My Immortal (19 page)

What felt amazing was the way everything was so comfortable with Damien. If she sat back and analyzed it, it would probably disturb her, so she wasn’t going to do that. Marley rolled onto her side, trailed her fingers over his arm.

“Are you still having the party Saturday night?”

“Do you want me to?” He turned his head in her direction, studying her. “I can cancel it.”

“No. I want to see Lizzie and she said she was going to be there.” Besides, if he canceled the party, logically it would be time for her to go home. And she wasn’t ready, not quite yet. She wanted more time with Damien.

“Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

He reached over, wrapped his arm around her, pulled her closer. “I owe Lizzie a thank you.”

“For what?”

“For bringing you to me.”

Marley’s first instinct was to blush, to ignore his words, to not want to screw up the moment, or misinterpret what he meant. But instead she said what she felt. “I still want to strangle her, but I’m glad I came too. Glad I met you.”

Maybe they were both meant to be this for each other, this warm bed and soft, unexpected comfort, for right now, right when they both seemed to need it. And it could be enough, a gift, a lovely memory.

Resting her head on his chest, she settled in closer to him, running her finger over the leather of his black belt. “I forgot about the letter, Damien. Lizzie’s e-mail with Marie’s confession. I need to give it to you, so remind me when we get back to the plantation and I’ll dig it out. Actually it’s in my purse, so I can give it to you whenever I can drag my lazy butt off this bed.”

Damien stroked her back. “I need to tell you something. Something I’m not proud of, but that you should know, so you’ll understand why I don’t deserve your pity. I wasn’t faithful to my wife. I made her so damn unhappy, and I was so selfish.”

While Marley was surprised, she could hear the pain in his voice, had suspected there was something he was harboring guilt over. “Oh, Damien. You made a mistake. You must have been very young.”

“Don’t forgive me. I don’t.”

She could hear his heart beating strong and solid beneath her. “Maybe you should. Was it just once, or was it an affair?” Cheating was something that she didn’t understand, but she also figured everyone made at least one mistake, some just bigger than others. A one-night stand fell into the latter category. Though on the other hand, a long, drawn-out relationship with another woman would be hard for even a bleeding heart like her to explain away.

“It wasn’t an affair.”

“Damien du Bourg.”

“Yes, Marley Turner?” He sounded faintly amused.

“I think you and I need to make a pact to stop beating the hell out of ourselves and just move forward. Can we do that, you think? Both of us just live our lives.” Marley yawned, ready to drop off to sleep. “Let’s do that.”

“Is it that easy?”

“Yes.” She had decided it could and would be.

“Okay,
ma cherie
. I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I’ll try.” He kissed the side of her head. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Me too.” Her eyes were closed, thoughts thick and hazy. And as she drifted off to sleep she felt entirely at peace with herself and her life.

Damien was warm and strong next to her, his breathing steady and silent, and it felt normal, natural, right to Marley to just slide in closer to him after she woke. At first, it had seemed a mystery to her why she felt the sense of familiarity, of ease, that she did with Damien. But she didn’t question it any longer. It was what it was, and she intended to enjoy it. They were together, for now, and it was freeing, exhilarating, not to question it, not to dissect or worry or contemplate the future.

There was only now, and that was a heady, satisfying feeling.

She didn’t even realize he was awake until his hand moved over her thigh. Enjoying the view she had of him with his eyes still closed, Marley kissed his mouth softly, rubbing her lips over the bristle on his chin.

It was different from that morning, as they touched slowly, with exploration, lips and hands and tongues testing, reaching, tasting. They peeled each other’s clothes off without urgency, not bothering to toss them off the bed, just letting them fall where they came off. Damien readjusted the thick covers, shoving the fat duvet down as their skin heated and dewy sweat gleamed on his chest.

Marley enjoyed his naked flesh, liked both the look and the feel of it, and she caressed his rock-solid backside languorously, with a lusty greed she had never felt before, had never indulged in. And while Damien’s fingers and mouth played over her nipples and sank into her wet thighs, she explored his shaft, his testicles, learning the feathery movements that made him grit his teeth and his cock jump.

It didn’t seem alien to touch that way, but intuitive, as if all along she had been a sensual woman, and had never understood herself. With Damien, she felt the power of her sexuality, felt the pride that came from making a strong man groan, and when he coaxed her with a gravelly, “Ride me, Marley,” she didn’t hesitate. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she pushed him on his back and straddled his thighs.

Rubbing lightly against him, she paused to swallow, to catch her breath, to take in the sight of him staring up at her, his green eyes dark with desire. For her. His large masculine hands cupped her waist, slid up her sides to tweak her nipples and cover her breasts. The ache was everywhere, the pleasure complete, full, gorgeous, alive in her the way it never had been before, and she wanted to savor, to make it last forever.

