Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

All the pent-up anger within Violet dissipated the moment John Barrow took her face in his large hands and pressed his lips to hers, dragging her against the hard length of his body. Pleasure and pain, the joy of his touch and the sadness of her impending departure spiralled together inside her, and she clung to him, afraid if she let go the moment would end, and if the moment ended… there would never be another. In recognizing that she loved him, and that this was their last night together, she found her fingers inching their way to the buttons of his shirt as he tugged at the hooks and laces of her bodice, casting it unceremoniously to the floor. She moaned as she trailed her fingers over the bare skin of his chest, over rigid muscles, tangling in the whorl of hair over his heart, pausing to feel it racing beneath her touch.

He tugged up her arms, pulling away her chemise and tossing it to the floor, along with his shirt and tie. He was backing her up now, so her buttocks rested upon the edge of the desk. His hands were on her thighs, pushing them apart as he stepped between them, kissing her, always kissing her. He only pulled away for a moment, then, to stare down at her, his dark eyes wild with some emotion she could not name as he cupped her face in his hands.

“I will miss you.”

And Violet responded as honestly as she could, without ever revealing the true depths of her feelings. “I’ll miss you, too.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks, and she could have cried, then, for she would miss him. She would miss him terribly. Her desire was unbearable now, and it only grew sharper as his hand moved down to slide a finger between her slick folds. She arched towards him, her hands working at the buttons of his trousers as he trailed his mouth down the column of her throat, whispering her name. Finally, she freed his cock, hard and hot and ready for her, just as she was ready for him, so ready that as he notched himself at the entrance to her body, she was already on the edge of coming apart. As he took her hips into his hands and held her steady, sliding deeper and deeper until he was buried inside her, she did indeed tip over the edge into release, crying out as his mouth opened over hers.

She was shaking as his hands slid down the length of her thighs to pull them around his hips, and suddenly, the world beyond the light of the single lamp she had set nearby ceased to exist. Violet’s entire being was focused on the muscles bunching beneath her fingers, on the rasp of John’s breath in her ear, on his scent – soap and citrus and sweat – and on where they joined, her thighs slick with her wetness, his slow, even thrusts. She was at the precipice once more, longing for him to take her with wild abandon, to pin her to that desk and leave her with something to remember when she was back in Paris, alone, because she could not imagine allowing anyone to become as close to her as John; she never wanted the moment to end. But end it did, as John pulled her nipple between his lips, his free hand reaching between them as he kept up the steady thrust of his hips to find that hard nub of flesh and tracing over it until she splintered. Pleasure spiked through her, wave after wave, as he lifted his mouth to hers once more, swallowing her gasps as he pulled out of her to spend himself upon her belly.

They didn’t move for a long time with the unspoken knowledge that when they pulled apart, the spell would be broken, and they would soon have to part ways. Violet’s throat ached as she pressed her face into his chest, breathing in his scent, her hands splayed across his back, refusing to release him. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to spoil their final evening together, and she squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip, wishing she could ask him to come with her but knowing it would be wrong to do so. He had so much to give here, and she had worked too hard for her life in France to give it up for anyone – even John Barrow.

A small clock on the bookshelf chimed the fifth hour, and the spell had to break. The guests would be arriving shortly, and John pressed one last kiss to her mouth before stepping out from between her legs with a reluctant sigh. Violet could barely look at him now as she sat perched upon the edge of the big desk in naught but her stockings, his seed upon her belly. He said nothing as he bent to gather up his coat and dig around in one of the pockets, finally procuring a handkerchief and coming back to her side. He did not immediately begin to clean her, but instead, touched his finger to her chin, tipping her face up so he was looking down into her eyes. His expression was soft, his ordinarily sharp features blunted by the wavering light of the lamp.

“I will not forget you, Violet Latimer.”

Oh god, she was going to cry. She couldn’t bear to do that in front of him, not now, and so she forced a grin onto her face and said with as much humour as she could muster, “You’d better not.”

