Dark Vengeance Part 2
Page 40
“Angelina…” he said softly.
“I know there’s probably not enough left to cure her now.” Lina rushed on, mustering her resolve, wanting—no needing—to explain herself. “Not all the way. But maybe with all of those treatments Michel’s been giving her, it could help. It could buy her some more time.”
He didn’t say anything, so she just stood there with her gaze pinned to her toes, her hand outstretched, the vial of first blood between them.
“Please take it,” she whispered.
She felt his fingertips graze her palm as he took the little jar. When he then pressed his lips softly against the basin of her hand, she looked up at him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Anytime,” she replied with a smile.
He tucked the vial of first blood in his shirt pocket, then pulled a folded envelope from this same pocket. To her surprise, he offered it to her, unmarked and unsealed. “This is for you, as well.”
She laughed. “I’m out of things to give you in return.”
She lifted the envelope flap and reached inside, slipping out the lone contents—a check. To her. In an amount that nearly made her faint.
“What…what is this?” she gasped, blinking owlishly at him.
“You wouldn’t accept my money before but I hope you will now. This is for your mother. For her medical bills.”
Her eyes flew wide. “How…how did you…?”
He averted his gaze, sheepishly. “I’m a telepath, ma chéri.”
She felt her cheeks burn with color, mortified. Her brows narrowed slightly as she straightened her shoulders and with a deep breath, tried to muster some pride. “I…I can’t take this.”
“Angelina…” he began as she held out the check, but she cut him short.
“It’s really nice of you, Augustus. Really. But the bracelet’s one thing. This is something else altogether. I mean, I know I’d never…could never get something like this for myself…” She glanced down at the smooth purple stone at her wrist. “But it didn’t break your bank or anything to buy it. And I’m sure this wouldn’t, either…” She waggled the check at him. “But I’ll take care of Mama’s bills on my own. It’s going to take some time…and some overtime…but I can work something out, maybe even so Mama doesn’t have to know about—”
“Please,” he pressed. “Take it.” When she opened her mouth to protest further, he added, “You were right before—I am that proverbial one percent. I realize I’m extremely fortunate in that respect. I have the ability to help your mother when I know it would be a burden for you to help her yourself, and it’s my pleasure to do so.” He cocked his head, trying to draw her gaze because she’d suddenly found herself staring down at her feet. “It’s my pleasure, Angelina.”
She didn’t object—how could she argue with that? Instead, with a soft cry, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, rising onto her tiptoes because he was so goddamn tall.
“Thank you, Augustus,” she whispered again, trembling as she began to cry. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
He held her gently, his arms around her waist, his head turned down toward hers. “You’re welcome, ma chéri.”
* * *
“Augustus?” Lina called hesitantly, peeking through the doors into his suite of chambers at the Davenant great house. Several hours had passed since they’d parted company and although she’d tossed and turned in bed, she’d been unable to quiet her mind long enough to rest. Finally, aggravated with herself, she’d abandoned her guestroom and made her way along the winding labyrinth of corridors, at last finding his room.
She’d tried knocking on the doors but had received no response. She tried again anyway as she leaned over the threshold. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Her breath drew short in amazement as she looked around the entry antechamber. The floors and walls were crafted from hardwood, probably hand-carved, too, from the looks of the intricately designed engravings she could see. Oil paintings gave the otherwise dark-toned room splashes of brilliant, gilded color. She recognized one of the portrait subjects as Eleanor.
During her tour, she’d learned of Augustus’s love for antiques, an appreciation and interest he’d shared with his son, Sebastian. “The Rococo period—France in the 1700s—was one of our favorites,” he’d confided.
“That’s when you born, wasn’t it?” she’d asked. “The time period you grew up in?”
“Why, yes,” Augustus had replied, surprised and visibly impressed that she knew this.
“That is Auguste Noblet, le Vicomte de Valmont,” she heard him say now from behind her as she paused to admire one painting in particular depicting a young boy in flouncy, frilly Rococo dress, a powdered wig, starched stockings and heeled shoes.
Lina turned and found him standing in the doorway of the adjacent room watching her with undisguised fascination. He cradled a half-empty tumbler of what appeared to be scotch on the rocks in his hand.
“I must have been no more than eight years old when that portrait was done,” he remarked. “And yet to this day, I remember clearly how itchy that godforsaken clown suit was—and how insufferably boring it was to stand still for so long.”
She laughed, but it came out sounding clumsy and shrill. Something about the intensity in his gaze as he regarded her made her feel sheepish and shy all at once, although she had no idea why.
“Bon jour, ma chéri,” he said, walking toward her. “What a lovely surprise to see you again.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting…” she began.
“Not at all.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against each of her cheeks in turn, and she breathed in deeply, unconsciously, the fragrance of his cologne. “I always have time for you, Angelina. Would you like to join me for a drink?”
She smiled. “I’d love to. What the hell. What are we having?”
“Today it’s Bloodhorse,” he told her, extending his elbow politely. “I’ve decided tequila doesn’t sit well with me.”
