The Cynfell Brothers Collection

by Samantha Holt

  She hastened up the stairs and flung herself on the bed. Tears burned her eyes and she let them fall, soaking into her pillow. If she had been less hurt by Julian’s dismissal of her, perhaps she would have stood up to the old woman. Who was she to cast aspersions on her character? The problem was, she was right. Viola did not have much grace and didn’t understand English etiquette. No matter how many books she read on the matter, she wasn’t sure she could ever conquer her free tongue. And she wasn’t so sure she wanted to now. Not if it meant behaving like the marchioness or those women at the ball and the castle. She would rather be a crass American than a bitter Englishwoman.

  Swiping her eyes, she pushed herself to sitting. Once again, she began to pack. This time she would not be persuaded otherwise. Julian would not coax her to stay with his humble apologies. Nothing could convince her she belonged here.

  Except perhaps an admission of love and a proposal.

  She smirked at herself. She really was a fool. That would not happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julian felt as though he had gone through ten rounds in the boxing ring after dealing with his mother and persuading her to rest in her apartments. Sharing a house with his mother could be testing and he was grateful for the size of the building as well as her busy social life. He didn’t think the woman would speak to him for several days after the dressing down he had given her anyway. Whilst he loathed the idea of her prying into his affairs, he could not very well let her cast aspersions Viola’s way.

  He swiped a hand over his face. He only hoped Viola hadn’t been too humiliated to be discovered like that. With a grin, he made his way upstairs in search of her. Viola Thompson was made of stern stuff. If she could survive the vitriol of the Alderton sisters and those ladies at the castle, she could survive his mother.

  Pausing outside her door, he drew in a breath. Every fibre of his being vibrated with anticipation. Last night... Lord Almighty, last night had been the best night of his life. He had loved Sybil, he knew that, but the emotion had been a young one—a sort of soft version of love. Sybil had been appropriate, ladylike, the perfect wife. He had adored her for that. But Viola was the opposite. She cared little for being appropriate or perfect. She was... Viola.

  And he loved her for it.

  He tapped gently on the door and waited. He shifted on his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. She was in there, was she not? Julian heard some shuffling and a clunk. He tapped again.

  “Viola?”

  Nothing. Was she harmed? Had she had an accident? His pulse quickened. He tried knocking once more and gave up. If something had happened to her...

  He pressed open the door and stilled. “What in the devil are you doing?”

  She faced him, her eyes red and accusing. “Packing.”

  “Why?”

  Viola scooted past him and dumped her ripped gown into the bag. His heart panged at the memory of tearing it from her body. He wanted to do the same to the cream day dress she currently wore. But this scene was all too familiar. He had done something wrong again, but what? Had his lovemaking been so terrible? Had he hurt her? She’d seemed so content this morning. He thought for the first time in their relationship they were finally on the same page.

  “I have to go, Julian. I don’t belong here.”

  He stared at her back. “You cannot leave.”

  She whirled on him. “Why? You didn’t want me here in the first place. You know my ship sails soon. I see no reason for me to stay.”

  What about me? he wanted to ask. Will you not stay for me? Had last night meant so little to her?

  “I thought—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to leave for another day.”

  Ignoring him, she gathered up her evening slippers and dumped them on top of the ruined gown. He latched a hand around her wrist and she pulled away, darting an angry stare at him. Apparently this time, no offers of showing her around or any other such feeble apology would work. If only he knew quite what he had done wrong.

  “Viola, cease. Tell me what is wrong?”

  Hands on her hips, she clamped her lips together and ran her gaze over him. She shook her head and took an audible breath. “I heard your conversation with your mother.” She waved a hand. “I know I was foolish to think last night meant anything to you, but unfortunately I did.”

  “My mother? Why would you listen to a thing she said? You know full well I have little respect for my mother’s opinion.”

  “It was not what she said. It was what you said. I am no one.” She tried to turn away but he stepped forward and clamped his hands to both of her arms. “Well, this no one is leaving,” she said huskily as she tried to wriggle from his grip.

  “Clearly you did not hear the rest of my conversation. I could not have my mother interfering but I also could not let her tear you apart in such a manner. I’m sorry you had to hear that, but if she knew how I felt...” She stilled and he drew her close. “I love you, Viola. I meant everything last night. I... Damn, I wish I had a piece of paper to explain this better. I want you to stay.”

  Her lips slowly parted. The tension left her body and she lifted her gaze to his. “Here? In England?”

  “Yes, with me.”

  “Because you love me?”

  “I love you.”

  A soft smile graced her lips. “I love you too.”

  Julian let his grip on her soften. Those words, God, they made him feel like the best man on earth. No money or power or all the grand houses in the world could make him feel as she did when she uttered those words.

  “Unpack your belongings. Write to your father. Tell him you will see him soon but you have chosen to stay here. I will provide for you, make sure you are comfortable. If we put you in the dowager house, you won’t even have to see my mother...”

  “Why would I be in the dowager house?” Her lashes rose and fell in quick succession. “Would your mother not move in there once we are married? I don’t understand everything about English customs but it seems a bit odd to move your wife into—”

  “My wife? No, Viola, I mean to make you my mistress.”

