Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

" N ever again will you disobey my orders!" James shouted for what felt like the hundredth time as his wife sat across from him in the dining room of the inn, which was blissfully empty except for the two of them. "Never again will you put all of our lives in jeopardy like that!"

"I had to say something!" Violet snapped back, her expression haughty and defiant.

Several hours had passed since they had returned from their meeting with Farrell, and they had not stopped fighting the entire time. James couldn't calm his anger, and she refused to back down.

"You were losing your temper, and that wasn't going to get us anywhere."

For once, she had lost some of her cool—her face was now red, and her eyes were blazing.

James didn't care. She could be as angry as she wanted, it would still be nothing compared to the fury and fear that were currently coursing through his veins.

"I don't think you realize what you have done," he said, gripping the edges of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Not only did you undermine me and my authority, but you made it clear to that thug that I am eager to protect you."

"Why wouldn't he think you eager to protect me?" she asked, cocking her head. "I am your wife. Most husbands are eager to protect their wives."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." James ground his teeth together. "After your performance today, Farrell will assuredly suspect that I am overly fond of you and will go to great lengths to keep you safe. That gives him leverage over me."

At this, Violet laughed out loud, which irritated James even more.

"Overly fond of me?" she scoffed. "Well, I can assure him that none of that is true—no one here is under any delusions! He can ask anyone, and they will tell him that ours is a marriage of convenience. There is no tenderness or affection between us."

It hurt him more than he cared to admit to hear his wife describe their marriage in such terms, and he had to remind himself that he was the one who had decreed they wouldn't live as proper man and wife. She was right—theirs was not an affectionate marriage.

Except he saw the look on your face , a small voice whispered in the back of his head. When he called Violet feisty, he saw you turn purple with rage and fear.

James still wasn't sure what had been going through his head as he'd seen the gang boss lean close to Violet and murmur those words—full of innuendo—in her ear. All he'd known for certain was that he'd wanted to challenge the man to a duel right then and there.

"Anyway, it worked, didn't it?" Violet continued when James didn't say anything. "He seemed to at least consider what I said. Which he wouldn't have done if you had kept going on about how you don't respect him."

"Maybe," James conceded. "But what did it really do? I will probably still have to use force to drive him out of the duchy."

"I think it helped," she said stubbornly. "It showed him that there is an upside to him leaving on his own. It would save him money to just go and set up his business somewhere else, rather than stay and fight you. He might not have agreed to leave right away, but that is in the back of his mind now."

"You really think he took your advice that seriously?"

James was affronted to see his wife roll her eyes. "You heard him—he likes women who are smart and speak their minds."

"Not planning to join his organization, are you?" he asked sarcastically.

Violet ignored this. "This was just the first day of negotiations. Tomorrow, we'll meet with him and hear what he has to say. If he refuses to leave, then we can think of the next steps."

James didn't fail to notice how she had started saying we. "When did this become a dual task?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. When she spoke, there was a cold determination in her voice. "It became a dual operation when you married me under false pretenses and denied me the chance to ever become a mother. You did it to clean up the duchy, and now I need to make sure that actually happens, or my sacrifice will have been in vain. I'll never be able to hold my own children in my arms, but at least I can make sure that your tenants' children grow up without the threat of Farrell and his gang hanging over them. And maybe I can help these dogs, too."

She glanced out the window, but it was too dark now to see the dogs that had gathered outside—James had instructed the inn's staff to feed them.

"They're not children, but animals can be good companions as well," she added quietly, and he could hear the pain in her voice.

She really did want to be a mother , he realized, and a pang of guilt shot through him. I took that from her. Because of my selfishness.

But he couldn't think about that now. He had to focus on how to convince Farrell to give up his operation—and, perhaps more importantly, how to convince his tenants that it was in their best interest to side with him against the gang boss.

"I'm going to stay down here a little longer," he said. "I will need to go over strategies, and I don't want to keep you up."

Slowly, Violet nodded. "Very well. Then I will bid you goodnight."

She rose from her chair and picked up one of the candles from the center of the table. Raising it high, she used it to light her way to the door. Once she was there, she paused and looked back at him.

"Thank you for letting me come today," she said. The tone of her voice seemed different—softer, less angry. "I know I broke my promise not to interfere, but I assure you, it was only because I want to defeat this man as much as you do. It makes me sick what he has done to everyone in this place."

James swallowed. "I thought you only wanted to help so that our marriage wasn't in vain," he uttered tonelessly.

"That is part of the reason," she admitted. "But when I saw those dogs yesterday, I was filled with a deep desire to destroy the man who had harmed them. I want to protect them, too. I know they're just animals, but I felt love for them."

"I understand," James said, and he had to raise a hand to his chest because it suddenly felt tight. "I love those dogs, too. I've been caring for them ever since I was a boy, and now that I finally have a chance to end this once and for all, I can't let them down."

Violet's eyes blazed. "Then we are on the same side?"

