Patrica Rice (7 page)

He'd told her how he'd like to invest in a company that had produced a particularly workable engine suitable for moving wagons of coal, but by that time, she'd been listening more to the sound of his voice than the actual words. Damien's hands had taken to straying, and the occasional kiss to the nape of her neck or the lobe of her ear had her tingling in more places than she'd thought possible. He hadn't undressed her, but she'd wanted him to before the evening ended.

She blushed at the indelicate dreams that had flourished in her sleep after that. Damien had a way of making her feel as if she were the only woman in the world for him. She knew she wanted to believe that so strongly that she could easily fool herself into accepting him. She wanted to accept him. She wanted to ask him to take her back to the church and the vicar and repeat the vows in truth. But she wasn't a foolish child anymore. She knew Damien hid things from her. She knew Damien wanted her for her money. She wasn't quite certain that Damien still loved Jane, but she found it hard to believe that she would make an adequate substitute. She needed to know the truth, and she thought Jane would have it.

So while Damien went out on his mysterious errands of business and Pamela slept happily in her bed upstairs, Melanie perused stacks of mail addressed to the earl and countess and indulged in daydreams.

The clock had only struck the noon hour and Pamela had just come down dressed for another romp in the park when Watson came to Melanie to announce callers. She had left standing orders that they were not to be at home to callers, so she understood that these were not the usual type who left their cards and passed on to the next house on their list. She lifted an inquiring brow as she'd seen Damien do.

"Lady Morgan and Sir Francis Berkeley to see you, my lady. I put them in the yellow drawing room."

Jane and her father, together! Oh, my. That didn't bode well at all. Jane and their father did not get along at all. The fact that they came together raised clarion calls of alarm. Nervously, Melanie glanced down at her new morning gown, removed a scone crumb, adjusted a ribbon, and pushed herself carefully to her feet. She hadn't quite learned to adjust to the higher heel of the new boot Damien had the cobbler make for her, so she held her walking stick as usual. She gave an anxious Pamela's a reassuring smile, as if Jane's appearance here was perfectly natural.

"Shall you come down and make your curtsy before your grandfather, my dear? Or would you rather wait in the library and read a good book until your mother calls for you?"

The worried look didn't go away. Pamela glanced at the door as if ready to bolt, but she bit her bottom lip and said politely, "I shall wait in the library, if you do not mind, Aunt Melanie." She sent Melanie an apprehensive glance. "You will not send me away, will you? I will behave, I promise. I shall not even chase away a governess if you wish to find one."

Melanie found that an extremely odd sentiment, but too worried about her own problems, she didn't pursue it. She merely pressed a kiss to her niece's hair and sent her off in the company of the young maid. She would prefer to have the explosion over with before she brought the child into her grandfather's company.

She almost had the rhythm necessary for keeping her new shoe in line by the time she reached the yellow salon. Clutching the walking stick but not relying on it, Melanie allowed Watson to open the door for her, and she did her best to glide in without a hitch to her step. The two people waiting for her didn't even seem to notice.

"Melanie! My baby sister! I'm so dreadfully sorry I have got you mixed up in all this!"

The woman rushing toward her in no way resembled the young girl who had so eagerly departed the country for the city sights ten years ago. Jane's lithe young figure, creamy complexion, and bounteous curls had somehow matured to a caricature of that long-ago image. Powder and a hint of what appeared to be rouge created the complexion. The curls had an oddly brassy shine which did not precisely duplicate the health and vigor of youth. But it was the figure that held Melanie speechless. Jane's once perfect hourglass figure now more carefully resembled their father's stout barrel shape. Melanie blinked and allowed herself to be wrapped in the suffocating envelope of French violet perfume and Jane's arms.

"You poor baby! We'll get you right out of here. I cannot believe that man! Of all the cruel, callous, despicable—" The tirade threatened to continue, but Melanie politely pulled herself away, casting a glance to her father.

