rule’s return last evening, Violet had acquainted herself a bit with the residence, noting that the interior was done with exquisite taste. Each of several drawing rooms and all of the guest rooms were elegantly furnished, as was the dining room. She’d had an odd sense that each piece had been personally selected to fit its surroundings.
The number of servants swelled by two more and Rule turned to face them. “Now that all of you are here, I would like to introduce you to my wife. I hope you will serve her as well as you have always served me.”
The servants all clapped and smiled. “Welcome, my lady,” said the housekeeper—Mrs. Digby, Violet recalled—speaking for the group. “Please let us know if there is anything you need.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Digby, I shall.”
“This is Miss Lockhart,” Rule said, “my wife’s cousin. Please make her comfortable during her visit.”
“Of course, my lord.” The housekeeper smiled broadly, clearly pleased her employer had taken a wife.
Violet ignored a twinge of guilt. She wished she could have avoided any pretense they were actually married, but after her arrival yesterday, there was simply no way around it.
“I believe Miss Lockhart has already eaten,” Rule said to Violet. “Perhaps you would allow me to join you in the breakfast room.”
She managed to smile. “Of course.”
“I noticed you’ve quite a collection of books,” Caroline said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to find myself something to read.”
“Please do. Books are meant to be enjoyed. Most of my collection is in the study.You’ll find other volumes scattered here and there. Feel free to borrow anything you wish.”
“Thank you.” Caroline floated off down the hall and Rule presented his arm.
“Shall we?”
Violet tried not to notice that he looked even better this morning than he had last night, his eyes no longer sleepy, but an alert, brilliant blue. His cravat was perfectly tied, his navy-blue tailcoat tailored to fit his very wide shoulders. The faint shadow of beard was gone, which had given him an attractive roguish look, and she rather missed the sight of his suntanned throat above the open V of his shirt.
“My lady?”
It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to accept his escort down the hall to the breakfast room. From the corner of her eye, she caught Caroline’s grin the instant before she disappeared into the study.
She returned her attention to Rule. “I would rather you call me Violet. I am not used to your English forms of address.”
He gave a brief nod of his head. His wavy black hair was a little longer than she remembered and she had the oddest urge to run her fingers through it.
Rule smiled. “Then Violet it shall be—as long as you call me Rule.”
She wasn’t about to address him as his lordship, so conceding was easy. “All right.” She took the arm he offered and let him guide her along the hallway to a sunny room at the rear of the house that overlooked the garden. It was done in shades of moss-green accented with rose.
Rule seated her at an ornate rosewood table, then went over to the sideboard and filled two porcelain plates from a row of steaming silver chafing dishes.
Awaiting his return, she draped her linen napkin over the skirt of her peach silk gown, then watched as he set the plates down on the table. The aroma of eggs and sausage drifted up from where they nestled next to several pieces of buttered toast.
She glanced at the servant hovering at her shoulder holding two silver pots, one of tea, the other of coffee.
“I prefer coffee,” she said, and the man poured each of them a cup. “Thank you.” Violet added sugar and cream and carefully stirred them into the strong, aromatic blend.
“While I was in Boston, I came to prefer coffee myself,” Rule said, taking a sip from his own porcelain cup.
“My father taught me to enjoy the taste.”
He set his cup back down in its saucer. “I’m sure you miss him.”
Violet felt a familiar stab of loss. “More than you could ever know.”
Rule’s thick black eyelashes swept down, hiding whatever he was thinking. He launched into his meal and they ate in silence for a while. It occurred to her that she hadn’t had supper last night and she was ravenously hungry.
When she looked up from the bite she had taken, Rule was watching her and smiling. He had the whitest teeth and there was a sensual curve to his mouth Violet hadn’t understood at sixteen. She felt the impact of that smile and for an instant, her breathing stalled.
Rule didn’t seem to notice. “I’m delighted to see that, unlike most Englishwomen, you actually eat as if you enjoy it.”
Her fork remained poised in the air. She forced herself to spear a bite of sausage. “Everything is quite delicious. The meals aboard ship were mostly just filling.”
She took another sip of her coffee as silence descended again. She finished the last of her breakfast, wiped her mouth and set the linen napkin aside. Rule was already finished, which meant the time had come to divulge the reason for her journey.
“Now that we’re done and I am feeling human again, I would like to discuss the reason I am here.”
He frowned. “The reason you are here? I assumed the reason you were here was to begin the marriage we started three years ago.”
This was it. The moment she had been looking forward to, the reason she had traveled thousands of miles.
To confront a husband who had married her for his own selfish purposes and had no interest in keeping the promise he had made to her father. She thought of Jeffrey and the plans they had made, straightened in her seat and looked at him squarely.
“Actually, the reason I am here is to end our farce of a marriage and obtain an annulment.”
The stricken look on Rule Dewar’s too-handsome face was worth every torturous mile.
For a moment, Rule just sat there. “Excuse me? I must have heard you wrong. What did you just say?”
“You heard me quite clearly. I came here to get our marriage annulled.”
Silence descended. He finally found his voice. “That is absurd.”
“It seems quite reasonable to me. We’ve spent only a few days in each other’s company. You never returned to Boston. Clearly, you weren’t expecting to see me here. It is time we ended the charade before it goes any further. Then both of us can get on with our lives.”
Rule forced himself to stay calm. His wife had finally arrived and now that she was here, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She gave him a sugary smile. “I don’t think so, no.”
“What you are forgetting, Violet, is the reason your father wanted you to marry me in the first place. He was looking out for your future—your personal welfare as well as that of the company.”
“The future of the company is another matter entirely. At the moment, what I wish to discuss is this ridiculous marriage we’ve entered into. Be honest, wouldn’t you prefer to continue living your life as you have been? Staying out till all hours of the night, gambling, spending time with any number of women—doing anything you please?”
Rule couldn’t seem to make his voice work. He straightened in his chair. “I told you, I rarely gamble. As for women—I remind you, Violet, thus far we are married in name only. There is a difference, I assure you—which I am very much looking forward to showing you.”
She blushed. Which told him she remained as innocent as she was the day he had married her. He felt an unexpected stirring at that.
“You don’t want to be married,” she argued, surprising him with her stubbornness. She had acquiesced so easily before. But then, he reminded himself, this woman was not the sweet little girl he had left in Boston. “If you had wanted a wife,” she went on, “you would have come to retrieve the one you married.”
“I planned to come.” Eventually. “I wanted to give you time to prepare yourself to become my wife. Your father insisted on that, if you recall.”
“He didn’t expect you to ignore me forever.”
It was true, and guilt assailed him. “Perhaps I should have come sooner. The fact is, you are here now and clearly you are a woman instead of a girl.” His gaze ran over her, settled on the swell of her breasts, and the blood pooled low in his groin. “You have reached your nineteenth year. It is time you had a husband and as I have already acquired that role, we shall proceed just as your father wished.”
Violet shoved back her chair and stood up. “You do not seem to understand. I am not asking—I am demanding. I won’t be your wife so you might as well resign yourself.”
