Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell

by Emma V. Leech

***

  Violette looked up from her book as she heard voices at the front door. Her brother had rented a modest house until such a time as his cousin had accepted the fact he was no longer the Marquess of Winterbourne and would vacate his properties. Happily, the place had a decent library, and she had contented herself with curling up with a book by the fire whilst her brother set the ton’s gabble-mongers afire.

  Realising she’d read the same paragraph three times and still didn’t have a clue what it said, Violette sat back and closed her eyes. Not for the first time, her mind wandered back to those moments in Aubrey’s room, before Alex arrived. If ever there had been an ill-timed visit. She huffed with frustration as a strange feeling overcame her, making her skin ache and her body feel somehow empty. The longing to return to that moment, to return to Aubrey’s arms and feel his lips upon her skin was tangible, as though she wore this new found desire like a heavy cloak that clung to her skin.

  Frowning as she realised the voices out in the hallway were low and serious, she wondered if something had gone badly tonight and got to her feet. As she opened the door from the library and stepped out, she saw her brother talking to the butler, Jackson. When Edward looked up and saw her, though, her heart felt cold, as though the icy hand of fate had just wrapped around it. There was something in his eyes that told her he had bad news.

  “Hello, Vi,” he said, his voice hesitant. She held her breath as he walked towards her, guiding her back into the library with a gentle hand on her arm.

  “What is it?” she demanded, hardly daring to breathe. “What’s wrong?”

  He guided her to a chair but she refused to sit, clutching at his arm and barely holding back the desire to shout at him and tell him to get it over with. But when he spoke, she only wanted him to take the words back again.

  “It’s Mr Russell.”

  The strength seemed to leave her legs as the air rushed from her lungs, and she sat heavily. “M-Mr ...” she began, her heart thudding while her mind screamed, no, no, no ... it could not be.

  Edward crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. Such big hands he had, strange how she’d never noticed before, they engulfed hers.

  “Someone tried to kill me tonight, Violette.”

  She gasped anew and put one hand to his face and he smiled.

  “Your Mr Russell saved my life, love,” he said, his green eyes grave and sorrowful as Violette put her hand to her mouth.

  “Is he ... is he…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, they were too dreadful, too terrible and final to contemplate.

  “No.” Edward shook his head, smiling a little. “No. He was alive when I left. Falmouth took him, there’s a doctor with them.”

  “Will he ... l-live?” she forced the words out past the sobs that were choking her.

  Her brother said nothing but held her hand tight. “I don’t know,” he said at length.

  Violette pulled her hand from his grasp and got to her feet, pushing past her brother. “I must go to him.”

  “What?” Edward said in alarm. “You must do no such thing. Imagine how it would look. Falmouth will send word the moment he knows anything.”

  She turned on him, then, with such fury that her huge brother took an involuntary step back. “So, you expect me to sit here and do nothing until we hear if he’s dead or not?” she demanded.

  It took the marquess a moment to get over the shock of that rage, but when he did, he was all calm sensibility and Violette hated him for it.

  “You can do nothing for him now, Violette. Being there could only ruin your reputation and he’d know that. The last thing you want him to do is worry, and if he is the honourable man you tell me he is, he will worry for you.”

  “If?” Violette stared at him, and if the vase on the table beside her hadn’t belonged to the house they’d rented, then she would have had no compunction whatsoever in hurling it at his blasted head. “You’ve just told me in your own words he saved your life, Winterbourne,” she shouted, using his title with all the contempt she could find for the brother who had changed so much since his return from the dead. She felt she didn’t know him at all now.

  To his credit her brother nodded, his face sorrowful. “I know it, Vi, and truly, I am sorry. More than you know, but ... it won’t do, love. I am sorry.”

  Violette stared at him and gritted her teeth. There was sympathy in his eyes, but he had always been stubborn, and, naturally, this was one trait he’d managed to hold on to.

  “Very well,” she said, her voice clipped and angry. “But just so you understand, if anything happens to him and I’m not there ... I’ll never forgive you.”

