by Bree Wolf
And his instinct told him to rush to Violet’s side. Still, there was a quiet voice in the back of his head that reminded him that success was not solely based on his love for her, cautioning him to act wisely and against his instincts.
And for the moment, he listened.
He could only hope reason would not lead him astray.
Chapter Thirty-Three – A Sister’s Brother
Cursing under her breath, Violette inhaled deeply, willing her hands to stop trembling as she worked on the lock. More than once, it had almost sprung open, only to snap back at the last moment.
“I can do this,” she whispered and set to work once more. Banishing all thoughts of her current predicament from her mind, she focused on the task at hand. Slowly, her pulse calmed, and her hands moved with more precision. She pictured her cousin as he had explained to her what to do, his eyes alight with mischief.
A soft smile tugged on Violette’s lips, and in the next moment, an almost deafening click sounded in the silent room as the lock yielded to her expert hands.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Then she rested her ear against the door once more, forcing herself to wait and determine if anyone had heard, if anyone would come to investigate.
Long moments passed, and Violette could feel her hands begin to tremble anew. This time, it was excitement and a familiar sense of adventure that coursed through her veins and lent strength to her limbs.
When all remained quiet, Violette carefully eased open the door and peeked out into the corridor.
It was deserted.
Quite obviously, her father did not think her a threat at all for he had not even bothered to post guards outside her door.
Stepping out into the corridor, Violette held up the candle she had found in her chamber and then closed the door behind her, her eyes sweeping both ends of the long hall as her ears strained to listen for sounds of approaching footsteps. However, when all remained quiet, she hurried along the corridor toward the servants’ stairs in the back of the building.
Once again, memories of the night she and her mother had fled resurfaced in her mind. It was an odd sensation, knowing that twelve years ago, she and her mother had walked down the same corridor. It was as though she was walking in her own footsteps.
As she neared the stairs, Violette froze when the echo of raucous laughter drifted to her ears. Pressing her back to the wall, she peeked down the stairs, listening.
Again, laughter echoed through the silent house, but Violette felt her pulse calm when she realised that she had been right. It was those two ruffians sitting downstairs in the kitchen, drinking their senses away. Good, she thought, they will be far easier to overcome if their senses are impaired.
Suddenly, the little hairs in the back of her neck rose, and Violette had the sickening feeling that someone was watching her.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around, her eyes frantically scanning her surroundings as her hand clenched around the dagger in her hand.
When she saw him, all the air rushed from her lungs.
In a white nightshirt, he stood perhaps fifteen feet away from her, his chocolate-brown eyes wide as they stared at the dagger in her hand. Still, there was no fear in his gaze, only curiosity, and he even took a step toward her, his little feet silent on the hallway rug. “Are you a ghost?” he whispered, his eyes shining with awe as he watched her.
Violette’s heart thudded loudly in her chest as her mind screamed at her. My brother! This is my brother!
For a long moment, they stared at one another, utterly transfixed with what they saw. Then Violette called herself to reason, reminding herself that she ought to assure her brother that she was no threat to him. Despite the calm on his face, he was probably frightened out of his mind at finding a stranger in his home at night. If he were to scream, all her chances for escape would be ruined.
“Can you speak?” he asked when she remain quiet, a touch of concern in his voice.
Stunned by the sound of his voice, Violette swallowed. “I can,” she replied, her voice hoarse as she tried her best to smile at him. “What is your name?” All these past weeks, she had been so concerned for her sister that she had never even thought to ask her brother’s name.
“Jacob. And yours?”
“I’m Violette,” she said, giving it the French pronunciation without thinking as her heart ached at the thought that her innocent, little brother shared their father’s name. “Can I call you Jake?” she asked on impulse, wishing more than anything to separate the little boy from the man who had fathered him.
The corners of his mouth quirked. “I like that,” he said, whispering the name to himself. “I think I’ve seen you before.” Coming toward her, he seemed to study her face. “You look like the lady whose portrait hangs downstairs in the gallery.”
“I do?” Violette asked, not wishing to reveal her identity, worried about what he would think. Was he even old enough to understand all that had happened before his birth? He looked no older than eight or nine.
Jake nodded. “Do you want to see it?”
Violette inhaled a deep breath, overwhelmed at the thought of seeing her mother’s portrait again. However, there was no time. She needed to get Jake back to his bed as soon as possible. “Perhaps tomorrow,” she said, stepping up to him. “Come, I’ll take you back to your chamber.” Holding out her hand to him, Violette felt a jolt jerk up her arm when his little hand slipped into hers, his heart trusting and not yet corrupted by the ugliness of the world.
If only she could ensure that it never would be.
A chuckle rumbled in his little chest. “Miss Peachum won’t like to find me missing.”
“Then we’d better hurry,” Violette replied, doing her best to hide her shock at hearing her old governess’s name. “Does she find you missing a lot?”
Turning his head, Jake looked up at her, a wide grin on his face. “Sometimes.”
Violette chuckled at the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes and realised that she would miss him, miss getting to know him. After all, he was her brother, and yet, she had no place in his life. The thought was utterly devastating!