  A pale wash came over her face. Her eyes rounded in horror. “M-mistress?”

  “Yes. I have no intention of marrying. You know very well why.”

  She tore away from him and stumbled back so that she landed on the bed. He went to help her up but she brushed aside his hand in quite the aggressive manner. Julian scowled. Surely she realised he could never marry her? He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her. Whether he was truly cursed or not, he could not risk it—not with the woman he loved more than life itself.

  A hand to her mouth, she shook her head. “I can’t believe you would ask this of me, not after all I confessed yesterday. You wish to make my ruin complete, perhaps?”

  “Do not be a fool,” he snapped, feeling the familiar heat rise within him. Why could she not see he was trying to protect her?

  “I’m a fool for wanting to be more than a mistress?”

  “That is not what I meant. I cannot marry you, Viola. I won’t let you die.”

  “I won’t die—unless that is God’s will. You are not the decider of my fate.”

  He scuffed a hand over his chin and tried to force himself to remain calm. It wasn’t easy when each breath felt hot and heavy and fire ran through his veins. “If you loved me at all, you would not ask me to do something that I cannot.”

  “And if you loved me at all, you would take the risk,” she shot back.

  Julian tiptoed on the edge of snapping. He felt as taut as an old violin string—ready to break at any moment. He would never harm her, ever, but he knew well his words could wound just as easily. He had to protect her from himself. Before he said something he regretted, he spun on his heel.

  Hand to the doorknob, he paused and said quietly, “I cannot risk that which is most precious to me. Forgive me.”

  Her sobs rang in his ears even as he stormed down the hal
lway to his chambers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It took her less than an hour to pack. An hour in which he paced back and forth and tried to decide how to make this right. He was going to lose her. The only way of keeping Viola would be to tie her to his bed. There would be no changing her mind.

  The worst of it was, he understood. No woman grew up dreaming of being a mistress. And certainly not one like Viola who had spent much of her womanhood being dismissed and pitied. All because some blackguard could not make up his mind about women and had taken her innocence from her. Julian curled a fist until his knuckles hurt. If he ever met that man...

  He eyed her trunk waiting on the marbled floor of the hall. His mother had decided to nap apparently, which meant at least Viola would not have to suffer any more of her spiteful words on Americans. In all honesty, he preferred American women if Viola was anything to go by. Her outspoken manner and vivacious ways never failed to draw a smile from him. She understood how to enjoy life—something he hadn’t been able to do in a long time.

  Footsteps came from the hallway that led from stairs to the kitchen. Viola entered the hall, followed by Jenny and Mrs Whittleworth. Julian managed not to roll his eyes. Apparently his staff didn’t want her leaving either.

  Viola gave him a cool flick of her gaze over him. “Is the carriage ready?”

  He glanced out of the window. “It is.”

  “Well then, I shall bid you farewell.” She dropped into an obscenely low curtsey that made him want to grab her arms and drag her back to her feet. Instead he dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Damn her. Damn her formality. Damn her for leaving him when only hours ago she had been in his arms. When he had been declaring his love for her just last night. Damn her for breaking his heart. He didn’t think he’d ever be whole again once she’d left. For so long now, she’d been a part of his life, even if only in written form.

  “You are welcome any time.”

  On impulse he took her hand and laid a kiss to her glove. He kept his gaze on her and saw the slight parting of her lips. Good. He hoped she remembered that when she was in America, far from him. It was vindictive perhaps—even childish—but he knew he’d never forget her, and he wanted her to lie awake thinking of him too.

  She withdrew her hand and went to pick up her bag but one of the footmen got there before her. Far too soon, she was installed in his coach and her bag was strapped to the roof. She gave him one last lingering look before the driver called the command to the horse and flicked the ribbons. The sadness in her eyes told him everything. It made it impossible for him to hate her and he really wanted to at present.

  I am sorry, that look said. Sorry things did not work out, sorry you cannot overcome your fear and give me what I need.

  He was sorry too.

  Julian stood at the door long after Mrs Whittleworth and Jenny had returned inside. He watched the carriage drive around the bend and approach the line of trees that would hide her from his sight. Part of him longed to curl up in a ball and cry. Unfortunately that was not what marquesses did.

  A blur of movement caught his eye in the woods. He peered at it then back at the carriage. He wasn’t sure when he’d started running out of the house, only that one moment he’d been standing in the hallway and the next his shoes were crunching across the gravel. As soon as he’d seen the deer, he had known, deep in his gut, something awful was going to happen.

  He sprinted after the carriage, his heart coming into his throat as the deer ran into the path of the horses. Even though he continued moving forward, the movement of the carriage seemed slow. The horses reared and whinnied. Wood crunched and the vehicle lurched.

  The footmen jumped clear as it crashed onto its side, sending up dirt, wood splinters and gravel. But there would be no such salvation for Viola. Sickness churned in his gut as he raced to the broken vehicle. He glanced around and noted the driver scrabbling to his feet.

