Ophelia stood and moved toward the windows, gazing out upon the fields of lavender. Soon now… soon she’d be ready. The sun was just rising, the sky brilliant red and orange. As a child she’d always awoken early to be with her father while he practiced his sermons. They would stroll through the fields at sunrise, taking along a breakfast, while Mama and the other children slept. He would practice his speech while she watched the sunrise and thought that nothing, ever, could be as wonderful. She’d been right. She raised her bandaged hand, the throbbing almost unbearable.
What a different person she’d been; she barely recognized that child, those dreams. But she’d left France, excited about her prospects. She was beautiful, her mother had said, she was their ticket to a better life. When she’d been invited by a wealthy cousin to go to London, they’d been so sure she would land a rich, titled gent.
She had caught the attention of a gent… but not for marriage. He’d told her he loved her and she’d been too stupid and innocent to know better. He’d begged her to meet him, and she had. Stupid, silly girl. That night had changed her forever, had killed a part of her she couldn’t revive. It was the night when she’d realized how much evil there was in the world. And God? She released a harsh laugh. There was no God. And so she did what she had to in order to survive… she focused on revenge. It was what kept her going when she would have rather died.
She drew her hand down the fine velvet blue curtains. “And the sons shall inherit the sins of the fathers.”
She had ruined their lives. It had all been so very easy. She had taken their children, taken their heirs. She had done what she had set out to do… avenge herself, destroy the men who had destroyed her with no thought to her feelings, her innocence. And it had worked. For a while she had felt vindicated. For a while she had been able to enjoy the riches of her spoils. But soon enough the feelings of success had faded, as all things do.
“Alone,” she whispered, her breath fogging up the window. Although she hadn’t had money, she could have been the darling of the ton. She could have married high above her station and helped her family along the way. But one night… one foolish night had ruined it all. It had been torn from her, crushed beneath selfish, demonic feet. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. But she had gotten her revenge.
Her smile fell. If she had destroyed their lives, why did she still feel so angry, so hollow? Perhaps because Alex, Gideon, and James had beaten her by finding lives outside these prison walls. They had escaped. Perhaps because she hadn’t truly been able to punish the men who had done the crime, and had to settle for their offspring. She didn’t know and she didn’t care anymore.
“Let it be over,” she whispered.
“Pardon?” Wavers said from behind her.
She turned slowly away from the window. The large brute looked truly worried about her. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The one man she thought of as nothing more than a pesky pup was the only one who truly cared. “ ’Tis nothing. Nothing at all.”
“You should eat,” he said in his thick accent as he entered the room, carrying a tray of soup and bread. “You don’t eat anymore.”
She wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t been in months, although she’d eaten enough to survive. She’d had her dresses taken in three times, and still they hung on her small frame. He set the tray on the table near the fireplace. The scent of soup made her nauseous.
“I’ll eat,” she lied. “Just leave me in peace.”
He looked up sharply. She didn’t miss the hurt in his eyes. “But—”
“You overstep yourself,” she snapped, growing more annoyed with him the longer he stood in her presence. She couldn’t abide a man who begged for attention. Why couldn’t he just leave her with whatever little peace she could find?
He flushed, his jaw working. If he cried, she swore she’d shoot him herself. But fortunately the man shuffled off like a pup who’d been beaten by his master. He thought she had feelings for him, as he did her. Loyalty, compassion, softness. She had feelings for no one. She had lost that ability long ago when her father had tossed her from the house, saying he would never forgive her for ruining herself. But she had gotten back at them. When her mother had come begging for money seven years ago, Ophelia had merely laughed, loving the satisfaction she’d felt as she’d slammed the door in her face. She hadn’t a clue where they were now, if any of them still lived, and didn’t really care.
When the door creaked open she turned, prepared to demand Wavers leave her alone once and for all. But it was not Wavers’s hulking form that stood in the doorway. It was someone more elegant, more finely dressed, far more dangerous… Lord Beckett. She found his presence odd indeed, for they had never had much of a conversation. She’d merely told him where he could find James, along with Lady Beckett. It had been all so very easy to sit back and watch. And even though she had done Lord Beckett a favor, he hadn’t thanked her.
“She thinks to divorce me,” he said as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Ophelia laughed, delighted by the woman’s audacity, even as she wondered why in the world he would tell her such personal news. She’d never thought much about Lady Beckett before; she had merely been a means to an end. But now she found she liked the brazen wench very well indeed. Perhaps in another time, another place, they might have even been friends.
Ophelia smirked, leaning back against the edge of her desk. “She shall have a difficult time with that.”
He didn’t return her amusement. “Perhaps.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying the man. There was something he wasn’t telling her… a reason for his presence. He moved slowly across the room, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. As before when she’d seen him, his mustache was tidy and combed, his hair slicked back into place, and his clothing, although he had traveled by coach a good hour or so, was without crease. He was a man who took his appearance quite seriously.
