Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (31 page)

Memorizing.

And then she lost out. Solid wonder hammered through her. Her eyes slammed shut and she arched backwards. As much as she wanted to see and memorize every moment, her own body betrayed her. She couldn’t watch. She could barely breathe.

Somewhere in the fringes of her mind, she
felt him react. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he shuddered, and cried aloud, the sound low. Long. Groaned.

Oh...
heaven
.

She
’d forgotten the ecstasy. The complete feeling of renewal. Of joy. And light. And wonder. Tears slipped past her eyelashes, despite every effort at holding them back. She shouldn’t mourn. She’d got what she wanted.

A memory to treasure.

“What is it, darling?”

Averill waited
several moments, somehow conquering the emotion. Sending it back. Until finally, she was able to look down at him. She filled her vision with the sight of dampened skin, rendered gold with the lamplight. He was so handsome. So heart-rending.

“
I didn’t hurt you?”

She shook her head and
reached for him, spreading her hands about his chest. Her finger pads skidded along ridges of muscle, adding sensory value to the memory. He was so hard. So strong. It was evident everywhere she touched. Every place she touched.

“I love you, Averill
. I do.”

She
nodded, smiling as he gave a lengthy yawn after the words. It wasn’t much longer before she was snuggled down beside him, gaining the feel of his arms and legs as he wrapped them about her. As if locking her to him.

“
Oh, Averill…I found you. We’re together. Nothing else is of any consequence. I promise.”

“I love you, Captain Andrew Tennison,” she answered.

He squeezed gently in reply.

Hurt me?

The hurt hadn’t even begun yet.

~ ~ ~

Averill moved slowly, cautiously sliding away from his warmth. She daren’t wake him. Not now. He grunted before settling back, his arms wrapped around the pillow she’d eased into her place.

The dress rustled slightly, and Averill held her breath
until his even breathing reassured her. The peacock blue fabric was in bad shape after resting in a heap all night, but she doubted she was the only reveler to awaken with crumpled clothing.

Antonio was probably waking up with his head spinning
. He might wonder where he was. He might even wonder where Averill had gone to. She looked for a cloak. She hadn’t thought to bring one when she left Lady Brighten’s home last night. But that wasn’t much of a problem. She could pull the padding out of Tenny’s red one, and take that.

She stopped at the door, turning back to memorize the room bathed in
pre-dawn light, barely touching the man in the bed. He murmured suddenly, as if she had spoken. Averill’s hand went to her throat. She had to be hidden long before he awakened. She had to be someplace he’d never think to look.

She couldn’t see as she reached for the
lock, grateful it turned without a sound. She wiped hastily at the tears. There would be time to cry later. First, she had to get to Antonio’s bank. She had to withdraw her funds. She had to disappear.

Then, she could cry
.

She straightened her back and started walking
. Harvey would’ve been proud.

PART FOUR:  VINDICATION

CHAPTER T
HIRTY-TWO

Averill paid the hansom cab, turned and looked at the imposing front of the townhouse, and then squared her shoulders. It was late, but that couldn’t be helped. It had been a rough final week aboard ship. They’d docked late, the transfer of luggage to a holding area had taken some time, and the directions she’d been given weren’t accurate. Apparently, Lord and Lady Limley didn’t live in St. James as she’d been told. Their abode was in an unfashionable section of town. At least, the driver had intimated as much when he’d queried. Looking at the pillared portico of the home, it didn’t look the least bit unfashionable. It didn’t look remotely welcoming, either.  

“I’d like to speak with Lady
Limley, please. Lady Hortense Limley.” 

Averill handed her hat and cloak to the manservant and waited
. He was too well-mannered to refuse, but he looked like he wanted to. He eyed her for so long her legs started to tire. Nowadays, they tired quickly.

“Do you have an appointment with
Lady Limley?”

He finally asked it
in a condescending tone servants seemed to use for uninvited visitors. Averill noticed that he set her things on the hall table with the same kind of attitude. She smiled. She’d received the same welcome at the Ben-Masiz household. That had been a very satisfying experience. She expected this one would be the same.

“Please give her this note.”  She handed him a sealed missive from her satchel and watched
through her veil as he turned it over. The child kicked under her ribs, making her start. “Is there a salon where I might rest while I wait?”

“Of course, Madame
. If you’ll follow me?” 

He inclined his head
. Averill followed, scanning the walls as they went. And then she saw it. She wasn’t surprised that the salon she was placed in was where the portrait was mounted. It was almost like it was fated. She walked over to the painting of Hortense done seven months before Averill’s birth. She lifted the veil. Her mouth twisted. It was just as Avery had described it. Hortense’s portrait was another of Avery’s masterpieces, and she heard about most of them since she met him.

