Henry agreed. To rejoice over Robert’s fate would make them as callous and unfeeling as he was. Henry blew out a breath and settled back against his pillow. This conversation had depleted his energy. “Do you suppose some food might be possible?”
“Of course. Are you very hungry?”
“Ravenous.”
She grinned and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m pleased to hear it,” she told him and went to make the request.
Viola was standing outside on the terrace overlooking the garden she and Henry had created when he came up behind her and wound his arm around her waist, pulling her into his warmth. Two months had passed since Robert had stabbed him and he’d managed to make a full recovery.
“This will look lovely next year when the plants are fuller and flowers start to bloom.” Viola tilted her chin up, intending to look at him, but he pressed his cheek to hers, preventing her from doing so. A hint of afternoon stubble grazed her skin and a smile stretched her lips. She’d never been happier.
“Lady Beatrice’s parents have come to call,” Henry murmured. “They’re waiting for us in the parlor.”
Turning in his arms, Viola welcomed the kiss he gave her and let him escort her back inside. They entered the parlor together, greeting their guests just as a maid arrived with a tea tray. She set it on the sofa table and exited the room.
“We want to thank you,” Lady Clarendon said. “What you’ve done—” Her voice cracked and her eyes grew suspiciously moist, prompting her to avert her gaze.
Her husband, the earl, placed an arm around her shoulders in a show of comfort. “Tremaine was sentenced an hour ago. He will be promptly stripped of his titles and locked away until his hanging.”
“Did he confess?” Henry asked.
Lord Clarendon nodded. “He spoke of Beatrice and Miss Olivia Jones without remorse. Indeed, it appeared as though he failed to comprehend why anyone would fault him for what he had done. Especially in Miss Jones’s case.” The earl shook his head. “Frankly, I believe he’s getting what he deserves.”
Viola agreed even though it was difficult coming to terms with the fact that a person she’d once shared the same roof with, played cards with, conversed with, would soon be executed for heinous crimes he’d committed. Or perhaps it was simply hard to accept how blind she had been. Her biggest regret would always be letting him use her affection for him against her. She glanced at Henry and was once again overwhelmed by the love she harbored toward him.
“I am just glad his father is not alive to witness his downfall,” she said. “That would have been a shame.”
Later, when they were once again alone together, Henry led her into the parlor where Rex and Newton were curled up together, side by side, near the fire. “I thought we might make another go of The New Game of Human Life.” His words were light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes suggested seductive intentions.
“The last time we played we ended up on the sofa and forgot the game completely.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.” He gave her a heated look and went to retrieve the game from a cabinet behind the sofa.
Embers sparked to life upon her skin. She stepped further into the room, drawn to him in a way she had long since stopped trying to resist. “That’s not the point.” Serving him the sharpest look she could manage, she said, “I am merely drawing attention to the coincidence. It was very convenient for you, considering you were losing.”
Bent forward over the table and in the process of placing markers on the game board, Henry stilled. His eyes rose slowly toward hers and the edge of his mouth lifted into a roguish smile filled with pure masculine pride. “Winning is all about turning the situation to your advantage, Viola.” Straightening, he came toward her and Viola’s pulse quickened.
When he reached her, he wound one arm around her waist and pulled her securely against him. “Perhaps we should leave the game for later.” He brought his free hand up to cradle the back of her head.
“Perhaps,” was all she could say. Her limbs had gone week, her mind slightly drunk on the powerful sensations he wrought with his touch, and all she wanted right now was for him to kiss her.
And then he did, confirming the need he had for her in his life and a love that grew stronger with each passing day. He was her husband, the man she anticipated growing old with, soon to be the father of her child, and as Viola kissed him back, she savored the joy he’d brought to her life. It was greater than anything she’d ever known, indescribable in its perfection, its sweetness and its purity. Simply put, it was utterly divine.
Chapter 29
Snatching up his black beaver hat, Carlton Guthrie straightened the sleeves of his burgundy velvet tailcoat and exited The Black Swan where he’d made his home for the last fifteen years, ever since his falling out with Bartholomew. Pleased to know that particular man was now six feet under, Carlton smiled as he stepped down onto the packed dirt road and turned into the morning mist.
Not a single gaslight brightened this part of town, this poverty-stricken place where criminals made their beds. They were the forgotten, an afterthought of the City at large left mostly to their own devices. Passing a woman asleep in a doorway, he bent down and placed a pound in her hand.
She stirred, looked up and straightened slightly as soon as she saw him. Her gaze darted to the coin and her hand closed around it. “Thank ye, sir,” she murmured, and Carlton tipped his hat before strolling onward.
Reaching a corner, he glanced up the street where a cart’s creaking wheels were clanking along. This was his kingdom, the slum of St. Giles, and the place where he’d reinvented himself when his life had fallen apart.
The sound of the cart receded into the distance, most likely dragged off to market by someone hoping to sell their wares. It was time for that now at six in the morning. Other people were also starting to stir. He could hear the opening and closing of windows and doors as they woke to another day of hardship.
Walking on, Carlton strode through the mist while surveying the streets for signs of misconduct. Anyone had a right to live here. He didn’t much care what crimes they committed, just as long as they did not target the other inhabitants of St. Giles, who were all under his protection.
He stopped again and tilted his head, alerted by a soft tapping noise. It sounded like feet hitting the ground at a frantic pace, and it seemed to be coming closer. Narrowing his gaze, he peered through the mist. If someone was being chased, he’d have to discern the reason for it, so he moved into the middle of the road, prepared to intercept the individual, when a bundle of white silk and lace topped by ribbons and tulle burst out of the ghostly haze and collided with his chest.
