Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

" I missed the Duke boxing with a gangster?! " Rosalie exclaimed, staring at Violet with envy. " Boxing?! "

"Don't look so shocked," Violet said, laughing at her sister's expression.

They were sitting on the bed in Rosalie's room at the inn, catching up on everything that had happened since she had been kidnapped the night before.

"I'm not shocked that he would fight for you," Rosalie continued. "It's just so… romantic."

"Here you go again with your romantic notions," Violet scoffed, shaking her head. "What have I told you about that, Rose?"

"I know you think I'm foolish, but you must admit… fighting a gang boss for you is rather grand ."

Violet couldn't help but smile. It had been rather grand, but she was loath to tell her sister that. Not when Rosalie already had a far too fanciful notion of marriage—especially hers.

"He didn't fight just for me," Violet reminded her sister. "He fought Farrell to win the favor of the townspeople and to show his power. And it worked! They lost all respect for Farrell, and he's being driven out of the duchy as we speak!"

Rosalie sighed and threw herself back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a moony look in her eyes. "I'd love to have a husband who is so strong that he can fight a gang boss for me."

"You're not listening to what I just said," Violet said crossly.

"Oh, I am." Rosalie smiled wickedly. "I just think you don't understand your husband as well as you think you do."

"And you do?!"

"I understand romance," Rosalie said. "And I can read the looks the Duke gives you."

Violet shook her head. "Life isn't a romance novel, love."

"The last twenty-four hours would beg to differ!" Rosalie laughed heartily. "You were kidnapped by a villain and rescued by a handsome romantic hero. If that isn't something out of a romantic novel, I don't know what is!"

Violet frowned. Her sister had a point…

And if she were being honest with herself—even if she wasn't being honest with Rosalie—she had felt something when James had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and leaped into the ring to fight her kidnapper. In truth, it had been one of the most breathtakingly romantic moments of her life.

Except, nothing had changed. They still were not living as man and wife. He didn't love her. And she didn't love him.

Right?

"I think it's time for bed," Violet said, patting her sister on the shoulder. "We've both had a tiring day, and we could use the sleep."

"Have a good night," Rosalie returned.

But there was something in the way she said it that made Violet pause. She peered at her sister. Was Rosalie… smirking?

No, she was imagining it.

"Goodnight," she said primly, before exiting the room and closing the door firmly behind her.

For a long moment, she stood there, indecisive. Her room was just across the hall, and it would be easy for her to walk into it and climb into bed. But James was downstairs in the parlor, and she could also go downstairs and insist that he sleep in their room tonight, after the eventful day they had.

But before she could decide what to do, she noticed the smell of smoke drifting down the corridor.

There are fires lit in all the rooms , she reminded herself. But as she continued to stand still, the smell became more potent. And then a thin tendril of smoke appeared at the end of the corridor.

Seconds later, there was a shout from downstairs.

"Fire!" she heard James roar. "The inn is on fire!"

Before she could even move, she heard the thundering sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then her husband rounded the corner, his face contorted with fear.

"Violet!" he shouted. "We need to get out, now!"

"This can't be happening," she said stupidly. "Not after everything that's already happened today."

"This is his revenge," James panted. He sprinted down the corridor and grabbed her hand. "Where are your mother and sister?"

"Rosalie is in her room. My mother is downstairs, I believe."

James threw open the door to Rosalie's room, and Violet saw that her sister was out of bed, already pulling on a dressing gown.

"Let's go!" James shouted. He grabbed Rosalie's hand and pulled her out of the room, and with his other hand, he pulled Violet after him.

The three of them ran down the corridor, and Violet went first down the stairs. The smoke was thickening, and she was starting to feel lightheaded.

"Mama!" she shouted.

Lady Carfield was already waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. "Fire!" she cried, looking pale. "One of the cooks must have burned something…"

As fast as they could, the four of them hurried out of the inn and into the cold night. Rosalie wasn't wearing shoes, and James actually picked her up and carried her away from the inn, depositing her safely across the street.

Violet couldn't help but be impressed by her husband's extraordinary strength.

The inn's staff had also fled outside, and James turned to the men. "Quick, to the barn!" he shouted. "There's water there for the horses. We can try to save the inn!"

He took off into the night, and several of the men followed him. Violet hugged her arms around her middle. It was colder outside than she had thought it would be.

The fire seemed to be coming from the back of the inn. The smoke was heavy, and against the darkness of the night, she could see a red glow of the flames just above the roof.

When James and the other men returned from the barn, they were hauling three barrels of water, which they carried around to the back of the inn. For several minutes, all she could hear was the shouting and swearing of the men. Her heart was in her throat.

"Where will we sleep tonight if it burns down?" Rosalie asked her after several minutes.

