Biting his tongue, Toren set his arm around her waist and walked her down the corridor, every step she took a monumental effort. He turned into his chambers, then brought her to a chair by the fireplace and set her down.
She slumped back in the wingback chair, looking up at him. Where her body failed her, her eyes did not. Alive with vehemence, her look pinned him. “No, you didn’t fail us, Toren. Do not think that. You were there when we needed you.”
“No. I should have been there from the beginning. My men—I told them space—but it was too much.” His head shook, his lip snarling as his look landed on the flames of the fire. “That you had to pick up a knife and—” His gaze whipped to her. “Where in the hell did you even find a knife, Adalia?”
“The milliner—I saw it on his front table as we went up onto the knoll. I was chasing them in circles—I was the squirrel and they were my nuts and then I was at the bottom of the hill and they were at the top and then . . .” She gasped a breath. “Then he grabbed Josalyn and I was by the knife so I took it and ran after him.”
“You are a fierce protector, Adalia.”
“I am nothing of the sort.” Her voice went soft. “I could not protect them—not on my own.”
The last thing he wanted to do was be still, but he forced himself to sit down in front of Adalia. Sinking onto the ottoman, he leaned forward, his hands sliding over her knees through her skirts. “You saved Josalyn from being stolen, Adalia. You made it so difficult for him to take her that you stalled him long enough. It was all that was needed.”
“Yet I was worthless. Worthless at the one time I needed not to be. I thought . . . I thought I could do more in that situation. I thought I was stronger—I always imagined I could do more.” Her head shook, her eyes closing. “But I couldn’t—I couldn’t protect them any more than a fly could.”
His fingers lifted and ran along her cheek that had been struck, and she jerked away at the touch, not opening her eyes. The skin along her cheekbone was already yellow, quickly turning into a blue-black swath marring her flawless skin.
All he wanted was for her to rail at him—scream about how he had failed them.
Not this. Not this defeat that had swallowed her.
Her mouth opened, yet her eyes remained closed. “You didn’t fail us, Toren—I let this happen. I never should have allowed us to go. Never should have felt so safe I thought playing on some grass under a tree was a good idea. I have been lulled into this sense of security here, so much so that I have let my guard erode. Idiotic, when we still don’t know what the threat is, what Theo was warning me against. So I don’t blame you. You never could have known. But I—I should have been more careful.”
Hell. He wanted to tell her. Needed to tell her. Tell her the truth about his own damn imbecilic lies.
He was almost certain where the threat had come from. And the truth would undoubtedly ease the torture she was heaping upon herself. But he had to maintain this lie.
He had failed her. More than she would ever know.
“Open your eyes, Adalia.” His fingers went under her chin, tilting her face to him.
Her eyelids cracked open, her look wary as it met his gaze.
“You need to stop. You do not give me a way to skirt the blame on this, just to blame yourself. I am the one who suggested we go to the village. I am the one who walked away from the three of you, leaving you vulnerable. I am the one who has not taken this threat as seriously as I need to. And I will not allow you to flog yourself on the matter.”
“You have not taken this threat seriously? But the note. The missive from Theo.”
“Yes. And I thought I gave it grave enough weight. But I did not heed the warning properly.” His hand dropped from her chin, curling into a fist. “No more.”
Her eyes closed to him, her head shaking. “That man—he found us in the village, Toren. How did he not make it onto your land—get to us sooner?”
“No one moves onto my land who has not been thoroughly scrutinized. It has always been so. A blackguard like that would have never made it past my gamekeepers. They track everything on Dellon land.” He stood, his fist thumping onto his thigh. “And I intend to find out where in the hell that bloody miscreant came from.”
His boots shuffling past her skirts, Toren stepped away from the chair.
She jumped to her feet, grabbing his elbow and making him pause. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“My men are holding that blackguard at my gamekeeper’s lodge. I am going to get some answers.”
She nodded, worry plain on her face. “Toren . . . be careful.”
He afforded himself a moment to look down at her. But his eyes could go nowhere but to her bruised cheek. He touched the bruise, the slight scab forming on her skin at the apex of her cheekbone. The image of her being smacked to the ground flashed into his mind. Her body flying through the air. Thudding to the ground.
He held on to the image, held on to it tight, not letting it dissipate from his mind. Held on to the rage that swelled in his chest, spinning, demanding freedom.
He didn’t agree to her request. Just turned and walked out of the room.
Careful, he was not about to be.
He needed to break some bones.
The doorknob creaked, and Adalia slapped the stack of playing cards onto the small table. Dismissing the salvation of them—they had kept her hands busy for the last three hours—she jumped to her feet and ran across the room.
Toren stepped into his room and closed the door behind him just as Adalia reached him, planting herself in front of him.
She quickly scanned his body. His black tailcoat and cravat long gone, his dark waistcoat and white linen shirt were unusually rumpled. Pink tinged his knuckles—from what, she didn’t want to guess—but aside from that he looked perfectly fine.
She exhaled in a hiss, expelling air that had held firm in her chest since Toren had left.
“You are unharmed?” Her hands went to his sleeves, searching his arms beneath the linen.
