Twenty-Five
“Your note to the Leonas was much too dramatic, they’ll think I’m in my deathbed,” she told an impassive Apollo as they entered the apartment.
“Saying you were attacked is not dramatic, it’s fact,” he argued as he guided her to her armchair—or the armchair she now thought of as hers. She wanted to contradict him, but he looked so worried.
“Apollo, you should go home,” she told him as he placed her medical case on the small table next to her.
“I am where I need to be.” She let that go and watched him open her bag with a hard tug. There was a tension in him she’d never seen before. Like every muscle in his body was close to snapping and then there was that rumble in his chest. He’d looked so fierce in that alley, like he could’ve dismembered Collins. But when he’d reached for her, he’d been as gentle as ever. “I’ll go put on a kettle for tea, then we’ll clean your hand.”
“I can do it,” she insisted, but he was already hastily moving to the small kitchen.
She was still reeling from the night before, from the attack. Not for the first time, she wondered if the path of least resis tance would be just to leave Paris. It would be for the best, but the mere thought of never being in these rooms again made her heart ache. Just being there was a comfort. The mingled scent of her carbolic soap and the hints of cedar from his shaving soap loosened the knot she’d had in her stomach for days.
She looked around and noticed the small kit, with tools she’d placed on his bookshelves for when she brought patients. There was that dressing gown of his she loved wearing after they made love. There were traces of her everywhere.
What would people say if they knew that the Duke of Annan had a nest where he played at domesticity with a scandalous woman? Likely that it was exactly what they expected from the likes of him.
When he returned, he kneeled in front of her and took her hand. He’d brought a small basin of hot water and the cake of carbolic soap she now kept in his washroom. She tried not to dwell too much on what all this meant. What it would mean for her when another woman called this place and this man her own.
“Would you fetch the antiseptic from my bag?” He worked briskly, familiar with her things, anticipating her instructions. When she whimpered from the pain as he tried to clean the wound, he leaned and pressed his lips to her fingertips.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He sounded like he was going to be sick.
“It’s all right,” she told him, cupping his cheek with her hand. They looked at each other for a moment, and she recklessly allowed herself to internally voice all the things she could never say. That she wanted him more than anything. That he was dear to her, that he might be worth letting go before everything she never thought she could give up. That no one had protected her like he did. “It’s just a scratch.” He made a pained sound, then turned his face, so he could kiss the hand she still had there.
She loved him. The certainty of that throbbed inside her like a second heartbeat. What was worse, she would never not love him. Not even when this time together was nothing but a faint memory for him.
“I want you to come to the Riviera with me,” he informed her as he finished bandaging her hand, which she pulled away at his words.
“I can’t do that, Apollo.” Though she tried, she could not hide the hurt in her voice. “I don’t think it’s fair for you to ask.”
“Aurora, you were just attacked in the street.”
“I’ll stay with Virginia.” She knew she was grasping at straws. Given her current state, she was not exactly in a position to reassure anyone she had her affairs in order.
“Virginia can’t protect you from Ackworth.” No, no, she couldn’t, and being under her friend’s roof would likely result in trouble for her and the clinic. Leaving Paris for a couple of weeks was a reasonable solution for her situation. But she could not bear the idea of watching him select a bride.
“Your friends won’t come without you, you know that.” She slumped her shoulders and put her face in her hands. She was so tired and she was scared. Fearful of the retribution Sandra’s husband would bring down on her. Heartsick for what she was about to lose.
Strong arms wrapped around her and she felt the tears begin to fall. She’d held on for so long, but she didn’t know what to do.
“I’m scared of what Ackworth will do to the clinic,” she whispered, and his embrace tightened around her.
“You leave him to me,” he told her, kissing the top of her head. “When your Leonas arrive, I’ll go and deal with Ackworth and Forsyth.” She wanted to argue, but she needed help. There was no use in denying it. Aurora could be stubborn and she didn’t relish this feeling of helplessness, but she was not a fool. She needed Apollo’s help, and she’d let herself take it.
Once she knew Virginia and the clinic were safe and that Ackworth could not harm his wife, she’d leave France and start over. She’d done it before.
* * *
“How did it go with the Montalban brothers?” Evan asked hours later as Apollo climbed back into his carriage after his visit with Aurora’s siblings.