  “Check the horses,” he ordered. If any were badly injured they’d have to be shot. “And send for the doctor.” God only knew what had happened to Viola. He came around the side of the carriage and found the door had whipped open. “Viola?” His voice sounded like a mere echo in his ears.

  “I’m here,” came a weak reply.

  He scrabbled up onto the side of the vehicle and peered in. She lay against the other side of the carriage. He dropped down into it and brushed aside her hair. Her skin was cold and she trembled from head to toe. He could see no obvious injuries but what if she had done some damage internally? Dampness sat in the corners of his eyes and he swiped a hand across them.

  “Let us get you out of here. Can you stand?”

  “I think...” She pushed herself up and cried out.

  “What is it?” he asked, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears, he feared he wouldn’t be able to hear her response.

  “My leg.”

  Broken perhaps. He nodded and scooped her up. One of the footmen had already come to aid them so he handed her up to him and together they managed to get her up and out of the overturned carriage. She cried out in pain as they manhandled her and he wished to God he could have the pain instead.

  He threw down his jacket on the grass and laid her out on it. “Where does it hurt? Show me.”

  She tapped her left leg and bit her bottom lip. Tears spilled from her eyes. “It hurts so much, Julian.”

  He gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze while he used his free hand to hitch up her skirts. Bile rose in his throat when he discovered the blood-stained remains of her stocking. A large shard of wood at least as thick and as long as his finger had lodged in her leg.

  “Julian?”

  He gave her hand another squeeze and released it. “All is well. Take deep breaths,” he ordered. He looked at the footman who gave him a grim look. Should he remove the shard or leave it? Leaving it increased the chances of infection but removing it meant she’d probably bleed more. And from the looks of her stained silk stocking, she had already lost enough blood.

  “Please,” she begged. “It hurts so much.”

  Making a snap decision, he began to unbuckle his belt. Then he untucked his shirt and tore a long shred from it. He pressed up her skirts and motioned to the footman. “Hold down her leg.” Julian gave her a reassuring look. “This will hurt, my love, but it will feel better in a moment.” He bound his belt as tightly as he could above the cut, cinching it until it bit tight into her skin. Pressing down on her thigh, he began to ease out the splinter.

  Viola loosened a sob that tore at his heart and her leg trembled. “Nearly there...” He pulled it free and flung it aside. Using the strip of his shirt, he bound the wound as tightly as he could. “All done.”

  He nodded his thanks to the footman and scooped Viola into his arms. Christ, he couldn’t lose another woman, not again.

  ***

  “I suppose you shall be returning to America once you are well.” Viola glanced up from her book to find the marchioness peering down at her. “Your family must be missing you.”

  Viola offered a wide smile. “Not at all. My brothers and father will be happy to have me out of their way for a while longer.”

  Her lips pursed. “You were lucky Julian acted so quickly.”

  “I do not think it luck, my lady. Your son is a clever man.”

  Those pursed lips softened slightly. “He is indeed.”

  Viola tried not to let her smile expand. Julian’s mother had remained coldly civil, murmuring some slightly sympathetic words after her accident but it would take some time to get her to warm to her. However, she knew something Julian didn’t. He might not be able to see it and his mother certainly never expressed it, but Viola saw pride there.

  And who wouldn’t be proud of such a man?

  It left Viola with only one conclusion. She could not give up yet. He had saved her life. The week since the carriage accident had been painful and frustrating but also wonderf
ul. Julian had tended to her with such caring… she had to believe she could change his mind.

  “Mother.”

  Viola’s heart skipped when he entered the library. She eyed his broad torso and revelled in the memory of their time together. Unable to walk properly, she had spent the past week being cradled in those strong arms, being pressed against that chest. It was a sort of sweet torture.

  “Julian,” his mother acknowledged. “If you will excuse me, I must talk to the housekeeper.”

  When she was gone, Julian rolled his eyes and settled behind his desk. “Was she bothering you?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Was she rude?”

  “No more than normal. I’m not so delicate that I cannot handle her myself, Julian.”

  He let slip a reluctant smile. “That I well know.” He glanced at her leg that was resting upon a footstool. “How is it? Are you in pain?”

  “No. It is better but it’s ugly.” She scrunched up her face in annoyance. “It will scar.”

  Julian shook his head. “It is not ugly. Besides, a scar is nothing compared to what could have happened.”

  Viola lifted her skirt to eye the steadily healing laceration. He raised a brow and skimmed his gaze down her. Heat gathered low in her stomach.

  “What are you writing?” she asked, tucking her skirts back around her and placing her book aside.

  “A letter.”

  “Har-di-har.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Another complaint?”

  “No, a letter of thanks to the doctor.” He waved a slip of paper at her. “I intend to reward him richly for his services.”

  “You know he said that you did all the work.” She gave him a soft smile. “You saved my life, Julian. Had you not acted so quickly, I might have lost my leg or my life. You know how easily these things can kill a person.” His expression grew thoughtful and he stared at her intently. She fidgeted under such scrutiny. “What is it?”