by Jackie Ivie
“Oh, Averill. I feel like I’m dreaming. You have to understand. I’ll blink wrong, and I’ll be right back at Tennison Hall, making a drunken fool out of myself. Even Harvey has given up lecturing me.”
“Harvey...isn’t here, is he?”
“Of course not. No one could’ve kept up. Didn’t you hear me earlier? I have been traveling for a fortnight. I didn’t even stop for a change of clothing. Why do you look away? I swear to you I didn’t know. Even after they dragged me back to the ship, I paid men to search for you. I refused to believe you had died. How could you have died…and I didn’t even feel it?”
His voice cracked. Her heart pulsed painfully.
“I...I was taken to a medical station. I was dressed...as a boy.”
“A boy? So, that’s why they couldn’t find you. I never considered that, but I was incapable of thinking. I got reprimanded for my conduct. I didn’t care. I had lost you — wait. Did you say…medical station? You weren’t injured, were you?”
“Not badly.” She smiled wryly. It was true. The boy beside her had been much worse.
“Then, why didn’t you send for me? I would’ve come to you anywhere. How could you doubt that?”
Because Harvey opened my eyes and gave me a chance to change my fate. And I took it.
“Oh, Averill, I still can’t believe it. I can’t. I’m here, actually talking to you...and waiting for you to — damn it! I’m tarnishing the Tennison standard, again.”
His voice broke. Averill peeked at him. He was so stirring, especially with both hands holding to the sides of his head as he spoke.
“They don’t allow emotion of any sort. Ever. My demonstrations of grief were more than my uncle could fathom. Once he’s found out where I’ve gone, he’ll probably disown me completely.”
Oh no! She was harming him already.
“But it’s his fault. He was the one who decided I needed to look over the newest mares at the Brighten estate. I arrived just as Lord Brighten was unwrapping his wife’s new portrait. ‘It’s a gift from my wife from Venice,’ he said to me. ‘She always stays there this time of year. I think she wants it for...’ I think he said the green salon, but I wasn’t listening. I was wondering when I could get to my next bottle of scotch so I could forget again. And then, he held up the most magnificent rendition of Evelyn I’ve ever seen.”
Evelyn? Averill stiffened. She hadn’t even known her patron’s first name. Maybe Lady Brighten and Tenny had been lovers. Averill chided herself for jealousy as she remembered Harvey’s words. Even married, Lady Brighten would make an acceptable mistress. She wasn’t the bastard daughter of an Egyptian painter.
Averill lowered her eyes again. The floor beneath her was made of wood, just as the one in Istanbul had been. And wood burns so easily…
“Then Lord Brighten tells me how Evelyn has found herself a painter, a young girl from Cairo. A girl who goes by the name of Averill! Oh, darling! You have no idea what that felt like. No one does. I didn’t even return to the Hall. I booked passage from London, traveled as quickly as possible, and still it took two weeks. An eternity! Averill, look at me.”
She shook her head. The wooden boards beneath her were polished until they gleamed. She kept her attention on that.
“Is it Dilan-Fiorri? Are you his — oh, God help me! I can’t even say the word! I couldn’t believe my eyes tonight. Antonio Dilan-Fiorri has a reputation for acquiring the most beautiful women and discarding them just as quickly. Unless — you didn’t tell him the baby was his, did you? Oh, darling, I can’t bear it. I know it’s difficult for a young, unattached girl in this world, but I didn’t know! I swear it.”
“Antonio is not l’amour, if that’s what you infer. No one is. I have a sponsor. I paint.” Her voice was surprisingly hard.
“Please don’t be angry with me. Please? I’ve gone through so much to get here, and when I do, there’s Dilan-Fiorri holding onto you as if...as if he belongs there! I had to stop myself from ripping him from you. I didn’t know if you wanted it. I still don’t. I don’t know what I’ll do if you turn from me because of him, either. What am I saying? I already know what I’ll do. Please look at me. Please?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
Because I love you! Because the moment I do, I’ll be snared and bagged as easily as the stupidest of game! She refused to be any man’s mistress. Ever. Leaving him in Istanbul nearly tore her apart. She didn’t know if she was strong enough for a repeat. She was terrified at the possibility. Why couldn’t he see that?
