by Bree Wolf
As Oliver rushed forward, the air was knocked from his lungs as he stared at the dark-haired man standing beside Violet. In that moment, he seemed like a messenger of doom, and Oliver could barely keep himself from sinking to the ground in despair.
Chapter Twenty-Six – A Frenchman’s Return
As Oliver flew across the terrace, Violet spun on her heel, her hand reaching instinctively for the dagger strapped to her leg. But then her eyes fell on the tall, dark-haired man with the brilliant green eyes, his face an angry snarl as he stood not three steps from her, a gleaming knife in his clenched fist. “Henri?” she breathed, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared at her cousin, belatedly taking note of the murderous gleam in his eyes.
“How dare you touch her?” Henri snarled as he advanced on Oliver, his body tense, ready for battle. “Is this how you uphold a promise? I knew we should never have trusted you!”
At the threat, Oliver squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, his eyes watchful, although he did not show any interest in matching Henri’s desire for bloodshed. His jaw was firmly set, and yet, there was a resignation in his eyes that broke Violet’s heart all over again. “Your fair cousin is the only one who can tell me to stay away,” he forced out through clenched teeth, his gaze darting to Violet as he spoke. “I swear to you I have not acted against her wishes.”
French curses flew from Henri’s mouth as he lunged himself at Oliver.
However, having known her cousin almost all her life, Violet had seen the small signs that promised an imminent attack. After all, had they not trained together countless times? Had she not seen him in battle more often than she could count?
The moment Henri moved, she was there, right in front of him and jammed her shoulder into his stomach just below the breastbone. His eyes went wide, and she could hear the air rush from his lungs as he sank down onto his knees, one hand braced on the ground.
Panting under his breath, Henri closed his eyes, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then he lifted his head, his hand pressed to his chest as he heaved a lungful of air into his body, and his gaze found hers. “Morbleu, Violette,” he cursed, his green eyes piercing hers in accusation, “was that truly necessary?”
Crossing her arms in front of her, Violette glared at him, then pointed to Oliver and then at the knife in her cousin’s hand. “Was this?” she demanded before she stepped toward him, her gaze sliding over his face set in a determined frown, to his lips pressed into a thin line that spoke of his irritation and then to his green eyes sparkling with the excitement of battle. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?” she challenged him, her voice dropping as she gazed about herself, afraid that word of her cousin’s arrival would spread before she could prevent it. “What if you’re discovered?”
Rising to his feet, Henri rubbed the spot where his chest had collided with her shoulder as he cast a hateful glare at Oliver. “You know very well that I never trusted him,” he hissed, leaning down to her, his green eyes holding hers. “Can you truly blame me for guarding your safety?” His gaze narrowed. “What happened between you?”
Swallowing, Violette glanced at Oliver, who still stood in the same spot as before, his shoulders back and his head held high. Still, his eyes held sorrow and dread and something akin to fear, and Violette knew that it was not her cousin’s hostile demeanour that had caused that look in his eyes. No, it was the threat of her departure. She knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt because she felt it as well.
Grabbing her cousin’s arm, Violette pulled him toward the house, her eyes meeting Oliver’s for a split second as they hurried past. “If you’ll excuse us,” she mumbled, afraid to wait for his reply as her heart still hammered in her chest…not from the confrontation between him and Henri, but from Oliver’s heartfelt plea for her to stay.
As Violette rushed up the staircase, she was barely aware of her cousin’s large strides beside her. Her mind was spinning with all the implications of his arrival, and she felt joy and anger warring inside her. All but pushing him into her chamber, Violette closed the door, her gaze finding his as he looked at her with honest confusion. Still, she could see a touch of accusation as well as concern in his green depths.
“You look different, chère cousine,” he observed, his gaze gliding over her gown and taking note of the way her hair had been swept up, falling in waves around her head. “Not like yourself.”
Strangely enough, his words swept away her anger, leaving her with nothing but an acute sense of loss. Her heart ached for the life as well as the people she had left behind. She yearned for her mother’s embrace and her father’s encouraging words. She wanted to feel the wind on her face and watch the ship cut through the waves on a bright sunny day, seagulls circling overhead, their cries echoing in her ear. She wanted to feel like herself again.
Not the woman she was pretending to be.
Tears came to her eyes, and when she saw Henri’s green gaze softening, Violette flung herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. She heard him exhale, and then his strong arms came around her, holding her tight as he murmured words of comfort into her ear.
The way he had always done when she needed him to.
Slowly, the ache in her heart subsided, and Violette felt herself breathing more easily. However, as her emotions calmed, her mind returned to the conclusion she had drawn the moment Henri had tried to lunge himself at Oliver.
Lifting her head, she stepped back, her eyes hard as she looked up at him. She had time to register a hint of confusion coming to his face as his eyes searched hers before she felt her arm pull back and her hand fly toward his face.
The sound of her slap reverberated in the room as they stared at one another.
Touching his own hand to his cheek, Henri glared at her. “This truly is not the welcome I had hoped for, chère cousine,” he said, his voice heavy with disapproval.
