“He doesn’t love you, does he?” Venture pressed her. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Even you don’t think that.”
“What do you know about love?”
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing, I guess. Maybe I never did.”
Grant sat beside Venture on the driver’s seat, leaving Jade to ride alone in the carriage so that the two of them could talk. Jade was silently but visibly outraged that her father wanted to hear Venture’s version of the story in addition to her own, which she’d gushed to him the moment he arrived.
“All right, Vent, let’s hear it,” Grant said once they were on their way.
He told Grant everything that had passed between Hunter and himself, all but the obscene specifics of it, and presented him with the bag of silver coins as proof. He wasn’t about to lie to Grant for Jade and wind up with an official thrashing and time in the lockup—and Jade nursing Hunter back to health and landing back in his clutches on top of it all.
An awful silence fell between them when he was done. Jade had done more than her share of breaking with the expectations of Society, but she’d done nothing before to cause her father such shame as this.
“Sir,” Venture said at last, “he’s a Crested gentleman. Do you think—”
“He’s no gentleman!”
Venture kept his eyes purposefully on the road. He thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his master’s eyes. Grant wasn’t one to care much about how another man had insulted him—though they both knew that had to be part of the fun for Hunter—especially when Jade’s future might be ruined. She was Grant’s primary concern. She always had been.
“I’ll do everything in my power to take care of this for you,” Grant said. “I should have known something like this could happen.”
Now Venture had ruined Hunter’s charming smile and the law was going to come after him—and his master, whom he’d been lying to in his own way all these years, was going to put himself on the line to defend him. At least he could rot in the lockup knowing that he’d finally faced Hunter Longlake, finally fought a Crested man. And he’d left him with a lasting reminder that Venture Delving couldn’t be bought, that being Crested didn’t mean he could get whatever he wanted out of him. Hunter Longlake would have to face the fact that Venture Delving wasn’t just a bondsman, he was a fighter, and one who’d beaten him, too.
“Don’t worry,” Grant said. “You took care not to kill the man. I can’t say I would have shown the same restraint. I’ll pay Mr. Hunter Longlake a visit tomorrow. Perhaps if I remind him how embarrassing it will be if word gets out that he was bested by a bondsman, he’ll see the wisdom in not pursuing charges against you.”
“Thank you, sir.” If Longlake brought charges against him instead, if his father found out and chose to use this politically, what wonderful evidence Venture would be for the danger of teaching Uncresteds, especially bondsmen, how to fight. Would Prowess Longlake humiliate his own son for political gain?
“It will work, Vent,” Grant said. “As much as they’d like to use you, they can’t afford the damage to their mystique.”
“Yes, sir.” That was his only hope. No Crested judge—and, by law, they were all Crested—would find in his favor, especially not against the former High Judge’s son.
“There’s still the matter of Herald. I may need your help in dealing with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grant stared thoughtfully at the road for a long while. Then, “Perhaps I should reconsider another offer that was made to me recently.”
“An offer, sir?”
“A prominent Crested family from Rolling Hills County—good people, not meddlers like the Longlakes—they have a young man they’re hoping to get married and settled down. They’ve inquired about Jade. I’d hoped to give her the chance to fall in love, but . . . apparently their young man is giving them a difficult time, refusing to choose a bride from among the Crested girls. A good boy, they claim, but stubborn. His father met Jade and thought she had enough of her own class for the family, and enough spark to interest his son. Perhaps he’s right. He and Jade might have a lot in common. I ought to arrange to meet the boy.”
Venture felt strangely numb. It didn’t strike him as entirely a bad idea, especially if Jade had gotten herself into a situation that required a hasty marriage. Better that unknown Crested man than Hunter.
Grace paced the main room with the newest addition to the Delving household, six-week-old Holly. The baby fussed and whimpered while Grace patted and hummed. On the hearth, Chance was curled up in a bundle of blankets, breathing deeply, peacefully. Sound asleep.
“Hey,” Venture whispered. He pulled off his coat and threw it on a hook.
