Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  Antonio was handed another bottle of wine. Averill watched as he only sipped at it before passing it on.

  “My lady Frontiac,” he called out next. “How wonderful to see you again!”

  His words were unrecognizable for the most part, but Averill wasn’t truly listening. Antonio was kneeling before a heavy-set woman wearing so much face paint it looked like she might crack.

  “Antonio, you young guttersnipe. How dare you come to my party...”

  Averill’s eyes widened as she listened. She expected to be tossed out, and wondered if the boatman would help her.

  “...and bring a woman with you?” She pointed at Averill. “Don’t I have women beautiful enough for you? Do you have to import one?”

  Then the woman laughed and Antonio rose to his feet.

  “But you eclipse them all, fairest maid.” Antonio removed his hat and stumbled into a bow as he flattered the painted woman. “Now. Tell me where your wine is.”

  No. He truly didn’t intend to drink more, did he? He was barely walking now. And how was she to handle him if he collapsed? Then she felt eyes on her again.

  “Antonio,” she went on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Someone’s following us.”

  “What’s that again?” he shouted.

  Averill turned away in disgust. Men! And drink! And lust!

  Antonio wasn’t going to be any help. She surreptitiously scanned the crowd. And that’s when she saw the man who’d followed them. It could be no other. He was lounging against a far wall, his height putting him above the crowd. He didn’t look away as she caught sight of him. She hadn’t been mistaken. He was dressed as the devil! He looked enormous, even bigger than Tenny. He had wicked-looking horns and sharp points on his mask. Why would he follow them from one party to the next? It made no sense. She had to be mistaken.

  “You really want to leave again? So…soon?”

  Antonio slurred the words. Averill shook her head slightly. He misread it. He was still as handsome, probably just as sensual, but he didn’t affect her in the least.

  “Very well. We’ll leave. I think we should walk now. I feel the need for fresh...” He hiccoughed again, “…air. How about it, my lovely?”

  Averill let him put an arm about her shoulders. If she didn’t, she suspected he’d fall.

  The streets were a relief from the rooms they’d visited, but revelers were about, mostly in groups. Averill stepped closer to Antonio as each rowdy bunch passed by them. There was music ahead, and she headed toward the sound. One duo stopped and began dancing, forcing Averill and Antonio to skirt them. Averill glanced back. As she did, a shadow shifted. She tried to pierce the gloom and see more clearly. Nothing. She was seeing things. Imagining worse.

  “Antonio, please? Can we go home now?”

  “Not until we have danced, lovely Averill. It’s the only way I can hold you close. You won’t allow it otherwise.”

  He swayed, tripping on her hem. She had no choice but to stay with him. And fret. She could scream, but no one would care. Other screams filled the air, but they ended in laughter. Antonio tried to hold her close. His costume made an effective buffer. Averill bumped against his padding more than once as he twirled.

  “Please,” she said. “Take me home, I beg you.”

  “Beg me for something I want. Like your sweet body pressed to mine. I want that. I’ve dreamt it... Say you love me, Averill. Please?”

  “Even if I said it, you wouldn’t remember. You’re drunk.”

  “Really? How can you tell?”

  The crowd thinned. Antonio steered them into a street that was deserted except for a few lanterns. Averill pushed angrily away from him. She didn’t care if he fell. She didn’t know which way the canal was, or how to find Lady Brighten’s house. Antonio wasn’t going to be able to see her safely home. She’d have to get there herself. There was no one to help her.

  Again.

  Still.

  And then she saw it. There was no mistaking the shape of horns as the shadow loomed about them. The man dressed as Satan was following them.

  “Antonio!” She pulled him close by grabbing on his lapels.

  “What is it?”

  He grinned down at her and then belched. Antonio was no help. She wondered what the devil-man wanted. Antonio’s purse? She eyed her escort critically. His costume reeked of wealth and privilege. As did hers. She mustn’t blame Antonio. Any thief would find them an easy target.