“Unpleasantly.” On their second meeting, Aurora’s oldest brother, Ramón, had been just as loathsome as the first time. He’d had the gall to ask questions about his intentions for their sister, which Apollo had answered with some unfriendly rejoinders about their less than stellar record at caring for her safety, which had almost led to blows.
The truth was, he’d been asking himself the same questions. The mere thought of having anyone else but her was practically repellent to him, and he’d seen her face when she’d talked to him about Nice. He had to make it clear to Aurora that everything had changed for him. He knew convincing her would not be easy. But that would have to wait until he had her out of Paris and safe.
“They’ve agreed to help track Forsyth down,” Apollo told his brother. “They said their man might have some inkling as to where he’s gone.” The Montalban brothers had no qualms about breaking a law or two when necessary. If they hadn’t put Aurora through so much anguish, he might actually like the two younger ones. Not Ramón, he’d happily knock that cabrón’s teeth out.
“Which means…?” Cora asked. Both her and Evan had refused to let him go after Ackworth alone once he’d told them about the attack on Aurora.
“Which means, we’re going to pay Ackworth a visit at his club.” Simply saying the man’s name made him see red.
“Can you explain again how it is that you’re after not one but two aristocrats at the moment?” Cora asked, as if inquiring the time for the next train to London. Apollo exhaled, slapping the side of the conveyance after calling out the directions to their next destination. “Or maybe the better question is, whether it’s advisable to seek out Ackworth at a club full of English expatriates in your current state?”
The question for some reason made his temper flare. He was bloody exhausted of being asked for restraint, to mind his temper when the Ackworths and the Forsyths behaved like there were no consequences.
“Was it advisable for you to crash your way into Manuela’s wedding and rip the scalp off the groom merely months ago?” Apollo retorted, not even attempting to moderate his anger. “Likely not, and yet you did.”
He didn’t expect the formidable Cora Kempf Bristol to cower under his accusation and she did not disappoint him. She merely lifted a shoulder before smoothing a hand over her skirts.
“But I was not trying to garner clout for my entry into the Lords.” She sent him a sardonic look. He scowled back. “On the contrary, I was very much aiming to be completely erased from all polite society. It’s why I live in Paris, querido.”
And that was the crux of it, to gain favor with these people, he’d need to overlook their villainy. He thought he could do it, if it got him what he wanted. He wasn’t sure he could anymore.
Apollo sighed as the carriage weaved them through the congested Parisian streets. “Nothing is stopping me from giving Ackworth the beating he’s had coming, and if that means I lose my footing in the Lords, then so be it.”
Evan emitted one of those long-suffering exhales he seemed so fond of whenever Apollo was in the vicinity. “We have to consider that despite the man’s despicable character, he will find favor in the aristocracy for losing his wife—”
“He did not lose his wife,” Apollo interrupted. “She escaped him.” He understood that his brother was giving him sound advice. But the sight of Aurora on the ground with a bloodied lip would likely give him nightmares for the rest of his life. If he had gotten there a minute later, the lunatic Ackworth sent after her would’ve been stomping on her head.
“We can use this, Apollo, if we play our cards right,” Evan insisted. “The man had Aurora attacked on the street.”
“And has a secret wife with the same skin color as the people he vocally despises and blames for every problem in Britain. Que comemierda,” Cora added, drolly.
Evan’s face darkened at that, his attention still on Apollo. “You have more than enough to put a chink in his petty claims regarding your title, but if you attack him at his club, there will be no going back from that.”
With every word out of Evan’s mouth, Apollo’s fury rose. Not at his brother, but at this murky, twisted thing he was now part of. He was tired of the English stiff upper lip and the pretense that their prejudice and bigotry wasn’t violence. Was he supposed to allow the man the courtesy to save face after he’d sent his attack dog after Aurora? This monster had kept his wife a virtual prisoner, had cheated, lied and stolen with impunity for years, and only now did they have enough to put a “chink” in his armor. Meanwhile, Forsyth continued to ruin lives and was only rewarded with more power and position, and Apollo had had enough.
“I have a question for you, brother,” he seethed, well aware he was lashing out at the wrong person and yet was unable to control himself. “What would you do to a man who sent a thug to backhand your wife in some filthy alley?” The mere suggestion of someone hurting Luz Alana had Evan bristling with malice.