He gave her a soft smile and leaned down to touch his lips to hers, letting them linger there as her throat grew tighter and tighter before he drew away and looked down to gently wipe his seed from her skin. When he finally met her gaze again, he seemed hesitant, pausing before he spoke.

“I’ll go fetch that suit. Mr. Brill will be waiting for us.”

She nodded as she slipped off the edge of the desk and accepted her chemise when he handed it to her. She pulled it on quickly, feeling exposed with no barrier between her nakedness and his appreciative gaze as he buttoned up his trousers once more. He tugged on his shirt to leave the room, giving her time to pull on her drawers and petticoats before stepping into the magnificent concoction of silk and lace that was the dress Della had provided. She was just fastening the bodice, one which cut low across the swell of her breasts, when he came back inside, a neatly pressed suit and shirt draped over one arm. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes travelling down her form, and he smiled as he glanced back up at her.

“Lady Bradford has quite the sense for fashion, I see,” he remarked as he carefully laid his clothes over the back of a chair. She grinned at this as she fastened the last hook and smoothed down the front of the bodice, festooned with ruched silk and jet beads.

“Della never had an eye for art, I’m afraid, but she did always fancy a pretty frock.” She paused, nervously touching the lace edging the neckline of her gown. “Is she here yet?”

He glanced over at the small clock as he donned the fine white piqué shirt Edward had left for him.

“She and the earl should be here shortly, before the other guests are due to arrive at six.”

Violet nodded as she drifted over to the mirror hanging above a low sideboard to inspect herself. The gown was exquisite, perfectly matching the colour of her eyes, but she could find little delight in it as she carefully plucked out a hairpin which had come loose, curling the lock of hair it had held about her finger before pinning it back into place. Her cheeks were flushed from their lovemaking, and she quickly fanned herself to cool her skin before drawing on the fine white silk gloves which had accompanied the dress, along with the exquisite emerald and diamond necklace and matching earrings from the jewelry box. Thus dressed, she turned to face John, and her breath caught in her throat. He was always beautiful, whether it be in his everyday grey flannel or brown tweed, in the boxing ring with sweat-slicked skin and bruises, or naked in a whore’s bedroom on a rainy afternoon. But he was especially handsome this night, the suit of black and white tailored perfectly to his lean frame. She smiled.

“They’ll never guess you grew up fencin’ on Queen Street.”

Violet’s beauty would put to shame the haughtiest, most blue-blooded of duchesses this evening, of that John Barrow was certain. She was resplendent in emerald silk and black lace, her golden hair a halo, and he couldn’t help smiling at her as he took her gloved hand in his to lead her back down those wide, sweeping stairs to the foyer below. It was a bustling hive of activity now, with footmen and maids running to and fro across the shining marble floors, making final preparations for the guests who were due to begin arriving shortly. His fingers tightened on hers as they reached the bottom step, but her expression remained anxious as she stepped down beside him. He wanted to tell her how breathtaking she was: that he would be proud to have her on his arm, to say out loud that she was his. But he was quite sure that would only make her more nervous, and so he nodded towards the card room, seemingly quieter than the dining room as it would not be in use until later this evening.

“Shall we go and find our host?”

She said nothing, but nodded and accepted his hand once more as John guided them through the card room, its mahogany floors gleaming, its silk-patterned walls luxurious, to the service door at the back of the space. Beyond was a wide corridor which would take them to the kitchens, and it was there they found Edward Brill. A scullery maid pointed him out standing in the alley beyond the delivery door, leaning against the brick wall, pipe in hand. He nodded when he spotted them, knocking the pipe against the wall to empty it before gesturing for them to follow him back inside.