“But maybe not.” He settled in the chair across from her desk, a mere ten steps or so from her. “Her second cousin or such is related to the queen.”
Ophelia lifted a brow, amused and curious as to why he was here. Certainly he had a plan of some sort, although she wasn’t quite sure of the specifics. She tilted her head high, not one to be easily frightened. “She might be distantly related to royalty, yet they couldn’t protect her from you.”
“From me?” His gaze flashed with outrage, although he kept his voice calm. “Her father was the third son of a baron. Their blood is nothing compared to my family lineage.”
She shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Yet you might lose your wife? Your blue blood was not enough to earn her respect.” She moved toward the sideboard and poured herself a brandy. She had a feeling she was going to need the fortitude.
He surged to his feet, his hands fisted. “She will not make a fool of me.”
“What will you do?” Ophelia laughed, highly amused. There was nothing better than seeing a grown man throw a fit. “Will you kill her?”
His lips lifted into a snarl. “I’d have every right.”
She shrugged, taking another drink. The alcohol no longer burned when she drank, it only numbed the pain into beautiful nothingness. She craved its powers, craved the numb feeling it produced.
Lord Beckett started toward her, his footsteps hurried and angry. She tilted her head to the side and watched him, her mind spinning. A man like him held so very little control over his emotions. A man like him would be so very easy to manipulate into doing exactly as she wished. Dare she?
He shoved his finger into her face. “You told me that if I helped you, if I put that bastard in prison, you would see him destroyed.”
Her heart slammed wildly in her chest, urging her to act. But she knew she had to keep calm, the timing must be perfect, he must not suspect anything. She took another drink, ignoring the way her hand trembled. “Alas, sometimes things just don’t work out, no matter how much we wish it.”
“You bit
ch,” he hissed. Pulling a pistol from his waistcoat, he shoved it toward her face.
Although she’d been expecting it, her heart leapt into her throat all the same. Underneath that surprise, she couldn’t deny the thrilling sense of victory that pulsed in time with her heart. She had won.
“Go to hell, Lord Beckett, and take your wife with you.”
“You whore.” His hand shook as he lowered the gun and pointed it at her chest. He had lost control. He was pathetic, just like all men. So easily manipulated, and she would use his weakness for her own gain.
“You don’t have what it takes, my lord,” she sneered.
His face flushed red, and she knew that it would all be over within moments. The entire world seemed to slow as he cocked the gun. The blood rushed to Ophelia’s ears, drowning out the sound of his vile cursing. She shifted her gaze to the fields visible through the windows. Lavender, aglow from the rising sun. And in that moment she was a child again, sitting in that field in France watching the sunrise as the soft murmur of her father’s voice drifted upon the wind.
Slowly, her father turned toward her, reaching down and ruffling her hair. “Are you ready to go home, poppet?”
She barely heard the blast from the gun, barely felt the bullet tear through her chest, and barely noticed her legs give out. It was over. She was going home.
“You truly think this will work?” James asked, sliding his arm around Ellie’s narrow waist as they cuddled in the carriage.
She rested her head upon his shoulder. “It’s worth trying, don’t you agree?” She smiled up at him, trying desperately to feign confidence, but he could see the nervousness in her blue eyes.
“Of course.” It was worth a try, but he certainly held out no hope. Even now, the idea of a divorce was practically unheard of. And when they were granted, it was only to men. Women had no right to divorce. But he would not crush Eleanor’s dreams. No, he would hold her hand, he would support her, and when this cousin of hers laughed at their outrageous query, then he would pack Ellie up, take the hack Gideon and Alex had waiting, and escape as far away from London as they could.
“I haven’t seen her in ages.” Eleanor brushed her fingers over the tops of his hands. “We had the same German great-grandmother.”
“Wirklich?” he asked.
Ellie blinked her eyes wide in surprise. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“Nur ein bisschen.” Lady Lavender had schooled them in the basics of most languages; it was good for business, she had explained. Fine dining, poetry, even the piano… they were true gentlemen. If one overlooked the fact that they slept with women for money.
She laughed. “And here I thought I knew you quite well.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Better than anyone.”
Appeased, she snuggled up next to him while the carriage rattled through London. They’d both slept like babes last night, neither worried about being attacked or carted off to prison for the first time in days, not with Alex and Gideon guarding their room. He owed them more than his friendship; he owed them his life.
“James,” she said softly.
He pulled her closer, breathing in her rose scent. “Hmm?”
“What really happened with your father?”
Her question caught him off guard. He swallowed hard, staring out the dusty windows onto the crowded streets of London. “He killed himself.”
Ellie sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He tried not to think about his father and had managed quite well in the past few years. But he knew he couldn’t avoid the subject forever. “He was so melancholy after he was let go. Started drinking like a fish. My mum would cry herself to sleep at night.”
