Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell

by Emma V. Leech

  He nodded his understanding and took her back to Alex and Celeste before moving towards the edge of the ballroom and then slipping outside.

  The air was chill and he hauled in a breath, clean and sharp, almost painful against his lungs after the cloying atmosphere inside the ballroom. He slipped into the shadows and waited until his lovely Artemis appeared, her very own silvery moon casting shadows and lighting up the white drapes of her gown, bathing her in its ethereal light. Aubrey caught his breath, and knew he would never forget this moment, no matter what happened. She was lovelier than the moon goddess herself and yet she was flesh and blood, and he would do anything to make her his.

  “Here,” he said, his voice low and reached out, taking her hand and leading her into the shadows. She followed him without question as he drew her down the steps and into the gardens.

  The grounds could have been laid out with trysting couples in mind, Aubrey thought with amusement as a number of possible secluded corners presented themselves. In the end, he pulled her down a dark yew avenue, and then into a little recess off the main path. It was sheltered and private, and yet they would hear anyone approach before they came into view.

  He turned to face Violette to find she was trembling. “You’re cold,” he said, seeing her bare arms and feeling the cold November night prickle against his own skin.

  She didn’t answer and so he warmed her the only way he could, pulling her into his arms, feeling the soft curves of her body meld against his with no hesitation. He put his palm to her face, stroking her cheek with reverent fingers, hardly able to draw breath as desire and desperation made this secret meeting so heady and dangerous and ... inevitable.

  He had known from the start he had to have her, that he could not let her go.

  Lowering his head, slowly so that she should be very clear of his intentions, he pressed his mouth against hers. It was a fleeting brush of lips at first that nonetheless stole his breath and any reasoned thought. He repeated the action, each time his mouth firming a little more, lingering a little longer. She gasped, opening her mouth a little and the unwitting invitation was too delicious to deny.

  He could feel her surprise, her inexperience as her tentative tongue met his, unsure but curious and eager too. She lifted one hand, touching his neck, sliding it up into his hair, and desire slammed into him so hard he wondered how he could possibly deny it. How could he ever hold back the furious need to take her to the ground and make her his in every way there was? Yet he drew back a little, seeing her eyes, dark with desire and so full of trust, trust in him.

  He took a shaky breath, and found the reins in his hands once more, hauling back on his instincts and allowing reason to step up and take control.

  “My God, Violette,” he murmured. “I want you so much I ... I can’t stay here with you. I’ll go too far. I already have.”

  She let out a breath, almost a laugh, as she looked up at him, at once delighted and intrigued. “I don’t want you to go, though,” she whispered, tugging at his neck, urging his head back down to hers.

  He couldn’t deny her, would never deny her anything, and took her mouth again. He wasn’t tender now though, that particular horse had bolted, and his kisses were hard and harsh and urgent as his hands dropped to the lush curve of her behind and hauled her closer, and she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t appear shocked, or even faltered in her desire for him, even though his arousal must have been blatantly obvious. In fact, she welcomed him, urging him to take more, offering things she couldn’t possibly understand, and that fact was the only thing that brought him back to his senses once again and made him stop.

  They stared at each other, breath mingling fast and heated, clouding around them on the chill night air.

  “I love you,” he said, even knowing he shouldn’t say it, even knowing it was impossible. It was the path to misery and madness, and yet he could not turn away. He had stepped onto that path that first night, seeing her alone and afraid in the middle of a darkened London street, and he could not turn back now. But she could.

  The smile that lit her face stole what was left of his heart and made it hers alone, the joy in her eyes only making the fates seem all the crueller.

  “You shouldn’t be here, with me,” he said, his voice low, caressing her face and watching as she turned into it, kissing his palm.

  “There is nowhere else I want to be, Aubrey. Only with you,” she whispered, and his heart sang to hear the words on her lips.

  “I would marry you, Violette,” he said, the anguish behind his words only too audible.

