by Wendy Vella
“Did you miss me, Eden?”
“Absolutely not. Samantha, however, I missed dearly.”
Eden thought it wrong a man could be so ridiculously handsome when he did something as simple as smile.
“I must thank you for carrying me from the carriage the night of the musical. When I get a headache I tend to fall into a deep sleep.”
“Do you know what brings on the headaches?”
He led her around other couples, and she followed each step. Eden had partnered many men since entering society, yet James was by far the most natural. He had an elegance that suggested he, like she, loved music.
“I have no idea,” she said, unable to tell him the truth. She could never tell anyone that, as the results would be dire.
“As to your question regarding Samantha, I have been a nurse the past few weeks. My sister has been unwell, but is nearly back to full health.”
“Oh dear, I hope it is nothing too serious?”
“She has had a fever and sore throat, but seems improved today, hence my appearance here.”
“And as you have yet to hire a companion, you and your staff must have been rushed off your feet, James. You should have sent word, my sister and I would have nursed Samantha.”
“I am more than capable of nursing my sister, thank you, Eden.”
“I have no doubts, James, but we also understand how tiring that can be, having three small siblings in our family,” Eden said.
His sigh came from the soles of his large feet.
“In truth there were times I wondered if I was doing the right thing. Samantha clung to me, hot and sweaty with fever; she would not let me leave her side.”
“How wonderful that she turned to you, James, and not away.”
His smile confirmed her words.
“Yes, it was a wonderful thing. But I must admit the fear that she would not get well was not something I would care to live through again.”
But you will, Eden thought silently. Again and again.
“I spoon-fed her fluid; washed her,” he added, “and she treated me as a pillow and lay spent in my arms for hours while I read to her. I would not trade one minute for all the gold in the world,” he added softly.
Eden had wanted to distance herself from this man, yet even as she thought it he somehow pulled her closer. The changes in him were weakening her resolve. He seemed so much more real to her now. The harsh, cold man she'd pulled from that water was being erased.
“The bond my sister and I share grows stronger every day, and I believe she has all the burgeoning traits of a minx who will in time twist her big brother in circles as I attempt to curtail her high spirits.”
“And are you like Dev, who can move through each day with little sleep, or like me, and turn into a virago?”
“I learned to exist on little sleep in the army.”
“Of course.” Eden remembered Dev telling her about James and how he led his troops.
“Can I ask if there has been any further news on who was responsible for the attempt on your life?” She had to ask, as that too had been plaguing her, worry that whoever had tried would soon try once again, and there would not be a Sinclair handy to save him.
“Nothing so far, and before you ask, yes I am being careful.”
“Excellent. One can only hope that whoever is responsible has died, or is suffering from a wasting disease that renders him incapable of speech and movement.”
His laugh was loud enough to startle the couple beside them.
James had missed her, there was no getting around that fact. Actually, he'd strangely missed all the Sinclairs, although that knowledge would have to be pulled from him with a horse and plough, but Eden the most. They made him feel alive, and had shown him what family life could be if people actually cared for each other.
He'd hated the bite of jealousy he had felt when Cam had informed him earlier today that his sisters were proving a success in society. That each danced constantly and had several admirers.
Coming tonight had been something he'd had to do or go mad. It was getting harder and harder to ignore this need inside him for Eden. He'd sought her out instantly upon his arrival. Dressed in ivory silk, it was a simple gown, unadorned by frills and bows that caressed her body and rippled as she walked. He'd dreamt of her, thought of her when he had a moment to think, and tried to rationalize his need for her. Still he had no answers. He either had to distance himself from her, or hope this, whatever this was, eased given time.
Looking down, he noted the small pink shell of her ear. A tendril of hair lifted as they turned and he saw something inside. Some sort of obstruction.
“Do they stop your headaches?”
“Pardon?” She looked startled by his words.
“What you have in your ear, does it stop your head from hurting?”
She lowered her lashes and James realized she was uncomfortable with his questions.
“Is Samantha fully recovered?”
“Almost, and you did not answer my question.”
“Question?” She was being deliberately vague, and if there was one thing he knew about this woman, it was that she never forgot anything, and had never been vague a day in her life.
The music finished just as he was about to question her further.
“Thank you, if you will take me back to Essie, please, James.”
“Of course.”
More questions with no answers, James thought. She did not look his way as he led her to where her sister stood, now surrounded by both ladies and gentlemen.
“Miss Eden, come and lend my argument some weight. Mr. Johnson has vowed that a Gunther's lemon ice surpasses a strawberry one.”
Idiots! James thought, scowling as Eden swept the small party a wide smile. Each of the men stood a little straighter, one ran his eyes over her lovely breasts, and he could feel the heat of anger slowly flushing his body. When had he last experienced jealousy? Several weeks ago when he had seen men looking at her at the musical. Hell, he was in trouble.
“Oh, an orange ice surely surpasses them all,” Eden said, joining the inane conversation.
