A Bride Unveiled by Jillian Hunter Page A

repayment be to ruin her? She twined her hand around his neck and coaxed his face toward hers. He could have stretched out beside her and spent the night talking about whatever came into their heads. Or maybe just kissing.
    Why did she have to belong to someone else?
    Why did that someone happen to be one of Kit’s best-paying pupils? Not the most talented, mind you, not even one he particularly liked, but there was an implied contract between pupil and master that Kit was fairly certain did not include a clause that allowed a discount for ravishing a student’s bride-to-be.
    “Kit, stop brooding for a moment, and look at me.”
    He smiled slowly. It was good to hear her scold him. “Godfrey doesn’t know anything about your past, does he?” she asked him urgently.
    “No. Only few close friends—”
    He stared down into her eyes. An ache pulsed to life deep inside him again. “I won’t tell anyone I knew you before. It never crossed my mind.”
    “I wasn’t thinking only of me, Kit. You’ve made a name for yourself. Nothing should spoil that. I’m happier for you than I can hold inside me.”
    “Then leave him,” he said bluntly.
    “Leave him?” she whispered, her eyes evading his. “I’ve only just agreed to marry him. We cannot do this. I have to go.”
    He knew he could not stop her. Their kiss aroused not only his sexual nature but his conscience. Taking her virtue would only prove what the workhouse warden had prophesied the day that Kit had walked out the gates: He could not be redeemed at all, and in the end he would drag everyone who believed in him to hell.
    She lifted the back of her hand to his cheek. It was an ambiguous gesture, wistful and inviting at the same time. “Kit? Kiss me again, and then I must go.”
    He lowered his head, his mouth slanting over hers. He felt her lips soften, and for once he wished he had not become a man who listened to his conscience. He felt her lips part, and he forgot everything except the sweetness of her mouth. The ache he had denied thrummed from his fingers as they glided down her shoulder to her breasts. She warmed his blood, like winter fire and fine wine.
    He felt decadent, drunk on this small taste of her. She kissed with a sweet passion that could enslave him.
    “Kit,” she said in a deep voice.
    “Is this our first kiss or another farewell?”
    She shook her head, her fingers sliding across his mouth, to stem his questions or to end their kiss, he wasn’t sure. He was too desperate to prolong their contact to work through it.
    “I’ve thought about you, Kit.”
    “Don’t go yet.” He straightened, calling on self-denial, discipline, whatever weapon was at his disposal.
    He heard her breath catch and felt remorse shiver down the nape of his neck into his soul. Dying inside, he pulled her hand from his mouth, kissed her gloved knuckles, and lifted her to her feet from the chaise and through the curtains. Slowly her gaze lifted to his.
    He studied her as if she were a dueling opponent and his life hinged on her next move. He studied her face for nuance. He listened to the cadence of her breath for innuendo. A deadly rival if ever he had met one. What did he see in her eyes?
    Wounded innocence? No. Violet stood on higher ground. She had never wasted her time seeking anyone’s sympathy. An invitation? Kit would not insult her nor delude himself on that account.
    What he read in Violet’s expression cut deeper. He might not have imagined her brief response to him, but whatever she felt beyond poignant resignation she would not encourage.
    She had protected Kit when he was a vile, obnoxious youth. It was his turn now to protect her. He might not be a gentleman, but he had earned a place.
    He walked her to the door and checked that the corridor was empty before he let her go.
    In the past he had remained hidden in the church-yard and watched her run through the woods until she reached the top of the slope and he knew she was safe.
    Now he stayed in