Rogues and Ripped Bodices (11 page)

Chapter
Thirteen

Julian
felt as though he had gone through ten rounds in the boxing ring after dealing
with his mother and persuading her to rest in her apartments. Sharing a house
with his mother could be testing and he was grateful for the size of the
building as well as her busy social life. He didn’t think the woman would speak
to him for several days after the dressing down he had given her anyway. Whilst
he loathed the idea of her prying into his affairs, he could not very well let
her cast aspersions Viola’s way.

He swiped a hand over his face. He only hoped
Viola hadn’t been too humiliated to be discovered like that. With a grin, he
made his way upstairs in search of her. Viola Thompson was made of stern stuff.
If she could survive the vitriol of the Alderton sisters and those ladies at
the castle, she could survive his mother.

Pausing outside her door, he drew in a breath.
Every fibre of his being vibrated with anticipation. Last night... Lord
Almighty, last night had been the best night of his life. He had loved Sybil,
he knew that, but the emotion had been a young one—a sort of soft version of
love. Sybil had been appropriate, ladylike, the perfect wife. He had adored her
for that. But Viola was the opposite. She cared little for being appropriate or
perfect. She was... Viola.

And he loved her for it.

He tapped gently on the door and waited. He
shifted on his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. She was in there,
was she not? Julian heard some shuffling and a clunk. He tapped again.

“Viola?”

Nothing. Was she harmed? Had she had an
accident? His pulse quickened. He tried knocking once more and gave up. If something
had happened to her...

He pressed open the door and stilled. “What in
the devil are you doing?”

She faced him, her eyes red and accusing.
“Packing.”

“Why?”

Viola scooted past him and dumped her ripped
gown into the bag. His heart panged at the memory of tearing it from her body.
He wanted to do the same to the cream day dress she currently wore. But this
scene was all too familiar. He had done something wrong again, but what? Had
his lovemaking been so terrible? Had he hurt her? She’d seemed so content this
morning. He thought for the first time in their relationship they were finally
on the same page.

“I have to go, Julian. I don’t belong here.”

He stared at her back. “You cannot leave.”

She whirled on him. “Why? You didn’t want me
here in the first place. You know my ship sails soon. I see no reason for me to
stay.”

What about me?
he wanted to ask.
Will
you not stay for me?
Had last night meant so little to her?

“I thought—” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You didn’t need to leave for another day.”

Ignoring him, she gathered up her evening
slippers and dumped them on top of the ruined gown. He latched a hand around
her wrist and she pulled away, darting an angry stare at him. Apparently this
time, no offers of showing her around or any other such feeble apology would
work. If only he knew quite what he had done wrong.

“Viola, cease. Tell me what is wrong?”

Hands on her hips, she clamped her lips together
and ran her gaze over him. She shook her head and took an audible breath. “I
heard your conversation with your mother.” She waved a hand. “I know I was
foolish to think last night meant anything to you, but unfortunately I did.”

“My mother? Why would you listen to a thing she
said? You know full well I have little respect for my mother’s opinion.”

“It was not what she said. It was what you said.
I am
no one
.” She tried to turn away but he stepped forward and clamped
his hands to both of her arms. “Well, this
no one
is leaving,” she said
huskily as she tried to wriggle from his grip.

“Clearly you did not hear the rest of my
conversation. I could not have my mother interfering but I also could not let
her tear you apart in such a manner. I’m sorry you had to hear that, but if she
knew how I felt...” She stilled and he drew her close. “I love you, Viola. I meant
everything last night. I...Damn, I wish I had a piece of paper to explain this
better. I want you to stay.”

Her lips slowly parted. The tension left her
body and she lifted her gaze to his. “Here? In England?”

“Yes, with me.”

“Because you love me?”

“I love you.”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I love you too.”

Julian let his grip on her soften. Those words,
God, they made him feel like the best man on earth. No money or power or all
the grand houses in the world could make him feel as she did when she uttered
those words.

