The Third Son (12 page)

Esmeralda shook her head. “Tristan wishes there could be, but I don’t feel the same way. Many of our friends and family have expected us to marry since we were teenagers.”

For some reason the thought of Esmeralda wed to the handsome Gypsy dancer caused Damien’s jaw to clench. Jealousy was a new experience for him. He did not like it very much. Esmeralda continued. 

“Tristan means well, though. I’m sorry if he said anything to you he shouldn’t have.” 

Damien shrugged. “I’ve experienced worse. Besides, he will have no cause to follow through with his threats. I would never dream of dishonoring you.”

His words seemed sincere and warmed Esmeralda’s insides. Everyone was concerned for nothing, she thought, staring into guileless, warm green eyes. Damien played no games with her. She had not known him very long but felt it was so. He reached one hand across the small space between them to brush a wayward strand of hair from her face.

“You do believe me, don’t you Esmeralda?”

Esmeralda nodded,
silent as
h
e pressed his lips to hers softly and swiftly
before
pulling back to smile at her.

“I’m sorry to say I must leave soon,” he said removing his hand from her face and returning his attention to his lemonade. “But there are affairs I have to attend to at Largess Hall, most of them unimportant but I am obligated to attend them anyway.”

Esmeralda nodded. “I understand. I’m glad you came.”

“There is a picnic lunch planned for tomorrow at the palace. I think I would enjoy it so much more if you could come with me.”

Esmeralda’s eyes widened and her hand went her throat in a gesture of anxiety. “I don’t know if that is such a good idea. I wouldn’t know how to behave in such high company.”

Damien took her hand and laughed. “My dear, I am fairly acquainted with nearly every member of the royal court, and I can assure you that you are more well-mannered than most of them. You’ll do fine.” His expression suddenly became more serious and his hold on her hand tightened. “I would have you become a part of my life, my world. You would sparkle like the brightest gem there, I’m sure of it.” 

“May I have some time to think about it?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I’ll expect an answer from you by tomorrow morning. If you accept I’ll come for you.”

He released her hand and allowed her to remove her tarts from the oven
She placed them on a plate to cool, offering one to Damien. He bit into the sweet confection, sighing appreciatively and nodded his head vigorously.

“The palace cook could learn a thing or two from you about apple tarts,” he said, finishing most of the tart in one bite and reaching for another. 

Esmeralda giggled. “You’d better get your fill while you can. My brother, Desmond can smell these from a mile away.”

As if he’d heard her, Desmond came crashing through the back door, guitar case slung over his shoulder.

“Hello Es!” he called cheerfully, making a beeline toward the tarts. Esmeralda raised an eyebrow at Damien and shrugged. Damien laughed. Desmond had devoured two of the tarts before he noticed that his sister had company. He nearly choked but, coughing and sputtering, quickly gained his composure.
Desmond
bowed at the waist quickly.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry I did not see you there!” he mumbled around a mouthful of syrupy apples and flaky crust.

“You don’t see much when there’s food in the room!” Esmeralda taunted playfully, ruffling Desmond’s jet black hair.  

“Call me Damien, please.
Y
ou must be Desmond. You are a very talented guitar player.” Damien indicated the guitar case abandoned by the back door.

“Thank you, Your Grace….I mean…Damien! Tristan
,
that’s Esmeralda’s dancing partner
,
started teaching me when I was just a boy.” 

“Yes I have seen Tristan dance and play as well,” Damien said, recalling the smooth grace with which the man had danced and handled the guitar. “He is very talented as well.”

“He’s got all the luck,” Desmond said, dropping down into a chair at the table. “Talent, looks, and charm.”

Damien studied the young boy who was almost a man. He was tall, nearly as tall as Damien and quite thin, though his shoulders were broad and his body beginning to show firmness of muscle. His hair, thick and wavy as his sister’s, was slicked back from his face. His dark eyes were framed by thick sooty lashes. Damien could see the beginning signs of manhood on the boy, including half a day’s worth of beard on his jaw. Damien smiled.

“You are not yet seventeen Desmond,” he replied. “Give yourself a few more years and I’ll wager you’ll have the girls beating down your door.” 

Esmeralda nodded her agreement
. “He’s right, you know,” she said with a smirk. “You
’
re well on your way to becoming a ladies’ man.”

Desmond rolled his eyes and shook his head, but twin red dots appeared on his cheeks. He shrugged and cleared is throat, turning back to Damien.

“Is that your horse out front?” Desmond asked, crossing the room to procure another tart. “She’s beautiful.”

“Her name is Persephone. Do you like horses?”

Desmond nodded emphatically. “I love them. Tristan lets me ride his stallion whenever I want. I’m saving up to buy one of my own.”

“How very ambitious,” said Damien thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could help you with that.”

“How?” Desmond asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of achieving his goal. 

“Well, our stables at Largess Hall are quite large and we are always in need of grooms to care for the horses. If you would like employment, I would give you work as a groom looking after my horses and in addition to your wages I would give you the horse of your choosing.”

Desmond whooped excitedly, pumping Damien’s offered hand up and down vigorously. “When can I start?” 

Damien could feel Esmeralda’s gaze  on him as h
e chatted easily with Desmond, explaining the details of his duties and telling him to report to the palace in the morning.
Desmond ran off to find
Raina
and give her his good news and Damien turned back to
her, wishing that the hours had not gone by so slowly
.
He was not ready to leave.

“Now I really do need to be going,” he said, pulling his timepiece from the pocket of his waistcoat and observing the hour. “I’ve stayed much later than I intended, although I wish I could stay longer.”

