Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2)

by Alexandra Silva

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  Grabbing her shoulders, he rattles her. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Leo doesn’t waste time stepping in, but before he can do anything, she’s got the point of her épée right on the hollow of her brother’s throat. “I don’t need your permission.”

  “Yeah, you do. You need mine, you need his.” He points at Leo at the same time as he grabs the sword and throws it at my feet. “We all decide.”

  “If she wins…” Leo looks at Arabella with narrowed eyes. “It’s up to you.” Nodding at me, he heads for the door.

  “You’re a fucking traitor!” Yelling at him, she pushes Casper away.

  “Don’t get prissy because I know better than to meddle in your marriage.” He turns, obviously waiting for Casper to follow him. “Come on, Deadshot, you’re clearly overtired and strung out. Time to put you to bed.”

  With a snarl, Casper trudges out of the room. Leo laughs at his grumbles, closing the door behind him.

  I can’t process the fact that Casper knew how many stitches she had when I didn’t. I can’t understand why everybody else seems to know more about my wife than I do.

  “Pick up your weapon,” I tell her, nudging the épée with my toes. When she hesitates, my frustration gets the better of me. “Pick it up!” My bellow echoes around us.

  “I’m not playing this silly game anymore.”

  Breathing hard, she flips her mask off as she turns around. My hoodie swallows her tiny frame, the sleeves ballooning around her upper arms with how they’re pushed to her elbows.

  “You play or you forfeit your request. You will never ask me for it again, and your colluding with my mother and every other fucker ends now!”

  “I will do as I please.” She spins to face me with wide eyes and bulging tears. Her entire body is vibrating. I can feel her fury and her hate. I can feel it all like a tumultuous sea dragging me under.

  You’re not getting it, are you, morena?

  Hooking the end of the épée by the hilt, I flick the sword at her. Moving back, she doesn’t look away as it falls at her feet.

  “Pick up the goddamn weapon.”

  The air around us thickens into tar and oil, coating us, fighting our breaths. My chest aches. My body feels heavy. My head is a sinkhole of thoughts and voices. Guilt and love and anger.

  I circle her, coming closer with every step.

  “Pick. It. Up.” I sweep the blade through the air, a whistle cutting around us before it whips the back of her thighs.

  “Ah!” Turning on the spot, she grits her teeth.

  “Now.”

  “No.”

  “Do it!” I flick the tip of the épée on the side of her leg, catching her calf.

  “No!”

  “If you can’t defend yourself, how do you expect to win?” I flick higher at the tender flesh above her knee. “That’s three to one. First to get to fifteen remember?”

  “I’m not playing.” Arabella steps back, away from the sword at her feet.

  “This is life, not a game—you don’t just walk away. You don’t drop shit and run; you fight to the end!” Not breaking eye contact with her, I pick up her weapon and put it in her hand. “Defend yourself or so help me God, I will lock you up and throw away the key until this shit’s over. Fucking fight!”

  She swallows, her gaze narrowed, stance straightening.

  “You want a fight?”

  Yeah, baby, I fucking do.

  Squaring up to me, fire blazing in her eyes, defiance oozing from her every pore. She throws back my mask with a hiss. “Fine.”

  Her fierce competitive streak finally rears its head. I love her in all her facets and ways, but this feisty fiend in front of me…fuck, she makes me so damn hard.

  My free hand ghosts down her side to her hip as I press my front to hers.

  Even though my body is begging for rest, the cocktail of lust and adrenaline running through my veins has me ready to run a fucking marathon. My aches numb into the background. My stiffness from my injured shoulder loosens. The sting in my roughed-up knuckles fizzes into nothingness.

  “Ready.” Pushing off my chest, she spins with so much grace that it makes her all the more lethal.

  “En garde.” I step back into stance. I can’t help but grin at the grit in her eyes.

  “Fuera!”