“Please, look at me, Averill. Please? I love you. He doesn’t. I know the type. Dilan-Fiorri will never love anyone other than himself.”
Averill tipped her head slightly. That much was probably true. “What if I love him?” she asked.
The sharp intake of breath was nearer a groan. Averill felt the shivers climb her back, race her limbs, hit her eyes.
“Oh, God, no! Please, no! I don’t know if I — what am I saying? I already know I can’t bear it! Oh, Averill...is this true? You no longer love me? You love him?”
She looked up.
Tenny’s eyes were luminous. She’d never seen anything like it. Her heart twinged, catching her by surprise with the pain. She took a step toward him, and then another. Another.
“No. It’s not true.” She’d reached him and looked up. And fell right back into a purgatory of her own making. “I love you, Captain Andrew Tennison. I always will.”
He had her in his arms before she finished. He was shuddering. Averill’s tremors weren’t far behind.
“Oh, darling...I can’t believe you’re here! In my arms! With me. I love you, Averill. You’re mine. Mine! Do you hear me? Mine!”
“Yes.”
His lips found hers, sending sparks rioting through her. And she’d thought Antonio’s touch tingled? It was as nothing to the electricity pulsing through her in waves of sensation that heated. Elevated. They affected everything. The temperature. The lamp’s glow. The moan that resounded through the room.
“This is a very lovely dress. I find myself wondering why you bought such a thing, and who you intended to wear it for.”
His lips moved to her ear. His breath touched her neck, slithered over her shoulder. “Will you need help to unfasten it?”
“Tenny! We…can’t.”
He groaned in response. It matched the lurch his entire frame made against her.
“It…wouldn’t be right.”
“I love you, Averill. And you love me. It’s right. I promise.”
“But, the b-baby.”
She stuttered it. He lifted his head and met her gaze. He trailed a finger down her arm and back up, sending longing and need in its wake. His eyes never left hers. They were such a warm brown. Deep. Soulful.
“So young.”
He pulled her close with a hand at her back. The other hand molded about the swell that was the child. Averill felt him shudder again.
“Oh, Averill. My baby makes you even more beautiful, if such a thing is possible. I love you. And I love the babe. I always will. I promise.”
“But—?”
“Do you still want me?”
The last words were barely audible. Averill caught her breath. Tears pricked her eyelids. She blinked them away. She wasn’t cruel enough for such a lie. She finally nodded.
“Oh, thank God.”
The peacock-blue dress fell to the floor. Her lingerie quickly followed. He undressed her by feel. Never once did his eyes leave hers. And then he smiled. It had a wicked edge that reminded her of Kareem.
She returned it. And then she was in his arms. Moving. He set her gingerly atop the covers as if fearful of hurting her. Averill hugged the thought close. This memory was going to torment her. She already knew it. She watched as he flung his shirt aside, kicked his feet free of his trousers and under-garment and then he looked down her body again. It was as if he touched her. His gaze caressed her belly and thighs. And then a look of horror crossed
his features, while his eyes went wide.
“What is it?”
Tenny dropped to his knees beside the bed. The wooden floor thudded as he hit. Averill sat.
“Dear God, Averill. What happened to your feet?”
She tried to pull her foot away. He didn’t let go. She’d forgotten. The bottoms of her feet were a mass of scar tissue. She knew how ugly they were. His hand shook violently as he stared.
“These are burn scars!”
“I...I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Oh, Averill, my love…no. No. I’m the one who should be sorry! I should be on the ground, begging forgiveness!”
And then he looked toward the ceiling, shaking so that her leg moved with it. His neck and shoulders turned red. She watched the flush spread. Tears filled her eyes. Overflowed. She wiped at them. She didn’t want to waste her last memory of him in sobs. It must be filled with joy.
