Chapter 27

CHAPTER27

Xander sat on the floor of his study. He could not remember sitting on the floor in years, yet here he was, sitting on the rug by the roaring fire, wearing only his trousers and a loose shirt.

No candles kept him company, so he used the light of the fire as he re-read the periodical that released Violet’s story about the Dark Duke.

He went from one piece to the next, reading in detail about how Violet had first seen him, how he was the inspiration for the piece, how this villain of a man drew in the heroine into something that was both dangerous and full of excitement. There was a shift in the stories too before the last two installments.

He could tell quite easily that the first change had occurred when they had met properly at the ball. The creature in these pages became a touch softer, perhaps a little more understanding, but in the latest installment, released in the last couple of days since he had sent her away, the character had changed again.

“I’m a monster,” he muttered aloud.

The character in the piece had turned his back on the heroine, leaving her in a pit of despair. They had eloped in the story, running all the way to Gretna Green, and then spent a night together, before he fled into the night and vanished like vapor.

When the heroine awoke in the morning, she discovered that it was all false. Even the wedding ceremony wasn’t a legal one, and she had lost her virtue to a born-again devil.

He’d ensnared her so well, charmed her, manipulated her, and made her believe in all their passions that he felt something more for her than just wanting that single moment of release. But she was wrong. Now, she saw the truth of it.

He’d wanted something warm in his bed, and she clearly was good enough for that, but she was not good enough for anything more.

The Dark Duke’s heart was as black as everyone had warned her it was, after all.

He dropped the paper to the floor, watching as it drifted to the hearth rug beside him. He was tempted to grab all the papers and throw them into the fire, watch them burn and be rid of them for good, but he couldn’t destroy Violet’s work in such a way.

“How do I get you back?” he whispered, hanging his head in one hand as he stared at the pages.

She must have spent hours on this creation. She had shown dedication, art, and talent in what she had produced, and now it was becoming something else entirely because he had destroyed her initial idea of him.

“I have to do something.”

He picked up the papers once more, even more tempted to set them on fire before something occurred to him.

Maybe Celia and her family wouldn’t let him see Violet. He could turn up every day, but he imagined it would be much the same as before. They would not let him in to see her, and knowing Violet’s father, she would not be in town for very long.

Jonathan was a protective father, and he’d want to get her out of London sooner rather than later.

“I need to act fast. I need to find another way to speak to her.”

Xander stood up hurriedly, collecting the papers. He had a wild idea, something unfathomably difficult, for he had no talent for such things, but at least he had something to work with.

“I’ll speak to her again.”

* * *

“Are you all packed?” Celia asked from the doorway of her bedchamber.

Violet looked up from the portmanteau she had been filling with the help of her maid. “Nearly, yes.”

“Good. Father says we shall be leaving after lunch.” Celia leaned against the doorframe. “Did you sleep any better last night?”

Violet shrugged, choosing to be noncommittal in her answer. She had suffered more nightmares. This time, not one of them had been sensual. They had all been forbidding and dark.

In one of those nightmares, she had been back in that garden where she and Xander had their first argument. She had been looking for him, trying to find him in every dark corner of the garden. Yet, he was nowhere to be found. The yew bushes seemed to close in, the sky dark without a moon or stars to light her path.

Then, suddenly, she’d grown aware that there was indeed someone else in the garden with her, and he was actually stalking her. Everywhere she went, he was following her, intent on catching her.

A figure made of darkness, she’d screamed when he’d come near, backing up against the garden wall, just as he reached her, his hands placed on the wall on either side of her. At last, his face had come into view, but there was no smile in that look, no joy—only anger.

“You’re still not sleeping, then,” Celia surmised with a heavy sigh. “I wish you would. It would bring you some peace.”

“I dream,” Violet whispered so the maid wouldn’t hear her. “That is all. It will pass, soon enough.”

She at least hoped it would, for she certainly couldn’t go on in this way. It was too tormenting for her body and mind.

“I’ll take this away, Your Grace.” The maid lifted the chamber pot and took it away, wrinkling her nose at the smell a little.

“You’re still feeling sick?” Celia asked, clearly sensing the fact that the pot hadn’t been used as a privy, but for something else.

“It’s just when I wake up. That’s all. It’s because of the nightmares. They’re unsettling me.”

“Hmm.” Celia didn’t look convinced by it.

There were sounds beyond the window suddenly, panicked voices like gaggling geese.

“What’s that?” Violet asked, turning around to look at the window.

“Knowing the way your friends like to gabble, it will be them,” Celia said good-naturedly. “I’ll go and let them in.”

Violet moved closer to the window and peered out to see it was indeed her friends. Grace was practically running up the drive with a paper in her hand. She ran so fast that Eleanor leapt after her.

