Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (35 page)

"That will not be so easy here," she stated proudly.

"True. Cornwallis is finding out much to his amazement that the Southerners are a churlish lot. They will neither join his army nor agree to feed them. They won't furnish him with information, and when he sends out dispatch riders, they are attacked, and the perpetrators just disappear."

Royal laughed. "Please be seated, Preston," she told him, motioning to the chairs that faced the river. "Perhaps you should not talk so freely about military matters."

He held a chair for her, and when she was seated he sat beside her and reached for her hand. "Why? We have always spoken freely about the war."

"That was before I gave my allegiance to my own country."

He frowned, his gaze sweeping her face. "When did this happen?"

"I suppose it's been there all the time. But it grew bolder as your generals gobbled up more of our land. I cannot support a government that oppresses its own."

He looked into her eyes and saw the truth. "Even if this is so, it will make no difference between you and me. When the war is over, you will return to England with me, as my wife."

She looked into blue eyes that were aglow with love, and it broke her heart to have to cause him pain. "I cannot do that, Preston."

"I know that you were hurt by my mother. She confessed all to me. But she has changed, Royal. She wants you to become a daughter to her. She has agreed to our marriage."

"You don't understand. I can't marry you because I'm married to Damon."

He stared at her in disbelief.

"It's true, Preston."

"But I always thought that we would... that you and I would be married."

She shook her head. "Even if I had not married Damon, I could never have been your wife. I just don't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

He turned away from her, struggling to control his emotions. "Damon is a fine—" His voice broke, and he could say no more.

Her eyes were sad, and teardrops clung to her long lashes. "Dearest Preston, you are one of the finest men I have ever known. And I'll admit that a part of me will always love you. But not with the love of a woman for a man. One day you will meet someone you adore, someone worthy of you." She smiled at him through her tears.

He reached out a trembling hand to her, then pulled it back. "With all my heart and soul I envy Damon Routhland. I would have given up everything to have you love me." He took her dainty hand in his and studied it for a long moment. "Mother and Alissa will be disappointed."

"Tell them I will write, and tell them I will always remember their kindness to me."

Preston felt his eyes stinging, and he wanted to crush Royal in his arms—to never let her go. "Can I hold you just once before I go?" he asked, coming to his feet and carrying her with him.

A sob built up inside Royal, and she went readily into his arms. "Oh, Preston, I want so much for you to be happy."

His arms tightened about her, and he tried to absorb the feel of her, so he would remember it always. "I will not so easily forget you, Royal."

She stepped back and looked into his eyes. "Don't ever forget me. I won't ever forget you."

He released her and stepped back. "I will take some comfort in that."

Preston looked toward the fields and then down to the river. "I'll think of you living here. This is a good land, and whatever happens, I want you to know that no one will bother you here."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Have you not wondered why Swanhouse Plantation hasn't been touched when her master is a known rebel?"

"I suppose I never thought about it." She looked at him with understanding. "It is because of you, is it not?"

"I thought I owed that much to Damon."

She touched his cheek. "Thank you for that."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I will always remember how you looked today—I'll remember you forever... my love."

He turned away and moved across the veranda without looking back. The Duke of Chiswick held his head high, his shoulders upright. Only Royal knew that his heart was breaking.

She moved slowly into the house and up the stairs. Dear Preston, with his gentle nature and loving heart. Why could she not have loved him instead of the dark, brooding Damon Routhland?

35

Royal was not aware of what had awakened her. The baby was in the connecting room; perhaps he was stirring. She slipped out of bed and came up against something solid.

Suddenly she remembered the night Vincent Murdock had come to her room and taken her captive. With all the strength she possessed, she swung out at the intruder, only to have her hand caught and held in a firm grip.

"For God's sake, Royal, it's me."

She went limp with relief and joy. "Damon! I thought you were Murdock."

"You will never have to worry about him again. Ezekiel saw to that—didn't he tell you that Murdock is dead?"

"No, he didn't," she said, remembering that she had told Ezekiel she would not stay in Damon's house once Murdock was no longer a threat. He had deliberately kept the information from her.

Damon seated Royal on the bed, fumbled around until he found a candle, then lit it.

They stared at each other for a long moment. She noticed his face was haggard, and he looked tired. There was so much to say, and yet Royal suddenly felt shy with him. She decided not to speak of anything concerning the two of them.

"We are all rejoicing about the victory at Yorktown, Damon. Were you there?"

He pulled up a chair and straddled it, feasting his eyes on her. "Yes, I was there."

Her blue eyes took on a hurt expression. "I waited for some word from you. Why didn't you write, or at least send a messenger?"

His gaze swept her face. There was a new maturity about her, a glow that had not been there previously. "I wasn't certain you would care to hear from me."

She studied him closely, remembering what she had read in John's logs. Yes, she could see it now—he loved her. But she had to have him say the words.

"How long have you been home?"

"Since eleven. I ate and bathed while John gave me a report on what's been going on at Swanhouse."

She wondered if John had told Damon about his son. "Do you find everything to your liking?"

His eyes ran down her neck to rest on her breasts, just visible through the filmy nightgown she wore. "Not entirely."

She blushed at the way his eyes reminded her of the closeness they had once shared. "Oh? And what was not to your satisfaction?"

Damon stood up and moved across the room. "First, I expected to find you in the master suite. And, second, John told me that the Englishman was here."

A thrill went through Royal's body. He was jealous! "Yes, Preston was here."

Damon stared out into the dark night. "I suppose if he hasn't returned to England, he soon will."

