‘Max—’ She twisted in an attempt to see him, but his hold was too strong.
‘No. Let me finish. The worst of it is yet to come.’ He exhaled and his breath teased her shoulder blades. ‘The ruffians weren’t pleased to have the tables turned and complained to the headmaster with some false story, serious enough to have my mother summoned to fetch me. I was to be expelled, perhaps temporarily, I’ll never know. Everything fell apart after that. I was brought to the main office and told my mother was dead. Set upon by highwaymen who meant to rob her yet somehow left her to bleed to death after their savagery. That morning, my world collapsed in a handful of trite sentences.’
She caught her breath; her heart squeezed with pain. Still she remained quiet, waiting, each word a revelation into his soul.
‘With my mother’s passing, my father stopped paying tuition. I left Eton and lived on the streets, scavenging for food, earning wages and sleeping wherever I found a quiet corner. My father died in those years and, desperate, I confronted the bitter witch who was his wife, wanting to learn more of my parents and the confrontation between them. She grew enraged, uncomfortable when confronted with the handsome bastard who looked too much like his father and reminded her of every transgression he’d pursued outside their marriage. Wanting to hurt me further, she confessed to machinating my mother’s death by hiring three men to scare her whenever they could find her alone. Only they did not merely scare her, they violated her before they left her to die. Again my world exploded. Nothing made sense. I had no home, no name and now, to know the circumstances of my mother’s death…’ His voice trailed off on a sorrowful note and she saw him swallow in that pause before he continued.
‘A smarter man would have allowed the issue to die with her, but I chose to chase shadows, determined to find the men who committed the brutality. I wanted them dead because only then would I have peace. For years I’ve hunted them, believing that by ending each of their lives, I would avenge my mother’s. Only the reverse proved true. Revenge ate away at my heart instead of filling it with life. It took meeting you, Vivienne, before I cared about something, someone, outside my anger.’
‘Is that why you would leave at all hours?’
‘Yes. Any scrap of information Wilson discovered…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I couldn’t take the chance it would be opportunity lost, not after so long, even at the risk you’d think the worst of me. And it was easier to push you away. I believed I would ruin you with the darkness that blackened my soul, but I was wrong. Wrong about many things, most definitely that I’d lost a reason to allow better emotion.’
‘I understand.’
He turned her, capturing her mouth in a long, deep kiss that said a thousand different things without uttering a word.
‘I hoped you would. No, I knew it in my heart.’ Max stroked the curve of her cheek, matching her gaze with an intense stare that offered candid honesty. ‘I love you.’ The words sounded new. If possible, he experienced the emotion on a deeper level just by having confessed the secrets of his soul. He lowered his mouth, his lips above hers so he could almost taste her, feel the soft pant of her breath. ‘We belong together, Vivi. I want to take you to wife. Say you’ll be my wife.’ He brought their mouths together as his hands slid across her silky curves, the weight of her breasts in his palms pure heaven, the heat of her body pressed against his…home at last.
How wrong he’d had it for so many years. Believing himself incapable of intimacy or tender emotion, filling his heart with anger and vengeful determination. But no, there was a certain natural powerful satisfaction found in using one’s hands to exact pleasure.
He pulled back and waited for the word he needed to hear.
Her throat worked and she blinked several times, her eyes all at once watery as a single tear slid down her cheek.
‘Yes. Yes, Maxwell. Be my husband. Let me love you. Make me yours for ever.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
In the end, much to Vivienne’s delight, they kept the wedding ceremony modest and discreet. The Duke of Kent secured a special licence without difficulty and plans were arranged for them to be married in a small country chapel outside of London where the vicar knew little of aristocratic gossip and cared not a whit for city folk and their pretentious peculiarities. It meshed well with Vivienne’s charitable sensibilities.
Sophie and her parents attended, as well as Mr Hewitt, or Cole as he insisted she refer to him now. He boasted he would grow on her like a big brother, but that mention put her in mind of Crispin and his lack of attendance. She was touched by Max’s insistence to toss Crispin’s vowels into the hearth, but with her friend nowhere to be found, she couldn’t so much as send Crispin a message to assuage his concerns.