  “I know,” she whispered, her eyes glittering. “And I would accept, with all my heart. But ... my brother ...”

  “He won’t allow it.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew Aubrey was far beneath the kind of match she ought to make.

  She shrugged, such a defeated gesture that his heart broke. “He’s changed since ... since you found him, so I cannot be certain. He’s become volatile, unpredictable. But he always planned that I would make a brilliant match. He promised my father, you see ...” she trailed off, and he nodded his understanding. It was hardly a surprise. “It’s possible he ... he might change his mind but ...”

  They both stood silently and Aubrey nodded again. “As soon as you think he is well enough, I will ask for his permission to court you.”

  Violette smiled at him, though it was not the smile of a woman who had great hopes that her wishes would be granted. She lay her head on his shoulder and he stroked the soft curls beneath his fingertips. The silence crept between them, heavy as fate and full of sharp promises for heartache and disappointment.

  “Come,” he said, his voice low and regretful. “We’d best get you back before you’re missed.”

  ***

  The rest of the ball was more torture than pleasure for Violette. Stolen moments in the garden with Aubrey spun and repeated in her mind. The feel of his lips, the taste of his kiss, his passion ... it was enough to make her want to scream and run the length of the wretched ballroom until she found him. She wanted him to kiss her again, with an intensity that made her skin prickle and her senses feel all aflame.

  She remembered the bloom of heat and the liquid rush of desire that had coursed through her in his arms. For it must have been desire that made her feel so? She’d been kept guarded and isolated for so much of her life, but she’d sometimes overheard the maids speak of their beaus and repeat scandalous gossip. Whilst she knew she was ignorant in many ways, she did not doubt the power of what she’d felt. Desire was the emotion that went hand-in-hand with scandal. Desire led men to fight duels and women to risk ruin, and she didn’t care. Her desire for Aubrey was a flame she wouldn’t snuff out even if she could. She felt alive, more a part of the living world than she had ever done, instead of a pretty, caged bird that had more in common with a porcelain figurine on some grand mantelpiece than a flesh and blood woman.

  If Celeste or Alex noticed her distraction, or her disappearance, they kept their own counsel, for which she was grateful, though she noticed Celeste throwing her anxious glances at times.

  Aubrey did not come back to her again though she caught glimpses of him amongst the throng. She understood why he did not and agreed that they would give themselves away with little more than a glance if anyone saw them together. Yet she longed for him anyway.

  “Zut!”

  Violette turned at the muttered exclamation to see Celeste looking at the hem of her dress with consternation. “That big oaf, Lord Grant trod on my hem,” she said, sounding exceedingly vexed. “Come with me while I go and fix it will you, please?” she demanded of Violette.

  Smiling to herself as her friend cursed clumsy fools in heated French, Violette followed her to the powder room.

  The space was packed though, with many ladies repairing hems and fixing their hair and chattering like so many bejewelled, colourful birds, and so Celeste bid her wait outside for a moment. Violette left with relief, the overwhelming heat and mingled p
erfumes of the women in the confined space making her head spin.

  It was then that she saw him.

  It simply could not be anyone else.

  People parted before him - a more primitive instinct of danger than respect - allowing him to pass through unhindered. He was an imposing figure. Tall and broad, his hair the blue-black sheen of a crow’s back, unfashionably long, and those heavy black brows on a hard, patrician face. He was not handsome; his swarthy skin would not allow that. Indeed, he seemed in every way to force aside the notion of mere beauty with disdain, yet your eyes were unwillingly drawn to him just the same.

  His eyes were blue. Such a dark blue ought to put one in mind of sunny days and Mediterranean seas, but they did not. These eyes were cold and hard, devoid of any human emotion. Violette felt her heart skitter and jump, pure panic overriding reason. But it didn’t matter she was in disguise, didn’t matter that even her own brother might have walked past her and not noticed her, certainly if he’d not been expecting to see her. All that mattered was that Lord Gabriel Greyston was cutting a path through the throng and heading in her direction.