“The manager just told me your lady friend’s here,” he said, stepping past them to lead them back through the kitchens. Violet’s whole face lit up, and they followed Edward to the grand foyer just as a footman was pulling open the door. Della burst into the room, her pale eyes blazing, followed by her husband, the Earl of Bradford, wearing a patient smile as his wife’s gaze went directly to Violet. She immediately scowled and stormed over to where Violet stood at the bottom of the grand stairs, the train of her pale silver gown swishing along behind her before she threw her arms around her friend and pulled her into a tight hug. Edward chuckled and John smiled as Della pulled back just enough to meet Violet’s tearful gaze.

“I could cheerfully wring your neck, Violet Latimer,” Della said with a scowl before hugging her again. She finally pushed Violet back, holding her by the shoulders to give her a thorough appraisal.

“Though the dress did turn out just as I planned, didn’t it, Cole?” She spoke over her shoulder to her husband, who was nodding as he handed his top hat and cane over to the waiting footman.

“It did, indeed, my love,” the earl replied, with a nod towards Violet. “You look very well, if I may say, Miss Latimer. Della has been quite worried about you since she received your letter yesterday.”

“Worried?” she cried. “I’ve been nearly out of my mind with fear! Violet, what could you have thought, turnin’ yourself over to Archie like that?” A hint of Seven Dials was beginning to creep back into Della’s carefully acquired accent as she took Violet by the elbow and steered her away from the group. The Earl of Bradford now turned a benign smile upon John and Edward.

“Detective Inspector Barrow,” he said, ignoring the hiss of his wife’s voice from the far corner of the room, “good to see you again. You appear no worse for the wear.” He extended his hand to take John’s as he looked him up and down before turning his attention to Edward. “Mr. Brill, a pleasure to finally meet you in person. My wife has been singing your praises since you offered the use of your club for this event.”

“Glad to be able to help, m’lord, seein’ as this is a cause near and dear to me own heart,” Edward answered as the two men shook hands before the earl leaned in towards John to speak in a low voice.

“I understand there is to be a raid this evening?”

It was only as he was reminded of the work which was to be done tonight that John was finally able to banish the memory of Violet, perched upon the edge of Edward’s desk, her pert little breasts begging for his mouth, holding onto him as though she would never let him go as he had slid himself between her thighs, into her slick, welcoming warmth. He cleared his throat and dipped his head.

“Aye. By the end of this evening, Archie and Tommy Neville will be in the custody of the Metropolitan Police, and the Bruisers will be no more.”

Lord Bradford nodded slowly as he withdrew the watch from his pocket and consulted it before giving John a quick smile.

“I shall be certain to put in a good word for you with the superintendent when he arrives.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

The earl now glanced over to where Violet was speaking with his wife, who no longer looked ready to strangle her friend, before returning his gaze to John, his expression concerned.

“How has Miss Latimer been bearing up?”

John’s own gaze slid towards Violet, her beauty making him ache, and he swallowed before answering. “Very well, all things considered. Truthfully, she wanted no part of this, and therefore I believe I’m eternally in her debt.”

Lord Bradford gave a knowing smile at this. “It’s not a bad place to be, I assure you,” he said with a loving glance towards his wife, who was even now leading Violet back towards them, both women now smiling.

“Please do excuse my lack of manners, gentlemen, for not staying for the introductions. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Brill.”

Edward took the hand she offered and bent in a quick bow before turning on his most charming smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady. And please let me say what an honour it is to have the Earl and Countess of Bradford at my little club. Who’d have thought a gangster from Limehouse would be hostin’ every bloody toff from here to Mayfair, raisin’ money for the same people we all know they’d sooner forget,” he said with a wink, pointedly ignoring the raised brow the earl offered before he chuckled. “Lots to see to before everyone arrives. Enjoy the evenin’,” he added with a sly grin as he caught up with one of the footmen walking by and accompanied him from the room.

Della was smiling as she turned to her husband, who looked far less amused as his gaze followed Edward Brill.

“Are you certain about him hosting, darling?”

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his mouth before taking his hand.

