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“Take no risks,” Valentine pleaded. “If you’re worried, promise me you’ll leave.”

“I promise. Now you must let me go.” A sudden surge of emotion brought tears to her eyes. She turned away and exited the carriage. Raising the hood on her travelling cloak, she marched towards the White Hart Inn.

People glanced up from their mugs and tankards at the sound of someone entering the inn. Mr Fairfax was no exception. He studied her for longer than most, narrowed his gaze suspiciously as she moved towards him.

“Mr Fairfax,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and even. It took every effort to look at him. “Forgive me for not enquiring after your health sooner.” She gripped the top rail, pulled out the chair and sat down. “My brother has only recently informed me that you survived the mining accident in Lavrion.”

Ava studied him beneath the glow of candlelight while he sat in stunned silence.

How had she not noticed the similarity with Mr Cassiel? Yes, his hair and side whiskers were much lighter, his brows thin, his lips pale. Indeed, the absence of thick brows altered the shape of his forehead. Still, in the depths of her soul, she had known to be wary. Now she understood why she felt so terrified in the mystic’s presence.

“Aveline, you look as beautiful as ever. The white wig is rather becoming.”

Oh, she was immune to his sycophantic flattery.

“What a shame your actions do not match your lofty praise.”

Mr Fairfax smiled. “Well, I doubt you came here to make polite conversation. Did Jonathan tell you what I want?” He sipped ale from a mug as he stared at her intently.

“The same as what you’ve always wanted. Access to the mine. A share of my parents’ business. For some reason, you think it is your due.”

Arrogance flashed in his eyes, eyes that did not seem as dark and menacing as she remembered. “Your father wanted a partner. He let me believe he would reward me for years of loyal service.”

“And yet he failed to grant what you believe you deserved. There must have been a reason for his reluctance.”

He stared at her as he drummed his fingers on the table in the annoying way she remembered. “Perhaps I was lapse in my accounting. Perhaps your father’s spies corrupted his mind against me.”

Talk of her parents brought grief to the surface. She placed her clasped hands on the table for fear of reaching over and slapping the scoundrel until he admitted the truth.

“My father distrusted your motives, and he was right. But you have no right to make demands on his estate. No court of law would support such a claim.”

He reached across and touched her hand. Every fibre of her being

recoiled in disgust. “We are not in a court of law, Aveline. I make my own rules. You know that.”

As he leant closer, she saw the scar peeking above his cravat, saw the faint pockmarks on his cheek that he had hidden with wax, powder and thicker whiskers. The sight brought thoughts of the accident to the fore.

“Did you k-kill my parents?” Ava did not want to hear the answer, and yet she longed for the truth. Uncertainty played havoc with the mind, led one to concoct horrific stories. “You did. There is no point denying what I know is true.”

Mr Fairfax’s hand slipped from hers as he sat back in his chair. Still, she felt cold to her bones. He contemplated the comment for some time.

“Hamilton tried to kill me.” He snorted as if the incident was amusing. “Your brother told him of our little tryst in my room. He called me to the mine and attacked me.”

Painful images invaded her mind. Horrific images no one should associate with kind, loving parents.

“Did you kill them?” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Not directly.”

“What sort of answer is that?” Anger pushed grief aside.

“I may have pulled a pistol, may have shot the rocks above their heads. How was I to know the area was unstable? How was I to know the roof would collapse?”

Ava closed her eyes. Tears welled.

How was it possible for her heart to break all over again?

Her parents were together when they died, she told herself. Neither would have wanted to live without the other, and so she had to find comfort in that.


Tags: Adele Clee Avenging Lords Historical