"We'll find another inn," Violet said. "The real question is, where will these people work if their livelihood is taken from them?"

"I'm sure His Grace can help them find employment," their mother said gently. "He is a good man."

This consoled Violet somewhat.

And at last, the red flames above the roof dimmed and then went out.

Violet couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

"I'm going to see what happened," she blurted out.

She hiked up her skirts and half-walked, half-ran around the side of the inn, to where the men were gathered.

The barrels of water stood to the side, and the ground was muddy. But the fire was out, and when James heard her run up to them, he turned to look at her. He was panting, and his face had been blackened somewhat by soot.

She went to him at once. "You managed to put it out," she murmured.

She wanted to reach up and touch his face, but it felt too intimate to do in front of all the other men.

"It wasn't really a fire," he said. "I'm not sure it was Farrell either. He would have used something more flammable. This was an amateur job, maybe someone who resents me for closing down the dog fighting ring or one of Farrell's men who thinks his boss should seek revenge."

"It still could have killed us, though," Violet breathed. "If we were asleep when it started."

"Yes," James conceded.

"Then it's decided." Violet put her hands on her hips. "I'm not taking any more chances. While we've been here, we've been spied on, I have been kidnapped, and now there's been an arson! You are going to sleep in the chamber with me tonight and not in the parlor. Is that understood? Otherwise, I won't feel safe."

James looked amused. "Sleeping in the same bedchamber won't keep you safe from fires."

"I couldn't sleep in there alone anyway, after what happened the other night," she huffed.

Her husband's face clouded over. "You needn't worry. I have no intention of leaving you alone again after these last couple of days. And when we return to London tomorrow, I will pull out all the stops to ensure Farrell and his gang are thrown out of the duchy once and for all."

It was with great trepidation that they all went to bed that night. Everyone seemed on edge, and James couldn't blame them. A haunted silence had fallen over the inn. It didn't feel safe in the slightest, and James thought that the innkeeper would have his work cut out for him if he thought James would ever stay there again.

But as James bathed and then changed into his nightclothes behind the screen in the room he was sharing with Violet, those thoughts and his fear began to melt away. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, soothing him, as did her humming as she got ready for bed.

"I'm surprised you can bear to be in this chamber," he said from behind the screen. "After what happened here last night."

"I'm a touch surprised as well," Violet admitted. "But I feel safe now that you're here with me."

James's throat went dry, and he had to swallow before speaking.

"If I were here that night…"

"Please don't blame yourself," she said gently. "It wasn't your fault. I'm just glad you're here now."

James pushed aside the screen and looked at his wife. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking lovelier than ever. Her dark hair fell in wavy curls around her shoulders, and her usually serious face was softer than usual—perhaps because of the light pink blush on her cheeks.

She looked so beautiful that his heart skipped a beat. It took everything in him not to cross the room and touch her hair, to run his fingers through it and tell her she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

"I promise, nothing like that will ever happen again," he murmured.

"I know. I believe you. After seeing you today, I know that I made the right choice by marrying the Devilish Duke of Attorton."

James laughed. "I can't believe you've heard that."

"Everyone has. It's in all the gossip sheets."

"I thought you were above reading those rags."

"I am, but Rosalie reads them religiously."

"Don't blame your sister!" he teased, and they both laughed.

They looked at each other for a moment, and the air seemed to crackle with all the unspoken things between them. Then Violet slid back on the bed and lifted the covers.

"I should get some sleep," she said. "It's been a trying couple of days."

"I'll be here," James reassured her, gesturing to the settee. "Standing guard."

Violet laughed, then hesitated. She smoothed the blanket down around her and bit her lip. "Maybe… maybe you could sleep in here?" she suggested tentatively, averting her gaze.

"On the bed?"

"Yes." She flushed a deeper crimson. "After how you exerted yourself today, I don't like to think of you sleeping on the settee. You must be in pain, after all. And your injuries…"

She glanced up, and he saw her eyes dart to the bruise on his chin.

Yes, it did hurt, as did the other bruises on his body, but he had barely noticed them all day. His relief at having Violet home safe, and then putting out the fire, had distracted him from tending to his wounds.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I won't be uncomfortable. Please, sleep in the bed. You must be exhausted, and a good night's sleep will do you well."

She patted the spot next to her, and very slowly, James approached. As he did, he took in how petite she was, and how her cheeks glowed with nervous excitement. Her eyes, too, were blazing with an intensity he hadn't seen before.

He pulled back the blanket on the other side of the bed and crawled in next to her. For several heartbeats, they were both very still, and James wondered what it was she was thinking. It felt awkward to lie in a bed next to her, and from the stiffness of her body, he could tell she felt awkward as well.