“Unpack your belongings. Write to your father.
Tell him you will see him soon but you have chosen to stay here. I will provide
for you, make sure you are comfortable. If we put you in the dowager house, you
won’t even have to see my mother...”

“Why would I be in the dowager house?” Her
lashes rose and fell in quick succession. “Would your mother not move in there
once we are married? I don’t understand everything about English customs but it
seems a bit odd to move your wife into—”

“My wife? No, Viola, I mean to make you my
mistress.”

 A pale wash came over her face. Her eyes
rounded in horror. “M-mistress?”

“Yes. I have no intention of marrying. You know
very well why.”

She tore away from him and stumbled back so that
she landed on the bed. He went to help her up but she brushed aside his hand in
quite the aggressive manner. Julian scowled. Surely she realised he could never
marry her? He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her. Whether he
was truly cursed or not, he could not risk it—not with the woman he loved more
than life itself.

A hand to her mouth, she shook her head. “I
can’t believe you would ask this of me, not after all I confessed yesterday.
You wish to make my ruin complete, perhaps?”

“Do not be a fool,” he snapped, feeling the
familiar heat rise within him. Why could she not see he was trying to protect
her?

“I’m a fool for wanting to be more than a
mistress?”

“That is not what I meant. I cannot marry you,
Viola. I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t die—unless that is God’s will. You are
not the decider of my fate.”

He scuffed a hand over his chin and tried to
force himself to remain calm. It wasn’t easy when each breath felt hot and
heavy and fire ran through his veins. “If you loved me at all, you would not
ask me to do something that I cannot.”

“And if you loved me at all, you would take the
risk,” she shot back.

Julian tiptoed on the edge of snapping. He felt
as taut as an old violin string—ready to break at any moment. He would never
harm her, ever, but he knew well his words could wound just as easily. He had
to protect her from himself. Before he said something he regretted, he spun on
his heel.

Hand to the doorknob, he paused and said
quietly, “I cannot risk that which is most precious to me. Forgive me.”

Her sobs rang in his ears even as he stormed
down the hallway to his chambers.

Chapter
Fourteen

It took
her less than an hour to pack. An hour in which he paced back and forth and
tried to decide how to make this right. He was going to lose her. The only way
of keeping Viola would be to tie her to his bed. There would be no changing her
mind.

The worst of it was, he understood. No woman
grew up dreaming of being a mistress. And certainly not one like Viola who had
spent much of her womanhood being dismissed and pitied. All because some
blackguard could not make up his mind about women and had taken her innocence
from her. Julian curled a fist until his knuckles hurt. If he ever met that
man...

He eyed her trunk waiting on the marbled floor
of the hall. His mother had decided to nap apparently, which meant at least
Viola would not have to suffer any more of her spiteful words on Americans. In
all honesty, he preferred American women if Viola was anything to go by. Her
outspoken manner and vivacious ways never failed to draw a smile from him. She
understood how to enjoy life—something he hadn’t been able to do in a long
time.

Footsteps came from the hallway that led from
stairs to the kitchen. Viola entered the hall, followed by Jenny and Mrs
Whittleworth. Julian managed not to roll his eyes. Apparently his staff didn’t
want her leaving either.

Viola gave him a cool flick of her gaze over
him. “Is the carriage ready?”

He glanced out of the window. “It is.”

“Well then, I shall bid you farewell.” She
dropped into an obscenely low curtsey that made him want to grab her arms and
drag her back to her feet. Instead he dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

Damn her. Damn her formality. Damn her for
leaving him when only hours ago she had been in his arms. When he had been
declaring his love for her just last night. Damn her for breaking his heart. He
didn’t think he’d ever be whole again once she’d left. For so long now, she’d
been a part of his life, even if only in written form.

“You are welcome any time.”

On impulse he took her hand and laid a kiss to
her glove. He kept his gaze on her and saw the slight parting of her lips.
Good. He hoped she remembered that when she was in America, far from him. It
was vindictive perhaps—even childish—but he knew he’d never forget her, and he
wanted her to lie awake thinking of him too.