“I would kill him with my bare hands.” His brother’s eyes shone with intensity. Cora, on the other hand, made a sound of appreciation that had the hairs on Apollo’s neck rising.
“But Aurora isn’t your wife, Your Grace.” Cora delivered this with an infuriating amount of self-satisfaction.
“There’s a reason why no one likes you.” Apollo’s response elicited one of those feline grins from Cora and a startled laugh from Evan.
“I’m liked by those I care to be liked by,” she volleyed back, then turned to his brother. “What do you say, Lord Evan?”
“As always, you arrive just at the heart of it, Duchess.”
“Jodanse, the both of you,” Apollo grumbled.
“You ought to devise what you want, Your Grace, we will be on our way to the Riviera very soon,” Cora pointed out unhelpfully.
To Nice, where he was supposed to select his future duchess. Yesterday he didn’t think he could do it, today he knew he’d already found her. She was sitting in his apartment with a bloody lip. “I’m not choosing a bride,” he declared as they came to a stop. “Not unless it’s her.”
“Does Aurora know how you feel?” Cora asked, with uncharacteristic sympathy. Apollo scoffed at the thought of his Fiera hearing him declare his undying love.
“She’d be halfway across the Atlantic, if I had.” Both Cora and Evan sent him pitiful looks, but he could not dwell on this. He had Ackworth’s head to tear off.
“Neither of you need to be involved in what I’m about to do here,” Apollo said, as he reached for the door.
His brother sent a baleful look to the green door of the Circle D’Anglais, the gathering place for the English aristocracy in Paris. “I’d be remiss not to tell you again that going after Ackworth in this way will have its repercussions. He’s not the only one who wants you out. He’s just the only one willing to be vocal about it.”
Apollo considered his brother. Evan had proved himself not only loyal but a man who lived by his convictions too. Apollo trusted his brother, but there were things that Evan, even as much as he loved his wife, a Black woman, could never understand.
“This is a line in the sand,” Cora told him. “If you come for one of them, you’ll make a lot of enemies.”
“There isn’t a single thing that will stop me from getting out of this carriage and using my fists on that man.” He could feel the rage surging in him. “Not out of some moral principle, but because he dared to touch Aurora. If that makes me a fool, then I will live with the consequences.”
“There, was that so hard?” The duchess had that look that was a cross between an anaconda and the Cheshire cat.
“Go to hell,” he muttered, before he launched himself out of the carriage.
“May I help you, sir?” a valet asked as he walked through the door of the club. Apollo barreled in without a word.
“Ackworth, where are you?” he bellowed up the stairs as Evan and Cora caught up with him. His blood was boiling as he searched room by room, rousing members from their post-luncheon stupors.
“Sir, I beg your pardon.” A small man with the look of a harried cockatoo made his way up to Apollo. “Lord Ackworth is not available at present.”
Apollo ignored the man and ran halfway up the stairs. “Come down, you coward,” he shouted with his brother and friend closely behind. He knew they were there to make sure he didn’t kill the man, but it was good to have reinforcements. “Where is he? I know he’s always here at midday,” Apollo de manded of the man, who was now huffing at the top of the stairs as if he could hold Apollo back. “If he is here, I will find him and God help who is keeping him from me,” he told the man, who paled at the threat. He suspected Ackworth would have champions at the Circle who would attempt to keep Apollo from getting to him, but so far no peers had come to the man’s rescue.
“Monsieur, please.” The little man raised his hands in supplication, sending a terrified look at the door at the end of the corridor. Apollo reached it in three strides.
“Hiding won’t save you, Ackworth,” he bellowed, as he turned the knob, only to find it locked. “You have to answer to me for what you did to Aurora Montalban.” He thought of Aurora bruised and scared, and with two kicks, the door splintered open.
He saw the scrambling figure hiding behind the curtain, like the sniveling coward he was. “There are witnesses here,” Ackworth wailed as he plastered himself to the wall. Apollo grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him out of his hiding place. “You helped her take my wife,” the man cried, his eyes red-rimmed and wild. Apollo punched him in the mouth twice, quieting him.
“If you make him bleed, do it off the carpet. You already have to pay for the door,” Cora advised from where she stood.
“Now you’ll have the same bruise you left on Aurora,” Apollo told Ackworth, who was calling out for the authorities. “Your wife is not coming back you shit louse.”
