The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Thirty-Three

In her muddled state, Violet could only stare at Richard’s enraged features. His brawny form filled the stone gateway, and he looked foreboding—like the way he had when they first met.

What got stuck in his craw?she thought foggily.

“Bloody unhand her Wickham,” he snapped.

“You’re not serious, are you, Carlisle? Look at her, she’s—”

The next instant, Violet felt herself being yanked away from Wick and dragged to Richard’s side. Her senses were already spinning, and the sudden movement didn’t help matters. She clung to Richard to stay upright.

“Leave, Wick, before I do something I regret.” Richard’s voice had a lethal edge.

“I’m not leaving her. She’s unwell, you idiot. I was just—”

“Get the hell out.”

Vi cringed, Richard’s roar pounding at her temples.

“It’s all right, Wick,” she managed. “I’m fine.”

Wick shook his head. “I’m not leaving you with this jealous fool—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Richard’s deadly earnestness pierced Vi’s haze and gave her enough wherewithal to say, “Please go, Wick. I’ll be fine. I want to talk to Richard alone.”

“You’re sure?” Wick studied her.

She nodded, even though the action made her feel even more buffle-headed.

With a disgusted look at his brother, Wick strode out the gate.

Before Vi could speak, the universe spun crazily. Breathless, she found herself with her back against the stone wall. Richard’s hands were planted next to her shoulders, trapping her.

His eyes burned into her. “So has this all been a game to you?”

Game? “What on earth do you mean?”

“You’re just like the others. A damned flirt. A trollop.”

The burst of anger cleared her head. “Now wait just a deuced minute—”

“Hell, you’re even better than them. Better at lying. Better at duping men, seducing them.”

“What are you talking about? Better than whom?” She was confused—by his anger and her own. And by her throbbing awareness of him, of his large form caging her against the wall. “You can’t possibly mean that Wick and I—”

“He was going to kiss you,” Richard thundered. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t feeling well…”—she wetted her lips at the flare of his nostrils—“it might have been that cider Wick gave me. It tasted a bit off. Anyway, Wick was just concerned. As any friend would be.”

“Aye, I know how friendly you can get, so don’t take me for a fool. You’re not ill—you’re bloody aroused. I know how you look when you’re in the throes. Those flushed cheeks and parted lips, the come-hither heat in your eyes.”

His words seemed to tear away some internal blinders. All of a sudden, what she was feeling became clear, the sensations coalescing in a humming rush… of need.

Gadzooks. He’s… right?

“I d-don’t understand.” Why would she feel aroused around Wick? She didn’t desire him.

Richard leaned closer, his expression ravaged. “Don’t you? I’d wager my estate that your nipples are hard right now. If I tossed up your skirts, your pussy would be wet and greedy, wouldn’t it?”

She stared at him, her breath puffing from her parted lips. Right again.

A savage light came into his eyes. He swore, and the next minute his mouth slammed onto hers. The kiss was hard and punishing, but she didn’t care because she wanted it. Wanted him. Her arousal blazed, incinerating everything else. Wild for him, she sucked on his tongue, licked inside his mouth, panting for more.

She felt her skirts being shoved up, warm air kissing her thighs. When he touched her pussy, they both groaned. She could feel how wet she was, how her flesh throbbed for his touch.

“Say this is for me, not Wick.” His eyes were hungry, tortured. “By God, say it, lass—”

He thrust his fingers into her, and she gasped as the orgasm hit her.

“My, my. This is quite the performance, isn’t it?”

The female voice perforated Vi’s bliss. She twisted to see its source: Mrs. Sumner, standing inside the gate with Lord Wormleigh. Both were watching on with leering expressions.

Richard yanked down Vi’s skirts, took a hasty step back.

But it was too late. Mrs. Sumner and Wormleigh had exited, their excitement palpable.

Violet felt the weight of ruination crashing down.

~~~

As Richard watched, Lady Ainsworthy’s carriage drove off with Violet and the other Kent girls, sending an angry plume of dust into the village square. His mind was in turmoil. What had he been bloody thinking?

The plain truth was that he hadn’t been. Seeing Violet in Wick’s arms had unleashed a rage unlike any he’d known before. The force of his fury had knocked out all reason, and it still roiled in him… along with prickling agitation.

Wormleigh and Sumner were vicious gossips. They’d wasted no time in hurrying back to the fair to spread lurid tales of discovering Richard and Violet in flagrante.

Violet was ruined.

Becoming aware of the keen audience gathered around him on the green, Richard felt his face flame. He wanted to punch his fist through a wall. But that would help nothing, wouldn’t stem the damage he’d done to Violet’s reputation. By Jove, nothing would. As furious as he was with her betrayal, he was angrier at himself—for hurting her. For allowing himself to hope…

It doesn’t matter. You’re going to marry her.

At this point, he didn’t have a choice. Anguish pierced his anger. Because, despite everything, he still wanted to make her his—

“What the bloody hell have you done?” Wickham shoved his way through the crowd toward Richard. “You stupid sod!”

Richard’s fists clenched. “Back off.”

Wick glared at him. “Not until I knock some sense into you.”

That does it.Red saturated Richard’s vision. He threw a punch.

Wick danced out of reach. “Violet’s my friend—practically my sister.”

“You tried to kiss her.” Richard circled his brother.

“For God’s sake, I did not. She was feeling ill. I think that cider made her foxed or something.”

“So you took advantage of her!” Snarling, Richard issued an uppercut.

Wick dodged at the last moment. “Why would I do that, you imbecile? She’s in love with you.”

Emotion exploded in Richard. With a roar, he charged his brother, tackling the other onto the ground. His fist connected satisfyingly with Wick’s side.

Wick grunted. “Go ahead and pummel me. Doesn’t change the fact that Violet loves you.”

“Shut the bloody hell up!” Richard pinned his brother, landed a facer.

“Or the fact that you love her back,” Wick gasped, “and that scares you witless!”

The words punctured Richard’s raw haze. He stilled, his fist poised above Wick’s face. “What the devil did you say?”

“You’re terrified that she’s going to reject you like the others, so you assumed the worst. Because you can’t get it through your thick skull that Violet loves you, you didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt and instead pushed her away. Which makes you a moron!”

The truth hit Richard like a right hook, the force of it making his head jerk back.

Wick was… right. Every word he’d said—true. Richard had been so afraid of repeating his past that he’d doubted the woman he loved. Doubted that she could love him back. And his fears had led him to act like the worst kind of bastard.

His rage abruptly subsided.

“Bloody hell,” he said hoarsely, “I am a moron.”

“Exactly. Now would you mind getting off of me?” Wick glowered up at him. “We’ve provided enough free entertainment.”

Richard became aware of the murmuring crowd around them. Feeling like the world’s biggest fool, he rose… and offered his sibling his hand.

“I owe you an apology,” he said gruffly.

Wick touched his swelling jaw and winced. “Save the groveling for Violet. You’ll need it.”

Richard’s throat closed. God… he’d mistrusted her, treated her badly—ruined her. Groveling was too good for him; he deserved to be horsewhipped.

With hammering urgency, he said, “I’ve got to get back to the house. To make things right.”

Wick dusted off his jacket, grumbling, “I’ll come with you, you great lummox. But only because I want Violet to be my sister. That way, at least I’ll have one sibling who isn’t insane.”