Condemned & Admired

by Bree Wolf

  At the suspicion in her voice, Oliver grinned. “You’re fairly distrustful.”

  “Don’t I have reason to be?” Violette snapped, willing herself to remain calm, wishing she were as good at controlling her emotions as her father.

  Stopping, Oliver turned to her. “Objectively, yes,” he agreed, his eyes serious. “But I swear you have nothing to fear from me. I will not betray you. You have my word.”

  Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Violette was inclined to believe him. Still, life as a privateer’s daughter had made her wary. “How do I know your word can be trusted?”

  There was a touch of disappointment in his eyes. However, he did not fault her for her question. Instead, he nodded. “I will have to earn your trust. I understand. You’re right not to give it lightly.”

  “Thank you,” Violette mumbled, surprised by his words.

  Gazing at the horizon, Oliver set down the small lantern they had brought from the Chevalier Noir. “It’ll be dark soon. We’d better light this.” He glanced from the lantern to her, a touch of discomfort in his eyes. “Your father said you knew how to do it.”

  Smiling, Violette nodded, producing the steel and flint she had brought in the small leather pouch slung over her shoulder. Kneeling, she set to work, aware of Oliver’s watchful eyes. When the lantern was lit, she rose to her feet, holding out the little light to him.

  Awe shone in his eyes as he smiled at her. “Is there anything you can’t do?” he teased, shaking his head as though she had just plucked a star from the night sky.

  “You don’t know how to light a fire?” she asked disbelievingly.

  He shrugged, taking the lantern from her, his gaze still fixed on it. “Never had to.” His eyes met hers, and he grinned. “Perhaps you could teach me?”

  Violette laughed, “We should keep going,” she said and started walking.

  Instantly, Oliver was by her side.

  For a while, they continued in silence. However, Violette was aware of his gaze flickering to her again and again until he finally inhaled a slow breath and said, “Can I ask you something?”

  Violette nodded, wondering what he wanted to know.

  “You’re not Captain Duret’s daughter, are you?”

  Stopping in her tracks, Violet stared at him. “Of course, I am.”

  “All right, but you weren’t born his daughter, were you?”

  Pressing her lips together, Violette eyed him carefully. “Why do you want to know?”

  Shaking his head, he laughed. “Because I do,” he simply said. “You fascinate me. Your life. Your family. All you’ve seen and done. All you’re capable of. I simply,” he shrugged, “wish to know.”

  Holding his gaze for a moment, Violette could glimpse neither deception nor dishonesty. “Fine,” she finally said. “No, I was not born his daughter.” Again, she walked on.

  Coming after her, Oliver asked, “You were born in England, weren’t you?”

  She glanced at him. “How many more questions do you intend to ask?”

  He scoffed, “A lot. Especially considering that your answers are rather short.”

  Continuing onward, Violette pulled her cloak tighter around her, trying to shut out the chilling wind blowing in from the sea. The sky had darkened significantly, and without the little light in Oliver’s hand, they would surely stumble down the cliffs at some point.

  “All right,” Oliver finally said, his voice relenting. “If I promise to answer any questions you might have, will you answer mine?”

  For a moment, Violette thought his offer through. It would certainly be good to know a little more about him–provided he would tell her the truth! –and she doubted that telling him about her past would put her in any more danger than she was already in by trusting him.

  “Fine, yes, I was born in England,” she said, and even in the dim glow from their lantern she could see fascination lighting his eyes. Never had she thought of her life as alluring. Certainly, she knew how appealing it was to her. But she had never thought that an English lord might envy her. The world was truly a strange place!

  “Your mother was not on the ship, was she?”

  Violette shook her head. “No, she’s back in France with my brothers and sisters.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two of each,” Violette replied. “You?”

  Oliver shook his head, sadness clouding his eyes even in the dark. “My mother had a number of miscarriages, and I had a stillborn sister, but none that lived.”

  “That must have been hard on your mother,” Violette said, feeling her heart ache for him. “And on you.”

  “It was,” he admitted, openly showing the grief and sorrow that clung to his features. “Especially when she died when I was ten. After that, it was only me and my father.” A distorted grin came to his face. “And you already know how fond he is of me.”

  Violette sighe,. “My fa–” Breaking off, she bit her lower lip. “The man I was born to never cared for me, either. He was the reason we left.”

  A frown drew down his brows. “Left? Then your parents…I mean, your mother is not married to Captain Duret?”

  “They are married,” Violette insisted, her gaze holding his. “Perhaps not in the eyes of the Church of England or any other church for that matter, but…,” she nodded, “they are.” For a moment, Violette held her breath. Would he judge her? Her parents? People never looked with kindness and respect on people–on children! –born out of wedlock. Would he consider her brothers and sisters bastards?

  If he did, she might not be able to stop herself from putting the dagger hidden in her pouch to his throat and–

  “That’s good,” Oliver said into the dark, his voice gentle, and a soft smile came to his lips, slightly lit by the warm glow of the lantern he held.

