by Bree Wolf
Then the door slid open, and her heart fell.
“I can see that you’re overjoyed to see me,” Henri mocked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Then he walked over, his piercing green eyes trained on her face. “You truly are lost, n’est-ce pas?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Violette blinked back tears. “Is there anything you wish to discuss?” she asked, hating that her cousin could read her so well.
His face darkened, and a scowl came to his lips. “Do not act brave,” he demanded. “I have eyes like a hawk, and I can see the turmoil that lives in your heart. I’ve known you all your life, and–”
“Not all my life,” she objected, unsure why she did so.
Henri raised an eyebrow at her. “That is a fairly weak argument, chère cousine.” His gaze narrowed as his eyes held hers. “Speak to him, and be honest,” he counselled, shaking his head when she opened her mouth to object. “Do not argue, for you know as well as I do that this is not something you can ignore. Whether you wish it or not, your heart now belongs to him.” His voice sounded like a growl, suggesting that he was far from pleased with this development. “And you cannot simply return to the sea and leave it here.”
Closing her eyes, Violette inhaled a deep breath, silently cursing her cousin for being right. Of course, he was right for the mere thought of leaving Oliver never to see him again brought tears to her eyes and made her heart ache in the most painful way. How could she leave him? And yet, how could she stay?
“He’s asking for you,” Henri said, and Violette’s eyes flew open, wide with panic. “Do not worry.” The side of his lips quirked with humour. “It would appear his friends have arrived, and he is asking for you to join them in the study,” he said, affecting a formal manner of speech common in men of the ton. Then he chuckled and shook his head as though one could not take seriously anyone who expressed themselves thus.
Nodding, Violette brushed at her eyes, willing the tears to retreat. “Good,” she mumbled as she made for the door. Focusing her thoughts on her sister was exactly what she needed right now.
Rushing downstairs, Violette paused in front of Oliver’s study and inhaled a deep breath, willing it to fortify her against her husband’s allure.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, all three men rose to their feet, and Lord Elmridge and Lord Weston greeted her with a charming smile on their faces, their eyes warm as they expressed their joy at seeing her again.
Returning their greeting, Violette could barely focus as every nerve in her body honed in on the man behind the large desk. Oliver’s eyes held hers with such intensity that she felt her heart flutter in her chest and heat curl in her belly.
The look in his eyes as well as the small smile that curled up his lips suggested that he had seen her reaction to his presence and savoured it like a pirate coming upon a chest of gold and jewels. Holding out his hand, he stepped around his desk, his eyes never leaving hers.
Forcing a smile onto her face, Violette walked past his friends, hesitantly sliding her hand in his. At the feel of his touch, fire swept through her, and she had to focus all her energy to keep a straight face as he escorted her to the unoccupied armchair near the windows.
Taking a seat, Violette exhaled the breath she had been holding when her fingers slipped from his. Still, her heart ached at the sudden sense of loss.
“Once again, I thank you for coming,” Oliver said, forcing his eyes from hers as he turned to address his friends. “We have…a favour to ask you.”
Curiosity as well as a touch of concern crossed both men’s features as they settled back into their seats, eager eyes trained on their host.
“As you well remember,” Oliver began, “Violette is not my wife…yet.” The last word he added in a hushed whisper, his eyes shifting to hers, a promise burning in them that sent a shiver down Violette’s back.
Then Oliver blinked and turned his attention back to his guests. “I suppose you’ve been wondering about the reason for this ruse,” he chuckled, looking at his friends.
Lord Elmridge laughed, “Quite an understatement, old friend. In fact, I’ve spent many sleepless nights discussing that very reason with my charming wife. Although she would never admit it, Elsbeth is fairly curious as well.”
A wide grin on his face, Lord Weston nodded. “I cannot agree more,” he said, his gaze shifting from Oliver to her. “Well, then, out with it.”