But Damien said, “Take what you want now, or I’ll force it on you.”

And since she wanted to own this pleasure, she sank herself down onto his erection, letting out an appreciative groan as he stretched her aching flesh. She moved her hips, pumping their bodies together, grinding herself and her swollen clit against him, digging her feet into the bed, sliding and rocking and losing herself in the sensation of him inside her. Damien held on to her hips and thrust up hard to meet her frantic movements, until they were both sweaty and hot and excited, their cries filling the bedroom, the antique bed slamming against the plaster wall.

She came first, which she expected to do. Damien didn’t seem the type to give in until a woman had been satisfied. Satisfied she was, screaming with total abandon, gripping the bedsheets, and snapping her head back. Damien followed suit, but with silent, feral thrusts, eyes rolling back, hips slamming up so hard Marley bounced forward.

They hung in that moment as long as possible, until Marley’s thighs shook and a funny little sensation tickled her throat from all the yelling she had done. With a cough and a sigh, she draped herself over his damp chest, stroking the hair there, content to let him rest inside her indefinitely.

“Let’s spend two nights here instead of one,” he said softly.

“Sure.” Because lying with him brought a sense of contentment she hadn’t known existed.

They spent the two days shopping in the Quarter, walking down to Jackson Square for café au lait and beignets, and getting naked together over and over again in that fluffy white bed. It was so wonderful, so easy, so delicious, that Marley started to suspect she was doing more than indulging.

She was falling in love.

Which was a mistake, but one she wasn’t sure how to correct.

So their last night at the town house, as they were drifting off to sleep, she probed about his wife, his infidelity, wanting to remind herself that he had a past, and a spotted one at that. He had a significant amount of guilt, and it would be disastrous to expect more from him than he could give.

“How did your wife find out about your affair?” she asked him, snuggling up alongside his hip.

He glanced over at her, obviously startled. But he answered the question. “She walked in on us.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t a pretty picture. “I guess she was upset.”

“Yes, of course.” His mouth was turned down in a frown. “Why do you ask?”

“I just want to understand what happened…I can tell you still feel guilt over it.”

“As well I should. There was no excuse for what I did to my wife. Not anger, not alcohol. And I’ll never be able to undo it.”

“Which is why you need to forgive yourself,” she murmured. “Because you can never undo it.”

“Maybe someday. But not today.”

“Who was she, by the way? A co-worker?”

“It was Rosa.”

“Oh.” It didn’t surprise her any more than it pleased her. The last person she wanted to picture Damien making love to was exotic, thin Rosa. “I see.”

But it was a full eighteen hours before Marley realized the significance of Damien’s admission.

Treks to Anna’s were starting to take on a pattern. Marley had burning curiosity, she ran to Anna, and Anna only fueled the fire of her imagination.

When she had suddenly realized what Damien had said as they were dropping off to sleep the night before, she found herself yet again on the path to Anna’s. Damien was working in the
pigeonnier
, reading his e-mails, and Marley had been walking in the garden, imagining what it had looked like once upon a time, when it had been tended and controlled, when she remembered that Damien had said he’d cheated on his wife with Rosa.

And why that was significant. The first Damien had cheated on his wife with a Rosa. It was too much to be a coincidence.

In the middle of her contentment with her life, the promise of stability, hope for the future, amazing sex, her feelings of complete and utter balance with Damien, even a peaceful resignation toward Lizzie, this tidbit suddenly rocked her boat, shoving her right toward the metaphorical alligators.

Anna wasn’t on the porch, and when Marley knocked, the older woman called out, “Come on in.”

Marley found Anna in the kitchen taking the skin off of a peach. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Two seconds earlier she had been ready to call this little old woman to the mat for making up fake letters, and now suddenly she felt guilty for even thinking Anna could be dishonest. She was just a lonely old woman who barely came up to Marley’s breasts.

“Not at all. Peach?” Anna held out a fresh one to Marley.

“No, thank you.” Marley crossed her arms. “I was just wondering how you got Marie’s letters.”

“Marissabelle found them.” Anna sliced her skinned peach into thin pieces onto a paper plate. She didn’t seem to think it was odd that Marley had barged in asking such a random question. “In the big house.”

“Did she live there?”

“Honey, she was his mistress. She didn’t live in his house. She lived in his town house on Esplanade for a while because he didn’t want her regular like, just when the urge struck.”

Oh, Lord. Town house on Esplanade. The very town house where she had taken an odd, intimate nap with Damien two days before. The beautiful house where she had shared take-out dinners with him on the balcony, then made love to him in that big, white bed over and over, was the very same place where Death’s Door had holed up his mistress.