  I love it when she goes off into Spanish. It’s sexy as fuck, and it’s also an inclination of the severity of her feelings. The way her fat lips swell around the words…

  “Que?” Her bottom lip dips in a sultry sulk.

  My pulse quickens, and blood rushes down my body. Liquid need shoots to my dick.

  Now’s not the time. Head in the fucking game, bellend!

  “Fuck!” The curse roars from the pit of my stomach as the sharp whip of Arabella’s sword gets me right on my injured shoulder.

  “Atención, cariño.” Smiling sweetly, she slots the épée between her thighs, slipping it all the way up to her crotch with a breathy sigh. Her teeth drag her lip into her mouth as she pulls the hem of the hoodie up her slender body.

  The tight leggings show the supple curve of her lower body. The sinuous contour of her hips down to her thighs and knees is mouth-wateringly perfect.

  Discarding the thick jersey top on the floor, she’s left in a thin Henley not too different from mine. The top few buttons of the low scooping neckline are undone, the other straining to keep her breasts hidden. Like her leggings, it hides nothing.

  Arabella’s all big tits and tiny waist. But the longer I look, the more I notice how her waist isn’t as defined as it used to be, and there’s the slightest curve to the bottom of her stomach.

  It’s such a fucking stupid thought, but it springs to my mind like an unbidden flick of a switch.

  We’ve fucked repeatedly with nothing between us.

  Does she want another baby?

  I don’t know how I feel about that. A part of me tries to humour the thought, the possibility, but the rest of me shuts it down completely.

  I can’t fathom the possibility right now.

  “What?” she asks with another flick of her épée to my other shoulder. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  Her balance hand fists over her belly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

  What? “Like that?”

  “I don’t want your pity.” She goes for a straight lunge to my stomach, but I block her with my blade.

  “You think I pity you?” Twisting my sword, I circle around her blade until her arm falls to her side. Stalking her backwards, towards the fireplace, I let her words settle with my errant thoughts. “You’re impossible to pity. You have too much strength…too much resilience for that.”

  “Then why…?”

  Harsh breaths fill the air in the absence of words.

  “What?” She circles back round, obviously attuned to my intention of cornering her. With a flourish she pushes forward, her blade butting mine and skimming down until the tip touches my throat. “Spit it out!”

  Every fucking word that pops into my head feels like a kick to the teeth. It’s impossible to vocalise my thoughts without sounding like a complete and utter cunt. Without being a moron.

  But in spite of knowing how they will sound in the open, they sound a lot worse silent between us.

  “We’ve fucked. Repeatedly.” Stupidly, my stare flickers down to her belly. “Without precaution.”

  My heart hammers in the quiet around us.

  We both pause.

  There’s a silent stutter in time, like the world around us can’t believe I actually verbalised my thoughts.

  “I-I…ah…” Arabella shakes her head.

  “What does that mean?” My tone is another fucking mistake.

  I’m not pissed. I’m confused and frustrated that we have to have this conversation. We’re a married couple struggling to have a discussion fuck buddies would shrug through.

  “It means you don’t have to w
orry. It’s not a problem…I’ve taken care of it.” Shaking, she turns on her heels, her épée flaying the floor with her frustration.

  There’s no way I’m letting her walk away from me without clearing the air. This wasn’t meant to turn into an actual fight between us. But she’s got so many walls around her that every one I manage to crumble is reinforced by another behind it.

  She’s a fortress of stone. A maze I can’t seem to be able to navigate without damaging it.

  I lunge for her with my hand, rather than my sword, but before I can stop her she spins to face me, the point of her épée pressing to the middle of my chest with the blade threatening to fold in on itself as I continue pushing towards her.

  Taking a step back, she doesn’t retreat her weapon. Even as I step to the side, she continues her assault.

  She’s scared. Emotionally petrified.

  We keep finding each other butting heads when we’re on the same side. We want the same things.

  Why are you so fucking stubborn?