In as few words as possible, Oliver told his friends how he and Violette had met on the merchant ship and why they had returned to England, pretending that she was his wife. Both men listened with fascination, but without judgement. In truth, they both seemed taken with their story, intrigued with Violette’s life and her mother’s decision to leave England.
“And now you wish to spare Lady Juliet the fate of marrying Lord Dowling?” Lord Elmridge concluded, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I cannot say I would object to your endeavour. However, I am unclear as to what you would ask of us.”
Lord Weston nodded, a touch of humour in his gaze. “Indeed, what would you have us do? I doubt you want us to abduct the lady and smuggle her out of the country.”
Oliver chuckled, shaking his head.
“Well, then, is this about Lord Dowling?” Lord Weston asked, his gaze hooded as he seemed to refer to something confidential. “Do you wish for him to…disappear?”
Violette frowned at the man’s words, wondering what she did not know about the man who had all but asked her to marry him for real.
Once more, Oliver shook his head, though this time his eyes were free of amusement. “No, not at all. In fact, we are hoping that Lady Juliet will simply call off the engagement. However, she fears social repercussions.”
Both men nodded in understanding.
“Since our society is ruled by the fear of being judged by others,” Oliver continued, “people do or don’t do what they must to remain in other’s good graces.” His friends frowned at him. “What I’m trying to say is that Lord Dowling as well as Lord Silcox might alter their opinion if they were to realise that the threat of social repercussions is a fairly real one.”
Understanding dawned, and Lord Weston leaned forward, a smirk on his face. “I see. Does this mean you know about skeletons in these men’s closets?”
Oliver nodded. “At least in Lord Silcox’s. We might have to do a little digging regarding Lord Dowling. Should the need arise.” Violette had no doubt he was thinking of her brother’s illegitimacy and hoped with all her heart it would not come to that. After all, not only her father would suffer if the truth became known.
Lord Elmridge frowned. “But you are aware that even if both men agree to dissolve the engagement amicably, it would still leave a stain on Lady Juliet’s reputation. I’m afraid–as unjust as it might be–there is no way around it.”
Oliver nodded. “I’m aware of it. However, we hope to give her the best chance of finding future happiness with a husband of her choosing.”
A soft smile flickered across their faces, and Violette wondered if they were thinking about their own marriages to women they quite obviously loved beyond all measure. Would the world one day be different? Would men and women be allowed–and even encouraged–to choose their spouse for love alone?
“It is a good plan,” Lord Elmridge commented, though his brows were drawn together. “Still, I think the impact of such a…threat would be greater if there were more of us.”
Oliver nodded, his gaze directed inward for a moment before he turned back to his friends. “I agree,” he finally said, then looked over his shoulder at Violette, a question resting in those blue eyes.
Nodding her head in agreement, Violette sighed, hoping that she was right to place her trust not only in Oliver but also in people he considered his friends. Still, the more people knew the more likely it was that something would reach the ears of the ton in general.
And then everything would be lost.
“Who would you suggest?” Oliver a
sked, his gaze shifting from Lord Elmridge to Lord Weston.
“First, I would speak to Lord Kensington,” Lord Elmridge said. “He is the husband of my wife’s cousin, and as far as I know he has the ear of the king’s son. It would not hurt to have his influence on our side.”
Oliver nodded, and his features seemed to relax. “I would think that most men who would support our cause are those who are equally happily married.” A soft smile tugged on his lips, and he glanced at Violette. “As it should be.”
At the meaning in his gaze, Violette’s pulse hitched higher and she felt a familiar warmth spread through her being. With every day that passed, it became more and more difficult for her to resist Oliver’s charm. It was high time she left…before she did something she would come to regret.
Something he would come to regret.
After all, they were not compatible…at least not in the fairy-tale, till-death-do-us-part sense.
“I would speak to my old friend, Lord Ashwood,” Lord Weston added. “Though he is still unmarried, I will see if I can persuade him.”