“Vent, is that blood all over your shirt? What happened to you?”
He looked down at the dried, red-brown stain covering the entire front of his shirt. “Nothing happened to me. It’s not mine.” He sagged into a chair, fighting a grimace at the pain in his side. At least his injury was somewhere easy to hide from Grace.
“What happened to the other guy, then?”
Venture gave Grace a brief, somewhat edited version of what happened, being careful not to give the impression that Jade had done anything improper; just that Hunter had tried to bribe him for the opportunity, and had been very crass about it, and then insisted on it, and that now Jade seemed to be taking Hunter’s side.
“Vent, that’s awful! Thank God Mr. Fieldstone believed you.”
He shrugged. “He never trusted Longlake anyway.”
“Is he really going to be able to take care of this for you? A Crested man—”
“A Crested man will want to keep this quiet. I’m certain of that, and so is Grant Fieldstone.”
Grace nodded. Then, “Jade Fieldstone is a smart girl,” she said. “She’ll come to her senses. And you two were such great friends. She won’t be angry with you forever.”
She said it with such tenderness, Venture wondered, not for the first time, whether she knew that his feelings for Jade had never really gone away.
Venture drew a curtain around the wash basin and got cleaned up and changed, then emptied the bowl of bloody water outside.
“You’re tired,” he said when he came back in. “Let me do that for a while.” He held out his hands to take the fussing baby. Venture put her little head on his shoulder, his hand under her soft, swaddled bottom. Grace tucked Holly’s blanket around her, then stretched out her sore arms and sat down.
“I like having you home, Vent.” She smiled at him sleepily.
“I try to be useful.”
“Oh, you are helpful, but I don’t just mean that.”
“I know. I’m glad I have this family to come home to. You girls are much better than just Justice by himself.”
Watching sweet Grace doze off at the table, and holding one of Justice’s little girls in his arms, he realized that somehow he’d always thought he would marry Jade, and have a family, and just be together, and be happy.
Venture lowered Holly from his shoulder to the crook of his arm. Just as he’d thought, she was asleep, one little fist balled up against her tender pink cheek. The corners of her mouth twitched up happily. What was she dreaming about? Venture kissed her tiny nose and watched her face crinkle in response. He wondered if one day she’d give some man as much trouble as Jade Fieldstone had given him.
“Grace.” He tapped her gently on the shoulder with his free hand, and she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Go to bed. I’ll keep her out here with me for awhile.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll get you if she wakes up hungry.”
Grace got up and gave the baby and then Venture each a kiss on the forehead. “Thanks,” she mumbled before disappearing into the bedroom.
Venture slept on a straw mattress by the fire now, leaving the bed in the nook for Tory. With his free hand, he pulled his mattress away from the wall and flopped it down by the hearth, next to Chance. He laid the baby down, gave her back a couple of pats, stepped over Chance, and stoked the fire before unfolding his quilt. Then he stretched out on his bed and lifted the baby onto his chest. She sighed and nestled into his neck.
He pulled the old quilt over them—the one his mother had made him so long ago. And he let everything he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine come on him. What he knew must have happened. What now might be for Jade. What he’d always wished for and now knew would never be for the two of them. Possibilities. Impossibilities. And tears. So many tears.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Venture arrived at the Big House before dawn, as Grant had asked him to the night before. He followed Grant down the pantry stairs, to the lower level, and stood next to his master while he rapped sharply on the door to Herald’s room. Herald stumbled to the door, rumpled and still half asleep. But when he saw the look on Grant’s face, and the tensing of every muscle in Venture’s body beside him, he woke right up.
“Come outside.” Grant ground out the words.
Herald stepped into the passage and Venture snapped the door shut behind him, shooting a quick glance into the room to make sure that Herald’s son, Bounty was still asleep.
Grant confronted Herald, and he confessed to leaving Jade alone with Hunter Longlake in exchange for a bribe on several occasions.
Herald was a free servant, and that meant Grant had every right to say, “Wake up your son. Pack your things and leave this house. Do not ask me for a recommendation.”
