Page 59 of The Heir
But then the other door opened, and through it walked Sir John. He was accompanied by another man. This one wore a clerk’s black coat and stock.
Victoria stared. So did Sir John. So did the man in the black coat.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Sir John. “Ma’am?” he added belatedly.
“Aunt Sophia invited me,” Victoria answered. “What are you doing?” She said this to Sir John, but she kept her attention on the man in the black coat. The man bowed and slipped his gaze sideways to Sir John.
“There was business to attend to,” said Sir John. “I am surprised your mother permitted you to come so near your bedtime. I shall speak with her about it.” He turned to the man beside him. “You may go on now, Rea. We will talk tomorrow.”
Victoria felt her heart thump. This tall, bright-eyed man with his head thrusting forward was Mr. Rea? He smiled at them all, bobbing his head randomly, as if agreeing with each of them in turn. Victoria was so busy watching him that she forgot to speak. Her silence gave Sir John room to usher orders.
“Lady Flora, you may thank Princess Sophia for her invitation but tell her it is too late for the princess to be out of her rooms. Assure her that Her Highness will attend her at some more appropriate time. I will escort Her Highness back to her rooms.” He helped himself to the lamp that Mr. Rea held.
“Aunt Sophia invited me,” protested Victoria. “I want—”
But it was already too late. Lady Flora had curtsied, and Mr. Rea had bowed, and they had all begun to move in the directions Sir John had pointed them. Sir John turned to her and held out his arm.
Victoria looked to her uncle. But Uncle Sussex just shrugged apologetically.
She could call Lady Flora back, give orders, insist she would go to see her aunt, but what good would it do? She could not now see Aunt Sophia alone. Sir John would doubtless insist on coming in with her, whether she wanted him to or not.
She had been checked, and she knew it.
Victoria looked down at Sir John and the arm he held out. She had two choices—take his arm or walk away into the dark on her own and risk making a fool of herself by running into a door or tripping over something unseen.
She took his arm.
They walked down the long straight row of rooms. Sir John led, his long strides forcing Victoria to scurry to keep up and leaving her breathless and awkward.
He does it on purpose.
Well, if he would insist on keeping her close, he could suffer the consequences. “Why were you in Aunt Sophia’s rooms?”
“Logic would suggest I had business with Her Royal Highness.”
“What possible business could you have with my aunt?”
“Ma’am, despite your hurtful resentment of me, I have served your family faithfully for much of my life, and I shall continue to do so as long as I am able. Your aunt has very few people to whom she can turn for help with practical matters. Your mother some time ago suggested I should help her, and so I do.”
“Practical matters? You mean with her money?”Sir John handles Aunt Sophia’s money?
“I assist her, as I assist your mother,” said Sir John. “As I will assist you as your private secretary when your time comes.”
“Whether I want you to or not,” muttered Victoria.
Sir John halted. He faced her, holding the lamp up high over them both. The shadows flickered, sharpening the bones and planes of his long face but turning his eyes to nothing but empty black holes.
“One day,” he breathed, “you will find yourself alone, surrounded entirely by wolves, all eager to tear out that dainty throat of yours. And on that day, you will turn to me, as your mother did, as your aunt does. You will acknowledge that we are bound together, that you need me and you will always need me, because I am the only one you can trust to save you.”
He stepped closer. He was tall and broad. He smelled of sour sweat and old wine. Victoria’s mouth had gone dry. She tried to back away and stumbled, and Sir John smiled.
“You do not believe me, because you are stubborn and childish, but your day will come.” His voice was harsh and muffled. The wooden walls deadened all the echoes. Victoria was suddenly painfully aware of the vast chain of empty rooms around them.
“But don’t worry, child,” said Sir John, his tone a sick imitation of gentleness. “I will be just as faithful to you as your secretary as I have been to the other women who have trusted me to be their champion. And you will be very glad to make me your man.”
She couldn’t breathe. She was afraid. Of what exactly, she could not say—of his touch, of his grin, of the shadows behind him, of the thoughts swirling behind the empty holes of his eyes.
Then, as if that fear were dry kindling, anger burst into flame. She wanted to scream. She wanted to demand he say what he knew about Dr. Maton and about the rumors he helped spread.