  With that she turned without sparing him a second glance and left the room.

  ***

  “Sit down, Alex.”

  Alex looked over at the settee to see Celeste huddled up with Bandit by the fire. She was red-eyed and wan, and it broke his heart. He crossed the room and took his place beside her, pulling her into his arms.

  “He’ll be alright,” Celeste said, her tone firm, though the words trembled a little.

  “Yes,” he agreed, though his heart was frozen with terror. Oh God, please don’t let him have to face Aunt Seymour with the news that her beloved grandson was dead. Please, God, no.

  There was a frantic knocking at the front door, and Celeste released him as Alex got to his feet, hurrying through to the front door just as the butler walked up to it.

  On the other side of the door was a distraught Violette Greyston, alone.

  Alex smiled despite the circumstances. “You are quite determined to ruin yourself, aren’t you, Lady Violette?” he said, though his tone was affectionate.

  She burst into tears and Alex ushered her indoors and into the drawing room, where Celeste enveloped her in her arms.

  “Oh, Violette,” she cried, hugging the young woman to her, and murmured soft words in French.

  “How is he?” Violette demanded, wiping the tears from her face.

  “The doctor is with him now,” Alex said. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” he added, knowing he needed to be honest with her. “Alperton is a good man, though. He’s dealt with this kind of thing before. It will be the fever that tests him in the end, Violette.”

  She stepped away from Celeste with a nod of understanding, white-faced but calm and determined. “I’m staying with him,” she said, with such an obstinate lift to her chin that Alex had to smile.

  “You are welcome, Violette, and I’m sure it will do Aubrey good to know you are here for him, but ... I doubt your brother will approve. He didn’t escort you here tonight.”

  “No,” she replied, her tone disgusted. “He refused.”

  Alex nodded, knowing that refusal would have been hard for her, but knowing, too, that Winterbourne was only protecting his sister. If word got out she had come here for Aubrey, a man she was not even betrothed to ...

  “Your brother only seeks to shield you from harm, Violette.”

  She made an exasperated noise and cast a look of reproach at him. “He seeks to shield his name from scandal,” she snapped with fury.

  “I don’t think that is entirely fair.”

  They both looked around to see Celeste watching Violette, her lovely face grave. She reached out and placed a hand on Violette’s arm. “Alex is right, he doesn’t want to see you hurt, and just as you defy his wishes out of love for Aubrey, he denies yours out of love for you. The world is a cruel place, ma chérie. You have always been protected, by him, by your name; without that your life would change.”

  Alex pulled his wife to him, a lump in his throat as he remembered what Celeste’s life had been when they’d first met.

  Violette looked from Celeste to him, and perhaps understood there was some unspoken, deeper understanding of what her friend was trying to tell her, and she nodded.

  “I know my brother loves me,” she replied, her tone weary. “But I won’t allow him to keep me from Aubrey. Under no circumstances.”


  Celeste nodded her approval at that. “Quite right, too,” she said, smiling at her, though there was a break in her voice as they all knew it might not be Winterbourne that took Aubrey away from her.

  They looked up as the butler gave a soft scratch at the door, and then Dr Alperton was ushered in.

  Alex sat the man down and gave him a drink, which the doctor accepted with a grateful sigh. “I’ve given him laudanum for the pain and cleaned the wound. He’s a lucky young man,” he added, his face grim nonetheless. “I removed the bullet in his thigh, and by some miracle it missed the bone and the artery. He may walk with a limp, but it’s possible he’ll escape that if ... if he can weather the fever. Remember he’s lost a great deal of blood,” he added by way of warning. “Aubrey is very weak.”

  Violette sent a pleading look to Alex and he nodded. “Can our young lady here see him, just for a moment? I know I can rely on your discretion in this, Alperton.”

  “Of course, my lord,” the doctor replied with warmth before turning to Violette. “He’s sleeping now, but you may sit with him for a while, if you wish.”

