A Proposition For The Comte. Sophia James
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a ringing in her ears and a feeling of nausea rising, Violet did just as they both wanted her to and turned for the door.
The French Comte had disappeared and she thought that he would just have to take his chances even with a recent bullet wound to the side. Only a few weeks had passed since his being almost dead and she imagined that he might have had the sense to lie low and recover. The beautiful woman he had been attached to was nowhere to be seen, either, so perhaps they had both left together? That realisation was surprisingly hurtful and she quickly shook it away.
Violet awoke in her room just as the clock outside in the hallway struck three. The Comte de Beaumont sat on the chair beside the bed, watching her. Surprisingly, she felt in no danger at all.
‘I am sorry for what happened tonight.’
Violet held up her hand as though to stop any apology.
‘How did you get in?’
‘Your locks are very flimsy. It would be safer to have them changed.’
Ignoring that, she sat up further. The evening before had been like a small window into the life of a man for whom violence was a common theme and she could scarcely believe that he was here. ‘Who are you?’
‘Aurelian de la Tomber. My friends call me Lian.’
‘And am I that? A friend?’
‘You tried to help me a few hours ago. Why?’
‘Help you?’ She was stalling for time and he knew it.
‘By calling out. By warning me. By involving yourself in something you should not have.’
‘Because you are dangerous?’
‘Completely.’ One word ground out slowly. One word that didn’t seem quite so English now. ‘And you got wounded because of it.’
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