  Closing my hand around her blunt blade, I twist it until she lets go, and I drop both of our weapons on the hearth before I wrap my hands around her waist. Dragging her to me, I pin her to the wall beside the fireplace with my body. Her own trembles at the contact, and for all the fucking heat between us, for all the lust colouring my blood before, all I want to do is hold her.

  I want to make her understand that this wasn’t ever about winning or losing. It wasn’t about me controlling her. Not really. It was a way of wearing her out enough to make her see that between us it doesn’t matter who wins.

  “I wasn’t having a go, Belles. It just…it occurred to me because I was too busy eye fucking you rather than putting up a decent fight.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her hands circle my wrists. My hands squeeze her waist before coming up to her collarbone, taking hers with them.

  “It does, because you seem to think we’re on opposing teams. But we’re not—we want the same thing, precious girl.” Kissing the tip of her nose, I cup her face. “The only time you need to fight with me is when you’re beside me.”

  “What was the point of this?”

  “The point was for you to realise that regardless of who wins between us, together we always win. You always win with me on your side.”

  “That isn’t chauvinistic muc—”

  “And vice versa. I always win with you on my side.”

  “And when we don’t want the same thing?”

  “I married you because I want you over anything else you could ever possibly think of. So long as you want me and I want you, we want the same thing.”

  “Why were you thinking about babies?” Confusion furrows her brow.

  “It occurred to me.”

  “As it stands…” Hands flattening to the wall behind her, she bites her lip. I feel her pulse pick up as my hands bracket her neck, my thumbs tilting her face back to mine. “I don’t want it.”

  My heart fists tightly in my chest.

  “You don’t want what?”

  “Another baby.” Her reply is muffled by her exhale.

  Silence stretches between us.

  Her chin dips, and dropping my hands to her shoulders, I let her look away from me.

  The light grey wood panels blur as I go through the conversation in my head again.

  I want you more than anything else you could ever possibly think of.

  “Am I the only thing you want now?” she asks, tilting her head back until it touches the wall. Her eyes don’t meet mine. Although there are no tears, I feel her sadness. Her disappointment. Her fear.

  The reality is, though, that whilst I can’t fathom the thought of having another baby…we have so much time ahead of us. So many years. I’m not stupid or ignorant enough to say that I won’t ever change my mind.

  A family was always the plan with Arabella. She was so sure of what our future would entail outside of all the plans our families already had for us. There were at least three messy, unruly children that would keep us on our toes. She couldn’t wait for it.

  Do I want her more than the future she showed me?

  “I want you more than anything.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I want you more than anything,” I repeat, my hands gathering her from the wall to my chest. I hug her tight, arms wrapping around her until I can feel every soft curve mould to me. “I want other things too, just as I want to give you everything you want.” Kissing the top of her head, I inhale her soft, sweet scent. “But I wouldn’t want any of those things without you. So, in the end, it’s not about them…it’s about you. Everything is about you. Because to me, you are everything.”

  My vision mists over, burning with tears I’m trying so damn hard to hold back. But I’m tired, and being strong requires energy I don’t currently have.

  With her arms wrapping tightly around me, tighter than ever, it finally feels like we’re together. Nothing between us. No walls. No pretences.

  It’s just us.

  People always say the truth will set you free, but actually, it’s what binds us together.

  Truth. Trust. Love.

  Chapter 32

  Arabella

  It’s dark. Dusky midnight grey tinges the mirrored walls. This is one of the most beautiful rooms in the old building. With the exception of the windows, the room is encased with old mirrored panels that have gone brassy and speckled. Wooden beading frames them into place, latticing over the walls and ceiling and reflecting what little light there is. Pretty, but terrifying when you wake up in the middle of the night or are too dishevelled to fuck like today.

  “You’re awake.”

  I follow Christopher’s voice to a corner of the room. He’s dressed in a fresh T-shirt and grey joggers. His skin is flushed from being so close to the fire. Sitting at the corner writing desk overlooking the expansive lawns, gardens, and lake that will be dusted like Christmas confectionary, he focuses on me.

