A Bride Unveiled by Jillian Hunter

is pinned to the wall. I have a feeling I dropped it when you took me in your arms.”
    “My apologies.”
    “And my compliments to you on a painless disarmament.”
    He was surprised at the force of desire her artless words unleashed. “It isn’t painless from my viewpoint.”
    “Your weakness doesn’t show,” she whispered innocently.
    He gave a laugh. “It’s all in the training. I hide it well. A sword master learns to manipulate those around him.”
    “I have heard that some ladies practice a similar technique.”
    “Which is?”
    “I think it’s provocation.”
    “Yes.” He stared into her eyes. “A refined and ancient battle strategy that I admire. Not every woman can employ it to her advantage.”
    “I’m so proud of you, Kit,” she said in a soft voice.
    He gave a disgruntled sigh. “You’re marrying one of my pupils. It does not feel like a mark of success.”
    She nodded vaguely. “Yes, I accepted his proposal last month.”
    “Only last month?”
    She hesitated. “Yes.”
    Not hesitating, he took her face between his hands and bent to kiss her ever so softly on the mouth. He could have devoured her. Instead his lips settled on hers. She breathed a soft sigh, lowering her gaze. He glanced down at her lush breasts, straining against the delicate seams of her silk bodice. She had accepted him at his worst. He was afraid to show her that in some ways he was still desperate. And that in others he had become a master. “Why did you choose him?” he whispered, wrapping his hands around her waist.
    She looked at him through her half-closed eyes. “Your hair is darker than I remember, and my aunt chose him for me. Is that what you wanted to know?”
    “How do you—”
    He kissed her so deeply that she buckled. He caught her, pinning her to his body for a brief moment of bliss before he gathered her in his arms. She stared up at him with a bewildered smile, whispering, “What are you going to do if someone comes?”
    “I swear,” he muttered, his grasp on her tightening, “that I will kill the first person who enters this room.”
    She lifted her head in alarm. “What if that person happens to be the marquess or his son?”
    “Well, of course I’m not going to hurt a child.”
    “What if it’s one of your pupils?”
    “Like Godfrey?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
    “What if it’s my aunt?”
    Kit turned pale at that thought. “In that case I’ll have to let her kill me. Sit with me a moment.” He led her across the room to a long chaise hidden in a discreetly curtained niche. No one could ever accuse the marquess of not providing enough convenient places to make mischief in his house. “We need more time. We need to be alone. We need—”
    “—to breathe,” Violet said, her hand lifted to her bodice. “I am too tightly bound tonight.”
    “Take my breath,” he whispered, lowering his face to hers.
    “That doesn’t help. Every time you kiss me, I feel like I’m going to pass out. Being near you makes me go faint, Kit.”
    “You won’t faint.” He rubbed her wrists through her gloves, glancing back at the door. He detected movement below the stairs, the clatter of glasses, a footman approaching. In a house like this, fortunately, the servants were trained to look the other way during an indiscretion.
    But he couldn’t even think of the name Violet in the same sentence with a word like tryst or indiscretion . He could not think clearly at all.
    Oddly, what he did think about was all that he and Violet had gone through together. Violet breaking out in the measles, Kit certain he had killed her as he carted her off inelegantly to the baron at the manor house. He could still hear Lady Ashfield wailing in panic. And how could he forget Violet standing up to Ambrose, insisting he treat Kit with respect or go away?
    She was the one responsible for Kit’s redemption. Her friendship and faith in his goodness had given him the strength to survive the workhouse. Would his