Haunting Violet
Page 63

“I could find out,” he offered. “Are you serious about leaving?”
I touched my aching face. “Yes. But I don’t know how.” It wouldn’t solve my problems to get taken in by some scoundrel in my haste to run away. And even though I was brilliant at picking pockets, it was a risky way to live.
“I’d go with you,” Colin said quietly.
“Really?”
“You know I would.”
My heart rang like a silver bell in my chest. “If you could do anything, what would you do? Would you go back to Ireland?” The ringing bell tarnished a little at the thought.
“Maybe,” he said. “I’ve no family left there but I miss the green hills. I’d love to show them to you, show you Tara and the Cliffs of Moher. We could live in a thatched cottage and keep sheep.”
I grinned at him. “If you clean up after them.”
“What would be your perfect day then?” he asked, grinning back at me. “If you don’t like my sheep?”
“Your cottage sounds nice,” I allowed. “I’d like to sleep in late and read as many books as I’d like and drink tea with lemon and eat pineapple slices for breakfast.”
“No velvet dresses and diamonds?”
I rolled my eyes, then stopped when the bruise throbbed. “Ouch. And no, of course not. I don’t care about that. Only books.” I looked at him shyly. “And you.”
“That’s all right then,” he said softly. He ran his fingers very gently under my aching cheekbone. “Does it hurt?”
I nodded. It hurt like the devil and I didn’t care one bit. He didn’t kiss me and I didn’t kiss him. We just started at each other for a long, delicious moment, the fire crackling beside us. His eyes looked gray in the shifting light, more like a winter lake than a summer ocean. His black hair fell into his eyes as usual and I brushed it away.
“What’s your perfect day?” I whispered.
“Getting out of London would be a start,” he said. “I can’t stand the gray air. I want fields and forests and the sky wherever you look. I don’t need much, maybe a small garden to grow lettuce and peas and an apple tree. My mam made a brilliant apple pie.”
We talked until my eyelids grew heavy but I didn’t want to break the moment. I rolled onto my back to rest my head. I opened my mouth wide, moving my jaw.
“What on earth are you doing?” Colin grinned. “You look like a monkey.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I was trying to see if my face still hurts. And it does, by the way.” I arched an eyebrow. “And that’s hardly a way to speak to a lady, you know.”
“You’re Violet.” He reached out and fiddled with a satin ribbon that was coming loose off the trim of my dress. “I guess, you’re not just Violet anymore, are you?”
“I am so. Being an earl’s bastard is hardly coming up in the world, Colin. Nothing’s changed, not really.”
A small dark gray schnauzer dog pranced toward me. I could almost feel the rough texture of his tongue as he licked my hand, even though I could see right through him.
Well, I supposed some things had changed.
I scratched his ears, or the air around them at any rate, and he wagged his tail.
Colin pulled back. “Now what are you doing?”
“Playing with the dog.”
“Playing with …” He paused.
“Spirit dog,” I elaborated, as if that explained everything.
He just rolled his eyes. “Of course.” I loved him even more for that simple casual reaction. There was no judgment to it, no fear, no disbelief. He trusted me.
“He’s rather sweet actually.”
“What’s his name?”
“How should I know?” I held on to Colin’s hand for a moment when the floor tilted at an odd angle. I’d have to get used to this spirit vision eventually. I couldn’t get dizzy and fall over every time I saw a ghost. I’d never get anything done. “I don’t speak dog.”
The little schnauzer scampered around me.
“Most people have pets others can see.”
“Pish. I think I’ll call him Mr. Rochester.” I yawned, despite myself. My lip split painfully. I touched it, wincing.
“You should rest. It’s nearly dawn.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, walking with me up the narrow stairs. “Good night, Violet,” he murmured when we reached my door. He propped one hand on the doorway, leaning in to kiss me.
“Good night,” he said again before turning down the other hallway to the back of the house. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there watching him go, but the sound of his door closing had my mother’s opening shortly after. The ghost of a small girl stood behind her, making faces and sticking out her tongue. Mother saw only me standing there, smiling foolishly.
“Violet. Do you know what time it is?”
“Very late.” I turned to go to bed. I tried to avoid my ghostly dog and tripped over my own foot.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I tripped over the dog,” I informed her, somewhat haughtily. I was tired enough that I felt light-headed and fuzzy. Otherwise I would have known better than to mention it at all.
“Dog? What dog?”
Mr. Rochester growled and leaped onto her ankle, sinking his teeth in. She didn’t even glance down.
“He’s a spirit dog,” I told her. Part of me wondered why I didn’t keep my mouth shut. The rest of me couldn’t muster the energy to care. “I, unlike you, can see into the spirit world,” I declared hotly, pushing into my room and slamming the door behind me. I crawled into my bed, still dressed, my eye and lip throbbing. Mr. Rochester curled up against my side, and we were both asleep within minutes.