“Of course I understand it.” She shifted on her feet and bumped against some marble statue behind her.
“Good.” He gave a curt nod. “I give you three months.”
“Three months.” She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too soon.”
“Three months.” His word was iron.
She shook her head stubbornly. “Impossible.”
“Viola.” He grabbed her by the arms and shook her gently. “Have you lost all faith in me?”
She shrugged, then shook her head mutely.
“I am your friend, am I not?”
She nodded miserably.
“Have been all those years. Your only friend, if I may add. You have no one more loyal than me.”
Well, that was arguable if one defined loyalty as a leech that refused to be removed, but nonetheless,she nodded. Lockwood had indeed been there for her when no one else had.
“And you can trust me.”
She hesitated.
“Viola?”
She gave a reluctant nod.
“Good girl. As I trust in you.” He dropped his hands. “I want you to finish it, Viola. The manuscript. Get over that blasted writing block and just. Finish. The. Blasted. Thing.”
“I am trying,” she cried, then lowered her voice when she noticed heads turning towards them. She drew him further under the columns beneath the stairs. “I am trying,” she hissed. “But it’s not as easy as it sounds. You said you trust me. So please, Peregrine, please. Trust that I know what I am doing, and that I will deliver it to you when it is ready. But never put this kind of pressure on me, not unless you want me to withdraw completely. It’s poison for my creativity, and then I won’t be able to write anything at all.” The fact of the matter was that she’d already reached that stage.
“That would be an utter disaster, and you know it.”
She did indeed.
“Viola. If you do this, it will be greater than anything you have ever done before. We are talking prodigious sums here. A fortune beyond calculation! Print, plays, theatre productions, opera productions! We have so many offers flooding in I hardly know what to do with them all. Not even Mrs Radcliffe, in her prime, can keep up with your success. You have put her long inthe shade. You are now the undisputed queen of romance and tales of terror. Don’t give up that throne so easily.”
Oh heavens. That did not help her at all.
She nodded miserably.
“You will pull it off, won’t you? Say you will. If you want, I will get on my knees and beg.” He cast a quick glance aside. “It might create somewhat of a scandal, however, so I’d rather not.”
She closed her eyes. Then she gave a defeated nod. “I will try. I promise.”
His relief was palpable. “Excellent. I am eagerly awaiting the next bestselling manuscript, Mrs Selina Sable.” He gave her a wink and left.
Viola foundher way to the refreshment room, exhausted, thirsty, and quite done with tonight’s entertainment.
Blast it, that Peregrine had to show up at Almack’s of all places. She’d tried to run away from him in Inverness and ended up right in his arms again. There was no escaping him. He was more relentless than a slave driver. An overseer on a galley. Napoleon, Nero, and Caligula combined.
That comparison made even her giggle.
At least Peregrine had left and disappeared with the crowd. He would leave her alone for now, and hopefully for the rest of the Season.
At least until she wrote the accursed book—and therein lay the problem.