Standing there in the sunlight streaming in through the window, head held high, small hands propped on her tiny waist, fiery hair gleaming against the perfection of her heart-shaped face, she was magnificent.
He had been searching for a mistress. No woman in London had caught his interest as she had, nor physically attracted him so greatly. His shaft began to harden. Violet was his wife and he wanted her in his bed.
He gentled his tone, suddenly determined to convince her. “Please…will you not at least hear me out? This is an extremely important decision for both of us.”
For several seconds she made no move.
Giving up a sigh, she eased back down in her chair.
“Your father had faith in me,” Rule began. “He believed he was looking out for your future when he convinced you to marry me. Before my own father died, he asked something similar of me.”
Her expression subtly altered and he knew he’d caught her interest.
“My father believed the Dewar family’s destiny lay in building an alliance between England and America. When your father approached me, I saw a way to fulfill my own father’s greatest wish.”
“You are saying it wasn’t merely greed.”
He frowned. “I have money of my own, Violet. I admit I have made a great deal more due to my association with your father and the success of the company, but I wouldn’t have agreed if I hadn’t intended to uphold my part of the bargain.”
“I’ve seen the quarterly reports. You’ve done a very good job with Griffin.”
“Thank you. the thing of it is, we are married. We have spoken vows in front of God and made promises to our fathers. I meant to come for you sooner and I should have. I can see that now. But the point is, we owe our families and we owe each other the chance to see if this will work.”
And, of course, there was the provision in the wedding settlement that should the marriage not be consummated, he would lose his half of the business.
She was shaking her head, stirring fine tendrils of flame-colored hair against her cheeks. Desire slipped through him. He forced himself not to think of her in his bed.
“Give me a chance, Violet. Stay with me for the next thirty days and if, at the end of that time, you are still convinced it won’t work out between us, I’ll agree to the annulment.”
But in order for that to happen, she would have to remain a virgin, as he was certain she was now. Rule was determined that would not be the case. Violet was his wife and he meant to have her—soon and often.
He looked at her sitting there, her cheeks still a little flushed from his blatant perusal. Where women were concerned, he wasn’t a fool. He knew she felt at least some of the same attraction for him that he felt for her. He had a month to seduce her into accepting him.
Rule was sure a month would be more than enough.
“Will you do it? Will you stay long enough for us to get acquainted? I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”
She took a deep breath, making her breasts rise tantalizingly, and he realized how fiercely he was aroused.
“I have already given this a great deal of thought and my answer is no.”
A thread of irritation filtered through him. He wasn’t used to being nay-sayed by a woman, and to think that this little slip of a girl—He amended that. Violet was no longer a child. In fact, he saw a lot of Howard Griffin in the implacable way she held her ground.
It made him all the more determined. She was his, dammit. Whether she realized it or not.
“I won’t agree to an annulment, Violet. Not unless you meet my terms. That means you will have to hire a lawyer. It will take months to settle the matter in court—to say nothing of the scandal it will cause our families. It’s 1860, Violet. Boston and London aren’t nearly as far apart as they once were.”
Her pretty lips thinned. “You are that determined? How can that be when you had no intention of returning to Boston?”
“I told you I planned to come—” Inspiration struck and he shot to his feet. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Racing down the hall, he rushed into his study, drawing a swift look from Cousin Caroline, who sat reading in front of the fire. Searching through the top drawer of his desk, he drew out the ship’s passage to Boston he had purchased last week—though at the time, he wasn’t truly certain he would use it. Turning, he raced back to the breakfast room.
“I was coming,” he said, holding up the ticket. “I bought this five days ago. The date is printed on the top.”
He handed her the ticket and for the first time she looked uncertain. Clearly, she’d believed he’d never meant to live up to the bargain he had made.
There were times he wasn’t sure himself.
“Stay for the next four weeks,” he urged. “Give us a chance to get to know each other. If you won’t do it for me, do it for your father.” It was hitting below the belt, but for some strange reason he was growing desperate.
Violet stared down at the ticket, then looked up at him. Her chin tilted up. “All right, thirty days. Then I expect you to stand by your word.”
Rule grinned, gouging grooves into his cheeks, and Violet glanced shyly down at her lap. She wasn’t immune to him, he could tell, and he certainly wasn’t immune to her.
Thirty days, he told himself, praying he wouldn’t have to wait nearly that long to have her in his bed.
All of a sudden, being married didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.
“Good heavens, what did he say?” Caroline shot through the door of Violet’s bedroom, where she had retreated to consider what she had just done.
“He wants me to stay for a month. He says if I do, he’ll agree to the annulment.”
Caroline’s fine blond eyebrows drew together. “He wants to stay married?”
“That’s what he says.” She glanced up. “He was coming to get me. He showed me the ticket he bought.”
“But you want to marry Jeffrey! The two of you have already discussed it!”
“I told you, Rule said he would agree in thirty days. It’s either that or hire a lawyer, or barrister, or whatever they call them here. In the moment, it seemed the best solution.”
“And now?”
Violet sighed. “I should have pressed him harder, I suppose, but…”
“You have that funny look on your face…the one I saw three years ago when you told me you had decided to marry him. It was there when you walked down the aisle and Rule took your hand.”
“You’re mad. I don’t have a funny look on my face. I am merely trying to be sensible. I want an annulment. Rule wants thirty days to convince me we should stay married.”
“He loses his half of the company if the marriage goes unconsummated. Didn’t you tell me that?”
She nodded. “That is probably the reason he is so determined. Half ownership of Griffin is worth a lot of money. But people marry for money all the time.”
“Yes, but you said you wanted to marry someone who loves you.”
“I know. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Well, I promised my father and we are actually married, you know. What could it hurt to at least get to know him?”
Caroline chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe you’re right. But we were supposed to spend the next few weeks with my grandmother—after you got him to agree. She hasn’t seen me since I was a little girl and she has been so looking forward to my visit. I have to go, Violet. That means you and Rule will be living in the house together alone.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Or if she had, she hadn’t realized exactly what it would mean.
She shrugged her shoulders, though she wasn’t feeling exactly nonchalant. “We’re married. It will hardly cause a scandal.”
“I’m not talking about a scandal and you know it. The man is utterly delicious.Are you certain you can resist him?”
Violet rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Jeffrey loves me and he is expecting us to wed. I am trying to do this the easy way. And I feel as though I owe it to my father.”
Caroline sighed. “I can stay another few days, but that’s all.”
“I’ll be fine. Rule works during the day and he is probably out most every evening.” A thought that disturbed her more than it should have.
“I hope you’re right…my lady.”
Violet laughed and so did Caroline.
It would all work out, she was sure.
Besides, she had never been to London, which appeared to be a fascinating city.
And a month wasn’t really so very long.

Four
At the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hall, Rule looked up from the paperwork spread open on his desk to see his brothers, Royal and Reese, striding through his open study door.
“You are married!” Royal, the oldest and current Duke of Bransford, bore down on him like a big golden lion descending on its prey. He was tall and blond, the opposite of Rule and Reese, his eyes not blue but a tawny golden-brown. “I cannot believe it!”