Directing her gaze away from Oliver and toward the two men who had so willingly pledged their help, Violette smiled. “Thank you very much for your assistance in this. I am glad to see my…husband has such devoted friends by his side.” Strangely enough, their bond reminded her of life on her father’s ship, and a deep longing rose in her heart.
“Yes, indeed, thank you,” Oliver chimed in, rising to his feet. His friends followed suit, and they shook hands. “Thank you for your support.”
Lord Weston sobered, and his eyes grew serious. “Think nothing of it. It is what friends do.”
Watching them, Violette remembered how Oliver had told her of Charlotte, Lord Weston’s wife. Of how she had been in danger and how they had all come together to help her. Although Violette knew no details, she did not doubt that Oliver had not hesitated. And neither would his friends. If one of them needed help, the others would answer the call.
Without hesitation.
Without questions.
Without doubt.
Indeed, they were family for such a bond went beyond the meaning of friendship, and Violette was relieved that Oliver would not be alone once she returned to her own life.
“Let us meet at my house in two days’ time,” Lord Elmridge said, glancing from Lord Weston to Oliver, who nodded in agreement. “As most gentlemen ought to be in London at the moment, it should be fairly easy to call them together.”
“I’ll be there,” Oliver said, a touch of excitement in his eyes as he bid his friends farewell. Watching him, Violette wondered once again if he truly wished for a different life or if such a desire merely resulted from the fact that he was bored with his current one.
Whatever the reason, she could only hope that he would one day find his place in the world and be happy. Just like she was.
Chapter Thirty – A Marquess’s Plot
The next two days were utter torture as Oliver found himself repeatedly pacing up and down the length of his study, his mind occupied with either their scheme to protect Lady Juliet or the all-consuming question of how he could convince his wife that they belonged together.
At present, she was avoiding him. That much was clear.
However, what was not was the reason why.
Still, watching her, Oliver allowed himself to hope that she was indeed tempted to accept him, to believe that he loved her and that she, too, harboured the same emotions in her own heart. Yet, she clearly feared giving in to said temptation, thus, decided that avoiding him altogether was the safest solution.
Despite his own impatience and rattled state of mind, Oliver decided to grant her a reprieve. There was no benefit in pressuring her into facing her feelings now when both their thoughts were consumed with how to best protect Lady Juliet from the ton’s censure.
No, he would wait until all had been resolved. Until the threat to Violet’s sister was eliminated. Until there was no one to think about but the two of them.
Then, Oliver would address her.
He would convince her.
He would not allow her to leave…not without him.
When the clock on his mantle finally chimed three, Oliver all but rushed from his study, out the front door and into his waiting carriage. Although Frederick lived close by, the drive seemed to take a small eternity. Finally arriving at his destination, he climbed the steps two at a time and burst through the front door, giving the footman barely enough time to open it before he would have collided with the massive portal.
A low chuckle reached his ears, and Oliver spun around.
Off to the side, Frederick stood waiting, his dark eyes sparkling with humour as he shook his head. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said, his tone teasing as he stepped forward. “You were never a patient sort of man.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Oliver shrugged. “I suppose not.” Then he grinned and slapped his friend’s shoulder. “Although if I recall correctly, neither are you.”
Frederick laughed, and they headed into the drawing room where Weston and his friend, Lord Ashwood stood waiting by the windows, drinks in hand. While Charlotte’s husband seemed at ease, Lord Ashwood appeared somewhat displeased as though he did not fancy being there.
After greetings were exchanged, Oliver turned to Frederick, his voice low. “How many are we to expect?”
“Five more,” Frederick said, glancing over his shoulder as voices drifted to their ears from the entrance hall.
After handing their coats to Frederick’s butler, two gentlemen, one dark and one fair, approached. The dark-haired man looked only slightly familiar to Oliver, his features serious but not displeased. His gaze was watchful, and his steps measured. He spoke to the blond-haired man in hushed tones, and it was obvious that they knew each other well.