“Yes, of course you are correct, Miss Eden. How can we have forgotten orange!”
“Excuse me,” James said, offering the group a bow before leaving. He did so before he said or did something that would raise the eyebrows of society. Dukes did not fight in public, nor did they throw women over their shoulders. Making his way through some of the guests, he headed for the doors that would take him to his carriage.
He needed a drink and male companionship, so he made for his club. After giving orders to his driver, he sat back in his carriage. Having been inside with his sister for the last few days, he had not caught up on the latest news, therefore he would have a nightcap and there would be someone at his club willing to fill him in on what had been happening.
James wasn't a gossip, but he had several investments that he kept abreast of, and often what he needed to know was not to be found in the newspapers.
“I will not be overlong, Jonah,” he said to his driver after climbing from his carriage a short while later.
He found a group of men he knew gathered around the fire. Signaling for a brandy, he joined their ranks.
“I have just placed a bet that the younger will wed before the elder, especially now that the Earl is putting some blunt behind them. Makes the package all the tastier if you ask me.”
“Raven would know,” Lord Percival said, looking at James as he joined the group.
“Know what?” James said, hoping he had misunderstood the conversation, but the unease inside him suggested he had not.
“There are bets being placed as to which of the two beautiful Sinclair sisters will wed first. Personally, my money’s on the younger one; the body of a siren and sweet-tempered as well. What more could a man ask for?”
James choked on his brandy and accepted the thump on the back by the man to his right. He wasn't sure which comment infuriated him more, that Eden had the b
ody of a siren, which of course she did but no one but he was allowed to notice that fact, or that she was sweet-tempered. Eden? Good lord, the woman was a virago when riled.
“As the Sinclair family are friends to both my sister and me, it would not be polite of me to comment further.”
Silence greeted these words. James smiled into his brandy goblet. He had probably shocked them, using words like friends and then informing them that he had a sister. Most people had believed him incapable of emotion or involvement. The cold calculating Duke was what they called him. Yet James was no longer sure the title fitted him, and he wanted people to know he had a sister. He loved Samantha and would protect her with his last breath; she belonged to him now. His to cherish, and he would do so to the best of his ability.
“Sister? We had no idea you had a sister, Raven.”
“She is six, Percival, and lives with me here in London.”
“Yes, yes, I'm sure your sister is a gem, Raven,” Viscount Bitterly boomed. “But about the sisters, man. Surely you can give us the inside running. Is the youngest worth pursuing? She'd be bloody comfortable in my bed, but what about as a mother to my children?”
James felt rage travelling through his body with alarming speed.
“Tupping her will be a pleasure,” someone else said.
“Wynburg's money will come in handy too. Not to mention a man of his position and power at your back.”
He listened as they talked about Essie and Eden as if they were nothing more than empty-headed vessels, deserving of no respect. God, had he ever been like that?
“A word of warning,” he managed to get out calmly. His voice was not loud, but carried enough that he had everyone's attention. “A disparaging or insulting word against the Sinclair family I will take as an insult to me. Therefore, I suggest you think carefully before you speak in my company again.”
Disgusted with their comments and their company, James stormed from the building. The foul mood he had arrived in was now significantly darker.
“God’s blood, was it too much to ask for a drink and idle conversation,” he muttered. Crossing the street, he then started down it, to where his carriage awaited.
“Your Grace, please, come quick, a man is hurt over here!”
Spinning on his heel, James looked to where a man stood waving madly at him from the entry to some stables.
“Who is injured?” James said, not moving.
“’Tis a man, your Grace!”
“We've established it's a man, yet I am asking you who he is.”
“He is injured and needs your help, your Grace! Please come quickly.”
James's body tensed as the man moved toward him. Bracing his legs, he waited.
“How do you know I am a duke?”
“I know who you are.”
James watched the man's expression change from anxious to cunning. He knew the game was up and that James was no fool to follow him down the lane where he could be dragged into an empty stable. He just had time to raise his fists as he saw another coming at him from the right. His carriage was still some distance away and Jonah was probably sleeping. He yelled anyway but had little hope of waking his driver. The man slept deeply.
“Get him before he runs!”
Run? James was insulted, he had never run from a fight in his life. He took the full impact of the man as he ran at him, fists flailing, legs pumping. Grunting, he swung his arm and heard a satisfying thunk as it connected with a jaw. The other was closer now and the few seconds it took him to look his way was enough to earn him a fist to the chin. His head spun, eyes temporarily closed. Shaking his head to clear it, he then started fighting with everything he had. Two against one was never good odds but he'd had worse.
“May I offer my assistance, Raven?”
James grunted as the Frenchman Lord Laurent joined the fray. The man could fight, not the prissy boxing type, but brawling just like he could. Swinging his leg in an arc he caught one of them in the thigh and the man hit the ground with a thud. The other followed seconds later courtesy of Lord Laurent. James watched the men groggily regain their feet and run off into the shadows; too tired to follow, James braced his hands on his knees and sucked in deep lungfuls of smoke-laden London air. When his breathing had calmed he rose and looked at the Frenchman.