“Who is she?” Reese, the middle brother, demanded, his jaw as hard as steel. He was once a soldier and it showed in his commanding tone and the hard lines of his face. His coloring was the same as Rule’s, his hair jet-black, and his eyes an intense shade of blue. “How long have you been married and why the bloody hell didn’t you tell us?”
“I intended to tell you this morning,” Rule said, trying not to be intimidated, which, being the youngest, wasn’t that easy to do. “That is the reason I asked you to come.”
He had known his brothers were in London, in town on brewery business. Royal owned Swansdowne Ale, the most popular beer in England. Reese grew a large percentage of the barley used in the brewing process. Both of them had grown wealthy from the profits over the years.
And both were happily married.
Which, at the moment, didn’t bode well.
“So how did you find out?” Rule asked.
“My wife told me,” they both said in unison. Reese glared at Rule, leaving Royal to explain.
“Lily’s maid heard it from one of the servants, who heard it from another of the servants, who heard it from one of yours.”
“Which is exactly how Beth got the news,” Reese added darkly. “I think you owe us an explanation, little brother.”
Rule blew out a breath. He was twenty-seven years old, the head of a huge manufacturing firm, and they still saw him as a boy.
“I married Violet Griffin in Boston three years ago. It was arranged by her father, who had discovered he was dying. She was only sixteen at the time, so—”
“Sixteen!” Royal nearly shouted.
“You married a sixteen-year-old girl?” Reese’s fierce gaze bored into him.
“In point of fact, the marriage was never consummated—since she was too young at the time we were wed.”
Reese sat down in a chair across from him and Royal did the same.
“I think you had better start at the beginning,” Royal said while Reese just sat there glaring.
For the next half hour, he tried to make his brothers understand what had transpired in Boston. How much he had to gain from the arrangement, how he had done it partly to fulfill the vow he had made to their father. He wasn’t sure they accepted his reasons.
He was even less certain they understood his rationale when he sent for Violet and she walked into the study.
Royal looked at Reese. Reese stared back at Royal, then both of them smiled.
“It’s nice to meet you, my lady,” Royal said.
It was obvious his brothers believed he had married Violet because of her beauty. They thought the marriage was motivated by desire more than money.
It wasn’t true then.
It was more than accurate now.
Walking toward her, Royal reached out and warmly took her hand. “Welcome to the family.”
Violet looked to Rule for help, clearly hoping he would explain their arrangement, but Rule made no comment. As far as he was concerned, they were married and that was that.
Violet mustered a smile. “Good morning…my lord.”
“He’s a duke,” Rule said, fighting not to grin. “You address him as His Grace.”
“I hope you will address me as Royal,” his brother said smoothly. “We are all family now.”
For the first time since her arrival, Violet seemed flustered. “I am sorry. I am unused to proper English forms of address. Please…I hope you will call me Violet.”
Royal seemed pleased.
“And this is my brother, Reese.” Rule waited as his middle brother made a very formal bow.
“A pleasure to meet you, my—”
“Violet, if you would.”
Reese’s mouth twitched. For a man who never used to smile, he certainly seemed amused. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Violet.”
“You, as well…Reese.”
“I’m sorry my wife isn’t here,” Reese said. “Elizabeth is eager to meet you.”
“As is Lily,” Royal added. “Once you are properly settled, we’ll have supper so we can all get to know each other.” Royal flicked Rule a warning glance. You have a wife now, those golden eyes said. You had better treat her well.
Rule turned to Violet. “There is a ball tomorrow night. It’s being given by the Marchioness of Wyhurst in honor of her daughter, Sabrina. I am expected to attend. I believe my brothers and their wives will also be going. It would give me a chance to introduce you. I would be pleased if you and your cousin would accompany me.”
Violet flashed him a look of entreaty. She didn’t want their marriage known, he could see. And yet she had agreed to give him the next thirty days.
“All right,” she reluctantly agreed.
Royal and Reese both rose, taking their cue to leave. “Then we shall see you at the ball,” Royal said.
The men left the study and the minute the door was closed, Violet turned on Rule. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Once we are out in Society, all of London will believe we are truly wed when, thirty days from now, I will be returning to Boston.”
Rule moved closer, so near he caught a whiff of her floral perfume. Violets, he thought, finding the idea charming. “You don’t know that for certain.”
“I do.”
He only shook his head. “No, you don’t,” he said softly. Reaching out, he cupped her face between his hands, bent his head and captured her lips. It was a soft, gentle kiss, meant to coax and not frighten. But when she didn’t resist, he lingered a few seconds more, tasting the corners of her mouth, feeling her bottom lip tremble.
Violet swayed toward him, set her hands on his shoulders, and desire surged through his blood. When her soft lips parted under his, his tongue slipped inside and he bit back a groan of pure pleasure.
Violet trembled and an instant later, broke away.
“That…that was not part of our agreement.”
He cocked a brow, his shaft still hard and pulsing. “Wasn’t it? I don’t believe kissing my wife is a breach of contract.”
“That was…that was…more than a kiss.”
“Violet, love, it was merely a tasting. When the time is right, I will show you what is more than a kiss.”
Her eyes widened. She stood there an instant, then whirled away from him and rushed to the door of the study.
Rule chuckled softly, a feeling of triumph rising inside him.
A single kiss was only the beginning of what he had planned.
Caroline was excited, but Violet dressed for the evening with dread. Tonight she would meet the rest of Rule’s family, as well as his friends. He would introduce her as his wife.
She wasn’t truly his wife and never would be. Their sham of a marriage would be over in a single month. She would return to Boston and marry Jeffrey, just as she had planned.
“You look like your favorite cat just died,” Caroline said as she walked into Violet’s bedroom. “For heaven’s sake, Vi, we are going to a fabulous ball hosted by a marchioness! And we are going in company with a duke, a duchess, a countess and two lords! How can you look so glum?”
“I have to spend the evening pretending to be Rule’s wife, that is how I can look so glum.”
“You are Rule’s wife—at least for a little while longer. You might as well enjoy it.”
Violet closed her eyes, trying to block the image of Rule leaning toward her, his mouth settling softly, possessively over hers. She tried not to remember the rush of sensation, the incredible pleasure that had poured through every part of her body.
“There are definitely advantages to being married to a member of the aristocracy,” Caroline went on.
Violet rolled her eyes. “I am deceiving his family and his friends. I am not really his wife and I don’t ever intend to be.”
“So what? He embarrassed you by not returning to Boston. If you embarrass him by ending the marriage he clearly did not want, he deserves it.”
It was true. Rule had treated her badly. He deserved whatever he got.
“Come on.” Caroline reached out and caught her hand, tugging her forward. “His family is probably downstairs by now.” Rule wanted Violet to meet his brothers’ wives before the ball. Maybe he thought it would be easier if she was surrounded by family when they arrived.
Violet halted before they reached the door. “Do you think this dress is all right? It isn’t cut too low?” It was fashioned of topaz silk with a full, gold-shot overskirt ruched up on the sides. The same gold-shot fabric draped over her bosom, which was low enough to expose a glimpse of her cleavage. She was a married woman, no longer a child, and she had decided to dress accordingly.
