by Wendy Vella
“To hell with you, Oliver Ace Dillinger,” Thea said, throwing the material over her head and sighing as it settled around her naked body. It felt blissful when normally she wore so many more layers against her skin. She would wear it and to hell with her husband, for this night she would at least feel like a bride.
“And will you be retiring now, Sir?”
Ace looked up from the letter he was reading.
“Do I look ready to retire, Elliott?” He then glanced down at his clothing, which was still the same as it had been when he married Thea.
“Your wife has retired, Sir.”
His butler stood beside his desk, tall and regal, hands clasped behind his back, looking two inches to the right of Ace’s face as all good butlers should, he was told.
“I hope she sleeps well,” he added, then looked down at the letter again. Now, however, he could see nothing but a mixture of words all jumbled together.
Thea was in a bed in his house and she was his wife.
“It is your wedding night, Sir.”
“I’m aware of that. Thank you, Elliott.” Ace kept his voice calm.
“I have instructed that a bath be drawn for you. It should be ready by now.”
“What do you want from me!” Ace snapped, hurling the pen across the room, which didn’t even make his butler flinch. It should have, because Ace never lost his temper. He was always controlled, and most people would run for cover if they had seen such a display. “I know I am married, damn you!”
“Excellent,” Elliott said in that precise way he had of speaking that irritated Ace, because he had tried for so many years to speak that way, and failed. He was still a rough miner’s son who had earned money in a brothel and using his fists.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I am pleased you know that you are married, especially as I was the one who escorted your wife to her rooms. And may I add she looked extremely upset and shaken when I did.”
“What, why?” Ace roared, climbing to his feet. “Who upset her?”
“I believe it was the circumstance, Sir. Lady Dillinger was alone in a strange house and she had just said goodbye to her family…alone.”
Guilt, thick and heavy, sat on Ace’s shoulders. “I had urgent business to attend to,” he said, looking down.
“Of course.”
Elliott could put a great deal of meaning into just a few words. He loaded them up with innuendo and supposition and still kept his expression carefully blank the entire time. It was a skill, and a bloody annoying one, especially as Ace was feeling raw and on edge.
“That will be all. Thank you, Elliott.”
“I will say good evening then, Mr. Dillinger.”
Ace was sure the ‘then’ had a question mark after it, but he ignored it and grunted instead.
Glancing back down at the words on the page, Ace knew he would work no more tonight. Rising, he left his office and entered the room next door. Stripping off his jacket, necktie and shirt, he then pulled off his boots and stockings, leaving him clad only in breeches. He looked at the large sack hanging from the roof, as if it held every one of his enemies. Stalking across the room, he then smashed his fist into it...hard.
Thea lay on her bed, staring into the fire that glowed in the grate and the anger she had tried to subdue just seemed to be gaining in intensity.
How dared he ignore her on their wedding night!
Pushing aside the covers, she got to her feet. Pulling on her beautiful, new dressing gown, also a gift from Livvy, she pushed her feet into her slippers and left her rooms.
Thea was not one to sit back and wait when something needed to be dealt with. Yes, she was nervous and unsettled in this strange, new house without her family around her. However, she was also angry because it should be her husband who was helping her adjust. She acknowledged that he was likely angry and unsettled also, but could they not at least talk and try to make an effort with each other?
During his riding lessons, she had learned much about him, small things he was most likely unaware he was imparting. They had both spoken freely, and now he wanted nothing to do with her. His kisses and caresses had made her head reel and she wanted more, and now when she could have more as she was married to the man, he was avoiding her.
Elliott had told Thea that Oliver’s office was on the floor below her rooms, so that was where she headed. Lamps lit her path, casting soft light over the paintings displayed along the walls, and she wondered if Oliver had chosen them himself, or if someone else had furnished his house. Reaching the bottom, she heard the sound of a fist hitting something. Taking that direction, she came to a halt outside a door. Turning the handle, Thea then slipped inside.
Oliver was stripped to the waist, feet bare, his long, muscled legs encased in breeches, and Thea held her breath at the masculine beauty of her husband. He moved as though in a dance around the bag, his arm shooting out to strike at the sack every few seconds. His movements were effortless and undertaken with a kind of grace that not many would admire, yet she did. His fists moved with speed, each thrust that of a man who had done this many times before. His big body gleamed with sweat, and the long tail of his black hair hung between the cords of muscle down either side of his spine that clenched as he struck out. He was beautiful, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She saw scars, one long lethal one down his left side, marks of the life he had been forced to live to survive.
She leaned on the wall and then lowered herself to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, and watched. Ted had boxed for her, and he’d been good, but Oliver surpassed him and her brothers. She could sit and watch him for hours.
The only noise in the room was the sound of his fists and hiss of breath. He made no other noise, and Thea had no idea how long she sat there, entranced by her husband. He was totally focused and unaware of anything else. Finally, when his hands dropped to his side and he drew in a deep, steadying breath he lifted his head and looked straight at her.
