Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance by Juliet Moore
Authors: Juliet Moore
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evening."
"You're welcome to stay, if you wish." She could tell that Alex's offer was just as falsely polite as her initial greeting.
"I'm quite surprised that you finally thought to offer." He smiled with this comment, but his meaning was too obvious to cover up with a grin. "Of course I'm only being jovial, Miss Fyn. Brothers are like that, you know."
"I can see that." The day suddenly seemed stifling rather than pleasantly warm; tedious rather than romantically quiet; and long rather than not long enough.
"Goodbye, then."
Alex didn't say anything as Michael rode away. When he was gone he turned and said, "We should go."
She nodded. His brother had destroyed everything and it made her realize how very little she knew about Alexander. She knew she couldn't blame him for his relatives. But if he had a brother who appeared so sinister, how did she know that the only true difference between the men wasn't just that Alexander was better at hiding his true personality?
* * *
She left Alex with his tenant, not understanding the true extent of the problem, but able to see from his expression that it was something he needed to take care of. So she bowed out gracefully, offering to ride home by herself. After much arguing that he should escort her properly, he finally agreed. It was, after all, only a short distance to traverse.
And as she'd expected, she arrived home unhindered. No trolls had leapt from beneath the bridge and no black knight had taken her for his bride. She tied the horse to the post and was somewhat glad the tenant had interrupted their ride. Now Alex had an excuse to come over: to retrieve his horse.
As she approached the door, she though she saw something different about it. Curious, she walked faster. She smiled when she saw what it was, her instinct to love flowers overriding her good sense. Then she realized that it wasn't just any kind of flower, it was a rose.
The rose was nailed to the door with a hastily scribbled note: "As red as the blood you've spilled."
No!
She ripped the rose into shreds and crushed it beneath her boot. Then she shoved the note into the waistband of her skirt and stalked into the dark foyer. She hurried into the drawing room, collapsed onto the divan, and sobbed.
How would she ever escape? What could she do? Lately she'd avoided the thoughts and imagined there was nothing lurking in the depths of her past. If only it were true!
"Victoria!"
She looked up and saw her uncle through her tears. He knelt before her and reached for her hand. "Whatever is the matter?"
"It's the roses," she cried. "I've found another, but this time with a note." She reached into her waistband and produced the small slip of paper.
He looked over it. "This is sick."
"Do you think they mean to threaten my life?" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I left beautiful roses on Mark and Hugh's grave, to show that I would always remember them."
"You don't need to worry, Victoria. I'll protect you."
"Should I go back to Blackmoore? Maybe someone knows who I am and wants to turn me in."
He shook his head. "We don't even know if you're suspected. It's best that you stay here for a while."
"I fear that I'm going to go crazy. I need something else to occupy my time."
"I thought Mr. Trevelyn has you well occupied as it is."
She frowned. "That makes me just as crazy."
He grinned. "I know how that is."
"Uncle, tell me about your wife."
His expression changed immediately. "Why would you want to hear about that?"
"I happened to come across her bedroom and--"
"I'll thank you not to snoop around this house."
"I was not snooping! I was looking out the window at..." She looked away. "I wasn't snooping."
"I have work to do."
"Please don't leave. I just thought it would be something I could do while I was here. I could find out about the rest of my family, honor their memory. I wanted to start with Fiona."
He practically growled his next response. "She was murdered, Victoria.
"You're welcome to stay, if you wish." She could tell that Alex's offer was just as falsely polite as her initial greeting.
"I'm quite surprised that you finally thought to offer." He smiled with this comment, but his meaning was too obvious to cover up with a grin. "Of course I'm only being jovial, Miss Fyn. Brothers are like that, you know."
"I can see that." The day suddenly seemed stifling rather than pleasantly warm; tedious rather than romantically quiet; and long rather than not long enough.
"Goodbye, then."
Alex didn't say anything as Michael rode away. When he was gone he turned and said, "We should go."
She nodded. His brother had destroyed everything and it made her realize how very little she knew about Alexander. She knew she couldn't blame him for his relatives. But if he had a brother who appeared so sinister, how did she know that the only true difference between the men wasn't just that Alexander was better at hiding his true personality?
* * *
She left Alex with his tenant, not understanding the true extent of the problem, but able to see from his expression that it was something he needed to take care of. So she bowed out gracefully, offering to ride home by herself. After much arguing that he should escort her properly, he finally agreed. It was, after all, only a short distance to traverse.
And as she'd expected, she arrived home unhindered. No trolls had leapt from beneath the bridge and no black knight had taken her for his bride. She tied the horse to the post and was somewhat glad the tenant had interrupted their ride. Now Alex had an excuse to come over: to retrieve his horse.
As she approached the door, she though she saw something different about it. Curious, she walked faster. She smiled when she saw what it was, her instinct to love flowers overriding her good sense. Then she realized that it wasn't just any kind of flower, it was a rose.
The rose was nailed to the door with a hastily scribbled note: "As red as the blood you've spilled."
No!
She ripped the rose into shreds and crushed it beneath her boot. Then she shoved the note into the waistband of her skirt and stalked into the dark foyer. She hurried into the drawing room, collapsed onto the divan, and sobbed.
How would she ever escape? What could she do? Lately she'd avoided the thoughts and imagined there was nothing lurking in the depths of her past. If only it were true!
"Victoria!"
She looked up and saw her uncle through her tears. He knelt before her and reached for her hand. "Whatever is the matter?"
"It's the roses," she cried. "I've found another, but this time with a note." She reached into her waistband and produced the small slip of paper.
He looked over it. "This is sick."
"Do you think they mean to threaten my life?" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I left beautiful roses on Mark and Hugh's grave, to show that I would always remember them."
"You don't need to worry, Victoria. I'll protect you."
"Should I go back to Blackmoore? Maybe someone knows who I am and wants to turn me in."
He shook his head. "We don't even know if you're suspected. It's best that you stay here for a while."
"I fear that I'm going to go crazy. I need something else to occupy my time."
"I thought Mr. Trevelyn has you well occupied as it is."
She frowned. "That makes me just as crazy."
He grinned. "I know how that is."
"Uncle, tell me about your wife."
His expression changed immediately. "Why would you want to hear about that?"
"I happened to come across her bedroom and--"
"I'll thank you not to snoop around this house."
"I was not snooping! I was looking out the window at..." She looked away. "I wasn't snooping."
"I have work to do."
"Please don't leave. I just thought it would be something I could do while I was here. I could find out about the rest of my family, honor their memory. I wanted to start with Fiona."
He practically growled his next response. "She was murdered, Victoria.
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