by Sophia James
She had understood his intent, too, for the Comte de Beaumont was not a man to bandy purpose. If she had not been impressed by such deliberate force, she might have been truly horrified. The dark of his eyes were pools of twin peril, the danger in them magnified by a stillness that was unfathomable. The ruffians who had called out insult had no idea at all whom they dealt with or of what they had just embroiled themselves in.
‘I think we should like to go abroad.’ Amaryllis’s voice interrupted her musings. ‘A holiday away from England might allow us the chance to relax. It has been a hard few years, after all.’
‘I could book you passages for this time next week if that would be suitable.’
Uncle Charles wanted them away. Quickly.
* * *
When they had reached the town house Amara scurried upstairs, but Charles asked if he might have a word. In the library, he looked concerned.
‘You are pale, my dear. Is your hand worse than you are saying?’
‘No. It is only a scratch. It was a shock, though. What will happen to the man the Comte took away?’
She was tired of pretence.
‘He will be interviewed. Perhaps he is simply crazy.’
‘How did you know to be there at the park? At this time?’
‘We had heard things about a plot of revenge.’
‘Revenge?’
‘I am sure the vitriol was directed at your late husband. It is just unfortunate that you were involved.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Of course. That can be the only explanation.’ The note in her pocket burned into guilt like a hot coal.
* * *
Much later, with Violet’s hand bandaged and Mountford gone, Amaryllis came to her bedchamber.
‘I have seen him before, the man who attacked you. Harland knew him.’
Violet nodded. She had recognised him, too, for she had once met him in London, in Harland’s company.
‘So it is probable this is not just coincidence, all of this? Could your assailant know about what happened in the stables?’
Violet shook her head. ‘He couldn’t.’ She infused as much certainty into her words as she was able. ‘But I don’t think we should take any chances. Italy will be a godsend for you and the children.’
‘You would not come?’ Shock was in Amaryllis’s eyes. ‘You would stay behind by yourself? They have tried to get you once and will do so again.’
‘I can’t disappear for ever and Aurelian de la Tomber will protect me. I know it.’
‘Oh, my goodness, Violet. You cannot be serious. All these problems have only happened since we picked the Comte de Beaumont up off the road. The Frenchman is a killer. We saw the blood on him and heard of the murder in the boarding house. He is not a man to trust.’
‘We do not know his story, Amara. After today I think we should give him a chance. He was, after all, the one who saved me.’
‘Why was he there, then? Have you thought about that?’
‘Charles asked for his presence in Hyde Park. He told me so himself for his agents had heard of the threat.’
‘The Comte is dangerous, Violet, but I don’t think you realise just how much.’
‘Good, for I have need of such a one.’
‘You cannot mean this.’
‘But I do, Amara. For so long we have been afraid. I do not want to be any more. I won’t allow it.’
‘Being thrown into gaol is a lot worse than being afraid. We could simply disappear after travelling to Italy and never come back to England.’
‘What of your boys? By running away we will consign them to being homeless for ever and without title. For years your brother frightened us, Amara. He took everything that we were and made us...nothing, but I do not have children to protect, there is only myself. That’s why you should leave England until all this is resolved. For Michael and for Simon. For their future.’
Amara stood and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain to look out into the night.
‘You are so much braver than me, Violet, and you always have been. I think that is what attracted Harland to you in the first place. My brother held no courage and he knew it. But to choose this? To choose to stay and fight against enemies we have no knowledge of...’
‘I will have help. Uncle Charles is an ally.’
‘And when these so-called protectors are not with you? You might have learnt how to use a blade well, but could you kill someone if it was necessary? Could you consign your very soul to the hell mine is in already?’
‘Yes. For family, I could. For myself I could. Harland left us both fearful with his appalling behaviour and the only thing I truly wish is that he had died earlier, that we had killed him earlier.’
‘It was not you, Violet.’
‘If you ever say different to the authorities, I will refute the fact. The boys need their mother and Aurelian de la Tomber will see to it that I am safe.’
‘But for me to go and leave you to it?’
‘It’s what I want and if you are not here I won’t be distracted with worry for you all.’
‘I don’t know...’
Violet knew right then that Amaryllis would do just as she asked.
Chapter Six
He came that evening late, his shadow slipping through moonlight, the white of the bandage on his hand showing in the gloom.
She was sitting waiting for him in her bedchamber, two glasses and a bottle of wine on the table before her.
He was furious.
‘You are a liar, Lady Addington, and one who insists on weaving a fable of untruth around yourself and your family. Because of it you nearly died today.’
Aurelian de la Tomber looked nothing at all like the gentleman the whole of society was so enamoured of. No, tonight he looked untamed and savage, the bloodstain on his unchanged clothes a dark brown and the gold in his eyes of glittering fire.
