“But you still know more nobs than I do. You know who to talk to. Someone must owe you a favor or two.” Never had he felt so powerless before. It wasn’t just Harker who had that effect on him, it was Octavia. The problem of Harker he could eventually solve, but not at the risk of Octavia’s safety.
Brahm shook his head, regret etched in the lines around his mouth. “Why do you not talk to Duncan Reed? I would think Bow Street would be more helpful.”
Duncan would tell him the same thing. Duncan was less likely to go beyond the bounds of the law than Brahm was. “I need people with power. People who can change the law.”
“If you were an MP you could be one of those people.”
Not this again. But this time, the full implication of the position sunk in. If he went into politics as his brother and Duncan pestered him to, he could become one of those men who influenced parliament, a man who had the power to change the law.
He might not be a peer of the realm, but he was popular in their circles. They just might support him, especially if he reminded them of all he had done to protect their way of life.
He, the bastard of the late Viscount Creed, just might become a person of importance. It would be a way into the world he thought he no longer wanted to be part of. His brothers’ world. Octavia’s world.
Bollocks.
Had he ever truly stopped wanting to belong? Perhaps society had ceased to matter, but finding his own corner of the world was still something his soul craved. Only being with Octavia satisfied that craving. Perhaps that was the answer. He belonged wherever she belonged. His corner of the world was whatever one had her in it.
He couldn’t be with her when his job brought danger to himself and those he loved. Every assignment he took set him up as a target, but if he were behind the scenes, so to speak, he could still effect change without putting those he cared about in harm’s way.
It was tempting. More tempting than ever before.
Meeting his older brother’s dark gaze, he smiled gravely. “I need your help.”
S
he couldn’t live like this.
Two days after being returned to her house by North, Octavia had yet to feel as though she was home.
Seated at the head of the table, she picked at the food on her plate and tried to ignore the fact that Spinton and Beatrice seemed to be ignoring her. Of course, they weren’t
truly
ignoring her; both were far too polite for that. No, it was simply that they were so caught up in their own conversation that neither thought to include her in it.
Which was just as well, she admitted, raising her wineglass to her lips. She didn’t feel much like talking. She didn’t feel like much of anything. It would be too difficult to pretend that everything was all right tonight. Too hard to be that person she tried so hard to be.
Never before had she felt
this
out of place in her own house. Never had she felt as though she truly didn’t belong. Before there had been a sense that this life was her
right
, a privilege of her birth. Now it simply felt wrong. But this
was
her life. This was her house (with its ill-suited decor), her
cousin, her betrothed—although Spinton had yet to offer her a ring, or a date for their wedding.
And outside, in the fading light of day, her guardians sat watching. North might be one of the best in his line of work, but he had so many men stationed outside her house at all hours that even she was aware of being watched. Thankfully, neither Beatrice nor Spinton seemed to notice.
She turned her attention to her fiancé. Though Spinton had seemed relieved that the mystery of her “admirer” had been solved, he didn’t act like a man who had just discovered that the woman he planned to marry was out of harm’s way. In fact, he seemed very much on edge. Perhaps he wasn’t as oblivious to the men outside as she thought. Perhaps on some level, Spinton sensed that she wasn’t completely out of danger.
Or perhaps his awkwardness stemmed from the woman seated across from him farther down the table. He and Beatrice had eyes for no one but each other as they chattered like magpies. What did they find to talk about? Spinton didn’t chat like that with
her.
Then again, perhaps if she had shown more interest in what he had to say…
Dear God, was that what the rest of her life was destined to be? Pretending to be interested in what Spinton had to say? How could she share a bed with a man who bored her? Granted, they would share that bed only for the purpose of achieving an heir. The mere thought had her stomach clenching. Spinton was an attractive man. A good and kind man, but she did not want him to touch her. Not after North.
“Pass the wine please, Bea.”
Her cousin appeared not to have heard her. She was too deeply engrossed in what Spinton was expounding on. Sighing, Octavia half rose from her chair and reached down the table for the bottle. If she ended up with gravy on the front of her gown, it would be all Beatrice’s fault.
How could her mother have made her promise to do as her
grandfather wanted, to be a true lady? How could her grandfather have made her promise to marry Spinton? And why did she feel so duty-bound to keep her word to two people who were both dead and never had the slightest inkling of what she really wanted out of her life?
