Page 63 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“Off with you now. Being seen with me could prove deadly. Watch your back.”

“Always, sir, always,” the boy said with another chuckle as he turned and darted back along St. Marks to Prescott Street.

Valeran watched as the boy’s shadowy form was framed by the light from a street lamp at the intersection before he vanished around the corner, Valeran continued on his way toward Fenchurch Street. It was his usual habit to walk out of Spitalfields and White Chapel a reasonable distance before catching a hack. Remembering how Billy had followed the man they were hunting from Prescott to Leadenhall, Valeran took the extra precaution of crossing Fenchurch and venturing deep into Spitalfields before he headed west and hailed a cab close to the British Museum. Billy’s efforts told him it was important to expand his level of stealth.

This new information made it clear he needed to inform C as to what he’d uncovered. The foreign section’s chief would not be happy when Valeran delivered his news. The question was whether C would be less happy with him for not reporting his findings sooner, or that they were now dealing with not only a dangerous foe, but a traitor as well.

Throwing himself against the well-worn leather squabs of the small vehicle, Valeran gave the driver the address to the safe house. The gentle sound of the horse’s hooves hitting the cobblestones was a soothing sound, and Valeran leaned back and closed his eyes.

What the hell was he going to do about Amalie? Not only that, how was he going to explain where he’d disappeared to whenever he went out of the house and didn’t return until in the dark hours of early morning.

It was foolish to think Amalie wouldn’t question his nightly excursions. He had to come up with an explanation for those. Valeran blew out a harsh breath. For not the first time, he considered telling his wife the truth about Miriam and his sojourns into the worst parts of London. Just as he’d done every time he’d considered the idea, he discarded it.

Amalie had been forced to marry Valeran, and she’d didn’t trust him. He was certain telling her the truth about his involvement with Miriam would do more harm than good. God help him if she thought he was with another woman. Valeran groaned softly at the thought. He’d promised not to humiliate her by taking a mistress, but his nightly disappearance would raise that question in her head.

It would be nearly impossible to convince her all his activities were in service to the Crown. Any confession he made would be met with skepticism and disbelief. Amalie believe he was lying to her to hide some fiction she’d created in her head. Most likely, she’d see it as an attempt to gain entry into her bed. In that event, his efforts to earn her trust would be that much harder.

Fingers rubbing his forehead, Valeran remembered his wife’s cold demand that he name the date and time he intended to claim his conjugal rights. The memory of her sharp words still stung, but he already knew his answer to her demand. He had no intention of bedding Amalie when he was certain she’d hate him for it afterwards.

An hour later, Valeran still had no answer to his problem as he strode out of the safe house and headed home. Bone weary by the time he entered his bedroom, Valeran dressed for bed. Ready to crawl beneath the sheets, he heard a quiet sound drifting out of the corridor connecting his rooms with Amalie’s. Without hesitating, Valeran tugged on a robe and made his way along the small hall to his wife’s door. He knocked softly, but received no response.

The door didn’t make a sound as Valeran opened it and stepped over the threshold, then stopped to listen. The sound whispered through the air again, and his entire body jerked the moment he heard the soft sob. As if someone had planted a fist into his gut, Valeran’s muscles knotted beneath his skin as shock crashed into him.

Bloody hell, his wife was crying. The urge to go to her made him take a step forward before he quickly tugged himself back from the brink and remained frozen in place. He was the last person she’d want to accept comfort from. But Valeran found it impossible to leave her crying in the dark. He could at least make an effort to offer her a shoulder to cry on.

“Amalie?” The moment his voice echoed softly in the room, his wife gasped. There was almost no light at all in her room, and he almost missed seeing her sit upright in bed.

“Dinnae ye come near me, ye soulless bastard.” Her words were slurred, and Valeran wondered if she’d finished off the two bottles of wine.

“I thought I heard something and simply wanted to ensure you were all right,” he said gently.

“I…am fine. Now, get…out, Lord Sommerville.” The way she stumbled and slurred her response confirmed his suspicions she’d had more to drink after he’d left her earlier.

“Very well, if you’re all right, then I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Valeran closed his wife’s bedroom door behind him, then returned to his room. Shoving a hand through his hair, Valeran bent his head and closed his eyes. Had Amalie been crying because he’d walked away from her tonight? Her response to him had been incendiary, and Valeran knew his retreat would definitely have appeared as if he were rejecting her. The thought made him pinch the bridge of his nose, his mood grim. Ever so slowly, his efforts to make Amalie trust him and woo her into his bed were dying a quick death.

He’d known it would be difficult to gain his wife’s confidence, but not impossible. Now he wasn’t so sure, and he was at a complete loss as to how to change things between the two of them. With a resigned sigh, Valeran rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps the way forward was to keep his distance from her.

If he behaved as if they were simply friends, not man and wife, maybe he could gain her trust that way. She was clearly feeling trapped, and his idea to woo his wife with one kiss a day had been a mistake. Despite Amalie’s fiery spirit, she could still feel threatened, and demanding something of her was the wrong strategy. He needed to make her feel less vulnerable.

Valeran grimaced. Except for dinner tonight, everything he’d done up to this point had been a mistake. Somehow, he’d put things right. He didn’t know exactly how, but he would. With that thought lingering in his head, he went to bed.

Chapter 18

The Darlington parlor was noisy and crowded. With mere inches separating them, Valeran felt his wife flinch as a woman standing off to their left laughed. It was a grating sound even for him, but he could only imagine what it was like for Amalie.

In the past few weeks, he’d learned a great deal about his wife. Of particular note was her preference for walking in the park before breakfast, when the level of noise was at its lowest. The morning after their disastrous wedding night, Valeran had been having breakfast when Amalie had returned from her walk and entered the breakfast room.

She’d immediately turned to flee, but he’d quietly invited her to join him. When she’d hesitated, he’d explained he was almost done and would be leaving for his club shortly. Amalie had acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, but the following morning, when she’d arrived for breakfast at the same time, he’d repeated his action of the day before.

Gradually, he had extended the length of time between Amalie’s appearance and his departure for either the club or an appointment. Within a week, it had become a morning habit for them to have breakfast together and dinner as well. Initially, their exchanges had resembled the small, polite discussions one had at a dinner party.

Neither one of them had mentioned the daily kiss they’d agreed to at Callendar Abbey, and Valeran was certain it was part of the reason Amalie had begun to relax in his company. She’d even stopped flinching every time he came close to her. By the end of the second week, he’d managed to make her laugh several times, and their conversations became small pictures of how they’d spent their day.

Valeran had come to appreciate Amalie’s clever wit, and always looked forward to having her sit opposite him at breakfast and dinner. His wife never hesitated to counter his teasing comments with her own, some of which took him several seconds to realize she’d gently poked fun at him.

A little more than a week after their wedding, Amalie had begun to add small touches of her own within Sommerville House. When he’d brought home an Irish terrier as a surprise, Amalie had been overjoyed and thanked him with a hug, before she’d gasped and quickly put a wide space between them.