“Be careful—Grace!” Eleanor yelped as Grace tripped on the gravel driveway. She caught her just in time to stop her from falling over as Diana scurried up behind them.

“Goodness,” Diana muttered. “It’ll be a wonder if we make it there in one piece. Grace, she can read this at any point.”

“She has to read it now.” Grace pushed herself off Eleanor and ran up to the house again.

Eleanor and Diana exchanged exasperated looks but followed her to the door, nevertheless.

Violet’s eyes darted over the paper in Grace’s hand, but at this distance, she couldn’t see much other than it was some sort of newspaper or periodical. Turning away from the window, she left the chamber and moved down the stairs, following the path Celia had taken.

As she reached the bottom step, she found her friends were already inside.

“Violet? Violet!” Grace called for her as she shed her bonnet, practically throwing it into the air. Celia scarcely caught it in time before it could knock off a vase.

Eleanor tried to pull Grace back once more but simply succeeded in dragging her pelisse off her.

“She has to see it.”

“I know that,” Eleanor said, sighing loudly and adjusting her glasses. “But we didn’t need to come screeching at her like banshees.”

Grace shot her a glare before hurrying toward Violet at the bottom of the steps and throwing the paper at her. “Read it,” she urged.

“What is this?” Violet asked.

“It’s your paper,” Diana explained. “The one that publishes…” she trailed off, looking around the hallway in case Violet’s mother and father appeared.

Violet didn’t need to hear anymore. She opened the paper and saw that the front page was indeed the paper that published her story in installments. To her surprise, though, the headline did not seem right.

A new installment of The Dark Duke on page five.

“I haven’t sent them anything new yet,” Violet whispered, looking up at her friends.

“Read it,” Eleanor said in a comforting tone. “You might be interested in what you find in there.”

Violet opened the paper, turning to page five hurriedly. Inside, she did indeed find a new section of her work, but it was not hers as she knew it. The language was slightly different, though perhaps modeled after her own.

“Is this plagiarism?” Violet asked in a panic.

“Read it,” Grace said again, a happiness glinting in her eyes that confused Violet.

Slowly, Violet turned her eyes back to the piece and began to read. It was no short section, but long, and this time told from the point of view of the Dark Duke rather than the heroine.

His love didn’t know the truth. How could she? He had to lie to her when he first left her that night. He’d disappeared into the darkness after their wedding, knowing they couldn’t be together yet. But they would be. If she just believed him enough to understand why he had done it.

Slowly, Violet sat down on the bottom step of the staircase.

“What is this? What’s happening?” Celia asked from across the hallway.

Rather than answering her, Diana produced another copy of the paper and thrust it into Celia’s hand so she too could read it.

Violet read on. It fit perfectly with her story, but the ending was changed. This version of the Dark Duke had to leave the heroine, for he had something to attend to—a past matter of the heart that had to be laid to rest.

She read on, hooked as the Dark Duke went back to his love, begging for her forgiveness and assuring her that the past was now put to bed, but she did not listen. She turned him away, saying she could never trust him again.

The piece ended with the Duke making a pledge.

What she couldn’t know was that he intended to wait for as long as it took. He’d be here whenever she needed him. If she ever decided to try for his heart again, she would find it ready and waiting for her.

He offered it up on a platter, and she could do what she liked with it. She could take it, love it, keep it warm, or she could drive a stake through it, cripple him as he had unfairly crippled her, and he would accept it.

“It’s your decision now, my love,” were the final words he said to her. “I’ll be here, waiting, if you ever want me again.”

“How is this possible?” Celia whispered, clearly finishing as Violet did. “He knows your publisher?”

“I imagine it wasn’t difficult for a duke to get in touch with the paper and say he would be delivering the next installment instead,” Eleanor scoffed.

“Oh!” A sudden squeak escaped Diana, who was standing by the window of the entrance hall.

“What is it, Diana?” Eleanor called to her.

Diana didn’t answer, though. With a hand over her mouth, she just continued to look through the glass.

“Diana!” Eleanor, Grace, and Celia said in unison.

Diana flinched and spun around, madly pointing over her shoulder. “He’s here.”

“What?” Violet said, scrambling to her feet.

“He’s here!”

Violet clutched the paper tightly as she ran across the room. Reaching for the front door, she flung it open, peering down the driveway.

He was indeed standing there, occupying his usual intimidating stance, his feet spread apart. But there was something more vulnerable in his appearance now. The more she looked, the more she saw it.

He hadn’t dared walk fully onto the estate but stood by the gates, not moving forward. His hands were in the pockets of his open greatcoat, and beyond the lapels, she could see his waistcoat was undone and his cravat was missing. His dark hair, tousled by the wind, kept dancing across his forehead. There was a paleness to his skin, too.

Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping.

“Violet, don’t,” Celia pleaded.

“Sorry, Celia. I must.” Violet ignored her sister’s plea and walked out of the house.

“Violet!” Celia stepped forward, but Grace, Eleanor, and Diana stood in her way, blocking her.

Grace managed to trip as she did so and ended up flinging herself at Celia, who was forced to catch her.

“Oops.”

“Oops!?” Celia repeated, but to little avail.

Violet walked down the driveway, toward Xander, but then he did something unexpected. He took a single step forward so he was no longer in the shadows cast by the gate, but in the bright light.

Violet could see his blue eyes weren’t cold but soft, even warm.

“Vi,” he whispered as she approached.

She stopped a little distance from him, blinking as her eyes ached with the pain of wanting to cry at seeing him. She wouldn’t let any more tears fall. She had certainly shed enough tears over this last week.

She held the paper in front of her, clutching it tightly to her chest. “You did this? You wrote it?” she asked, her voice soft and quiet.

“I did,” he said, his voice deep. “I used what you had written as a model, but I had to speak to you. I had to, Vi.”

The way he said her name made her ache with longing. She wished to return home with him, to be as they had been before Tilly had appeared—happy. But that happiness was broken. Even what he had written wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

“How long have you been out here, Xander?” she asked, nodding at his position.

“That doesn’t matter. Ask me how long I will be here. With you.”

She swallowed. He’d made this vow once before. He’d made it in church and then sent her away, regardless.

“How long?” she asked.

“Always.” He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. He took one of her hands off the paper and lifted it to her lips, kissing the back of it. “Because I am in love with you, Vi.”

Her lips were dry, her tongue equally so as she stared at him.

He loves me? How is this possible?

“You said I cannot have your heart.” Her breath hitched as she fought back the tears. “What about Tilly?”

“She threatened you.”

“What?”

“Listen, I will tell you everything now.” He lowered her hand between them and clutched it between his palms, warmth out here in the cold air. “That day when she appeared, it was plain to me she was not well. Mad, perhaps, or something else—but certainly ill. I had to do something about it. I owe that to her family and to Anthony, especially. Then… she told me to get rid of you, or she would poison you with medicine that she took.”

“No.” Violet shook her head. “Surely that’s not possible. She would not do such a thing.”

“Whether she would have done it or not, I do not know. I didn’t trust her. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you,” he said, his voice heated. “Do you not see, Vi? I had to get you out of there. If I pleaded with you to leave for your own safety, would you have gone? Would the woman who had braved meeting me alone in a garden when people told her I was a murderer ever run away from danger?”

She blinked, realizing exactly what he had feared.

“You’re a fool,” she muttered. “I would have gone. If you asked me for this reason, I would have gone. Perhaps,” she added, beginning to second guess herself as he raised his eyebrows.

“I had to protect you,” he said fiercely. “I found Tilly’s husband and son—the spitting image of his father, by the way.”

“You mean—”

“Blonde-haired and brown-eyed.”

“Oh.” Violet felt a lightness take over her. She stared at the blue eyes before her and the black hair. “You two never… Did you…”

“No.” He shook his head. “There was one drunken night where I doubted myself, but the more I think about it, the more certain I am that we did nothing. Besides, she loved another. She certainly would not have gone to my bed at the time.”

“I thought you wanted her back. I thought you loved her—”

“Never.”

“What?” Violet spluttered.

Xander bent toward her, moving so near that she could feel her heart thudding against her ribcage. She longed to reach up to him, to pull him down toward her.

“Tilly and I were to marry as friends. I never loved her, for my heart belonged to another. It would only ever be yours, even before I met you…”

He lifted her hand between them once again, turning it over and kissing the inside of her wrist. “Even when I said my heart was untouchable, I lied, Vi. It’s not half so cloaked in blackness and shadow as you once thought. I love you.”

“Oh, Xander.” She blinked, unable to stop the tears now as one escaped and ran down her cheek.

He bent toward her, placing his lips on her cheek and kissing the tear away. “Come home, my love. Please, come home, and you’ll find me a more devoted husband than you ever thought I could be.” He pulled back an inch, looking her in the eye.

Something leapt in her chest. It was utter hope mixed with adoration and happiness. How could she refuse when he told her he loved her? When her heart was the one he wanted, after all?

“Yes,” she whispered through her tears.

Smiling, Xander bent down toward her, this time placing his lips on hers, though it was the most delicate and softest of kisses, as if he feared he might break her if he kissed her too hard.

“Xander,” she murmured as they parted. “Take me home.”