Toren’s dark head cocked at her. “That is your first question? You are not curious what I learned?”
“Of course I am, but not if it comes at the price of injury to you.”
He twisted his hands upward to grasp her probing fingers. Setting her hands off his arms, he stepped around her, unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“I am unharmed,” he said, his words clipped.
She followed him across the room as he peeled off his waistcoat and then sat on one of the wingback chairs by the fire. Adalia went to her knees in front of him, then lifted his foot and started to tug off his tall black boots. “What did you learn?”
Toren stared down at her for a long moment, his face gone to its customary blankness. “The man said they knew where you and the twins were because the matter of the special license from the archbishop was leaked.”
“It was? But you said that would remain a secret until it was determined that the twins were safe.”
“I was assured it would be. And I will be paying the archbishop another visit the next time I am in London.”
She yanked on his boot and fell back onto her heels as it was freed from his foot. She looked up at him, a frown settling onto her face. “Then it is common knowledge that we are married?”
“Apparently.”
She nodded, her frown deepening as she set his left boot aside.
“That upsets you?”
“No.” She picked up his right foot and tugged on the boot. “I had just hoped I would be the one to share the news with Violet and Cass. I know the worry they must have been under as to where I have been, and then to learn that I had run off and gotten married without telling them would surely upset them.”
“I am positive they will understand when you explain the situation.”
“Yes.” A final tug and the right boot was freed. “And now I can write to each of them since it is no longer a secret.”
After setting his right boot in alignment with the
other, her hands settled in her lap as she looked up at Toren. His mask of indifference wavering, his brow had creased as he watched her movements, his look much akin to that of the rage he had been in when he had left for the gamekeeper’s cottage. “What? What is in your face, Toren? You are still angry?”
“You are worried that your friends haven’t gotten a letter from you.”
“Of course I am. They love me, and I would not want them to worry about me.”
“You should be worried about yourself, Adalia.”
Uneasiness settled into her chest. She pushed herself up to her bare feet, tightening the belt of the pale blue silk robe she had wrapped around her. As she took a step backward, she crossed her arms in front of her rib cage. Terrified at what he had to say, she still managed to force the one word from her throat. “Why?”
Looking up at her, his brown eyes shot through her, his jaw shifting to the side. “That blackguard admitted to working for a Mr. Trether.”
Her arms clenched around her torso as the blood drained from her face. “Mr. Trether?”
“Yes. And I had hoped I would not, but I can see by your face you know the name, so do not try to deny it, Adalia.”
Blast it. Not Mr. Trether. No. Impossible. He wouldn’t have tried to harm the twins. And Theo would not have known of him. Would not have known to warn her against him. Would he?
Toren sprang to his feet. “Stop moving, Adalia.”
Unaware she had even been shuffling backward, Adalia stilled her legs, her head shaking.
He closed the distance between them, his stare piercing her. “Tell me who the hell this Mr. Trether is to you, Adalia.”
Staring at his chest, she could not look up and meet his eyes. Not when all of this had been her fault. Her fault from the beginning. And then Theo had somehow gotten involved . . . and been killed . . . Her stomach started to roil. “I . . . I made a deal with the devil.”
“You what?”
Her head still shaking, trembles ran up and down her body, chilling her. She attempted a deep breath to steady herself, but it couldn’t make it past her throat. “Months ago—when I first opened the Revelry’s Tempest—I underestimated how much money I needed in my bank to start the gaming house. Mr. Trether was recommended to me by an acquaintance as a man who would front me funds—I was in danger of losing my only means to support the twins and the Alton estate, so you must understand how very desperate I was. I met with him, and he looked respectable, well-mannered—indistinguishable from the ton’s elite. I thought he was something very different from what he is. I should have known I was making a deal with the devil.”
“So Mr. Trether is a moneylender?”
“Not just any moneylender—Mr. Trether is notorious in the rookeries for his establishments—gaming hells—I did not know it at the time I agreed to his deal. And it wasn’t until much after that first transaction that I realized his ways and his . . . his intentions.”
Toren’s brown eyes narrowed at her, the crease in his brow deepening. “What sort of intentions did he have?”
“The kind that keep me indebted to him. I could have paid him back the total sum plus interest in the second week after the loan, but he refuses to accept the last payment. I did not understand what game he played with me. But Cass knew—Logan knew. They said he was dangerous, only I didn’t listen. And he had gotten aggressive in approaching me, in how he wanted to control me. Control the gaming. But I never thought he would . . .” Her hand covered her mouth as bile chased up her throat. “I never imagined he would threaten the girls. Never. They are just little girls—why would he do that?”
“If he had one of the girls, would you have done anything he asked of you?”
Her eyes flew wide, her face blanching. She slowly nodded.
“What did he really want of you, Adalia?”
“He wanted the Revelry’s Tempest . . . the money, the house makes so much . . . and he wanted me.”
“Did he hurt you, Adalia?” Toren’s question chiseled through his gritted teeth.
Her breath quivered into her lungs. “A bruise, nothing—”
“Hell—he bloody well bruised you, Adalia?”
