by Wendy Vella
“The thing is, James, Devon has pummeled into each of us that we must marry for love first and comfort second.”
Hence Eden's reaction.
“It may seem odd when one considers the man my eldest brother portrays himself to be. But he cares deeply for each of us, and once told us that to see us in an unhappy marriage would be a torture he could never bear. Therefore we promised him. When you offered for Eden in such a cold, unemotional manner, she would have been deeply disappointed and, I believe, deeply hurt, hence her current behavior.”
James nodded. She would have been hurt if she cared for him. Did she care for him? The thought should not please him quite as much as it did.
“Do you attend the masquerade this evening, James?”
“Dear God, no!” James shuddered. He loathed masquerades. He could never identify anyone, and could end up talking to his worst enemy—if he knew who that was, of course. When had life become so complicated? He laid the blame firmly at the door of the Sinclairs; it seemed the easiest option.
“Eden attends, and from what I gather her costume is of the revealing variety.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I shall just head to town and get us a couple of costumes, James, and then you will be able to find out firsthand.”
“I hate masquerades,” James grumbled.
“Your Grace, a Mr. Spriggot has arrived and is asking to see you.”
“Thank you, Buttles. Have Mr. Brown serve Mr. Spriggot tea and I will be down shortly,” he directed his butler. “I would like you to come to this meeting, Cam, if you have the time.”
“Of course. Could you tell your cook to use less cinnamon in the buns; Samantha has a small allergy to it.”
It was a testament to how his life had changed and how he had accepted the peculiarities of the Sinclairs that James merely nodded at Cam's suggestion and made a mental note to speak to Mrs. Gotheram.
Mr. Spriggot looked his usual bland innocuous self, his head wrapped and pomaded with several carefully placed strands of hair. He stood as James and Cam walked into the parlor.
“Your Grace, I have just been making the acquaintance of Mr. Brown, an excellent addition to your household, if I may be so bold. He has given me the details of the poisoning —very nasty business.”
Waving the man back into his seat, James and Cam took theirs.
“Yes, it was a close thing. What news do you have for us, Mr. Spriggot?”
“I believe I have a lead on the men who attempted to murder you. Both are from a small village not far from your home, your Grace. Hired thugs, I am afraid, who I doubt have any links to whoever hired them.”
James had thought this would be the case.
“I have eliminated your father's two brothers and their wives, and several cousins. I have yet to track down your heir, but as you stated you do not believe he is involved, I am not overly concerned about him.”
James nodded. The man was thorough, which was what he was paying him to be.
“I am afraid the next news I have for you, your Grace, is of a more disturbing nature that you may wish to hear in private,” Mr. Spriggot said, looking James in the eye.
“I will have the tea replenished, your Grace,” Mr. Brown said, rising to leave the room. Buttles walked in as the Bow Street Runner walked out.
“Your Grace, Lord Sinclair has arrived,” Buttles said.
“Of course he has,” James said, looking at the ceiling. “Send him in then, Buttles; it seems my life is to be an open book.”
“You get used to it, James.” Cam slapped him on the back.
Devonshire Sinclair strode into the room, instantly filling up the remaining spaces.
“Raven, pardon the intrusion,” Dev said, looking anything but repentant.
“Think nothing of it, Sinclair. Mr. Spriggot here was about to share with us a startling secret he has unearthed, and as removing you both would be a herculean effort that I do not have the strength for this morning, take a seat.”
Devon shook hands with the investigator, then seated himself beside his brother. James wasn't sure why he wanted them there; perhaps because these men were responsible for his safety, even if he did not wish them to be.
“Speak, sir, these men are bent on the same purpose as I, to find whoever is trying to kill me, and I would trust them to keep their silence.” As I will keep mine, he added to himself.
“Through my investigations, your Grace, I fear I have made some discoveries of an alarming nature in concern with your father.”
“Everything about my father was alarming, Mr. Spriggot. He was a vile, evil-tempered man who cared only for himself. I am sure nothing you say will shock me.”
Mr. Spriggot looked uncomfortable. “As you are aware, your father had two wives, the first your mother and the second, Lady Samantha's mother. But you may not be aware that your father also took many mistresses, your Grace, and it appears that two of those mistresses had five children between them.”
“And where are these mistresses and children, Mr. Spriggot?” Devon questioned when James failed to speak.
Dear Christ, James thought. Why had he not considered this possibility?
“Three are in France with their mother and two are here in England. Their mother has passed on.”
“What relevance do these revelations have to the investigation and the attempts on the Duke's life?” Cam questioned.
“Miss Tolly, the late Duke's second mistress, died a very slow and painful death of a wasting disease that affected her lungs. Her son and daughter nursed her and when they ran out of money for food they approached the late Duke for support. He turned them away. The townspeople I spoke with told me the Tolly family was left homeless and on the streets. The mother did not last much longer without care.”
“My father abandoned them?” James said, his voice hoarse.
“It appears that way, your Grace. The family traveled from town to town living on the goodwill of the people until their mother died. I have tracked them to Dover but the trail ran cold after that.”