Esmeralda walked him out into the yard where Persephone waited patiently for Damien to unfetter her. He turned to Esmeralda, reigns in hand. 

“Thank you so much,” she said, stepping closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. It was becoming easier
for her
, he noticed,
to allow him such closeness.

“And what must I do to make you happy?” he murmured softly, wrapping one arm around her waist.  

“Right at this moment a kiss will do,”
she murmured.
She welcomed his mouth, opening her lips to him automatically, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. She breathed in his scent and luxuriated of the feel of his strong arms around her. He pulled away reluctantly, placing another kiss on her forehead.

“Think about tomorrow,” he reminded her before mounting his horse. “I hope you’ll come.” 

Chapter 7

Damien flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his navy blue coat and stifled the urge to yawn. Davina clung to his arm possessively, indiscreetly pressing her much exposed bosom against him as she rambled on about something Damien had long lost interest in. In fact, he thought as he observed her coldly, he had long lost interest in her. How had he ever found her attractive, he wondered.

It was as if meeting Esmeralda had opened his eyes. Davina was an appealing woman physically, yet he couldn’t understand how he’d ever been able to abide her company. How had he ever conversed with her without becoming annoyed by her constant jabbering? How had he ever withstood her open flirtation and unabashed seduction of him in public? Where once such behavior had been permissible, he now found himself embarrassed to be standing next to her. Davina was a woman whose body was for sale and she fragrantly advertised this in the way she walked, dressed, and acted. 

“Damien!” she demanded, her voice shrill, her foot stamping in annoyance. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying have you?”

Damien sighed. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind this evening.”

Davina stroked his bicep through his sleeve and smiled invitingly, her painted red mouth repulsive to him where it had once attracted. “You should come by after this lovely dinner party is over. I could do much to ease your heavy mind.”

Damien cringed inwardly. He had been dodging Davina’s sexual advances all week. He hadn’t taken her to bed since the night of his birthday celebration and even then he’d done so mechanically and without much thought. She would not stand his evasiveness much longer. It was time to end things. 

“Perhaps I will come by later,” he said, hoping that she wouldn’t greet him nude as she often did. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Her smile grew even wider and she squealed with delight. “Oh Damien!” she exclaimed, slapping at him playfully with her painted fan. “I can hardly wait. Now be a good boy and bring me a glass of sherry, would you?”

Choosing to be grateful for an excuse to escape her cloying grasp, instead of annoyed by her superior command, Damien wrestled his arm from her clutches and crossed the drawing room to find one of the attendants carrying trays of drink. He had suffered through the seven course meal, and waited now for Lionus to inform him that it was time to attend to their other pressing business. Drinks and conversation would continue for at least an hour more in the crowded drawing room, and Damien knew they would be able to slip away soon, unnoticed. He had just procured a glass of sherry when Nicolai appeared at his side. 

“Lionus is awaiting us in his study,” he said in hushed tones. “The prisoners are being brought there as we speak.”

Damien nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

He quickly left the sherry with Davina and promised to stop by her townhouse later that evening.
Damien
found Serge on the way out of the drawing room and the two of them navigated through the winding corridors of the palace toward Lionus’ wing. He and Nicolai were already waiting in the quiet interior of the darkened study.
His brother
paced before the roaring fireplace, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. He was dressed entirely in black formal wear, white collar starched rigidly and linen cravat tied simply but neatly, his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. The firelight cast shadows over his face, but Damien could see the distinct pulling of worry around his mouth and eyes.

“Is father not coming?” Damien asked, searching the room for Adare. 

“I thought to let him enjoy the evening,” Lionus said quietly, stopping his pacing in mid-stride. “He has enough worries without having to deal with this.”

Damien nodded. Lionus was right, as he often was. Adare had appeared at the dinner party, flawlessly dressed and in his wheelchair. He had been bright-eyed and smiling and Damien would be loathed to disturb him as well.
Damien
knew that Adare trusted his sons and nephew to handle this matter and report back to him. 

Lionus took a seat behind his massive oak desk, folding his hands in front of him. Serge stood behind him to his left, Damien behind him to his right. Nicolai half sat-half stood at the corner of the desk, placing him somewhat between
him
and Damien. The captain of the guard entered, leading six armed guards forming a cluster around three shackled men. They were bedraggled, their clothes torn and tattered, their odors offensive. One man sported a hideous, festering wound slashing across one cheek. Lionus acknowledged the guards.

“Leave us. These men are shackled hand and foot and can hardly be expected to cause any trouble. Wait just outside those doors and allow no one to enter.”

“Yes your grace,” said the captain, leading his men from the study. 

Lionus turned his hard gaze on the three men, assessing each one dispassionately before he spoke. “The three of you have been arrested for your part in the assassination attempts made against King Adare. You have been charged with high treason and have been sentenced to death by hanging at the end of the week. You have each been questioned, but we seek more than the answers you’ve given us. We wish you to give us any and all details concerning the man who hired you and his reasons behind these attempts.”

The three men, whom Damien could tell had never met before today looked at each other. The scar-faced man spoke up first. “Everyone knows about the masked man,” he said, gesturing with his shackled hands. “At least all us common folk do. He hires folks to do his dirty work, or intimidates us into doing it is more like it.”

One of the men, who was quite larger than the other two, eyed the three princes and their cousin with undisguised venom. “Don’t you be expectin’ me to tell you anything. I’m good as dead whether I talk or not, so why should I tell anything to you? You gonna let me live?”