“Are you joking? The gown is delicious. I like it even better than my own.” A deep blue velvet that set off Caroline’s pretty blue eyes. “Now let’s go. We have kept them waiting too long already.”
Violet took a shaky breath and followed her cousin out the door. When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Rule waiting for her at the bottom. Her breath caught. Dear Lord, it ought to be a sin for a man to look that good. Dressed head to foot in black except for a silver waistcoat, white shirt and cravat, he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. She might have called him beautiful if it weren’t for his solid jaw and the slight indentation in his chin.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes so intense she felt as if he reached out and touched her.
“You are staring at him like a schoolgirl,” Caroline whispered, making Violet blush. “Go on down and join him.”
Violet took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and started down the stairs, thinking how ridiculous it was to let a man’s appearance make her feel light-headed. She was back in control by the time she reached the bottom of the staircase, Caroline a step behind.
“You ladies look lovely,” Rule said, his eyes running over her but never once straying toward Caroline as a lot of men’s did. Her cousin was blonde and lovely and far more the coquette than Violet.
Rule offered an arm to each of them. “Come. I want you to meet my brothers’ wives, Elizabeth and Lily.”
Violet ignored a sweep of nerves. She wouldn’t be Rule’s wife for long, but still she wanted his family to like her. Her heart raced as he led them into his elegant drawing room. The brothers rose at their entrance.
Violet looked past them to the women at their sides. Gowned in sea-green silk, Royal’s wife, Lily, was as blonde and fair as he. Reese’s wife, the Countess of Aldridge, was a petite woman dressed in sapphire-blue with alert gray eyes and her husband’s same black hair.
Introductions were made, both women watching her with undisguised fascination. When Caroline was introduced to the group, all of them were friendly, yet the women’s attention remained focused on the newest member of the Dewar family.
“It’s wonderful to meet you at last,” the duchess said graciously. “Though I am still coming to grips with the notion that Rule has finally taken a wife. We were afraid he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life.”
Violet managed a smile. “Actually, he has been married for the past three years.”
“So we gathered,” Elizabeth said darkly. Rule had said she preferred not to use the title she retained as her former husband’s widow, insisting Violet address her merely as Elizabeth or Beth. “Rule should have told us, of course, but he has always been a man of surprises.” She flicked him a reproving glance.
Clearly the Dewar women spoke their minds, which Violet found strangely comforting.
Lily asked about her sea voyage, and Caroline asked the two women about their children—the nieces and nephews Rule proudly claimed.
“They are growing up far too quickly,” Elizabeth said. “My son Jared will soon be thirteen and off to boarding school. Fortunately, his younger brother, Marcus, will be home, keeping me busy for a few more years.” She laughed. “He has always been more of a handful than his brother.”
“Girls are just as bad,” Lily said with a smile. “Marybeth can’t sit still for a minute.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t the easiest child to raise,” Caroline put in. “According to my mother, I got into everything I could get my hands on. And Violet was quite the tomboy, being raised by her father.”
Violet flushed. She wished her cousin would simply keep silent. These women were English aristocrats. In their eyes, behaving like a boy was probably quite shocking.
“At least your Alex is always well behaved,” Elizabeth said of the duke’s son and heir.
Lily laughed, a sound that rang like fine crystal. “Not always, I promise you.” She smiled kindly at Violet. “Still, they are worth every moment of trouble. You will see once you have a child of your own.”
Violet made no reply. If she had a child it would not be Rule’s, but Jeffrey’s.
“Once you are settled,” Elizabeth said, “we shall have a ball to properly announce your marriage. Lily and I will make all the arrangements.”
Violet’s heart sank. She wished Rule had told them the truth. “I appreciate that, truly I do, but I think you should know that Rule and I may not be—”
“It’s getting late,” her soon-to-be-former husband interrupted before she could tell them that in thirty days, the two of them would be dissolving the marriage. “We had better be going. You’ll have plenty of time to talk once we get to the ball.”
As the women collected their reticules, straightened their voluminous skirts, collected their wraps and walked beside their husbands toward the door, Rule leaned close and whispered in her ear.
“You promised to give me thirty days. During that time, I expect you to behave as my wife. If things don’t work out, we can inform my family then.”
It wasn’t an unfair request. Besides, whatever consequences he and his family might suffer wouldn’t matter, since she would be on her way home to Boston.
“Are we agreed?” he pressed.
“As you wish.”
Rule seemed relieved. They went out to the carriages, which were parked in a row out front. His brothers and their wives would be following in their own vehicles. Caroline traveled with Lily and Royal, excited to be riding in the magnificent, gilded, four-horse ducal coach.
Rule assisted Violet into his elegant black carriage and followed her inside. Instead of taking a seat across from her, he settled himself beside her, his wide shoulders brushing against her, sending a little curl of heat into the pit of her stomach.
“You look beautiful, Violet. Your father would be very happy tonight.”
Guilt trickled through her. Griff had wanted her to marry Rule. It meant a great deal to him to believe he had secured her future. But her happiness was the thing he wanted most.
She wasn’t about to throw that happiness away on Rule Dewar.

Five
The birthday ball, given by the Marquess and Marchioness of Wyhurst, was an extravagant affair unmatched by any of the events Violet had attended in Boston.
The mansion itself was palatial—three stories high, built in a U shape, the exterior faced with gleaming white marble. Torches lined the drive up to the house, which was entirely enclosed by ornate wrought-iron fencing.
Inside, the magnificent entry was the full three stories tall and capped by an amber glass ceiling. Columns and reflecting pools had been painted on the walls, making it look like the entrance to a villa in Rome.
The marquess, an older man with snow-white hair, stood in the receiving line next to his petite, dark-haired wife and beautiful, willowy blonde daughter, Sabrina.
Rule made the introductions. “Good evening, Lord Wyhurst. My ladies. I would like to present my wife, Violet. She is just arrived from Boston.”
The blonde’s gorgeous blue eyes widened. “Your wife?” she repeated as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears.
Rule just smiled. “That is correct, my lady, and this is her cousin, Miss Caroline Lockhart, also here from America.”
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Lady Wyhurst said with a smile that looked a little forced. Violet wondered if the marchioness had designs on Rule as a son-in-law. Being the son of a duke, he was undoubtedly considered quite a catch.
“Congratulations, my boy,” the marquess said with a smile that appeared sincere. He turned that warm smile on Violet. “Welcome to England, my lady.”
She opened her mouth at the use of the title, then felt Rule’s gentle nudge in the ribs.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly.
The marquess returned his attention to Rule. “About time you settled down, my boy.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Even if it took an American girl to bring you to heel.” He winked at Violet and she managed to smile.
Unfortunately, she’d had little to do with the marriage. It was her father’s money that had brought Rule Dewar to the altar.
The formalities were finally at an end. The group moved on, the Dewar family surrounding her as they made their way up the stairs. Crossing a false-stone arched bridge, they walked into a ballroom that had been transformed into a magnificent villa complete with gardens and a beautiful ocean view.
