“It was a coincidence,” she said, knowing that she was being led somewhere she didn’t want to go.
“Coincidence,” Max repeated, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Just as it was a coincidence that your maid disappeared on the same day you did?”
“Ellen? What are you talking about?” What did she have to do with this? “Have you found her? Is she injured?”
“Lady Helena hasn’t been able to find her, but she has found that the girl was last seen going to Montague Club on the day you ran away.” To Christian, he said, “Perhaps you can shed some light on her disappearance.”
Without hesitation, Christian said, “She has been sent to Amberley Park, where I have guaranteed her a position.”
Violet whirled, stunned that Christian would know the maid. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes reflected pain and resignation when they met hers. “I hired her to give me information about you.” Taking a breath, he added, “I also had men outside your home so they could tell me when you were leaving.”
“You knew I would be running away at the British Museum?”
“No, but I suspected. I knew you had left the bag at Lady Helena’s. I knew you were planning to leave.”
Betrayal tasted bitter as it clawed its way up the back of her throat. “You planned this, then? The whole trip?”
He nodded, still not bothering to reach for her. Why didn’t he hold her? Why didn’t he tell her that he loved her and everything would be fine? Every fiber of her body cried out for him.
“He was bitter that our father rejected him as a suitor. When Papa turned him down, Leigh decided to take you another way,” said Max.
“No. He didn’t ask Papa for my hand.” Christian would have told her if he had when he had confessed his plan to convince her to marry him.
“Tell her I’m wrong, Leigh.” The assurance in Max’s voice sent a chill down her spine.
Christian stood silent, and her stomach clenched in nausea. Her body felt achy and numb all at the same time. “Christian?” she whispered.
“I asked your father that day we spoke outside your music room. He declined in favor of Ware.”
Struggling to speak past the ache in her throat, she said, “Then you knew about my father accepting Ware when we spoke at the ball. You knew and were already plotting? You plotted to gain me. No, you didn’t want me at all; you wanted my settlement. But why?” He wasn’t destitute like Rothschild had been, but then the answer struck her before he even said it. Of course, she had been reduced to the sum of her ability to increase his holdings, just like with Ware.
“Blythkirk. I needed money for Blythkirk, but Violet, I wanted you.” He took a step forward, but Max intervened, walking to her side.
“Do you actually think our father would allow a conniving bastard like you a settlement? What would you have done when he cut Violet off?”
Violet already knew the answer. Her voice quivering in pain, she couldn’t look away from the guilt on Christian’s face. “The house in Manhattan? The stocks?”
Max’s head swiveled to look down at her. “He knew about those?”
She nodded, feeling like an absolute fool. “I told him everything.” What a complete and utter fool she had been. “He baited me, and I played right into his hands.” Part of her didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was written on Christian’s face.
“It all would have been yours upon your marriage to her,” Max said to Christian. “You planned to sell it all, didn’t you? You son of a bitch. You planned to gut Violet’s holdings for your own selfish gains.”
“That was my plan, yes.”
“I love that house.” Aunt Hortense had left it to her because she had stayed there the most. They had built the greenhouse in the back together, planted the rose garden, spent hours arranging the books in the library. Her voice was thick with unshed tears, forcing her to swallow past them. “How could you?”
“I didn’t know, Violet,” Christian said. “I meant it when I said that you are all I need. I wouldn’t have sold it, not now, not without your consent.”
“Easy to say, but how can I ever believe that now? You lied to me. You treated me exactly like every other man, used me as a commodity to meet your ends.”
Before either of them could react, Max swung. She shrieked as his fist hit Christian’s cheek, nearly knocking him over. “No!”
Christian’s entire body reeled with the blow, and he whirled and crouched as if bracing himself for another one. “You get one, Crenshaw. Do not attempt another.”
Max moved as if he indeed would, but Violet was not going to allow them to fight over this, especially when she still needed answers. Putting herself between them, she faced Christian. “When did you plan to tell me the whole truth?”
“I told you the truth.”
“Not the entire truth. Not how you schemed. Not the depths you were willing to go to get what you wanted,” she said.
“He seduced you to get what he wanted. He doesn’t deserve any part of you,” said Max.
The painful truth of that statement hit her right in the chest. Christian had seduced her. He had used his pretty words to make her fall in love with him. What if none of this was real? He hadn’t told her the truth, not when he had held so much of it back. What if he still held himself back and she had merely fallen in love with this facade of him?
She had fallen in love with a facade. If most of it wasn’t true, then how could any of it be real? “I don’t even know who you are.”
“Violet.” The pain in his voice nearly ripped her heart in two. When he would have stepped toward her, she held up her hand.
“No, I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I have to go.” She turned, her body chilled with the aftermath, but she stopped as something he had said came back to her. “Do you remember the day you came to my home with Rothschild looking for August?” At his nod, she continued, “That day when you tried to convince me he had been faithful to her, I asked why I should believe you. You said that I should not ever believe you.” She took in a shuddering breath. “You warned me, but I was too infatuated to heed it.”