She withdrew her hand and went to pick up her
bag but one of the footmen got there before her. Far too soon, she was
installed in his coach and her bag was strapped to the roof. She gave him one
last lingering look before the driver called the command to the horse and
flicked the ribbons. The sadness in her eyes told him everything. It made it
impossible for him to hate her and he really wanted to at present.

I am sorry
, that look said.
Sorry
things did not work out, sorry you cannot overcome your fear and give me what I
need.

He was sorry too.

Julian stood at the door long after Mrs
Whittleworth and Jenny had returned inside. He watched the carriage drive
around the bend and approach the line of trees that would hide her from his
sight. Part of him longed to curl up in a ball and cry. Unfortunately that was
not what marquesses did.

A blur of movement caught his eye in the woods.
He peered at it then back at the carriage. He wasn’t sure when he’d started
running out of the house, only that one moment he’d been standing in the
hallway and the next his shoes were crunching across the gravel. As soon as
he’d seen the deer, he had known, deep in his gut, something awful was going to
happen.

He sprinted after the carriage, his heart coming
into his throat as the deer ran into the path of the horses. Even though he
continued moving forward, the movement of the carriage seemed slow. The horses
reared and whinnied. Wood crunched and the vehicle lurched.

The footmen jumped clear as it crashed onto its
side, sending up dirt, wood splinters and gravel. But there would be no such
salvation for Viola. Sickness churned in his gut as he raced to the broken
vehicle. He glanced around and noted the driver scrabbling to his feet.

“Check the horses,” he ordered. If any were
badly injured they’d have to be shot. “And send for the doctor.” God only knew
what had happened to Viola. He came around the side of the carriage and found
the door had whipped open. “Viola?” His voice sounded like a mere echo in his
ears.

“I’m here,” came a weak reply.

He scrabbled up onto the side of the vehicle and
peered in. She lay against the other side of the carriage. He dropped down into
it and brushed aside her hair. Her skin was cold and she trembled from head to
toe. He could see no obvious injuries but what if she had done some damage
internally? Dampness sat in the corners of his eyes and he swiped a hand across
them.

“Let us get you out of here. Can you stand?”

“I think...” She pushed herself up and cried
out.

“What is it?” he asked, his pulse pounding so
loudly in his ears, he feared he wouldn’t be able to hear her response.

“My leg.”

Broken perhaps. He nodded and scooped her up.
One of the footmen had already come to aid them so he handed her up to him and
together they managed to get her up and out of the overturned carriage. She
cried out in pain as they manhandled her and he wished to God he could have the
pain instead.

He threw down his jacket on the grass and laid
her out on it. “Where does it hurt? Show me.”

She tapped her left leg and bit her bottom lip.
Tears spilled from her eyes. “It hurts so much, Julian.”

He gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze while
he used his free hand to hitch up her skirts. Bile rose in his throat when he
discovered the blood-stained remains of her stocking. A large shard of wood at
least as thick and as long as his finger had lodged in her leg.

“Julian?”

He gave her hand another squeeze and released
it. “All is well. Take deep breaths,” he ordered. He looked at the footman who
gave him a grim look. Should he remove the shard or leave it? Leaving it
increased the chances of infection but removing it meant she’d probably bleed
more. And from the looks of her stained silk stocking, she had already lost
enough blood.

“Please,” she begged. “It hurts so much.”

Making a snap decision, he began to unbuckle his
belt. Then he untucked his shirt and tore a long shred from it. He pressed up
her skirts and motioned to the footman. “Hold down her leg.” Julian gave her a
reassuring look. “This will hurt, my love, but it will feel better in a
moment.” He bound his belt as tightly as he could above the cut, cinching it
until it bit tight into her skin. Pressing down on her thigh, he began to ease
out the splinter.

Viola loosened a sob that tore at his heart and
her leg trembled. “Nearly there...” He pulled it free and flung it aside. Using
the strip of his shirt, he bound the wound as tightly as he could. “All done.”

He nodded his thanks to the footman and scooped
Viola into his arms. Christ, he couldn’t lose another woman, not again.