The conversation in the entry announcing Rule’s marriage must have been overheard because the room was buzzing by the time they walked in, the entire assembly of several hundred guests whispering and staring in their direction.
For an instant, Violet’s feet refused to move. She felt Rule’s hand reach for hers. He laced their fingers together and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“They’re just curious,” he whispered. “Don’t pay them the least attention. You know how people love to gossip.”
She knew, all right. She just wasn’t used to being the center of that gossip. Thank God, she would be on her way back to Boston by the time the marriage became known to be invalid.
Rule rested her trembling hand on the sleeve of his coat and led her farther into the ballroom, winding his way among the guests.
“Can you believe it?” one of the matrons whispered. “Rule Dewar. I can hardly credit that handsome scoundrel has finally been leg-shackled. And by an American, no less.”
“Probably had no choice,” a second woman said tartly. “I’ll be counting the months. Won’t be long before the truth is known.”
“Dewar is an utter rogue,” another woman said. “That isn’t going to change. If she is with child, it won’t be long before he’ll have the poor chit shipped off to the country.”
Violet took a fortifying breath and fought to ignore the women’s words, but no matter which way she turned, the same conversation swirled around her. Rule and his libertine ways and the matter of his hasty marriage. None of them knew, of course, that he had been married for the past three years.
A thought that galled her.
And embarrassed her.
She was his wife—at least in name. He should have had the decency to own up to the vows he had made. It took all of her will not to turn and march out of the ballroom.
Ever supportive, Caroline hurried up beside her. “They’re all just jealous. Rule married you, not one of their prissy daughters.”
“Your cousin is right.” Black-haired and beautiful, Elizabeth Dewar floated toward her. “They’ll have their fun for a bit, but in the end, you are Rule’s wife. That is all that matters.”
“Both Beth and I faced the same sort of gossip when we were first married,” Lily added. “In time, your marriage will be old news, just as ours is.”
Violet glanced to where her husband stood in conversation with a group of men and women. “Apparently Rule is quite popular with the ladies.”
“Yes, well, that is all in the past,” Elizabeth said. “Your marriage was not yet official, not the way Rule saw it. Now that you are here, you won’t have to worry about that sort of thing again.”
But Violet didn’t believe it. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and a scoundrel didn’t cleave to just one woman.
It didn’t matter. In a month, he would be free to live as he chose, and she would be on her way back home.
“I appreciate your kindness and support,” she said to the women. “Truly I do.”
Lily smiled. “We’re sisters now. Sisters take care of each other.”
Violet felt an unexpected thickness in her throat. She had never had siblings, though she had wanted a brother and sister very badly. “Thank you.” She felt a renewed shot of guilt. The Dewars were willing to accept her into their family, while she had no intention of living up to their expectations of her as Rule’s wife.
A little shiver of awareness went through her as he returned to her side. The man fairly exuded confidence, power and virility. Violet did her best not to notice.
“They are playing a waltz,” he said. “I have yet to dance with my wife. Would you do me the honor, my lady?”
She started to remind him he had agreed to call her Violet, but somehow it no longer seemed important. Instead She took his arm, wishing far more that he would stop referring to her as his wife. She would never truly be his and she wasn’t the sort to pretend.
Still, she let him lead her onto the dance floor and took her place in front of him. Since he stood nearly a foot taller than she, dancing with him should have been awkward, but from the moment he took her in his arms and the music started, from the instant he swept her into the rhythm of the dance, it was like floating on air.
Round and round the parquet floor he whirled her, keeping perfect rhythm, holding her a little closer than proper, even for a husband. She tried to ignore the warmth of his palm at her waist, the way his long leg wedged between hers with each of his graceful turns. She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, as if she belonged to him and he couldn’t wait to ravish her.
Her breathing quickened. A tendril of heat curled softly in the bottom of her stomach. She forced herself to think of Jeffrey, handsome and fair, blond hair gleaming as he held her hand in the gardens at Griffin Heights and told her he had fallen in love with her.
She tried to imagine she was waltzing with Jeffrey, but when she looked up, it wasn’t Jeffrey’s face she saw but the solid jaw and beautiful blue eyes of the man she had married.
A man who wanted nothing but the use of her body and her father’s armaments factory.
She steeled herself and eased a little away.
“You’re a very good dancer,” Rule said as the waltz came to a close.
“Am I? I thought it was you.”
He smiled. “Perhaps it was the two of us dancing together.”
“Perhaps.”
“There is a theory that a man and woman who dance well together, make love well together.”
Her cheeks colored. “I—I wouldn’t know.” But an odd sensation filtered into her stomach.
“We are married. Perhaps we should test the theory.”
Violet shook her head, though deep down she couldn’t deny the tiny thread of interest the notion stirred.
Making love with Rule Dewar. She had been fascinated with the man’s incredible good looks and charm from the moment she had met him. If things were different, if there were no strings attached and she and Jeffrey didn’t already have an understanding, she might be tempted to try it.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
Violet looked up to see a dark-haired, handsome man nearly as tall as Rule striding toward them.
“They are, indeed. It’s good to see you back in Society.” Rule smiled down at her. “Violet, this is Benjamin Wyndam, Earl of Nightingale. He’s the previous owner of what was formerly Hawksworth Munitions and is now Griffin Manufacturing. The man from whom your father purchased the plant.”
“Yes, I remember hearing your name. Lovely to meet you, my lord.” Inwardly, Violet smiled, beginning to get the hang of using the ridiculous British titles.
“You, as well, my lady.” Nightingale smiled at her softly and she noticed a sadness in his eyes that seemed deep and abiding. “I lost my wife two years ago. I hope you and Rule are as happy as Maryann and I once were.”
And clearly he grieved for her still. “I am sorry, my lord. And thank you for your kind wishes.” What else could she say? The earl had obviously loved his wife. If only Rule could—
She broke off the thought. Rule wasn’t the sort to fall in love. Their marriage was no more than a business arrangement. If she wanted a husband who loved her, she would have to marry Jeffrey.
Violet frowned, disliking the way the thought had come out. she didn’t have to marry Jeffrey. She wanted to.
It was simply that he was so far away.
Another man walked up just then. He was perhaps forty, beginning to lose his hair and had eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “So this is your lovely bride. Your marriage seems the only interesting bit of gossip I’ve heard all evening. Your wife is quite a lovely surprise, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Rule said somewhat stiffly. “Violet, this is Burton Stanfield. Over the years we’ve had some business dealings together.”
“That is correct. And a few weeks back I tendered an offer to buy Griffin Manufacturing. Unfortunately, his lordship turned it down.”
A buyer for the company! Exactly what she needed. But Rule had refused the offer. The information nettled, considering how much she wanted to sell. At home, trouble was brewing in the Northern and Southern states, the country fiercely divided over the issue of slavery. Violet had friends on both sides, people she cared about. She didn’t want to be in the business of making the weapons that might be used to kill them.
Still, Rule had done a good job managing Griffin so far. He might have had good reason for turning the man down.
Violet focused on Stanfield. “Perhaps your offer wasn’t high enough. With the tensions growing between the states in America, there is already increased demand for weapons. I should think that would make Griffin worth a good deal of money.”