Violette scoffed, “Then what were you hoping for? That I’d be glad to see you, knowing the only reason you came is because you do not trust me to take care of myself?” She inhaled a deep breath, feeling her clenched hands tremble with outrage. “It makes me furious to know that you see me as men generally see women, as theirs to protect because they cannot do so themselves.” With lips pressed into a tight line, she shook her head at him. “I thought you were different. I suppose I was wrong.”
With a growl, Henri shot forward, his hands closing around her arms as he pulled her to him. “Never will I feel ashamed for seeking to protect you! Do you hear me?” he snarled, his green eyes burning with intensity as he glared at her. “You know as well as I do that I did not come because I thought you incapable, but because I cannot bear to think of you alone surrounded by enemies. Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me.” His eyes widened as he held her gaze, daring her to answer. “Tell me.”
Sighing, Violette closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder once more.
Instantly, his hands on her arms relaxed, and he rested his chin on the top of her head, exhaling slowly. “It’s what family does,” he whispered. “I’m surprised you didn’t expect me to come. If our roles had been reversed, I would have known to keep an eye out for you.” His voice grew softer, and she felt a low chuckle deep in his chest.
Smiling despite herself, Violette looked up at him. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. Still, you cannot deny that you would have been furious with me as well if I had acted the way you did. Is that not true?”
Grinning, Henri shrugged. “Possibly.”
Pulling back, Violette elbowed him playfully in the ribs, and he feigned a severe injury…the way they had always done. Oh, how she had missed him! “Still, you ought not to have come,” she repeated, unwilling to think of the consequences if he were to be discovered, a French privateer on English soil. “It is far too dangerous for you to be here.”
“Is it not dangerous for you as well?” Henri demanded, hands on his hips as he
held her gaze.
Lifting her chin, Violette refused to cede ground. “I am English,” she said, and his eyes widened. “You’re not.” Before he could argue, she hastened on. “I may not be able to express myself quite like an English lady, but at least my speech does not give me away. However, the moment you open your mouth, people know you’re French. You’re in far more danger than I am. The risk to you is much greater.” She nodded to emphasise her point, hoping he would allow himself to be persuaded. “You need to leave before it is too late. Promise me.”
At her request, his lips thinned, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, slowly shaking his head.
Violette’s heart sank.
“I will not leave you here,” Henri growled, his eyes darting to the door, “alone with him.” Holding her gaze, he took a step closer. “What happened between you and him?”
Dropping her gaze, Violette strode toward the window. “That is none of your concern.”
Another curse flew from her cousin’s lips before angry footsteps carried him closer. Once more, his hands grabbed hold of her arms, spinning her around. “He was supposed to help you contact your sister,” Henri snarled accusingly. “That was the deal. He was supposed to pose as your husband. Nothing more.”
When she looked away, he grabbed hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. His eyes were narrowed as he studied her face, a deep crease between his brows. Then he glanced at her bed, the covers once again straightened by Oliver’s diligent household staff. “Did he bed you?” Henri asked, his fingers on her chin tensing.
Taken aback, Violette inhaled a sharp breath, then licked her lips as she contemplated whether to answer.
The muscles in Henri’s jaw tightened. “There’s no need to choose your words,” he grumbled, outrage glittering in his green gaze, “for the answer is written all over your face.”
Annoyed with the condescending tone in his voice, Violette pushed his hands away, then stepped back, fixing him with a hard glare. “As I said this is none of your concern,” she stated calmly–or as calmly as she could.
His face darkened, and he took a step toward the door. “He should never have been allowed to go free.”
Rushing forward, Violette stepped into her cousin’s path, her back pressed against the door to keep him from unleashing his anger where it did not belong. “Oliver is not at fault here,” she informed him, her gaze hard. “He–”
“Oliver?” Henri repeated, his gaze narrowing as he watched her with incredulity.
Violette swallowed. “This was my decision,” she hissed, daring him to contradict her. “My choice. I chose to invite him into my bed,” for a moment, Henri looked as though he was going to be ill, “as is my right. It’s why I chose this life. To be free to make my own decisions and not have them dictated by the men in my family.” Holding his gaze, Violette stepped forward, her chin raised in righteous indignation. “I thought you understood that. I thought you’d support me in this.”
“I do,” Henri replied vehemently. Still, the look in his eyes said otherwise.
“Then why do you seem so appalled?” Violette demanded. “Why would you assume that–?”
“I am not appalled!” Henri interrupted her, his face reddening as he groped for words. “Neither did I assume. I simply…”
“There’s no need for me to save myself for marriage,” Violette stated, understanding from the distraught look on her cousin’s face that he never meant to offend her. He was merely being protective. Still, Violette felt compelled to make her point. “I do not live by their rules,” she whispered softly. “Only by my own.”
Sighing, Henri held her gaze. Then he nodded, his features softening. Still, the hint of a frown came to his face as he stepped forward, his eyes seeking hers. “Without giving offence, may I ask you,” he inhaled slowly, “have you come to care for him?”
Violette swallowed hard as he asked the very question she had battled with for a while now.