He nodded. "Yes. We are on the same side." His voice sounded rough to his own ears.

She nodded and then left him alone.

For a long time, James sat there, doing and saying nothing, just staring off into the distance. Memories from his childhood flashed through his mind—the mangled dogs, their broken bones and bloody snouts, his father laughing at him for his ‘tender-heartedness' as he wept over a favorite hound who died of his wounds, the promise he'd made to himself to not only avenge the dog but also shut down Farrell's operations once and for all.

His father's face, on his deathbed.

But these memories only caused him pain, and pain was the last thing he wanted to feel right now. The inkeeper had brought him whiskey earlier, and he reached for the bottle now and poured himself a large glass.

That will help.

But then he remembered what he'd said to Violet, that day in his study when she'd disguised herself as a chambermaid, and his stomach churned.

A man and a woman should always have some alcohol in them when they are discussing business.

"Marriage is more than a business arrangement," he said out loud to the room, still empty save for him. "It is a deal with the devil."

As he drained the first glass of whiskey, the memory of his wife's calm but determined face as she faced Farrell flashed through his mind. She had looked so calm, so brave, as she'd reasoned with the gangster. James had admired her greatly at that moment, even though he'd also been afraid.

But he'd also known there was no cause to be afraid. Of her three sisters, Violet had always been the one with the most grit. And her icy exterior made her the perfect person to negotiate with Farrell. He'd known she would be fine.

"It's because she's unreachable," he muttered to himself.

She was emotionally unreachable, unavailable. It was what had made her perfect for their arrangement, but now he wished that he could break through her shell.

I want to know her. And I hate that I want to know her.

He reached for the bottle again and poured himself another glass. Then another…

Violet's face turned into his mother's, weeping at his bedside. Then he transformed from a nine-year-old child to his father, sick on his deathbed, and somehow he was in his father's body and at the same time looking down at his father, who was staring up at him with hate-filled eyes, opening his mouth and saying the words that had led him to this moment. "You must marry. I will not let you win."

A shriek jolted James awake, and he sat bolt upright. The whiskey bottle, now half empty, was sitting in front of him next to an empty glass.

I must have fallen asleep.

Everything was jumbled up and muddled. Had someone actually screamed, or had that been part of his dream as well?

Then he heard a crash above him, followed by footsteps, and then frantic knocking.

"Violet!?" he heard Lady Carfield yell. "Are you all right? Open the door!"

"Mama, what's going on?" Rosalie's voice joined the fray.

"I can't open the door! Violet! Your Grace! Are you in there?"

James was on his feet in a heartbeat. Sprinting to the door, he wrenched it open, then he took the stairs two at a time, hurtling past several of the servants, who had been awoken by the noise and were on their way upstairs.

He reached the landing and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom he and Violet had shared. It was pitch dark, but even in the dimness, he could make out Lady Carfield and Rosalie standing outside the door, banging on it.

"What's happening?" he demanded at once.

"Oh!" Lady Carfield's eyes went wide. "I thought you were inside!"

"No, I was—I was downstairs." His stomach sank to his feet.

Why didn't I go up with her to our bedchamber?

"I heard a scream and then a crash from inside," Lady Carfield said in a rush, twisting the door handle to no avail. "But the door won't budge, and Violet isn't answering."

"Violet! Are you in there?" He banged hard on the door, the sound reverberating through the corridor. "Open up!"

But there was no response, and when he pressed his ear to the door, there was no sound, not even the slow breathing of someone asleep.

James's blood ran cold. Looking up, he saw the inn's staff gathered at the end of the corridor, staring at them with wide eyes. One of the guards, Lochs, was also there.

"Where's Grimsby?" James shouted.

"Stationed outside, Your Grace," Lochs said.

"Find him at once!" James barked. "And discover what has happened—if someone has broken in through the window of Her Grace's chamber."

At that moment, the sound of hoofbeats filled the air, and James froze. The hooves were getting further away, and when he met Lady Carfield's eyes, it was as if they both knew exactly what it meant.

He didn't waste any more time. James hurled himself at the door with every ounce of strength he had. It worked. The door flew off its hinges and fell to the floor with a resounding crash. James hurled himself inside and, through the dust and debris, looked around.

It was empty. Violet was gone. The bedclothes were rumpled as if someone had been thrashing in them, and the window…

James's heart sank. The window was open.

He dashed over to it and peered down into the darkness. Down below, just visible in the dimness, was a ladder lying on its side.

"Grimsby!" he shouted. "Where are you?"

"Here, Your Grace!" he heard the man shout back from the other side of the inn. "They're getting away! They're on horseback!"

But James didn't need the guard to tell him this. Because he could see in the distance a horse with two figures on its back, one holding the reins and the other thrown over the back, like a sack of potatoes.

James's whole body tensed up. Then hate, rage as he had never felt before filled him, and he knew that he would be willing to burn down the world if it meant saving his wife.

"You've made a huge mistake, Farrell," he growled. "And you will pay with everything you have."