Burton Stanfield smiled. “A woman with a head for business. How unusual.” He turned to Rule. “I believe you have managed to capture yourself a very interesting female.”
“Her maiden name is Griffin,” Rule explained. “Violet spent a good deal of time with her father at the Boston branch of the business.”
“I am also half owner of Griffin,” she said sweetly, drawing a frown from Rule.
Stanfield studied her with heightened interest. “Is that so? Then perhaps I can win your support for my cause.”
She kept her smile in place. “I’m afraid I would have to discuss the matter with…my husband.”
Stanfield cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed. A promise I shall hold you to, my lady.”
Rule’s hand settled possessively at her waist. “If you will excuse us, there are some other people I would like my wife to meet.”
“Of course.” Stanfield made a polite bow and stepped out of their way. Leaving the man behind, she let Rule guide her rather forcefully toward a quiet area off the main part of the ballroom.
“It is not considered polite to discuss business matters at affairs such as these.”
“Is that so? Or is it merely impolite for a woman to discuss business matters at affairs such as these?”
Rule eyed her darkly. Then a corner of his mouth edged up. “You are not like other women, Violet Dewar. Perhaps that is the reason you intrigue me.”
“Do I?”
His blue eyes darkened. “In ways you are yet too innocent to understand.” He took her arm and laced it with his. “Come. We’ll make a pass round the ballroom. I’ll speak to a few more of the guests and then, if you are ready, we’ll go home.”
Violet breathed a sigh of relief. “I should like that above all things…my lord.”
It was the first time she had used his title and Rule grinned, carving the dimples she remembered into his cheeks.
“My lord?” he repeated as if she had finally accepted him as her master. “That has a very nice ring.”
She bit back a smile and shook her head. “You are a devil, Rule Dewar.” With the devil’s own charm.
And the way her stomach lifted when he looked at her the way he did now, as if she were a particularly delectable sweet, put her on guard.
If she weren’t extremely careful, she might wind up in the devil’s bed.
Rule left Violet in the care of his sisters-in-law and wove his way among the guests. As much as his somewhat tarnished reputation would allow, he wanted to smooth the way for his wife’s admittance into the inner sanctum of upper-class British Society.
As he paused here and there to speak to friends and answer questions about his bride and his unexpected marriage, he began to frown at some of the things he was overhearing. Gossip about the reasons for his hasty wedding, implications that his bride had been less than pure at the time they spoke their vows.
He tried to explain about Howard Griffin’s illness and the arrangement the man had made to secure his daughter’s future, but the more he talked, the more smug smiles and winks he received and the more irritated he became.
It surprised him to feel so protective of Violet when he had never felt that way about a woman before. He hadn’t known his mother, who had died giving birth to him. The only females in his family were his frail old aunt Agatha, whom he adored as the mother he never had, and his sisters-in law, whom he greatly respected.
He told himself his protectiveness came simply because Violet was his wife and not because he was so strongly attracted to her, not because he admired her for having the courage to travel all the way to England to confront him.
He watched her laughing at something Reese said. Reese, who rarely joked and hardly ever smiled until he married Elizabeth.
Rule liked it when Violet smiled. He would like it even more if one of those sweet smiles was intended for him.
He watched her until, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her cousin, Caroline. He straightened as he realized the girl was in conversation with his best friend, Lucas Barclay. Good God, Caroline Lockhart was as innocent as Violet, and, he noticed for the very first time, far more beautiful than he had realized.
And Luke was eyeing her like a wolf with a fresh piece of meat.
Rule strode toward them. “I see you’ve met my cousin, Miss Lockhart.”
One of Luke’s dark eyebrows went up. “Your cousin?”
“My wife’s cousin. My cousin by marriage.” Rule tried for a smile but it was thin at best.
“Ah, yes. I have yet to meet your lovely bride. Amazing, isn’t it? My best friend has a wife and I am the last to know.”
Rule sighed. “It’s a long story. I realize I owe you an explanation. Perhaps over lunch on the morrow?”
“Oh, indeed. Better late than never.” Luke’s tight smile softened as he gazed down at the little blonde. “In the meantime, Miss Lockhart has just agreed to partner me in a waltz.” He extended his arm. “Shall we, Miss Lockhart?”
She accepted Luke’s arm and returned his smile. “I would be delighted.”
They started forward but Rule stepped in front of them. “One dance, Luke. That’s all.”
Luke eyed him darkly. He made a stiff nod of his head. “I shall keep your wishes in mind.” But he didn’t say he would obey them. Luke was angry that Rule had kept his marriage a secret.
He had a right to be, Rule supposed. The two of them were like brothers.
But then he hadn’t told his brothers, either.
He watched the couple on the dance floor, Luke tall and dark, Caroline small, blue-eyed and fair. They made a handsome couple, might even make a good match—except that Luke was the biggest rake in London and fiercely opposed to marriage.
Rule inwardly sighed. Already his duties as husband were starting. He had a responsibility to his wife, but also to her family. He blew out a breath, wishing his first duty wasn’t to guard his cousin-in-law against his best friend.

Six
Half an hour passed. Rule decided to make a quick trip through the gaming room, see what sort of fires he might put out there, then collect his wife and go home.
He smiled as he walked down the hall, oddly pleased by the thought. My wife. Never once had it occurred to him he might like having a woman belong to him. Still smiling, he had just turned the corner when a lady gowned in scarlet silk appeared in front of him. Evelyn Dreyer, Viscountess St. Ives.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said to his former mistress. “You’re looking quite splendid tonight.” With her pale blond hair and amazing cheekbones, she was a beautiful woman. Rule gazed at her and thought of hair the color of flames and a pert nose dotted with intriguing little freckles.
“I just heard the news,” Evelyn said with a viperous smile. “You are married.”
“Yes, I am.”
“For quite some time, I gather.”
“Three years.” Though still not officially, since he hadn’t yet bedded his bride, but that was none of Evie’s business.
Her mouth thinned. Before he realized her intent, her hand snaked out and connected solidly with his cheek.
“You’re married,” she said. “How dare you!”
Rule rubbed his cheek. “In case you have forgot, my dear, you are also married. In point of fact, your husband is currently standing in the ballroom.”
“It is not the same thing.”
“Indeed? The viscount might disagree.”
“Harold is old and ugly and cannot even function while your wife is…is…”
“Beautiful and desirable?”
Her slender nose went into the air. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to marry Harold. You could have married someone else.”
Ignoring the statement, she pinned him with a glare. “You should have told me.”
“I should have told a lot of people. My apologies, madam.” He made her a mocking half bow. “And now, if you will excuse me…”
Evelyn said nothing more, but her cheeks still carried an angry flush, and he could see that ending their affair had disturbed her far more than she had admitted.
It didn’t matter.
It wasn’t Evelyn Dreyer he wanted in his bed. It was the woman he had married.
A jolt of desire speared through him and his shaft went hard. He wanted Violet Dewar and he meant to have her.
It was only a matter of when.
