Chapter Twenty-Five
Drake Fury was her pomegranate seed.
If there had been any doubt, this day had proved it as fact.
There was no escaping his kingdom, his darkness, him.
And Violet didn’t want to escape. She had found a strange power in his world, and she wanted to stay and rule with him.
He wound his arms tighter around her waist, pushing even further into his muscled chest.
No matter how tempting it might be to forget all that had happened between them, to let herself be swept up in the dangerous game their villainous families were playing, she wouldn’t falter.
Not yet.
Not until she had what she came for.
A confession.
She pulled her face away from him to search his gaze and caught only a glimpse of dark intent in his even darker eyes before he captured her lips in a ruthless kiss.
And just like that, all her troubles lifted.
That was, until she realized this was most decidedly not the place nor the time.
Well, perhaps the time, but not the place for indecent kisses!
Violet bit down on his lower lip.
Scoundrel.
He broke the contact of their lips, his eyes holding a hint of accusation in them.
“I’m all wet,” Violet accused right back, blinking to gather her wits in the midst of that brooding stare.
“So am I.”
Her gaze flicked over him. Only then did she truly notice his state.
The same coat. The same shirt. Still damp.
Still marked with the night’s violence. The bandage stark against his temple, probably already darkened through where he’d been struck.
He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t rested. Hadn’t stopped waiting.
Lord, it felt as though hours had passed since they’d left the warehouse, but in truth, it might not even have been a full hour.
“You’re wounded, Drake. Put me down.”
“Not when you’re in my arms, I’m not.”
This blazing stubbornness . . . “You still have something to say that I want to hear.”
“Oh?” Amusement replaced the brood. “And what is that?”
“Are you going to make me ask?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “After all this time?” She leaned into him until their noses almost touched. “I won’t force you, naturally, but then you shall have to put me down, I’m afraid.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I need to go home.”
His lips instantly pulled up in a snarl. “Over my corpse.”
“From what I’ve experienced, that may very well be soon.”
Someone chuckled.
“Are you certain you didn’t marry in secret, frère? You appear like that old bickering couple who sell the confections Saint loves so much over at the market.”
Violet became abruptly aware of the room—of five pairs of eyes fixed far too intently on them. Drake did not release her. If anything, his arms tightened even more. She wiggled in his arms. “Put me down!”
Drake sighed but did as she asked.
She shot him a glare for good measure. “Forget I said anything about wanting to hear anything.”
This time, his eyes narrowed. “No, now is the best time to talk.”
“No, it’s not, and if you still think it is, you’d best know I may never speak to you again!
” The last thing she wished to prompt was a scandalous conversation before his brothers.
And Calliope! Perhaps the only friend she might have in Brighton except for Angelica.
What the woman must think of her. Then again, she did marry a Fury.
She might be the only person who understood Violet’s plight.
Drake studied her a moment before he groaned, looking at his brother, Maxen. “Any words of wisdom for me?”
“Wisdom? No.”
“No?” He pulled a face. “No words of advice to impart?”
“What is the use? Even if I impart advice, will you take it? People are drawn to discover the perils of life themselves.”
Calliope winked at her.
“Speaking of marriages,” Drake growled and marched over to the unconscious Percival. He bent to fish in the man’s pockets, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He turned back to her. “He didn’t force you to marry him, did he?”
Eyes wide, Violet shook her head.
“That lout!” Calliope leaped to her feet. “He’d have forced you?”
Violet sighed. “He’d have tried. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. What are you going to do with him?”
“Lock him up.” He snatched the earl’s arm and pulled him across the room, directing at her as he passed, “You coming, little flame?”
The words died in her throat. The last time he’d told her she didn’t belong there. Now he invited her along.
Oh, yes. She was going!
Drake’s mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something fierce and approving.
No one stirred to follow them. Calliope only met Violet’s gaze and gave a small, solemn nod. This was not their fight.
This was hers.
Drake’s.
She followed him through the underbelly of the tavern at an unhurried pace, refusing to look at Percival being dragged along, though she did derive great pleasure from his pitiable state.
