Chapter Twenty

Talia entered Fletch's room through the door to her chambers. His wife nearly floated, a silk concoction, primrose yellow and trimmed in a delicate lace of silver at the bodice and sleeves, flowed about her body, her face beaming. A vision. A vision that was his. He turned fully to her, buttoning his waistcoat. "Is your sister ready to get married?"

Talia's nose scrunched up. "She is currently in the bath, taking an inordinate amount of time. Mother is so frenzied, she set the maid to work on Louise's hair at the edge of the tub."

"So you are in here for escape?" Fletch smirked.

"Possibly." Her look turned worried. "Mr. Flemstone is not already here, is he? I will go and rush Louise if need be."

"No. He sent word he will be here in an hour. Several of our guests are already in the upper drawing room, though."

"Who? Do I need to rush?"

"Caine and Ara. Aunt Penelope. A few of your mother's friends." Fletch slid his arms into his dark jacket, pulling the sleeves taut. His valet would sigh at the sight of him already dressed, but it wouldn't be the first time Fletch had foregone the man's attentions. He looked to Talia. "But I understand your mother has moved below and already has the room well within her palm."

"We never should have reintroduced Aunt Penelope to her." Talia shook her head. "Those two are conspirators of the first order. I am not sure if mother is becoming one of Aunt Penelope's dragons, or it is the other way around."

Fletch moved to her, unable to resist wrapping his arms around her waist, wrinkles in her silk be damned. "Well, they were either going to love each other or hate each other. And this current state does make our lives much calmer." He kissed her forehead. "Though I do believe I will go down and rescue Caine from the room."

She poked his chest. "And leave Ara to the lot of them—shame on you."

Fletch chuckled. After Lord and Lady Newdale had come back into London weeks ago, Talia and Caine's wife had taken an extreme liking to each other, much to Fletch's satisfaction. He was managing to expand Talia's family of genuine, loyal people that she would always be able to depend upon. It eased the tremendous worry in his soul. "I am glad you now have a partner in the art of dodging social occasions. And as such, do not fear on Ara's fate. If I know her, she will find her way out of the drawing room soon enough."

A knock on the door cut their conversation.

"Yes?"

His valet poked his head into the room. "My lord, there is a slight disturbance."

"Disturbance?" Fletch dropped his arms from Talia, turning to his man.

"A Lord Roserton. He walked in behind Lord and Lady Evanton. Horace did not see him in time to not make a scene, and he thought it better to be handled quietly. Though Lord Roserton became quite belligerent when Horace would not allow him up the stairs to the upper drawing room. The man insists he has every right to give his cousin away in marriage."

Instant fury ran up Fletch's neck. "Where is Roserton now?"

"Horace has him in the lower drawing room, my lord, far from the other guests." His valet gave a slight cough. "He has mentioned several times the…wretched correspondence from you, my lord."

Fletch nodded. "Thank you. I will be down in moments."

His valet closed the door.

Talia grabbed Fletch's forearm. "Correspondence? What is that about, Fletch? He does not mean to ruin the wedding, does he?"

"I will allow no such interference from him, Talia. I will go down and speak with him."

Her grip didn't loosen on his arm and she walked across his room with him. "I am coming as well."

Fletch stopped, peeling Talia's fingers from his jacket. "No, you need to see to getting your sister ready. Mr. Flemstone and the clergyman will be here soon. That is the priority. Not the bastard down below. I will remove him from the house, Talia."

To his relief, Talia nodded, stepping away from him even as a deep frown set onto her face.

Fletch was down the stairs and into the lower drawing room within seconds. He slammed the door closed behind him.

Standing in the middle of the room, Roserton turned to Fletch. "Lord Lockston."

"Put my brandy down, Roserton." Fletch's fists instantly curled.

The man smirked, taking a slow swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. He smacked his tongue, exhaling. "So, my dear Cousin Natalia told you of our bargain."

"Yes."

Roserton took another sip of the brandy, and a sneer lifted the left side of his face. "I did not care for your letter, Lord Lockston. Although I can sympathize with your anger—a dying man knowing exactly who his wife will be sleeping with after his death is an annoyance to come to terms with. So I can understand your anger. Especially with your wife. Natalia is a specimen."

Every inch of Fletch's skin heated, threatening to explode. Yet he had a house full of guests gathered for a wedding to consider. He set his voice to an even level. "I thought my letter was extremely clear, Roserton, on what would happen to you if you so much as walked on the same block as my wife. Or her sister. Or her mother. Leave before I toss you from here once more. And this time, I will not be so gentle in my actions."

"That threat, along with every single one of the threats in your letter ring hollow, Lord Lockston. My presence alone should alert you to that fact. It is imperative I am here for this event. It does not do that I am not in attendance at the wedding of my future sister-in-law." His voice sneered high on the last five words.

"You will keep your bloody paws off my wife, you bastard." Fletch advanced on him.

"Or I can go upstairs and ruin Louise's life with one simple sentence. Would you rather that, Lockston?"

Fletch stopped an inch from his portly frame, heaving, his look skewering Roserton with all the fury twisting his skin—fury threatening to unleash and choke the very life from the pitiful creature.

Roserton looked up at Fletch, his sneer contorting his face into a grotesque gargoyle. "Here is what you have not considered, Lord Lockston—all of your threats—all of your demands—they all ring hollow. If you were alive, maybe I would take heed—but, ha—you will die, and there will be no one to protect Natalia. Not a soul to enforce what you think you can do to me."

He stepped away from Fletch and went to the sideboard, setting his glass down. Turning back to Fletch, his face twisted even more monstrous. "So I will take your wife, Lockston, long before it will even be proper of her to shed her widow's weeds. I will take her, right here on this floor." He pointed at the maroon threads of the Axminster carpet in front of Fletch's boots. "Right where you stand now. Because my feet will be master of this house soon enough. And there isn't a bloody thing you can do about it."

Fists rising, Fletch charged across the room.

"Fletch—no!" Talia slammed open the door of the room.

"Fletch!" Right behind Talia, Caine and Reggard both screamed his name in unison.

But he was already lunging. Red rage blinding his sight.

***

It was happening.

Time slowed. Seconds stretching into lifetimes.

The breath into his lungs stilled, his body swaying. Control of every muscle vanishing.

It was too soon. He still had weeks. A month. He had more time. He needed more time. He and Talia had only had months together. He needed more time. More time. More time with her. More time to protect her. More time.

His eyes swept the room. Chairs, fireplace, lamps. Caine rushing past him, punching Roserton. Reggard dragging the bastard from the room. Window, curtains, books, tables. Talia.

Her face. There she was. His look adhered onto her face.

He wanted nothing more than her in his vision.

She moved to him in the flurry. Where was the smile that was always on her lips when she looked at him?

She needed him today.

Today was the wedding.

She needed him.

Her mouth dropped, her hazel eyes panicked.

She needed him.

He took one step toward her. The world spun, dragging him down.

Talia's face. Find her face.

She yelled. He couldn't hear her, but he could see her mouth moving, screaming at her sister.

Down. Down. Down.

His body outstretched, he hit the floor—the thud not hurting, only a dull echo in his ears.

Talia's face. Where? Where did she go?

She appeared above him, hovering, gripping his head.

Still screaming. Screaming at him now.

His eyes went to darkness.

One last word from her made it through the silence in his ears.

"Fight."