Averill looked at the beautiful blue eyes, so like hers, and the mouth
. As Avery said, it was easy to see the resemblance of mother to daughter. His words were a pleasant memory. She had quite a few of those anymore. The painted image of a beautiful face faded as Averill reminisced of that meeting almost seven weeks earlier.

As expected, the
Ben-Masiz family had been horrified at her appearance. Still, the future of her child depended on their accepting her. Averill wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.

“I’m here to see Avery
Ben-Masiz.” 

She had swept into the one-level mansion without waiting for the servant to invite her in.

“May I ask your name and business, please?”

Averill smiled, savoring the moment
. “Yes. Please tell him his daughter, Averill, is here to visit. Would you say that, please? Exactly?”

The woman looked close to fainting
. “His...?”

“Daughter.”  Averill waited as the woman stared
. “I know, I don’t favor him much, but I am his daughter, just the same. My visit will be a surprise. Tell him. He’ll understand.”

“Will you...have a seat?”

She was grateful the woman offered. She hadn’t taken the voyage from Venice well, and the child was getting large. Of course, any child that Andrew Tennison sired would be so, but Averill looked close to confinement rather than three months from it. She sank into a large chair, padded with several embroidered pillows. She looked about. The walls were dun-colored but covered with vividly colored tapestries in sunset shades. Vermillion. Crimson. Yellow ochre. The hall was furnished intermittently with low-lying, dark wooden tables. The floor was of charcoal-hued tile, meticulously maintained. The windows were high in the walls and covered over to keep the interior cool.

Averill
had dressed in European attire. Her day gown was voluminous. The skirts crafted from two layers of dove-gray satin atop more layers of petticoat. Her bodice was of the finest linen, covered over with a short jacket of the same dove-gray fabric, embellished with black piping. Her hair was intricately piled atop her head, disguising the short length. A large hat with small veil covered any lack. She wore a small gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. It was only visible if she shed her gloves. She kept a lace-bedecked handkerchief in one gloved hand. She looked like a recently bereaved widow.

The
aura of grief wasn’t an act.  

Her account
at Antonio’s family bank had held what seemed a fortune. More than enough to find a dressmaker that would hide her, outfit her, and gain passage on a ship. Averill had left Venice two days after the masque. The voyage across the Mediterranean hadn’t been rough, but she still wasn’t a good sailor, even in a first-class cabin. She was extremely grateful for both the attire and her funds. They helped with travel arrangements, gaining the attention of porters, and receiving deference – for her condition, but mainly, she knew, for her gold.

That day
, when she’d gone to meet her father, she’d carried a parasol and small satchel. She’d placed both on her knees, lifted the veil over the hat’s edge, and unfastened the buttons at her wrists so she could remove her gloves. She should’ve brought a fan, too. In the Ben-Masiz mansion foyer, she looked out of place and over-heated. Exactly as she’d felt.  

“I understand you claim kinship with Avery
Ben-Masiz, young woman!” 

A
n imperious woman walked into view, her voice challenging with both the words and tone. Averill stood awkwardly and waited while the woman approached. They were a like height. She met the woman’s gaze, refusing to look away or down. Her chin rose. The woman’s eyes went wide.

“Not only do I claim it
. I have proof.”  Averill’s voice was strong. Confident.

“Proof?”
The woman visibly paled.

“I have inherited some of my father’s coloring
. I definitely inherited his talent…and I have this.” 

Averill
turned to pull a small blanket from her satchel. She spent time unfolding it before handing it to the woman. Averill watched as the woman turned it over and eyed the corner in surprise at the inscription there. She didn’t appear to be able to read it. The words were in Italian.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Averill asked softly.

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“You were the one that sent me to the mission
.” 

The woman flinched
.

“Did you hope I’d die by being treated lower than the camels in the streets
? Was that your intent?”  Averill’s voice rose slightly.

“It was a mistake to wrap you in this
. I didn’t notice the corner. I should’ve known Avery was up to something.” 

The woman handed the blanket back to her.

“My father knew I was being sent to an orphanage?”  Averill couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. It wasn’t supposed to matter. She glanced down at the inscription and read it for the hundredth time.

For Averill, beloved child of Avery Ben-Masiz and wife.

The blanket told the story. Averill wasn’t a bastard by-blow, and she wasn’t unwanted. She was beloved. That meant Averill’s mother hadn’t given her away.