  Standing, he meanders over to me. The way his eyes course every surface of the room before they land on me again has my heart chugging at top speed.

  “What time is it?”

  “Not as late as it looks. It’s been miserable all day.”

  “All day?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.” He sits on the bed beside me. “Mum’s waiting for you. Ignoring me. Leo and Freddie had the ridiculous idea of going for a hike, and your brother and Cassie had to take Fleur to the hospital in Kendal. She can’t stop spewing her guts all over the place. The fucking doctor refused to come out in this weather whilst the other two fucktards have gone for a stroll.”

  Sliding down the bed a little, he pulls me onto his torso, cradling me to him like he used to when we woke up together. It feels normal. Even the digest of what’s happening.

  The feel of him beneath my hands is comforting, I want nothing more than to stay like this forever, the two of us in our own world.

  “Dad’s on his way up. He’s currently stuck in Liverpool. They had to land the helicopter because the snow is too heavy. Meanwhile Mum’s slamming every door going. I think Nan’s ready to throttle her. On the bright side, your sister’s keeping them both entertained.”

  Fuck, as bad as it is, I’d spaced out on the fact Georgina was with us. “She must think I’ve abandoned her.”

  “Something’s gone down in London,” he says quietly, his arms tightening around me as his fingertips brush the ends of my hair. “Heath House was broken into. Oliver’s office was ransacked, the safe completely destroyed. Apparently, he thought the whole place was going to go up in flames.”

  “The ledgers.” I’m jumping up before I register what I’m blurting out.

  Shit!

  “Ledgers?” He gets up as I hop around the room trying to wrangle on his joggers from last night. They were the closest thing. “What ledgers?”

  “I need to call your dad.” Pulling the cuffs up my calves so the long legs don’t wad at my ankles, I race to the
bathroom.

  “What’s going on?” Christopher follows me with far too much calm considering he has no clue what the missing ledgers mean.

  I go about brushing my teeth with his brush, because it’s the only one out. Meanwhile he’s on his phone. Probably sounding the horn or something.

  Without a hairbrush, I tie half of my hair up into a messy, scrawny bun on top of my head.

  My insides are vibrating as I try to rush past him.

  “Arabella,” he grits, slipping his phone back into his joggers. “Arabella!”

  “What?”

  “Dad’s not picking up.” Taking a deep breath, I pause, allowing him to hold on to me. “I’m here. Talk to me.”

  “Those ledgers were the key to this whole thing. If they’re gone, we’ll never get to the bottom of this.”

  Pushing past him, my stomach knots to the point of pain. My insides are threatening to choke me.

  “Oliver gave us everything he had.” Christopher follows me out of our room. Irritation coats his words with indignation. “It was part of our deal. He wouldn’t…”

  “They’re not his!” Taking the wooden stairs two at a time, the cherub carvings are all but a blur with each slap of my bare feet.

  “Slow the fuck down!” He grabs the back of the T-shirt I wore to bed as I skid down a few steps in my haste. “You’re going to break your fucking neck!”

  “Where’s your mum?” Francis will always pick up for her.

  Floral wallpaper lines part wood-panelled walls. Creams, greens, reds, and blues all mix together to a nauseating fog. Soft wood floor feels like hot coals as I rush through the lower levels of the house. Pine fires scent the air cloying in my lungs.

  “She’s in the sunroom,” he calls behind me, no doubt already heading in the right direction towards the glass-dome room.

  Hotfooting behind him, my steps keep up with my runaway heartbeat. The historic building feels encroaching with narrowing corridors lined with endless portraits of all the Right Honourable Lords to have held this house. All Emsworth heirs. Every single face hard and stoic. All blond and blue-eyed.

  One day Freddie’s will grace these walls. Although I imagine his portrait to be a little different. Maybe somewhat detached.