She stood, uncertain as to what to do.
‘I am not—’
‘Enough.’ He stopped her with a wave of his injured hand and his voice sounded hoarse and broken. ‘If you think this a game, then you are wrong. George Taylor is dead because of it and you nearly were today.’
‘Because of what?’ She swallowed as she asked this, but she could not deliver Amaryllis into chaos on a hunch. She had to know what he meant, had to understand the depth of his suspicions. Her heart beat so loud in her throat she thought she might fall, from lack of breath, from shock and from the pure and plain horror of all he accused her of being.
‘Where is the gold, Violet? The gold sent from France?’
The sting of his words cut into hope.
‘It is gone.’
‘Your assailant was certain that you have it.’
‘He told you that?’
‘He said that you were the one who knew where it went.’
‘He is wrong.’
‘It seemed to me that he believed it. It is a small strength of mine, this ability to determine honesty, and one that has come in handy on many an occasion. Mountford thinks the man who tried to hurt you in the park was paid well to do so. He is not talking and that is a worry.’
‘Why?’
‘A professional would demand something, a way of moving forward to suit all parties in question. The closed mouth of this one suggests he is more fearful for his own life than he is about the full wrath of the English law bearing down upon him.’
That truth made her start.
‘How did you know him, Violet? You changed your course when he came into your vision. I got the impression you were afraid of him.’
His eyes slanted against the light and she could hear in his voice a carefully tempered fury. A man at the very end of his tether and showing it.
‘I am not your enemy, Lady Addington. It was your husband who was that.’<
br />
Her breath shallowed, and the darkness in the room tunnelled into greyness. Sitting down, she took the note from her pocket and laid it down on the table next to her. ‘I think he was the one who sent me this.’
‘God.’ She saw stillness descend as he read it, holding the missive into the light as if the paper itself contained clues. ‘When did you receive this?’
‘A few moments before I went to the park.’
‘Yet you still ventured out?’
‘Amaryllis would have gone alone otherwise and I thought...’ She could not go on, but he finished the sentence for her.
‘You thought he might have hurt her, too?’
‘The revenge mentioned is because I killed my husband.’ These words fell into the night between them, sharp-edged with meaning.
‘Why?’
‘He hit me. I hit him back.’ She kept it simple, the lie, kept it pared to the minimum.
‘Addington was much bigger than you by all accounts.’
‘A hammer is unforgiving and he did not expect it.’
More untruth, but he would see the horror of it all on her face, she was sure. What she did not expect was the sadness on his. The price of the life of her family. She would pay it gladly if it meant Amaryllis and the boys stayed safe.
‘Perhaps you lie, Lady Addington?’
His words were soft, but the execution made them doubly potent.
‘But you cannot know it, truly.’ She gave him this without reserve.
‘Which leaves us...where?’ The gold in his eyes ran molten.
‘Right here,’ she said and leaned forward, touching the back of his good hand with her fingers, feeling the heat and the competence and the sheer strength of him. ‘Here in this room together with all of our secrets and lies. I need protection and I am willing to pay for it.’
His fingers turned and curled over hers, eyes rising to lock on to her own.
‘How?’
‘I can see that you want me. You would not have come here otherwise.’
He laughed at that. ‘You are bold, Violet Addington, but are you also foolish?’
‘I am a twenty-seven-year-old widow who is soon to be twenty-eight. It is not permanence I am petitioning you for, mon comte. Only safety. If I am to live at all, I need to be close to you.’
‘Close?’
‘I have not offered my body to any other and there have been many who have asked, even before my husband died.’ She could not make it any plainer.
She pulled away her hand and stood.
If she were to do it, the time would be now. If she faltered, she would lose him and she had no other way of saving all that she had built up. The fury in her made her swallow as did the sheer and utter barrage of nerves.
Unlacing the bodice of her gown, she let the wool slip off one shoulder. Her heart beat like a drum, but too much talking was dangerous. She needed a connection and a truth and this was the only way she might be able to find it. If he refused what she offered, there was no other way to save her world.
* * *
Hell. She was beautiful in the candlelight, a burnished flame of fire and ivory and silk and shadow. He had never in all his life seen another like her and the breath rushed from him.
She was tendering herself to him for protection after admitting she had killed her husband. He should be running away from all her complications, but he found he could not.
Tears glistened in her eyes, the grey of them mixed with green as she spoke, her words soft.
‘If you are going to risk your life for me, Aurelian, like you did today, then I want to give you something in return.’
‘As a duty?’
She shook her head.
‘As a troth. I am not a virgin. I am not a green girl. There is nothing innocent you could take from me.’
He frowned. Did she not know that lovemaking was not all about taking? There was giving in it, too, and such things created bindings.
The fury in him had settled a little. She was scared and she was lonely and fright made her pupils larger.