  She ran.

  Scurrying like a mouse with a cat prowling close behind she weaved back and forth through the crowds, running to escape, running anywhere. Until there was an open door and she ran through it, shutting it behind her, and taking a shaky breath in relief.

  She was back outside, but this time on the other side of the building. Violette could hear the murmur of trysting couples in the darkness and knew well she ought not be here. Just for a moment, she assured herself, slinking into the shadows.

  “Ah, lovely Artemis,” whispered a low, seductive voice on the night. “Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks, she draws her golden bow, rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts.” There was a rumble of masculine laughter before the man stepped a little closer, the moonlight illuminating his face. It was a handsome face for sure, though the mask hid much of his features. “How many hearts have you pierced tonight, I wonder? One at least, methinks.”

  “Sir?” she demanded, infusing as much hauteur into that one word as was humanly possible.

  The relief that had confirmed her belief that this wasn’t Lord Gabriel Greyston, but a stranger, was short lived as he advanced towards her.

  “We have not been introduced, and I merely stepped out here for a breath of air as I was feeling unwell. So, if you would be so good as to leave me ...”

  She began to move as she spoke and hoped to leave him behind, but a large hand reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her closer.

  “One moment,” he said, his voice full of insistence, the voice of a man who did not appreciate being thwarted. “I would know the pretty face beneath that mask.” He reached for the ribbons that tied the mask over her eyes and she gasped, shying away as a familiar and beloved voice sounded behind her.

  “Take your damned hands off her, Debdon.”

  Aubrey!

  “Well, well, Aubrey Russell, at last,” drawled the stranger, releasing her hand and turning away from her. Aubrey crossed the terrace to stand in front of her, shielding her, and the glimpse of fury she saw in his eyes as he moved quite stole her breath away.

  “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

  Aubrey snorted. “I have no business with you. Whatever you saw or thought you saw, you were quite mistaken.”

  Viscount Debdon, as that must be who the stranger was, Violette realised, simply laughed and shook his head. “But, my dear fellow. You not only stole what was under my protection, you made a fool of me in the process.”

  Violette watched this exchange with a frown, realising that there was clearly bad blood between the two of them and that she had simply fallen between them by chance. She had no doubt that Debdon had planned to use her to get back at Aubrey, however.

  “I did no such thing, as the lady concerned will have no doubt informed you, and you appear to need no help in that department, my lord,” Aubrey replied, his voice cool and hard. “You only compound the impression with this ungentlemanly behaviour.

  “Why you impudent pup, I’ll have your blood for that,” the viscount raged. “Name your seconds!”

  Violette gasped and grasped Aubrey’s arm. The limb was rigid beneath her fingers, the muscles taut. “Aubrey, no!” she exclaimed but the viscount had taken a step closer.

  “Well? A time and a place man, or are you afraid?” he sneered.

  “The Ring,” Aubrey replied, his voice equally harsh and angry. “Hyde Park. Dawn.”

  “So be it,” Debdon replied with relish, before turning on his heel and disappearing.

  “Aubrey!” Violette exclaimed, horrified and sickened by what had just happened. “Aubrey, you cannot mean to go?”

  He turned to stare at her, incredulous. “Not go?” he replied, as though she had asked him the most extraordinary of questions. “Of course I must go. It’s a matter of honour.”

  Violette stared at him, thinking she would never understand men and their blasted pride as long as she lived. He took her hand and dragged her back into the ballroom until Celeste was in sight.

  “There’s Celeste and Alex,” he said, before giving her a tight smile. “Don’t worry, love. I’m really not a bad shot, you know.”

  And with that less-than-comforting assurance, he left her and disappeared into the throng. Violette turned, dazed, and wondered what on earth she should do until her gaze fell on Alex.

  “Lord Falmouth!”

  Chapter 15

  “Wherein a bloody affair is faced.”