Violet stepped back into the shadowy alcove indented into this section of the hallway. Her heart was beating, thrumming like a bird trapped in her chest.
She had been on her way to the ladies’ retiring room when she spotted Rule in the corridor in conversation with a woman. She was tall and statuesque with high, carved cheekbones and a lush bosom no man could miss. Her eyes were dark, her lips full and red. She appeared to be several years older than Violet and she was beautiful. Violet couldn’t hear the conversation, but clearly the woman was angry.
She took a deep breath. Setting a hand over her heart, she willed it to slow. She knew exactly who the lady was, the only person it could be.
She recalled the most recent conversation she had overheard in the ballroom.
“You don’t suppose his marriage has anything to do with his mistress, Lady St. Ives? I heard they parted on very bad terms. Perhaps he married the chit out of spite.”
He hadn’t, of course. He had married her for money and power, not vengeance.
She thought again of the beautiful Lady St. Ives. Violet wasn’t surprised to learn Rule had kept a mistress. Most married men did.
And in truth, as he had said, they were not, in the strictest sense, actually married.
Still, it bothered her. She didn’t like to think of him kissing the blonde, doing more than kissing.
I will show you what is more than kissing, he had said, almost as if it were a vow.
She drew in a shuddering breath. The man is a rogue of the very worst sort, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t get that kiss out of her head.
Checking to be certain the pair no longer stood in the hallway, Violet continued on to the ladies’ room. She was on her way back, nearing the alcove she had hidden in before when she heard Rule calling her name, and a little shiver went through her.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over.”
She thought of the elegant blonde. “Have you? I thought perhaps you were looking for someone else. Lady St. Ives, perhaps?”
He frowned. “So you’ve heard. I imagined you would, sooner or later.”
“Actually, I saw the two of you together in the hall.”
He glanced away, released a weary breath. “I won’t lie to you, Violet. I’m a man and a man has needs. The affair is over. Has been for some time. I have no interest in Evelyn Dreyer and won’t anytime in the future.”
She pondered the words, wondered if they were true. “I see.”
“I hope you do.”
Her eyes widened as he began to ease her backward into the alcove. His arms came around her, drawing her close, and his mouth came down over hers.
It wasn’t the same gentle kiss as before. It was a hot, taking ravishment so powerful it made her dizzy. Her fingers curled into the muscles across his wide shoulders. Her mouth parted under his fierce assault and his tongue slid over hers.
Violet made a little mewling sound and simply clung to him, swamped with sensation and completely unable to think. He tasted of brandy and she could smell his spicy cologne. Her body was thrumming, pulsing. Every feminine part of her ached with the need for more of what he offered.
Rule finally ended the kiss, but kept an arm around her as if he knew he had left her weak in the knees.
He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. “God, I want you.”
Violet stood there trembling. “You…you can’t keep doing that.”
“Kissing you? I’m your husband. I can kiss you whenever I wish, and furthermore, I intend to do it every chance I get.”
“But…but…”
“You gave me thirty days to convince you. That is what I am doing—convincing you.”
“But I can’t just…You can’t just…We can’t just…”
“Yes, we can. Come along, sweet wife. Let us collect your cousin. It is past time we went home.”
Violet swallowed, but she didn’t argue. She had mistakenly thought she would be safe from Rule at a very large, well-attended ball.
She had just discovered there was no place she was safe from Rule Dewar.
Violet lay on the mattress staring up at the ice-blue canopy above her head. Guilt rested like a heavy weight on her chest. She shouldn’t have been kissing Rule. She was going to marry Jeffrey. She shouldn’t have responded the way she did.
Dear God, why had she agreed to Rule’s ridiculous arrangement in the first place?
But, of course, at the time it had seemed the best solution, the easiest way out of the marriage. No attorneys, no scandal, just a quiet annulment to which Rule had promised to agree.
She sighed into the quiet of the room, trying not to remember tonight’s kiss, the incredible sensations that had burned through her body. Surely it was merely a physical response. If Jeffrey kissed her that way, she would feel exactly the same.
A sound reached her from the hallway outside her bedroom. She jerked upright at the squeak of the silver doorknob turning. Surely Rule wouldn’t—
She relaxed as Caroline slipped into the bedroom and told herself she didn’t feel a flicker of disappointment.
“We didn’t get to talk after the ball,” Caroline said, plopping down on the edge of the mattress in her nightgown and pink silk wrapper. Low flames curled over the grate in the hearth, banishing the chill and lighting the room with a soft yellow glow. “Wasn’t it simply magnificent?”
Violet scooted back, propping herself up against the headboard. “I suppose it was.”
“You suppose? Good heavens, I had a marvelous time. I danced until my slippers were nearly worn out.”
“You weren’t the one having to pretend to be something you are not.”
“Like a wife, you mean?”
“Like Rule’s blissful bride.”
Caroline wound a lock of long blond hair around the tip of her finger. “I think his family liked you. I don’t suppose that truly matters, but still…”
“I wanted them to like me. They are very nice people.”
Caroline eyed her with suspicion. “You aren’t thinking you might stay married?”
“Of course not.” She examined a fold in the satin counterpane. “Rule had a mistress. Did you hear?”
Caroline sighed. “I heard the gossip. Everyone was buzzing about it. She was there, you know.”
“I saw them together. Rule says the affair is over, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t intend to replace her with someone else. Most married men think nothing of keeping a mistress.”
“You are better off with Jeffrey.”
“I know.”
“Did you meet anyone interesting?” Caroline asked.
“Actually, I did. A potential buyer for the company. A man named Burton Stanfield. Apparently he made an offer but Rule turned it down.”
“Did you ask him why?”
“Not yet, but I intend to. Of course, he couldn’t have accepted without my approval even if he had wished.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to sell. Maybe he likes running the company.”
“Once the marriage is annulled, I become sole owner of Griffin and I can do whatever I want. I don’t want to make weapons that could be used in a war to kill my family and friends.”
“It’s going to come to that, isn’t it? We’re going to have some sort of revolution?”
“Yes, I feel certain we are. At any rate, Rule has done a good job thus far and I’d like to know his thoughts on Stanfield as a buyer. At the same time, I don’t want to alert him to the fact I intend to sell. I’ll have to tread carefully.”
Caroline grinned. “You can do it. You are good at getting what you want.”
It was true, though lately, where Rule was concerned she felt greatly out of her element.
“I met someone interesting tonight, myself,” Caroline said.
Violet’s interest sharpened. “Did you? Who was it?”
“He is a friend of your…of Rule’s. His name is Lucas Barclay.”
“Good grief, you can’t be serious. People were talking nearly as much about him as they were about Rule. The man is notorious.”
In the firelight, Violet caught her cousin’s smile. “Luke is a marvelous dancer and unbelievably handsome.” She grinned. “And I’ve never been one to listen to gossip.”
“Luke? You call him Luke? You had better be careful, cousin. What would your grandmother say if she knew you were spending time with a rogue like Barclay?”
“It was only a dance, Vi. And speaking of my grandmother…I have put off my visit for as long as I dare. Grandmother will begin to worry. I am going to see her tomorrow. She’ll want to meet you. Will you go with me?”