Ellie clasped his hand tightly. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I want to.” His eyes burned with the memory, a day that he had shared with no one. Not even his sister. But he found that once he started talking to Ellie, he couldn’t seem to stop. She wanted the truth, and he would give it to her. Hell, he would give her anything. “I had had enough. I screamed at him, demanded he get a position, told him he was ruining the family. He left. Three hours later the constable arrived to tell us he had shot himself.”
Eleanor pressed her body to his, resting her head on his shoulder. “And you thought it was your fault.”
He nodded. “But it was guilt… all that time it was guilt because of his part in Ophelia’s rape.”
They didn’t speak for a long time, merely held each other as the carriage rolled through London. He’d thought he’d feel nothing but shame, admitting the truth. Oddly, he felt relieved.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Kensington Palace. The massive black fence separated the real world from the wealthy. They had written and were expected, but it didn’t make James feel any easier when the guards came forward, their faces full of suspicion. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Eleanor as she spoke with the guards through the window.
“Yes, three o’clock,” she said.
James was only slightly surprised when the massive black-and-gold gates parted and the carriage jerked forward. The closer they got to the large brick estate, the more uneasy he became. James shifted away from her, needing to keep his distance, both emotionally and physically. He couldn’t bloody well think with her cuddled next to him. Besides, he doubted the royal family, even if they were distant cousins, would appreciate a married woman showing affection toward a man not her husband. Even being here was a blatant sign of disrespect.
James slid Ellie a glance. He knew she was still in pain thanks to her husband’s fists, although she wouldn’t admit it. Powder had covered up the lingering marks on her face. She rarely showed discomfort, for much like him she’d learned to hide her emotions. Even now she sat straight as a board on the edge of her seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
She was bloody perfect, beautiful, kind, strong. He didn’t deserve her. Her life would be the worse with him, but he would try, damn it all, he would try to give her what she needed, even if he had to work in the mines and it killed him.
They didn’t speak as the carriage traveled down the drive. Didn’t say a word when it slowed and finally stopped. James was very much aware of the guards lining the shallow steps of the massive brick estate. Despite knowing nothing would happen, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Are you well?” Ellie whispered, sensing his unease.
He gave her a crooked grin. “Guards make me uncomfortable, as you can imagine.”
The door opened, and a footman in brilliant dress uniform stood patiently to the side, waiting to assist. The place was even more impressive up close, James realized as he stepped from the coach. Hell, it was yet another reminder of how he did not belong in Ellie’s world.
“My lady.” A woman in a hideous blue gown headed down the steps to greet them. She did not smile and walked more like a soldier than a lady’s maid. “Your cousin is waiting for you in the gardens. If you’ll follow me.”
“Of course.”
They didn’t touch as they made their way around the back. They knew better than to show any affection in public. Servants and occupants strolled the large gardens, taking in the warmth of the sun on the unusual cloudless day. James averted his gaze, highly aware of the fact that one of the women might recognize him. Even though the light brown walking dress with the dark trim and attractive jacket Ellie wore was borrowed from Patience, she still looked the part; she looked like she belonged. They moved past the large fountains and toward the grass where an older woman was sitting at a white iron table, while he… he wondered if he would ever belong anywhere. Was there room in this world for him?
“Cousin Hilda.” Ellie leaned over and pressed a kiss to the woman’s leathery cheek. Her wrinkles and gray hair gave away her age, and her stiff shoulders and lack of smile gave away her demeanor.
She waved her hand dismissively through the air, showing no hap
piness at Ellie’s visit. “Sit.”
Ellie settled in the chair across from her.
“And this is he?” Cousin Hilda looked James over in a way that would have embarrassed a lesser man. He’d been so thoroughly examined by a variety of women that very little embarrassed him. “The lad you wish to marry?”
Ellie nodded.
“A genteel farmer’s son?” Hilda sipped her tea, watching them with shrewd pale blue eyes that made James wonder if the old bat knew more than what she was letting on.
“My lady.” He bowed low, then sat on the chair next to Ellie’s. “James McKinnon.”
Dismissing him, she focused on Ellie. “Tell me what you wish from me.”
“I need a divorce.”
The woman choked on her tea, coughing so hard that her lady’s maid, who had been standing some distance away, came running. “Dear God,” the woman rasped, waving her maid away. “Why not ask for the monarchy instead?”
“He is a monster.” Ellie’s voice quivered and James had to resist the urge to reach for her hand. He hated seeing her this way… so anxious, so afraid. She didn’t show her emotions often, but when she did it killed him.
Hilda sighed, setting a clump of sugar into her tea and stirring. “Be that as it may, no woman is granted the right to a divorce. It’s practically unheard of.”
“He will murder me.”
Her cousin seemed completely unconcerned by the bold statement. Did the woman not see the bruises on Ellie’s face? James reached out, taking Ellie’s hand—he couldn’t help himself. Hilda didn’t miss his show of affection, her sly gaze sliding from her teacup to them. He didn’t care; they had so little to lose at this point.
“I do know what he’s like.” She bit into a cookie. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you, for your family.”