Patrica Rice (8 page)

He rode ahead of the carriage, leaving its lumbering gait well behind as he raced his horse past fields and meadows on the course toward home. Home. The house he'd inhabited as a child had never been a home. He'd vowed never to raise a child of his as he had been raised, but that had been when he'd never had any intention of having children. Now that he had one, the vow became even more important. A child needed two parents, Melanie had said. He could amend that somewhat. Children needed parents who loved them, who gave them the attention they needed. He didn't want to fail at that, but he might. Melanie wouldn't. And Melanie could keep him from failing too.

Damien didn't even have to repeat that refrain as the miles rolled beneath him. Melanie filled him. She had seeped into his soul and stayed there. He could feel her in every fiber of his being. He didn't know how it had come to pass, and he wouldn't question it. Melanie could save him. He had to save Melanie first.

That's how Damien looked at it as he rode up to the front door of the country manor he'd known since childhood. He'd used to ride up here to court Jane in his heedless youth. He thanked God he'd failed at that as he'd failed at so many other things over the years. He refused to believe he could fail at his current mission. He couldn't let all that life and loveliness that was his Melanie languish behind those cold doors and dark draperies.

He pounded the knocker and pushed past the butler when he asked for his card.

"Where's Melanie?" he demanded. "Where is my wife?" The butler stared at him blankly. "The family is not at home to callers, my lord."

So the blamed man recognized him, Damien thought coldly. Good. Let him see the Earl of Reister breathing fire and fury. "I'm not a caller, man, I'm family. If you do not tell me where my wife is, I shall tear the place down until I find her."

The butler stepped back passively. "I'm sure I cannot say, sir."

"Fine then. Stay out of my way." Roaring with rage, Damien stormed down the hall, flinging open doors right and left. The library, she had said. She spent her time in the library, staring over the lawns. The library must be in the back of the house or she would be out here now. Melanie wouldn't ignore him. "Melanie!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. She would hear him. She would come running. It would just take her a little time.

He found a second passage leading to the rear of the house. He ought to remember where the blamed library was, but Jane hadn't spent much time there. Neither had he, for all that mattered. Where did one hide the blamed library?

He was aware of heads peering around doors and peeking down stairs at him as he rampaged through the silent corridors. He didn't care. He needed Melanie. He needed to explain. He needed to make things right with her. Even if she didn't want him, he had to explain. He wouldn't have her thinking badly of him, or of herself. He knew that was what it was all about. Jane had said something to make Melanie doubt herself.

That thought filled his head as a familiar figure suddenly darted from the shadows at the rear of the hall. Too round and too large for flitting, the child merely pointed at a closed door and sat heavily on an antique boot bench by the side door. Damien blew Pamela a kiss and threw open the door indicated.

With draperies drawn, the room held only dusky shadows at first. Gradually he made out the floor-to-ceiling shelves, most of them half empty. Sir Francis didn't spend much time reading, nor had his limited selection of ancestors, Damien suspected. No one used this room, he knew instantly from the uncluttered library tables to the unburned wicks in the lamps—no one but a lonely woman who escaped into her own fantasies amid its dreariness.

He stalked to the drapery-covered windows. He didn't yell anymore. He would never yell at Melanie. Or maybe he would, occasionally. She had a stubborn will that needed opposition once in a while. But he could think of much better ways of opposing that will than by yelling.

Gently, he drew back the drapery hiding the window seat. She slept curled against the window frame. Tears sprang, unwelcome, to Damien's eyes. He wanted to pick her up and carry her out to the carriage that would arrive shortly, take her away from here, and never come back. But she wasn't a child like the one he'd held in his arms a few hours ago. She was a woman grown. She was entitled to make her own decisions.

"Melanie?" he spoke quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Her lids flickered, and her glance first went to the window. Perhaps he should have climbed in the window after her, Damien thought with amusement. That's what a gallant knight would do. He wasn't any gallant knight.

Then she woke more fully and turned to look up at him as if she'd expected him there all the time. "Damien," she said flatly.