  It was nearly four in the morning before Alex returned to his home in Mayfair to find both his wife and Violette distraught and tearful. After a very trying night, much of it having been spent dressed as a blasted pirate, all he wanted was a drink and his bed. One look at the women, huddled together in misery in the parlour, however, told him that was not on his current agenda.

  “Oh, Alex!” cried Celeste, running to him and throwing her arms around his chest. “Tell me you’ve found ‘im and put a stop to this nonsense.”

  Alex sighed and wished, more than anything, that he could do just that, especially as Violette was staring at him with such pleading in her eyes he found his heart aching for her. The poor girl clearly returned whatever sentiments Aubrey had, and he had no doubt whatsoever that the two of them had snuck away together during the ball. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

  “I’m so sorry, love,” he said, feeling suddenly very weary as he kissed the golden curls piled upon her head. “They’ve gone to ground somewhere that I could not discover them. But,” he hurried on, as Violette buried her head in her hands and began to sob. “We do at least know where and when, and I will be there before anyone else and do all I can to stop it, you have my word.”

  He stared down at Celeste, who sniffed and wiped her cheeks dry as Violette’s soft sobbing filled the room. She looked up at him, her blue eyes full of hope. “You will be able to stop it though, Alex, oui?”

  Alex swallowed. He wanted to promise her that of course he could, but the challenge had been issued and accepted, and if he couldn’t make the two men see reason ... it was a matter of honour. He felt a thrill of real fear and regret at the idea of Aubrey facing the viscount. They were pretty evenly matched from what he could tell, but it was only now that he realised how very fond he was of Aubrey. He’d considered him something of an annoyance when he was a young man, always aping Alex’s manner of dress and asking for advice that should have been his father’s to give. But the fellow’s father was a fool, and Alex had grown used to his hero worship. Now Alex realised that he looked on Aubrey rather like he did his younger brother, Lawrence. Since Aubrey had become such friends with Celeste, Alex had grown to used to having him about the place. It would deeply grieve him to see him hurt or, God forbid, killed with such a wasteful, wanton disregard for life.

  “I will do everything in my power, my love,” he repeated, kissing her forehead and leaving the two
women alone.

  ***

  Violette watched as Celeste turned back to her as the door closed.

  “‘E cannot stop it,” she said, and Violette nodded. She knew Alex would try, he would try everything he could. But he would fail, because men were pig headed and stubborn and foolish, and God help the rest of the world if you injured their blasted pride!

  Violette took a shaky breath and tried to be calm, tried to think it through.

  “This is all my fault,” she whispered in misery. “If I hadn’t made him go to visit Mrs Dashton, if I’d gone myself like I meant to ...”

  “Non, non!” Celeste cried, shaking her head and running to sit beside her. “This is not your fault. This is because they are male and stupid as ... She threw up her hands in fury and got to her feet again in agitation exclaiming, “Cochons!”

  Violette shook her head. “That’s an insult to pigs,” she replied, her voice full of misery. “Mon Dieu, les hommes!” Celeste raged, pacing back and forth in agitation. “I tell you, it takes a woman to knock any sense into their fat heads!”

  Violette blinked at Celeste and then gasped as an idea formed in her head. “You’re right,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

  “Quoi?” Celeste demanded, as Violette ran for the door. “Where are you going?”

  “We are going to see Mrs Dashton,” Violette replied, pausing with her hand on the door knob.

  Celeste stared at her in disbelief. “Maintenant? But it’s the middle of the night!”

  “I feel rather certain that Mrs Dashton won’t mind when she discovers why we are there, and like you said, Celeste, a man can’t stop this idiocy from happening, but we can.”

  ***

  Alex paced the ring as Mousy stood sentry, his massive figure barely visible and wreathed in mist.

  “They should be here soon,” Alex said, not for the first time, and more because worry for his young cousin was wearing on his nerves and the silence was making it worse.

  Mousy grunted in acknowledgement. “How’s Annie?” Alex continued, hoping to make conversation to pass the time.