But even with that sore sight, the walls seemed to take on a new life now that she walked them with him rather than being led through by his brothers.
She took the rear but occupied the moment as though it were hers by right.
The stairs descended steeply, torchlight flickering, its shadows stretching and retreating restlessly along the stone.
Drake took them without adjusting his grip on Percival’s arm, the man bumping down each step with boneless cooperation.
Then the passage opened into the familiar hollow chamber containing the brother that had once brought her tea, Saint, and . . .
“Reginald?” Her brother’s name left her lips in disbelief as she took in his ashen face, his eyes wide with terror. He shrank back instinctively, wrists held oddly before him. Her gaze flew to the back of Drake’s bandaged head. “You have my brother?”
Drake cast her a sideways look, wholly unapologetic. “Now I have your betrothed, too. Any more men I should know about?”
“That’s not remotely funny.”
“Agreed,” Saint remarked flatly.
“If I can’t find humor in tonight,” Drake returned as flatly, “heads will start to roll.”
Humor, then. Better than having the deaths of two earls on Fury hands.
Violet pressed a hand to her throat, oddly fascinated as Drake stalked to the cell. He reached into his boot, withdrew a key, and swiftly unlocked the door, tossing Percival inside with little ceremony.
“Evangeline!” her brother finally shook off his fright and cried. “Tell these bastard sons to let me go!”
“I told you before,” she crossed her arms, “my name is Violet. And why would I let them let you go?”
“V-Violet! The wretched creature broke my wrists!” Reginald exclaimed. “I will become a cripple if I don’t get treatment!”
Her gaze dropped to his hands again. Oh. Drake did seem to have a thing for hands.
“I did,” Drake said bluntly, swinging the door shut and turning the key with a decisive click. “And I’d do it all again.”
“Violet!” her brother roared.
Serves you right. Violet squared her shoulders. “If I were strong enough, I’d break them myself.”
Fingers laced with hers.
She glanced up at Drake, his eyes blazing with unmistakable pride. Those dark pools dropped to her lips.
Violet wanted to laugh. “No.”
The stubborn man scowled.
“Your brother is here,” she said.
“My brothers were in the tap room, too.”
Saint sighed. “Leaving.”
Drake grinned. “See, he’s leaving.”
“My brother is still here.”
His scowl deepened. “Quite right.” He caught a strand of wet hair between his fingers. “What do you want to do with him?”
“Me?” she murmured, lowering her gaze, shifting her glance to her brother before meeting Drake’s eyes again.
She couldn’t even say she’d imagined this moment forever.
She hadn’t. She’d merely wished . . . to be done.
Be free from the man. All those years of being governed, corrected, and punished, all she’d wanted was for her brother to accept her as she was. Love her. Apologize to her.
This man in the cell . . .
They might share her blood, but he was not her brother. Her heart might sting with pity, but not enough to forget.
“I wish I could say I want nothing,” Violet said slowly, before turning to meet her brother’s horrified look. She pointed the wooden dagger at him. “But I want him to think thrice before even imagining subjecting his authority over anyone else.”
“Have something in mind, love?”
“Violet,” Reginald sobbed. “Please.”
“How many times have you confined me to my room? Stationed guards at my door so I could not even slip out to the kitchen to eat? How many times have you made me beg for mercy, copy ridiculous etiquette books? How many times have you made me believe I possess no more worth than the dirt beneath your shoes? Shall I return the favor now?”
“If you don’t do it, love,” Drake growled, “I will.”
She squeezed his fingers. “You will remain here,” she told her brother. “Until you understand what it is to have no one answer your demands. No one hurry to your comfort. No one soothe your fears.”
Reginald shook his head frantically. “Violet—”
“You tried to have Drake killed, did you not? You are at his mercy now.”
“And yours,” Drake whispered.
She shook her head. “I don’t want him.” Lord, it felt so good to say! “If possible, I never want to lay eyes on him again.” She looked at Drake, those dark pools that never fail to make her pulse reach for him. “He is yours to do with as you see fit.”
“Violet!”
She turned back to a man she’d never call brother again. “And mine to discard.”
*