“What are you doing in here?”
His words were cold and steady, and his eyes narrowed. Thea regained her feet before speaking.
“I came to find my husband.”
“I think you should annul this wedding.”
His words were such a shock that Thea gasped, the small sound loud in the room.
“You have such an abhorrence of me that you wish to humiliate me by annulling our wedding?” The pain in her chest was fierce, but she did not move or flinch. She was made of stronger stuff than that, and she would not let this man see her pain.
“I am not the right man for you.” No emotion tinged his words; it was as if he were reading a supply list.
“Because of my birth, because you believe I am in some way above you?”
“We are from two different worlds.” His words were short and clipped. “We cannot even talk about the same things.”
“We can learn—”
Oliver swiped a hand through the air. “None of that matters. What matters is that you should not be wed to me.”
“You are not even willing to try and make our marriage work? You have decided it should not be, therefore it will not?” Thea sought refuge in anger. “My name will be blackened, because everyone will know by now that I was found in your arms at the theatre,” she said, holding his eyes. “But you are happy for me to marry a man who knows that, who would probably only be interested in me because of my brother’s wealth and my reputation as a…a harlot!”
“You are no harlot,” he said, moving to pour some water into the basin. His movements were cold and controlled when inside she was a seething cauldron of anger and uncertainty. “I have known plenty of them, and believe me you could never be one.”
“It will not matter what you think, Mr. Dillinger, only what others believe.”
He sluiced water over his body and hair before drying himself, pulling on a shirt and coming to where she stood.
“I am not a good man, Thea,” he said, sto
pping before her. “I have done many things in my past that make me unfit to be your husband, and I should never have agreed with your brother when he told me I was to marry you.”
“Those things are in the past,” she said, desperate for him to listen to her words. “They matter not anymore, and— “
“You do not know what they are, and if you did I’m sure you would understand why I am saying what I am.”
“Tell me, then,” Thea said and hated the pleading in her voice.
“No, it is best this way. Someone is trying to kill me and I will not have you caught up in that.”
“And I have no say in the matter? You have decided and therefore I will suffer the consequence of that decision. Do you not think you could have tried harder before you put a ring on my finger?” She could hear her voice rising; she would be screaming at him soon.
“It is for the best.” His face was closed and Thea wanted to strike him hard.
“The best for whom, I wonder,” she cried. “So I was all right for you to dally with, kiss and caress, use for riding lessons in the park, but you have no wish to be wed to me.” Thea reached for the door handle. “I thought you were better than a lot of those simpering fools I met in the society ballrooms who make false promises, but it seems you are not. In fact you, Mr. Dillinger, are a gutless coward, and perhaps you are right, you are not worthy of me.”
“Thea—”
She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. Slapping his hands aside as he reached for her, she opened the door.
“I will pack my things and be gone in the morning, and you can rot in hell for all I care, Oliver Dillinger. I never want anything to do with you again!” The last word came out as a sob and was thrown over her shoulder as she ran from him.
Lifting her skirts, she took the stairs quickly with Oliver on her heels and made it to her room seconds later. Slamming and locking the door, she leant against it and only then did she let the tears fall. Stumbling to the fire, she sat on the rug and cried for what she had lost. Her family, her life and now him, Oliver Dillinger. She had not wanted this wedding to take place under the circumstances that it had, yet she had hoped to make it work. He refused to even try.
The sound of another door opening a few minutes later told her she was no longer alone. She did not turn to face him, had no wish to see her husband’s face again or for him to see the weakness of her tears. She would not allow him to see her broken. Her brother was a bloody duke, as her husband was repeatedly telling her; she wept at the feet of no man.
“Thea.” He was close now. “Don’t cry.”
“G-go to hell, but do it from your room if you pl-please. I have no wish to see your face ever again.” She kept her eyes on the fire.
She could feel him, the tension in his large body, as he stood a few feet behind her, deciding what his next move should be.
“I need you to try and understand. I should never have allowed this wedding to take place, Thea. It was wrong.”
“My brother can be very persuasive,” she said shortly. “However, he will not make me stay where I am not wanted.”
“I want you!”
She did not speak after these explosive words, just continued to stare into the flames, willing him to leave her room. The day had caught up with her. The emotional turmoil of leaving her family and being here in this strange house with a man who did not want her had finally robbed her of her strength. She wanted to curl into a ball, right here by the fire and let sleep take her away from the pain.
“Don’t ever doubt that I want you, Thea, very much.” His words were calmer now. “And have since the first day I saw you at that flower exhibition in the park. But wanting and having are two different things when you have a past such as mine.” He sighed, as she didn’t answer him. “It seems I must share some of what I have done to make you understand.”
“There is no need. You have made your decision, and therefore I would ask you again to leave my room, Mr. Dillinger.” Thea had managed to regain a small measure of composure. “I am tired and wish to sleep at least one night in my marriage bed, even if I am to do so alone.”
