Midnight My Love (26 page)

Her feelings for Damien had changed. She
wasn't a little girl anymore. And he wasn't just Robert's best
friend. He was a man and seductively attractive.

Damien had proven to be an amusing companion
and an assiduous partner in her writing venture. He never said a
disparaging word about her work. In fact, he was as enthusiastic
about the George as she was. He encouraged her when she faltered,
offering helpful advice and reading and rereading the thesis,
making sure it was sound.

Alex set her cup of chocolate down and
rearranged a tall stack of journals. It was at those times she had
felt closest to Damien. She could forget his past, his wickedness.
This was the Damien she had been friends with as a child. This was
the man she had fallen in love with as a woman.

Alex stared at the telescope and sighed. She
missed him. She missed the way his leathered skin crinkled at the
corner of his eyes when he smiled. She missed the penetrating looks
of passion directed at her. She longed for the comfort of his
powerful arms around her, yearned for his fervent kisses.

Alex jumped up. These tortuous thoughts were
getting her nowhere. Running downstairs, she grabbed her cloak and
headed out the door. Perhaps some fresh air would clear her head
and chase away her megrims.

Once outside, she visited all of her old
haunts. She spent a considerable amount of time at the waterfall,
reliving the kiss she and Damien had shared. She remembered her
resolve to overcome his defenses and win his love. How long ago
that seemed.

As she made her way back to the house, Alex
wondered what would have happened if Damien had not gone off with
Marcella. Would she be engaged now, sharing more kisses with him?
Planning a wedding and a bright future with the man she loved?

Entering the hall, she picked up the day's
mail from the silver salver on the table. In addition to several
notes from friends, she found an official looking packet from the
Royal Society. Her hands trembled as she broke the wax seal and
opened the parchment. Scanning the contents quickly, Alex read that
her thesis had been accepted by the society as a valuable piece of
research and would be placed beside the works of Herschel and his
sister.

Damien!
He had sent her thesis off--stolen it, in fact.
She had told him she wasn't ready to submit it. Told him she felt
she needed more data. He had ignored her decision and took it upon
himself to present her theory--her father's theory--to the Royal
Society.

She read the letter again and sank into a
nearby chair. Her father's theory would finally be recognized by
the leading astronomers of the day! All the nights spent observing
the George's orbit, all the tedious drawings and calculations to
record its path, all those hours writing the thesis had paid
off.

Damien had made sure she kept her promise to
her papa. He had faith in her work and the theory. Alex realized
Damien was the only one who had taken her work seriously. Robert
thought it a harmless endeavor, while Carlisle referred to it as
her little hobby. Even Jenny hadn't understood the significance of
her studies.

Only Damien shared her love of the stars. He
had encouraged and supported her throughout. Alex wished he were
here to share her joy. She also wanted the opportunity to tell him
what she thought of his high-handed ways. But he was gone . . .
perhaps forever.

She went to the kitchen for some biscuits to
take to the observatory. Mrs. Abernathy was just descending to the
cellars. Saying she would help herself, Alex headed for the pantry.
A knock on the back door sounded. There was no one to answer the
summons, so she went to the door. A young ostler from the Duck and
Drake stood on the steps.

He swallowed nervously. "Be you the lady of
the house, ma'am?" he asked, pulling off his felt cap and
bowing.

"I am," Alex replied.

"The gentry-cove what was visiting Lord
Turlington left this at the inn, Tuesday last, when he spent the
night in the private parlor." He held out a slender brass tube.

Alexandra recognized Damien's small
telescope--the one he always carried with him tucked in his boot or
jacket, the one her father had given him.

The ostler shuffled his feet. "M'master says
to apologize for bringing it so late, but Mistress only found it
this morning when she cleaned behind the sofa."

One thought flashed
through Alex's mind as she took the telescope.
Damien had not stayed with Marcella that night!
Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She tried
to concentrate on what the young boy was saying.

