Four
As she held up her glove with sharp blades on the fingertips at the Duke of Annan, it occurred to Aurora that some might consider her actions a mite dramatic, but the man had a gift for driving her into a rage.
“I will stab you, sir,” she warned, thrusting her claws in a small forward movement.
“Que feroz.” The smile he offered her then was the one he’d used that night when it had been just the two of them. The one that made that nauseating chasm in her stomach open. The one that reminded her of things she ought to not want as badly as she did.
They were standing about a foot apart on the illuminated pedestrian walk of the Boulevard de Clichy.
“Might I ask what the hell you have on your hands?” he asked, staring at her hands with a baffled expression. She looked down at her gloves, then back up at him.
“They’re special gloves I had made.” She always felt silly wearing them, but they were very effective in deterring the wrong kind of attention. “For protection,” she added self-consciously. She’d gotten them when she began seeing patients in secret locations. Some nights, she only learned where she’d be going a few hours beforehand, and some locations were riskier than others.
He looked at the gloves for a very long time, his expression mutinous, which was unexpected. She assumed he’d mock her for walking around with such a ridiculous contraption, but the furthest thing from his face was humor.
“Aurora.” She didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound so serious. Not even earlier when they’d discussed his duties in the duchy. “Why are you taking such risks?” The tightness in his voice was so foreign, she wondered if this was the first time she was actually hearing the real Apollo. She didn’t know what to do with any of this. Why couldn’t he just do what everyone else did and wash his hands of her?
“What is it with you, Annan?” She tried for callousness, hoping that would finally do the trick. It did not. “Is it that you can’t abide the idea of a woman not falling all over herself for you?” She expected him to return her rudeness in kind, but he seemed offended by her accusation. Like her opinion of him was the furthest thing from his mind. He looked almost confused.
“I’m merely making sure you arrive in one piece wherever you’re headed, on foot, at one in the morning.” He was so damned reasonable, in that impeccable blue suit, just the color of midnight, cut to mold perfectly to his imposing frame.
She’d made jokes about his clothing, implying he didn’t look the part of a duke, but she’d been untruthful. He was the physical manifestation of what all that power and birth should look like. Shoulders that could carry any load, but hers would not be one of them. She was no one’s cross to bear.
She could stay here and argue all night, but she did have a patient to see and tried for a more conciliatory approach. She put away the gloves, deciding they might not be communicating the right message.
“I can see myself home. I’ll be fine.” She attempted to sound reassuring, but the man was not budging.
“But you’re not going home.” No, she was not. She was going to see a patient about a fistulotomy. A patient who in her letter requesting the consultation advised Aurora that since her husband disapproved of her receiving medical care for her ailment, she could only come to the appointment while he was away on business in Loire. From Aurora’s experience, this likely meant her patient was taking great personal risk to seek treatment, so she could not arrive late with a very large, very noticeable, stranger to their meeting place.
Abelardo was different, he knew how to put patients at ease. Apollo was a damned giant, and with all the scowling he was doing tonight, he’d probably frighten the poor woman to death.
She had to get rid of him. With great effort, she managed to tip up her lips into some kind of a smile.
“Your Grace—” she could be civil “—truly, I’m not too far from my destination and don’t require an escort this evening.” She exerted herself further and managed to reveal a few teeth. He frowned, as if the glimpse of her teeth was the most puzzling part of the evening so far.
“I noticed you never said what your destination was.”
Demonios, did the man miss anything?
“I did not,” she conceded, waving a hand at the few stragglers making their way up and down the avenue. “As you can see, I will have company in my journey.”
He gave her another one of those looks that aggravated her.
“I’m not sure I’m making myself clear. I mean to accompany you where you’re going.” What did he want with her? Was this about showing her she couldn’t look after herself?
“Is this some kind of game for you?” she asked, and the question seemed to catch him off guard. “Is that it? You want to prove you can take better care of my person than I can?”