“They belong to me and I demand restitution,” the man cried, his yellowed teeth stained with blood. “They’re mine.” He talked about his wife and children as though they were property, like someone had taken his horse and he wanted it back. Apollo wrapped his hand around Ackworth’s neck and tightened it just enough to serve as a warning, even as he felt his control begin to fray. He wanted to inflict pain on this man, almost enough to throw everything he’d worked for by the wayside.
“They’re not things, they’re human beings, you fucking pustule.” He had to make himself breathe to keep from choking the man right then. Ackworth was keening now, blubbering like a child, begging for the mercy he’d never shown his wife or children. “You like to send others to do your dirty work for you.” Apollo’s voice was garbled and raw, which seemed to terrify Ackworth. Good, he should be scared. “Yes, you’re quite the big man, scheming behind your little desk, while you terrorize those who can’t defend themselves against you, demonizing people with your pen. Not so bold now, are you? You pathetic piece of shit,” he bit out, his face barely inches from the trembling aristocrat.
“You don’t belong among us, you’re an animal, a savage,” Ackworth screamed, his eyes bright with a frightening zeal. “And now everyone will know.” How did men like this do it? Decide that keeping their wife in virtual captivity did not in any way hinder his ability to moralize. He could call Apollo an abomination because of his race, while he married a woman of similar ancestry. Because to the Ackworths of the world, rules only applied to others.
Apollo lifted him roughly, and slung him into a wall so that his feet were scrabbling for purchase a few inches off the ground. “If you value your life, listen to me carefully, Ackworth.” Something in his voice must’ve finally alerted the man of how precarious his situation was, because he quit fighting. “The only reason I’m not snuffing the life out of you is because the woman you had attacked this morning asked me not to leave your children orphaned.” He made his point by slamming the man one more time. “If you think I care enough about being a duke that I won’t make it my business to destroy you, I suggest you think again.”
“You cannot threaten me. She took my wife…” Ackworth started sobbing then, but Apollo knew it was all about losing control over her rather than actual affection for his family.
“And I will take much more than that from you. I won’t expose you and your lies to save that poor woman more misery.” The man opened his mouth to protest but quieted when Apollo shook him again. “You will leave her in peace and forget Aurora Montalban’s name,” he warned. “You can do what you want with me,” Apollo said, lifting a shoulder. “Keep telling lies about me, invent whatever you want. But know that each time you do, you will have to look over your shoulder just a little more often.” A tremor passed through Ackworth, his body going limp in Apollo’s grip. “I will be out there waiting for just the right moment to rid the world of your miserable fucking existence.”
“You can’t do this,” Ackworth wept, looking around and finding no one there to defend him.
“Can I share a secret?” Apollo asked, his voice low and menacing. “You were quite right on one thing, Ackworth, I might look the part in my superfine wool, but the truth is, I can be quite the savage.” The man was openly crying, and the sight made Apollo’s stomach turn. “I’ll be waiting for a statement from you announcing you’re retiring to a private life in your country seat, without your wife or children. I could destroy you and I know you care very much of your standing among peers. Make sure you do what I say, or you’ll find out what consequences look like.”
With that, Apollo let him go. Ackworth crumpled to the ground while two footmen rushed to help him up. Two others escorted Apollo, Cora and Evan from the club, before in forming them their membership, if they had one, would be rescinded.
“Well, that was worth leaving my warm bed,” Cora commented, climbing back into the carriage, but Apollo was in too dark of a mood to engage in any kind of banter.
“I thought you were going to kill him,” Evan said with a bit of awe in his voice.
He was not himself. Since he’d seen her fall to the ground that morning, he’d spent every second worried about her safety. He was almost scared of the things he’d be willing to do to make sure she was. “I don’t know if I have the constitution for this.”
And there was more to do. He’d have to get Aurora out of Paris. Take care of Juliana and his aunt. Find Forsyth. Even Ackworth would remain a headache until he sent his lawyers after the man.
“The Leonas will turn your life into utter chaos,” the duchess said at length, with more sympathy than he’d ever heard from her. “But if there is any life left once they’re done with you, it is a very enjoyable one.”
“I have no complaints,” agreed his brother as he sent Apollo a toothy grin.
“She will probably scratch my eyes out for my trouble.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” Cora quipped, and for the first time that day, Apollo had something to smile about.