“Come along, Cole – I want to see the dining room.”

The earl shot John a patiently exasperated look before following his wife from the hall, and then he was alone with Violet once more.

“Would it be too bold of me to tell you that you are stunning?” he said in a quiet voice, and she flushed, setting off the jewels which sparkled at her ears.

“Not if I can tell you that you’ve never looked finer.”

John smiled at that and held out an arm for her, which she took with a wide grin as he led her into the dining room just as the guests began to arrive. They joined with the earl and countess, who were admiring more of Edward Brill’s seemingly endless art collection. A string quartet, positioned in the far corner of the room upon a platform, had struck up a lively melody as Violet tugged at John’s sleeve.

“Do you see that little landscape up there, with the white house? That’s by Monsieur Pissarro, the man who bought one of my paintin’s.”

And though John should have followed her delighted gaze to the framed canvas she was pointing at, he couldn’t help watching her face, loving the sheer elation in her expression. It made him want to pull her into him and kiss her; to do anything within his power to be the one to make her light up with joy like she was now. He wasn’t even aware he was staring at her, struck dumb like some untried youth, until someone said his name.

“Detective Inspector Barrow?” came Lady Bradford’s voice, bemused, and he blinked and turned to find her watching him with narrowed eyes, tapping her bejewelled fan upon her hip. Violet had moved on to another painting further down the wall and was leaning in close to inspect the signature, and it took John a moment to realize that the countess had been trying to get his attention before he answered.

“Yes, my lady?”

She pursed her lips, appraising him, before she spoke.

“I had wanted a moment to speak with you… about how things went with Archie. If I had known… I suppose Violet swore you to secrecy?”

He nodded. “She didn’t want you to worry.”

Lady Bradford sighed and cast her gaze over to her friend who had bumped into the earl and was pointing out something on the painting she had been inspecting. The tapping stopped.

“Detective Inspector Barrow, I have never been so frightened in my life as when I received her letter – and I have been in more frightening situations in my life than I care to count.” She looked back at John now, her pale blue eyes unnerving in their intensity. “I know you can’t possibly know what life was like with Archie Neville and I’m certain Violet insisted – but I do wish you had told her no. I can’t believe she even suggested that plan to you.”

John could only lift his shoulders in defeat. “I tried telling her that we could think of something else, but she wanted no one else hurt on her account… I think you, more than anyone, knows how futile it was to say no.”

She heaved another heavy sigh. “Yes, I do, unfortunately.” She paused, and a worried look pleated her brow. “Is she… well? He didn’t hurt her?”

John was quick to shake his head. “No… no, she was safe.”

The countess gave a slow nod, but her hand went to her chest, pressing upon her skin as though to ease a racing heart.

“Good… thank you, then, for watching over her.” She paused. “You must have spent a great deal of time together, while she was locked away.”

Her tone was carefully casual, but John could see her eyes narrowing on him, assessing. He coughed and lifted his shoulders.

“I made certain that I was trusted enough to be her guard. I wanted to be sure she was safe and be able to communicate with her for the purposes of the operation.”

The corner of Lady Bradford’s mouth quirked up.

“Well, thank you again for keeping her safe. I know she’s eager to return to Paris.” She glanced over his shoulder and inclined her head. “I do believe that’s your superintendent. Be sure to let him know how valuable Violet was in the success of your operation.”

Her look was pointed, and John could see how the two women had managed to survive a childhood together in Seven Dials. He was quite sure that Lady Bradford would gladly murder any who dared lay a hand on Violet, and she the same. He smiled.

“I have every intention of doing just that.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Then I believe I shall go find my husband. Enjoy the evening, Detective Inspector Barrow.” Her little smile was knowing as she turned and made her way back out into the foyer. John frowned at her receding back, clad in shimmering silk, believing wholeheartedly that Lady Bradford had taken one look at him, seen into the very deepest recesses of his heart and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was deeply and madly in love with her best friend.