Lina laughed—a more relaxed and natural sound this time—and hooked her hand against his arm, letting him lead her into the next room. It turned out to be even more astonishing than the last, with three massive fireplaces constructed side by side, each one at least as wide as Lina was tall, and all crowned with a Greco-Roman styled relief sculpture series.
“It tells the story of the Trojan War,” Augustus said, following her gaze and realizing her distraction. “How all of the great kingdoms of ancient Greece once went to battle over the heart and hand of the world’s most beautiful woman.”
“Helen of Troy,” Lina murmured, tilting her head back to better admire the stone panels. “The face that launched a thousand ships.”
“You’ve read Homer,” Augustus remarked, walking over to a side table where a glass decanter and tumblers had been placed.
“Ages ago, when I was in school.” She glanced toward the leather-upholstered couches arranged near the fireplaces and jumped in surprise to realize they weren’t alone. “Oh, my God. I am interrupting.”
“It’s quite alright,” Benoît assured her with a chuckle as he rose politely from his seat. “Auguste and I were just catching up on business matters. Rather boring, I’m afraid.”
Lina could smell the bourbon on his breath, and didn’t miss the slight slur in his words. She couldn’t help but wonder how long Benoît and Augustus had been sitting around drinking—or how many sheets to the wind they had become in the process.
“I…I should go,” she mumbled, feeling foolish and intrusive, her cheeks burning with embarrassed color.
“Please stay,” Augustus said, and there was something in his voice, a barely imperceptible plea that she might have imagined, but kept her rooted in place. “I told you, ma chéri. I always have time for you. Tell me, is your guest room to your liking?”
“It…it’s gorgeous,” she said, accepting a glass as he offered it to her. “Everything here…it’s like a museum or something.”
Lina laughed despite herself at this and even Augustus managed a slight, crooked smile for his brother’s benefit.
“Yes, ha, ha. Ta mere la pute,” he told Benoît drily.
“Perhaps the young lady could share her opinion on Monsieur Davenant,” Benoît suggested. “You’re a police officer, no? I imagine your line of work necessitates being a good judge of character.”
“I guess so.” Lina glanced uncertainly at Augustus. In truth, she hadn’t been able to say with any certainty whether or not she was still a police officer until earlier that afternoon. To her surprise, she’d received a phone call from Elías.
“You let me leave for Miami,” he’d said, forgoing any greeting or preamble.
“You wanted to see your son,” she’d replied.
“You let me abandon the case—and you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Pilar tricked you.”
“She screwed with my head. Brainwashed me.”
“She planted the idea, that’s all. Because she loves you and she wanted you to be safe. And you didn’t abandon me. I can take care of myself.”
He’d managed to laugh. “Yeah, so I heard. That FBI guy, Simms, has been singing your praises ever since I got back today. Something about you blowing the Cervantes case wide open. Not to mention Cervantes himself.”
“Yeah, well, Marcus probably exaggerated a little bit. I had some help.”
She and Augustus had broken God alone knew how many laws when they’d infiltrated Tejano’s private circle. She’d cringed to consider just how many possible charges—both state and federal—the two of them could likely be facing now. Not to mention Valien, Jackson, and the rest of the corillo.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back in town,” Elías said. Then, after a pause, he’d added, “You…uh…are coming back, right?”
“I don’t know. Do I still have a job?”
He’d laughed again, back to his old self. “Definitely.”
When Benoît patted the couch cushion beside him in unspoken invitation, Lina sat down, keeping her posture primly rigid, her knees together, trying hard not to look as uncomfortable and socially awkward as she felt.
“You don’t trust Aaron Davenant?” She’d been speaking to Benoît, but it was Augustus who spoke first in reply.
“Not as far as I can throw him.” Tilting his head back, he drained the drink dry; she listened to the ice cubes clink softly together.
“Why?” she asked, frowning.
“Because the man is a criminal,” Augustus said. “His sole function in working for Diadem Global, Lamar’s international conglomerate, was to scout out new business opportunities for his father—mostly in weapons trafficking and the drug trade. He’s a contract killer—Lamar’s personal attack dog, sicced against any man, woman, or child who crosses the Davenant clan.”
“He’s also had the first blood,” Lina said pointedly. “And was pretty much a one-man illegal venture for Lamar from the sounds of things. Whether he liked it or not.”
Augustus made a snorting sound at this.
“Brandon said he saved his life, rescued him from Lamar,” Lina said.
“Then there was some benefit in the task for Aaron, ma chéri,” Augustus said grimly. “I guarantee it.”
“Auguste can’t read his mind to know for sure,” Benoît said, leaning toward Lina and dropping a conspiratorial—if not somewhat tipsy—wink. “That pisses him off.”
“Neither can you,” Augustus growled. “Neither could any of the Morins when we caught him trying to slit Tristan’s throat in California.”
“And it pisses you off,” Benoît observed again.
“You’re damn right it does. Especially when the salaud is currently a guest under my goddamn roof.”
“He’s injured, Auguste…” Benoît began.
“The most dangerous animal is a wounded one.” As he spoke, Augustus paced in front of the fireplaces, his long hair streaming behind him, his brows furrowed. “He’s a Davenant, Benoît. That makes him a threat to you, me, and to everyone in this house that I…” His voice faltered as he looked at Lina. “That I care about,” he finished quietly.