James felt sick. His palms were sweating, his breathing shallow. Climbing to his feet, he paced to the windows. If I could lay my hands on you, sire, I would tear you apart. How could one man be so evil?
“And you believe that these Tollys could be behind the attempts on the Duke's life?”
James listened as Cam and Devon questioned Mr. Spriggot on his behalf.
He and Samantha had half brothers and sisters. The thought shocked him more than it should. He knew what his father had been, yet not once had he considered that he may have sired more children.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Lord Sinclair. Yet I believe it must be a possibility until it can be discounted.”
“Of course. Please do what you must, Mr. Spriggot, and report to the Duke with any findings,” Devon said. James watched him rise and usher the investigator from the room.
“I shall head into town, James, and get our costumes,” Cam said, getting to his feet when his brother returned. He walked forward and gripped James's shoulder before leaving the room.
Minutes passed and slowly James managed to haul in a steady, calming breath. Only then did Devon begin to speak.
“When Eden told me what our father had done to her, I knew I had failed in the one thing I had vowed since she first turned to me as a babe. I had failed to protect her, and no words could have comforted me at that time. To realize that the man I had known as my father was in fact a monster who mistreated my sister was a revelation that rocked the foundations I walked upon. For men like us who live with order and control, caring for those we love is entrenched within us, and when something happens to tilt our world it is very hard to readjust the balance.”
James listened as Devon spoke, taking in each word while he sorted through the turmoil inside his head.
“Changes are happening, Raven, for better or worse, and I would offer my support if you should need it in any capacity.”
James, who
had turned to face the window, felt Devon draw closer. He laid a hand on James’s shoulder as Cam had done.
“In death he can no longer cause harm, James. Do not allow what he did in life to consume you. Give freedom to your rage and then find a way to fix the wrongs.”
James exhaled as he heard the door closing softly behind Devon. Staggering sideways, he fell into the nearest chair.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“Get back to your room and put on the rest of those dresses at once!” Devon thundered.
Eden simply rolled her eyes as she and Essie continued down the stairs to join the family before leaving for the masquerade.
“I am serious!”
“Oooh, they look like mermaids,” Dorrie said, ignoring her scowling brother and touching the silky fabric of Eden's skirts.
“I mean it!” Dev added loudly.
“Don't be so stodgy, Dev, they look like sea princesses,” Somer said, walking behind Essie as she stepped off the bottom stair. “Your hair falls to your waist and it shimmers. What did your maid put in it?”
“Small pearls,” Eden said, pulling a strand forward and bending to show her sisters how it had been attached.
“For God's sake, do not bend over like that when in company!”
“Devon, darling, relax. Your sisters are quite adequately covered and more so than many,” Lady Wynburg said, taking the tense arm of her nephew.
Eden looked at her brother. He was handsome dressed as a pirate in fitted black breeches and a flowing white shirt.
“Adequately covered? I think not.”
Essie giggled as Eden poked out her tongue.
“At least put on your cloaks before you get sick,” he added as he removed his sword and handed it to Warwick, who inspected it thoroughly.
“I want one just like this,” the young boy breathed, holding it reverently.
“And one day you shall.” Eden rubbed his head.
Lord Wynburg walked into the room dressed as Henry the Eighth, the outfit suiting his large frame. His wife was dressed as one of his many wives, although Eden was uncertain which one.
“Now you three go to bed and we will tell you all about the masquerade in the morning,” Lord Wynburg said, planting loud smacking kisses on the twins’ cheeks. Warwick he merely kissed on the top of his head, which the boy seemed happy with.
After many hugs and kisses and well wishes they were soon in the carriages and on their way. Devon, Eden, and Essie in one and the Earl and Countess in the other, as the latter had suggested they would leave early to attend another gathering.
Eden hoped James did not attend tonight. Each evening she had forced herself to smile and laugh and pretend she was happy when in fact she was miserable. What luck to fall in love with a man who could not love her back? A man with deep emotional scars from a father who had not loved him. She had avoided him as best she could, and yet for some reason he insisted on asking her to dance. Solemn faced, he would make his request, and each time she would tell him she was promised to another. He would then bow and walk away, but not before she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. What had he to be angry about? It was he who had hurt her.
“We are here, Eden.”
Surprised, she looked at the hand Dev held out to her. She had not even felt the carriage stop.
“I would ask you to treat the Duke fairly tonight, Eden. The man has suffered a shock today that would in any other man have him staying behind locked doors.”
“What sort of shock?” Eden asked, hating the fear that pooled in the pit of her stomach.
“That is for him to tell you, not I.”
“Perhaps had he treated me fairly I would do the same to him!” Eden snapped, and was instantly ashamed of her petulant behavior. The man had turned her into a shrew. She was subjected to one of her brother's steady looks, which made her toes curl inside her evening slippers.
“I am aware that something has happened between you and the Duke, yet as you will not tell me what, I ask only that if you encounter him you are polite.”
Eden nodded stiffly but said nothing further. They followed several other guests through the front doors, where they handed over their cloaks and then joined the line to greet their hosts.
She should not have come. Her humors were foul and the dress that in the privacy of her bedroom had looked lovely now suddenly felt gaudy, exposing far too much of her body. Pulling her hair forward, she hid her chest.
