Of Sin & Sanctuary: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “So it stops tonight, Vee.”

  “Can it?”

  He motioned with his head to the house. “It is a building—stone and mortar—it is not more, unless you choose to make it more.”

  Her lips drew inward, and a frown dropped her chin.

  She didn’t believe him.

  He reset his smile, crinkling the edges of his eyes. “Tell me, Vee, what do you do at the Revelry’s Tempest when you must deal with an idiot—no, let us say a slew of idiots around a table? What do you do right before you approach them?” He leaned forward to grab her left hand and clasp it between his palms. “Close your eyes. Imagine a tableful of imbeciles. Imagine a tableful of me soused, five times over, all rambling for your attention.”

  The smallest smile breached her lips as her eyelids dropped closed. Her chest lifted in a heavy breath. “Five foxed yous? I straighten my spine. Smile. Become impenetrable.”

  “Exactly. That, you are very good at. You excel at it—I have seen it firsthand. So that is what you shall do in that ballroom.”

  Her long dark eyelashes opened to him.

  He released his clasp on her hand and squeezed her knee through her satin gown. “Spine straight. Smile in place. Let no one in. Let no one disparage.”

  “You say it as though it is easy.”

  He shrugged. “It is and it isn’t. It is a character to slip into. And that—being someone else, is easy.”

  “It is being yourself that is hard?”

  A true smile lifted his eyes as he chuckled. “If I had an answer for that, Vee, my life would not be in the current state that it is.” He pointed to the door. “You are ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Theo exited the coach, assisted Violet down the carriage step, and within minutes they were past the columns at the entrance to the Vandestile ballroom. Lined on two sides with Ionic columns that created long alcoves stretching the length of the space, the two-story-high room boasted gold gilding on every possible surface, tinting even the air into a yellow hue.

  He glanced down at her. Not surprisingly, she had fortified herself amazingly well during the walk inside. Her posture impeccable, the grace with which she moved—soft smiles and nods to all acquaintances, immunity to any whispers as she passed—was admirable. A mistress in her own land once more, whether she believed it or not.

  Violet could slip into a character faster than anyone he knew.

  He could have used her during the war.

  The thought struck him without warning—random and callous and jarring.

  A dark strike to his heart, sending it pounding out of control.

  Not Violet. Not her.

  “Theo?”

  A covert poke in the side of his ribs.

  “Theo?”

  He started, looking at her. She stared up at him, confusion in the violet shards of her eyes. Had she just been talking to him?

  “What is it?” She angled herself slightly in front of him, hiding her concern as her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it your arm?”

  He stared down at her, centering himself in time and place. It took several blinks before he could answer. “No. My arm is fine. It is nothing.”

  Nodding, she stepped back to his side. She surveyed the ballroom from the nook they had settled into by the French doors leading to the gardens. The soft, regal smile had returned solidly to her lips.

  He followed Violet’s sight line around the ballroom until a flash of light blond hair piled high with a single sparkling black ostrich feather caught his eye by the far door into the dining hall. Hair at its finest. Hair he recognized.

  No. Blast it to hell. Not here.

  His body tensing, he shook his head. He wasn’t seeing her. Not again.

  The face attached to the blond hair was obscured by the height of the man next to her, and then the blond hair disappeared through the open door and into the dining hall.

  “Oh.” Violet looked up at him. “My uncle is in attendance.”

  Hearing Violet’s voice but not her words, Theo ignored her, taking a step toward the dining hall. Violet’s sudden hand on his forearm stopped his motion.

  “Theo?”

  He looked back to Violet. Her eyebrows were arched, perplexed.

  His head swiveled, searching the crowd, searching for the blond hair. It was gone. Another ghost. Dammit. What the hell was happening to him?

  “Theo?” Violet’s whisper commanded his attention.

  He looked at her, unable to focus, unable to draw himself back into the moment, his body still aching to sprint across the ballroom to find the blond hair.

  Understanding flashed across her dark blue eyes. “A ghost?”

  He shrugged.

  She quickly glanced around, the lines on her forehead nervously creasing before her look landed back on him. Her hand slipped from gripping his arm. “Do you need to pursue it? It is fine if you do. I will survive alone.”

  She bolstered a smile onto her face. A smile he could see right through. A smile that didn’t come close to her eyes.

  He dug his heels into the perfectly shined floorboards. “There is only one thing I need to pursue at the moment, and that is to be by your side through this adventure we find ourselves in, Vee.”

  She exhaled, relieved. “I think you will regret saying that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think you heard me.” Her look veered from him to across the room as a serene smile settled onto her face. “My uncle is in attendance. I apologize. I know how you regard him and I did not know he would be here as his health is so poor.” Her smile belied her words, so light and unaffected she should have been talking about butterflies and roses. “I would have warned you earlier had I known.”

  “I did not know he was still alive. I have heard nothing of him for years.”

  “That is because he has held tightly to this world in the privacy of his bedroom. I have several nurses taking care of him at the Vandestile dower house.”

  His eyebrows cocked as he glanced at her. “You have been taking care of him as well? He lives off of your generosity?”

