“Greenwich,” he called to the Duke, “Take over!”
He nodded, understanding dawning on his face as Owen ran into the inn.
“Violet!” Owen called, but hearing nothing, he tried again. “Violet!” He coughed as the smoke engulfed him, choking the air from his lungs, and he fell to his knees to try to avoid it as he began to crawl past the family dining room.
He inched down the hallway, calling Violet’s name over and over again, but not hearing anything. He questioned whether he should venture up to the second floor, but he had no idea which was her chamber and he assumed her family or Greenwich would have already looked there for her.
Suddenly a thought dawned on him. The gardens. She often sat in a corner that would be hidden from the beach and the meadow, which was near the kitchen and the dining room. The smoke would be nearly as thick there as inside the building itself due to the way the walls formed a courtyard of sorts.
He forced his way outdoors and saw a form sitting just where he would have pictured her on a regular day, reading her book.
“Violet!” he stood now, rushing forward to her, in equal measure relieved to have found her and yet also deeply scared as to her condition. Her head was lolling down upon her chest, and she was limp in a chair — a chair to which she was… tied? What in the….
“My God, Violet,” he said, lifting his shirt to hold it over his face as he worked at the ties that bound her. Luckily, the ropes came free rather quickly, and he lifted her in his arms, wrapping them tightly around her as he raced out of the enclosed space, where debris was beginning to rain down around them.
Owen had never been one who spoke often to God, but at this moment, he prayed with all his might that Violet was alive and that she would be fine. Please, God, let her be fine. He ran to the beach, where the air seemed fresh and clear in comparison to the inn and its gardens. He looked back now, seeing that the makeshift brigade was actually doing a decent job of fighting the fire, and perhaps — just perhaps — some of the inn might be saved.
He laid Violet down on the grass, running his hands over her as he attempted to wake her up.
“Violet!” he cried. “Please, Violet, look at me!”
He leaned down to find her breath, and upon seeing her chest moving ever so softly up and down, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank God.”
Her sisters came to join him now, and he sat back on his heels, closing his eyes. There was moisture on his cheeks, and he had no idea if the tears were a result of the smoke or his own desperation.
Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and she reached up a hand to him. He grasped it, holding it against his face, reveling in the life-force that accompanied it.
Her lips formed an “O” but when she tried to speak, her words only came out as a gasp, and a few weak coughs. She had breathed a lot of smoke.
“Don’t say anything,” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “We’ll find a physician.”
She shook her head and then pointed toward the building, her eyes open now, desperately seeking his as she sought to tell him something.
He turned now, following her finger, and as he did, he thought he saw a spark on the side of the building. His focus returned to the fact that the fire had been started in multiple locations. It was set deliberately, and Violet was the one targeted. Comtois was still here.
Owen looked between the building and Violet, torn between the need to stay with her and the urge to race after Comtois.
“Go,” Daisy urged, crouching down beside her sister, and Iris nodded. Looking between them, realizing Violet would be safe, he backed away, but not before turning to Westwood.
“Watch over them,” he ordered the man, and after Westwood nodded resolutely, Owen took off after Comtois.
14
Owen entered the trees as silently as possible, though stealth was hardly necessary, due to the crackling of the fire in the building above him. Much of it was built of brick and stone, so would hopefully survive, but everything within it would likely be reduced to ashes. At least all were safe; that was what mattered.
That and catching the man responsible.
Owen rounded the corner where it seemed a fire had most recently been started, and as he inched around the side of the inn that was adjacent to the stables, he spotted his quarry. He looked decidedly more disheveled than at their last meeting, but Owen supposed that was what happened following imprisonment. Upon his escape, he would have had little opportunity to clean himself, and the clothes he wore looked stolen, for they were decidedly too small. But that didn’t keep the evil smirk from his face as he used a lantern to set a piece of cloth on fire before holding it up as though to throw it upon the building.
“Comtois!” Owen called to stop him, and the man turned quickly to his voice. When he saw Owen, however, he did not look dismayed but rather grinned so wickedly that Owen shuddered.
“Ah, Owen Ridlington. Or, should I say, Seigneur Primrose.” He laughed. “I see I have shocked you. Oui, I know who you are. Just as I know that you are enamored with the Tavners girl. Did you find my little gift? I had actually hoped it would take you longer and the two of you would perish together. How romantic would that be?”
Owen narrowed his eyes at him. He had no wish to engage in verbal barbs with the man. He would far rather come to physical blows, but that would have to wait. He wished he had a weapon on him, but he had left his hands free in favor of carrying buckets. Some of the men had been wielding axes to help fight the fire, and now he wished he had picked one up himself.
However, this was partly providential, for there was one thing he needed to know.
“Where are the rest of them?”
“The rest of what?”
“Your allies.”
