Even here, with her own kind, people stared at her. Expecting attention, she’d taken care over her dress, demanding the new ivory silk embroidered with spring flowers. That gave her something to hide behind, something to bolster her confidence. She’d painted her face lightly and ensured her pearls were at their gleaming best. If people wanted to stare at her, then they’d remember her at her best, looking like this.
“Unfortunate,” she said. “We will find someone. I brought her here after our visit to the theatre, and went home myself.”
“You did not go anywhere else?” he said sharply.
“Unfortunately not. I was tired. My mother can vouch for me.”
Amidei frowned. “Of course she would. Many people saw you there, and your presence was even reported in the papers.”
She allowed herself a small nod. “It was indeed. Where is Marcus?”
“Here.” Despite her determination to cover herself with dignity, a thrill went through her at the sound of his voice, which came from behind her. He must have entered the room more quietly than usual. She swung around to confront him.
They stared at each other. The same flame of desperate desire flared in his eyes as she felt deep inside. It had the same effect. It tore her apart.
Just as quickly, the door opened again and Harry stood there. He walked into the room, the clunk of his cane against the floor the only sound in the hushed room. There must have been fifteen people in there, and nobody was talking. Not even the footman with a tray full of glasses moved.
Everybody waited to see what would happen next. The Earl of Ellesmere, Jupiter, sat with his wife, but he watched them sharply. As the king of the gods, he would step forward and take control, if necessary. Kentmere sat close by, his concerned features taking everything in. A lady sat with him; Portia, his wife.
Nobody knew what would come next, least of all Virginie.
“I didn’t do it,” Marcus said, addressing her directly. “I haven’t seen her since I asked her to marry me.”
“What will happen to the children?” d’Argento demanded before anyone else could speak.
Marcus’s attention jerked to Mercury. “I will take care of them, naturally.”
“Even though you claim they aren’t yours?”
Marcus nodded. “They are not of my get. I have thought on this, and I cannot think that they are mine.”
D’Argento regarded him with a straight stare that held more than observation. D’Argento was reading Marcus, though it was up to the god how far he let the messenger in. “You believe they are not yours. But the story of how you came to seduce Miss Simpson—you were drunk, were you not?”
“Even then. They are not mine, though I cannot prove it. However, the babies need a home and I am prepared to offer it.”
“Charitable of you.”
Marcus looked away, glanced at Virginie then back to d’Argento, as if drawn to him. “Not exactly. If I don’t, my name will be worse than mud. We are trying to revive our cause here, are we not? I have decided to do everything I can to restore my reputation. Being illegitimate, the children cannot threaten any child I do beget. I will never acknowledge them as my own. However, I will foster them and ensure they have what they need.”
He appeared completely expressionless, face hard as stone, but Virginie knew why. He dared not release his feelings.
D’Argento nodded. “A good cause. But what if another one of us takes them?”
“Then I’ll be accused of avoiding my responsibility,” Marcus said. “They need peace and quiet. I’ll take them into the country and stay there.”
D’Argento nodded. “It seems appropriate.”
Ellesmere spoke, his voice rumbling over the room, commanding and undeniable. “I have let you care for matters here, d’Argento, but I need to know everything. Eros cast a most unwise spell, did he not?”
“Unwise but necessary,” Eros, otherwise Edmund, Duke of Kentmere, answered. He seemed at ease, sitting back with his legs crossed, his hand over his wife’s as if the physical contact was essential to him. “If I had not taken action, the duchesse would have enforced my marriage to Susanna, her ward. I had no way of knowing my arrows would let something else in.”
Virginie met his steady gaze. “You had signed an agreement to that effect.”
“But not a marriage contract. Who can legislate for the heart?”
She let her mouth turn up in a smile. “I can.” She met Kentmere’s gaze coolly. “I could have enchanted you, but I chose not to. Why didn’t you do the same to me?”