Her mother had tried to be a good mother, but she was rarely around, and very few of her beaux had wanted a child around—unless their interest in Octavia was something considerably darker than paternal. Her grandfather had been generous and kind despite his gruffness, but he’d never had much interest in her as a person. He’d never once asked what she wanted or what she would like to do, and as a girl she wasn’t much use to him as an heir.
So why were these vows to them so very important? Why did they bind her like chains to Spinton and this farce of a life?
What about her promises to North? She had promised to always be there for him, just as he had promised her. Only in true North fashion, he had made it impossible for her to keep that promise by shutting her out and turning her away. He thought he was protecting her from danger. Perhaps he was, but he was also hurting her.
And what about those promises she should be making to herself? Didn’t she owe herself something more than a life of disinterestedness? Her future, her marriage, and her children should not be something she looked upon as a penance or a duty—or even a punishment. These were things she dreamed about as a young girl, things she once longed for. She had vowed to marry for love, to carve her own destiny, far removed from her mother’s.
How could she consider herself different from her mother when she was basically selling herself? Paying a debt to the man who had taken her in by marrying the man he had chosen for her.
Wouldn’t her grandfather and mother much rather she be
happy? Surely they had each loved her enough to want her happiness to come first? Surely she loved herself enough to decide for herself what she would and would not do with the years left to her?
What was she going to do? She had to make a decision, and soon. This wasn’t fair to anyone involved. It wasn’t fair to North—even though he, like her mother and grandfather, was trying make these decisions for her. It certainly wasn’t fair to Beatrice, who stared at Spinton as though he hung the moon in the sky, nor was it fair to Spinton himself, who was a good enough man that he deserved to be loved and respected by his wife.
Nor was it fair to herself. And it was time she started thinking of herself. She was done wishing for something or someone to come along and decide her future for her. Call her selfish, but surely it wasn’t a sin to want a little joy out of life, and to give joy to others in the process.
She could not spend the rest of her life with Spinton without knowing she had at least tried to grasp her own happiness. In fact, she wasn’t certain she could spend the rest of her life with Spinton at all, but that was something else she had to decide soon. She didn’t know if she could spend the rest of her years worrying about North and his safety either. These past days with no word from him had been difficult enough. Could she stand by and watch him put himself in danger day after day? Could she be content to hear about it from a distance and wonder as an alternative? Which would be worse?
Wouldn’t five minutes of something wonderful be preferable to a lifetime of nothing? No. She would rather have North than mere memories any day.
That solved it. It was time to sort out her future. She had to decide her fate, and much of that decision rested on North.
Pushing back her chair, she stood. “If the two of you will excuse me, I have some urgent business to attend to.”
Both Spinton and Beatrice regarded her with startled expressions, but she gave neither of them time to respond or protest. She swept from the room with strides as long as the confining skirts of her gown would allow, resisting the urge to hike it up around her knees and run.
She was going to take action. No more would she sit by and let life drift past. The time had come for her to make good on some of her promises.
But which ones?
“What are you doing here?” Octavia demanded, hands on her hips, a scowl wrinkling her brow.
He had hoped for a better reaction than that. True, the hour was late and he hadn’t been expected, but was that reason enough for such a lackluster reception?
Maybe not, but making love—and very badly at that—to her and then sending her home probably had been.
“Good evening to you also, Vie.”
If he’d hoped to guilt her into being more friendly, he was going to fail miserably. She didn’t give an inch.
“I have not seen nor heard from you in two days and now you expect me to welcome you with open arms? It does not work that way, Norrie.”
Ahh, but she still called him Norrie. She hadn’t totally given up on him. Although they would probably both be better off if she did.
“You could offer me a drink.”
Her tongue swept the inside of her cheek, bulging the skin there—no doubt in an effort to keep from telling him to go to hell. “Would you like a drink?”
“No thank you.”
He’d hoped to get a smile out of her, but she only fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him.
He scratched his beard. They were alone in her parlor, the
door shut against the outside world. They should be able to speak plainly to each other, but Spinton was only a few rooms away, still having his dinner, if he had heard correctly.
“Did the Merton brat apologize?”
She gave a sharp nod. “Yesterday.”
That was it? No details, no thank yous?
“What do you want from me, Vie?” Why bother trying to guess? He never would.
“An apology, to start,” she informed him haughtily.
Ahh, so she was upset about his sloppy seduction. He didn’t blame her. “I am sorry for being so selfish and base in my lovemaking—”
“Not for that!” Was it his imagination or had she actually stomped her foot?
