Page 95 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

If he’s been lying to you, Amalie, how can you explain all the little things he’s done? The way he constantly calls you beautiful. The way he tries to protect you from the noise he knows makes you so uncomfortable. How many invitations did he make you refuse without telling you it had been his way to save you discomfort?

Think about how difficult it was for him to tell you about Rules. And you know it was difficult for him. You could hear it in his voice—the regret, pain, and even fear as he tried to explain. Is his failure to reveal he knew it was you in Rules so great a sin when you consider all the things he’s done to make you happy?

Amalie winced. All of that was true. She remembered how fiercely he’d rejected the way she’d described herself as nothing more than a plump country mouse. That moment was still vivid in her mind. For the first time in her life, she’d experienced what it was like to feel beautiful, desirable, enticing. Valeran had even promised to make her see herself as he saw her, so she would never question his need for her again.

Since that night, he’d followed through on that promise. He’d clearly memorized every single one of her curves. He'd found the ticklish ones that made her laugh, the spots that had made her draw in a breath of anticipation, and the ones that had made her moan, then plead for more. It was impossible to believe or think all of that was a lie.

But hearing him say he knew it had been her at Rules had made her question everything. Lady Chattfield’s cruel insults weren’t anything she’d not already heard before. But until now, she’d taken consolation in knowing Valeran would never know how deeply hurt and humiliated she’d been as she’d listened to Lady Chattfield’s demonization of her.

What had made those few moments so devastating was knowing Valeran had heard every horrible word too. A quiet sound of heartache ricocheted past her lips. The sound engulfed her body, leaving pain in its wake. The pragmatic part of her reminded her that Valeran had objected to Lady Chattfield’s vile insults. If she’d not been so devastated, she might have remembered the exact words of his objections, but she did remember he’d protested.

Don’t be a fool, Amalie. The man laughed when Lady Chattfield suggested you’d swoon at his feet. The devil on her shoulder screamed.

As a spy for the Crown, Valeran’s behavior in Rules was perfectly logical. The pragmatic voice retorted.

You’re a fool to believe anything the man says. The opposing voice sneered. In the next breath, the pragmatic angel on her shoulder dealt a crushing blow to its opponent.

At no point in Valeran’s apology did he try to justify his actions, Amalie. All he did was explain why, but he’d not tried to absolve himself of what he clearly viewed as his mistake.

It was the truth. Valeran had confessed his failure in objecting to Lady Chattfield’s words. He accepted full responsibility for choosing to tolerate Lady Chattfield’s words simply out of duty, when he’d known it was wrong. But it was the sorrow and pained regret in his voice that emphasized his apology was heart-felt and sincere. Not once had he’d tried to absolve himself in any way. It made his words hold a solid ring of truth to them.

Rubbing her forehead to ease the sudden throbbing in her head, a tear slid down Amalie’s cheek. While she was coming to accept that Valeran did work for the Crown, the question was, where did they go from here? It was unrealistic to think his life wasn’t in danger on a regular basis. What would she do if something happened to him?

The day she’d resolved to accept Valeran’s choice to see her only a friend and confidante, she’d been willing to take what happiness she could as his wife. Now, she wasn’t sure if that was possible. Tonight, their argument had demonstrated how truly vulnerable she was where her husband was concerned.

In recent weeks, her heart had started to hurt in a way she’d never expected. With each passing moment spent in Valeran’s company, a small piece of her heart was sliced off, then left to shrivel into nothing. Eventually, nothing would be left, and she wasn’t sure how she could go on at that point? She needed time to sort things out in her head.

If she was still here when Valeran returned, she would find it impossible to resist him or his persuasive arguments. It would be impossible to do that here where she was so vulnerable. Going home to her parents for a few days would give her the chance to organize her thoughts. When she’d done that, she could decide what to do about her marriage and whether her heart was strong enough to return to Sommerville House.

Chapter 25

The stench and quiet sounds in the night air filled Valeran’s nose and ears as he stood silently in the shadows of Tenter Street. It was hotter than usual for June, and the heavy rain earlier in the day hadn’t washed away the fetid smells of the back street. If anything, the showers had only enhanced the foul odors, creating a double assault on his olfactory senses.