The ballroom was a riot of color. Flowers and silk streamers hung from the walls and a huge fountain cascaded water high upon a dais. Everyone wore masks. Eden saw a shepherdess and a gypsy and many Henry the Eighths.
“Good Lord,” Dev whispered.
“Is it too much for you to see?” Eden questioned, taking his arm. Sometimes an explosion of color could affect him, even blinding him momentarily. It would be many times worse if he were to use his other sight.
“I will be all right once I become accustomed to it,” he said, slowly making his way down the stairs.
“Cam will spend the whole night sniffing,” Eden whispered, “and Essie will want to taste every delicious morsel.”
“Ahhh gluttony,” Essie sighed, “my gravest sin.”
“Incoming from the left,” Dev drawled making Eden and Essie’s heads turn in that direction. “Behave yourselves, sisters, I see a Cleopatra in need of a dance partner.
As Dev left, the Frenchman arrived with eyes only for Eden’s sister.
“Lord Laurent.” Essie sank into a curtsey, her smile wide as she rose.
“Miss Sinclair, will you allow me to say I have never seen a more beautiful mermaid.”
“My sister is also a mermaid, my lord.”
Eden watched color flood the Frenchman's cheeks beneath his black mask. Dressed as a naval officer, he certainly looked the part.
“Please excuse me, Miss Eden. I did not mean to offend you.”
“No offence taken, Lord Laurent. Indeed, I agree with you completely, my sister is the most beautiful mermaid I have ever seen.”
Essie blushed, her eyes fixed on the man at her side.
Eden liked him. He had easy manners but more importantly, he seemed enamored of her sister, which showed he had exquisite taste. Plus, Essie had told her that Lord Laurent was intending to live in England, and not return to France, which pleased her. If he and Essie did wed, then she would not lose her sister. Happy that Essie was in good hands, Eden accepted the invitation to dance with a Roman gladiator. At least if she was busy, she would not continually be looking for a certain duke.
James had arrived at the masquerade late after urging Cam out the door and assuring him he would attend. He had then spent a calming few hours with his little sister, who had assured him in his current outfit he would make every maiden swoon, which lifted his spirits considerably. He enjoyed her chatter and soothing company, desperate for any distraction to drive away the thought that somewhere in the world they had sisters and brothers who may need him—or at the least his money.
He had talked to a few people but he was not good company, and in fact contemplated leaving, but as that thought entered his head he saw Eden. His breath lodged in his chest as he took in the vision she presented.
She was some kind of sea creature, a mermaid he guessed. The bodice was blue and beneath it a sheath in the same color, over which was a gossamer overlay. Her hair was loose and sparkled as it caught the light. Matching ribbons were wound through her long curls and his hands itched to touch them, trail his fingers through the silk. Every time she dipped or curtseyed her breasts pushed against the bodice, and he wanted to plant his fist in the face of anyone who dared look—anyone, that is, but him.
He wanted to do more than just look. James ached to cup the flesh and taste her. His temper was boiling, his body hard, and he was feeling savage after days of torment. The leash he always had on his temper had slipped and the polite facade of the Duke of Raven cracked wide open.
Enough! he thought, pushing off the wall
. He cut through the guests until he reached Eden as the music finished.
“Miss Sinclair, I beg of you, just one more dance.”
“Alas, my gladiator, I fear we have already danced overmuch,” Eden said gently.
“Eden, you will not dance with him.”
The voice came from over her shoulder and she knew instantly to whom it belonged. For the first time that night she felt alive; her skin prickled and her fingers tingled. Turning, she found the Duke of Raven looking at her over the heads of several people. He was still some distance away, but she had heard his words clearly. People parted as he walked and she saw he was dressed entirely in black, from mask to his gleaming boots. Breeches molded his thighs, a flowing shirt was laced at the neck, and she could see his skin through the V at his collar.
“I-I….” Her throat felt suddenly dry as James advanced on her. Eden had the urge to run, but where would she run to? People crowded her in on all sides.
“I beg you, Miss Eden, just one more dance.”
“She is dancing with me.”
James reached them and stood before her.
“Excuse me, sir, Miss Eden and I were conversing,” the gladiator said.
Eden was sure she did not want to dance with James. The look in his dark eyes was dangerous, and she knew it spelled trouble for her.
“She is dancing with me.”
Before she could retreat, his fingers had clasped around hers.
“I-I am promised to another,” Eden said, hating how breathless she sounded as he led her away.
“No, you are promised to me.”
“I could never be with a man who cannot love me,” she whispered furiously.
He didn't speak again, instead pulling her indecently close until their thighs were touching and her breasts crushed against his chest. She felt the anger in him, every muscle taut, and her body reacted traitorously.
“Please, James, I am asking you to release me,” Eden said, uncaring that her voice shook.
“No.”
The dance was both pleasure and pain. Pleasure to be held in the arms of the man she loved, and pain because he could not love her back. His jaw remained clenched, his eyes on her face. Eden was not brave enough to return the look, so she concentrated on the laces of his shirt.