  She had to get them back into a party. Or a group of street revelers. Anywhere there was a crowd.

  “Antonio? We need to go!”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere! Dachon’s party. Carlos.”

  “You want…to go back…now?” He lurched sideways.

  “Yes. Tell me how to get there.”

  Two men entered the street from the far end. Averill eyed them warily before grabbing Antonio’s arm. She slid beneath it, supporting him again as she turned them around and started walking back the way they’d come. The devil-man was the lesser evil now. These men were real. She’d seen their kind many times. She knew exactly what they wanted.

  Antonio tripped and fell to his knees. He was chuckling as she helped him regain his feet. And then he was singing some horrid ditty in a non-musical voice. All he wanted to do was twirl. Dance. Averill managed to move him along the street, while he took lurching steps and complained. She couldn’t hear music anymore. All she could hear was the deafening sound of her own pulse.

  “You have…no feet…for dancing, Aver—”

  Antonio didn’t finish. The devil-man loomed right in front of them, materializing from the blackness. She didn’t even have time to scream. He held a rapier in one hand. The other shoved them to the side. Averill stumbled. It was Antonio taking her with him as he fell, landing with a thud. He rolled onto his back, made some disjointed senseless remark, and then went silent. Averill grabbed him by the shoulders, and yanked, scooting backwards as she dragged Antonio with her.

  Oh…why had she come? This was all her fault! If it wasn’t for her, Antonio would be safe. He’d be at one of the parties. Drinking. Dancing. He wouldn’t be getting knifed in an alley somewhere. Her back met cold stone and she pulled Antonio closer. And then she shut her eyes and prayed.

  There were sounds of a scuffle. An oath. A grunt. And then footsteps. Averill peeked and saw the two would-be thieves running away. The devil-man wasn’t killing anyone. He’d saved them! She watched as he went to a knee before them.

  “You should choose braver lovers.”

  Averill didn’t know what to say. Antonio didn’t appear conscious. The devil-man didn’t act like he needed an answer. He pulled Antonio from her nerveless grip and hoisted him to a shoulder. Then he stood, silently looking down at her. Averill gained her feet, by pushing against the wall at her back. She didn’t think her legs would work at first. He waited until she’d finished before speaking again.

  “Come along, then. We’ll leave him at Madame Frontiac’s salon.”

  He was almost at the end of the street before she lifted her hem and hurried to catch up. He didn’t act like he cared. He was still ignoring her when he walked right into the painted-faced lady’s house. Amid much screeching and laughter, he walked through the throngs of scantily-clad ladies and up the stairs. Averill watched as he rolled Antonio off his shoulder and onto a bed in one of the lushly-furnished rooms.

  “See that he makes it back to his grandmother.” He spoke to the painted woman and pressed something into her hand.

  “Oh. It won’t be the first time,” she replied.

  He didn’t look at Averill before he walked out, taking the stairs easily. She hesitated before chasing after him. She didn’t know what else to do. He might even know the location of Lady Brighten’s house. Besides, she told herself, anything was better than waiting for Antonio to wake up in that house.

  She found the man waiting outside the mansion, leaning against a post, his black-booted legs crossed as he contemplated the
night. She quickly crossed the street to him. He truly was enormous. His shoulders looked big enough to hoist a camel.

  “Sir? She cleared her throat. “I...I was wondering? Could you see me home?”

  Her voice faded to a whisper as he ignored her, turning instead to look down the street, away from her.

  “El Diablo? Por favor?”

  He turned back to her. She couldn’t see the look on his face because his mask shadowed everything but his chin.

  “Speak English,” he told her.

  “I...I live with the Lady Brighten. Perhaps you know her house?”

  “I do.”

  She sighed with relief. “Oh, good. Will you...take me there?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Take off your mask.”

  The words were whispered, but held all kinds of threat. She began to back toward Madame Frontiac’s home.

  “I...I have made a mistake.”