She saw him move out of the corner of her eye, and sit in the chair to her right. He was now just a few feet from her. If she chose to reach out and touch him she could, but she would not give him the chance to turn away from her again. It hurt too much.
Chapter Thirteen
“After my sister’s death I was angry and most of my days were spent on the streets, taunting people into fighting me. I cursed my parents, yelling at them to stop producing children that they could not care for, and my siblings fared little better. Finally, I left home at twelve years old because I could live there no longer. My family was struggling to feed and clothe us all, and as I was the eldest, it was my responsibility to help in some way, and I believed to do that I had to leave.”
Thea could not imagine what it would have been like to be on her own at twelve but she kept those thoughts to herself.
“My parents would never have let me go, so I waited till the house was empty, took the few pennies I’d saved, and left for London. When I got there I found work on the docks.”
There was a lot more to that story, there had to be—you didn’t just arrive in London and get a job. What of the journey? Where did he find food or shelter? Thea didn’t want to feel sad for the little boy who had left his family but she did.
“I worked there for two years and then a man asked me if I’d ever used my fists to make money before. I said no, but had been in enough fights in my time, so that was when I started fighting.”
Dear God, he started fighting at fourteen.
“I was big, but slow. It took me a while and a few good beatings to understand the way of things, but eventually I was ready to start fighting for money—and I was good, really good,” he added. “Soon I was winning enough to send some home to my family and that continued for a few years. Then it all changed.”
Thea wanted to see his face so badly that her toes curled into the rug she sat on to stop her from moving.
“My last fight was against a man called John Blackheath. He was Jacob Blackheath’s brother. Jacob was an unscrupulous, vicious man who had gangs of men working for him, stealing and doing whatever else he wanted them to do. I had stayed away from him, refusing to box any of his men, and while I did that his brother had gained a reputation as the hardest man in London.
Thea gave up the struggle and turned to look up at him. His eyes found hers and she saw the memories in them, the pain of what he was about to tell her. She braced herself to not care, yet knew that would be an impossible task.
“Jacob was crowing to anyone who would listen that his brother was the best bare-knuckle fighter in England, and Jiggs, the man I boxed for, told me that I needed to shut him up by beating his brother, or people would start calling me a coward.”
“So you did,” Thea said.
“So I did,” he nodded. “And the fight was a hard one, one of the toughest I had. I threw a punch and John Blackheath fell, and I thought I had knocked him out, but in fact I had killed him.”
Ace waited for the look of revulsion from Thea, but instead, her beautiful, gray eyes filled with sadness. There was no judgment there, no anger, just pity.
“That must have been horrible for you,” she said, now on her knees before him. One of her hands reached out and he took it, even though he knew he should not. That she wanted to touch him when just minutes ago she had refused to look at him humbled Ace. He had wronged her in so many ways, yet because he had told her of his past, she wanted to offer him comfort. Her actions only reinforced his belief that he was no good for her.
“I killed a man, Thea. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
The light from the fire seemed to make her dark hair come to life, and her skin was glowing. Dressed in a sheer peach robe, he could see she wore only a thin nightdress beneath, and her breasts were outlined by the material. He wanted to lay her down and take her, de
vour her, but he couldn’t; she was worthy of more.
But she’s your wife.
“But you did not set out to do so, Oliver, and he could just as easily have killed you first.”
He couldn’t believe she was saying this. She should be horrified.
“Tell me the rest of your story, Oliver, as I know there is more,” she said gently, moving closer so she sat now between his knees on the floor.
Slipping her fingers through his, Ace looked at her delicate hand nestled inside his ugly one. More differences.
“I stopped fighting then, refused all offers and walked away from Jiggs and the others. I had enough money to rent a room until I had decided what I should do. Part of me had decided to return home to my family, as I missed them.”
“But you did not,” Thea said softly, her hand gripping his tighter.
“I was walking home one evening, and four men jumped me. One of them was Jacob Blackheath. He told me he was going to kill me for taking his brother from him, and for a while, I thought he’d win. But the alley they had dragged me into backed onto a brothel, and a few of the women had heard the noise and come out to see what was happening. Blackheath and his boys ran, and I was left bleeding from a stab wound he’d given me, and was beaten all over.”
Ace remembered the pain of those days; every move and breath had been torture. He’d had his fair share of pain, but nothing like that.
“Angelique was the madam there. Angel, they called her, and she was certainly that for me. They took me in, nursed me and when I was well she asked me to look after her girls, be their body guard, and I agreed.”
“Did it take you a long time to heal, Oliver?”
He wasn’t going to lie to her. “Yes, but one of the girls had a mother who was a healer, and she tended me because Angelique said that any doctor that would come into a brothel wasn’t worth calling.”
“She sounds like a sensible woman,” Thea said.
He couldn’t stop the hand that reached for her, touching a curl that hung like a satin rope around her face. It was soft and he wanted to lift it to his cheek and feel the texture.