Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Violet was asleep when the squeal of the bolt awoke her. She gasped as her eyes flew open and she scrambled to push herself up from the hard mattress and cover herself, fearful that it would be Archie or his loathsome brother come to hound her into marrying again. She was still blinking, shocked that she had slept so late, when the door opened to reveal John Barrow, breakfast tray and clean undergarments in hand. Her shoulders sagged with relief as he glanced at her with a raised brow, closing the door carefully behind him before crossing the small space to set down the tray.

“Still abed, Miss Latimer? That’s quite unusual for you,” he said with a little smile. She pushed her fists into her eyes, trying to rub away the lingering haze of sleep before accepting the clothes he then handed to her and letting the blanket fall. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she caught his hungry gaze as her bare legs were exposed, pressing them together as her body responded with a dull ache between her thighs. There was a flash of a memory, of his hand on her bare leg, hooking it around his hip, and the stroke of his skin against hers. Violet blinked and shook her head.

“I may have been up a bit too late finishin’ a sketch,” she said after a moment, as he lifted the lid of the tray to pour a cup of tea before handing it to her. She gave a grateful nod and took the cup from him, closing her eyes as the dented tin warmed her hands before lifting it to take a sip. The heat of the drink helped to chase away the last of her exhaustion, and she sighed before glancing up at him as he set down the teapot.

“I don’t suppose… you might show me?” he asked with a hopeful look, but she hesitated for a moment – her subjects of late had grown quite personal and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to share them. She finally reasoned he had already seen her most intimate work – the drawings she had made of him – and so she nodded.

“Yes, I suppose,” she said, and kneeled beside the bed to lift the mattress and withdraw the little sketchbook. When she rose to hand it to him, she found herself looking up into eyes of deepest coffee brown; eyes hooded with desire. After what seemed an eternity, and before she could do something very silly and almost certainly unadvisable, she drew in a breath and took a step back, thrusting the book at him. He blinked, as though he had forgotten his request, and turned away to open it, giving her the opportunity to change into the fresh undergarments he had brought. It seemed almost silly to have him look away while she changed – had they not seen and explored all the most intimate parts of each other? – but she appreciated his discretion all the same. And perhaps he, too, realized that they were but one smouldering glance away from ripping each other’s clothes off again and her being in any state of undress would only fan those flames.

He was quiet, slowly flipping from one page to the next as she fastened her corset and stepped into the skirts of that practical green dress.

“Is this William?” he asked over his shoulder as she tied the tapes before plucking up the bodice. She hesitated, slowly pulling on the sleeves before answering.

“Yes. I was… inspired, I suppose. Do you… do you like it?”

He said nothing for a moment as he turned to the next page and her heart seized in her chest as he turned to face her, his gaze fixed on her sketches. Her breath caught when he finally looked up.

“Violet… why do you not paint people? These are extraordinary.”

Violet flushed as she clasped her hands to her chest, unable to stop the quick smile which flashed across her mouth.

“Really? I thought for so long that I was too… cynical, to really capture other people as they are. I thought, maybe I’d lost my humanity. Maybe I couldn’t see the good in people anymore.”

John shook his head, glancing down to turn to another page, this one depicting Bess, caught unawares one afternoon as Violet had been upstairs in the bar cleaning glasses. She had spied the other woman sitting at one of the card tables, ostensibly eating her supper before the club opened, but she had a novel opened on the table before her and was reading as she absently picked at a plate of cold chicken and cheese. Violet had been compelled in that moment to pluck the sketchbook from her pocket and capture Bess, in all her flame-haired glory, transfixed by the words on the page.

“No,” John said, raising his gaze to her once more. “I can see it, Violet. You have a remarkable talent.”

Violet’s cheeks warmed again, and it took everything in her not to pull him down to her mouth to shower him with grateful kisses.

“Well… maybe it was time I expanded my repertoire,” she added, a teasing note in her voice, and he gave her an encouraging smile.

“You really should. I’ve no doubt that railyards and docks are fascinating subjects, but these” – he held up her book – “these should be more than sketches hidden away in a book.”

The corners of her mouth turned up for just a moment and she tilted her head. “I’ll think about it.”

His soft smile almost made her close that gap between them and abandon herself to his kisses, but instead she accepted the sketchbook when he handed it back to her, and cleared her throat as she took a careful step back to finish buttoning her bodice, well aware of the view he would have of the curves of her breasts showing over the top of her chemise and warming at the thought.

“I met Edward Brill outside Whitehall yesterday,” he said suddenly as he bent to gather her discarded clothes. She glanced up at him as he stood.

“Oh?” she asked, seeing the strain in his expression before he looked away.

“Yes… I’m afraid he got word of our visit to the Royal Albert Dock.”

Violet said nothing but waited for him to continue. The corners of his mouth tightened.

“I told him I had to do it; I couldn’t compromise my cover.”

She did reach out this time and laid a comforting hand upon his arm. “He knew that could happen; he warned us himself.”