"I'm sorry I didn't take Farrell's threat seriously," Violet said, at last. "The news of my father's escape from prison was so overwhelming that I couldn't believe anyone or anything could be as terrible as him. But I see now that you had good reason to be afraid. Farrell is dangerous."

"He was dangerous," James corrected at once. "But I believe that at long last, he will no longer bother our tenants. We can only hope he will not bother anyone else either."

"But do you accept my apology?" Violet asked as she turned her head towards him.

"There is nothing to forgive," he said as gently as he could.

She nodded, and for a moment, they were both silent.

"What was it like," he asked tentatively, "growing up with the former Lord Carfield?"

"Oh…" Violet hesitated, and he wondered what it was that held her back from speaking.

"You can tell me," he encouraged her. "You can see what I grew up around—my father was scum, as well."

"It was scary," she mumbled. "I know that Iris got the worst of it, but it was difficult for me as well. I was sure that once Iris was married, I would also be forced to wed one of my father's friends or allies, all of whom were horrible, elderly men that I knew would treat me as less than dirt. And even that future was better than enduring my father's daily taunts, the way he mocked Iris, the way they would argue. She would try to defend me and Rosalie, and he'd shut her up in closets and scream at her. It was… horrible."

James nodded. He couldn't speak. Too much rage at the former Viscount was coursing through him, and if the man hadn't already been arrested, he himself would have gone to great lengths to ensure that he was.

"And the worst part wasn't even my father," Violet continued.

"What could be worse than him?" James asked, astonished.

"It was my guilt," she said. "My guilt that Iris bore the brunt of his rage because she wanted to keep us safe. It tormented me. I couldn't bear to think that I was the reason he treated her like that.

"And that's why I became so reserved, I think. I kept my feelings hidden because I knew it would deter my father from attacking me, and then Iris wouldn't have to rush to defend me. Sometimes when he was awful to me, I feared that she would find out, so I hid the things he said and did from her."

She was fully facing James now.

"I was relieved when she told us she was going to get married to Eavestone. Not because I wanted to lose her, but because it meant she would no longer have to bear the brunt of my father's anger—she would no longer have to sacrifice herself for me. And you know the weird thing? I felt guilty about that, too." She laughed dryly. "It seems I have spent my entire life feeling guilty!"

Silence fell between them, during which James felt the full weight of the emotional responsibility she had given him by telling him this story.

And for once, he welcomed it.

"Thank you for telling me this," he said. "It helps me understand you better. And you have nothing to feel guilty about anymore. Nothing that has happened is your fault. You were only trying to protect your sister and mother. And I can see why you worked so hard to protect them, when you were usually the one being protected. You wanted to repay that debt."

"I think you're right," she agreed slowly. "I didn't think of it this way exactly, but yes, that's how it felt. Without Iris here, it's my responsibility."

"It's our responsibility," he corrected her. "We're in this together."

"Well, thank you." She smiled at him. "It's nice to be on the same team for once."

"If you don't mind my asking…" James couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. "What was it like when Farrell took you? Were you scared?"

"Yes, a bit," she said, biting her lip. "But then something strange happened. I felt very calm and very sure of all my decisions. Everything I said and did felt calculated. This happens to me sometimes, when I'm under a great deal of stress. I think I do well under pressure."

"That sounds like your father," James commented. "He thrived in stressful situations, from what I remember."

Violet bit her lip harder, and James had the feeling that he had said something wrong.

"Not that I think you're anything like him," he added quickly.

"That's my worst fear, you know," she murmured. "All my life, people have told me I'm like him. We look alike—but it isn't just that. It's our temperaments as well. People think we are the same—calm, calculating, and cruel."

"How could anyone think you were cruel?" James asked, stunned.

"I think they mistook my lack of warmth as coldness," she explained. "But I hate my father, and my worst fear is that those people could be right and that I am actually like him."

James scooted closer to his wife and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I can promise you, Violet, that you are nothing like your father. I knew him, you see. Not well, but we were acquainted. And you are nothing like him. You are strong, brave, kind, and just. He was nothing but a coward who hid behind his depravity by bullying you. You are not like that."

Her eyes welled with tears, and she smiled up at him. There was a look of pure trust on her face, and he let his hand linger on her cheek. She was so lovely that it hurt to look at her, and like this, tender and open, he had never wanted anything more than to kiss her.

It would be so easy to lean forward and taste her lips. So easy to take her in my arms.

He leaned forward and then?—

"We should get to bed," she whispered.

James froze. "Yes, of course," he said, his voice hoarse.

He dropped his hand, and she smiled at him one last time before turning away, blowing out the candle and settling down to sleep.

Meanwhile, it took James a very long time to finally fall asleep.