“I am unsure what has you here at such an opportune moment, but thank you, Laurent.”
“Think nothing of it,” the man said. “Always said Englishmen could not fight worth a damn, and I have just confirmed it.”
“I hope you are not including me in that statement?”
“No indeed,” Lord Laurent took the hand James held out to him. “You fight like a Frenchman.”
James looked around them. “I think it best we leave here. If you have no transport, Laurent, please allow me to take you home.”
“I would be most grateful for a lift to the Grillion’s Hotel in Albemarle Street,” Lord Laurent said, wiping the blood from his lips with a white square of linen.
It only took a matter of minutes and they arrived at his carriage.
“The Grillion, Jonah,” James told his driver.
For long minutes the only sound in the carriage as it rolled through the streets was harsh breathing. James studied the Frenchman who had come to his aid. Not as tall as he, the man was also of a lighter build, and yet he had handled himself well.
“Thank you.”
“I did not arrive for the first punch, Raven, and yet it seemed to me those men wanted more than just your purse.”
Looking into the steady gaze of the man across from him, James wondered how much to tell him. Surely the fact that his nose was bloodied on James's behalf suggested he was someone he could trust. Yet trust was not something James had in plentiful supply, having been betrayed more than once in his life. Still, perhaps it was time to try once more.
“That was the second attempt on my life in the past month, Laurent, and I fear I am no closer to finding who is so intent on sending me to my maker.”
“My name is Louis. I would be honored if you would use it.”
Louis, Lord Laurent, James thought, fighting a smile.
“When you hear my middle name is Lyon, you will sympathize with me and understand that my mother was fond of alliteration.”
This time he could do little to hold back his snort. “My name is James, Louis.”
“So who is on the list of suspects, James?”
Releasing a breath, James looked out the carriage window. Only the faint light from the gas lamps lit the streets, leaving eerie shadows and crevices for some of the more nefarious members of society to frequent.
“I have an heir, but he is off travelling the world and enjoying himself. There are other family members, but none who would gain by my death. Business interests perhaps? But I cannot think of any who would wish me dead. There must be others, men I have unwittingly insulted or—”
“Even I, who have not been in London over long, have heard of your chilly exterior and rapier-sharp tongue,” Louis drawled.
“I was exactly as you say.” James shrugged.
“Was? May I ask after the change in your manner, James? Although on such a short acquaintance I understand if the question is too personal.”
It probably was too personal and James would usually have bristled and delivered a sharp set down at such a question. But he was different now, for better or worse, and he did seem to feel emotions that previously had been a stranger to him. He also knew the sources of these changes, yet was only willing to supply one of them.
“My sister.”
“I have heard they are wonderful, yet exasperating creatures, sisters.” Louis smiled then winced as the cut on his lip gave a vicious tug.
“Do you have any siblings, Louis?”
The sadness that passed over the Frenchman’s face made James wish he had not asked the question.
“Alas, I have no family alive, James.”
He did not ask, but wondered if like many,
Louis had lost family during the French revolution.
“Do you fence, Louis?” James said as the carriage stopped before the Grillion.
“Oui, James. I am a Frenchman. Therefore, I am superior to you, the staid Englishman.”
James laughed at the arrogance.
“I would be happy to set you on your backside a time or two,” Louis added.
“Perhaps tomorrow afternoon then?”
“Excellent. Shall we say Angelo's at 2:00 p.m.?”
“I shall look forward to it,” James said, “and thank you once again.”
“My pleasure, and if I may be bold, James. I would not advise you to go anywhere unaccompanied until this matter is settled.”
James shook the hand offered. “Thank you, yes I shall show caution.”
He watched Louis leave with a last raise of his hand, and then sat back as Jonah headed the horses for home. He had to find out who wanted him dead. Before Samantha, he would not have cared; life to James had never held much meaning, but now he had a sister who needed him and a woman he wanted more with every dawning day. Not that he would ever follow through with that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Shall we walk, Eden, as it is not too far?”
“Yes, Somer, both you and Dorrie should gather your outer clothing and I will call Essie and we will be off at once.”
The Sinclair sisters stepped out into a beautiful sunny day minutes later. They planned to walk to the Duke of Raven's house to pay a call on Samantha. Eden had told the twins about the little girl's illness over breakfast that morning, and they had been insistent upon visiting. Eden had sent word, and the reply was in Samantha's handwriting and stated that she would love to see them.
Essie carried the small posy of flowers they had made for Samantha.
“I am getting used to the noise and bustle and even beginning to like it here, Somer,” Dorrie said, skipping beside her twin.
Eden smiled at Essie over the heads of her sisters. It was good they were beginning to like it here. She knew much of her siblings’ happiness was because of their aunt and uncle and the love they so obviously lavished on their nieces and nephews.