Not more than twenty feet from where he was standing, newborn kittens were mewling their soft pleas to be fed. Further away, and closer to Alie Street, Valeran heard the guttural cries of a man being satisfied by a whore. A few raindrops fell, and Valeran’s mood darkened. He was tired, wet, and angry. Angry because he was a complete ass and idiot. And he missed Amalie.

The night of their argument, he’d returned home to find Amalie gone. She’d left a note for him, saying she was going to stay with her parents. It had left him with the impression she might never come home to him again. Amalie had said she needed time to sort things out before she decided what she wanted to do.

The words had chilled him to the bone. They’d been even more painful than her icy replies through her bedroom door as he’d tried to convince her of his remorse. Valeran’s heartfelt apology had gone wrong in so many ways he couldn’t begin to count his mistakes. He’d waited impatiently for Amalie to come home, but after the first week, he’d gone to Crianlarich House to speak to her.

Lady Patience’s voice had been sympathetic when she’d said Amalie wasn’t ready to see him yet. As he’d left the house, his mother-in-law had touched his arm and murmured she was doing everything she could to convince Amalie to return home. That had been three weeks ago. Lady Patience lack of success had only added to Valeran’s bad mood.

Not only had it left his brain malfunctioning to the point he was making mistakes unlike his usual self. It had also made him foul-tempered enough to bite off anyone’s head who said one word wrong to him, even C’s. Valeran winced. That had not been one of his more intelligent moves. He winced again at the memory of his commander’s soft fury at Valeran’s hot-tempered response when the two of them had disagreed on where they needed to focus their investigation. Valeran had immediately apologized to the man. Unlike when he'd apologized to his wife, C had accepted his apology albeit a begrudging acceptance.

Not even Jamie had been spared his sharp tongue, and in response, his friend had angrily ordered Valeran to set things right with Amalie or find a new partner. It was something he desperately wanted to do, but when his wife wasn’t willing to see him, how was he supposed to do that?

Somewhere near the corner of Tenter and Scarborough, something metal rattled against the cobblestones before a cat screeched. Valeran stiffened. If he didn’t focus and concentrate on the task at hand, he’d never have a chance to salvage his marriage, because he’d be dead. With a grunt, he tipped his head slightly toward the corner of St. Marks and Scarborough, which was two doorways away.

Billy was supposed to take a swig of the brandy Valeran had given him, then cough violently from the fiery liquid to alert him that someone was coming. He’d been very emphatic about the plan, but was worried Billy wouldn’t do as Valeran had ordered.

The lad was just twelve and was already hardened by the street, but his age made him think he could elude any danger coming his way. Valeran knew better. He’d tried to convince Billy to leave London and be sent to Durville Hall. But the boy had said he could make more money as an informant. Resigned to the boy’s adamant refusal to accept his help, Valeran had done what he could to avoid the boy being seen in his or Jamie’s company.

The man they were hunting was far more dangerous than they’d originally thought. He seemed to have a thirst for blood. In the almost four months since Peter’s murder, three more agents in the foreign section had died the same way Peter, Knowles, and Featherstone had.

Peter’s death had thrown a pall over the entire Rockwood family, but they were slowly beginning to heal. He doubted Percy and Rhea would ever heal from the loss of their son, but Valeran knew the an dara sealladh had shown Amalie’s uncle something that had eased some of the couple’s heartache.

The death of their cousin and the other Crown agents had only increased the zeal with which Jamie, Harry, Rufus, and Ginny tackled their efforts to find their enemy. After Peter’s death, Charles and Vincent had approached Jamie demanding the truth about their cousin’s death, and immediately volunteered to join the Secret Intelligence Service. Even with everyone on edge, and twice as vigilant, they were no closer to catching the Prussian bastard threatening the entire foreign section’s existence.

Part of the problem was their failure to decipher the meaning of the symbol on the calling card the man left in the pocket of every dead agent. Valeran was certain the Prussian agent was toying with them, and he didn’t like it. The day after Peter was murdered, Valeran and C had organized groups of three agents to work together backing each other up out in the field until the Prussian was caught.