He gave a disarming smile, but she didn’t let it sway her. “Anger,” he confessed. “You wanted to take me away from the woman I love.”
“And fear,” she added. That must have added a touch to his impulsive decision.
“Once I had done it, I could not undo it. But I tempered the arrow, as I did with the one I sent to Lyndhurst. It was infatuation. It should have worn out after a month.”
“Why didn’t you remove it?”
“I saw no need.”
Then he’d left London, to take his bride to his new home, and Virginie and Marcus had made their own futures. Or seemed to. Virginie missed him, yearning to go to him even now. Knowing she could not, or she would perpetuate what went on between them. She would never claim her own soul back, and she’d never know if she truly loved him or if this was more akin to something else. An addiction didn’t reflect the real person, only the slave the compulsion made of them.
All kinds of reasons. “If you go with him, you’ll create a scandal you won’t be able to quell,” d’Argento said.
“More than that,” Ellesmere said. “It will probably end in your arrest. You know you’ll be accused of her murder.”
“Now, perhaps,” Marcus said. “But they will forget. I’ll take the children.” With Harry standing stock-still behind him, he addressed Virginie as if nobody else was in the room. “Wait for me.” Emotion tinged his tones, a longing so foreign to a man as powerful as Marcus that she lost her voice for a moment. She had to cough to regain it.
“What?” she said, startled.
“I can’t live without you. Wait for me. In a year, maybe sooner, we can be together. There’s no need for us to stay apart. I was prepared to marry Rhea, but she has gone now.” He concentrated on her as if they were the only two people in the room.
She was holding on to reality by a thread. Every part of her told her to accept what he offered, to throw her reputation and her life to the wind and go with him. Only rationality held her back, but she found it so hard to counter his pleading expression. So much that she hurt.
“We are the principal suspects,” Virginie pointed out, her voice no longer steady. “We killed her to get the children and be together. Can’t you hear them saying it?”
Marcus waved a hand impatiently. “What does that matter?” She read his desperation, could almost taste it. That, above all, helped to make up her mind. Despair had no place in her life.
She turned around slowly, meeting the eyes of everybody in turn. “I am the goddess Venus. Until I die, nobody else can have those attributes. I have no intention of dying anytime soon. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I tell you, I didn’t kill this woman or have any hand in her death.”
“I believe you.” Harry spoke softly, but somehow his voice reverberated around the room.
“Thank you.” She swung around to face him. The view of the man with the craggy face came as a douche of cool air after the heat of Marcus. “Why?”
“Do I answer that here?” The expression in his eyes took her breath away. They held a promise she didn’t know if she had the bravery to accept. He was so much more than she’d given him credit for.
He stood an inch or so shorter than Marcus, but broader, his thighs thicker. Marcus had a clean, warrior demeanour, but Harry was more rugged, his face lined, a permanent frown furrowing his brows.
Both men wanted her. It was up to her to choose.
“You will wai
t for me,” Marcus said confidently.
“How can you say that?” Harry turned away from her, to Marcus. He pointed at him, jabbing him in the chest. “The woman who may have borne your children, who you had a relationship with, has been violently murdered!”
“Is there any other way to be murdered?” Marcus murmured. He was provoking Harry, his confidence overweening.
“I believe so. I would not know from personal experience.” Harry planted his hand on Marcus’s brocade-clad chest and shoved. Marcus took a step back, but immediately came forward once more, facing Harry with a glare of warning. “Do not disparage her memory.”
“A mortal?”
Murmurs and shouts sounded. Immortals sprang to their feet. Power thrummed in the room.
“I thought we had agreed that mortals were equals, not inferiors?” Harry demanded. “Shouldn’t we be putting our minds to discovering who committed the crime?”
“I’ll take care of that,” d’Argento said, “considering my attributes and the fact that she died in my club. I propose to put it about that the lady killed herself in despair.” He glanced at Marcus, who was fulminating. Virginie wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks burst from him.
