She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. “That’s not Hindustani.”
“Bengali. It means ‘You are my life’s bright star’ in Bengali.” The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. “Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning.”
A forceful pang in her heart left her breathless.
He loved her. He truly did love her.
Christian cursed and resumed his pacing, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “But now, it will never be the ‘right morning’ for us. So yes, I’m angry. I’m goddamned furious with myself for somehow losing both you and Frederick forever. And I very, very, very much want to hit something.”
He pulled up short, eyeing a row of crockery, and she panicked. If he crashed a fist through that shelf, the noise would be frightful.
“Here.” She darted out from behind the counter. “Hit this.”
In the corner of the shop sat a padded dress form, wearing a dotted muslin frock and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet. The Brights used it to display the newest wares.
Violet grabbed the mannequin by the waist and swiveled it on its casters. “Go on,” she said. “Do your worst.”
For a tense moment, he stared down the dress form. Violet edged to the side, her neck prickling with apprehension. His rage was palpable, even from the other side of the shop.
At last, he raised his fist and made a fierce, lunging attack—
Only to pull up short at the last moment.
And let his fist drop.
“I can’t,” he said, grimacing. “I can’t hit a woman.”
Violet laughed. “Nellie’s not a real woman.”
“She has a name?” Turning way from the dress form, he threw up his hands. “That seals it. So much for throwing punches.”
He braced both fists on the sales counter and bent over them, lowering his brow to the polished wood. A sound of raw anguish wrenched from his chest.
Violet couldn’t stand to watch him suffer this way. Tears welled in her eyes as she approached and laid a hand to his shoulder. “Christian, I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry. I know how much you loved him.”
“I never told him.”
She stroked the tense muscles of his neck, ran her fingers through the heavy locks of hair at his nape. “He knew. Of course he knew.”
“You didn’t know.” He lifted his head. “I should have told you, Violet. I should have told the both of you, every day.”
A single tear spilled down her cheek. “I know now.”
He seized her in his arms. In the faint light, his eyes were wild with emotion. “Do you, truly?”
In answer, she kissed him. Curled both hands around his neck and pulled his head down so she could kiss his jawline, his cheekbone, the razor-thin scar along his throat. She even kissed the rugged slope of his twice-broken nose.
And then his lips found hers. Hot, desperate. His arms lashed around her middle as they kissed, his big hands clutching fistfuls of her gown. Her br**sts flattened and ached against his hard chest. She wanted him to hold her like this forever—so tightly, there could be no room for secrets.
His kiss was fierce, intense, imbued with all the passion with which he’d always lived his life. He kissed her as though this were life itself—the only time they might have together. And she kissed him the same way, holding nothing back. There would be no shyness for Violet tonight. She would leave no emotion unexpressed, no desire unfulfilled. She wanted to caress and explore and possess every part of him, body and soul.
A beam of light swept them, originating from outside the shop.
Christian froze. “Who’s there?” he whispered against her lips.
“Dawes and Rufus,” she breathed. “Quickly, hide.”
She prodded Christian toward the storeroom at the back of the shop. Inside the closet, they waited breathless in the dark. Listening.
Please, Violet prayed. Please, just let them go past.
The front door of the shop creaked open. “Hullo?”
Blast.
“You wait here,” she whispered sternly to Christian. “I’ll go out.”
“I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
“It’s only the two militiamen Lord Rycliff assigned to stand watch in the village. The others couldn’t have found us yet. These men know me. I’ll talk my way out of this, just like I did in the kitchen at Summerfield.”
“But you were supposed to be at Summerfield. There’s no reason for you to be here.”
“I’ll invent one.” She searched her brain for an idea. “I…I’ll tell them I needed female necessities because I’m on my courses. Believe me, that will quash all inquiry. Men never press for details.”
He clasped her arm. “But Violet—”
“Shh. Not a sound.” She eased the door open, calling out as she emerged, “Don’t be alarmed, sirs. There’s no intruder. It’s only me.”
She shut the storeroom door and turned.
“And who the devil are you?” A man raised a lamp, momentarily blinding her.
Even though she could barely make him out, Violet instantly knew two things.
First, this man was neither Aaron Dawes nor Rufus Bright. He was a man she’d never met before, but she knew him well by his reputation. His very bad reputation.
Second, she knew she must keep Christian hidden at all costs. After tonight, she understood why he’d begged for his assignment in Brittany. And she knew it would destroy him, if that mission were compromised.
With trembling fingers, she slid the latch on the storeroom door, barring Christian inside. Using the toe of her slipper, she nudged Nellie the dress form in front of the door to obscure any movement or noise.
And then she turned to face the intruder, Mr. Roland Bright. Sally, Finn, and Rufus’s wayward father. She’d never laid eyes on the man before, but his shock of white-blond hair marked him at once.
“Answer me, girl.” He waved the lamp in her face. “Who are you? And what do you think you’re doing in my shop?”
Violet swallowed hard. “I’m Miss Violet Winterbottom. And I didn’t mean any harm, sir. I woke in the night with a…” She crossed her arm over her belly. “With a female complaint. I didn’t want to disturb Sally, so I—”
“So you came to steal from me.”
“Not at all, sir.” She gulped.
His upper lip curled as he dragged a cold look from her toes to her crown. “You woke in the night wearing a silk gown?”