“Yes, sir.” Herald said, with the gleam of hatred, verging on a threat, in his eye.
Grant gave Venture a nod. It was his turn. His job was to squash what they both knew Herald was thinking of doing in order to avenge himself.
“If you breathe a word about this to anyone,” Venture said, “if you give anyone the slightest impression that Jade Fieldstone is anything but a fine young lady, I’ll come after you. You’ll be just like Hunter Longlake, looking in the mirror each morning at a reminder that my fist once met your face.”
He wished it gave him pleasure to do it, but he couldn’t forget the reason he had to take such measures to safeguard Jade’s reputation. Not only had Herald betrayed his master, but Jade had betrayed her own virtue.
Fear flickered over Herald’s countenance. He retreated into his room without another word.
Venture ran straight to Beamer’s. He’d left Chance home with Grace and the girls due to his unpleasant task with Herald. It was still dark and the center was empty, except for Dasher and Earnest, who he found in the changing room. Dasher didn’t like to wear his workout clothes under his good clothes, which he had yet to start taking off. He was too busy talking to Earnest about their training and competition plans for Venture, and the discussion was growing increasingly heated, verging on an argument.
Venture stood in the doorway, adjusting his gloves.
Shut up, already
, he thought. They were so oblivious to him when they went at it like this that even Earnest hadn’t noticed his mood. Neither of them knew what had happened the night before.
You are really going to get it today, Dash, for the both of you
, he thought hotly.
Just wait until sparring time.
He gave the changing room door a meaningful slam and left them to work it out while he entered the half-dark training room and began stretching out. He eyed the striking bag hanging at the end of the room, and the throwing dummy, a canvas man stuffed with dry beans, and pondered which would be more gratifying to release his energy on until he could get his hands on Dasher.
The door from the foyer to the training room opened with a creak-swish, letting in the thin morning light. A shadow washed across the floor. Venture looked up at a lone figure. An armed figure, with a mask secured over the upper portion of his face. Slowly, deliberately, the man drew his sword.
Venture rose, giving an urgent shout. The intruder stood between him and the only way out of the training room. With a menacing shout of his own, the masked man ran at him, sword held steady in both hands, his forearms bulging with power ready to be released, ready to thrust that blade straight through Venture.
Though his heart was racing, Venture waited calmly. His timing must be perfect. When the man reached him, he stepped clear, to the side, and swept a hard, booted foot with his bare one. Venture moved like lightning; it was his only hope, to strike so fast and so hard and in such an unexpected way that he couldn’t be stopped or answered with a blade. His timing was excellent, but not perfect—the man lost some of his balance, and given his momentum, should have gone flying onto his back. But he corrected for the break in balance, merely stumbling to one knee. Clearly he was no novice to conflict.
Venture couldn’t allow this outcome, this realization, to give him pause. His next attack came instantly, before the other man could react. Venture’s hands wrapped over the man’s hands, on the hilt of the sword. He used his foot and lower leg to reap the most upright leg out from under the kneeling intruder, making him fall onto his back. Both of their hands were still on the sword.
Venture kneed him in the face several times when he tried to rise, smashing his nose and busting open his lips, starting a gush of blood. With one knee in the attacker’s sternum, the other foot on the mat with the knee bent, he pushed off from the floor and the intruder’s chest, forcing the air out of his lungs and crushing him as he thrust the sword back, behind his thatch of bloody hair, and drove it into the mat.
The sword ripped through the tight weave of straw and lodged in the wooden floor underneath, and still the attacker didn’t let go of it. But in the shock of pain and lost breath, his grip loosened just the slightest bit, and Venture wrenched a finger back. Tissues popped and bones cracked. The intruder screamed wildly, but didn’t relinquish his weapon.
The man was insane. Why didn’t he give up?
I might have to kill him
, Venture realized.
Really kill him
. Someone that bent on what he intended to do was dangerous, whether he had the stuffing beat out of him or not.