“It is still very difficult. And as for my…reputation. I find that the people who frequent those low establishments are just the kind that accept anyone. There I can speak as I grew up speaking. Talk to men and women who understand my upbringing, because they had a similar upbringing here in London. I am not a dissolute man. I am not a wicked man. Put your trust in me lass, and you will find it well invested.”
Violet laughed at the term he had used. Part of her knew that it was precisely the kind of thing she needed to educate him out of. But part of her liked it. It seemed affectionate, like a pet name. There was a special warmth within her at the idea that he had given her a pet name.
“Very well,” she said. “I will help you. I will teach you all I know. But we cannot tell my Uncle. He was the one who warned me away from you.”
“Did he, indeed?” Alexander said, fire igniting in his eyes.
“You cannot blame him for that,” Violet insisted. “He is behaving exactly as a father should based on the evidence he has.”
Alexander lapsed into silence, looking away but scowling toward the house. “I am sick of being judged. It has been done to me for my entire life. It will stop.”
“It will,” Violet agreed. “I will help you achieve that. When you are able to speak to men like my Uncle without them even knowing you were not born to the rank you hold, that you are no different to them, then you will not be judged. You will have beaten them.”
She sensed that this line of reasoning would appeal to him. Men often thought in terms of fighting and battle. Alexander chuckled.
“Lassie, I don’t care about winning or losing. Only the Bill getting through Parliament and into law. After that, I’ll be content to go to my estates and never set foot in this bloody city again. I don’t want to be one of the Ton.”
“That is a shame. For I would not see you,” Violet said, almost without thought.
That brought Alexander’s head around sharply. Those dark eyes pinned her to her seat, stripping away everything to see into her very soul. She knew that she had flushed a bright red and fought to regain some equilibrium.
“That is to say, I find you interesting. And who knows how long it will take you to discover the information about my father,” Violet said.
It was only then that she realized that she still held his hand in one of her own. Her eyes went to their clasped hands and she released his as though it were hot. Alexander smiled and retook her hand, raising it to his lips. The feel of his warm lips againsther skin almost made her feel faint. He lingered for a moment longer than propriety dictated he should. Then abruptly released her. He cleared his throat and stood, striding to the lodge’s entrance, looking out into the darkness.
“Well, I thank you most humbly for your assistance, lassie. You dinnae ken jist how much this means to me. I cannae thank you enough.”
“We will thank each other by each holding to our promise. I will make you the very image of a respectable English Duke, and you will find my father,” Violet replied.
Chapter 10
Violet showed Alexander the small gate, hidden behind a screen of ivy, that gave egress from the garden into the alleyway beyond. Alexander had chuckled as she held back the ivy to allow him to leave through the gate.
“Had I known this was here I could have spared myself some effort,” he said.
He had left and Violet closed the gate behind him, pushing the rusty bolt into place and allowing the ivy to fall back across it. She looked towards the lights of the house and considered returning. But something stopped her. The night air was chilly, making her shiver, but she was reluctant to step back inside. It felt as though the meeting with Alexander had been an adventure, something out of the romantic fiction she enjoyed reading. A handsome and dashing hero, allowing no barrier to stand between him and the woman he loved.
Not that he loves me of course. Nor I him. That would be ridiculous. Our relationship is one of convenience. A transaction only.
And yet she was in no hurry to turn the page, leave this chapter behind and return to normality. Instead, she walked slowly back to the lodge and closed the door. In one corner was a small wooden chest. Within was a woolen blanket and some plump cushions. Usually, they would not be taken out except in the height of summer. Now though, she spread the cushions on the wooden floor, picked up the book, and drew the blanket about herself.
Snug and warm within the nest she had made for herself, she opened the book at the page she had marked with a sliver of paper.
I will read for a while until I begin to feel tired. That will be the time to return to the house. I will savor the adventure for just a little while longer…
She read by the flickering lamplight for a while until her eyes began to feel heavy. Contrary to her own decision, she allowed sleep to sweep over her.
Violet fled through the dark, stone passageway. Her dress was ripped where the cruel hands of her captors had tried to tear it from her body. They had not expected their prisoner to havethe nerve to fight back. The knife she clutched in her hand was stained with their blood. Harsh voices rose from somewhere beneath her. Her lungs burned and the muscles of her legs ached. How long had she been running for? It was futile, this castle was known intimately to her captors. She did not know it at all.
They were chasing her ever upwards and the passageways were becoming shorter with each floor she ascended, her room to run reducing. They were cornering her. There was no way out. Ahead, appeared a staircase, spiraling up and down. She halted at the threshold, peering upwards and then downwards. There was firelight down there and shadows of grotesque shapes. Her pursuers were down there while there was nothing above but darkness.
Bare feet slapping against the stone, she scrambled upwards as the noise of her pursuers came closer. Then she reached the end of her flight. A room with narrow windows and no exit. Dashing to the nearest window, she looked out over a night-shrouded landscape. The room in which she was now cornered was many many feet high up in the air, clearly at the summit of a tower. The voices behind her now sounded triumphant, realizing that the chase was over. But only briefly.
A new sound reached her. Yells of victory became shrieks of terror. The terrible clash of steel against steel reached her ears. Then, one by one, the harsh voices fell silent. And there was only the steady tread of a single person ascending the stairs to her. Alexander stepped into the room, his armor dented and bloody. A battered shield was strapped to one mailed arm and a broadsword was held in the other. Sweat covered hisforehead, plastering his hair back. His dark eyes swept the room, searching for enemies. Then they fell upon her.
“Violet, my love!” He cried.
Sword fell from his hand and as he strode across the room to her, he wrenched the shield from his forearm. Tears of joy flooded Violet’s eyes as she rushed to her savior, falling to her knees as she reached him. He was there before her, strong arms going around her and his lips finding hers. Awareness fled except for the sensations that came from him. She felt his lips against hers, warm and firm. His embrace was tight, pressing her against his muscular torso. His armor pressed painfully into her soft, vulnerable flesh and she winced in pain.