With a last glance up and down the corridor, they slipped back into the nursery and found a single candle burning on the side table. “Did you light this?” she asked, watching his little face light up with pride.
“Patrick down at the stables showed me,” he admitted in a whisper. “Miss Peachum doesn’t know.”
Violette chuckled, “I promise I won’t tell her,” she said. “Now, off to bed with you.”
Slipping under the covers, Jake looked up at her. “Will I see you again?”
Violette sighed, not wanting to lie to him. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I hope so.” Then she brushed a dark brown lock off his forehead, wishing she did not have to leave. But there was no choice.
The moment she opened her mouth to bid him farewell, his little eyes widened as he stared past her at the door.
A cold shiver went down Violette’s back when she saw his little fingers curl into the blanket, his muscles tensing like those of a cornered animal. Violette knew that feeling only too well, remembered it with shocking clarity even after all those years.
In that moment, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt who she would find standing in the doorway behind her.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Violette straightened her shoulders and silently slipped the dagger into her pocket. Then she turned to face the man who would not have hesitated to ruin her life…if her mother had let him.
When their eyes met, Violette felt a surge of panic as less pleasant memories rushed to the surface. Still, her view now was different from the way it had been then, and she felt her resolve strengthen.
At Lord Grafton’s ball, Violette had never been close enough to truly look at the man she had not seen in twelve years. His hair had greyed, and his waist thickened. He still stood tall, but his strength seemed a far cry from what Violette remem
bered. His eyes, however, burnt into hers with the same disdain and disapproval they had always held when looking upon her.
Deep down, he was the man she remembered. Still, she had never seen him holding a pistol in his hand. Currently, his arm hung by his side, the muzzle pointed at the floor. However, Violette had no doubt that were she to make a wrong move, he would point it at her, his own daughter.
A sneer curled his lips into a grimace as he shook his head at her. “I don’t know why I expected more,” he hissed. “After all, you’ve always been a disappointment.”
Although Violette cared nothing for this man or his approval, although she had grown up in a loving family and had always been granted her parents’ respect and trust, his words stung.
In that moment, Violette knew how Oliver had felt all his life…with no one to counteract the words his father hurled at him.
And yet, he had become a wonderful man. A man she was proud to know…
…and love.
***
After tying his mount to a low-hanging branch on the outer skirts of the garden, Oliver proceeded on foot. Slowly and stealthily, he moved forward, his gaze constantly sweeping the grounds, trying to spy movement that would suggest another’s approach.
However, all remained quiet, and he failed to spot guards posted at any of the doors or behind any of the windows…at least as far as he could see in this dim light.
Was it a trap? Oliver wondered. Or was Silcox so arrogant that he never even contemplated anyone following Violet?
Whatever the reason, Oliver could not linger in the dark. He needed to scout his surroundings and find a way inside.
Rounding the house, he approached what he thought would be the kitchen, hoping that the servants’ entrance would not be locked. However, when he drew near, voices drifted to his ears and he saw a faint shimmer of light coming from one of the windows. Clearly, the kitchen was not as deserted at this hour as he had hoped.
Abandoning his plan, Oliver circled back to the gardens. Hunched over, he hastened from shadow to shadow, hoping that no one was watching from the upstairs windows. When he reached the outer wall, he pressed his back against it and slowly moved towards the terrace. Approaching the French doors, he reached out with trembling hands, praying that fortune was with him that night.
Although Oliver had thought differently all his life, it appeared that she had not abandoned him after all.
Upon pushing down the handle, the door slid open.
Exhaling the breath he had been holding, Oliver peeked inside, relieved to find the room quiet and indeed deserted. Then he looked over his shoulder into the darkened garden, straining to see if Henri and hopefully his uncle’s crew were on their way.
However, he could spot neither movement nor hear their approach.
Determined not to waste any time, Oliver removed his cravat and tied it to the outer door handle, watching it flapping in the wind. Then he stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him, hoping that Henri would find the bread crumb he had left.
Then Oliver crossed the large room in long strides, his muscles quivering with urgency as he stepped out into the hall. Darkness engulfed him, and he wondered if anyone was lurking in the shadows. When all remained quiet though, the only sound the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the room behind him, Oliver proceeded onward, wondering where Silcox would keep his daughter. Would he lock her in the cellar? Although Oliver could not imagine doing so, he knew from personal experience that not all fathers cared for the well-being of their children.
Oliver would have to make certain.
Treading carefully, he found his way into the cellar and quietly whispered Violet’s name into the dark. He strained to listen for her reply for a few moments before deciding that the room was empty and Violet not there.
Then he headed back upstairs.
As the kitchen was currently occupied, he slunk up the main staircase leading up from the entrance hall, his eyes darting every which way, worried that someone might come upon him at any moment. However, all remained quiet.
Proceeding down a long corridor, Oliver was about to step around a corner when his eyes caught a faint shimmer of light up ahead. Instinctively, he jerked back, pressing his back to the wall. Drawing in a slow breath, he fought to still his trembling nerves before peeking around the corner once more.