For some reason, that made him angry. “Carajo, Aurora,” he exclaimed with a frustrated laugh. Running a hand through his hair with clear barely constrained irritation. “Is that the only reason I might be out here with you?” It was clearly not a question that required an answer, so she didn’t provide one. “The only interest I might have to escort you where you’re going is only to humble you, then?”
He sounded sincere, his tone almost pleading. Had she read this all wrong? Was he actually concerned for her? She considered this for a moment, then decided he was probably just bored.
“I don’t need your assistance. I walk the streets of Paris alone at night regularly. No harm has ever come to me.” He stared at her for what felt like hours, his eyes softening into something that made her feel like she had no skin. She did not care for it.
“I didn’t know you did this.” He said it as if it was of significance. The man had clearly gotten in his head that he was somehow responsible for her safety, which was exceedingly tiresome. But it was true, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
If he only knew he was standing in front of a criminal. Just in the last months she’d committed offenses that could send her to prison for years. She wondered what he’d think of her then? It was true her work put her in the path of the occasional rough sort. But beggars could not be choosers, and when one was operating an underground clinic for women, locations had to be in out-of-the-way places.
And she was going to be late. The last thing she wanted was a patient waiting for her in front of a building at this late hour when they were attempting to go unnoticed.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” She stopped in the middle of the street, turning to him.
“Do what?” He’d bent his head toward her, and she had an almost irresistible urge to tug on his errant curls. It was only then she noticed that he looked tired, as if he’d had more than one sleepless night since she’d seen him. She almost wished it was in her nature to put her guard down. That she hadn’t been so abrasive when he’d been honest with her back at Le Bureau. That she hadn’t picked a fight the moment she saw him.
“This. Being my custodian.” She waved her hand between the foot of space that separated them. “Feeling obliged to me in any way because we were intimate once.”
A myriad of emotions crossed his face, and how she wished seeing them didn’t affect her. “You should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he told her, without a semblance of his usual diffidence.
Then why was he here? Was he entertaining himself by making her believe he cared about her well-being? No, this was his damned sense of chivalry.
She should let him walk her. Just get to the meeting point and make him turn back. What was the harm?
The harm was that she was beginning to feel warm and soft about his insistence to make sure she was safe, and that way lay danger. The harm was that she didn’t want to rely on this man, or any man, ever.
“I didn’t want to say this, to preserve your pride,” she told him, in the most contrite voice she could manage. She looked down at the cobblestones for additional effect. “But Abelardo, in truth, was not escorting me to see a patient, he was accompanying me to meet a…” She stumbled then, her mouth going a little dry.
“A…?” He arched one of those thick eyebrows, his face otherwise the picture of imperviousness.
“A new lover.” Her face was so hot, she wished she’d moved farther into the shadows before she began her deception. “He’s waiting for me.”
“Is that so?” His eyes crinkled in the corners, which didn’t seem to her like the reaction she wanted. “Then I should love to meet him.”
Argh.
“Meet him?” she asked dumbly, and he nodded soberly.
“I’d love to get his advice on what kind of trap to set to keep you from fleeing my apartment the next occasion you come calling.” This pendejo, the man made her want to scream.
“That is absolutely uncalled for.” He laughed at her, the bastard.
“You’re not getting rid of me, Aurora, so you might as well start walking, if you don’t want to miss this rendezvous.” The humor had completely drained from his voice now, and something about the obstinate glint in his eyes told her she didn’t want to test him further.
“Oh hell, suit yourself,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. Absolutely at the end of her patience. “Come with me to the damned meeting place, but you cannot be seen by the patient. These meetings are supposed to be anonymous.”
She could see the questions forming in his head.
“What exactly are you doing for these patients?” he asked calmly as he kept pace with her. She opened her mouth to yell at him again, then decided to not further waste her energy. Her displays of temper seemed to have no effect on him.