A look flashed in Comtois’ eyes, one that was quite telling. The man was alone, though he attempted to convince Owen otherwise.
“They will be coming upon you shortly, Primrose. I would far prefer to finish you myself, however. You and the dastardly Westwood.” Comtois frowned. “This is not going according to plan, you know. The lot of you were supposed to be encased in the inn right now as it burned to the ground, but the fire within the garden never caught. You had a touch of luck today, mon ami. Until now, that is.”
It was then that Owen saw the pistol in Comtois’ hand as it twitched at his side. Owen inched ever closer. If he could reach him, then he could knock it out of his hand and the two of them could engage in hand-to-hand combat. That, he knew he could win.
“Why didn’t you return to France?” he asked, buying time.
“I had to complete my business here first,” Comtois said, raising the pistol and leveling it at him.
Don’t shoot, Owen thought. I need a minute. One minute more. And then I can wrest the pistol away, go back to Violet, tell her that I love her and want to spend our lives together.
Comtois’ finger tightened on the trigger, and life passed before Owen — not his past, however, but his future. The future that he would never have if that bullet hit him in the right place.
If I survive this, he promised, I’ll do everything right. I’ll look after Violet, give up everything else, and commit myself to her.
He cringed as Comtois narrowed his eyes and began to squeeze the trigger. A large “crack” announced the firing of the gun. Owen waited for the bullet to hit, noting that time truly did slow down when in moments such as this.
A wave of heat rolled over him.
But the bullet never came.
He looked up to find Comtois had vanished. In his place was a section of the inn that had fallen from the second story, landing on top of the man. The glare of the fire made Owen squint his eyes as he shied from the hot flames. That must have been what had caused the crack, and the reason the bullet had never fired.
Owen knew he should run before the rest of the building fell, but first he had to make sure that this was the last they would see of the French spy. He inched closer, careful as he p
icked his way through the debris, and finally saw Comtois’ boot sticking out from below a pile of bricks. He attempted to pull some of them off of him, but the mangled body beneath was not something which he wanted to spend much time over.
Comtois was dead, and would never be a threat to them again.
The moment the relief began to wash over him, he wasted not another moment before running clear of the building and any potential threat. He had much to live for now and was not going to fall victim to this inn.
Noting the newly formed fire brigade seemed to have everything well in hand, his heart led him back to where he had last left Violet. She was now sitting up, her family attending to her. They stepped back, parting to allow him to walk to her. He bent down on one knee and lifted her hands in his.
“Violet,” he said softly, looking into her eyes, grateful to find that her returned gaze was steady and even.
“Owen,” she said, her voice still guttural but much clearer now.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, hearing his voice break but no longer caring. In the back of his mind, he noted that her family had stepped backward — though Daisy had to pull Iris away — to allow them a moment alone. He intended to take full advantage.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, the ashes on his hand mixing with those upon her face.
“I’m stronger than you think,” she said with a small smile, and he nodded, knowing that her words had never been truer. Even as she sat there with her hair strewn about her, soot upon her cheeks, her nightgown torn and bedraggled, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He couldn’t stop the words before they poured out of his mouth.
“I love you, Violet Tavners.”
* * *
Violet looked up at Owen in shock. Had he truly just said those words to her? And did he actually mean them or was it simply due to the excitement of the moment?
Her mind was still slightly hazy but his face was as clear as could be as he knelt down in front of her, his warm, calloused hands still encasing hers as his thumbs massaged the backs of her hands.
“You don’t have to say that, Owen,” she said, shaking her head before she could allow hope to invade her soul. “I understand—”
“No, you don’t,” he said with more urgency. “Not if you don’t believe me. I’ve been a fool, Violet.”
“You could never be a fool.”
“But I have.”
He paused, looking down for a moment, and seeing the struggle within him, she patiently waited for him to continue, doing all she could to not allow her emotions to get the better of her, but to wait and see what it was he had to say.
“I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought that by keeping you away from me I was keeping you safe. That by distancing myself, not allowing a future together, you would have a far better chance at happiness. But I realize now that safety is never guaranteed. That I will always love you, no matter where I am or where you are. Perhaps the very best way to keep you safe — and to make you happy — is to be with you. If you’ll have me, that is.”
Of course she would have him! Her heart was nearly bursting to exclaim such a thing, but he apparently had more to say.
“I don’t know what kind of life I can offer you,” Owen said. “I can never fully commit my time to you and my home until we’ve defeated Napoleon and his forces. You may have to live elsewhere while I’m away to ensure your own safety. It’s not much of a life, I'm afraid, and I hate asking you to wait, Violet, but wait you may have to do until this war is finished.”
She bit her lip, considering the fact that after what they had been through, she could still lose him in whatever battles remained. The alternative, however, was losing him and his love regardless.