"That gentry-cove drank a' awful lot of
m'master's best brandy. Fell asleep on the sofa, he did. We tried
to wake 'im, but he was out like a light." The ostler shook his
head and pointed to the telescope. "That must've fell out 'is
pocket when we pulled 'is boots off."

The butler hurried through the kitchen to
the open door. The young servant fell silent in the presence of
such an august personage.

"Here, now!" Sterling scolded. "That'll be
quite enough. You've stated your business. Be off with you!" The
butler pushed the boy out the door.

"Sterling, please give him something for his
troubles," Alex said, staring at the telescope in her hands.

The butler frowned as he handed the boy a
coin.

Alexandra smiled at the young man. "Thank
you."

Touching his forelock once again, the ostler
bowed and left.

After he closed the door, Sterling chided
his mistress. "You should not be opening the doors, Miss. It isn't
proper. No telling what jackanapes might come loitering by."

Clasping the telescope to her heart, Alex
smiled again. "I would not have missed that particular messenger
for all the world." She ran upstairs, clutching the precious metal
cylinder in one hand and the letter from the Royal Society in the
other.

It was a long week for
Damien. Garr had advised him to do something romantic. This
presented a challenge because romance had never entered into his
dealings with females.

Damien racked his brain trying to think of
something. He toyed with the idea of abducting Alexandra and
carrying her off to the Border. But that smacked of vulgarity and
would undoubtedly cause a scandal. He was through with scandal.

What would be romantic to Alexandra? Damien
grinned as he thought of his notion of romance. Making love to the
beautiful woman he had fallen in love with in a candle-lit room, on
a soft feather bed. But first, he must marry her. And he wasn't
sure he could carry it off. She had been so angry when he'd last
seen her.

Finally, Damien hit upon the very thing. He
sat at the desk in the private parlor of the Castle Inn. Finding
some yellowed parchment and an old stylus, Damien began to
write.

Dear Rob, I've decided to marry your sister,
if she'll have me. I'm off to London for a special license. I'd
like you and Jenny to meet me at Willowmede to witness the ceremony
in six days' time. Demon.

He searched the desk for wafers and found
some in a drawer. Folding the letter, he sealed the wax with his
signet ring. Garr had told him Robert and Jenny were visiting the
Sedgewickes in Dorset. Scribbling the directions on the parchment,
he gave the missive to the landlord with orders to see it delivered
with all possible haste.

Garrett leant him the curricle and team, and
with a hasty farewell, Damien started for London. He needed to pay
a visit to his great-aunt Vallonia.

By mid-afternoon, he was tooling the grays
along Oxford Street. Stopping at his house in Cavendish Square, he
quickly changed his clothes to something more suitable for making a
social call on an elderly lady.

The sun was shining in a clear blue sky. He
decided to walk to his aunt's house in Brook Street. An ancient
porter, dressed in resplendent livery complete with powdered wig,
answered the knock on the door. The servant's eyes brightened a
moment at the sight of his mistress's favorite nephew.

"Welcome, my lord," Hawley said, as he took
Damien's beaver and cane. "Your aunt will be glad to see you. She's
in the Versailles Room." The porter slowly shuffled across the
tiled foyer, his back bent with age.

Vallonia Avenall sat in stately splendor
near the fireplace. She wore a shimmering silk gown of puce with
enormous panniers, a lace fichu over her shoulders, satin slippers
with diamond studded heels, and a tall coiffure lavishly powdered.
Two patches adorned her rouged cheeks.

Damien's aunt-by-marriage
upheld the elegance of her generation in her home as well as her
apparel. The servants were dressed in green and gold livery, gilt
and crystal abounded throughout the house, every room was furnished
with Louis XV furniture. The Versailles Room was a small replica of
the
Galerie des Glaces
at the royal palace in France. Great chandeliers held
hundreds of tiny candles and one entire wall was covered in
mirrors. Thick Aubusson carpets blanketed the marble
floor.

The old woman's obsidian eyes narrowed when
Damien entered the saloon. "High time you came to see me, young
cawker," she complained. "Can't remember when you last honored me
with your impertinent presence. Broke our dinner engagement a month
ago or more to escort Robert Turlington home. I haven't seen hide
nor hair of you since."