Now, almost as if Sophie could read these troubling thoughts, her friend spied her in the side antechamber and approached with what could only be described as an admonishing smile.
‘Don’t even think it. It’s a blessing Crispin isn’t here.’ Sophie glanced over her shoulder to ensure her chiding would not be overheard. They stood alone. ‘Who knows what he might have done? Paraded in atop a white horse to proclaim his everlasting devotion? Jumped upon a pew to object when the vicar surveyed the ensemble?’
The light-hearted teasing was meant to cajole, but in truth Vivienne worried for Crispin still. Aside from one short missive assuring his parents he was well and needed time away from London, no one had seen or heard from Crispin Daventry for over a month.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she answered with genuine sincerity. ‘He will always be dear to me as a brother, so unlike the feelings I hold in my heart for Maxwell.’ She remembered the glimpse she’d stolen this morning of her soon-to-be husband dressed in his finest, standing across the room in conversation with Cole. She missed him already. Since then she’d been sequestered inside the church to wait.
‘You have no reservations?’ Sophie narrowed her eyes. ‘I suppose that was a foolish question considering the stars in your eyes. All I wish for you is true happiness.’
‘All I wish for you, Sophie, is the same.’ They hugged tightly. The tuning notes of the violinist’s preparations in the ambulatory floated above them to accompany their affection and a delicious shiver of anticipation winnowed through her.
‘So have you decided where you will live? I suppose you’ll never be far away from me considering Sinclair’s occupation and the Underworld.’
‘Indeed. When Max and I discussed it, proximity to Daventry House was one of my primary stipulations.’ She giggled with the pleasurable conversation. ‘Maxwell has purchased us a lovely home near Manchester Square.’ The two clasped hands with glee as if celebrating an imaginary victory.
‘Then we should get on with it, don’t you think? I need to take my place at the altar.’ Sophie disentangled herself and stepped away. ‘You look lovely. This is the beginning of a whole new life, Vivienne, the true beginning. I couldn’t be happier for you.’
Sophie blew a kiss, her white gloves extended as she slipped through the door and into the main chapel.
Left alone, Vivienne sighed a long-held breath. The frenetic coalescence of joy, hope and excitement, flittering about like a loveliness of ladybirds, threatened to overtake her inherent calm. Wishing to expel her nervous energy, she walked to the door that led to the nave and cracked it open a space. Her eyes searched for Max but her tall, dashing groom was nowhere to be seen. Instead she spied Cole standing near the farthest pew in conversation with a group of well-wishers who’d come to join in the festivities of this joyous day.
Chiding herself for the immediate disappointment that dampened her spirits, she eased the door closed and returned to short paces, whispering a silent prayer to her mother and toying with the fragrant nosegay of white roses she would hold as she walked towards her future.
‘There you are.’ Max entered the antechamber by way of the rear door. ‘This chapel has too many rooms.’
She suppressed a little
laugh at his muttered complaint, her eyes busy admiring his broad physique in formal waistcoat and cutaway jacket. He looked directly at her then, and she forgot to breathe. Truly, she’d never tire of his adoring attention. He was suited in cleverness as well tailored as his black velvet coat.
‘You promised the ceremony would be brief. When will it begin?’ He strode closer.
Could he possibly be nervous? More likely impatient to be out of the chapel.
‘Never mind that.’ She gave his arm a playful swat, more from the desire to touch him than scold. ‘You’re not supposed to see me beforehand.’
‘I couldn’t wait.’ He flashed her an unrepentant grin before he gathered her in his arms. ‘Couldn’t wait to hold you, kiss you, love you more.’
‘Maxwell.’ She attempted her most strident tone though inside she melted.
And then there was only quiet, as behind closed doors they became lost in an everlasting kiss as sacred as their vows to each other.
Copyright
HQ
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Anabelle Bryant 2017
Anabelle Bryant asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9781474067522
The Den of Iniquity Page 25