“One thing I don’t understand,” Benoît remarked, “is why Lamar would barter in the healing properties of both Aaron’s and Brandon’s blood, but apparently not use any of it for himself. I mean, you’d seen the man, Auguste…what was left of him anyway. Lamar was practically a dry-rotted husk with half a pulse. Why give to others—even for a price—something that he himself could have benefitted from?”
“Maybe someone can only reap the benefits of the first blood once,” Lina suggested. “Augustus thinks Lamar used it, too, years ago when he fell off his horse and hurt his back.”
“Julianne told me as much at any rate,” Augustus said. It was clear the mention of his former wife upset him, that the revelation of her betrayal was painful to him. His brows narrowed and he set his empty glass down on a nearby table, heading for another doorway. “Excuse me, won’t you?” he murmured. “I…I’ll be back.”
“Of course.” Benoît nodded as Augustus left the room.
Lina fidgeted in her seat, shifting her weight.
“Would you like another drink?” Benoît asked, rising to his feet. “I, for one, am ready for a refill.”
“No, thank you. I think maybe I should go,” Lina said. “I didn’t mean to upset Augustus.”
“You didn’t, child,” Benoît reassured her with a smile, removing the glass stopper from the etched decanter and pouring a hearty dollop of bourbon into his glass. “Julianne did. Augustus trusts very few people. And he cares for even less.”
As he walked back toward the sofa, refreshed drink in hand, he glanced behind him toward the shadow-draped doorway through which Augustus had disappeared. “He’s lonely,” he said in a quiet voice, once apparently satisfied that the two of them were alone. “He won’t admit it aloud, not to me, not to anyone, I suspect, but I know him. I know how his mind works, and his heart.”
Benoît sat down beside her on the couch. After a long moment during which they both simply sat there, cradling their drinks in their hands and staring at the empty fireplaces, he said, “Eleanor is dying, you know.”
“I’m sorry?” Lina glanced at him; he’d spoken so quietly, she was sure she’d misheard him.
“Eleanor,” Benoît said, glancing her way. “She’s very ill…”
“The blood disorder.” Lina nodded, puzzled by this turn of conversation, seemingly apropros of nothing. “Augustus and Brandon have both told me about it.”
“She’s been in California the past four years receiving treatment in the hopes of prolonging her life,” Benoît said, and Lina nodded again, aware of this. “But in the past year…and with Sebastian’s death…I’m afraid the stress has gotten to her. Her condition has worsened. And it just keeps getting all the more so.”
“I don’t understand,” Lina said.
He took a long swallow of bourbon. “Auguste can’t touch her anymore,” he said. “Her body can no longer withstand most physical contact. He told me that the slightest embrace, any more than the most glancing of touches and within moments, it looks as though he’s beaten her, the bruising is so severe. She literally cannot bear it. Before his own death, Michel Morin had given her a prognosis of six months or so. And most likely, much less.”
Oh, my God, Lina thought. She’d known all along that Eleanor’s illness was serious. They’d only recently buried Lisette Morin, Tristan’s mother, who had died from the same ailment. But even though the woman had always seemed frail, Lina had never guessed the full magnitude of her deterioration. Or what it was doing to her husband.
“He released his other wives,” Benoît said. “When Eleanor was here, he seldom bothered with the lot of them. When she was gone, he was with them
only out of loneliness for her. Soon he will have no one.”
“You think he would have kept them if he’d known?” Lina asked.
“What, about her condition?” Benoît asked, and she nodded. With a sad chuckle, he said, “He knew, ma chéri. He’s known all along. Michel always kept him up-to-date on her progress…or lack thereof.”
Lina blinked in surprise. “Why did he let his other wives go, then?”
“He says it was to prove his devotion to Eleanor,” Benoît remarked. “But I think they never really satisfied his loneliness. Perhaps with them…or without…in the end, it made no difference. He didn’t want them.”
With a groan, he stood, setting aside his glass. “Would you do me a favor, ma chéri? Two of them, really. First, keep this conversation between us. Auguste is a proud man. He admits nothing easily or readily, even to me, and it would humiliate him to know I’ve breached his confidence so.”
Then why did you? Lina wanted to ask, but held her tongue.
“Second,” Benoît continued. “When he returns, would you tell him I waited as long as I could, but I had to go. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”
“Sure.” Lina nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” Benoît took her by the free hand and gave her knuckles a light kiss. “He was right about you, by the way.”
“Who? Augustus? What do you mean?”
“He told me you were perhaps the most remarkable woman he has met since Eleanor,” Benoît replied with a smile.
“He said that?” Lina asked softly, touched.
Benoît nodded. “And the most confounding,” he added with a wink, and Lina couldn’t help herself but laugh.
After he’d taken his leave, she glanced at the nearest clock and realized Augustus had been gone at least twenty minutes. As Benoît had noted, it was getting late, and in his absence now, she felt intrusive all over again.
“Hey, uh, Augustus?” she called out. The high ceilings and hardwood floors did little to dampen the resonance in the room, lending her voice a slight echo in the otherwise undisturbed silence. “Augustus?”