"Hello, Papa. What brings you here?" She had the frightening notion that she knew, but she refused to admit anything. He had only to ask the vicar, and the vicar would have to tell him. She dreaded the disappointment she expected to see in her father's eyes, but she was prepared to stand up to him. She would tell him that she and Damien planned to marry as soon as they had the license. Unless Jane protested he belonged to her. That thought made her tremble.

"I've come to take you home, child. I'll not allow any daughter of mine to be slandered by the likes of that young cur. If he were worth anything, I'd have the law on him now. As it is, I'll just make it so hot for him here that he will have to flee to the Continent for the rest of his born days."

She didn't like the sounds of that at all. Nervously, Melanie bit her bottom lip much as Pamela had done earlier. Her father's side-whiskers quivered as he spoke, not a good sign at all. Reminding herself that this was her home, she took a seat in the yellow damask chair nearest her. She would hold out much better if she didn't fear her legs would crumble under her.

"If you speak of Damien, he is my husband, Papa. If you drive him to the Continent, you drive me with him." She thought she said that very well. The fury rising to her father's eyes did not confirm her opinion.

"He is not your damned husband! Do not give me that faradiddle, girl! He is a fake, a scoundrel, a fortune hunter who has ruined your good name and made us laughing stocks in front of all society. Were I not too old, I'd call him out and have done with him entirely. Now call your maid to pack and we'll be gone from here."

Knowing better than to argue with her father in one of his tirades, Melanie turned her attention to the sister she hadn't seen in ten years. "Do you wish me to call for Pamela? I'm certain you must have worried about her, but I didn't know if my message had reached you."

Jane gave an impatient huff and threw herself into the nearest seat. "The child is a trial. I think she'll be better off in the country with you. You can take her with you when you go. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. Ring for some refreshments when you ring for your maid, will you? I declare, I'm quite exhausted by my exertions. I cannot believe you have done such a thing as to run off with Damien. Papa's quite right. He's a thorough scoundrel. When I read the announcement in the papers . . ." She rolled her eyes and shook her head as if the effort to continue was too much for her.

"You left him standing at the altar," Melanie reminded her, making no effort to summon anyone. "That was very badly done of you. If you did not want him, you should have told him so to his face." She found herself growing angry in Damien's defense. How could they call him names like that when he was the only man she'd ever met who had treated her as if she were a real person and not a broken doll to be kept in a corner? If anyone were to blame for her current situation, it was herself.

Outrage identical to their father's rose in Jane's eyes. "Do you know why he wanted to marry me? Do you?"

Melanie shrugged. The reason seemed quite obvious to her now. She didn't think it included beauty or love. "For the money?" she suggested.

"For the money, yes!" Jane screamed. "So I could raise his bastard child because he didn't have the money to support her. Your charming earl already has the woman he wants. She just doesn't have the money he needs."

Melanie thought the blow of those words must have pounded her into the seat. After that, nothing else seemed to quite register. She didn't remember calling a maid. She didn't remember ordering her bags packed. These things just miraculously happened around her until she found herself bundled into her father's traveling coach with Pamela, rumbling down the road out of London.

She thought she'd left a lot of things undone, but she couldn't quite recall them now. She was still trying to come to terms with the notion of Damien having a child and a woman he couldn't marry because he couldn't support them. The pieces fit awkwardly. She'd known he had secrets. She'd known he needed money. He'd made no pretense of that. He had made small objection to taking in Pamela when she supposed another man would have raised an uproar. That made a little more sense now if he expected her to raise another woman's child of his own. She just couldn't believe Damien would do that to her without telling her.

And she couldn't believe Damien had made such sweet love to her while keeping another woman behind her back.

It did not seem quite credible somehow, but then, it hadn't seemed quite credible that the Earl of Reister would take a plain spinster with a crippled leg as his bride either.

Melanie felt sick as the carriage churned on down the road to the house she'd lived in all her life, the prison she had so briefly escaped. She had known her freedom would be brief, but she had expected to turn Damien safely over to Jane. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected this at all, and she didn't know how to handle it.