  “Yes. His access to credit disappeared with Malcolm’s death. He had apparently used the connection to my inheritance and my husband quite excessively, with nothing to back his debts.”

  “Where is he?”

  “By the door to the drawing room. I only caught a glimpse of him past the dancers, as he is slumped in his chair.”

  Theo nodded, taking a sip of the claret he held. “His presence is not a bother. I will simply leave your side while you greet him.”

  “I would prefer you not.”

  His smile stretched thin as he kept his eyes on the bobbing feathers adorning the heads of the dancers in the middle of the ballroom. “Your preference is not my concern on the matter, Vee.”

  “I know what he did.” She glanced up at him, the graceful smile still adorning her lips. “It is unforgivable, and I wish I knew at the time what he had done—the position he forced upon you. If I had…” The smile faltered for a moment until she straightened her shoulders, and it instantly reappeared. “I do not condone what he did—I have been beside myself about it since you told me. But it is past. And everything that has happened since that time I cannot undo. Nor can he. But he is old and feeble. And I hope he regrets his actions—if he has not already done so.”

  “You look upon it in a much kinder light than I do.”

  Her eyes drifted back to the couples dancing in the middle of the ballroom. “I simply cannot afford to have his actions filling my brain. I have far too many other things to worry upon.”

  “Such as refortifying your bank for the upcoming gala?”

  Her smile turned into a pointed grin. “Yes. Although that worry has been eased somewhat after what I saw in the mine—assuming you were not just showing me random rock.”

  “The vein is real.”

  “I believe you. Though I am still irate at you for losing my money and putting me in this precarious position
. And that is why I am about to make you accompany me across the room to greet Uncle Demetrick.”

  Theo seethed out a long breath. “I don’t think you fully understand my hatred of the man, Vee.”

  “No, I think I do. And for him to see you by my side will be the best revenge in this instance.”

  Theo’s look flew to her. “I thought you magnanimous on the matter.”

  “I cannot cut off support to the man for the feeble state he is currently in. But I am not above doling out a whit of revenge, Theo. I wish I was above it, but I am not. So think your worst of me.”

  A bright glint of determination flashed in her eyes. “I want Uncle Demetrick to see me with you. I want him to see us approach, my hand in the crook of your arm. I want him to see you set your hand at the small of my back. I want him to have that image in his mind for the rest of his days.”

  Staring at her sudden ferocity, it took Theo a long moment before he jerked into action, offering up his left elbow to her. He bowed his head to her. “Then let us make our way across the room.”