Not too far away, Oliver spotted Silcox standing in the doorway of a room, his face twisted in anger and his right hand gripping a pistol that occasionally swung forward and then backward as he spoke.
Oliver’s blood froze as he knew with perfect clarity who had brought forth Silcox’s anger.
Violet.
“Why did you come back?” Silcox snarled, red spots appearing on his neck and face. “Did you think you could fool me? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” The man’s jaw clenched, and his hand tightened on the pistol as he lifted it purposefully. “Where is your mother?”
Oliver heard a faint reply but could not make out the words.
Still, whatever Violet had said, it clearly angered the man. His head turned dark red, and he strode forward into the room, the pistol now pointing straight ahead…presumably at Violet.
Drawing his own pistol, Oliver silently approached the room, keeping to the wall in case Silcox was to step back outside. Knowing he only had one shot, Oliver reminded himself to use it wisely.
Violet’s life depended on it.
As did his own.
Chapter Thirty-Four – A Father’s Heir
“Where is your mother?” Through narrowed eyes, her father watched her, the look in his gaze one of calculated caution. Still, his anger had not subsided, but held his body rigid, his hand curled around the pistol he was pointing at her heart.
Her mother!
Inhaling a deep breath, Violette cursed silently when she finally–too late–realised why her father had not simply killed her. Why had he locked her up? The thought had occurred to her, and yet, she had not given it much time to develop into a nagging question as her mind had been too preoccupied with fleeing this place and escaping her father’s clutches.
Of course, it was not Violette who threatened her father’s new life, but her mother instead. If Violette were alive, then from her father’s perspective there had to be at least a chance that her mother–his wife! –was alive as well. And if that were the case…
Yes, that part was indeed familiar and had been widely discussed, which served to annoy Violette even more.
Why had she not realised sooner what her father wanted from her? Ought she to tell him? Was there any harm in that? After all, her mother was safe in France, and perhaps an honest answer would placate him, giving her the opportunity to escape. Still, what if his influence reached further than she could imagine? What if he found a way to her mother? What if he managed to kill her to protect himself?
No, Violette could not risk her mother’s life. Especially not after her mother had given everything to see her daughter safe.
Thinking of her mother, Violette found herself reminded of the little boy in the room, whose eyes were wide with fear and confusion as he glanced back and forth between his father and her. “Everything will be all right,” she told him, smiling at him reassuringly. “I promise.” Then she turned to look at her father, and her features steeled on their own, her eyes growing hard and her chin rising a notch as she held his gaze.
No matter what she had thought before, Violette would not allow that man to intimidate her. She wanted him to know that the time when she had quaked before him had long since come and gone. She was a grown woman now, strong and independent, and she would not cower before him. “Let him go,” she said, her voice hard with indignation, as she glanced at her little brother, “then I will tell you what you wish to know.”
A dark chuckle rumbled in her father’s chest. “There is no need to concern yourself with him,” he sneered, not even glancing at his trembling son. “Do you truly believe I would harm my heir? After all, he is
the very reason you’re here.”
Violette felt the desperate desire to plant her fist in her father’s face, his condescending words reminding her of Oliver, of the way his father thought of him. Merely as an heir, not as his son. There was no love, no devotion, no care.
Only possession.
Dimly, she wondered if there was a peer out there who loved his son for himself, and not merely as the heir who was to succeed him and carry on his legacy.
Turning her gaze to Jake, Violette could not help the smile that drew up the corners of her mouth, knowing even from their short moments together what a wonderful child her little brother was. “Go,” she whispered, glancing at the door. “You will be fine. Go now.”
Jake swallowed, his big eyes holding hers a moment before he glanced at his father, who barely looked at him. Then he nodded, and his bare feet echoed softly on the hardwood floor as he slunk toward the door, wary eyes fixed on the man who was his father. When he reached the door, Jake darted forward as though he feared his father would reach for him.
Violette breathed a sigh of relief when Jake vanished from sight. After all, heir or no, there was no telling what her father might do when his temper was riled.
About to turn her attention back to the man pointing the pistol at her, Violette froze when an exclamation of alarm reached her ears.
Her father flinched as well. Then he quickly stepped back, careful to keep his pistol trained on her, and glanced out into the corridor. Instantly, his face darkened, and his fingers tightened on the trigger. “Drop it!” he boomed in the silence. “Or she dies!”
Violette drew in a sharp breath, cursing her inability to see. Who was out in the hall? Had someone followed her? Was it Oliver? Or Henri? Her father’s words suggested that it was someone who cared about her. Someone who had a weapon.
“Good,” her father exclaimed, a touch of triumph in his eyes as he nodded toward the person outside the door. “In here, now!”
A moment later, Violette’s heart soared into the heavens before plummeting down to earth when Oliver stepped over the threshold, his hands raised in surrender, his blue eyes finding hers in an instant. “Are you all right?” he asked as he approached, his gaze sliding over her, concern deepening the blue of his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”