“I thought it was nothing—Logan stopped him. And it was right after he proposed and I refused him. He was furious and he grabbed me and Logan was the only reason he stopped—he instantly calmed and apologized, but I should have known then he would not stop until . . .” She swallowed a sudden sob. “Cass warned me—she knew he was dangerous, but I put him off time and again so I thought that was the end of it.”
“Dammit, Adalia.” The mask of indifference completely dissolved from his face, Toren grabbed her shoulders, slightly shaking her. “Why didn’t you tell me of this before?”
“Had I ever thought . . .” Her hands fought their way to her face, rubbing her eyes, settling on her temples. It all made perfect sense. Mr. Trether had said in their last meeting he would force her to listen to him—do as he bade. She owed him, and he would own her, willing or not. She had just never imagined he was this dangerous—that he would go this far—that anyone would. To try to take a child—the man was the lowest of the low. “I thought he was handled, Toren—an annoyance, nothing more. I never imagined—”
“You don’t trust me?”
She looked up at Toren. Fury simmered behind his brown eyes. “I know Theo said I could trust you, and I would have told you, but . . .”
“But what? You trusted me enough to marry me, but not to tell me of this?”
“I trusted Theo in sending me to you—not you, Toren. Those are very different things.”
“Bloody hell, Adalia, those are not different.” His fingers dug into her shoulders. “Have I not done enough over the past month for you—for the twins—to make you trust me?”
“You have—you have.” Her hands slapped down onto his upper arms and gripped muscle through his shirt. “By everything you have done you made me trust you, and I love you for it.”
Hell.
The thought slipped out of her mouth before she could censor it.
She had planned to never speak the words, never fully acknowledge them to herself. It was easier that way. Simpler. But even with her adamant skirting of the truth, she had known it for weeks now, ever since their argument in the stables.
Toren drove her insane for only one reason. She loved him.
His hands snapped from her shoulders as he jerked a step backward, his face contorting. Shock. Horror. She wasn’t sure. Whatever played on his features, it wasn’t good.
“No. I did not just say that,” she blurted out, waving her hands between them.
“You didn’t mean it?”
“No—I mean yes—I meant it. But I know—I know how you feel, and I never wanted to see this look on your face. I never was going to tell you, because, well, you . . .” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish her thought.
Because he wasn’t capable of love. Because he would never return the sentiment. Because she had fallen stupidly, foolishly in love—once again—with a man who would never love her in return.
She had traveled this path before, and she knew the pain involved. So no. She had never intended to tell him.
He turned away from her, his hand running through his dark hair, his voice grave. “Adalia, you know I cannot return the sentiment. I do not know how.”
“Forget I said it, Toren.”
Damn her tongue. Damn her heart for leaping past her mind. She had never wanted to put him in this awkward position—never wanted to push him for more, for he had done everything within his power for her and the twins, and that was enough.
Her look trained on his profile, she took a step forward, wanting to reach out and touch the side of his shoulder, but she held her hand firmly at her side. “Please, just forget I uttered the words. I am not asking or expecting anything of you—you have done more than enough for the twins, for me. Forget you ever heard my words. I never meant to say them.”
His chin dropped as
his look went to the floor. “I did not want this complication, Adalia.”
“I know. You were very honest with me. And I was honest with you when I said I was of like mind on the subject. It is just . . . these last weeks. It changed. I changed. I did not intend it to happen. Please, I beg you to just forget it, Toren.”
He shrugged, looking to her. The expressionless mask had fixed once more onto his face.
Adalia moved in front of him, desperately grasping at anything that would change the topic. “What I did want to tell you was thank you.”
His eyes lifted to look over her head, avoiding her gaze. “For what?”
“I did not get to thank you properly earlier for saving us.” She lifted a hand to slip it along his waist, sliding closer to him. “It is horrible of me—and I blame my brothers for my lack of squeamishness—but when I heard the crack of that man’s arm under your hands, his wail, I felt no sympathy for him. I only felt a surge of . . . pride . . .”
“Pride?” His brown eyes lowered, meeting hers.
“Yes. I know that is another one of those unexplainable emotions you put no stock in.” She slipped her other hand lightly around his waist. “Pride that you were my husband. That you would break a man like that for me, for the girls. I know I should not be so callous—so unrefined. But it—your brute strength—quite frankly, it made me wish we were alone in your room.”
His eyebrow cocked. “Are you attempting to seduce me, Adalia?”
“Possibly. I am appreciative. And we are now alone in your chambers.” Her hands slipped from his waist, entwining around his arms until she could thread her fingers along his. “I have been quite fixated on these amazingly quick hands of yours since Dellington.”
The wariness dissipated from his gaze, his brown eyes starting to smolder.
Exactly what she needed in the moment.
She stepped up to him, brushing her body against his. Not giving him a moment to wonder at her actions or to question her further. She could not let her humiliation at the slip of her tongue build any further. And this was the best way to move forth.
For both of them.
If he couldn’t return her sentiments, he could give her this. His body on hers. His hands, his mouth commandeering her senses.
Of Valor & Vice: A Revelry's Tempest Novel Page 12