“Because she did not want to marry me, I suppose?” He knocked Harry’s hand away violently.
The result was almost instantaneous. Tossing his cane away, Harry threw a punch that, had it landed, would have knocked Marcus through the nearest wall. Marcus dodged the blow, and, clenching his fist, sent a well-judged hook Harry’s way. It caught Harry squarely on the chin, but Harry barely paused. He swung out again, this time to once side, bringing his fist around, but Marcus returned the blow.
The speed of the combat was breath-taking.
Men sprang forward, but only to move the furniture from their way. Jupiter helped Eros with a fairly large side-table, and the sole footman deposited his tray on a nearby surface and set to shifting chairs.
What were they doing? Before she could ask, Virginie found herself lifted. Amidei put his hands on her upper arms and just ported her out of the way of the men, now intent on killing each other.
Both wore their town coats, full-skirted and cuffed, lace ruffles flying as they flung powerful blows at each other. They had not even paused to remove them.
“What is this? What are you doing?” she screeched, sounding as far from the goddess of love as a cat did from a lion.
“Moving you out of danger.”
“Why don’t you stop this?” He set her down gently. She smoothed trembling hands over her gown. “Stop them, for God’s sake!”
“They need to do this,” Ellesmere said. “They have to rid themselves of some of the anger. We want no feuds.”
“But they could kill each other!”
Harry slammed to the floor. Marcus landed on top of him, bringing his knee up, but Harry twisted away. “I’m better off my feet,” he commented, sending a kick towards Marcus’s crotch.
The company watched, some in silence, some by shouting encouragement. Others yelled bets. “A thousand on Vulcan!”
Virginie stared at them, frozen in horror, but d’Argento prevented her from going forward. In any case, who would she go to? Which one?
Marcus was faster, but Harry made up for it with sheer brawn. He absorbed Marcus’s punches instead of moving away, concentrating on dealing harder ones of his own.
The men would soon be bloody messes. Their fine clothes were stained rags, the lace torn, the fabric splattered with blood, and still they traded punches.
Marcus rolled away and sprang to his feet, his chest heaving. He crouched, and held his clenched fists before him in a classic boxing pose.
Harry stayed where he was.
Chapter Eleven
Ellesmere and d’Argento moved in. Ellesmere heaved Harry to his feet by the simple expedient of wrapping his hands in the remains of Harry’s coat and lifting him. D’Argento stood in front of Marcus, blocking him from making any further move. He shoved a large, linen handkerchief at Marcus, who took it and wiped his face, eyes first.
Their wounds were healing before the onlookers’ eyes. Humans would show signs of such a brutal encounter for weeks. These two gods must have been healing as they fought. The fight could have gone on for an eternity.
“Apologise,” Harry said, “to Virginie for insulting her.”
Marcus bowed, the tattered remains of his lace fluttering mockingly in the wake of his extravagant flourish. “I apologise to all the ladies for creating such an unedifying sight. Their delicate sensibilities must be outraged.”
Susanna snorted, and the other women laughed or shrugged. “We never get to see a proper mill,” Susanna said. “I should probably offer to reconcile you, but I doubt anyone could do that.”
“If anyone could, it would be you,” d’Argento said. “But I fear you are right. This conflict will not end here. The best we can hope for is politeness.” He jerked his head at Marcus. “Move over there.”
Marcus scratched a mark over his brow, which a minute ago had been a gaping cut. “If you insist.”
“Oh, I insist.”
Marcus sketched a mocking bow and moved to the middle of the room. Out of reach of the fulminating Harry.
He stood, his cane restored to him, glaring at his adversary. “This man is despicable. No sooner is his mistress cold in her grave than he comes for the old one again.” He turned his attention to Virginie. “Do you mean to go with him? You have a free choice, but once you take it, it is yours for good. My offer to you still stands, but not for long. If you go to him, I withdraw it and I will never return for you.”