“I can’t tell you what I’m doing and I can’t tell you who I’m meeting.” She held up a hand before he even had a chance to speak. “This is my private business, and though I cannot prevent you from walking me there, I will ask you to respect my work.”
He did not answer as they turned off from the main boulevard and into a poorly lit street.
“That’s fair,” he conceded, surprising her. “Is there so much demand for your services that you have to see patients at these hours?”
She noticed the absence of his typical sarcasm. Maybe she was just so tired she was hallucinating, but she thought she could almost hear genuine curiosity.
“We have so much demand we could see patients every day, for twenty-four hours of the day, and we still would not fulfill the requests we receive.” He whistled in surprise, which she found irritatingly charming. This was the disorienting thing about Apollo. He looked exactly like a duke should, but he behaved like a man she would like, if liking men was something she did.
“If business is so good, then why are my brother and his wife hosting a charity event for you?” he asked, astutely.
“We only charge those who can pay, and we assure clients anonymity.” She felt great pride in that. Their clinic turned no one away, ever. What they couldn’t do, they found someone who would. “We also work under strict hygienic protocols. Word spreads fast when the need is great.”
He slowed his pace and reached out for her bag. Her instinct was to resist. She found it very difficult to put down her guard, especially with someone who tested her patience like he did. But so far, his questions about her work had at least been respectful, and her hand was aching.
She let go and he caught the bag with a sound of satisfaction that tugged at something in a reckless part of her that still believed in chivalry.
“Are you the only one doing these clandestine visits?” These kinds of questions she didn’t like. They were the ones people usually asked before making judgments.
“I’m not,” she answered truthfully. He remained contemplative for a while, before speaking again.
“This life is not the typical one for an heiress,” he told her, then raised an eyebrow when she scoffed.
“I’m not the typical heiress, Your Grace.” If he only knew just how atypical she was. “Nor am I interested in living like one.” In fact, her little life with a modest room at a boardinghouse in Montmartre run by Manuela’s friend and an occupation that allowed her to fulfill the promise she’d made herself at fifteen suited her just fine. It was a distant existence from the comforts she’d grown up with, but she preferred the freedom which came from cutting the controlling strings those comforts came with.
“Does your family ever worry about you doing this work?”
“They never have.” That was more than she’d wanted to say. She was not one to indulge in self-pity and that answer reeked of melodrama. But it was the truth.
She’d always felt like a burden to her parents. Her mother was never warm to her, and on the rare occasion her father remembered she existed, he was always distant.
As a small child, she thought if she was very good, then maybe they would allow her to accompany them on the family drives into town. But no matter how quiet, how obedient she was, it was never enough. As she got older, she became angrier, rebellious. She doggedly protested every rule she found unjust, flew into rages when she was punished for it, and that made everything worse. She didn’t want to think about any of that.
“How about your family?” she asked, needing very badly to veer off the topic of her familial catastrophe. “Are they helping you with your obligations?” They were only five minutes away from the turn to the clinic in Le Marais. If she kept him talking about himself until then, she might get out of this without too many of her secrets uncovered.
“Evan is of great help, and my sisters.” Though she’d never had any kind of bond with her brothers, she recognized the affection in Apollo’s voice. He’d only met his siblings recently and it already seemed like there was genuine care between them. She was glad for him.
“You must be pleased to finally have some close family.”
“I always had my aunt Jimena and my cousins,” he told her, before plucking the ether canister from her hand, with a stubborn expression. She let it go, too curious about this aunt. It was the first time she’d heard of any other family.
“Is it your mother Violeta’s sister?” He turned to her then and the smile on his lips made her heart stumble for a moment.
“Yes.” He smiled wider then, and she thought what a gift it must be to think of family with such fondness. “She raised me after my mother died and is the architect of this so-called hunt for a duchess.” She pressed a fist to her chest at the sudden tightness there. Likely indigestion from all those sweets. “Since she arrived from Colombia last month, she’s taken a very invested interest in my taking the right wife.” He didn’t sound too excited about the prospect and that didn’t affect her or her mood in the slightest fashion.