  The serene smile settled back onto her lips, but a peculiar glow was now shining in the deepest violet slivers of her eyes as she looked up at him. “Yes, let us. Together, Theo.”

  ~~~

  Her teeth dry behind her lips, Violet sipped claret from the delicate, gold-rimmed glass, her mind drifting from the conversation with Lord Folton. The unique opaque twist stem of the crystal had long ago made it her favorite in the Vandestile glassware collection. That her lips were touching it again, with gaiety surrounding her, was odd.

  She had thought to never be in this place again. Never to have to face these people again. Many of them the very faces that had plagued her after Malcolm’s death, demanding payment of debts. That they all now stood in the ballroom together, congenially, sent a distasteful streak of bile up her throat.

  But the whole of the evening hadn’t been nearly as terrible as she had imagined.

  Of course, none of these people knew exactly what happened two and a half years ago in a room just above this dance floor. This ball would have taken a terribly different turn if that were common knowledge.

  The entire reason she had managed to step into Vandestile manor—had managed to face this crowd—was standing four feet behind her, hovering without being overbearing, ready to save her at a moment’s notice.

  Theo.

  She had travelled to Glenhaven on a mission of pity. A mission of repaying an unrepayable debt to Adalia. She was going to make Theo turn his life around. Find a path forward.

  Instead, she had found herself staring down a past that would not yield. Learning the real reason Theo had left those many years ago. Returning to Vandestile manor. Both things she had long since dismissed to be forever in the past.

  Past she had needed to revisit, whether she admitted to it or not.

  Her heart, which had collapsed so brutally onto itself two and a half years ago and had hardened so much since that time, was slowly starting to crack. The smallest slivers opening up to the world.

  She had come here to save Theo.

  But she was the one being saved.

  She heard his chuckle behind her, could feel his eyes piercing the back of her head, and the hairs along the back of her neck spiked.

  He had surprised her more than once in the past days. And that he had come here to Vandestile Manor—when it represented the very crushing of his young dreams—merely to hold her hand, support her through this, had been the most generous surprise of all.

  “What will your initial plans be after London?” Lord Folton’s attention shifted from Violet, his question directed at the new Viscount Vandestile that had moved to stand near them.

  Violet exhaled the breath she had been holding in the pit of her lungs after Lord Folton’s look left her chest. The man had commandeered her a half hour ago and he had not let her escape the conversation since that time. As a widow she was accustomed to this—men approaching her as fair game for a quick tryst. Yes, Lord Folton was most attentive. Yes, he was generous with his compliments. Yes, he was attractive—almost sinfully so.

  But the barriers she had erected two and a half years ago were thick, and no common gentleman was going to breach them.

  Hoping her smile wasn’t reflecting how tired she was just three hours into the ball, she turned her attention to Lord Vandestile. An American, with the expected brute and gait accompanying him, the man was now quite soused, reeking of whiskey, of all things.

  Poor form, if she were to judge. But what could be expected of a hardscrabble American being plucked out of his homeland and dropped into an English ballroom? She rightfully couldn’t blame the man for indulging, even if he was dangerously close to swaying out of control and landing upon her.

  “London?” The American took a heavy step forward, interrupting the circular sway he was immersed in, his shoulder almost ramming into Lord Folton.

  Lord Folton lifted a hand, grabbing the viscount by the upper arm to help steady him. He shot Violet an apologetic look. He had, after all, encouraged the man to stay in the vicinity with his question. “Or perhaps you do not plan on London so soon, Lord Vandestile? Though it would behoove you to take a spell to familiarize yourself with society in London, I imagine. Best to be done with it before parliament ends, and all.”

  “Tell me, Lord Ooot—Otton—Ollie.” The viscount’s red-rimmed eyes swung to Violet and he leaned forward, his look dropping lecherously to her chest. “How do it work here? I inherit the title, I inherit the woman, yes? This Lady Vandestile looks ripe to me.” He pointed with his finger, making a circle about her breasts. “Seems right fair to me I inherit her as well. She is now my property, correct?” His finger lifted from her chest to point at the ballroom ceiling. “Upstairs, little lady, you know the room? The biggin one on the left?”

  Luck was on her side, for Violet had frozen in place the second his leer had hit her bosom. She had braced herself well enough that his words drew no reaction from her, her smile only hardening into place.

  Not so for Lord Folton.

  He gasped, coughing as he stepped in front of the American to shield Violet. “I say, sir, this will not do—you cannot—”

  Violet grabbed Lord Folton’s forearm, hoping to intervene before his next words blew the whole evening into mayhem. “Truly, Lord Folton, I take no offense. I am sure Lord Vandestile is accustomed to much freer expressions in America and has not been fully prepared for—”

  “Lady Vandestile, may I steal you away for a moment?” Theo snatched her hand from Lord Folton’s arm, tugging her sideways and away from the two men. “Mr. Nullter had an urgent question about the proper tablecloths before dinner is served—something about spilled wine. He needs to see you at once.”

  Before she could turn her head away from Lord Folton and the American, Theo had her shuffled halfway to a side entrance leading to the main hallway. She attempted to keep up to his long strides, nodding politely at people as they passed and trying to make their exit from the ballroom look as natural as possible when she was clearly being dragged from the room. She had needed Theo to keep her from scandal, not cause it.

  Theo didn’t stop once they had stepped into the hallway, instead leading her up the stairs and down the corridor past the many suites on the third level. He opened and peeked into three chambers before he found an empty room and he stepped into it, his fingers still in a solid clamp around her wrist.

  “Mr. Nullter is in here?” Violet asked as she stepped into the room.

  Theo released her arm, reaching past her shoulder to close the door behind her.

  It wasn’t until he moved to the side and turned up the wick in a sconce for more light that she realized which room they had landed in. The bathing chamber. The copper tub sat in the middle of the room, heavy, the metal gleaming in the flickering light from the sconce.

  It stole her breath.

  “What—what are we doing in here, Theo?”

  “You needed to be saved.
I could hear it in your voice.” He turned back to her, looking down at her, his breath so close she could feel it rippling across her forehead. “I am giving you a moment of respite before that impenetrable facade of yours cracks.”

  “I was about to crack?”

  “I hope not.” He took a sudden step backward, leaving a cool draft between them. “I apologize. Maybe I misunderstood. I did not mean to interrupt you and Lord Folton. He is a fine fellow. You deserve a man such as him.”

  Her head still spinning from being rushed up the stairs from the ballroom, she centered her gaze on him. “I do?”

  “Yes. A man that can hold proper conversation and laugh. A man that can charm with genuine intention. I saw it in you tonight, Violet—that glow that you always used to exude.” He nodded to himself. “Folton is the standard of a man that you deserve, Violet. A man that can bring that out in you.”

  His look shifted from her and he spied a short cart at the side of the room holding a decanter of amber liquid and two glasses sitting atop a silver platter. He walked over to it, the heels of his boots clicking on the wooden floorboards. Pulling the stopper on the decanter, he then lifted it, sniffing the contents. “What aberration is this—whiskey, of all things, in a bathing room?”

  Violet blinked hard at the sudden change in topic. “Mr. Nullter said he—the American—demands it in every room.”

  Theo shook his head in disgust, flipping a glass over and pouring a dram. He tipped it back, swallowing it in a quick motion before pouring an even healthier nip.

  His hand wrapped around the rim of the glass and his forefinger lifted, pointing at her. “A man with funds. A title. Manners. A man like that can make you happy, Vee. Take your worries away. That is what you need.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. “So now you know what I need?”

  He met her look. “I probably recognize it better than you do, Vee.”

  Her lips drew inward, staring at him as he took a sip of the whiskey.

  Maybe he did recognize what she needed. But he had no clue as to what she wanted.