“Of course I will.”
“She’s expecting me to stay for at least the next few weeks.”
Violet nodded. “I know you have obligations. But I shall miss you terribly.”
“It won’t be all that bad. Grandmother lives here in London. We’ll be able to see each other often.”
But Violet would be alone in the house with Rule. She didn’t trust him.
More importantly, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself.

Seven
After her late evening at the ball and a restless night of battling her worries and guilt, Violet slept later than she intended.
By the time Mary had helped her into a lace-trimmed russet silk day dress and pulled her hair back into a simple chignon, she was fidgeting to get on with the day. When she reached the top of the staircase, she spotted Caroline pacing nervously in the foyer. As Violet reached the bottom of the stairs, her cousin hurried toward her.
“You didn’t forget, did you? My grandmother is expecting us this afternoon for tea. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Inwardly, Violet groaned. She hadn’t forgotten. Today she was accompanying Caroline to her grandmother’s, staying for a brief visit, then leaving her cousin and the older woman to their long-awaited reunion.
“I didn’t mean to sleep so long, but I am ready now. We can leave whenever you wish. Will you be staying or coming back here?”
“I want to be certain everything is set. If it is, I’ll stay. Tomorrow, I’ll send for my things.”
Violet glanced around the entry. The house seemed overly quiet, no sounds coming from the drawing room or the study down the hall. Rule wasn’t there, she was sure, for she always seemed able to sense his presence.
“Where is his lordship this morning?” she asked Hatfield, his spindly old butler.
“Lord Rule has gone to his office at Griffin. That is where he usually spends most of his day.”
“I see.” And since she hadn’t gotten up early enough to speak to him before he left, she would go directly from Mrs. Lockhart’s to the factory.
“Do you wish to leave him a message?”
“Thank you, no. I’ll speak to him later.” She turned to Caroline. “Let me fetch my shawl and we can be on our way.”
Dashing back upstairs, she returned with a warm cashmere wrapper. April in England was often still cold and today was no exception. Hatfield took the shawl from her hand and draped the soft fabric around her shoulders.
Caroline had already donned her cape. A few minutes later, they were on their way to the corner to hire themselves a hansom cab for the ride to Belgravia, where Caroline’s grandmother lived.
The early-spring wind was brisk and Violet was glad she was wearing her shawl. Around them, the streets were a noisy throng of pedestrians, merchant vehicles and carriages. A horse-drawn omnibus painted in red and yellow rolled past, several men seated on top while others hung off the sides. Children played along the lanes and young boys sold coal or peddled newspapers.
Eventually they reached Grandmother Lockhart’s house, a large brick structure, the exterior well maintained. The interior was neat, as well, if in need of a bit of modernization. Adelaide Lockhart, a kindly older woman with wavy silver hair and Caroline’s same blue eyes, seemed perfectly content with the way things were and not the least concerned that the carpets were beginning to fray and the decor was a bit out of fashion.
Money was not the problem. The late Mr. Lockhart, an extremely successful merchant, had done very well for his family, and Caroline’s father had continued the tradition, making his own vast fortune in America. Adelaide Lockhart spotted them and her eyes misted at the sight of the granddaughter she hadn’t seen in years.
“Oh, my dear, you are so lovely. The same blue eyes as your grandfather, God rest his soul.”
“It is wonderful to be here, Grandmother.”
Mrs. Lockhart greeted Violet with equal warmth, then they followed the older woman into the drawing room where tea and biscuits were served. Violet had resigned herself that coffee was a treat she would only get in the mornings and was beginning to actually enjoy an occasional cup of tea.
The conversation was lively and warm. There was only one uncomfortable moment, when Caroline’s grandmother inquired of Violet’s husband.
“I should like very much to meet him,” the older woman said. “I am not acquainted with any of the Dewars, but everyone has heard of the Duke of Bransford and his very successful ale-making business.” She smiled at Violet. “Perhaps you and your husband might join my granddaughter and me for supper one evening.”
Violet shot a nervous glance at Caroline.
“They are just settling in, Grandmother, now that Violet is here in London.”
Violet managed to curve her lips. She hated to lie but there was no help for it. “Caroline is right. Now would be a difficult time, but a bit later on my husband and I would be delighted to accept your invitation.”
The older woman beamed, obviously pleased that the brother of a duke would be dining in her home. “That would be lovely.”
Violet kept her stiff smile in place, lifted her cup and took a sip of tea.
It was nearly three o’clock by the time several pots of the jasmine brew had been consumed and Violet was able to leave the Lockhart residence. Before she could escape, Adelaide Lockhart insisted on lending Violet her carriage for the ride to Griffin Manufacturing on the south side of the Thames.
“That isn’t the best part of town, you know,” Mrs. Lockhart said. “Are you sure your husband would approve your traveling there unaccompanied?”
Violet swung her shawl around her shoulders. “Rule respects my independence.” Which of course was a load of rot. The man had all the earmarks of becoming a demanding, overbearing, overly protective husband.
Not that she intended to give him the chance.
The carriage ride was a long one, through areas that were indeed questionable, but eventually they arrived at a huge brick structure marked by an imposing tower and a sign that read Griffin Manufacturing. A symbol she recognized, the mythical griffin, rose formidably above the sign.
Violet felt a wave of nostalgia and her eyes misted. The symbol was the embodiment of her father, a man with the courage of a lion and the vision of an eagle. Dear God, she missed him. Rarely a day went by she didn’t think of him.
With a calming breath, Violet collected herself and sent the memories away. The coachman helped her descend the iron carriage stairs. Lifting her russet silk skirts, she headed for the door marked Office.
A bell rang as she walked into the reception area and a young blond man with a pale complexion and rosy cheeks hurried up to the counter to greet her.
“Good afternoon, madam. May I help you?”
“My name is Violet Dewar. I am here to see…my husband.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.” He nervously cleared his throat. “Currently, your husband is in a meeting with his foreman. Please have a seat while I inform him you are here.”
“Thank you.” She sat down on a long mahogany bench that ran the length of one wall. Beneath her feet, the wooden floor was swept and polished. The office was neat and clean, efficient she would call it, with a desk behind the counter to serve the fresh-faced young secretary and a row of cabinets at the back for filing information.
Through the brick walls, she could hear the familiar pounding, hammering and tinkering that indicated the assembly of the manufactured weapons: pistols of assorted shapes and sizes, and several varieties and various types of muskets.
In Boston, she had enjoyed running the business side of the factory, pretending to be J. A. Haskell and managing sales and accounting. She enjoyed the challenge of working, but there were other types of businesses to run, ones that had nothing to do with Americans killing each other in the war that was sure to come.
The sound of a door opening ended her musings. She rose as Rule stepped out of his private office. For an instant, his tall, masculine beauty stole her breath. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms, and his hair a little mussed, he looked capable instead of elegant, a force to be reckoned with, a man in complete control.
She forced herself to breathe normally and smile, then noticed he was frowning. His expression continued to darken as he strode toward her.
“What the devil are you doing here?”

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