He blinked. All right, so he still hadn’t guessed correctly. “For what then?”
“For deciding my life for me. For making decisions that are not yours to make and tossing me aside, and then thinking you can waltz in here whenever you want. I am not one of your men, or your brothers. I will not be treated with such assumptive behavior.”
Assumptive?
Christ, where had she learned to speak like that? She sounded like Spinton, or worse, her grandfather.
“I only wanted to keep you safe.” Why was he defending himself? He shouldn’t have to explain the situation to her. She knew why he had done what he did. He wanted her protected—and as far away from Harker as possible. Christ, she let everyone else dictate her life, why not him as well? He was the one who wanted what was truly best for her.
Her expression was mulish. “You mean you wanted to keep me out of your way.”
There was that too. “I cannot concentrate on catching Harker if I’m worried about you.”
She came at him like a harpy—a beautifully furious one—
swooping down on her prey. “Never mind that I might be worrying about you. Did you ever consider how worried
I
might have been these past two days?”
Honestly? “No.”
She didn’t seem surprised by his answer, and that peeved him. Did she think that his mind hadn’t been filled with thoughts of her regardless? He’d done very little without thinking of her before, during, or after. He missed her before breakfast, during the afternoon, and after going to bed. Never mind all the times in between.
“Of course you have not thought of it. All you’ve thought about is what you want. My wants you dismissed.”
“Damned right,” he growled, the blackness of his mood quickly escalating. “I have always given in to you. Whatever you wanted, if it was within my power I gave it, but not when it could put you in harm’s way, Vie. So stop pouting and accept that I have acted in your best interest.”
He thought that would mollify her, take her down a notch. If anything it only made her angrier.
“My best interest!” She seethed, finger pointed at her own chest. “You have not been a part of my life for twelve years, what could you possibly know of my best interests?”
“I know enough.” He wasn’t about to explain himself to her, not when the answer should be so completely obvious.
Crimson blossomed high on her cheeks. “I am heartily sick of people claiming to know what is best for me, people making decisions for me. I am the only person who knows where my interests lie, best or otherwise.”
Fine time for her to realize what a puppet she was. Still, he couldn’t help but be a little relieved. This wasn’t about just him, or the two of them for that matter. This was about something far deeper.
That didn’t mean she didn’t hold him somewhat responsible, however.
“Who has ever made decisions for you other than yourself?” he demanded. As if he needed to be told. He knew who they were. He was the kind of man who liked to hold a grudge.
“You,” she fired back. No surprise there. “My mother, my grandfather, Spinton…” she trailed off, as though too tired to continue.
“How?”
Octavia flopped onto the sofa like a marionette with cut strings. “Spinton hired you against my wishes. My grandfather decided marrying Spinton was best for me. My mother decided being a lady was best for me.”
He leaned his hip against the chair next to him. “Perhaps you didn’t agree with Spinton, but what of your mother and grandfather? You went along with them, did you not?”
Rubbing her forehead, she nodded. “Because I wanted to please them, because I felt I owed it to them.”
Ah, guilt. It was a wonderful motivator. That and duty were the only things that could force Octavia onto a path she didn’t necessarily want to take. She was so very loyal to those she loved. She would do anything they asked, even if she hated it.
Like leave when she wanted to stay.
Like marry a man she did not love.
“I could tell you to break your word, but I don’t think that would make you feel any better.”
She smiled. She looked so frail, so tired. “Probably not.”
Crossing the Aubusson carpet, he seated himself beside her, careful to keep from touching her. If he touched her, what little restraint he had would crumble. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, kiss and comfort her. Make love to her, take all her fears and doubts away. But it wasn’t his place. Wasn’t his right. And if Spinton happened to walk in, it would call for an awful lot of explaining—explaining that would reveal Octavia’s past.
Why did he care? He’d made the promise to conceal her origins to her grandfather. The old bugger was dead, pleasantly so. So why did he bother to keep his word to a dead man after questioning Octavia for doing the same thing?
Because he had made his promise to protect Octavia, not to please the old earl. He would rather die than see anything happen to her, which was why it had scared him so to come home and find out Harker had been there. That same fear was why he had sent her home, and why he could not hold her as he wanted to now.
“I wish I could help you, Vie.”
She nodded, knowing he spoke the truth. They were both bound by so many oaths, conventions, and expectations. And fear. Both of them were ruled by their individual fears of disappointing someone, not living up to expectations, not being good enough to achieve their goals.