  “I’ll take her up,” Celeste said, getting to her feet. “We will be very quiet and not disturb him, I promise.”

  The doctor got up and nodded as the ladies went out.

  “Well, Alperton?” Alex asked, his voice grim.

  “I’m not hiding anything, my lord,” the man said with a sympathetic smile. “He’s a fit young man, but he’s weak from blood loss, and fevers can take the strongest life. It is up to him to fight it now. We can only wait and see.”

  Chapter 21

  “Wherein Violette prays ...”

  Violette awoke with a start to see the first tentative signs of morning creeping around the bedroom curtains. Shrugging aside the blanket covering her, she got to her feet to hurry closer to the bedside.

  “The fever’s begun,” came a gentle voice from behind her. She started and turned to see the doctor washing his hands, his kind eyes watching her with sympathy.

  Moving closer to the bed she took Aubrey’s hand, hearing his breathing rasp, and found his skin clammy to the touch. “Let him know you are with him, young lady, and then let him rest,” he said as he dried his hands and picked up his bag. “I will return to him a little later today unless I hear from you.”

  Violette nodded and sat down with care on the edge of the mattress. “Hello, Aubrey,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m still here, you see. So, I’m afraid you’ll simply have to marry me now,” she said, trying to sound light-hearted and amused, though her heart was breaking. “We’ve spent the night together, you see,” she added, smiling down at his handsome face and feeling her heart clench to see his skin so deathly pale. “Alex did try to evict me earlier but he didn’t quite realise yet just how stubborn I can be. He knows now,” she added, lifting his hand to her lips. “Oh, Aubrey,” she said, quite unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Please come back to me. I love you.”

  ***

  Alex was unsurprised when Lord Winterbourne turned up on his doorstep in a towering rage. Sadly for Winterbourne, Alex’s emotions were ragged after a sleepless night with his cousin’s life in the balance, and he was quite prepared to throw the marquess bodily out of the house. The two big men faced off together in the study, tempers lit and each one hell-bent on doing damage, but thankfully Celeste intervened before things could get out of hand.

  Storming into Alex’s study with the force of a tiny hurricane, she proceeded to tear them both off a strip for arguing when a man was fighting for his life above stairs.

  “You will take Violette from zhis ‘ouse over my dead body,” she told the stunned marquess, the words almost incomprehensible as her French accent became stronger than ever in her distress. “My dearest friend fights to live and ‘e fights for Violette, no matter whether you like it or not. Not a soul knows she is ‘ere, and none shall ‘ear it from any in zhis ‘ousehold, so stop zhis foolishness at once!” She stamped her foot, her small frame rigid with fury, blue eyes flashing as she stared from the marquess to her husband.

  Both men stared at her in astonished silence.

  “Eh bien,” she said at length, once she was satisfied there would be no repeat of their appalling behaviour, and stalked from the room with the dignity of an empress.

  “Do you think it’s too early for a drink?” the marquess asked, his tone a little wary as he watched the door Celeste had just closed.

  “Not for me,” Alex replied dryly.

  Winterbourne sat down with a groan and put his head in his hands. “Do you have a sister, Falmouth?”

  “No, thank God,” Alex replied, handing the man a crystal glass and a generous measure.

  “You lucky bastard,” the man muttered as he took the glass.

  Alex snorted and sat opposite him, watching the man with care. He’d heard all about the heroic exploits of the man in front of him, and having served his own time in the war, could not help but admire him. Alex had fought his last battle at Trafalgar, over ten years ago, now, that he had been sent home, badly wounded. He knew, though, how hard it could be to settle back to civilian life.

  “How have you been, since ...” Alex waved his hand, unwilling to put too much into words that might cause offence.

  Winterbourne looked at him over the rim of his glass, his dark green eyes watchful. “It’s strange,” he admitted. “It seems I spent the past few years unable to remember my own name, and now ... I can barely remember the past few years.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Perhaps that’s all to the good.” His face took on a far-away look. “I remember the fights,” he said with a wry grin. “I rather miss them.”