"Not Sir Lancelot, I'm afraid," he apologized, jerking back the drapery so the sun flooded the dismal room. "But I've come for you anyway. You should have waited. I didn't want you to have to face your family alone."

"They're my family. I have nothing to fear from them." She watched him with curiosity now. She sniffed delicately as he sat beside her. "You smell of. . ." She tried to put a name to the odor she no doubt would have difficulty associating with him.

"Babies," he supplied the word for her. "My daughter spit up on me on the way to the house. I didn't exactly have time to change when I found you gone."

He loved the way those lovely violet eyes widened with surprise. In some ways, she was still a child. He thought that might be a good thing when it came to raising children. One needed to think like a child sometimes.

"Your daughter?" she asked questioningly, not coldly, not with condemnation, just asking explanation.

Damien took her hand and traced the delicate lines of her palm. "I thought I made it clear that I'm a cad without scruples. I'm sure Jane confirmed it for you. I had every intention of doing the same thing to you that I did to her. I was afraid if you found out before we were wed, that you would turn your back on me. I couldn't afford that. I was willing to do anything for my child. Her name's Arianna, by the way. She's three months old today."

"Arianna." She stared at him blankly. Damien knew he was doing this badly, but he didn't know any other way. He didn't want Sir Francis running in here shouting before he'd had time to explain. He had to speak hurriedly.

"I was bringing her to you when you disappeared. I couldn't lie to you, Melanie. I didn't want our married life to start out on a lie. I gambled my daughter's future for yours. But I lost before I had either. I'm not only a scoundrel, I'm a failure at everything that meant anything to me. I can see why you would turn your back on me. But don't turn your back on yourself, Melanie. Give yourself a chance. Go back to London. Call yourself countess. I won't contradict you. I can find a small place in the country for Arianna and myself. I've seen enough of London to last me a lifetime, but you deserve more than burying yourself here and wasting away. Find someone you can love. You deserve that. You deserve far more than I can offer you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks and Damien had the ridiculous impulse to kiss them away. He held himself back, though. He had to. If he ever had her in his arms again, he would never let her go. Love might have given him courage and strength, but he was only human. He wanted her too much to let her go. Right now, she wasn't his, so he could find the strength to hold himself back somehow. He'd forget all reasoning once he held her.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" she asked, spoiling the coolness of her tone with a small hiccup at the end. "You're calling yourself names. Shall I grab you by the cravat and shake you?"

He managed a smile at the thought. "I could think of much more pleasant things to do if you'd like to grab my cravat, but if shaking me makes you happy, please do. I deserve far worse than that."

"Oh, stop it," she said crossly, starting to swing her legs down from her perch only to discover he blocked her way.  "You can't seduce me anymore, Damien Langland. Babies don't come into this world by magic. Where is Arianna's mother? If you truly want to take care of your daughter, you will marry her mother. The three of you can live just as easily as two in some cottage in the country. Perhaps you could take a position as someone's bailiff. Or I could give you some kind of commission for taking care of my investments. There are any number of alternatives besides shackling yourself to a wife you don't want. You ought to be quite glad Jane left you at the altar. She's become a terrible harridan since I saw her last."

"She was always a terrible harridan," he answered mildly. "I just had the strange notion that money would make life easier. I know better now. And if you won't have me, I'll accept your offer to make a commission on your investments. I'll gladly swallow my pride for Arianna's sake. But I want you. Perhaps I didn't make that clear enough. I don't want any other woman but you. Arianna needs a mother, but I need a wife more. I suppose, if you are happier looking for someone more honorable, I could learn to live with that. I might even find some comfortable farm woman to teach Arianna all those things about love that you already know. But it won't be quite the same as having two parents who love each other. Would you care to live in a cottage with us? I really don't need the town house or the carriages or such. I just need a wife, a lovely wife, a loving wife who understands I'm not perfect but loves me anyway. Do you think you could ever love me?"

She clenched her hands in the muslin of her skirt and looked out the window again. "Arianna's mother? Why can she not give you these things?"