She felt like she had just lived a hundred years at once. Her body hurt with the pain of his betrayal. “Take me home, Max. Please.”
He wanted to stay. She could feel his body vibrating with anger, but he put his arm around her instead. “This isn’t over, Leigh. We will discuss this later. I expect to see you in London to settle this. Don’t make me come find you in Scotland.”
Christian didn’t follow, and she didn’t know what to make of that. She wanted him to tell her she was wrong, to plead with her; yet she knew she wouldn’t believe him. Not now. Not when her heart had been torn open and left bleeding. How could she ever trust anything again? Memories of their nights on the road swept through her head as she trudged up the hill. He had held himself away from her, only opening pieces of himself bit by bit like tiny little treasures he would give over to her keeping. She had thought it a sign of his growing affection, but what if it had all been carefully planned, calculated to have her take his lure? Along with the memories came the snatches of gossip she had heard about him. Reprobate, womanizer, blackguard . . . This was precisely how a man like that would play her affections. What had made her think she was any different?
Lady Helena was waiting for her at the Mitchells’ front stoop. Violet had almost forgotten that Max had mentioned her. Worry creased her brow, and she hurried down the steps to meet her. “Oh, Violet,” she said, pulling her into a warm embrace.
Tears gathered in Violet’s eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall as she hugged the woman back. When she would have thought she’d prefer to bear this pain alone, she found herself grateful for Lady Helena’s comfort.
“Let us gather your things, dear,” she said in her typically efficient way. “We can be on a tr
ain for London this very afternoon.”
Violet nodded, unable to speak past the pain clogging her throat. Inside, she found that Mrs. Mitchell seemed very concerned, clucking like a mother hen as she hurried from one room to another, helping Violet gather her scarce belongings into her bag. Thankfully, the woman did not ask questions.
At the stoop, Violet said, “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Mitchell. Please convey my gratitude to Dr. Mitchell. I’m sorry I won’t see him to say goodbye.” The man had left early in the morning to attend the birth of a gentry woman in the next village and had not returned.
“Of course, I will. Please do write and let us know how you get on, lass.”
Violet agreed and allowed Max to help her into the carriage. She had no idea what Mrs. Mitchell had been told, and she dared not ask at the moment. The weight of her complete humiliation and devastation was all she could bear right now. The silence in the carriage was deafening. Tiny houses and shops and people going about their day passed by her window as they drove through the charming village she had temporarily called home. The entire time, she could feel the weight of Max’s gaze on her. He was disappointed, and he had every right to be. “I am very sorry for the trouble I put you through, both of you.”
Beside her, Lady Helena took her hand, holding it with both of hers and giving her fingers a squeeze of compassion. “We are simply glad to have you back safely.”
“Violet,” Max began, “I will make that bastard pay—”
“Mr. Crenshaw.” Lady Helena’s voice was sharp as a whip lashing through the carriage. “Perhaps we should wait to discuss particulars in London. Now is not the time.”
Violet hadn’t noticed the tension between the two of them before, but it was plain to see. Max’s eyes darkened with a storm she had rarely seen in her brother, and never directed at someone as kind and gentle as Lady Helena. Yet, there it was. For that matter, Lady Helena’s own gaze flashed with fire, but she banked it quickly. Max looked away first. Something had definitely happened between these two.
Lady Helena seemed to remember herself and gave Violet a reassuring smile. “We shall get you home to your own bed tonight, though it might be quite late.”
Dread twisted her belly into knots. “I’d prefer not to go home. I don’t want to face Mother and Papa just yet.” She didn’t know how she could ever forgive them completely for Lord Ware.
Max frowned but said, “We can go to a hotel.”
“Or she could stay with me.” To Violet, she said, “I am happy to have you for as long as you like. Whichever you prefer, dear.”
“Yes, thank you.” Violet squeezed her hand in gratitude.
“My thanks,” said Max, his gaze lingering on the woman.
Violet turned her gaze back to the window, where it stayed for the rest of the trip. She had made a foolish mistake by following her heart, and she very much feared that she would spend the rest of her life paying for it. No matter how angry she felt, a small part of her wondered: What if it had all been real? How was she supposed to know?
Chapter 21
Some would believe that his marriage to the fair Miss Hamilton even after his deed was uncovered was a sign of how deep his devilish proclivities ran; some, however, knew that it was his last attempt at salvation.
V. Lennox, An American and the London Season
There was no question of them not marrying.
Violet had known deep in her bones that would be the case. Although she had spent a great deal of her time on the train pretending that she would be fine, pretending that she could become a hermit and live her life out in a boardinghouse writing her novels, she knew that simply wasn’t true. She would not live her life as a pariah. The minor scandal that would have followed her only a short time ago when she was running away to a boardinghouse would have barely made ripples back in New York. Certainly, none that a Crenshaw fortune couldn’t calm.