She knew that. She didn’t need him to tell her. “You’ve been kind, and you understand what this is,” she told him. She gave him a straight look and watched the long scratch on his cheek heal up, leaving only a trace of dried blood.
Then she turned to Marcus. “We are victims, but we can no longer blame Eros for his actions. He started us on this path, that’s all. We continued it. He can’t remove the spell because there is no spell any longer. It’s of our making.”
“Stay where you are,” d’Argento said. No, it was an order. “Before this goes any further, we must decide on our path with the woman who was murdered. If I ensure that a verdict of suicide is reached, then I want this cleared up. Because I don’t believe it was anything of the kind. It was murder.”
The word echoed around the suddenly silent chamber.
“Yes, it was,” Ellesmere said. “It’s serious enough to make me stay here when I have other duties to perform.” Namely ensuring that his father, the Duke of Boscobel, otherwise Kronos, remained confined. Ellesmere glanced at his wife. His intimate smile hid nothing, displayed his love for anyone who cared to see it. “Faith came to me when I planned to go home to her.”
“I had no desire to stay away,” she said. “Not any longer.”
If Virginie had needed an example of what real love looked like, she need look no further. It was there before her, not only in the way Ellesmere behaved to his wife and she to him, but also Kentmere and his wife.
Loath though she was to admit it, Kentmere had been right. He and the nymph belonged together. She wished she had someone like that, someone she knew without doubt belonged to her.
Her decision made, she pushed d’Argento aside. Taken by surprise, he staggered to one side for long enough for her to grab her skirts and move quickly across the room.
She stood by Harry’s side. “This is my decision,” she said. She didn’t touch him, but faced Marcus. “I know you for an honourable man. In your right mind, you would never say those things about a dead woman. That she was a nuisance, an inconvenience, that her death cleared the way for us. You know you would not. Read your heart, tell me that’s not true.”
Marcus went stark white, and compressed his lips together tightly.
She turned to Harry. “I stand by what I said the other day. I made a promise.” She spared Kentmere a glance. “I keep my promises.” He did h
er the courtesy of flushing. “I am yours, if you still want me.”
A slow smile curled Harry’s lips. “Yes, I do.” When he held his hand out to her, she took it, ignoring the dried blood that still stained his flesh.
She moved closer to him and turned back to the room. Everyone watched her. “We must discover the murderer, if only among ourselves. Why would she be killed?”
A few people looked at Marcus. That was one reason they had to find out. Because until they did, Marcus was under suspicion, and despite her currently low opinion of him, she didn’t think he’d done it. Even in a temper Marcus wouldn’t ever strike a woman, much less kill her.
“Why would he want to kill her?” she said, answering the unspoken accusations. “I had already accepted Harry’s offer. He had proposed to her. Much better, don’t you think, to take her and her children to the countryside and do away with them quietly, rather than draw attention to himself?”
A few murmurs, mostly of agreement. She was right, she knew it. Marcus hadn’t done this. She was almost sure of it. Only a soupcon of suspicion remained. That was because of what she knew of the enchantment. It could drive either of them to madness. He could have cracked under the strain from the way they had spent the last two months. They’d indulging themselves to excesses that threatened to send the balance of sanity off for good. Just could have.
Marcus bowed his head. “I have no witnesses. I did not do it.”
That simple denial sounded more sincere than anything he’d said earlier, more like the old Marcus she’d met when she’d first arrived in London. The one who would have married a woman he was forced to escort rather than see her face disgrace and ruin. It had not come to that, but his steadfastness, courage and honour were still there, buried inside the man.
“We must break this enchantment, Marcus. Somewhere inside you know this.”
She gained a reluctant nod for her pains.
With Harry firmly holding her hand, she turned to leave. “We will support whatever you decide,” she said.
“Wait,” d’Argento commanded. “Not that way. Henry will take you up the back stairs. Unless you want more gossip.”
Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 Page 11