Of course she knew, and the new mantle he wore—though he had donned it with pride—filled her with sadness. She could not help but to feel with each day that passed, he traveled further away from the Lucien she knew.
She tamped down that ill-timed melancholy now. “I do, but I am fearful, Lucien. This business with shots being taken at your carriage…I worry for you. I worry too for myself and Aunt Hortense. Meanwhile, we have all these strangers in our midst; Mr. Swift, a dozen new guards, the Duke of Strathmore.”
Predictably, her brother’s expression turned even more grim at the mentioning of Strathmore. “The Duke of Strathmore will not be beneath this roof for much longer, and he will be one less worry for you.”
A chill ran through her at the pronouncement. “Will he be free to return to his home?”
“Such an innocent.” He sighed, passing a hand over his suddenly weary face. “No, Violet. He will not be going home. He will be going to prison. Allowing him to remain here was a favor I granted the Home Office, who is reluctant to send a peer of the realm to prison without significant evidence. I promised a fortnight’s respite, which is ample time for anyone who gives a—whocares—to produce evidence that gainsays what I have against Strathmore. But I am confident no such evidence exists.”
It was worse than she had supposed. Lucien intended to see Strathmore imprisoned within the week.
“Why are you so certain of his guilt?” she asked, because she had to know.
“Swift uncovered a mountain of evidence at his home,” Lucien answered, sounding as tired as his countenance. “According to the Duke of Carlisle’s final investigation for the League, someone within our ranks is trading secrets to the Fenians in exchange for monetary benefit. What Swift found proves beyond a doubt Strathmore is that man.”
“Why would he need to benefit financially from such a thing?” she had to ask, for to her, it made no sense.
And though she could never admit it aloud to Lucien, she had seen for herself the scars Strathmore had earned in his service to the League. Why would a man who had endured all he had, with a body covered in the proof of his selfless bravery, later commit treason against the Crown he had served?
She had done some digging herself, and from what she had gleaned, Strathmore did not appear to be in need of funds. Quite the opposite, as he hailed from one of the wealthiest duchies in England.
“Sometimes, Violet,” her brother said sadly then, his familiar and beloved voice cutting through her thoughts, “a man will do something just because he can.”
He had committedworse sins in his life, Griffin told himself as he prepared the tools of his escape. He had drunk himself to oblivion until he spent the next morning retching into a chamber pot and cursing his life, swearing he would never touch a drop of drink only to drown himself in the bottle again later that evening. He had smoked opium to dull the pain, even though it hadn’t worked. He had once fornicated with three women at once at a party thrown at the Duke of Carlisle’s townhome. Afterward, he had not been able to recall any of their names.
Not one, aside from the vague impression of multiple syllables.
Indeed, he had spent the last decade of his life attempting, and failing miserably, to overcome the demons inside him, planted there by his incarceration in Paris. He excelled at misdeeds, the wilder the better. But of all the wrongs he had done, he could not shake the feeling the one he was about to commit—absconding with the Duke of Arden’s innocent sister and making her his bride—would go down as the very worst.
Perhaps the final black mark against his soul. The last weight on his scales to tip the balance and send him one day to the fiery pits of Hades, where he no doubt belonged.
And then he thought of the wide emerald eyes and midnight hair and full, kissable mouth of Lady Violet, her lush curves and those long legs and that delicious bosom and the scent of roses, which would forever make his cock hard now for as long as he was doomed to walk the earth.
He thought of all those things, and he knew this sin would be the only one he ever perpetrated in his entire life that would be worth the price he ultimately paid for its commission. Not to mention how fully he would enjoy bringing Arden to his knees and causing him to lose his position as League leader when he proved his incompetence to the Home Office. Nor could he shake the restless feeling that running away with Lady Violet and making her his duchess would save his hide in more ways than one.
Even if doing so would be her ruin. Even if she would one day end up with a husband whose name lived in infamy and ignominy. There remained a strong possibility that, even if he was able to perform the bold move he had carefully planned and intended to execute this evening, he would still be sent to trial and found guilty. His neck could yet find itself one more victim of the hangman’s noose.
But if he dwelled too much upon such doubts, he would talk himself out of his bold plan altogether, and that would do him no bloody good. Escape, and using Lady Violet as his leverage, seeking out the Duke of Carlisle, hiding himself, digging deep…those were his only options.
And that was why he was currently fashioning a weapon out of a plate emblazoned with Arden’s coat of arms. Lark House was crawling with enough guards to take on a small army. There was only one way he was going to escape with Lady Violet, and it would not be undetected.
Pretending to take her as his prisoner had been her idea, and Griffin had to admit the Machiavellian vein hiding beneath her soft exterior impressed him. Intrigued him. Made him want her that much more. She was not what she appeared to be on the surface; Lady Violet West possessed layers far more captivating than even the allure of her beautifully expressive face. And he longed to learn each one. To strip her bare, literally, as well as figuratively.
He forced such thoughts aside with brutal determination, for now was most certainly not the time to sport a cockstand.
No indeed.
Now was the time for making preparations for what he must do. Because of the additional guards, it was difficult for Lady Violet to find her way to him as often as she had before the carriage incident. She relied upon subterfuge with her most lax guard, a fellow named Pye of all things, and met with him for short increments.
Their time to act would be within the hour.
His last interrogation with Arden and Swift had made it clear their minds had been made up, and they were merely awaiting the formalities involved with trying a member of the League and a peer of the realm. Lady Violet had confirmed his suspicions as well when she had told him her brother intended to act within the week. That meant he could no longer delay.
His bedchamber door opened and a cloud of purple silk containing Lady Violet rustled hastily over the threshold. His pulse and his cock both leapt at her sudden appearance. Roses washed over him, along with gratitude. He still could not believe she would take such a risk on him, for him, because she believed in him.
“No warning knock?” he could not resist teasing her, even as he broke off another shard of plate to complete the wicked-looking blade he would hold to her throat during their departure.
She had offered to steal a knife for him, but Griffin had declined. On the chance their wild bid for freedom failed, he would not have her implicated. He alone would shoulder the blame and she could move on with her life and marry someone else.