“No,” the woman answered
. “He believed me when I told him you had died.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

To Averill’s surprise, the woman looked back at her with tears in her eyes. “Because I’m married to Avery Ben-Masiz.”

Averill gasped
. “But the blanket says—”

“I know what it says!” 

The woman tossed back her head and laughed. It wasn’t a joyful sound. It seemed to bounce about the space, ricocheting off dun-colored walls. Averill waited. She didn’t know what to say.

“I knew this day would come
. I just knew it. From the moment that woman came to this house dragging her daughter with her, and screaming of things Avery wasn’t capable of. I knew she was wrong. Avery couldn’t rape. He wouldn’t hurt anything.”

“Rape?”  Averill’s throat choked her.

“I didn’t say that! That’s what the woman’s mother accused him of. Avery wasn’t capable of such an act. He’s a loving man. He always was. You say you have his talent? Then you must know. It’s impossible for him to hurt anything. He was a lustful man, though. I couldn’t stop him. We were not yet wed. And. Well…”  She stopped and put her hand out, palms upward. “Men have always been men, no?” 

Averill didn’t look away
. She worked at containing any outward emotion. She’d already guessed what Avery was like from
Dona
Francesca. Besides, it wasn’t her place to judge anything her father had done. She just wanted the truth.

“It wasn’t rape, then?” she prompted.

“That woman screamed of it, but what could she know? She was a foreigner! I hate them. They take over our country and ruin everything! They take something natural and make it evil. She assumed since Avery was an Egyptian, her daughter couldn’t possibly have given herself to him. Therefore it had to be rape. It was a horrible time for everyone living here.”

“
You lived here?”

“
Of course I lived here. We were betrothed. There was nothing I could do. That woman threatened Avery Ben-Masiz with British soldiers. So. She forced him to accompany her. They went to a foreign building. He and that Hortense were wed. It was the ultimate insult. He’d been saving for years to get my bride price.”

The woman turned hate-filled eyes on Averill.

“Is that why you left me at the mission?”

The woman’s eyes softened and Averill watched
. “I wouldn’t have turned my emotion on you, child. You weren’t even born, yet.”

“My mother is dead, isn’t she
? She died birthing me…and you rid yourself of a complication. Is that why you did it?”

“
Oh. Hortense is not dead. That woman is much too stubborn to die.”

“I don’t understand
. You said you’re Avery’s wife, yet you know he wed my mother. And this blanket…?”

The woman smiled
. Averill stiffened.

“
The entire Ben-Masiz family is Islamic. That faith allows more than one wife.”

“But...I don’t understand
. If Hortense isn’t dead, why...?”

“Why did she leave you with me
? Is this what you ask?”

Averill nodded.

“She and Avery had nothing in common...nothing! He’s an artist! He lives in a world few can enter. It’s especially obvious when he paints. It…intrigues and attracts. That is what interested Hortense when he painted her, just as I’m certain it interested other women. You say you possess his talent. Perhaps you also know what I speak of?”

Averill
didn’t answer, although she knew exactly what the woman described.

“Without his brush and his canvas, however, Avery is a difficult man. Moody. Disrespectful of others. Argumentative. He goes into a shell and stays there. Solitary and quiet. Hortense tired of that after only a few weeks. You should’ve seen her. She had no business marrying him, or any Ben-Masiz. She hated the heat. She disliked the food. She didn’t learn the language. She was an embarrassment to the family name. She was barely capable of having a child. I was glad to see her go. We all were.”

Averill
looked down for a moment to regain composure. Stoicism. She’d been abandoned by her mother, after all. The silence lengthened as the other woman waited. She didn’t speak again until Averill looked back up.

“She
paid for us to keep you. Foster you. And sometimes, I admit…I missed you. We never had children, you see. And I would have kept you and raised you as my own, except you have such blue eyes. They announce your parentage without words. I couldn’t accept that. Perhaps, it if had been your hair that was foreign, we could have managed.”

Averill didn’t want to hear any
more. She’d had the same thoughts about her appearance once. “Thank you for your time. If you will tell me where to find my mother, I’ll be on my way. I shan’t bother you again.”

“Don’t you wish to meet your father?”

“Why would I want that? He’s uncaring. A bigamist. Unfaithful. I’m not certain I wish to meet with such a man.”

“The lessons they teach at that
mission have blinded you, child. Avery is none of those things. He didn’t know my actions, and I have never confessed them. His grief was great. Your death almost destroyed him. He has no other children. And now? He’s an old man. There is not much time left to him. You say you have inherited his talent? That will bring great joy to him. His hands shake too much to hold a brush, and without his art, he is a lifeless man.”