Something about that made her feel very uncomfortable.

“Then he gave her this house, of course, when he decided he wanted a closer reach.”

“So how did she find the letters?”

Anna shrugged.

Marley wasn’t sure how to dance around what she really wanted to ask. So she just said it. “Are you sure these letters are real? There are some strange…similarities between what happens in them and the present.”

Anna sucked a fruit slice between her thin, gray lips. Those dark eyes pierced Marley, never blinking, unreadable. “Everything is real, child. Even things you couldn’t possibly imagine are real. Go on and finish the letters, then come back and see me. We’ll talk it all through.”

There was something in the way Anna spoke that sent a shiver up Marley’s spine. Marley stared at the paring knife in Anna’s gnarled hand, suddenly wondering how old she actually was, where all her family had gone.

“As soon as I finish them, I’ll bring them back. I’m going to be heading home soon. Sunday.” It was the logical thing to do. The day after the party. She could see Lizzie and still be home in time for the start of the school year. Sensible.

“Does he know you’re leaving?”

They both knew who
he
referred to. “No.”

Anna shook her head. “He’s not going to want to let you go until he’s tired of you.”

That irritated the absolute hell out of her. This wasn’t about him. This was about her. It was her choices, her sister, her sex life, her liberation, her future.

“I have no doubt that he’ll survive the loss.”

Anna grinned, a secret, sly smile that raked Marley’s nerves raw.

“No doubt,” the old woman said with a laugh. “No doubt.”

“I am sorry,” he said for the sixth or seventh time, his eyes red and bleary, shirt and jacket disheveled as he stood next to my bed.

“I know,” I managed, trying not to cry again. “As am I. But it’s not your fault.”

“I should have taken more care with you.”

“It does not signify.” It had occurred to me, as I had bled and bled and bled out our baby’s life during the night, that I was being punished for my behavior these past few months. I had not been a moral and upright person, not fit to raise a child, and now I would not be entrusted with such a task.

His fingers brushed over mine, softly, as if he were afraid to touch me. I knew I must look ghastly. I felt weak, heart-sick, ashamed, my womb still contracting in painful spasms.

“It does. I promise you that next time, I shall exercise more caution. I will not anger you…I will not dally with the servants. In fact, I shall send away all the female staff under the age of fifty so you can rest easy in your trust of me. I am sorry,” he said, his voice cracking.

Would you understand, Angelique, that at that moment, I knew I was completely and utterly lost to him…that I loved Damien, that I felt the pull of compassion, the urge to comfort, to cleave him to me, even as I barely had strength to draw a full breath? In the many months of our marriage, I had never seen what could be characterized as genuine emotion from my husband. At that moment, he was sorry, and I believed him, as I could see quite clearly it was the truth.

“Oh, Damien,” I said. “Darling, if it is your fault then it is mine as well. I was a willing participant, not to mention that I have always been in exceedingly poor health. I am of a petite stature and perhaps will never be able to bear a child.”

That was my greatest fear, one I had not been able to voice until now. That now that Damien and I were together, truly married, and I could see that he felt some level of affection, concern for me, I feared the cruel irony of never being able to seal our bond permanently with the glorious gift of a child.

He gripped my hand fully, entwining his fingers with mine and squeezing. “You are not in poor health. You have not been ill one day since our vows. I am completely confident that you will have many of my children and they shall all be dark-haired beauties like their mother.”

“Even the boys?” I asked through a watery smile, grateful for his reassurance.

“Yes. But big and strapping like their father.”

I laughed, but had to stop midway when pain shot through my lower abdomen. An involuntary gasp left my mouth and Damien looked at me in alarm.

“Gigi!” he roared over his shoulder. “Send the physician back up. He is in the drawing room.”

“I’m fine,” I managed, even as my doubled-over posture betrayed me. It was difficult to put on a brave face, though, and I wished to be alone. “After the doctor assures you of that, I believe I’d like to take a nap. Will you come to me in a few hours?”

“Of course.” He kissed the top of my head. “I think I’ll go for a quick ride, then I’ll be right back.”

But two hours later I was roused from a restless sleep by loud voices in the drive, a woman screaming, horses snorting, men shouting.

Gigi, who had been sitting in a chair mending, rushed to the window.

“What is it?” I asked, struggling to sit up. My body was not cooperating and dizziness rushed over me.

Gigi shrieked, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“What?” She was starting to alarm me.

“Oh, Madame! It is Monsieur du Bourg!” Darting a quick glance at me, she burst into tears and leaned out the window again. “He is in the drive, on the ground. I think…I think he is dead. His head…” The words dissolved into hysterical sobbing and she ran over to the water basin on my bureau and heaved into it.