She had a lifetime to cry later.
“Tenny?”
Averill pulled on her foot. He let it go. She scooted from the bed next, moving to sit atop his thighs, holding tightly to his neck. He smelled wonderful, better than her memories. She kissed his ear.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I promised to protect you…and you almost burned to death. That’s why you didn’t come to me. You couldn’t walk! Oh, Averill. I’ve envisioned such terrible things. Of you…with other men! With Dilan-Fiorri. And here’s the truth. You weren’t there because you couldn’t be.”
“It was a fire, Tenny. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I failed you, Averill. And with every horrid thought, I’ve failed you more.”
“I love you, Tenny.”
He brought his head back down. Her glance skittered away. She couldn’t meet his eyes. There might be too much in them for her to stand. Here, she was convincing him of her love, when she was already planning on leaving him. There wasn’t another option. She couldn’t change her lineage any more than he could.
“I love you, too,” he replied finally.
“Then, prove it to me. Show me.”
She instigated the kiss. And finally got his arms wrapped about her, lifting her with him as he stood. The linen warmed rapidly beneath her as she held tightly to him. They had tonight. Right now.
His mouth found the hollow of her throat. Warmth spread. She reached his ear, well-hidden by his hair, her touch causing little bumps to lift on his skin. It excited and emboldened her. Her fingers moved over him, recalling each ridge of muscle. She slid her fingers lower, touching his hip. Thigh.
“Oh, Averill!” His voice shook.
He rolled them, lifting her above him. Tormented brown eyes glittered at her, and everywhere she looked was taut. Strong. Readied. He lifted her and brought her back, filling her with heat, threatening her ability to breathe. Averill gasped and her legs clasped even tighter, while his hands caressed. And then gripped. And then lifted. He hauled her back down. Lifted her again…
Dark mist stirred in her mind, surrounding them with a blue shade. Averill narrowed her eyes to absorb it. Her body grew tense and urgent, filled with ache and need. And craving. All sorts of muscle got defined for her as he worked, moving beneath her to a rhythm only they heard. It was an amazing sight. Manly. Awe-inspiring. Oh. He was beautiful. But she already knew that.
Tears filled her eyes. She ignored them. Tenny’s hands tightened as he lifted her from him, and brought her back down, continually thrusting. Constantly working. His eyes were open, his gaze locked with hers.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
She wondered if she could paint the look in those brown eyes, and knew it would be too devastating. Averill held her breath and watched.
Memorizing.
And then she lost out. Solid wonder hammered through her. Her eyes slammed shut and she arched backwards. As much as she wanted to see and memorize every moment, her own body betrayed her. She couldn’t watch. She could barely breathe.
Somewhere in the fringes of her mind, she felt him react. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he shuddered, and cried aloud, the sound low. Long. Groaned.
Oh...heaven.
She’d forgotten the ecstasy. The complete feeling of renewal. Of joy. And light. And wonder. Tears slipped past her eyelashes, despite every effort at holding them back. She shouldn’t mourn. She’d got what she wanted.
A memory to treasure.
“What is it, darling?”
Averill waited several moments, somehow conquering the emotion. Sending it back. Until finally, she was able to look down at him. She filled her vision with the sight of dampened skin, rendered gold with the lamplight. He was so handsome. So heart-rending.
“I didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head and reached for him, spreading her hands about his chest. Her finger pads skidded along ridges of muscle, adding sensory value to the memory. He was so hard. So strong. It was evident everywhere she touched. Every place she touched.
“I love you, Averill. I do.”
She nodded, smiling as he gave a lengthy yawn after the words. It wasn’t much longer before she was snuggled down beside him, gaining the feel of his arms and legs as he wrapped them about her. As if locking her to him.
“Oh, Averill…I found you. We’re together. Nothing else is of any consequence. I promise.”
“I love you, Captain Andrew Tennison,” she answered.
He squeezed gently in reply.
Hurt me?
The hurt hadn’t even begun yet.