  She turned to run, but he was too quick. A moment later she was in his arms, twisted to face him. She gathered breath to scream just before his lips met hers. She struggled wildly, kicking and grunting with her effort. He was taking what belonged to only one man. She’d never give it willingly. Even the baby kicked at him. And he felt it.

  Instantly his head came up.

  “A…child? You’re expecting a baby, and you were dancing? For God’s sake, Averill, have you no sense?”

  It can’t be!

  “T-T-Tenny?”

  Averill was shaking so badly that her teeth chattered. It made his name stutter. It also loosened his hold so she was again on her own feet. And he let her go. She backed a step. Another.

  “You want to tell me about your man-friend?”

  His whisper sounded anger-filled. She couldn’t tell. She still couldn’t see him.

  “Man-friend? I have no—oh. You mean Antonio? He’s not my man-friend.”

  “Then what is he?”

  He leaned against the gate again and folded his arms, feigning disinterest. Averill suspected it for a pose. He seemed too alert, as if very interested in her answer.

  He’s a stupid young man filled with an overblown sense of his attractions! He’s the man who’s been proposing to me until I can’t think straight, and I find out it’s just the phrase he uses. He’s a thief of hearts, and a braggart…and a liar!

  She longed to shout it, but held her tongue. Her gaze dropped to his boot tops. What was she doing? Love had no meaning in the world he lived in. She’d been through a lot this night, but reality was an ugly companion. Nothing was really changed. And his offer wasn’t so different from Antonio’s.

  She’d just escaped a taste of that world. She didn’t need a repeat.

  “I’m waiting, Averill.”

  He was pressuring her, and she didn’t like his tone. She couldn’t think. Her head hurt. She raised her hands to her temples to hold the throbbing at bay.

  “You’re too quiet. That usually means you’re thinking. I don’t want a story. I want the truth.”

  The mask was too tight. As was her headdress. She worked at the pins holding the mantilla in place until it came loose.

  “And I want it sometime tonight.”

  “So...much has…happened, Captain.” She pulled the headdress off, wrapped the lace around the starched headpiece and hugged it to her.

  “Is the child mine?”

  That hurt. Her heart pulsed, demonstrating how much. How could he ask such a thing? And then she realized what he thought. What it looked like. And why he asked. Antonio.

  Averill moved the mass of mantilla, tucking it beneath an arm, in order to reach for the ties on her mask. “How did you find me?” she asked, instead.

  Sounds of a street band filtered to them. Tenny turned to look. Most of the lanterns had been blown out. The paper in them crinkled with each puff of wind. She would’ve been terrified if she had been alone. And the mask wouldn’t come off. She pushed it upward, trying to shove it off.

  “Here. Allow me.”

  He slipped the tip of his rapier under the tie and cut. That small touch made her thrill. She held the mask in trembling hands and hoped he wouldn’t notice. And waited. He finally sighed heavily.

  “You aren’t going to answer me, are you? I forgot how maddening you can be. Very well. I’ll wait. Come with me. I’ll see you home.”

  She sat opposite Tenny in a gondola, silent. Her eyes downcast. Tears hovering at the edge of her lids. She daren’t glance at him. He was too immense. Too beloved. Too heart-breaking. She didn’t need to see it. She didn’t look out at anything until the gondola stopped alongside the black side of a strange house.

  “This...isn’t Lady Brighten’s house,” she said.

  “No. It’s not.”

  Tenny lifted her out, setting her on her feet before he paid the gondolier. Averill swayed a bit while she stood, holding the ball of mantilla and mask to her belly. Like a shield. He’d brought her to his house. This was bad.

  “Don’t look so frightened,” Tenny said, putting his hand out for her. “I’d never harm you…or the babe.”

  She glanced at his face before quickly looking down at his hand. She’d never be able to fight her feelings if he gazed at her like that. And she daren’t allow a touch! She watched his hand until it lowered.

  “You won’t even hold my hand? Why? I didn’t even know you’d survived the fire until a fortnight past.”

  “I’ll follow you, Captain.”