I didn’t bother to go to the window. Instead I ran straight for the door, ignoring the dizziness, the wave of fatigue that washed over me, the way my legs felt cold and disconnected from my upper body, and the sharp stabbing in my belly.

“Madame!” Gigi was screaming now, rushing after me. “You cannot! The bleeding, oh God.” She started to pray, a Hail Mary, frantic and disjointed.

I was down the stairs, out on the porch, in the drive, and there I saw what Gigi had. Damien, on his back, his neck at a curious angle, blood streaming from his temple. It was obvious his neck was broken. Our majordomo and the overseer were down on their knees.

Even as I sank to my own knees, even as I knew he couldn’t survive the injury, I felt blood rushing down my legs again, my dash down the stairs reinvigorating my body’s own trauma.

“Madame du Bourg!” The majordomo looked at me in horror, already peeling his coat off and laying it over my shoulders. “You shouldn’t look…you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Is he dead?” I touched Damien’s forehead even as I spoke the words. His flesh still felt warm. My hand over his mouth rewarded me with tiny puffs of breath. “He’s alive! We need to get him into the house. Take him up to his bedchamber.”

Our majordomo looked worried. “Of course, Madame.” He called for several slaves who had been watching from the corner of the house, and they ran over.

“He can’t live, Madame. He has broken his neck,” the overseer said, his lips pulled back like he was going to be ill. “There’s no hope for it. He’s probably dead already, just warm still.”

His words sent heat rushing through my face, and I thought for a second I might faint, but I rallied. The slaves cradled my husband in their arms, waiting for instructions. I directed them to the house, where Gigi was standing in the doorway sobbing.

“Then he shall die in his house instead of in the dirt.” I tried to stand, but the landscape shifted and whirled in front
of me and I fell back to my knees. A glance down showed vibrant spots of blood on my nightrail.

As the majordomo lifted me into his arms, I asked, “What happened to Damien?”

The overseer adjusted the jacket over me as the majordomo walked me toward the house. “He was thrown from his horse, Madame. That animal has been skittish for the last three months. I can’t explain it. We never had any problems with him before, then suddenly he wouldn’t tolerate Monsieur du Bourg. Good Lord, this is just like his father, only two years’ passed now.”

My head was too heavy, so I let it loll back. I stared at the sky, so crisp and blue, so enhanced with glorious white clouds. “It’s such a beautiful day,” I said, because it was. The air was warm and clear, the world a humming, peaceful place, and it was my time to leave it.

“Why in hell would she say that?” the overseer whispered urgently to the majordomo.

“The shock.”

Shock? Yes, it was a shock that at the same time I had lost our baby, I was also losing my husband.

But that shock was nothing compared to what I discovered a mere hour later.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of attending the party,” Damien said as they drank coffee in the garden at sunset on Saturday.

Marley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you can.” She stared into her cup, a black French toile pattern rising above her sloshing coffee. “I have to see Lizzie.”

“I understand. I do. But please stay with me. And don’t drink anything.”

A girl drank one spiked martini and some people thought she needed to be watched for the rest of her life. But she’d be a liar if she said there wasn’t something very appealing about having him care enough to be concerned. She was usually the worrier, not the other way around.

“Can I at least have bottled water?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

Marley pulled in a deep breath. “I love the way it smells here. Everything is thick and floral. I never thought I’d like Louisiana so much, but it’s really gorgeous.”

“Like you.”

“Shameless flatterer. You already know I’ll sleep with you tonight, you can cut the crap.”

“Extra favors.” He winked.

Marley laughed. God, she was going to miss him. She really cared about him, was grateful for the time they’d had together, for who he was, and how they were lonely people who’d both been able to lean on each other when they needed it the most.

“You know I should leave tomorrow. Monday at the latest.”

His smile quieted. “I was hoping we could ignore that—let’s say, oh, indefinitely. I don’t want you to leave,
ma cherie
. Not yet.”

The sadness in his voice caused a big fat lump to leap into her throat. “I can’t stay. You know that. I have a career, family, my life back in Cincinnati.” And she’d be taking back with her the knowledge that she was independent, strong, as sensual as any other woman. That was her liberation, her gift from him, and she would be forever grateful for it, even as she knew staying would be a mistake.

“I know.” He leaned back in his chair, stared out at the garden, back to the sugarcane Marley could see way off in the distance. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. I warned you from the very beginning that I’m a spoiled, selfish man. I want what I want. And I want you.”

“You’re not nearly as selfish as you’d like to think you are.” Marley twirled the coffee in her cup, setting it back down. “And you don’t really want me to stay. Not really. Right now I’m just attractive to you because I’m different. Prude.”