Damien grinned. "Your tongue is as waspish
as ever, Aunt Val." He took the outstretched hand in his own and
bent to kiss the wrinkled rouged cheek.

Vallonia Avenall snorted. "So, my boy, what
brings you round? Thought you were rusticating near Bath. How's
Turlington doing?"

Damien took a seat near the raised dais.
"Much better. He's up and about and handling his loss quite well.
In fact, he's getting married soon."

"Glad to hear it. Good family, the
Turlingtons. I knew the Baron's grandfather." Her eyes twinkled
merrily. "Knew him quite well."

"Please spare my blushes,
Aunt. You don't have to boast of your conquests to me. Your
exploits are legendary. They called you the
Valkyrie of Love--
with good reason,
I understand."

Smiling, the old lady
rapped his fingers with her fan. "As they have reason to call
you
Demon
, my
boy. We're two of a kind. I only wish you could find someone to
love like I found your uncle. I never looked at another man after I
married my Henry."

"As a matter of fact,
I
have
found
someone," Damien said. "That's the reason I'm here. I intend to get
married."

Vallonia leaned forward eagerly. "Who has
captured your cynical heart at last? Do I know her? Don't keep me
on tenterhooks, nephew. Tell me who the girl is."

Damien laughed. "It's Alexandra
Turlington--Robert's sister. I've known her for years. I think I've
loved her for a long time, but . . ." He shrugged his shoulders and
gazed at the flames in the hearth.

The old woman twisted her fan until it
threatened to snap in half. "I could wring Clarissa's beautiful
neck for the way she treated you and your father. It's no wonder
you went to the devil."

Damien brushed an invisible speck of lint
from his sleeve. "That's all past, I assure you."

"It's high time you pulled rein on your
wicked-paced life. Almost given up on you, boy!" Vallonia rang for
refreshments. "Alexandra Turlington. I'm not well acquainted with
her, but I've seen her a time or two. Attractive girl, though not
in her first blush of youth. Good family, handsome jointure. Well,
when's the wedding to be? Haven't seen the notice in the papers
yet."

Damien shook his head. "No, because I don't
know if she'll have me. There's been a misunderstanding between us.
I'm going to set things right, but she still may refuse my
offer."

"Nonsense!" Vallonia snorted. "I haven't met
a woman yet, who could resist a handsome rake like you."

"Alexandra is not like other women," Damien
said. And thank God for that.

"Glad to hear it. Does she love you?"

"I believe so," he replied.

"And you love her?" asked Vallonia.

"With all my heart."

"You've asked her to marry you?"

Damien took a quick turn about the room.
"Yes, and she refused. I've botched it from the start. I must have
fallen in love with Alexandra many years ago, but I thought it was
only lust I was feeling."

He turned grim eyes toward his aunt. "I've
wanted many women before, but I've never met another woman that
I've wanted as I do Alex. I thought spending time with her at
Willowmede would cure my infatuation. It's only fed fuel to the
flames."

The doors opened and the old porter shuffled
in bearing a silver tray. He handed Damien a brandy, then poured
his mistress a glass of sherry. With a stately bow, he left the
room.

Vallonia sipped her sherry and stared at her
great-nephew. "Did you tell her you love her?"

"No."

"Why ever not?"

Damien paced around the room again. "It's a
long story. I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say,
my curst temper got the better of me. I offered Alexandra an
unforgivable insult, but I thought I had just cause. When I found
out I was mistaken, I asked her to marry me. She flung my proposal
in my face. I was too proud to explain myself and left Willowmede
in a towering rage."

Vallonia set down her glass. "Come, my boy.
You'll have to do better than that. I must hear all the
particulars, especially if you want my help."

Before Damien knew it, he was pouring the
whole story in his aunt's sympathetic ear. When he came to the end,
Vallonia leaned back in her chair. "And did you tell her you didn't
spend the night with your mistress?"