“Shouldn’t you also be invested in who you take as a wife?” She’d long given up on the notion of marriage for herself. Like any girl, she’d had her fantasies. But there weren’t many men out there who delighted in a wife with no interest in domestic pursuits and endless opinions.
“I’m invested in rebuilding what my father destroyed,” he said with gravity, once again displaying a side she’d never seen. “I’m quite set on finding uses for all the land we’ve hoarded for generations that would benefit more than just those in our scant bloodline.” He lifted his shoulder, as if what he’d just suggested wasn’t breaking with hundreds of years of aristocratic greed. “I’d also like to use the vote I have in the Lords to help advance the rights of the more disadvantaged. Like I told you earlier tonight, for that I need the right alliances.” He looked down at her, then back to the street.
“And the right wife could help with that.” He grunted in agreement, but she could not surmise much from his face.
“So do you have any prospects, Your Grace? Or are the aristos refusing you their innocent maidens?” Why did she insist on bringing this up at every opportunity? From the look he sent her, he was likely wondering the same thing.
“You would think so.” He sounded amused, but there was an edge to it that made a shiver run through her spine. “But for the right amount of money, even the most hardened bigots are perfectly willing to bring their daughters to the beast.”
“I find it hard to believe there aren’t some ladies in the ton willing to marry you.” From the looks he received from the women present in every room she’d seen him in, she hazarded to guess some were throwing themselves at him.
“Are you saying you consider me a good catch, Doctora?” She was the one laughing then. She had talked herself into this corner. But what about it? He was clearly a desirable match for any ladies of genteel breeding looking for a husband. He was rich, charming, beautiful.
“I’m not your audience, Your Grace.” Or anything close to a suitable prospect. He needed a wife with a pristine past. The right breeding and not a hint of scandal. She had a past murkier than the Seine. Not that it mattered. She had no interest in marriage. “This is where we part ways,” she said, relieved to finally have reached the destination.
“Absolutely not,” he said, pulling his hand back when she reached for her bag.
“What do you mean, no?” she asked in a furious whisper.
“I’m not leaving you in a dark alley, Aurora.” She was being punished. Some deity had decided she needed to learn a lesson about stubbornness and Apollo Sinclair was who they’d sent to torture her.
“No, you’re not.” She was done with amusing him. She tugged on the bag, then stomped her boot hoping to catch his foot, and almost tripped and fell in the process.
“You’re being reckless, Aurora.” So what if she was? She didn’t answer to this man, she answered to no man, and she liked it that way.
“Le Marais is perfectly safe.” It had a few dodgy corners, but she had her gloves. Hell, in the mood she was, she might invite a fight with some ruffians.
“There are no safe places for women on their own at one in the morning,” he retorted, mirroring her amiable tone while not being amiable at all.
“The house is merely one block in that direction.” It was not so much a house as Virginia’s brother’s print shop, which they’d converted into a temporary clinic.
But it seemed the proximity to the place was not enough to make Apollo let go of the damned bag. He stood there, his mouth pursed, not budging an inch. It was like talking to a damned statue.
“If you scare my client, I’ll take my blade gloves to your face,” she warned him, and turned toward the lookout point on the north corner that allowed her to see if the coast was clear before going to find her client. “Stay on this side of the street,” she whispered testily over her shoulder. She was so mad she could spit. “You better not talk to my patient, and must you stomp so loudly—” The anger bled out of her when she spotted three shadowed figures standing by the clinic’s entrance. She froze in place, when she spotted the batons and uniforms.
“Oof, watch it, Fiera,” he groaned as she stopped, causing him to collide right into her. She turned around to clamp a hand on his mouth, then pointed at the other side of the street where three members of the Parisian police seemed to be waiting right in front of the print shop’s door, with her patient nowhere to be seen.