Shaking his head, Henri drew in a laboured breath. “You are aware that everything you hold dear, chère cousine, is in trouble if you’ve truly lost your heart to an English lord, are you not?”
“I know,” Violette whispered, feeling fresh tears sting her eyes. “I know.” Then she stepped into Henri’s embrace and once more rested her head against his shoulder.
At least, some things did not change.
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Lady Juliet’s Choice
After a restless night, Violette found that having Oliver and Henri under the same roof was bound to lead to trouble for there seemed to be a shared animosity between them as they glared at each other across the breakfast table.
“You are not to leave the house,” Violette commanded, stern eyes fixed on her cousin. “And speak to no one. Not even the servants.” They had even dismissed the footmen waiting on them in the breakfast parlour. “For your speech will give you away, and we cannot be certain of whom to trust.”
Henri’s mouth fell open, which drew forth an amused chuckle from Oliver, which in turn led to a hateful glare being cast across the table from Henri. Truly, they were like boys fighting over a toy!
“Do you want me to send you back to the coast this very moment?” Violette demanded, seeing the tension in her cousin’s face as he tried to hold back the words that burned on his tongue. “I will not have you risk your life in your misguided attempt to assure my safety. Do you understand?”
For a moment, it appeared as though Henri would explode. Then, he inhaled a deep breath, his hands no doubt clenched underneath the table, and met her eyes, his head nodding in acknowledgement.
“Good.” Relieved and a good bit impressed by the measure of his restraint, Violette smiled at him. “Thank you.”
As the morning progressed, they continued to discuss how best to resolve matters if Violette’s missive to Lady Silcox should not render results. While Henri despised hiding in the house, he did see the wisdom in that decision. After all, there was no way he would be able to accompany them to the next ball without drawing attention.
“Even if you see her there,” her cousin objected as she and Oliver discussed the next event, “what makes you think she’ll listen to you? From what you said, chère cousine, the lady all but fled your company.” He raised his brows at her, settling back in his chair and making himself more comfortable. “I suppose making a scene would not be beneficial, vraiment?”
“I doubt she’d make a scene,” Oliver objected, which once again earned him a hateful glare from Henri. “After all, what she fears most is social censure.” He turned to Violette. “After you revealed your identity, all she could think about was what your revelation would mean for the validity of her mother’s marriage and her brother’s legitimacy.” He shook his head, casting a satisfied glance at Henri. “No, I do not believe she would make a scene.”
Violette sighed, rolling her eyes at them.
Sitting up, Henri cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on Oliver. “I agree that she might not intentionally make a scene,” her cousin objected, a triumphant smile on his face. “However, when tempers run high, there is no telling what might happen.” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is she might not be able to hold her tongue if she sees you again. Therefore, a more private setting would be recommendable.”
Violette sighed, “That’s why I sent the letter. Still, if they don’t–”
A knock sounded on the door.
After casting a warning glance at her cousin, Violette nodded to Oliver, who bid Dunston to enter.
“I apologise for the intrusion, my lord, my lady,” the old man mumbled as he all but ignored the presence of the rather unkempt, dangerous-looking stranger at their breakfast table. “Lady Silcox and Lady Juliet have come to call on Lady Cullingwood. I saw them to the drawing room.”
Violette’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes widened.
“Thank you, Dunston,” Oliver replied, his gaze encouraging as he looked at her. “She will be there in but a moment.”
Bowing, Dunston took his leave.
The moment the door closed, Violette shot to her feet, her hands brushing over her gown in a flurry.
Rising from his chair, Oliver grasped her hands. “You need to calm down,” he whispered, his voice gentle but insisting.
Violette nodded, knowing his words to be true. Her heart, however, would not be silenced by a mere wish alone. “What if she doesn’t listen?” she asked, panic rushing through her veins. “What if she rushes out the moment she sees me?”
Henri chuckled behind them. “Bolt the doors.”
Both Violette and Oliver glared at him, then turned back to one another. “If she is here knowingly,” Oliver counselled, “then it would suggest she is at least willing to listen.”
Violette swallowed. “And if she is not here knowingly.”
“Then it can only mean that her mother has not informed her of their destination,” he concluded, “which in turn means that at least Lady Silcox is curious as to what you have to say.”
Violette nodded, a smile coming to her face when she felt Oliver’s hands tighten on her own. “You can do this,” he mumbled, conviction strong in his voice.
Smiling at him, she nodded. “Thank you.” Then she reluctantly withdrew her hands from his and stepped toward the door. Before she left, though, she cast a determined glance at the two men. “Behave,” she ordered. “There is no need for further arguments. Have I made myself clear?”
After both men reluctantly nodded their heads in acquiescence, Violette hurried away, praying that there would be no need for a physician later that day.
Outside the drawing room, she halted in her step and inhaled a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. Then she stepped across the threshold, her gaze drifting from Lady Silcox to her sister. “Good morning,” she greeted them, closing the door behind her. “How good of you to come.”
At the sight of her, Juliet’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. Then she turned an accusing glare at her mother. “How could you?”