  He pulled in a quick breath. She heard it. Averill waited several long moments before he turned and started up the path. She was three steps behind as she followed. She didn’t have a choice, once again. She didn’t even know where she was.

  “Welcome to my house, Averill.”

  He stepped into a black aperture. She heard the sound of a lock tumbler, and then the door pushed inward, spewing light onto them.

  “Actually, I misspeak. It belongs to the Tennison family.”

  He held the door open. Averill slid past him, stopping just inside the door while he shut and locked it. And then he reached for her. Averill darted away, almost hitting a desk. What fool puts a desk in an entryway?

  “Why do you run? It isn’t me who disappeared without a trace. Nor is it me resurfacing months later under the protection of another.”

  It’s not what it seems!

  Averill bumped into a chair next, dropping onto the seat before she fell there. She didn’t answer. She concentrated instead on the braided carpet running the hall floor.

  “Oh, Averill, I can’t even stay angered with you. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters other than I’ve found you again. You asked how I did so. Well. I’ll tell you after I take off this thing.”

  He removed the hooded cape, taking most of the bulk with it. He must have a liberal amount of padding inside. She should’ve guessed as much after Antonio had explained his costume.

  “You can’t imagine what hell I’ve been through. I went for you as soon as I heard of the fire. I found nothing but ashes. I came for you, Averill. Why did you run from me?”

  His voice cracked. She blinked, pulled in a shuddering breath, and somehow kept the tears at bay.

  “I was missing in action for days. I visited every morgue, every hospital. I looked over every burned body. I thought I’d go insane.”

  “You didn’t get…in trouble?”

  “You’d care?”

  She’d given herself away, and he was smart enough to catch it. Long moments passed as nothing save the tick of a clock could be heard echoing from somewhere in the house. Averill didn’t answer. Every answer was the wrong one. He finally spoke again.

  “No, darling. I didn’t get in trouble. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. I resigned my commission the moment Mohammad was defeated. They wouldn’t let me go earlier, although I was useless. I had no interest in anything. I went mad with grief. I don’t even know how I got back to Tennison Hall. Thank God for Harvey. Do you know where I might have been withou
t him?”

  She was sobbing somewhere on the inside, but outside, nothing showed. She was proud of that. She shook her head.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me? I’ve been asking myself that ever since I found out you’d survived. Was it fear? Was that it?”

  Oh. She was in trouble, especially since he knelt in front of her, directly in her line of sight. She quickly moved her view to the wall behind him.

  “I promised I’d care for you, Averill and I always keep my promises. Always.”

  He reached for her chin and pulled her down to face him. She couldn’t keep looking into his eyes. She couldn’t! Her own darted away. The view blurred with unshed tears.

  “Didn’t you believe me?”

  “I...I have a new place now,” she whispered.

  “How can you say that?”

  “I...I paint portraits. I am a success.”

  “And you party with little boys when you should be home knitting baby things.”

  Tears slid onto her cheeks. “It’s…my life.”

  “Oh, no it isn’t. You’re mine. As is the babe you carry. Oh, Averill…how did you manage on your own and carrying my child? Don’t cry, darling. Please? I can’t stand that.”

  He reached for her, took her, and held her to him, with arms that shuddered and then firmed. He stood next, holding her cradled against his chest. She knew she should fight it. She knew not to cling to him…but it felt so perfect. So right. Averill closed her eyes, tipped her head into the crook of his neck, and inhaled deeply.

  “You belong with me, Averill. You always have. That’s your place, remember?”

  The words touched her heart as he started climbing stairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Averill guessed he was taking her to his bedchamber. There was an oil lamp sending a glow from one of the tables. It made the place look warm. Inviting. Wrong. I shouldn’t be here. She looked with trepidation at the shapes of large wooden bureaus and the shadowed enclosure that was his bed at the far side of the room.

  He set her down and moved toward the lamp. She watched the glow enlarge as he turned up the lamp. She looked quickly to the floor when he turned back to her.