In fact, Oliver recognised the fair-haired gentleman as Lord Cromwell, whom he had encountered here and there at societal events as the man–like Oliver–had been a well-known rake, chasing after ladies of the ton. Still, in Lord Cromwell’s case, all had changed when he had married a fiery red-head. Today, he seemed to be a man very much in love with his wife, and Oliver felt pleased that he had come. After all, had he not undergone a similar transformation?
Ever since Violette had come into Oliver’s life, he had felt no desire to chase other ladies. Indeed, there was only one he wanted. One to which no other could compare.
“May I introduce Lord Kensington and Lord Cromwell,” Frederick said, welcoming his guests. “And this is Lord Cullingwood, the man who called us all together on this fine day.”
Before they had exchanged more than a few words, the front door opened again, and more voices reached their ears. This time three gentlemen entered, one fair-haired and two darker ones.
One moved rather stealthily, his movements sure and smooth as though his feet barely touched the ground. His eyes moved, taking in their surroundings, the expression on his face alert. It reminded Oliver of Frederick after he had returned from the war, and Oliver thought that likely this man had served as well.
The other dark-haired man was the only one with a thick beard, and he stood rather tall with wide shoulders, reminding Oliver of a bear rising onto its hind legs. His voice rang loudly through the hall, and Oliver took note of his Scottish accent.
Yet again, Frederick introduced the arriving gentlemen to those already present, and Oliver found himself greeting Lord Elton, Lord Ainsworth as well as Lord Rodridge from Scotland. According to Frederick, all men–except for Lord Ashwood–were at present happily married and had not needed persuasion in joining them today. Although specific details still eluded them, Frederick and Lord Weston had already shared the need for their assistance in protecting a young lady from an unfitting marriage.
Once again, Oliver found himself at the centre of attention as he explained his wife’s connection to Lady Juliet as well as her desire to see her wed for love. All gentlemen present–except for Lord Ashwood–nodded in agr
eement, their eyes lighting up as they no doubt thought of their own wives, women they loved.
“Although Lord Dowling is determined to have Lady Juliet for his wife,” Oliver said, looking around their small circle, “we are still hoping that gentle persuasion will be sufficient to change the man’s mind. After all, we will merely be asking him to act like a gentleman when Lady Juliet calls off the engagement.”
Lord Rodridge laughed, his Scottish brogue thickening. “I suppose Lord Dowling will experience quite the shock of his life when ye ask him to act like a gentleman. I don’t doubt he will be thoroughly insulted.”
Chuckles echoed through the room.
“So, all you ask is that he treat Lady Juliet with respect?” Lord Cromwell teased, amusement lighting up his blue eyes. “Do you suppose that will be enough to protect the lady from suffering society’s censure?”
His face rather grim, Lord Ainsworth shook his head. “Not in my experience. People will always find a reason to talk, and there is nothing they enjoy better than the suffering of another.”
Lord Cromwell nodded. “I agree. Therefore, I suggest we also enlist the help of our darling wives.” He glanced around at his fellow husbands, a touch of mischief in his eyes. “After all, it is my understanding that women are by far more skilful at manoeuvring the treacherous sea of societal gossip than we will ever be. I have no doubt that my wife will gladly take Lady Juliet under her wing, protecting her as well as her reputation whenever the need arises.”
The others agreed.
Only Lord Ashwood looked doubtful. “As I was made privy to this endeavour, I assure you that I will be supportive and, thus, speak to my sister on the matter.” His shoulders were stiff as he looked back at the rest of them. “However, I must admit I do not understand why this is of such importance to you. After all, the man has done nothing wrong.”
Lord Weston snorted at his oldest friend’s words. “That is precisely what you said when my late father married my sister to that…man.”
Lord Ashwood shrugged, a look of complete and utter incomprehension on his face. “And now she is well settled even after he has passed on. I fail to see the harm in that.”