  Alex laughed. “Yes, I rather got that impression,” he said, with the quirk of one eyebrow. “I’d be happy to meet you at Jackson’s, if you’d like to try your luck in a civilized manner.”

  Winterbourne smirked and gave a huff of amusement. “I may take you up on that.”

  “By all means,” Alex replied, raising his glass to the man.

  The man’s face grew sombre, then, and he raised his own glass. “To a brave man, one to whom I owe my life.”

  “Aubrey,” Alex echoed with feeling. “May you weather this storm, for all our sakes.”

  Alex got up and ordered breakfast to be brought for them; after all, it wouldn’t do to get foxed at this time of the morning, no matter how tempting the circumstances. Besides which, Celeste would have their guts for garters.

  “I take it you believe DeMorte responsible for this?” he said, turning back to his guest.

  Winterbourne’s face darkened, the loathing so intense that Alex wondered what kind of history there was between the two men.

  “I do,” he replied, more depth of feeling in those two words than Alex would have thought possible.

  Alex nodded. “He’ll pay,” he replied, his own words mild enough, though anyone who knew him would know just how dangerous they were.

  “He will,” Winterbourne agreed. “But I will settle the matter. It is my right.”

  “Aubrey is my blood, Winterbourne,” Alex replied, a warning note to his voice now.

  “And he meant it to be my blood spilled on those steps,” the man snapped back, his anger flaring only too readily. That temper would get him into trouble, Alex thought, as he watched the man struggle not to leap from his chair and throttle him. “I will deal with him, Falmouth. You have my word.”

  Alex stared at him, his eyes hard. “See that you do.”

  ***

  The days that passed blurred into one for Violette. She barely slept, and then only from sheer exhaustion. Not that there was anything much to do. Doctor Alperton was an almost constant presence now as the fever raged, but, somehow, sitting and being able to do nothing but stare at the bed and pray was more exhausting than any amount of physical activity.

  She didn’t cry though. She’d made herself a vow that as Aubrey wasn’t going to die, he wasn’t, she wouldn’t cry. It wa
s hard though when he was tossing and turning and fretful and she was so terribly afraid.

  In the early hours of the previous night, Celeste had forced her to go to bed, as she was almost dropping from exhaustion.

  “And what kind of sight do you want Aubrey to see when he is well again, hein?” she scolded, wagging a finger at Violette as she guided her, protesting, to bed. “Look at you with your eyes all red and dark circles beneath, you look a perfect fright. You’ll scare the poor fellow out of ‘is wits if ‘e wakes to see such a terrible sight looming over him.”

  Violette laughed despite herself, knowing Celeste was only teasing out of concern for her, and so she allowed the woman to fuss around, tucking her into bed and promising to stay with Aubrey while she rested.

  She woke late the next morning and dressed as fast as she was able, appalled that she had slept so long. Rushing to Aubrey’s room, she was admitted to find Celeste waiting for her, looking tired as the doctor leaned over the bed. She ran forward and held her hands out to Violette, and Violette felt her heart freeze in her chest. Holding her breath, she hardly dared move as Celeste took her hand, and then smiled.

  “There’s someone waiting to see you,” she said, her voice low and so full of joy that Violette put her hand to her mouth to smother a sob.

  Walking in a daze, she let Celeste lead her to the bed as the doctor withdrew, and found Aubrey awake. He smiled at her, his face still alabaster-white and drawn, but his eyes were bright, and, oh God, his dear face was full of pleasure.

  Violette let go of Celeste’s hand and fell to her knees beside the bed, grasping Aubrey’s hand in turn and holding it to her cheek. She could hardly speak, the emotions clogging her throat too powerful, too overwhelming for words to find a way past.

  “Aubrey,” was all she could say, his name a whisper as tears fell without restraint.

  “Hello, love,” he said, squeezing her fingers a little. “Sorry to have been such a worry.”

  She gave a hiccupping laugh and shook her head, then kissed his fingers. “Thank God,” she whispered. “Thank you, God.”