John sighed as he ran his free hand through his hair. “I know, and I think he understood. He sent his best doctors over.”

Violet nodded. “I told you he would take care of it.”

He breathed out a heavy sigh, as though he could release the burden with it, and inclined his head in agreement. A moment passed before he spoke again. “Mr. Brill also informed me of a letter he received.”

“Oh?” she asked again, innocently, as John finally raised his gaze to hers.

“Yes… from Lady Bradford herself.”

Violet waited, expectant, for him to continue, still unsure if he would appreciate her suggestion to host a fundraiser in Edward Brill’s club, or if he would find it intrusive and unnecessary. After a breathless moment, his expression softened, and he reached out suddenly to brush a finger down the curve of her cheek.

“You would do that for me?”

Violet’s breath caught and her whole body grew warm at that one, soft touch as the rest of the world fell away. Of course I did it for you , she wanted to say, I did it because I may be in love with you, but I can’t ever have you. This will be my parting gift. But she couldn’t say that – for many reasons, not the least of which was the ever-present fear that he did not return the feeling, unworthy of it as she was. So instead, she forced out a carefree laugh and caught his fingers in hers, drawing his disconcerting touch away from her cheek.

“Of course I did… I want you to get your promotion. You’ve earned it, and I know what them toffs are like. It’s all well and good to be the best for the job, but they always like a title and a bit of influence to back it up. And Della’s thrilled to be able to help.”

His smile didn’t fade, not really, but it seemed frozen on his face as his fingers slowly tightened around hers before he quickly dipped his head and stepped back. Violet had to fight to swallow back the words she really wanted to say.

“Well, I certainly appreciate your… belief in me.” He was smiling again, softly, but she was convinced that there was something he, too, was not saying. Still, she dared not pry further, feeling there were a host of messy and, quite frankly, inconvenient emotions waiting to be exposed. So, she said the only thing that could be said from the jumble of them hiding deep in her heart.

“I want you to be able to make sure what happened to Lucy never happens again.”

John’s gaze flew to hers, his forehead pinched as gratitude, and then grief washed over his features, making a muscle in his jaw tighten. In one stride, he came towards her to pull her into his body before his mouth closed over hers and his fingers were in her loosely bound hair, tugging her against him as she clung to his shoulders. Desire immediately overwhelmed anything else she wanted to say – or ought to have said – and she moaned as his hands began to travel down the length of her body, caressing, gripping, until he reached her buttocks.

“Violet, I…” he murmured against her lips, kissing her again and again, before he finally said, simply, “Thank you.”

And with those two words, Violet squeezed her eyes shut and did the only sensible thing she could – she pulled away, breaking the embrace. The little bed was behind them; she could have pulled him onto it and let him make her feel beautiful and wanted and worthy again, but she couldn’t risk the final pieces of her heart.

John sighed and nodded slowly, as though in agreement.

“You’re right… we shouldn’t… that is, I should be going. I must be at the warehouse shortly for sparring practice.” He paused. “The twenty-seventh of November. That’s when I’m getting you out of here. Mr. Brill will be hosting your party and the police… they’ll be raiding this club.”

“Oh.” Violet wasn’t sure what she felt in that moment – relief, certainly. Despite all John had done for her, she was quite sick of staring at these four white walls and had begun going out of her mind with boredom. And, if all went according to plan, Archie would be out of her life for good. Yet… there was a strange twinge in the pit of her stomach, and she had to force a smile onto her face. “That’s welcome news. Then we simply stay the course, eh?”

He gave her a gentle smile and nodded. “Yes. We stay the course.” He paused, the smile fading as he dragged in a breath. “Though there is the small matter of Tommy.”

Violet frowned. “What of him?”

John sighed as he pushed a hand through his hair. “He’s getting suspicious – thinks I’m Archie’s favourite.” John’s quick smile was wry. “And he wants this marriage business over with. Says Archie may give up his ambitions if he’s married to you. He doesn’t trust Mr. Brill, that’s for certain. And he wants me to find out how you knew about Arthur. We’ll stick with our story there – you knew one of the girls working at the brothel he frequented, and they overheard him talking to the police.”

All at once, Violet felt the familiar squeeze in her chest and she had to close her eyes for a moment against the crush of those four white walls. Her voice, when she spoke, was tight.

“The bastard – he’s always hated me. Hated that Archie wanted me – and now he can’t wait for us to get married ’cause he thinks it’ll keep his brother safe. The irony is delicious.” She rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “So, what do we do?”

John’s shoulders lifted. “Give him a wedding date. One which falls after the raid.”

Violet thought for a moment, then nodded. “What about Christmas? It’s just before the end of the year and I can certainly play the flighty female intent on a Christmas weddin’.”

John’s smile was grim. “Perfect.” His lips parted as though he would say something else, but he gave a quick nod instead and went to the door, turning to her before he left. “I’ll see you again tomorrow morning.”

“Goodbye, John.”