~ ~ ~
Averill moved slowly, cautiously sliding away from his warmth. She daren’t wake him. Not now. He grunted before settling back, his arms wrapped around the pillow she’d eased into her place.
The dress rustled slightly, and Averill held her breath until his even breathing reassured her. The peacock blue fabric was in bad shape after resting in a heap all night, but she doubted she was the only reveler to awaken with crumpled clothing.
Antonio was probably waking up with his head spinning. He might wonder where he was. He might even wonder where Averill had gone to. She looked for a cloak. She hadn’t thought to bring one when she left Lady Brighten’s home last night. But that wasn’t much of a problem. She could pull the padding out of Tenny’s red one, and take that.
She stopped at the door, turning back to memorize the room bathed in pre-dawn light, barely touching the man in the bed. He murmured suddenly, as if she had spoken. Averill’s hand went to her throat. She had to be hidden long before he awakened. She had to be someplace he’d never think to look.
She couldn’t see as she reached for the lock, grateful it turned without a sound. She wiped hastily at the tears. There would be time to cry later. First, she had to get to Antonio’s bank. She had to withdraw her funds. She had to disappear.
Then, she could cry.
She straightened her back and started walking. Harvey would’ve been proud.
PART FOUR: VINDICATION
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Averill paid the hansom cab, turned and looked at the imposing front of the townhouse, and then squared her shoulders. It was late, but that couldn’t be helped. It had been a rough final week aboard ship. They’d docked late, the transfer of luggage to a holding area had taken some time, and the directions she’d been given weren’t accurate. Apparently, Lord and Lady Limley didn’t live in St. James as she’d been told. Their abode was in an unfashionable section of town. At least, the driver had intimated as much when he’d queried. Looking at the pillared portico of the home, it didn’t look the least bit unfashionable. It didn’t look remotely welcoming, either.
“I’d like to speak with Lady Limley, please. Lady Hortense Limley.”
Averill handed her hat and cloak to the manservant and waited. He was too well-mannered to refuse, but he looked like he wanted to. He eyed her for so long her legs started to tire. Nowadays, they tired quickly.
“Do you have an appointment with Lady Limley?”
He finally asked it in a condescending tone servants seemed to use for uninvited visitors. Averill noticed that he set her things on the hall table with the same kind of attitude. She smiled. She’d received the same welcome at the Ben-Masiz household. That had been a very satisfying experience. She expected this one would be the same.
“Please give her this note.” She handed him a sealed missive from her satchel and watched through her veil as he turned it over. The child kicked under her ribs, making her start. “Is there a salon where I might rest while I wait?”
“Of course, Madame. If you’ll follow me?”
He inclined his head. Averill followed, scanning the walls as they went. And then she saw it. She wasn’t surprised that the salon she was placed in was where the portrait was mounted. It was almost like it was fated. She walked over to the painting of Hortense done seven months before Averill’s birth. She lifted the veil. Her mouth twisted. It was just as Avery had described it. Hortense’s portrait was another of Avery’s masterpieces, and she heard about most of them since she met him.
Averill looked at the beautiful blue eyes, so like hers, and the mouth. As Avery said, it was easy to see the resemblance of mother to daughter. His words were a pleasant memory. She had quite a few of those anymore. The painted image of a beautiful face faded as Averill reminisced of that meeting almost seven weeks earlier.
As expected, the Ben-Masiz family had been horrified at her appearance. Still, the future of her child depended on their accepting her. Averill wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.
“I’m here to see Avery Ben-Masiz.”
She had swept into the one-level mansion without waiting for the servant to invite her in.
“May I ask your name and business, please?”
Averill smiled, savoring the moment. “Yes. Please tell him his daughter, Averill, is here to visit. Would you say that, please? Exactly?”
The woman looked close to fainting. “His...?”
“Daughter.” Averill waited as the woman stared. “I know, I don’t favor him much, but I am his daughter, just the same. My visit will be a surprise. Tell him. He’ll understand.”