"I'm not doing this very well, am I?”  He sighed. "Arianna's mother is a"—he sought for a polite term—"a soiled dove. She took off shortly after Arianna's birth. She knew I couldn't keep her the way she wished to be kept, and she'd found an old man who would. Of course, he wouldn't keep the child. I've spent everything I had finding a wet nurse and providing them with a place to stay. It's extremely expensive living in London. I had no notion how much it took to raise a child. I had to borrow from the cent-percenters when Arianna ran a fever and I had to hire a doctor and buy medicines. I'll find some way to pay you back over time. Now that I have those debts off my back, I'm certain I can find a place for us where my income can support us. For that alone, I owe you. I will gladly do anything to see that you have the life you want, Melanie. Just tell me what you want."

She jerked her leg away from where his hand so casually rested upon it. "You can't make me whole again, Damien. You can't make me the kind of countess you deserve. You'll need an heir someday, and as much as you may protest now, I'm certain I'm not the woman you would choose to provide one. I mixed you up in my foolish dreams and made a hash of everything. I'm sorry I've caused you such confusion, but I won't go back to London and pretend to be your countess any longer. You need one in truth. Tell them I died, if you wish. Tell them the truth, if you prefer. And find a lovely mother for Arianna, one who will love you for who you are and not for your blasted title. You have a lot to offer, Damien. Don't sell yourself cheaply."

Damien suffered a brief flare of anger, and he clutched his fingers into his fists. He controlled it, however, when he saw the streaks of her tears. Catching her chin with his hand, he made her face him. "I don't want to sell myself cheaply. I want to sell myself to you. I'm the one who's making a hash of it. I love you, Melanie. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I couldn't lie to you because I love you too much. You have no idea how easily I could get an heir on you, if you wish to be crude about it. If it makes you happy to hide your leg, then hide it for your own sake, but not for mine." Boldly, he jerked up her skirt to expose two stockinged limbs sprawled across the pillows of the window seat. He ran his hand up the withered one, contrasting the brownness of his skin to the whiteness of her stocking. "You have nothing to hide from me." He kept his hand on her leg but met her eyes firmly. I want you as my countess in all sense of the word. I want you in my bed, Melanie. I want you to bear my children. I need you to save me from everlasting damnation. Marry me, Melanie."

The library door slammed open, revealing a furious Sir Francis wielding an ancient battle-ax and a bevy of stalwart footmen carrying cudgels and muskets. The baronet's roar of rage filled the room as he discovered the Earl of Reister with his hand up his daughter's dress.

"You bastard! You son of a fiend! You bloody damned—"

Melanie brushed her skirt back down and leaned over to wrap her arms around Damien's neck. "I think I've borrowed Damien long enough, Papa. I want him for my own now. Do you think we might ask the vicar to do it proper this time? I want flowers and my family there. And Pamela can be my flower girl." She turned a loving look to Damien, who sat still and watched the armed footmen warily. "Will you need time to ask your friends?"

As he saw the way his little devil had brought her father and his army to a standing halt, Damien relaxed and wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. "What if we just ask your father to stand up for me this time? If the vicar isn't busy, we can have the business done by evening. I'll pick the flowers personally."

A maid ran frantically down the hall crying, "There's a carriage coming, sir. There's a carriage and a baby!"

Damien sought her eyes questioningly, and Melanie smiled back. "Let us go meet your daughter, my lord. Perhaps Pamela would hold her while we take our vows."

Sir Francis and his army of footmen stood back, gaping, as Damien helped her to her feet and the couple glided through their ranks without a hitch, looking for all the world like expectant parents as the sound of a crying baby wailed through the previously silent corridors.

As they reached the astonished baronet, the Earl of Reister placed his arm around Melanie's shoulders and held his hand out to her father. "I want to thank you for raising such a beautiful daughter. I hope I can do half so well as you have."

Melanie pinched him for this conceit, and Damien laughed. He was a scoundrel, no doubt, but there was no reason he couldn't be a charming one.