  Relieved, Violette stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “It is.”

  “So, the man you were born to, he is English?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Violette shrugged. “I have no way of knowing.”

  “Do you wish to see him?” Oliver asked, his gaze carefully watching her face. “While you’re here in England?”

  Again, Violet shrugged. “I guess a part of me would like to see him again to remember him better, to see for myself that my mother was right to take me away. I mean, I do know. I trust her. She told me about him, and I know that it was the right decision. It’s simply…”

  “You don’t remember him,” Oliver finished for her.

  She nodded. “No more than a few images.” Looking up, Violette could see that he understood. How much did he remember about his mother? Although she wished to know, she did not dare ask.

  “What is his name?” Oliver asked. “Perhaps I can have someone look for him. What village did he live in?”

  Violette chuckled, “Village?” Holding his questioning gaze, Violette drew in a deep breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. “If you must know–”

  “I must!” he interrupted, grinning at her.

  “–his name is–or was? –Caleb Winters, Viscount Silcox.”

  Instantly, Oliver stopped in his tracks, all humour falling from his face as he stared at her in utter disbelief. “Lord Silcox is your father?” he stammered, eyes shifting from side to side as though he had just received the last piece to a puzzle that had been galling him for a while. “You’re his…? Your mother…she…”

  “What?” Violette asked, feeling her stomach turn upside down at the sight of his pale face. “You know my father?”

  “Mostly of him,” Oliver said as he slowly regained his composure. Then his eyes found hers once more. “And I know of you.”

  “Me?” Violette found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his face.

  Swallowing, she realised that right here in front of her stood a man who had answers to the many questions that haunted her nights. Perhaps not to all, but at least some. But did she wish to know?

 
; Violette shook her head. No, she could not let this opportunity slip past. If she did, she would curse herself–her weakness! –forever. “What do you know?” she finally asked, feeling her hands tremble with anticipation.

  For a moment, Oliver held her gaze, seemingly uncertain if she truly wanted to know. Still, when she nodded to him, he did not hesitate. “I heard the story of how your mother…drowned you and herself in the sea,” he all but whispered, carefully watching her face as though she might become hysteric any second.

  A soft smile tugged on Violette’s lips. “I know. My mother left him a note the night we left,” she explained, seeing the same eagerness for her to tell her tale in his eyes that she felt about learning of the life she had left behind. “She did not want him to look for us. She wanted us to be free. Us, and him. So, we each could begin a new life.”

  Shaking his head, Oliver stared at her in disbelief. “This is an unbelievable tale,” he whispered before a frown came to his face. “Is that why you were so insistent about saving Lady Juliet? Because she’s your step-sister?”

  “What?” For a long moment, Violette’s heart seemed to cease all activity as she stared into Oliver’s face, watched his frown deepen and his eyes narrow as he came to a realisation. “But you didn’t, did you? You didn’t know anything about your father’s life after you and your mother left, did you? You didn’t know, and yet, you insisted…”

  “How?” was all Violette could muster as contradicting emotions tugged at her heart.

  Shock.

  Understanding.

  Loss.

  Joy.

  Oliver swallowed, and for a second, she thought he would reach out and take her hand. “Your father remarried,” he began. “The current Lady Silcox was a widow with a young daughter from her first marriage to Lord…Goswick, I think it was.”

  Violette’s mind spun. A step-sister. She had a step-sister. A step-sister who had to be about her own age, considering the betrothal announcement. A step-sister who no doubt had been forced to take her place at Lord Dowling’s side.

  Gritting her teeth, Violette inhaled a deep breath. “Not if I can prevent it,” she mumbled under her breath, uttering a silent vow into the night to do whatever was needed to protect the sister she never knew she had. Or had she? Was there an invisible bond between them? Certainly, they were not of the same blood, but…Lady Juliet had walked down the path that had been meant for Violette.

  Again, she recalled how her father had told her about the night he had found his way to their beach. He had described it like an instinct, an insistent pull that had called him forward, directed his feet. Was that what she had felt the moment she had seen the betrothal announcement? Had a part of her known before she had even read her sister’s name?

  “Violet?”

  At the sound of her name–or at least its English variation–Violette blinked, then turned her gaze back to the man waiting patiently beside her. “Yes?”

  He inhaled a slow breath, a hint of apprehension in his eyes. “There’s more,” he said carefully as though afraid she might break if he said too much or spoke too loudly.

  Frowning, Violette looked at him with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father,” he began, “he has a son.” He held her gaze. “You have a brother.”

  Once more, the world seemed to start spinning faster, and Violette could not help but reach out a hand, looking for something–anything! –to help her maintain her balance in this emotional whirlwind.

  The hand that grasped hers was warm and steady, and it closed around hers gently. “Are you, all right?”

  Violette closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh sea air. Memories of her life in France and on the Chevalier Noir flooded her mind, bringing with it the love and safety of those precious years. Slowly, her heartbeat slowed, and her breathing evened. The world returned to its normal pace, and when Violette opened her eyes, she found herself looking into blue eyes glowing in the dim light from their lantern, warm and soothing.