Reaching out, he drew his finger down the line of her breast, softly and with care. The skin all around his touch puckered into goosebumps, the nipple hardening into a tight and small bud as he watched her take in breath. There were things he did not know about her, big things that might change his world. Things like duplicity and greed and treason.
‘Harland was disappointed in my...skills...as a bride.’
These words came in a whisper. She made an attempt to say more, but he stopped her with a simple shake of his head.
‘And were you disappointed in him?’
He felt his manhood rise up further.
‘Yes.’
He could almost see her mind working and detected a quick thought of flight in the bruised eyes.
‘But you would still take the risk of it all?’
Shock held her motionless, but he was closer now, her breath on his cheek.
‘I would.’
His forefinger lay across her throat and then lifted, to her chin and then her lips, brushing across the fullness, feeling his way.
She was so beautiful she felt unworldly. He who had been with many different women in his life was suddenly as breathless as she was, and as uncertain. Sense told him to step back, to move away, to run while he still had the chance, but he couldn’t.
Her lips came beneath his, softly at first, finding out, and then slanting, the hitch of lust in him pounding against sense.
She allowed him in, opening under his pressure, wide and deep and true, her fingers clutching at his arms so that he could feel her nails even through fabric.
Drunk with want, he bunched the length of her hair in his fist and slid the injured hand behind her back. He could not refuse her, the risk between them both brutal and known. There were always shades of grey in any act of murder. His own existence had at least taught him that.
* * *
She felt him lift her as if she weighed nothing and bring her to the bed, felt the softness of the mattress and the way he came down over her, careful and gentle and yet tempered in need.
The candles flickered, lavender wisps of scent displacing the shadows into ghostly things, a ceiling full of movement. Neither light nor dark, but a place in between. His hand came again around her face, tracing a picture, understanding her want as he pushed at the fabric of her gown, exposing her shoulder and breast further. Shock had her rising, but he did not allow it, keeping her still. His hands were unsteady.
‘Violet.’
The hoarseness of his voice and the bigness of his body, skin to skin. She could feel his bones and flesh against her own, calling into tune, like a melody, the rhythm of the night inside. The quiet of the room, the fire in the grate. The snow outside in a cold and growing wind, the solid shield of him above.
Safety.
It held a physical presence that was unnerving.
There was not the slightest of doubt that this man with his dangerous eyes was a warrior, hewn in violence in the hidden corners of the world, the firelight silvering his skin and darkening his hair. But the unknown power of him was exhilarating, like a drug taken in the hope of joy. Well, for her the drug was also forgetfulness, the longed-for oblivion of a past that crowded into her memory and made her feel less of a woman.
This is who I am now.
This woman lying, caught between the fear of temptation and failure and between murder and treason. Her hand turned, clutching at his.
The only time was here, this night, this moment after the danger at the park. The urgency of it undid her and made her fragile when all she wanted was to be strong.
‘Do not wait. Do it now. Quickly.’
There, she had said it, out loud, given him the permission that he seemed to seek in his hesitation.
He laughed.
‘This husband of yours must have been greedy if he would not see to your needs first, my lady.’
‘My needs?’
She did not understand what he was saying. Harland had only taken and left afterwards, never speaking, never tarrying, hurting her sometimes just because he could.
The patience of a lover was a foreign thing, a different knowledge. She wondered if perhaps he did not want her now that she had allowed such a liberty. An easy lay and a history behind her that was impossible. A broken lady.
* * *
He could see her fear and he knew the slightness of her. Too thin in so many places. Trembling. The bruises on her arm angered him as did the bandaged cut on the back of her hand. He looked at her directly and forced her to see just what it was that he offered.
Himself.
But it did not seem to help, the skin across her arms rising into goosebumps and her heartbeat climbing. He controlled each aching muscle in the gloom, ramming restraint into the spaces that need drove into frenzy.
‘Let me touch you. Let me taste you.’
Her pupils dilated, filling the grey with blackness, nostrils flaring as they scented a damaged choice.
‘Yes.’ Barely whispered. Questioning, too. How old had she been when she married Harland? Had she only ever had the one disappointing lover, any expectation buried beneath many years of aloneness?
It was not for love Violet offered her body or even for lust, but it felt like both were there on the edge of midnight after a day of almost death.
Time ceased to exist, the moment stretching into for ever as his lips fell across her nipple. Succulent and sweet and dimpling into hardness as his teeth bit down.
For so many years he had survived on the edge of danger, a man of mirrors and smoke. Here he was present in a way he’d never been before, the smell of her, the taste and the sweet warm feel of ivory skin smattered in freckles writhing under his own.
She liked this. She liked his touch.
He lifted the heavy skirt of her gown, exposing more, peeling back layers.