God. It always came back to that, didn’t it? She was always to be reduced to the worth of her father’s bank account. Damn Christian. He hadn’t made it so, but he had given her a glimpse of how it would feel to be valued for something more. But it had only been a lie.
However, this scandal was much more serious than running away to a boardinghouse. While her parents had created that ridiculous story about Bath that had kept the gossipmongers at bay for a while, Christian’s absence had been noted. Max’s arrival in London and subsequent disappearance had only fanned the flames. Then everyone had discovered the news about the carriage accident. This scandal would not die away without leaving a stain. She would have to face it. There would be no running away.
Max opened the gate leading from the mews to the back garden of Lady Helena’s Berkeley Square home. He used the back entrance, because Lady Helena had decided it would be best to not be home for the time being. Speculation was ripe about where Violet was hiding—Huxley brought in the paper every morning—but she was content to keep them guessing until the inevitable wedding.
“Max is here,” Violet said to Helena, who sat working at an elegant desk in the corner. Heart firmly in her stomach, Violet opened the door for him. He had come directly from a meeting with Papa and Christian at Montague Club. Their first meeting beyond an exchange of angry correspondence. She had noted that Christian had not once attempted to send her a letter or contact her in any way.
“Good afternoon.” He put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head as he had done since she was a child. “How are you feeling?”
She forced herself to smile and say, “Better.” Though it had been half a week since she had left Christian, she still vacillated between love and hate. It couldn’t have all been a lie, could it? Not those moments when he stared at her with such joy. One couldn’t fake that, could one? Or those times he had touched her so intimately. How could one convey so much tenderness in a touch and not feel it? But he was a practiced libertine and had perfected his craft, she would remind herself, and it was that very thinking that had gotten her in trouble.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Crenshaw.”
Max stared at the woman, his gaze roving downward as she stood to greet him. Violet bit her lip to hide a genuine smile. Having been born with an invisible marriage bull’s-eye on his back, Max generally kept his distance from women in Society. Violet’s own friends back in New York tended to fall all over themselves in their attempts to meet him or compliment him. It was simply too bad that he would be returning to New York soon and would not be able to further his acquaintance with Helena.
“Lady Helena.” He inclined his head, but instead of taking a seat, he walked to the fireplace.
Violet noticed the set of his jaw and the rigid way he held his shoulders and sank down onto the settee.
“I shall leave you to discuss things,” said Helena.
“No, stay, please.” Her calming presence had been a comfort to Violet. After Helena sat next to her, Violet asked, “What happened at the meeting?”
Storm clouds darkened his gaze, and he glanced away as if he didn’t want to say. “There is no need for you to concern yourself with these petty negotiations, Violet. Let Papa and me handle them for you. You’ll see the final contract before it’s signed.”
“No. It concerns me, and I must know. I am not a child anymore, though I have perhaps behaved impulsively. I will go into things with my eyes open from now on.”
The muscle in his jaw shifted. “Leigh has refused to marry you unless Papa increases the money he offered to settle on you.”
You’re enough for me, Violet. As long as you’re in my arms, I have all I need in the world.
Lies. The tiny flame of hope that had been clinging to life in the depths of her heart was snuffed out. The pain tore through her more vicious than any she had ever felt before. It would have crumpled her had she not already resolved to prove—to herself and everyone else—that she was a perfectly responsible adult who
made perfectly reasonable decisions. As it was, she had to swallow several times before she could speak. An ache pressed against the back of her eyes, but she refused to allow tears to fall. “What was Papa’s initial offer?”
Silence was her answer.
“Max, please.”
Scraping a hand along his close-cropped beard, he said, “Fifty thousand dollars.”
August and Rothschild had been given one million plus an annuity. She knew that the small figure was meant to show Papa’s displeasure with Christian, and yet she could not help but feel it quantified her own worth to him.
“Papa came up to one hundred thousand,” Max continued. “But Leigh maintained that he would not agree to a penny less than five hundred. That is where we left things.”
Rising, she walked to the window, her arms tucked against her stomach as if she could hold herself together so the pain wouldn’t rip her apart. “How much did Papa plan to settle on me in the agreement with Lord Ware?”
Again, her question was met with silence. Finally, he said, “Same as August. Remember, there were mineral rights in the exchange.”
Of course. Mineral rights. Male conceit. None of this really had anything to do with her. She was simply the body being transferred along with the cash. Her stomach churned with nausea. “What will happen if Leigh proves true to his word?” A rarity, that. “If he refuses to marry me?”
“Papa already has an attorney looking into charges that can be filed. Kidnapping, endangerment, breach of promise, to name only a few.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as she imagined the circus and endless fodder that would cause. She would never be able to show her face in public again. How had she been such a fool? To run away from Lord Ware only to fall into the same trap, but in an infinitely more painful way, was too humiliating to bear.
“Don’t worry, Violet.” Coming up behind her, Max ran his hands over her shoulders in a soothing massage. “It will not come to that. I promise I won’t let it.”
The Devil and the Heiress Page 21