  A shiver went down Violette’s back, and her gaze drifted lower to their two hands, a silent bond full of support and understanding. When had this happened? She wondered, and without thinking she jerked her hand back.

  Disappointment momentarily sparked in Oliver’s eyes before that teasing grin he often wore on his face returned. “You seem quite shaken,” he observed, his voice light-hearted. Still, Violette could see honest concern in the way his eyes held hers, watched her as though he feared she might faint.

  “I never thought…,” she began, then shook her head. “Of course, I should have. After all, that was exactly why my mother wrote that letter. I should have thought to ask, but I…I don’t know why I didn’t. That thought never occurred to me.” Then her mind began to focus, and a new warmth bloomed in her heart. Lifting her gaze, she met Oliver’s eyes. “I have a brother,” she whispered, and he smiled at her. “A brother here in England.”

  “You do,” he replied, and she could see that he was truly happy for her. Still, a touch of envy clung to his features, and Violette remembered how lonely he must have been as a child. How lonely he still seemed to be today.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  A frown came to his face. “What for?”

  She shrugged. “For involving you in this.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “To tell you the truth, being involved in…this…is a gift. You have no idea what it is like to live a life full of regret, wishing every day that something would happen that would change it, that would set you free.”

  Violette sighed, “Life doesn’t work like that,” she told him. “Neither did it free my mother or me. She did it herself, for us.” Taking a step closer, she held his gaze, hoping she could repay him for his kindness toward her. And what was kinder than helping someone realise the truth before it was too late? “If you dislike your life so much, why don’t do something about it?”

  Oliver shrugged. “I can’t. I’m the future marquess. There’s nothing I–or my father–can do about that.”

  “That’s an excuse.”

  “What?”

  “You may not be able to help becoming a marquess one day,” Violette said, “but everything else is up to you. Don’t hide behind this. I know some decisions are far from easy, and their consequences might haunt us for the rest of our lives, but,” she held his gaze, placing her hand on his upper arm, “by running away from these decisions, in truth, you’ve already made yours. You’ve decided to live out the rest of your life exactly the way it has always been. Is this truly what you want?”

  Chapter Fifteen – Rosewood Manor

  For a long time, they walked on in silence, giving Oliver ample opportunity to mull over her words. Was she right? Was he merely making excuses? Was he hoping for a different future without risking anything to change it? Had he truly accepted that his life would never be different from the way it was now?

  That thought sent goose bumps up and down his arms and back, and he shivered at the gloomy thoughts of what his future would hold. Would life truly not change unless he himself made it so? Certainly, life had led him onto the privateer, but it was also leading him back to London. But what if he wanted more than a mere few days of adventure?

  “There,” Violet whispered, her arm stretched out as she pointed at something shrouded in darkness.

  Oliver squinted his eyes, and when the dark clouds moved, revealing the thin crescent of the moon, he caught a glimpse of Rosewood Manor.

  “What now?” Violet asked, apprehension in her voice.

  Oliver knew that she did not trust him. Objectively, he could not fault her for it. Still, he could not deny that it stung. Never had he wanted anything more than he now wished for her to trust him. To think him a good and honourable man. To see him as a friend, as–

  “Where to?” she asked, her voice a bit more insistent. “Side entrance?”

  Oliver nodded. Then he walked on, eyes drifting over his surroundings, praying
that the servants were all abed. After all, he had not sent a note ahead about his impending arrival. As far as they knew, their master was still up in London.

  After extinguishing their lantern, they slunk around the side of the house, weaving their way through the gardens to reach the side entrance leading in through the kitchen. Although Oliver could not be certain, he suspected that it was no later than two in the morning. Too early for any of the servants to be up…especially since the house stood empty.

  Crossing through the kitchen, they climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Thankful for the thick rugs covering the floors, Oliver urged Violet down a deserted corridor before he opened a door, all but pushed her inside and after casting a last glance over his shoulder closed the door firmly behind them.

  Even in the dim light, he could see her confusion as she looked about the ornately furnished bedroom. “We’re not staying, are we?” she asked, turning to face him. “Time is of the essence. We don’t know when the wedding will take place. We cannot–”

  “We won’t,” he interrupted, grasping her hands as though she truly were his wife and he the husband who sought to calm her down. He had to admit he rather liked the idea. Not necessarily of marriage in general, but of Violet by his side.

  His to worry about.

  His to care for.

  His to l–

  “Then what are we doing here?” she demanded, stepping back and pulling her hands from his. “We can sleep later. We should–”

  “I know,” Oliver snapped, instantly regretting his outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Shaking his head at the oddity of their situation, he smiled.

  “Oh, I’m glad you find this amusing!” Hands on her hips, she glared at him.

  In that moment, he could have kissed her! However, he did not. She probably would claw his eyes out if he were to delay them any longer. Still, if they were not pressed for time, would she object to a kiss?