"I suppose. He was with Cornwallis," she informed Damon.

"I see. Perhaps you have already had his account of the battle?"

"Preston's gone."

He turned quickly back to her, seeking something in her face. "I thought—"

The cry of an infant cut Damon short. It appeared to be coming from the other room. He stared at Royal in bewilderment. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's a baby boy who doesn't have a name."

"I see. I suppose a slave's baby was ill, and you, with your kind heart, brought him into the house to nurse back to health?"

She smiled to herself. Damon had no notion that he had a son—John had not told him everything. "Would you like to see the baby?"

"Not really," he said in irritation. He had been away for a year; he wanted to talk to her about something important, and all she could think of was an infant crying in the next room.

He watched her leave and return with the baby in her arms. When she laid the child on the bed, he hardly gave it any notice.

"We have things to settle between us, Royal. I know how you feel about Preston."

She smiled and picked up the child. "Do you?"

"Did you make arrangements to meet him in England?"

"I can't leave you, Damon."

Hope burned in his eyes. "Why not?"

She pulled the blanket aside and held the baby out for his inspection. "This is why."

He looked puzzled as his gaze moved over the dark hair, the white skin—the golden eyes!

"What is this?" he asked, feeling as if someone had just delivered a blow to his midsection.

"This," she said, "is a baby, or to be more accurate, your son."

Damon's golden eyes flamed with pride and then became piercing with anguish. He reached out and touched the soft black hair as feelings he had never experienced riveted through his body. "But how?"

She gave him a sideways look. "I believe we both know how."

Damon, who was always in control, was now completely at a loss. "I never considered—never thought... about a child." He shook his head when Royal placed the baby in his arms.

"It's time the two of you became acquainted. And it's time his father gave him a name."

Damon stared down at the child, who had closed his eyes. Raising his son to his cheek, he breathed in the sweet baby smell, his senses overcome. "My son," he said, and Royal was certain his voice had cracked.

Damon watched the candlelight flicker across Royal's beautiful face, trying to fathom her true feelings. "I can see why you didn't feel you could join Preston. I blame myself for this."

She pretended seriousness. "I blame you for it also. Two nights with you, and you impregnate me."

His face fell. "I can't tell you how bad I feel about this."

She still could not resist teasing him, for she was now certain he loved her. "Oh? You don't like your son?"

He handed the child to her. "Give me time to grow accustomed to the idea. I thought I was coming here tonight to give you your freedom." His eyes hardened. "Make no mistake about it, Royal, I will never allow you to take my son to England."

"I can see that you want to keep your son. Would you consider allowing me to leave if the baby remained with you?"

Damon's head snapped up, and he looked at her long and hard. "Could you give up your baby?"

She wanted to reach out to him because she was aware that he was feeling pain. But she had to make him admit he loved her. "Could you give up your wife?" she countered.

For the first time there was hope in his eyes. "I would rather you stay. A boy needs his mother."

"Suppose I no longer want to go to England, Damon? Suppose I want to stay with my son—and you?"

He watched her place the baby down on the bed and come to him.

"Suppose I told you that I love you, Damon—that I have always loved you?"

His golden eyes flamed as if they were on fire. He reached out to her, touching her arm, allowing his fingers to curl around her hand, pulling her toward him gently. "Don't tell me this if it isn't true, Royal. I could not bear it if you gave me hope and then dashed my dreams."

Tears danced in her eyes as she smiled at him. "Oh, my dearest love, how can you claim to know so much about women and yet know so little about your own wife? I have loved you for a very long time."

A deep tremor shook Damon's body as he pulled her tightly against him. His hands ran up and down her back as if he were becoming reacquainted with the feel of her. He closed his eyes and held her tight, wanting never to let her go.

"Royal, sweet Royal, you have always had my heart, first as a child, now as a woman. I have lived in agony these last months, believing that when I returned home, I would have to let you go. I thought you loved Preston... you said you did."

"And I do. But the love I feel for him is as a brother, a dear friend, nothing more. My heart is so filled with you, there is little room for anyone else." She glanced up at him. "When did you first love me?"

"I can't even remember not loving you. When you were in England, I would dream about you and wake up feeling sad that you were not here. I believe I was born to love you."

She pressed her cheek to his. "And I you, Damon." She pulled back and gave him a tantalizing smile. "I warn you, you will never be rid of me."

He pulled her into his arms, allowing her sweetness to fill his whole being. "I will never let you go. You belong to me—you always have."

He moved away from her, scooped up his son, and deposited him in the cradle in the next room. When he returned he picked up his wife and carried her to the bed.

When he lay down beside her, he didn't take her in his arms as she expected. Instead he laced his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs.

"Before I can become your husband," he told her, trying not to smile, "I would ask you to release me from being your guardian. That has been damned awkward for me on numerous occasions."

Royal smiled and rolled over, propping her head up on her elbow. "I will never release you. I want you tied to me in every legal way that's known to man."

His expression became serious. "I love you, Royal. And I want you in every way a man can want his wife."

He pulled her to him, his lips inches away from hers. "This time, I take you without guilt."

"Yes," she whispered, her hands unbuttoning his shirt. She lowered her head and pressed her lips against his.

Everything else was forgotten as he took command of her body, tying her to him with threads of love.

***

Royal reached for her journal and began to write:

Dearest Papa,

I love, and I am loved. Happiness is my constant companion.

Good-bye, Papa.

She closed the journal, knowing she had just made her last entry. Life was to look forward. The past could never be again.