“What I can promise you,” he continued, “is that I will do all I can to remain with you, to love with all of myself when I am with you. I will give you as much of the world as possible, Violet. I will take you places that you have only read about in your books. I will build you a library worthy of a queen. If that’s not enough… I do understand. But I needed you to know how I feel.”
“Oh, Owen,” she said, tears beginning to form, and he sat her up, placing an arm behind her back so that their faces were even. “I don’t need any of that. All I need is for you to love me even half as much as I love you.”
He looked at her for a moment, his face filled with disbelief as a wide grin began to form, ever so slowly, until it broke out across his face.
“We may be having a battle here, Violet,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow, “as I would argue that I love you more.”
She gave a little laugh at that and leaned into him, tilting her head up toward him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner. And I know you have another life, with responsibilities that you must see to. But if I can fit in there somewhere, I would be deliriously happy.”
“Then prepare to be crazed out of your mind,” he said, releasing her hands to allow his arms to come around her now. Despite the fact that her family stood nearby, he pulled her in close, touched his forehead to hers for a moment, and then found her lips. The kiss was too short and too chaste for Violet’s liking, but it said what it needed to — that she was his and would be forever.
She wasn’t sure how long they would have remained entwined together had they not heard a shout from just beyond them.
“Well, I never!”
Oh, yes, Linus. She had quite forgotten about him.
“First, my inn burns to the ground.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Linus,” her father said in an attempt to placate him. “Why, much of it is still standing. Built of sturdy brick and stone, it was.”
Linus shot him a hateful stare as the rest of the family, Violet and Owen included, looked on.
“And then, after my inn is burned to nothing even resembling a building any longer, I find my bride in the arms of another.”
He turned his glare now onto the pair of them, and Violet could only look at him with pity, for he clearly lacked any love in his life. However, he would never have found it with her.
She began to rise and Owen, realizing just how unsteady she was, stood with her, holding her up.
“Linus,” she said, catching his attention, and he stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “I am sorry that you have lost the inn, and I’m sorry that we will not be married. However, that was never to be the case. It was an… option, but one that didn’t work out, for I love another.”
Not that she would have married him anyway, for she knew now he would simply make her life miserable, but that wasn’t something that she should share at the moment. He was angry enough as it was.
“Do you think that even matters?” he seethed. “We had a deal! You were promised to me!”
“That wasn’t anything of which I was aware or agreed to,” she said, and then turned back to look at what remained of the inn. Most of the fire had now settled into embers. The front half of the building was still somewhat intact. The back half — the family’s quarters — was gone. Thankfully, the stables were untouched, as were the buildings on the other side.
She looked over at her father, and now that his attention was removed from Linus, she could see what a toll this was having on him. Everything he had ever owned was lost, burned down with the inn itself.
Her mother, normally the one whose emotions would be most apparent, stared on as though in a daze, unsure of what to do or even what to think. Daisy walked over to her now, placing an arm around her shoulders.
The sisters looked at one another, silent words passing between them. They would get through this — together. For that’s what families did.
15
Violet sat on the small bed, staring out through the window at the countryside beyond. So much had happened over the past night and day that she should be exhausted, falling on the bed in a deep sleep, but it seemed it was far the opposite.
She didn’t kn
ow what to do with herself. Normally when she couldn’t sleep, as was often the case, she would light a candle and read long into the night, until her eyes closed of their own accord. But tonight, it was not to be. Her eyes were still gritty from smoke, her head still aching something fierce. She simply couldn’t concentrate.
It was, of course, more than the physical symptoms. Violet’s heart was both full of both love and agony.
Her childhood home, the building that had meant everything to her family, was in ashes. Her parents would be adrift, and as for her? Well, if Owen had meant everything he had said, then her entire world was about to change. Unless it had simply been an outcome of almost losing her, and now that he had time to consider the future, he thought differently.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Her family was staying at the inn of the nearby town, Reydon, for a couple of nights. Violet lifted a wrapper, borrowed from a neighbor in Southwold, around her shoulders before she crossed the room to open the door.
Her pulse quickened.
There stood Owen, leaning against the door in his signature slouch.
“I was hoping you were also awake.”
“I am,” she said, opening the door wider to allow him entrance. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
He shook his head and stepped in.
“I suppose I probably shouldn’t be here alone with you,” he said, sending her a rueful smile.
“If anyone ever found out, then I would likely be ruined,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder as she retreated a few steps, though she couldn’t resist the small smile that escaped. “And then you’d have to marry me.”
The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it, and she brought a hand to cover her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He reached her in a few long strides.
“Would you, though?” he asked, his eyes desperately seeking hers. “Marry me, I mean?”
A Viscount for Violet: The Blooming Brides Book 4 Page 9