Across from her, Pamela still looked worried as she watched the passing scenery, but the child remained blessedly silent. The notion that she would have Jane's child to raise helped relieve some of her anguish. She wouldn't be entirely alone again. She would have someone who needed her.

She supposed she'd had a narrow escape, that Jane had saved her from a dreadful mistake. She just wished she could make her heart accept that as her brain must. She had played the part of foolish, idle dreamer, allowing Damien to seduce her as he'd said he would. She just couldn't believe his kisses could lie so well.

* * * * 

Damien held the precious bundle in his arms, watching a milky breath breathe in and out of tiny bow lips, occasionally caressing a tiny silken curl. He'd given his heart at first sight of her, opened himself up to the onslaught of emotions he'd denied the better part of his life. Because of this tiny bundle, he'd learned to love. It made him feel awkward and vulnerable at times, particularly now that he'd been stricken twice by this malady, but it made him strong in ways he'd never been strong before. He didn't know how to deal with the emotion very well. No one had ever showed him how to express it. But he knew the iron courage it gave him when it came time to protect the women he loved. He needed it now, as he prepared to open his heart and let it bleed before the one woman he wanted more than any other.

He closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer as the hackney pulled up in front of Melanie's town house, the town house he prayed she would share with him and this innocent bundle he held in his arms. He had thought to wait until he had her bound safely to him before giving her this evidence of his perfidy, but he found he couldn't do it. He loved Melanie too much to treat her that way. He loved his daughter equally. The battle to protect her first had been a strong one, but he didn't think he could live with himself if he sacrificed one love for the other.

The way Melanie had taken in Pamela had given him hope. Surely she couldn't reject this innocent child, despite the ignominy of her origins. He knew Melanie too well to believe that. The woman who couldn't leave him standing at the altar or starving in the streets, the woman who would take in an obnoxious child she didn't even know, that woman couldn't deny a babe in arms. He counted on that as much as he counted on his own ability to make Melanie the happiest woman alive once she accepted him with all his faults and flaws.

Nervously, he carried the infant into a strangely silent house. The child's wet nurse straggled shyly along behind him, staring up at the grandeur of her new surroundings. With a strangely pattering pulse, Damien took the steps two at a time. Watson appeared in the lower hall before he reached the top.

"Lady Reister has gone, my lord," he intoned cautiously from below, eyeing the young nursemaid askance.

Damien's heart sank. He recognized that tone of voice as well as he recognized the man's disapproval. Whatever Watson had learned this morning, the sight of the child and nursemaid had confirmed it. Slowly, he turned around and walked back down the stairs.

"Where did she go, Watson?"

"With Sir Francis and Lady Morgan, my lord. They left orders for the house to be closed up and the servants turned out. I believe Sir Francis mentioned selling."

Ah. He had something the old fraud wanted after all. Watson wouldn't want to leave his comfortable position.  He'd no doubt padded the payroll with half his relatives. He might disapprove, but the servant would do whatever necessary to keep this house open. Damien smiled cynically.

"Thank you, Watson. In my wife's behalf, I countermand those orders. You will keep the place open and staffed. I greatly fear my wife has been abducted by well-intentioned fools. She will have need of you when we return. Send for her maid. I want her to travel with Miss Snipes here. I'll send around for the coach directly. Send one of the footmen for my horse."

Damien snapped out the orders curtly, quickly, as he made a mental list of all he would need to do. He'd had the world in his hands just hours ago. He wouldn't let it escape again without a fight. He didn't know what Jane had said to Melanie to make her flee like this, but he could very well imagine. She wasn't going to get away with it.

He hated to drag a child and a nursemaid across country roads in pursuit of a dream, but he couldn't leave them behind. Melanie had to see the truth with her own eyes, not wait until he carried her off and brought her back here. He wanted her to come willingly, with eyes wide open. He patted the pocket with the newly acquired special license in it. He wanted her full agreement this time.